#oh also this is very very sarcastic in no way am i actually being mistreated

[pigeonobsession]

hey real quick is there a union a catboy such as I can join for my friend being oh so mean and cruel to me (making me flustered [FOR FUN!])? If I'm gonna be dealing with this horrible mental distress I'm in I would at least like dental

[thefanficmonster]

Infatuation

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It’s not a secret that Corpse prefers taking care of his hair himself rather than going to a hair salon to get it trimmed and/or tampered. However, he only has so much knowledge of how to properly do it without having to obliterate his budget. Luckily, his girlfriend comes to his rescue.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for the incredibly fluffy request! I’ve been very pumped to write it and now here it finally is - so sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but I still hope you come across it and give it a read! Love, Vy ❤

“Um, what are you doing?“

I just walked into Corpse’s apartment to find him barricaded in the bathroom, giving himself a hair appointment. We were supposed to have a chill night in watching movies, but it seems to me like those plans will either have to be delayed or canceled, given the chaotic state both Corpse and his bathroom are in. I mean, how dumb was I to expect he was actually doing his hair justice when he told me he styled it himself? Why didn’t that immediately raise an army of red flags in my head and lead me to question his methods?

I’m honestly quite jealous of Corpse’s hair. It’s always so soft and silky and no matter how much or how little effort he’s put in it, it always looks good: either evidently carefully styled or boyishly messy, it leaves me with heart-eyes regardless. But to see him massacre it like this, it makes me wish I could report it as a crime.

“Ain’t obvious?“ He sounds rather frustrated and I feel at least slightly better due to this fact. He deserves to be as frustrated as I am by the sight of the crap he’s doing. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to wait for me for...a little while. I just need to get this under control and, um, clean the mess. Sorry for ruining your night like this, babe. I-I really wasn’t planning on it to take this long but I forgot to buy one of the products and I thought I could wing it without it but...I very clearly can’t so...“

“Please, stop talking. I don’t need to know what sins you’ve committed - if I do I’ll probably have to give you the silent treatment for like a week or so.“ I call out to him as I quickly skip over to the kitchen to leave the food I bought on my way over before returning to the bathroom and carefully taking a step inside, mindful of where there are hair strands on the tiles. Even severed, his hair is beautiful and I have a ton of respect for it - ok fine, I adore it. Corpse definitely doesn’t appreciate it properly. I walk over to the shower, reaching out to the two shelves inside which are lined with different types of hair products. “Oh fuck...“ I let out the whisper without even realizing it because I’m so stunned by the brands I see on those shelves. “Corpse, um, what the actual fuck?”

He turns to me, eyes wide and terrified because of my menacing tone. “What? What is it?” His gaze searches the spot where mine was just pointed at, looking for anything that could’ve provoked such a reaction from me. Seeing nothing but the hair products, he meets my deadly glare yet again, “What’s wrong?”

Alright, this man-child needs some serious help

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong.“ I say, stomping towards the exit of the bathroom, “You’re gonna stay here and wait for me to come back and don’t you DARE, even touch your hair, let alone bring a pair of scissors or any chemical near it. Copy?“

“Copied and pasted, ma’am.“ He salutes me, knowing better than to ask questions when I enter my commander role. There are quite a few things that set me off into this bossy-ass persona, and hair mistreatment is most definitely one of them. Thing is, Corpse doesn’t know that. Well, he didn’t know that, pretty sure he’s guessed it by now.

Feeling myself soften at his obedience and trust, I give him a smile and a wink over my shoulder as I go to grab my bag and leave the apartment to complete my mission, “Good boy.”

                                                              *  *  *

“Isn’t that a lot better?“ I ask, gently running my fingers through Corpse’s freshly cut, washed and dried hair. I’ve spent a good five minutes just smoothing through it with my fingers. I bet he’s expecting me to say ‘my precious‘ at any moment now, and trust me it’s tempting, but I still don’t, I won’t give him the pleasure of predicting my actions. Wow, we’ve really reached that level of being familiar with one another that I predict that he’s predicting what I’m gonna do next. While I’m a guessing game for him, I tend to think of myself as more of an open book. You just gotta be fluent in the language it’s written in to understand it.

I’ve gone off-topic, my bad.

“Yeah, you’re a lot less scary now.“ He tells me, his hand finding mine in his hair and taking it to his lips to place a kiss on my knuckles.

We’re positioned so that we’re in front of the bathroom mirror with Corpse seated in a chair in front of me and I’m for once in my life towering over him from behind. Our height difference was threatening to be a hinderance in my work on his hair, but we easily figured it out.

I can’t help but laugh, “You know what I meant.“ I curl one of his already curly strands around the pointer finger of the hand that’s still wandering around the soft dark curls while the other remains in his gentle hold, resting on his shoulder.

“And you know what I meant.“ He shifts in his seat to look at me directly, not via the mirror, “Since when do you have a hair infatuation?“

I roll my eyes and retract my hands, defensively folding my arms over my chest, “It’s not an infatuation with hair, dummy. It’s an infatuation with your hair.” I correct him, doing quick work of styling the stray strands that fall over his forehead and eyes. “I really like your hair, you already know that. I can’t handle the thought you’re doing such a shitty job taking care of it.”

He shrugs, furrowing his brows, “Hey, I was buying top-shelf products, cost me a fortune every month, my hair was being treated like royalty.”

I roll my eyes once again, “High price doesn’t always equal high quality, Corpse. Did you ever stop to read what was in those products?” I don’t let him answer, I don’t need him to confirm what I already know. “Even if you did - which you didn’t - you wouldn’t know what each of those ingredients do to your hair. You see, taking care of hair, especially hair like yours, takes patience and knowledge. It’s practically an art form. It’s not like you can just buy any product that has ‘suitable for curly hair’ on it. There’s a lot more to that.”

It’s only after I finish my monologue that I realize he’s looking at me with amazed amusement in his gaze, almost like a parent listening to their kid talk about their wish of becoming an astronaut. “Since when do you know so much about hair? You’ve been using the same shampoo and conditioner since I know you and now you wanna lecture me on hair care?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, exasperated by his stubbornness on the matter, “Who said being consistent with your hair products is a bad thing? You know, frequent changing of brands has the potential of being damaging as much as aiding.” I explain with the most amount of patience I can muster, now taking over the parent role myself, “And as for your previous question, I know so much because my mother is a hairdresser.”

His eyes widen in surprise. I can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to recall if I’ve ever told him this before.

“How come I don’t know that?“ He asks finally after a long moment of silence. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“You ask that as though I just tell you things like that on the regular. Did you also want me to drop the info that my dad’s a mechanic in passing conversation about video games? Cause that’s a little hard to shoehorn in....“ He cuts off my sarcastic rambling with a brief peck to the lips. He’s the only person allowed to shut me up, and only like that. Anything else will earn him either an earful or a silent treatment. 

Just kidding....unless...

“So, does that mean you’re continuing the family business?“ he asks when he pulls away, “I mean, you’re technically my personal hairdresser now.“

I furrow my brows playfully, “Wait, what? Since when?”

“Since I hired you approximately an hour ago.“ He beams up at me, satisfied that I’ve fallen in his trap.

“And what about my payment?“ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He looks to be contemplating for a second before he stands up from the chair, taking my hand in his leading me out of the bathroom, “Well, each appointment you’ll give me a different price, Miss Y/L/N. But, considering today was your first day, I choose to pay you with dinner.“ He sends a wink my way, laughing when he’s met with an unamused expression on my part as I stop in my tracks, causing him to halt his movements as well.

