#the coal to my steam train

[theandrosaur]

REQUESTS? Macaque dying his hair.

Can we pretend just for a moment.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

so there was this pub, the crooked house or the siden house, where im from that was kinda famous for being the "wonkiest pub in britain". its been there since 1765 (it was originally a farmhouse) and let me tell you, the inside was some of the coolest shit ive seen. it was fucking bostin.

but four days ago, it burnt down. now its nothing but rubble, and its being treated as an arson for the investigation.

and just,,, im so gutted. i have that kind of sadness where you feel empty inside because this was our pub. we're an impoverished area and a lot of our country laughs at us for the way we speak, but we're proud of our local culture and history.

honestly the siden house represented us; we're a little wonky bunch with our dialect the most close to old english and banding together like misfits in a movie.

but now its just gone. its one of the few tranklements of our history we get to hold and its just fucking gone, at someones hand. it was probably new developer who just bought it because its the cheapest way to clear a lot.

and i ay even angry at whoever it was, im just sad. as a brit, i hold no pride for my country and the history of it. but i am a proud yam yam, and right now, it just hurts.

[usefulcrew]

MUSE TAGS 3/3

「 ⛏️ 」   miners’ silver ghost  » ic

「 ⛏️ 」   hear her whistle on the wind  » hc

「 ⛏️ 」   glowing red as coal in hell » vis

「 ⛏️ 」   mighty lonesome cry  » musing

「 ⛏️ 」   up and down the mountain  » interest

「 ⛏️ 」   ghost trains  » aes

「 🕷️ 」   bloodthirsty train  » ic

「 🕷️ 」   the goriest express  » hc

「 🕷️ 」   teeth sharper than a knife  » vis

「 🕷️ 」   take this off the rails  » musing

「 🕷️ 」   madness and decay  » interest

「 🕷️ 」   brace for the freight train  » aes

「 🌠 」   call me rusty if you dare  » ic

「 🌠 」   do it like a steam train  » hc

「 🌠 」   slow corroison is eroding my frame  » vis

「 🌠 」   switching and hitching  » musing

「 🌠 」   for a dead-end engine  » interest

「 🌠 」   the finishing line  » aes

[luveline]

Craving a postprison!Spencer x stripper!reader fic, please ma’am.

Maybe she gets a daytime job at a coffee shop or a bookstore - to “supplement her income”/ not have to dance as often (not that she’s ashamed!!) and Spencer is just so proud of her for trying and can’t quit kissing her and praising her because I know in other fics you’ve mentioned she didn’t think anyone would hire her because of her profession/self esteem, plus after prison she didn’t want to dance because she wanted to be with Spencer. 🥺

Or really just anything with a proud Spencer x stripper!reader doing anything.

Your work is fantastic and I’m in love with everything you do!! 💕 thank you and it’s totally okay if you think this request is lame or don’t wanna write it!

thank you angel! —you find a new job while making decisions about your old one after Spencer returns from prison, and Spencer would praise you for breathing, so he’s extremely proud. fem, 1.8k

Statistics differ, but estimates suggest that there are around twenty thousand strippers in Las Vegas. With a population of seven hundred thousand people (estimated up), that means that one in thirty five people living in Las Vegas dances for a living. 

It’s more than you’d think. Spencer knew of plenty of women who worked as strippers, exotic dancers, or private entertainers when he was still living at home. And while the numbers are much smaller in Washington DC where he lives now, it’s far from zero. More surprising for the average person to be one, perhaps, but not for Spencer. 

It used to make him blush like a steam train, sure, but it never did any of the things you were scared of. He’s never looked down on you for it, never been jealous (well, never acted like a jerk because of it), never positioned it as anything other than work. His only complaints are in your concern. You don’t like the club, most of the time. You feel unsafe often. The risk of femicide is yards higher for you as a sex worker than it would be otherwise, but who is Spencer to talk about danger? He still has stitches in his leg. 

Your job used to feel more urgent, a red flashing light above your head, because you’d come around with bruises or cut knees, tear stained cheeks, and you couldn’t make ends meet for all your efforts, but things have changed. You’re reluctant to depend on him, but you’ll accept the help when you need it. Nothing keeps you there if you don’t want to be there, and when you do you’re a marvel. You are beautiful, in Spencer’s eyes. Your dancing when you’re having a good night is one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen —more than pretty, sometimes. A hot coal in his stomach. 

But the fact of the matter is that Spencer’s home, and you don’t want to dance. You haven’t been to the club for weeks as far as he’s aware, and he’d consider himself well informed. You spent all your savings and started spending his instead and he couldn’t care less, what’s his is yours, whatever keeps you aloft while you make whatever decision it is you’re working toward. Not that it presented itself that way. 

I’ll have to go back.

Spencer on his back, you sitting with your head turned from the TV and toward him, your hand on his hip, just resting. Where?

To work. I have enough money for the next two weeks, and then I’m all out. 

Spencer wouldn’t do something as unkind as rolling his eyes, but the point of you moving in was to cement that he’d look after you no matter what. He’d turned his head to you on his pillow and reached for your elbow. You’re still resting. 

You’ve been home for two months, Spencer. I’ve rested enough. I… I only managed this long because you haven’t asked me for anything and that’s not fair, we both live here. 

I earn more than you, so I pay more, he’d said, confused. It’s not as though it hurt him to continue paying for an apartment he’s been living in for years. 

I won’t be your leech. 

You’re not my leech, don’t say that.

I can’t just not have money. 

Well… he’d said. He’d never discussed it with you so openly before, always stopped at the first suggestion, but there’s a first time for everything. You know you can have whatever you want from me. Anything you want, you don’t have to ask. 

Spencer… you’re my boyfriend. 

Exactly. 

No, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to keep me. I don’t want that. 

He understood the ‘want’ most heavily. What do you want, angel? he’d asked, dragging your hand up his naked chest to rest over his diaphragm, your arm moving up and down in time with his breathing. 