“You really plan on paying me with the dinner I bought?“ I raise an eyebrow at him, freeing my hand from his so I can put both my hands on my hips for the complete 'I’m far from impressed’ look.

“Yeah...? Problem?“ He asks, faking nervousness and guilt as he closes the distance between us, once again returning to the default of towering over me instead of it being the other way around.

“Several actually. First of all...“ I raise my finger in the air accusingly, ready to go off but the arm that wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground causes my words to die down, evaporating in a frightened squeal, “Corpse no!! Put me down!“

Of course, he ignores me, carrying me into the living room while I don’t know whether to thrash or stay as still as possible. 

Tsk, so much for gratitude

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[wannabe-fic-writer]

Moment In Time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: Mild Language

Chapter 5

* * * * * * *

“You and Fury seem to forget that I’m retired pretty easily.” You say, eyes focused on your surroundings instead of the man talking to you.

A nice breeze flows past, followed by another crowd of passersby. The street is busy as always at this time of day but you always appreciate the hustle and bustle of the city. Something about it appealed to you. 

New York has always been busy, for as long as you can remember. Admittedly, with the lack of advanced technology in your time, people spent a lot more time talking to each other in passing than they now spend on their phones.

“No one’s forgotten, except maybe you,” Tony says and you turn to refocus your attention on him.“ Or did you forget that it was you who copped a ride with Fury to Sokovia.”

Of course you didn’t forget that. That mission had been more dangerous and life threatening than any one you’d previously been on. 

The man hums and nods, a soft chuckle leaves his lips,“ unless of course you weren’t there for the team.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows pinch together,“ what’re you talking about?” 

“I’m talkin about you and Romanoff.” He leans forward, pushing his coffee cup away a little.“ Clint told me about that little moment you two had before the city fell. What’d you do? Spring to action when you realized Natasha was in danger?”

Your eyes roll but you avoid answering his question. Cause that is actually what you did. On top of being generally concerned with the safety of your friends, your main focus was Natasha. You’d never admit it, out loud, but you know that’s what happened. And you know why you did, even if you won’t admit it at all. 

“Awe, don’t want me exposing your crush on Nat?” He further teases and your nose turns up at him.

“Think I liked you better when you were running around in pjs and building robots and stuff.” He makes an offended face and you smile sarcastically at it.“ If I agree to train the Maximoff kids will you not mention these supposed feelings for Natasha that you assume I have.”

For a moment he looks at you, then nods.“ You’ve got yourself a deal Y/ln. Also,” he pushes his chair back and stands up,“ you’re just training the girl. Rogers apparently has some special plan for Speedy.” Picking up his cup, he claps his hand on your shoulder with extra force, and walks away.

Just as you’re about to slouch into your seat to stay an extra few minutes he calls out for you to come with him and you resist the urge to groan. Sighing softly, you finish your tea and get up. 

As you expected Tony takes you to the tower. His choice of music blasts through the sports car and you can’t help but chuckle. Since he was thirteen he’d been obsessed with classic rock. You have no idea what the first song he heard was but whatever it was it hooked him to the genre.

Through the loud music he explains everything you’ll have to go over with Wanda and mentions that he’s getting a facility together upstate that will become the new Avengers HQ, but that move is going to take some time so the tower is still “home” as of now. You nod along, knowing that if not for your enhanced abilities you wouldn’t be able to hear him correctly.

By the time Tony pulls into the private parking garage, whipping into his spot and turning the car off, you completely understand what role you’re about to play in terms of training Wanda.

“What? Eager to get to work?” He asks after you’ve practically sprinted out of the car. 

“More like eager to get out before my ears start bleeding.” You tell him, glancing over your shoulder at him to stick your tongue out playfully. You don’t have to keep looking at him to know he rolled his eyes. 

The familiarity of the building makes it easy to navigate. Pretty much leaving Tony in the dust, you walk through the lobby to the elevators. Taking them up to the training floor. 

Your plan hadn’t been to see anyone just yet. Mainly coming here to form some sort of plan as far as training the Maximoff girl goes. Only for her to be the person you run into once having stepped into the training room.

She’s across the room, fingers running over the edges of a treadmill as her eyes look through the large floor to ceiling window. You imagine she’s taking in the sight the tower provides of New York. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” You ask, effectively grabbing the young woman’s attention. She turns her head to face you, eyebrows pinching together as she’s not familiar with you, only having seen you just before you hugged Natasha in Sokovia. 

“It is.” She replies shortly and you chuckle at it, stepping further into the room. 

Giving her a soft smile you introduce yourself,“ I’m Y/n,” you move over to the weight benches,“ Stark asked me to come in and help you adjust.”

Her eyes narrow and that draws your attention to the fact that her eyes are green.“ Are you an Avenger? Because I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I am not. I’m supposed to be retired but no one seems to give a damn so here I am.” Spreading your arms a little to emphasize your current location.

For whatever reason your words make her giggle and you smile at that, happy to have broken the ice at least a little. 

“So how’re you going to help me adjust Y/n?” Her inquisitive gaze follows her moving closer to you.

“Not sure. What do you need help adjusting to?” Your head tilts and your eyebrow quirks.“ The training regiment? Your new chaotic teammates? Living in New York?” 

“Is all of the above an option?” She asks, and although you know she’s serious you still hear the teasing in her tone. 

With a quiet laugh you nod,“ all of the above is an option.” You let her know.“ Um, I’m not sure of all the details with the move upstate but how about I show you around the tower and we can go over the basics of your training and such?” You decide to pose it as a question in case she doesn’t want to.

“That would be nice actually.” She smiles and you notice that it’s truly genuine. So with a smile in return, you motion for her to follow you out of the room. 

With her being on this floor, you assume she’s seen it all. Not that there’s much to see. It’s the training floor so there’s nothing but gyms and a locker room. Getting in the elevator, you press the number for one of the floors dedicated to just hanging out.

Not liking the silence of the elevators, Wanda breaks it with a question.“ So why didn’t you join the Avengers?” 

“Um,” you take a deep breath and release it as a sigh,“ I’d already done the whole superhero thing before. The Avengers came in and I was no longer needed.”

“Oh really?” She asks and her tone of voice makes you chuckle, then nod.“ And what made you want to be a superhero?”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open.“ I saw what they could do. The difference superheroes make in people's lives.”

Picking up on the shift in your energy, Wanda frowns, ignoring the very expensive looking stuff in the room.“ What happened?” She asked carefully, as if she were trying not to trigger something. 

“I-” you sigh softly, contemplating whether to actually tell her or not. Looking into her eyes you see past the general curiosity and what you find pushes you to tell her. 

So you both get comfortable on one of the couches in the room and you open up to her.“ I was taken by HYDRA when I was fairly young. And it’s not like the guards and scientists were interested in anything other than making me the perfect weapon. So when they started to experiment on me I was already in a horrible state physically. My health was on a steady decline and none of their experiments worked, it actually made me fatally ill. And with no further use of me, they’d left me there to die.” 

Wanda listens intently, eyes misting with tears at the information of your mistreatment.“ But you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t,” you both laugh softly at that.“ The, at the time soon to be, founders of SHIELD were working with the US military to shut down HYDRA after World War II and they found the facility I was being held in. While they saved everyone who was being held captive there, I was in the worst shape. Seeing that I was on the verge of death, they made a decision to administer the super soldier serum to me to save my life.”

Wanda’s eyebrows raise and you have to admit that her expression is amusing.“ You’re a super soldier from World War II?” You nod.“ How old would that make you?” 