You’d seemed stricken, but not upset. Like the question surprised you in having no answer. Not sure… you’d said eventually. Mostly you. 

A week passed, two. A third and you’d asked him to borrow money, just for a little while, and with the vehement promise you’d pay him back. 

He’s not expecting it. So soon, either. But here you are standing in front of him with a beaming smile and little book in your hands, unzipping one of the book's inner pockets to count out the money you’d ’borrowed’. “Here you go, my angel, there’s everything.” 

Spencer just looks at it. “What is it?” 

“The money I owe you.” 

He presses his hands to his stomach to stop you from forcing the notes into them. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“No, seriously, please take it.” 

He shakes his head. “Seriously. I don’t want anything from you, I love you. That money was for you to do what you wanted, or needed. It was yours as soon as I gave it to you.” 

You try regardless to put it in his hands. Your hair was done freshly a week ago, your nails manicured but unpainted, your face adorned with some new makeup he’d seen on his (your) vanity a few days ago. It honestly hadn’t crossed his mind why you’d suddenly given yourself a refresh, and he had no suspicions. You would’ve told him if you went to the club, even just via text, because it’s important he knows you’ve had access to your phone or that you’re coming home. (Plus, he’d notice you leaving at night. You’ve spent the last few evenings laying across his lap.)

“Where did you get this?” he asks, smiling softly, wondering if he’s come to the right conclusion. 

You drop the money on his thigh and take a couple of steps back. 

“I,” you say, holding your little book to your stomach, “got a job as a barista. They gave me my first paycheck today, a direct deposit. So I took out what I owe you and the rest of it is in here.” 

“You what?” he asks. 

“I’m working at the coffeehouse by the library,” you say, nodding, parts proud of yourself and parts shy. 

“For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite your lip. “Just this week. And honestly, I didn’t want you to know if I couldn’t do it.” 

Spencer stands up but doesn’t cross the room to you. He could reach out and catch your hand. “How could you work somewhere new all week without me noticing?” 

“You weren’t here on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday morning, and they gave me Thursday off, so I just told you a very small lie this morning about going to the store. I knew you’d get distracted by your Persian poetry again.” 

He did get distracted, very much so. You’ve been and worked a whole shift without his worrying, which is a bit awful in itself (he really does love you, and he’d like to know where you are), but is also, frankly, a great thing. You should be able to work without worry. You should do anything you want to do. 

Still, a whole week at a brand new job without any support, and to stand there with your paycheck as unmistakable waves of satisfaction melt off of you unkissed is insanity. Spencer’s laughing as he ushers you into his arms, as he hugs your shoulders tightly, “Oh my god!” he says, “Wow, congratulations!” He pulls back just a touch to see your face. “Please don’t lie to me about where you’re going, that’s so dangerous. I love you!” 

He takes your face into both hands with your arms hanging loosely behind his back and begins a reckoning of kisses. The slope of your cheek, the skin between your nose and lips, Spencer couldn’t care less where the kisses land, he just wants them all over you. You laugh softly as he goes, almost stickily, a sound that comes deep from your chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, pressing a quick, mildly rougher kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I might still strip,” you say. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, squeezing your face between his palms. “What’s it like? Do you like it? Is it hard?” He kisses you again. “I wish you’d told me,” he says against your lips. 

You’re quieter than he expected, and warm. He pulls away more sternly to see what’s gone wrong. He could’ve asked the wrong questions. Maybe he’s embarrassed you. 

“I just wanted to make sure I could do it. I didn’t want to fail and… and have you know. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I get it.” God knows he’s failed a hundred times for you to see it. He wishes he would have hidden a lot of that from you, spared you some heartache, but he also knows how lucky he is to have you near. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? We should be together when stuff goes wrong.” He beams. “But it didn’t go wrong.” 

“I think I’m pretty good at it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You hold his wrist. “And I get tips, did you know that? Not as many as before,” —you laugh to yourself loudly— “but still. It’s really cool. They pay me even if nobody wants coffee, and when people want coffee I get extra.” 

Spencer kisses the corner of your eye. He kisses up to your eyebrow and down again, all over your cheek before turning your face to the other side to kiss circles into the other. “I,” —kiss— “can’t,” —kiss— “believe it.” Kiss. “Actually, I can, but I still can’t.” 

“It’s just a part time job.” 

“That you didn’t think you could do,” he says. “But you can do anything, I knew you could. I’m amazed by you.” 

He grins and throws his arms over your shoulders. 

You squeeze him right back, the two of you swaying, almost falling over. He can feel how proud you are of yourself. You deserve to feel this way no matter what. 

“I like dancing,” you say, “I do, I just wish I could do it in a different… world? Is that stupid?” 

“No. You’re never stupid.” He smiles as your hand weaves into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp, his curls caught between your fingers. 

“Do you think you could come on Monday? I can make you a cup of coffee. It’s not as hard as it looks.” 

“Please, I’d love for you to make me a cup of coffee.” His smile presses to your shoulder, where he breathes you in briefly, before remembering something very important. “Hey, do you wear an apron?” 

“Of course I do.”

Oh my god, he thinks. There are more than half a million baristas in the United States, and Spencer will bet his monthly paycheck that you’re the cutest one to ever exist. You look cute right now in your jeans and your button up shirt, but put an apron on top of that? To see you standing behind a bar mixing drinks and pouring latte art? Monday can’t come quick enough. 