“I’m 90. And I wasn’t in the war. I was born before the war. When it started I was 16 and already in a HYDRA base.”

She looks down and bites her bottom lip. You know she has another question on the tip of her tongue. And with her background, having volunteered to be experimented on by HYDRA, you know she’ll have a lot more questions after that.

So with a deep breath, you ask what’s on her mind and tuck in for a long conversation.

* * * 

After a long day at SHIELD, going over papers to further induct the twins into the Avengers, Natasha finally gets back to the tower. She ignores all the SHIELD agents rushing in and out of the lobby and goes straight for the elevators. 

Mentally, she admits that after the headache that is going into SHIELD, the sound of your laugh as soon as she gets on the main floor is refreshing. A small smile forms on her face and she makes her way towards the kitchen where she hears your voice.

While she knows you’re friends with the rest of her team, she can’t help but wonder if you came here to see her.

That thought falls short the instant she reaches the kitchen doorway. She quickly finds that the source of your laugh is the same young woman she’d just been recruiting onto her team. 

In fact, laughter comes from you and Wanda as you cook together. The aroma smells incredible but she can’t help but to remember that this is the very same thing the two of you had done on multiple occasions. 

“Nat, hey, when’d you get here?” 

Your voice pulls Natasha from her thoughts and she almost smiles again. Almost. 

“A few minutes ago.” She decides to take a step closer, which puts her right in the doorway.“ What’re you two making?”

“Um,” your eyebrows pinch together and you look at Wanda.

“Paprikash.” She answers with a quiet giggle and a shake of her head. 

You smile at her then look back up at Natasha,“ we’re making Paprikash.”

The redhead hums, debating with herself on whether she should stay or not. An indescribable feeling nagged in the back of her mind, growing more persistent as she looks at you and Wanda happily interacting with one another. It gradually chips away at her excitement to spend time with you and she hates it.

With a huff she says,“ I’ll leave you two to it.”

She turns on her heel and walks away, effectively dodging the blue blur that is Pietro running into the kitchen, heading back to the elevator. With her floor practically empty due to the move, she wasn’t eager to go up but it seemed more relaxing than watching someone else make you laugh and smile how she did. 

Just as the elevator doors have started to close you slip through, narrowly missing getting your arm caught between the doors, and stand directly in front of her. Your eyes scan her form, up to her face and lingering there. She watches as you take her in, your eyes finally meeting. 

In a soft voice, one that practically melts her heart, you ask,“ are you okay?” She can’t say she expected you to ask that, plus the equally as soft look in your eyes, she grasps for an answer. One that isn’t ‘I didn’t like seeing you so happy with someone else’.

“Just tired. It’s been a long day and my floor isn’t exactly relaxation friendly right now.” She excuses. 

Nodding along, you smile a little at her,“ think I could help with that if you’d let me.” And there’s no way she’s saying no.

That’s how, a little over thirty minutes later, she finds herself following you into your apartment building with takeout bags and beer in hand. 

You hadn’t explained the plan until you were picking up the food. Telling her that a change of scenery might be exactly what she needs. Her trying to relax and unwind at the Tower was equivalent to a lawyer trying to relax at their firm.“ You can’t destress from work at work.” You reasoned. 

Unlocking your door, you gently push it open and hold it for Natasha. She wasn’t sure what to expect of your apartment, but what she finds definitely isn’t it.

Walking into your apartment makes her a little confused. It’s like stepping into a time vault that housed a number of different eras all at once. While things like your appliances and a few tables or paintings were modern or at least from the last decade, your couch, chairs, and even your cabinets look dated.

It was as if you furnished your home without a single clue of what you actually knew you wanted to present. But it’s you. Natasha finds that it almost perfectly embodies the person she’s come to know you to be. 

Since the moment she met you it was clear you were equally as present as you were stuck in the past. Your friendships with Tony and Steve showed that in an ironic way. With Tony the majority of your conversations or bonding was over the future, things he was planning, building, or tinkering with that would change the future. While with Steve you focused on the way things used to be in the era you grew up and were raised in.

“Nice place.” She finally says, moving her eyes from the kitchen to you.“ Very, you.”

The look you give her makes a small giggle leave her lips. You seemed so proud of her first comment and then the second one made you frown, as if you couldn’t tell if you should take it as an insult or a compliment. 

“Don’t think too hard Y/ln, your ears are starting to smoke.” She says jokingly, patting your cheek without giving it any thought. Her turning away makes her miss the way you flush at her inconsequential touch. 

At your invitation, she makes herself at home, finding a spot on the couch and starting to unpack the food. You join her shortly after with plates and forks, turning the tv on and going to a channel you both enjoy watching. 

“How you feelin about the move?” You ask, picking up your plate and leaning back against the couch. Even though the tv is on, Natasha can’t help but notice that all your attention seems to be on her. 

While she is definitely used to the attention, men and women alike focusing solely on her because of her looks, your attention is different. She knows it would be unreasonable of her to think you aren’t paying attention to her for her looks because well, when she gives you attention the first thing she looks at is your looks. You’re incredibly attractive, especially to the redhead. But it was more than that. 

On both ends, yourself and Natasha saw the physical beauty, but you looked beyond that. You saw the beauty of each other’s personalities. 

You’re lighthearted, you have an outlook on life that she finds intriguing, and not just because you’re decades older than her, it was how you maintained a fairly optimistic view on things despite the cards you’d been dealt in the past. On top of that you’re honest and caring, especially to the people you consider friends and family.

As far as she goes, you see her in, almost, the same way she sees you. She’s honest. Shows her care in a way that you find adorable, mainly because it’s so nonchalant. Her will to keep going, to endure the many trials she’s been through. Her strength never fails to amaze you. Not to mention the absolute admiration you have for her in regards to her clearing her ledger. Especially since being an Avenger means so much more to her than just that. 

That thought alone sends a rumbling of butterflies in her stomach and she hates how childish it feels but loves it all the same. 

“Um,” she looks down, letting her hair curtain between you two to hide the blush that rises.“ I can’t say I feel any particular way about it.”

When she feels your fingers ghost over her cheek, she has half a mind to grab your hand and break it, but it’s you and she’s been secretly craving your touch. In the softest gesture she’d ever been on the end of, you brush her hair back. Your fingers lightly run over her cheek and temple as you hook her hair behind her ear. 

She looks over to see you drop your head slightly to catch her eye, a little smile on your face.“ It is okay if you aren’t all that happy to be leaving. The tower has been your home for the last few years. An attachment or even familiarity with it is understandable.” 

“I-” she sighs, just barely tilts her head closer to your touch, then lifts her head.“ I’ve never had a home Y/ln.” She knows you can hear the hurt in her words, cause admittedly she didn’t hide it like she usually would. She doesn’t feel the need to with you.

You go quiet for a moment and Natasha wonders if maybe she should’ve kept her somber comment to herself. The instant she considers walling herself off again, you speak.“ Well then maybe,”

She raises an eyebrow at you.“ Maybe what?”

“Maybe this could be your home.” You swallow, nerves manifesting in the way you play with your food.“ I know you’ve only just been here today but, everyone deserves a safe haven. Somewhere they can escape from the rest of the world. Everyone deserves a home.” You finally look back into her eyes,“ especially you Nat.”

You didn’t know but in that moment you got to her in a way no one else ever had. You didn’t tear her walls down. Instead, as if understanding the very reason the walls had been put up in the first place, you built a door to her heart and soul. And only you hold the key to it.

She’s hit with the weight of her feelings for you, feelings she’d never had for anyone before. As terrifying as she finds it, she can’t help but think that if there’s anyone who she could trust to be gentle with these feelings it’s you.

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @thewidowsghost @ecruzsalaz

[shinygoku]

Trust Thomas, the Better Version

I find Trust Thomas to be a guilty pleasure of sorts, an episode of Season 3 that has some serious writing issues but I can’t bring myself to hate it. But I can bring myself to improve it significantly with a rewrite!

Helped along by @mean-scarlet-deceiver ‘s commentary tags on the post I’d made about it before, I present to you my saltier, spicier interpretation! 😼✨

Maybe a smidge over the target audience’s recommended intake.... no actual swear words but still, I give it a PG for Parental Guidance ;3 Also no, I’m not gonna put this on my Ao3 as it’s an Episode Rewrite and not one’a my Original Plots.

===

======

Thomas the Tank Engine was feeling bright and cheerful. It was a splendid day, with warm sunshine, birdsong and lush green fields.

“Good morning!” he whistled to some Cows, but the Cows didn’t reply. “...Never mind, they’re busy with their breakfast.”

He stopped at a red signal, somewhat relieved that Bertie only came by after a brief pause, so he probably hadn’t heard Thomas talking fruitlessly to the cattle. Instead, Bertie was preoccupied with a large jolt as he drove over a hole.

“Owch!! That’s another one!”

“Um, sorry?” Thomas was preoccupied with the signal changing and set back off.

Thomas was still in good spirits when Bertie arrived at the next Station.

“Bad luck, Bertie!” he teased. “Now, if you were a Steam Engine, you’d be running on a pair of Reliable Rails!”

“Huh!” Bertie spat. “The Railway was supposed to deliver tar to mend the road two flippin’ weeks ago! You can’t trust a thing that runs on rails!”

“Oi, I run on rails, you big red lunchbox! I’ll show you, I’ll sort the matter out! You can at least trust me to get results.” 

Thomas left Bertie and chuffed away importantly, along the branch line towards the Big Station by the sea.

James was snorting about in the yard. He was saying many rude words and bashing the trucks roughly, cross about having to cover for Percy.

“Ooh!! Arghh! Oww!” wailed the Trucks. They longed for vengeance but were powerless to bump the big Red Engine back.

Gordon watched the events from another rail and chortled. 

“You know, James, if you were ill, you wouldn’t have to shunt trucks here, would you?” he offered, safe in his luxurious role pulling coaches that day.

James’ furious scowl lifted, all too ready to latch onto this half-baked suggestion. “That’s a good idea! Here comes Thomas, I’ll start pretending now!”

Thomas was perplexed to see the two big engines looking miserable.

“Cheer up, stick-in-the-muds! It’s a beautiful day!”

Gordon assumed the air of quiet suffering, his face creased with frown lines. “Not for James, it isn’t. He’s sick.”

“Yes he is --I mean, I am.” wavered James. There was a pause, and then he coughed a couple of times. “Ooh, I don’t feel well at all!”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he looked over James. He didn’t really look so poorly, but then, Henry didn’t often look as bad as he’d felt before getting Welsh Coal, and then that new shape. Shame he wasn’t here to help judge.

“Hmph, really? I suppose I'll help out, if you're ill. Lucky for you that I'm already headed for the Quarry.”

He bustled out with some of James’ trucks. Once out of earshot, Gordon and James sniggered.

The Trucks were still furious over their mistreatment, and Thomas was a tempting outlet for their pent up aggression. They began to plot amongst themselves.

Thomas collected the heavy stone from the quarry and set off back to the junction. “Can’t let James forget he owes me...” he muttered, going slowly over the wooden bridge. There was something else he wanted to remember, but it was escaping him at the moment.

He was too preoccupied with these thoughts to prepare for the Trucks’ plan. “Go faster, go faster!” they shrieked, pushing forwards, assisted by the weight of the rocks they were holding.

“Augh! Slow down!!” Thomas was braking hard enough for sparks to kick off his wheels, but it was no good. He was forced off the track and derailed into a shallow, muddy pond.

He was dazed and confused, but in the wait for help his mind cleared enough to become rather cross. “Lovely flippin’ day, indeed!” he muttered, further disappointed by the lack of onlookers to hear his withering sarcasm. The only audience was a horrible slimy toad, it’s warty arms climbing up by his lamp-iron.

Eventually two engines came to his aid. Duck pulled the Trucks away, giving them a bump on the way out. “Hard luck, Thomas!” he called, over the pained sounds of the battered Trucks.

Edward helped Thomas back to the Junction and patiently listened as Thomas ranted about the horrible day he’d had.

“I’m going to find James and stuff the stones down his funnel! Gordon, too! James barely has enough brain power to think of a stupid plan like that, it must have been his smart idea! Oooh, when I get to him, I’m going to wait until his fire is out and I’ll dump him off the quay!”

“Thomas, you can’t kill them,” Edward said, soothingly. “You’d have to pick up on James’ work, for one thing! That would probably be after the Fat Controller takes Ffarquhar away from you, cause if you off Gordon we won’t have an express! That’s very costly for the railway, you know.”

Thomas muttered but privately conceded. “Can’t take Ffarquhar away, it’s a place…. Oh! Ooh!! Edward, I just remembered something!”

Glad to hear the shift in tone, Edward listened keenly. “Yes? What?”

“The roads are all dodgy down part of my line, Bertie was complaining about it earlier. He said something about us having supposed to have delivered Tar for it, d’ya know anything about that?”

“Tar… oh, yes! There’s tankers in my station, but they never said what it was for! Must be that, Driver will make arrangements when we’ve dropped you off!” 

Inside Edward’s cab was a slight sarcastic muttering, but Edward and Thomas ignored it.

Later, James spoke to Thomas. He was having difficulty making eye contact with Thomas, who was still perched on the flatbed and needing to be cleaned from the pond, and whose expression had taken a darker turn once he’d noticed the Red Engine.

“I’m uh... sorry about your accident, and so is Gordon,” he shot a pointed glare back at the Big Engine who was lurking nearby. “We didn’t mean to get you into trouble, honest!”

“No, indeed,” spluttered Gordon. “A mere accident, but all’s well that ends well, isn’t that right?”

“It bloody well isn’t right, you big blue blimp! Make sure you don’t rest too close to the sea or you’re going to find yourself well acquainted, you hear?!”

Thomas’ tirade got cut off by Bertie’s arrival.

“My road’s being mended now!” he beamed, having completely missed the atmosphere of the scene.

“Oh.” Thomas was rapidly rearranging his face to put on a smile for Bertie. “I am glad!”

James was using the chance to slip away. Gordon was a bit slower on the uptake.

“Now I know I can trust an Engine, especially if his name is Thomas! Thank you!”

Gordon slinked away like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Oh, enough of that soppy stuff.” But he was genuinely smiling, at least.

The toad had managed to stay on for the ride over, but Thomas was looking forward to watching it get put in the ditch when he was washed down. Maybe he should name it after a certain Express Engine who had ended up in that water himself some years before? The thought amused him greatly.

[jupiteriala]

Yoon Seungho and Yeonsangun

A hot scary tyrant with anger issues and rampages of violence, a sex addict, a traumatized boy tormented by the shadow of his father… Who am I referring to? King Yeonsangun or our Yoon Seungho? Because both stories match really well.

So on this post I’ll share why I believe Seungho is inspired in Yeonsangun, the 10th king of the Joseon dynasty and the cruelest ever known.