[philistiniphagottini]

Couldn't sleep last night so I wrote a little something for Jiyan until I felt tired. This is very self indulgent on my part.

cw. fluff, mentioned nudity (but no smut) dragon hybrid reader (similar to vidyadhara) , mentions of heat cycles, cuddling, gender neutral reader

It was the middle of the night when you abruptly stirred awake. Your body was drenched in a hot flush as your eyes shot open, your body jerking as you quickly sat up. Layers of fluffy blankets pooled around your waist, the thin, silk robe you wore lazily clinging around your shoulders as the sash was poised to unravel at a moment's notice. Beads of sweat dotted your brow as you took a deep breath, heat coiling in the pit of your stomach as your blood simmered in your veins. Your eyes pinched shut for a few brief seconds, long lashes fluttering over your burning cheeks as a soft groan breezed past the seam of your lips. Of course, it had to happen now, you lowly cursed. 

Your sudden movements had disturbed your partner, Jiyan, his body moving to mimic yours as he sat up in bed. His eyes roved over your form, darkness bleeding into the corners of his vision as he carefully studied you. 

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, voice gruff and thick with sleep. 

Your head snapped in his direction; pupils narrowed into thin slits as you regarded him. Your long, serpentine tail coiled beneath the sheets, the tip flicking as golden scales brushed against his bare leg. His muscles tensed from the featherlight touch, your normally cool scales suddenly burning like the hot coals of a forge. The branching horns nestled on top of your head faintly glowed with a shimmering, golden light, the ethereal light highlighting your flustered expression as your lips parted around rapid pants. Each puff of air seemed to curl around your lips like wisps of steam, your eyes growing lidded as your head started to feel dizzy. The words that Jiyan had spoken barely even registered in your mind, your head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton as your flesh continued to burn with a lingering heat that tickled the base of your spine. You shook your head, soft locks of your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead as you swallowed the budding saliva on your tongue. 

"It's too hot" you murmured in a breathy whisper.

Sharp talons sank into your robes, your fingers curling into the thin material as you yanked it from your being. You tossed it aside in a flurry of cloth, the sweat soaked robe tossed to some random corner of the room. You were left completely bare, nothing to hide you from the general’s concerned gaze as a sigh of relief tumbled from your bruised lips. The relief was only temporary as the heat continued to claw at your nerves, trickling into your belly as the constant itch of your nerves started to make you squirm in discomfort. Jiyan silently shuffled closer to your side, arms poised and ready to assist as he kept his eyes trained on you. 

"Are you alright?" he asked again. 

Your soft pants filled the air of your stuffy bedroom and when you didn't respond immediately, he pressed again. 

"Love, speak to me."

His voice was finally able to reach you as you turned your head towards him, slowly lifting your gaze to meet his. 

"Jiyan."

His name warmed your parched throat like cloying honey, each syllable sweeter than the next as it danced on your tongue. Jiyan was ready when he saw the way your shoulders tensed, your tail coiling like a snake ready to strike as you pounced on him. A soft grunt blew past his lips as you landed in his lap, your knees falling beside his hips as you landed perfectly on top of him. You buried your burning face in his chest, arms latching to his waist as your golden tail weaved between his thighs and curled around his ankles. You pressed your weight into him, coaxing him to lean back further as he was suffocated under the stifling heat of your body. His movements were slow and deliberate, hesitant and frightened that he would scare you in such a sensitive state. He knew what was wrong. He had figured it out the moment you had to rip your clothes off to find any semblance of relief to the heat running rampant around your body. He placed his hand on top of your head, gently ruffling the soft locks of hair as he gazed down at you. 

"Are you finally going into heat?"

You gently nodded your head, bunting your face further into the hard planes of his muscular chest, a content noise in your throat as you squished your cheek into a pectoral muscle. Your tail continued to coil around the length of his leg as you rubbed your body against his, lazily spreading your scent until it bled into his skin. His scent curled in your lungs with each breath you took and you could taste him in the back of your throat every time you swallowed. His familiar scent was reassuring and it was able to ease the heat in your belly for now as you cling to him like he was a life line. 

"I'm sorry" you whispered, your warm breath puffing against his skin. "I just want you close."

A soft hum rumbled in Jiyan’s chest as he rubbed the calloused tips of his fingers against your scalp. You purred happily in response, the vibrations dancing along his skin as you pressed yourself further into his embrace. A soft smile tilted his lips as he gazed at you fondly, basking in the contrast of your soft curves against his hard muscles. This whole heat cycle was new to him. You had warned him it was coming soon and your draconic instincts had been flaring up for the past several days. It had been interesting to witness your “pre-heat” stages, watching you fret over building the perfect nest, watching you chose only light clothes that wouldn't irritate your skin. Witnessing you stick to his side like glue and refusing to be apart from him for long. Such a strange and wonderful creature you were. 

Jiyan’s arm snaked around your waist as he tugged you closer, your chest still vibrating with soft purrs as he gently ran his fingertips along the curve of your spine. Pleasant tingles rippled down your back as the soft tufts of fur on your tail puffed up, the feathered tip of your tail tickling his foot as you rested more and more of your weight against him. 

"It's okay" Jiyan reassured. "I'm not going anywhere."

You both fell into a comfortable silence as the heat inside of you turned into a dull but manageable throb. Your nose brushed against the hollow of Jiyan’s throat as your hands snuck under the soft material of his shirt, your hands resting against his abdomen as you kneaded the skin with your paws like a contented cat. Jiyan couldn't contain the small chuckle that rumbled in his chest at the sight. His lips brushed against your damp forehead, fingers brushing long wisps of hair out of your eyes as he tucked them behind your ears. 

"Is this okay?" he asked. "Do you need more?"

His words warmed your heart, your pulse drumming rhythmically in your ears as your pointed ears perked up at the sound of his soothing voice. You slowly shook your head, peering up at him with dazed eyes. "No. This is enough."

For now, you still had most of your senses intact. You knew that would change in only a few, short hours and your instincts would reduce this proud dragon into nothing more than a mindless beast that would only crave until its hunger was sated. But for now, that beast was contained and being wrapped in Jiyan’s embrace like this helped to calm your frantic senses. For the first time in a long time, you wouldn't have to endure another heat cycle alone. No more yearning and aching nor longing for the touch of a partner you didn't have. He was here now by your side and it was enough.