Here I will leave a link with a nice and underrated video I found that summarizes the info on Yeonsangun: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEUJPNfMMQo&t=295s and will leave some movie recommendations as well.

I will start by summing up the canon facts of Yeonsangun and Yoon Seungho that are very similar, then proceed to do assumptions and theories n.n

TW: This will contain mentions of death, sex, rape and psychological abuse so be careful 

>Yeonsangun felt like he lived under the shadow of his father the king Seongjong, he was often criticized by the ministers and compared to him and even aimed some hate towards him as he allowed the death of his mother lady Yoon, same happens with Seungho that says to “be living by the principles of his father” in a very sarcastic way and sends lusty paintings to bother him and having nightmares when father Yoon comes to his mind. Both being the eldest son to inherit all the responsibilities. 

>King Yeonsangun was a sex adict, he made a whole brigade of ministers to recruit 10.000 virgins for him who would live in the Sungkyunkwan (basically the Joseon Confucianism university of the capital Hanyang later known as Seul ofc) to serve him making this a brothel. Our dear Yoon Seungho attended and hosted orgies on a daily basis right? Pretty similar. Both known for their crazy libido and not caring about public spaces huh. 

>This king was known for his episodes of anger since he was a child and when he became the king (19) killed his tutor the Seungho version of this would be how cold blooded he killed a servant on chapter one. 

>Yeonsangun might have been a tyrant but he was also a hottie, described to be a bit feminine having a nice built and a color skin pale as pricey jade just like our protagonist. Here a ss of Yeonsangun being portrayed on the treacherous (2015) pretty hot right? 

>Sadly, before getting to know how his mother was killed Yeonsangun was known to be a nice man, a good king caring and organized, brilliant in poetry and smart but turned out the monster the history books describe know because of his traumatic past. This mirrors our potn quote “He was actually one of the brightest young men in this region…” oh my lord Yoon they did you so wrong 

>This king is known for the bloodiest purges on Korean history killing a lot of the Sarim faction (basically the scholar side of the politicians and nobility) and Seungho’s family is related to a purge… hmm… This was caused when he found out why and how his mother (Deposed queen Yoon, yeah the surnames are important to be told!) was cruelly killed with poison which ended up in the literati purges. 

Those are the canon facts so far! I’ll continue with assumptions now stay with me <3

+This has to be the most fun one and is heavily based on the annals of Joseon and a very well-known film “The king and the clown” (2005) So Yeonsangun had a royal consort that was Jang Nok-su who was his favorite and treated him as a baby 

and another known favorite one was his royal juggler whose real name I don’t known but is portrayed as Gong-gil in the movie so the consort was very jealous of the clown who was a lowborn ofc Nok-su is known for being poisonous and villain like while Gong-gil was allegedly a pure and cute soul very feminine like (Are we all getting the Jihwa and Nakyum vibes?) Lemme point out some scenes on the movie that are tremendously similar to our favorite manhwa: So the consort grew jealous of the clown as he got more and more favored by the king, he was the chosen to spend the nights playing puppets to the king and the first thing she noticed was how Yeonsangun looked at Gong-gil, there was even a scene where the consort gets in top on him trying to get him stripped

  bc he had received a gift from the king (to Royal robe was on his shoulders)

 And guess what the king made? Drag her outside (not by the topknot but extremely similar way) as she yells HOW DARE YOU!! While her little thingy from the hair falls. the level of parallelism, astronomical.

 He even has a very worried prime minister who plays his cards in secret to please the king, very Kim like. He even looks like this panel as he was killing someone.

 We also get a “Because the way you looked at him is not the way you look at me” shot as Gong gil looks at his partner tenderly 

Some extra ones: Yeonsangun had Gong-gil on the palace against his will and allegedly kept him as entertainment but ended up kissing him lol. And Gong-gil used to be a prostitute before (just like Nakyum thought of himslef:c)

+Basically in both of the films I’ve mentioned so far he is portrayed as mentally ill, insomnia, hallucinations, dissociation, etc. And as a child (being treated as one by his consort and having childish behavior, etc.). Which are things I assume SH has too (well he is canonically ill with insomnia though)

+In the treacherous (2015) Yeonsangun likes to paint erotic paintings (which idk if was real but he was smart and skilled in arts such as poetry as I've read so this a nice headcannon about Yeonsangun that could have inspired Byeonduck nim). Plus, the sex scenes are so vivid and explicit... Like Potn

Well thanks for bearing with me now here I go with the last info and some theories (?)

-So what caused this king to be so unstable and such a tyrant was when he found out about the cruel destiny of mother Yoon) Could Seungho’s past be related to something like this? His mother being mistreated and having an indecent death? Or his lover perhaps? Anyways a purge is also mentioned in the manhwa so if you connect some points please tell me!

-His father, Seogjong was praised sure but also banned a member of the Lee clan (The royal clan, yes Lee was their surname just like Jihwa’s also written as Yi) for living and having a daughter with his slave, this makes me remember Mummyeong and Jihwa’s relationship (The girl was Yi Guji) and strengthened the rules towards widoweds not remarrying. Might me just my extra Sagittarius imaginations loving taking everything to the extreme but this somehow resembles how father Yoon fucked up Seungho and Jihwa calling them “ill”

-Finally their names sound really similar, just me? Yeonsangun Yoon Seungho and I mean look at the pic on the video cover and this korean interview on Lezhin... They are twins!

The main reason I do this is to have open discussion, go ahead roast and debunk my theory or praise it!! Reactions, feedback and opinions are welcome. If you want the theory in Spanish text me or text me whenever you want let's discuss let's chat. I am mostly active on twitter @Seunghosgirl

[aslightstep]

what elements about the comics did you hate?????? *eyes emoji*

oh maaannnn, you mean when i said there were elements of stony/tony’s arc that i didn’t like?

TL;DR for a very long response ahead. Re: Tony, bad MCU Tony fanfiction in comic book form is no man’s friend. Re: Stony, a long time ago Marvel decided to wipe Tony’s brain therefore robbing these two of their chance to work out their CW differences for realsies and we all have been paying for it ever since.

Tony, written occasionally very off by Brian Michael Bendis most recently and even more egregiously off by like the three writers preceding him that weren’t Hickman, has had for several years the very worst and very much Flanderized aspects of his MCU counterpart written into his character. Such charming traits as Casual Misogynist and Man-Child Lazy Boss, which, may I remind people, don’t even actually exist in the MCU ignoring a horrifying Whedon line in AoU. It has improved under Bendis, mostly because Our Guy Brian, despite his occasional WTFery, actually respects Tony Stark as a character.

But every so often as to be absolutely infuriating Our Guy Our Man Brian just completely fucks it up. See: The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Panel About Pepper Potts Being Everything Great About Tony Stark (As Told by Riri Williams) that somehow managed to be a disservice to like three characters at once.

Also I think for several of the last major events, everything has been Tony’s fault. Everything. And I mean that completely sarcastically, while the comics treat it as deadly serious because all of these characters apparently lose both their minds and their agency in the presence of Tony Stark, and cannot be held accountable for their actions when it could all be blamed on Tony instead. Wow that was bitter. But, larger point: Tony is never allowed to recover from multiple character assassinations, because by now Tony is an easy scapegoat for Marvel and not, you know, a character who makes them millions of dollars every year, and we wouldn’t want to see him actually be fully heroic again, would we.