[sparkarrestor]

So we all know that Awdry originally had James as a GSWR Class 403 since it fit the description of an inside-cylinder mogul, but later changed James to be an English design. This post stems off the thought of "What If Awdry kept James Scottish?"

This whole thing was also brought on by @mean-scarlet-deceiver's Tales of the G&SW excerpts.

Beware, my writing of a Scottish accent is terrible, try not to cringe.

What If Scottish James

Written By: SparkArrester

1929

James was in a foul mood. Henry, like usual, failed. Now he was stuck with his coal train. That he had to arrange himself. Apparently the new shunter was busy with something that wasn’t shunting.

“Stupid Trucks, stupid coal, stupid everythingggg”, He moaned as he marshalled his train, “All that time being cleaned was a waste!”

The trucks, sensing an opportunity for mischief, made it their mission to give James the worst morning possible. They jammed their brakes, ran hot axles boxes, and some even derailed in the yard. The breaking point was when an old tippler’s front hatch flew open. Coal poured out onto the rails, and onto James, coating his front end. The trucks all burst out laughing, but they were soon cut off.

“Yee wretched little INGRATES!”, Burst out James in a perfect scottish dialect, “Ye all oor jus’ little devious muckle nuisances that are no fit ta scrape ta scale oof me boiler, ye little wee gobshites!”

This continued for some time, until James heard a familiar whistle, and immediately blanched. Percy rolled in looking gobsmacked.

“Err, uhh, hey James?”

“Wha arr ye -ahem- what are, uh, you doing here Percy?”

“Coming to take over the shunting.”

“Ah, right.”

“...”

“... Percy.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell anyone…”

“James, I’m pretty sure everyone on this side of the island heard you.”

“... Dang it.”

1951

James sat there, covered in tar. His crew had already gone to the station to phone for help, and one of the old Suddery Tanks brought a crane to assist. He was hoping for an engine like Edward or Henry to take him to the works. In the meantime, quietly grumbling to himself was good enough. In fact, he was so absorbed with himself that he forgot his surroundings.

“Stupid wee muckle nuisances…”, he muttered, “Stupid Toby. If ‘e wasnae a huge prat my red coat wouldnae be in ruins. Honestly, those wee branchline engines are nothing but great big pieces ‘o-”

A ring of a bell broke him out of his thoughts. He jumped back as he realized Toby and Percy were right beside him. He prayed they hadn’t heard him. They did.

“Ark ay Percy!”, Chortled Toby in a terrible Scottish accent, “Whatever isnae that dirty object!”

“That isn’t even how you use isnae…”, muttered James, but of course they took no notice.

They continued speaking in terrible accents all the way to the sheds. James didn’t know if he should be angry at their teasing, or their complete butchering of his old dialect (one he had tried his hardest to shake), so he settled for both. 

1959

The Fat Controller had brought a new goods engine to help out. James was glad at first, now someone else could work the pick-up goods while he got more passengers. He had heard that there was something up with the new engine when it had arrived, but he didn’t put much stock into it. Later in the day, he was backing down on what would hopefully be his last pick-up goods in a while when he heard a whistle. A deep-toned whistle that he had not heard in years. James grimaced as a Caledonian steam engine pulled up on the adjacent line, giving him the stink eye.

“Well Well Well…” The Caledonian spat, “A Sou’-West engine. And one of Pee-Wee Drummond’s oven-boxes! Ah hoped we saw the last ‘o ye back ‘ome!”

“The feeling is most certainly mutual!” He replied with vitriol that wasn’t really there. He hoped to leave everything pre-sodor behind. But of course it had found him. At least he still had a slight bad opinion towards the Caledonian, it did him good in this confrontation.

“Ark aye!”, Exclaimed the Caledonian, “Why do ye soond like tha?”

James was taken aback, “Like what?”

“There it is again! Aye Douggie!”

The question of who “Douggie” was got itself answered quickly, when an identical Caledonian  engine pulled up besides the first.

“Aye Donnie. What’s up!”

“Wait wait, just let that Sou’-West engine speak!”

James defiantly shut his mouth, but then his crew chose that exact time to ask him something. He replied as quietly as possible. But not quiet enough.

“O Aye!” Exclaimed “Douggie”, “He soonds like a wee sassenach!”

James went red in the face, “Well! I-I-I-”

“Tha accent is ass!” Chortled “Donnie”, and soon “Dougie” joined in.

They continued until James left, his face matching his paintwork. He put a good few months practicing his accent, and it was hard. He now figured out what exactly was up with the new engine: there were two of them, and they both sucked.

[smoqueen]

shoutout to my girl White Potluck she got tits like two steam trains and she smokes like a coal train

[my-rewrite-academia]

Quirk Analysis #1

As promised, this post is for the quirk analysis of the following three students!

Kirishima Eijirou, Ashido Mina, Hagakure Tooru will be discussed in this post and in that order.

Kirishima Eijirou:

Fatty and oily foods make Eijirou's skin harder, and Izuku hypothesises that it's due to the carbon content. While carbon is often associated with gases or coal, it's in food too, with the content being higher in oily or fatty foods. Eijirou manipulates the carbon in his skin by rearranging the carbon molecules to make it denser, to the point that his mohs level of hardness is equivalent to corrundum (level 9, one level below diamond).

Because of this, eating food containing high levels of carbon makes it so that there's more carbon to push between his skin cells.

While ordinary humans cannot properly digest high levels of carbon, Eijirou's body is able to, not just handle it, but properly digest it. As such, he starts eating activated charcoal, (which is safe to eat in small dosages, though Eijirou can have more), which increases his time limit, and can help him harden his entire body for longer periods of time.

It's also theorised that his teeth are sharp so that he can bite into coal.

Ashido Mina:

The most obvious contender for what her acid is made of is stomach acid, however, if she transported her stomach acid to her skin, it would make her either incredibly ill or she wouldn't be able to digest things, as she subconciously produces acid.

As such, it's much more likely that she's using carbon dioxide. It's usually pointed out as a gas, but it can exist in a liquid form. Carbon dioxide naturally exists in all humans, though typically as a gas that our body filters out through breathing. Mina is absorbing carbon dioxide as opposed to breathing it out and changing it to a liquid form.

She can alter the pH levels, though it's naturally low, around pH level 3, which leads to accidentally dissolving her bed and floor and waking up in the flat/apartment below. Don't ask. She can make the pH levels go up to about 7, which is safe to drink, though it's not recommended, and this allows her to use her acid to slip around the ground.

While she could theoretically try breathing less to increase carbon dioxide intake, but that's very dangerous without proper training. Instead, she takes sodium bicarbonate or sodium citrate pills, which increase the level of carbon dioxide in the body.

Her appearance is not connected to her quirk.

Hagakure Tooru:

Now, if Tooru were truly invisible, she would not be able to see, as the way we see is by light hitting our retinas, which bounces the light to the photoreceptors behind them which send the electrical signal to our brains. If the light passes through you, the light can't hit the retinas, meaning that no information would be sent to your brain, leaving you blind.

As such, reflecting light also cannot be her quirk, as this would lead to the same results, and would make her continuously shine.

Her quirk is actually absorbing and manipulating radiation across her skin. She doesn't feel hot or cold, as seen by her steaming lunch and how she can run around naked without a single shiver, and this is due to manipulating the thermal energy, which is a form of radiation.

Light is also a form of radiation, which is why she can produce flashes from her skin.

This could also mean that she cannot become irradiated by things such as chemical energy, though it's far too dangerous to test out.

Additionally, because of this, it's possible that she can manipulated energy across things made of her DNA, which is proven true when she gets her costume and appear invisible after she wears it.

...

So that's Izuku's analysis of Eijirou, Mina, and Tooru's quirks!

I'm not a master of science, so if there's something that doesn't seem quite right, chalk it up to psuedo-science, please. I did not take A-Levels for science. My knowledge comes from my own research, mainly due to Momo's quirk.

Thanks for tuning in!

[constellationandcompendium]

Writeblr Intro

Greetings traveller!

About Me:

She/her, early 30s

PhD graduate working in heritage

British (obsessed with tea)

Also sings and crochets

Enjoys both Star Trek & Star Wars

Occasional NaNoWriMo participant

Fanfic writer of 15 years making the jump into original fiction (find my fandom blog @thetamehistorian)

Happy to take asks / play tag games etc.

Has a habit of designing covers rather than writing

Second attempt at this blog (main blog this time, cha cha real smooth)

Tends To Write / Read

Sci-Fi & Cyberpunk

Urban Fantasy & Fantasy

Historical

Comedy (this suprised me too)

Introducing My WIPS

A crime thriller with a touch of cyberpunk...

Featuring

Man with habit of doing wrong thing for right reason

Best buds to reluctant allies to ‘I would die for you’

That ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this’ meme

Conspiracies and double agents

Lots of angst and hurt (with some comfort)

Wholesome parent / child relationships

Summary

Solaris City has a problem. Whilst the metropolis flourishes, down below in the old mines the Undercity grows wild and dangerous, it’s people cut off from the prosperity above, dreaming of the sun and spreading Haze - an addictive drug.

Elias also has a problem. Working for the Bureau has cleaned his slate but he hasn’t cut all ties with those underground. Now there’s a girl hidden in his flat and something big has been uncovered that has his contacts in a flurry.

With two days to go to a vote on unifying the two halves of the city, and his friend Sebastien caught right in the middle, Elias has a feeling that it'll only take one domino falling for everything to come crashing down.

Work Page

First Draft Complete, If Messy (Mind the Plot Holes)

A sci-fi comedy of a ship of misfits...

Featuring

Puns for ship names (and just bad jokes in general)

Captain packing up the ship and all its crew because they can no longer thrive in this household

Overly social parents (please stop inviting my professor over to dinner)

Space worker unions (and aliens)

Learning self-worth and finding strength through working together

Found family

Summary

The United Earth Ship Archimedes patrols the border of charted space. Beyond it - the vast and unexplored reaches of the universe.

It’s an exciting prospect for Aster Kobor, newly graduated from the fleet academy and hoping to make her mark upon the stars. Unfortunately, it only takes a few weeks for Aster to realise that the Archimedes is nicknamed ‘the screw’ for a reason. It’s a ship for the rejects and misfits, those deemed unfit to serve in the frontier ships and command never lets them do anything exciting. Still, Aster is determined to make the best of it and, unbeknownst to her, her meddling Captain is about to give the crew of the Archimedes their chance to show command what they're made of.

Soon a bad reputation is the least of their troubles and, whether the crew like it or not, they’ll have to learn to survive in deep space - where their only certainty is each other.

Work Page

Currently Wrangling Vibes Into ~ Characters ~ and ~ Plot ~

A historical novel about determined women, trains, and winning a war…

Featuring

One woman’s obsession with the railways

Code breaking commuters

Breakfasts cooked on a coal shovel

Being accidentally adopted by an elderly fireman and driver duo

Occasional air raid for added ~spice~

Solidarity in the face of adversity and outdated systems

Summary

Bea had always been fascinated by the railways, but her dream of driving one of the locomotives always seemed out of reach. Working the trains is dangerous, dirty, and completely off limits to the fairer sex.

Then the war came and the men went off the fight. Answering the call to help, Bea and her fellow railway volunteers find themselves with an opportunity of a lifetime. Obscured from judging eyes by steam and smoke they shadow the veteran drivers and engineers, learning what they can on the job and hitting the library when they can't.

The trains need to run, they are vital to the war effort. All it would take is one rogue bomb, one mishap to take out a driver and the wheels stop spinning.