As for Stony…okay. I am not an authority on this. I don’t tend to read Captain America a lot, even though I have grown to be quite fond of 616 Steve Rogers in my own way. But what’s important to this is that I came into the Avengers side of Marvel comics relatively recently, and recent Steve/Tony is not good. Plainly, I find their relationship to be toxic. When they fight (a state which the two have been in a semi-permanent state for a pretty long time now, both knowingly and unknowingly), Tony is written as borderline sycophantic at times, while also coming off as a pathological liar and Steve seems to lose most of his brains and lives for escalation. The comics put the screws to these guys in situations where you want to see the heroes rise up and band together and they…break down. From within.

They don’t trust each other, not really, and they’re terrible at communicating. When they’re at odds, they become just about the worst versions of themselves. And that could be a good story - on rare occasions that don’t change the status quo at all it has been a good story! Their differences have been acknowledged by the characters themselves, and they show regret for their fights and want to be friends again; they remember how much they mean to each other. And this would be great, if they hadn’t been caught in this cycle for ten years. I don’t like comics Stony as a romantic relationship because I’ve seen no evidence that either are ever going to move on and learn from their mistakes. (Note: Our Guy Our Man Our Dude Brian did write Tony learning from his mistakes in Civil War II - he just did it in the worst way possible.) They’re just going to continue to mistreat each other because it makes Marvel money and I can’t get invested in a relationship that so obviously serves the writing instead of being written for its own merits. 616 Stony, like so many elements of Marvel Comics right now, has something rotten in it that instead of cutting away, The Power That Be have let fester.

And I know that that’s part of what makes them compelling to a lot of people - that yes, when they’re bad they’re bad, but when they’re good they’re unstoppable. I get that, and I even agree. I don’t like 616 Stony, but I do find them fascinating. But I’m reading early Avengers now, when these two guys genuinely loved and respected each other, and talked about their differences. I don’t see that anymore. The bad has outweighed the good for a long time.

[feynites]

I... managed some Companion!Uthvir banter, if anyone’s interested. ^^;

Under the cut for length!

Solas: Uthvir.

Uthvir: Solas.

Solas: Am I correct in understanding that your clan does not worship the traditional Dalish gods?

Uthvir: You’re not wrong.

Solas: May I ask why and how you differ?

Uthvir: No.

Solas: I see. May I then ask the reason for your reluctance to illuminate the matter?

Uthvir: It’s a keeper’s job to dispense cultural knowledge. I’m not a keeper. I wasn’t even my clan’s First, or Second. My role is one of a hunter, so far as such things go, and hunters do not educate newcomers on the particulars of our most sacred beliefs.

Solas: Ah. I must confess myself somewhat disappointed, in that case, but I suppose the Dalish are not inclined to be free with their knowledge.

Uthvir: I can hear your disapproval, sumeil’vhen. If you’re so disappointed, perhaps you should go to Tevinter, and live among one of our clans for a while. You might gain a better perspective on why we don’t share even innocuous things very freely.

Solas: I have approached Dalish clans in the past.

Uthvir: If you approached them this way, I’m not surprised it didn’t go well.

 ~

 Solas: Earlier, Uthvir, when we were speaking, you called me sumeil’vhen. That means ‘nearly a person’?

Uthvir: Nearly one of our people. It’s a common term for elves who aren’t Dalish. I was sumeil’vhen for the first three years I spent with my clan. It wasn’t intended as an insult.

Solas: The grammar is incorrect, in that case. Vhen’sumeil would be nearer in tone to that meaning, but sumeillen would convey the benign intentions more accurately.

Uthvir: Convey them to who? If I were to use sumeillen around my own clan, they wouldn’t think to themselves ‘ah, yes, that’s much more clear and friendly’. They would probably just think ‘why is Uthvir being a pretentious tit’?

Solas: … A… fair point, I suppose.

 ~

 Solas: I strike you as pretentious.

Uthvir: In some ways. Don’t worry too much about it. Thenvunin has you well bested on that front.

Thenvunin: Excuse me?!

Solas: I suppose I can see where I might seem pretentious, to some people…

Thenvunin: Why would I have him beat?! Pretentious? I’m not pretentious, there’s a difference between being courteous and having a decent grasp of etiquette – at least enough not to go around insulting people who are simply minding their own business – and being pretentious!

Uthvir: True. I was primarily considering your many pretenses, when I named you as an example.

Solas: Is it my manner, or is it more the approach to sharing information that is giving off the wrong impression…?

Thenvunin: Pretenses? What pretenses? I am entirely what and who I appear to be, unlike some people in this party!

Uthvir: *amused snort*

Thenvunin: *offended huff*

Solas: *awkward cough*

 ~

 Blackwall: Right. So. Uthvir, is it?

Uthvir: The Grey Warden speaks! Finally plucked up the nerve to progress beyond awkward sidelong glances, have we?

Blackwall: You’re not exactly an approachable sort.

Uthvir: No?

Blackwall: *clears throat* Yes, well. There’ve been… mages of all sorts who served among the wardens, you know. And elves. Dalish elves, even.

Uthvir: Beggars can’t be choosers?

Blackwall: The order doesn’t beg. It offers a chance at honour to people who might not be afforded one otherwise. And a place in society, as well.

Uthvir: I have a place in society. It’s not much different from the place which you seem to be occupying, in fact – venturing off on behalf of my people, and signing on with the Inquisition. Maybe you and I are kindred spirits, Warden, on the verge of a grand friendship.

Blackwall: *uncomfortable laugh* I somehow doubt that.

Uthvir: *amused* No, I didn’t really think so either.

 ~

 Uthvir: I read your book, Varric.

Varric: Always a pleasant thing for a writer to hear. Which one?

Uthvir: The one everyone seems to have read, naturally. I wasn’t even aware there were others until I came here.

Varric: Always a less pleasant thing for a writer to hear.

Uthvir: Don’t take it personally. It takes me a while to read most things, especially in the trade tongue. Translated copies of your books are hard to come by in Tevinter.

Varric: Yeah, the magisterium’s not a big fan. Especially not of that book.

Uthvir: True. It’s also in high demand among the lower classes, though. Or so I’ve heard. But most of the versions being spread among the slaves are oral shortenings of it, now. Mainly focused on the elf who killed his former owner. I can appreciate the sentiment.

Varric: So could Fenris. I didn’t realize that was going on.

Dorian: Neither did I. Where did you hear about this?

Uthvir: Places not worth discussing in present company. Anyway, I wanted to ask you, Varric, if it was true? That bit about Fenris killing Danarius. Most of the magisterium seems convinced that the champion was the one to land the final blow.

Varric: Oh, no. Broody gets the credit for that. I saw it myself. He lifted Danarius clean up by the neck, and snap. Couldn’t have written a better scene. I left out the part where Danarius’ corpse soiled itself, though.

Uthvir: I’m certain the magisterium appreciated your discretion.

Varric: Well now I feel bad about it.

 ~

 Dorian: So, Uthvir. I understand you lived in Minrathous before you left to go and join the Dalish?

Uthvir: I highly doubt, altus, that you want to speak with me.

Dorian: Ah. Hmm. I… can appreciate your reservations about me, but-

Uthvir: Let me save you some time. You’re either going to tell me that you plan on magnanimously regarding me as an equal, or you’re going to explain to me that your family has never been one of those to mistreat its ‘indentured servants’, or you’re going to apologize. Because you want me to like you, because you’re secretly afraid that you’re not really any different from the rest of Tevinter’s misbegotten noble ilk. And you aren’t.

Dorian: …You don’t even know me.

Uthvir: No, of course not.

 ~

 Dorian: You know, you’re not wrong, Uthvir. I don’t really know what it’s like to be a slave.

Uthvir: Trying again, are we?