Or at least, that's what the station manager thinks.

Work Page

Currently Doing Research and Initial Planning!

[whirligig-girl]

Commission for @trydianth of Entrapta operating tiny trains (since she loves tiny food so much!)

Image ID: Entrapta from She-Ra is grinning and fiddling with some train cars on her model train set. Entrapta is a tan-skinned woman with pink hair in large prehensile tentacle-like pony tails. Her regular hands are on the train layout table but she’s messing with the train cars with her hair. She’s also using her hair to control the model railway’s power transformer, which is hooked up to a First One’s crystal. The train layout contains a yard with three sidings with five freight cars and a purple tank engine. It also contains a loop that goes back and forth between a simplistic diorama of dark purple Dryll castle on the left and of Brightmoon castle on the left, with a small diorama of the Whispering Woods’ dark blue trees in the foreground. There’s a spur track that runs off-screen with the ominous reddish glow of the Fright Zone. A pretty streamlined tan, white, and gold train is coming from that line. On the loop line near Entrapta is seven freight cars and a scary looking military-green diesel with a Horde insignia. End Image ID.

Under the cut are some detail close-ups and artist’s notes.

Flatbed of First Ones Tech, FZR Boxcar, two unnamed vans, a refrigerated Salineas Fisheries boxcar, an unnamed tank wagon, a gondola of snow from the Kingdom of Snows, a Fred Pelhay Coal Co. truck for some reason, a Plumeria Products boxcar, and a Freight Zone Rail Road boxcar with graffiti reading She-Ra was Here.

A Freight Zone Rail locomotive and an old industrial shunter tank engine from Dryll Quarry.

Bright Moon Railway’s cab-forward streamliner, coming from the Fright Zone. Does that make sense? Perhaps not, but I hasten to remind the viewer that this is just Entrapta’s toy model.

I definitely put more detail into this than I intended to! It was going to be a lot simpler, but by the time I got to drawing and then perspective-skewing an actual model railway layout with sidings and switches I realized this was going to take a while. I wasn’t quite sure what to do for the engine visual style. At first the locomotive positioned next to the Dryll tank engine was going to be a big Dryllian steam engine, but I decided it’d be better to show a big scary Horde diesel.

I used steam engines for the good guys and a diesel for the bad guys soley and completely because i am thomas the tank engine-brained because I just like the look of steam engines! There’s no realistic reason why there should be steam traction in Etheria, rather than something entirely magical--but then, steam engines just look better in fantasy settings in my opinion! I can justify it, after-the-fact though: magic is everywhere in Etheria, but it can’t be harnessed by everyone (during the events of the series). Sometimes transportion has to be done through mundane means. And it’s not like we see any big power plants on Etheria, so electricity is out. Entrapta’s one of the only people who uses first one’s tech to power her inventions--otherwise we see no powerplants in Dryll. So. Wood or coal or magic-crystal powered steam engines! Yipee!

Obviously they’re all electric powered in this model, though.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

╔══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╗

missed you

╚══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╝

ʚ Nanami Kento x Fem Reader ɞ

───────────────

❥ Summary: You've gained weight and are feeling insecure, and Nanami understands. He gives you your space, but after a rough day at work and being rejected once again, he decides to confront you.

❥ Word Count: 3.7k

❥ CW: fem reader, reader gains weight and is insecure about it, slight angst, reader talks through their feelings, mentions of stretch marks, smut, breast play, oral (fem receiving), vaginal penetration, nicknames (darling, dear, love, girl, dearest, princess)

──── ♡ ────

Nanami was a patient man—understanding, empathetic, kind—at least he thought he was. He hadn't been told any differently. Of course, strangers thought he was cold, but they didn't really know him—not like you, his girlfriend. You knew who he really was, that he would do anything for you, push aside all feelings just to make sure you were satisfied. He'd walk over hot coals just to get you to smile, so it was safe to say he would do anything to ensure your happiness.

But all men have their limits.

Nanami knew you were having a rough time the minute you pulled out the bathroom scale. He kept his mouth shut at first, quietly observing you as you weighed yourself in the mornings, frowning when he saw your shoulders slump. He didn't say anything when you pulled out your baggier clothes: he convinced himself that you were just getting colder due to the winter air and wanted to stay warm in the sweatshirts and pants that were almost three sizes too big. He didn't even fuss when you first cowered away from his advances. He pulled back as any respectful boyfriend should and gave you your space.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, unintentionally pouting in that adorable way that always seemed to rile him up. "I just… I've been gaining weight… and I'm just not comfortable with you seeing me yet. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "Your comfort is more important than my physical desires. Take all the time you need; I'll always be here for you."

He meant that when he said it, honestly he did, but days had turned into weeks which turned into a month of not touching you the way he wanted. He was ever the gentleman during that time, removing his touch when you pulled away and asking for permission to put his hands on you. He couldn't lie, it was exhausting at times, but your feelings were a priority of his and a big one at that.

But Nanami admits: he, too, can be a slave to his primal desires. He was doing his best to respect you and your space, but he found his gaze lingering on the bathroom door when you were showering, temptation bubbling up inside him. All he could think about was your heated soapy body standing under the stream of water coming from the showerhead, steam clouding the room and hiding all your delicious features. He wanted to burst into the bathroom and join you, turn down the temperature of the water just a bit so he could wrap his arms around you, grind his hardening cock into your plump ass and slip his hand down to your—

He was torturing himself by thinking about you all day, but what else could he do? He was having such an awful time at work and all he wanted to do was improve his day somewhat by fucking you the way he'd been imagining for the last several hours.

Maybe you'd be more receptive tonight. Maybe he could push himself into your back and sandwich you between him and the kitchen counter. Maybe he could lift you up onto the granite and eat your beautiful cunt until he had his fill. Just the thought of doing all that made him salivate, his cock thrumming in his slacks on the train ride back from work. He was traveling late, forced to work overtime despite his protests.