Dorian: I would like to learn more. About what it’s like, and what goes on. How to make things better-

Uthvir: Then go learn. I’m not here to give lessons on basic decency to people who have spent their lives unlearning such things.

Dorian: But you want matters to improve, too, don’t you? How do you expect things to change if people like you never talk to people like me?

Uthvir: You misunderstand. I’m not interested in improving the Imperium. I’m interested in destroying it.

 ~

Dorian: There are things in Tevinter worth saving. Surely you must believe that; it’s your home as well.

Uthvir: You know Dorian, you’re absolutely right. I apologize. You must forgive me, I was in a cold and bitter place when last we spoke. But now that I’m calmer, I can see that you are a compassionate and upstanding man, who stands a decent chance of bringing about just the kind of revolution that the Imperium needs. It’s time I put aside my hatred, and reached back for that olive branch you keep extending. When all is said and done, you and I should return to our homeland. Perhaps together we can convince the magistrate that abusing their power is impolite, and inform all the slaves that they just need to buck up and be grateful that they don’t live in the dreaded south, where they might have to contend with poverty. Holding hands, you and I will usher in a new era of peace and prosperity…

Dorian: I can tell you’re being sarcastic.

Uthvir: And here I’m all out of cookies to reward you with.

 ~

 Vivienne: You must be more discreet with your spells, Uthvir. Your presence is one of the greatest threats to the reputation of the Inquisition.

Uthvir: Were you just waiting for me to use my atypical talents so that you could make this comment, or do you actually consider killing our enemies with it in the middle of nowhere to be indiscreet? Dead men tell no tales.

Vivienne: Yes, my dear, but Inquisition scouts might. We’re not a clan here, and our soldiers are primarily good Andrastrians who say their prayers and don’t differentiate between maleficarum, blood mages, abominations, or even apostates. Not that they need to. There is a great deal of overlap in such categories.

Uthvir: There are no scouts here.

Vivienne: There are still agents of the Inquisition, however.

Uthvir: I see your point.

Vivienne: I would hope so.

 ~

 Uthvir: I have a question, Vivienne.

Vivienne: I suppose I’ll entertain it, if you ask politely.

Uthvir: The Circles speak on the status of mages in very particular terms. Blood magic and deals with demons are phrased as weakness, but they’re also feared for the power they grant? And mages of lesser skillfulness are often made Tranquil, even though they would realistically present much less threat than their more powerful peers. These seem like blatant contradictions to me.

Vivienne: It’s not so much the power that’s feared, as the chaos. A truly powerful mage has enough confidence in their own skill that they can resist such temptation to corruption. And shouldn’t corruption be feared in all powerful people, regardless of where they gain their advantages? A demon can twist a mage the same way a cunning advisor might warp the mind of a weak-willed marquis. Magic and will are synonymous. Any mage who cannot muster up much power is less capable of defending their integrity from demons, too.

Uthvir: I had no idea you viewed demons as political advisors.

Vivienne: Darling, I’m Orlesian. And I’ve met far too many political advisors to doubt the connection.

 ~

 Vivienne: I have a question for you, Uthvir.

Uthvir: I suppose I’ll entertain it, if you ask politely.

Vivienne: You’ve mentioned other mages in your clan. Are you considered very skillful, by their standards?

Uthvir: I am not considered unskilled.

Vivienne: But you weren’t chosen as… what is it… First, or Second?

Uthvir: No. I have the wrong sort of temperament, and I came to the clan when I was older. I wouldn’t have been a good choice for a potential leader. Too few of the clan’s members would be inclined to follow me, or trust my judgements.

Vivienne: I see. Is your particular style of magic a factor in their distrust?

Uthvir: Why do you ask?

Vivienne: Just curious, my dear. The Dalish are an interesting example of a different approach to magic and mages, although it’s not an approach that would ever work for civilization at large.

Uthvir: You sound less certain of that than I would’ve expected.

Vivienne: I had heard that Dalish clans never permitted more than three mages among their numbers, for safety.

Uthvir: Ah. And yet, here I am.

Vivienne: Here you are. Though, I note, not with your clan.

Uthvir: As you are without yours, in a sense. We all have our reasons for venturing afield. My clan is still mine.

Vivienne: So you say. I wonder if they feel the same.

 ~

 Cassandra: You strike me as a very dangerous person, Uthvir.

Uthvir: Why thank you. You strike me as very dangerous yourself.

Cassandra: I can be, at times. When the situation calls for it. I wonder if there is ever a moment when you are not dangerous, though.

Uthvir: No. My situation always calls for it.

Cassandra: It would not have to. Could you not change the course you are on? Find a life less… perilous?

Uthvir: Where?

Cassandra: I suppose in these times, that is a valid question.

Uthvir: In ‘these times’. Naturally.

 ~

 Cole: It hurt when she-

Uthvir: This is a lesson in discretion. Stop talking, now.

Cole: …You’re very afraid of what I’ll say. You don’t want the others to hear.

Uthvir: No, I don’t.

Cole: But if they don’t hear, how can they help?

Uthvir: By minding their own business, in fact. That’s very helpful.

Cole: It hurts you, though. Fingers pressing, digging, under your skin. You still feel them. It was wrong. I would have stopped her, if I’d been there.

Uthvir: You would have died if you’d been there, and you will die if you keep talking about this.

Cole: …Sorry.

 ~

 Iron Bull: Don’t touch it.

Uthvir: You don’t want healing?

Iron Bull: *grunt* It’s fine. Just a scratch. Might leave an interesting scar, in fact.

Uthvir: I can see bone.

Iron Bull: I’ll put a poultice on it. Like I said, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.

Uthvir: I can leave enough of the wound to scar. Just let me knit the deeper layers of it closed, it’s bleeding too much and you’re likely to get an infection otherwise.

Iron Bull: No. It can wait until camp.

Uthvir: …You know, it’s the blood that’s the thing. The more you let flow, the more I could sweep up and use. For all kinds of things, in fact. If you don’t let me seal the wound, you’ll be bleeding all the way back to camp. And it’s a long walk. Who knows what kinds of ideas might occur to me on the way. I’ve done some interesting things with qunari blood, there was a band of Tal Vashoth near the upper ranges where my clan would roam, and not all of them were friendly…

Iron Bull: If this is supposed to convince me to let you near my injuries, it’s not working.

Uthvir: Then I guess I’ll just view it as a perk of fighting alongside you. More blood from open, weeping wounds to put to good use.

Iron Bull: *audible discomfort*

(If another mage is present):

Thenvunin: Stop leering like some predatory beast, Uthvir! I’ll close the wound, for goodness sakes.

Dorian: Both of you are being ridiculous. Come here, you, I should be able to help with this, at least a little.

Vivienne: Darling, really, don’t let them get to you. I’ll see what I can do.

Solas: Common wisdom would imply that bleeding around suspect blood mages is counterproductive. But perhaps I should tend to this injury.

 ~

 Sera: Did you really run away to the Dalish? Like something out of a story for little kids?

Uthvir: I ran away, the Dalish were really more of an unexpected sort of development. Don’t criticize my lack of originality.

Sera: I’m just surprised they took you in. Did they treat you like shit? Make you do all the grubby labour and odd jobs they didn’t want, and call you names and stuff? Turn up their noses because you weren’t elf-y enough for them at first?

Uthvir: Of course.

Sera: Yeah, s’what I thought. Load of rubbish, running away to find the Dalish.

Uthvir: It was terrible. I didn’t have the skills to hunt, or craft, or even forage very well. The only jobs left for me were things like burying garbage, or cleaning up after kills, until I learned how to do other things. But, once I’d proven that I wasn’t liable to just rob them and run, they taught me how to do those other things. The keeper showed me to read and write, and the clan’s second taught me new ways to use my magic. The hunters taught me to track and kill prey, and how to clean and butcher it. I learned to forage and fish, and make and use tools, and I discovered what an elf can be, when there is no one but other elves to have a say in it.

Sera: And what’s that? A homeless weirdo who consorts with demons? Doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment to me.

Uthvir: You should have seen me before,da’len. You don’t know what they were working with.

[ilovefunreading-blog]

From the Lips of Treacherous Men

…out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.

Matthew 12:34

Many people do not know that their words give them away, especially when spoken in an unguarded moment.

The Bible also tells us,

…the tree is known by his fruit.

Matthew 12:33

The next time you stand under a big tree wondering what species it is, just look out for the fruit. The fruit of the tree reveals its true nature.

In this chapter, I am going to share with you some interesting quotations that I have noted down over the years. These sayings, coming from the lips of disloyal people, strike me whenever I hear them.

I remember the day I heard each of these statements. Some of these statements were said to me personally, although many of them were things I heard about. The statements tell you a lot about the personalities concerned and about the condition of their hearts.

Let’s begin with this statement I heard from the right-hand man of a pastor of a very large church.

1. Some of us could be head pastors. It is just that we have decided to submit.

This statement comes from an associate who after analyzing his head pastor for awhile, has begun to see himself as someone just as capable as his head. He thinks that he is placed at the second or third position mistakenly or by an unfortunate play of circumstances. Such thoughts arise when assistants or associates are permitted to step into the shoes of their head for a brief season.

This often happens when the head is away for a period. They had the opportunity to preach once or twice and some people said that they were blessed. This makes the associate think that he is as good or even better than his head.

2. I would like you to pray with me about certain things that are going on at the office the way I am being treated.

This gentleman thought he was being mistreated by the administration of his church. He went around discussing this with ordinary church members. He solicited their prayers but in reality he was spreading dissent and mistrust.

It was a subtle way of getting other people involved in his feeling of discontent. He was indirectly gaining the sympathy and support for what he considered mistreatment. This is the political stage of disloyalty. By the time this particular pastor had finished spreading his story, the church was full of confused members who saw the senior pastors as unreasonable.

This pastor eventually defected and left behind a miserable, divided, and untrusting group. It took over a year for this church to recover from the lies that had been spread. It took almost two years to regain a healthy environment.

3. He (the senior pastor) has deviated from the original vision and course.

I heard the associate of one megachurch declare that his pastor had deviated from the principal course of the Bible.

He Doesn’t Read the Bible Anymore

He claimed that his pastor didn’t read the Bible anymore, but instead, studied secular books on leadership.

This however, was a misrepresentation of the truth. This statement, although it sounded like a valid accusation, was actually a manifestation of disloyalty.

This associate was simply not prepared to flow anymore with new ideas that the visionary would come up with. He had assisted for years but now a disloyal spirit made him criticize every move of his head.

4. I will not come. I will not go. I will not be transferred.

Remember that during the rebellion of Korah, Dathan and Abiram refused to go when Moses called for them.

And Moses sent to call Dathan and Abiram, the sons of Eliab: which said, We will not come up:

Numbers 16:12

When a person is too big to be sent, then he probably is too big for the organization. You are now too much of a big shot to be “pushed” around. When a leader declares that he will not move, decide to move him away from you permanently.

5. Would you do that yourself?

In an army, if the Colonel or General asks the troops to move out in attack, no member of the platoon dare ask the Colonel or the General if he would go to such a place himself. No one would dare to ask, “Would you risk your life to do what you are sending us to do?” Although this is a legitimate question, it reeks of insubordination and defiance. These words only come from the heart of a rebel.

6. Many people are saying…Even the workers and elders are saying that…

This statement, as we discussed in the political stage of disloyalty, implies that you have been talking to people about your leader in a negative way. People realize your disloyalty and the disapproval that you have for your head. That is why they are able to say negative things to you about him.

A disloyal person has an ear to hear the negative things that many people are saying. Take note of anyone who comes up to you with these phrases – many people are saying… a lot of people are saying…

7. You are not always right.

I remember when one pastor told me that I was not always right. At the time, I just brushed aside the statement. But as I thought over it, I realized that nobody is ever always right. No one, apart from God, is ever a hundred per cent correct.

This insurrectionist was actually giving me another message. He was saying, “You are having your way as always. But you are not right this time.”

He was telling me that he did not support me in what I was doing. He was informing me that he would just flow along because I had the veto power. His eyes blazed with hatred as he said those words you are not always right.

8. You are proud and difficult to work with. You are stubborn.

This person no longer admires or trusts his leader’s decisions. They are words of a person who is critical and untrusting. A good leader has to be firm and strong. When a person is full of disloyalty, he sees the strength and firmness as stubbornness and pride. If you look at your leader through eyes of love, you will see how great a person he is. However, if you look at him through the eyes of rebellion, you will see in him evil.

9. A pastor colleague of mine was told, “Pastor, there is a lot of fear in this church. But I want you to know that I don’t fear you.”

This person is speaking out of a spirit of defiance. What he’s actually saying is, “I will fight you if necessary because I don’t fear you.”

10. A pastor friend of mine was told by his church member after service, “You remind me of my father. He is so full of himself.”

This person was telling her pastor that his confidence reeked of pride and arrogance. When a church member tells a pastor, “You are arrogant and proud,” she is not admiring him, but rather demeaning him. Her heart is not full of commitment, but filled with venom. Pastor – you are full of yourself.

11. An associate pastor said about his head pastor, “When he’s away the church grows and many more people attend the services.”

This associate pastor was in other words saying that the presence of the head pastor is undesirable; and that people in the congregation dislike the contribution of the head pastor. No loyal pastor would ever speak about his head in such a way.

12. I once asked an associate pastor, “How is your senior pastor doing?”

He replied, “I don’t know where he is.”

Then I asked, “How come? Do you not see him regularly?”

He answered, “Not at all. This yessa master, yessa master, yessa master cannot go on forever.”

This associate pastor by saying these words was ridiculing the beautiful and orderly relationship that exists between a head and his subordinate. He was depicting it to be a demeaning slave-master relationship. I don’t even need to tell you that a short while after, this associate turned out to be an ungrateful separatist.

13. I don’t see why everybody is making such a fuss about that breakaway pastor!

By making this statement, this pastor was indirectly approving of rebellion and church splits. No wonder he became a rebel in the process of time.

14. I asked a pastor, “How was the visit of your senior to the town? Was it successful?” “Oh yes, it was fine. We had a good time. But you know our man, he likes expensive Chinese restaurants.”

Here again, a pastor is making sarcastic and critical remarks about his senior. It may seem like a passing remark, but it is full of contempt.

15. A disloyal assistant pastor once said to his head, “You don’t have any idea what people are saying about you. You don’t know what I’ve had to tell them.”

By saying this, this disloyal pastor is letting you know that your support within the church is waning. He is informing you that he has had to stabilize the feelings of discontent that are in the congregation. He is informing you that you are unpopular and that you are not as great as you may think.

16. “I admire your style of leadership. In our church, our man (the head pastor) doesn’t give us many opportunities.”

By making this statement, this pastor is expressing his dissatisfaction with his home church. By saying so openly, he is showing that he is not loyal or protective of his home. He is now openly exposing the deficiencies and shortcomings of his church.

by Dag Heward-Mills