Curses never clock out, he thought bitterly, biting into the sandwich he was able to purchase before getting on the train. He couldn't even savor his unplanned dinner because all he could think about was you, his mind clouded with thoughts of your nude body, skin searing hot due to all the attention he was giving you. He could practically hear your cries, sweet pleas for him to slow down, to give you a break of some sort. He could practically taste your spit on his tongue, saliva stringed between the two of you every time you kissed, only breaking away to moan his name, glassy eyes begging him to make you cum, to give you that white hot pleasure you oh so desperately craved.

He needed you, as soon as possible.

He elected to go up the stairs instead of the elevator, taking two at a time, reaching your floor much faster. He fumbled with his keys, struggling to unlock the door, practically shaking when he managed to get the key in its slot. The kitchen light was on when he entered, but you were nowhere in sight, neither in the kitchen nor the living room.

"Darling?" he called out, panicking slightly when he heard no response. He toed off his shoes and rushed to the bedroom, sighing when he saw you curled up in bed, your face smushed into your pillow, your phone beside you. He took a slow breath, peeling off his jacket as he moved to the bed, sitting beside you. He admired your features for a moment, reaching out a hand to stroke your soft cheek, smiling to himself. You stirred, peeking through your lashes as him.

"Ken?" you mumbled oh so cutely, reaching up to rub at your eyes. "Wha time izzit?"

"After nine," he whispered in reply, running his thumb over your cheek. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting." You grunted.

"'s okay. You hungry?"

"No, love. I picked something up and ate on the way here." You grunted again, causing him to smile. "How was your day, dear?"

"Mmm… it was fine. Didn't do much. Whatta bout you?"

"Today was busy," he sighed, loosening his tie with his free hand, eyes flicking over your face. "I missed you… a lot." You cooed, untucking one of your hands to reach for his face, cupping his cheek.

"Missed you too, bubby. Lots and lots."

Nanami smiled, turning his head to kiss at your palm. He watched for your reaction, waiting to see if you'd pull away. When you didn't, he kissed you again, moving to the inside of your wrist. He moved down slowly, like a predator sneaking up on its prey. You didn't seem to realize his intentions until he pulled back the sheets to kiss your inner elbow.

"What're you doing?"

"Nothing, dear," he lied, slipping the sheets down further, feeling his body burn when he saw you wearing one of his old oversized shirts.

"Well, it doesn't look like nothing," you huffed, letting him lean down and kiss across your cheek. You allowed him to nose his way between your shoulder and ear, breath hitching when his lips met your neck. You were tense under his touch, but his soft kisses caused you to loosen up. "Ken… that  t-tickles…"

"I've missed you, darling, so, so much." He poked out his tongue, running it along the underside of your jaw, his cock twitching when you gasped.

"W-Wait, Ken, I'm t-tired—"

"Don't worry, darling. I'll do all the work: you just lay back and relax for me, yes?" You stuttered, squeaking when his hand moved down to palm at your waist.

"But… I just… I mean, i-it's so late and you must be tired and…"

He sighed, begrudgingly pulling away to look down at you.

"What's wrong, Y/N? I know something isn't right, so please tell me what it is so I can try to make it better."

He already had an idea of what was wrong, but he wanted to hear you say it. He needed you to admit your true feelings instead of hiding and constantly cowering away from him.

"I…" You looked away, chewing at your lip nervously. "I—look, I promise it's not you—"

"I know it's not me, darling," Nanami spoke softly, brushing a stray hair out of your face, "but there's still something upsetting you, and I want to know what it is so I can help."

You twisted your mouth, opening it just to shut it again. Nanami waited, trying once again to be patient for you.

"I… I've gained weight recently, and…"

"I know, dear," he interrupted your pause, "but that doesn't matter to me. I don't care if you gain weight."

"But I do care!" you huffed, curling into yourself. "I don't want to keep getting bigger and bigger. I already get insecure about my size—I don't want to feel worse about myself by getting even bigger—"

"Stop," he whispered, putting his large hand over yours. "Please don't feel that way. It breaks my heart to hear you talk about yourself like that." You paused before you sighed, letting him link his fingers with yours and squeeze your hand.

"I… I don't hate myself… my self confidence is the highest it's ever been… but I still have these moments where I don't think I'm… good enough for you." You tried to ignore his pained expression and continued. "Sometimes I think you deserve someone better: someone prettier, skinner, smarter, funnier. I feel like I'm lacking in a lot of things and I hate it. I want to stand by your side and feel like I deserve to be there. Of course I don't feel this way all the time, but when I get in this headspace, it feels like I can't get out. I feel stuck and hopeless."

You started rubbing your thumbs over the back of his hand, soothing yourself in the silence between your confessions.

"And I feel so silly about the whole thing because I know these things I'm thinking aren't true. I know I'm good enough for you. I know that you love me as I am because if you didn't, we wouldn't be together. I know that you find me attractive and sexy because you try to have sex with me. You desire me, I know all this, I do. I just… I get insecure and I don't always think clearly and see the truth… Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he nodded, letting your hands go to cup your face, holding you tenderly. "It makes perfect sense. Thank you for being honest with me and telling me how you feel. I'm grateful for your honesty.

"You're not mad at me?" you asked, pouting cutely, making his heart skip a beat.

"Of course not, love. I'll never be mad at you for telling me how you feel." He leaned forward, kissing your forehead, then both your cheeks and the tip of your nose to make you giggle. He wiped away the start of a tear, smiling down at you. "Don't cry, sweet girl. I hate to see you upset."

"Sorry," you mumbled, wiping your eyes with the hem of your shirt.

"Don't apologize, dear. I'm just glad you told me."

Silence fell over the two of you, warm and comfortable. Your hands instinctively found each other, his large warm ones engulfing yours. Nanami cleared his throat, squeezing your hand.

"Well, now that we've cleared the air and you've shared how you feel…" His hands moved up your arms, rubbing his thumbs into your skin. "Maybe you could let me show you how attractive I find you, weight gain and all."

You tensed slightly under his touch, laughing nervously.

"I… I don't know… Just because I'm honest about my feelings doesn't mean I'm ready for you to see me yet…"

"Oh, really?" he asked, his tone bordering on playful. "So, you're not ready for me to see you, but surely you must be ready for me to touch you, yes?"

"I—ah!" You gasped, hands grabbing Nanami's wrists. His own hands had found your breasts, fondling them through your nightshirt. You bit your lip, trying to stifle your moan but failing.

"Is touching okay, then? Is this alright?" His voice still oozed seduction, but you could hear a hint of uncertainty. He was genuinely asking for permission, eager to have you, but only if you wanted it too.

"I… I guess touching is o-okay," you mumbled shyly, still on the fence about showing yourself to him, but also enjoying his firm touch immensely. Nanami visibly relaxed, lips curling into a soft smile.

"That's my girl." With that, he gave your breasts a generous squeeze, catching your lips with his right as you gasped. You moaned softly into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around your own. It had been quite a while since you let Nanami properly touch you, and you just now realized how much you truly craved it all this time. You sighed dreamily, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. He grunted in surprise but kissed you gladly, grateful that you were returning his affections with just as much passion as he gave. The two of you broke the kiss just to breathe, a string of spit keeping the two of you connected.

"Well, looks like somebody is needier than they were letting on."

"Oh, shush," you pouted, gasping when his fingers began circling your nipples. "It's your fault for—oh—t-turning me on." He chuckled softly, rubbing his nose against yours.

"My apologies, dearest." His hands moved down to the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath and crawling up your skin. "I promise to take full responsibility for putting you in this position."

"Jeez, if you say things like that, I may cum."

"Oh, don't worry, dear," he continued, sighing with relief once his strong hands found your soft breasts. "You'll be cumming many times tonight if I have any say in it."

You squealed giddily, covering your burning cheeks with your hands.

"Ken! You're so bold today. What happened to my sweet, stoic boyfriend?" He gave a sheepish grin and shrugged, preoccupied with mapping out the fat of your breasts.

"I can't help it. I haven't had you in so long; I thought I was going to go mad." Your nipples pebbled under his touch, making you keen. You almost missed the twinge of guilt in the back of your throat due to his ministrations.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled sincerely, letting him slowly lift up your shirt despite your urge to hide.

"I know you are, princess." The nickname made you shiver, but you weren't entirely sure if it was due to the name or the cool air hitting your skin. His hands were warm and solid, pushing your breasts together before letting them fall in opposite directions. "I guess you'll just have to make it up to me, huh?"

"H-How so?" you stuttered, legs clenching together in anticipation.

"Well, to start," he leaned down, breath fanning your chest, "you'll let me taste you."

He paused momentarily, giving you the chance to reject his advances. He waited a beat, and, when you made no move to stop him, he took one of your nipples in his mouth, moaning into your skin as he began to suck. You whined, shielding your eyes with your forearm. Normally, he wouldn't let you do that—he wanted you to watch him as he pleasured you—but he knew you were already in a sensitive position and wanted to make things easier for you.

Your nipple hardened in his mouth, giving him ample opportunity to suck it. He groaned at the salty taste of your skin, the faint, far off taste of lotion or perfume stinging his tongue. He ignored the bitterness, focusing on the taste of your sweat, the tanginess of your body in its natural state. He released your nipple, quickly moving to the other and latching onto it, coating it in spit.

"Wow," you breathed, peeking at him from under your forearm. "Guess you've really missed me, huh?" He tugged your nipple along with him as he pulled away, letting it go with a lewd pop!, causing your breast to jiggle back into place.

"You have no idea," he sighed, palming at your breasts again, kissing down your sternum to your stomach.

He paused, making you tense anxiously, suddenly worried once again that he may not like what he sees. His finger traced your skin, finding a divot that he was unfamiliar with.

"You have a new stretch mark," he mumbled mostly to himself, staring down at the newest addition of skin gracing your body.

"I told you," you almost scolded, "I've gained weight."

He hummed in acknowledgement, leaning down and running his tongue along the new stretch mark, melting his way into kissing it passionately. Your breath hitched at the sight, voice catching in your throat when he grabbed your waist and dug his fingers into your skin, as if grounding himself.

"God… I love you so much."

Without another word, he continued his way down, kissing over your stomach. Quick hands tugged down your sleep shorts, leaving you bare from the waist down. He continued his quest over your hips and mound, pressing chaste kisses onto your thighs before spreading them.

"Oh…" he sighed, lowering his head and taking a deep breath. "Oh, you smell so good."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Nanami."

"Maybe not," he pondered, "but perhaps my tongue alone could do the trick."

Your entire body shuddered when he dragged his tongue over your folds, getting a hint of your arousal before he focused his attention on your clit. You swooned, moaning loudly, back arching off the bed from the slightest flick of his tongue.

"O-Oh! Ken, oh, Ken!" you gasped, hips bucking up into him, forcing him to hold you down.

"Keep still, dear," he mumbled between licks. "I can't properly taste you if you keep moving." He licked down to your entrance, his fitted glasses being pushed off the bridge of his nose. You removed his glasses once they ran up his forehead, setting them down on the nightstand, hearing a muffled 'thank you' from between your legs.

He kept you there for a good while, lapping at your cunt languidly, moaning as he sucked your pussy lips into his mouth. It felt like his batteries had been drained for so long and he was finally rechanging them by lying between your legs like this.

"K-Ken, Ken, Ken!" His name fell from your lips like a soft and enchanting hymn as you fell over your first peak, making his cock throb in his slacks. Oh, how he wished he could fuck your pretty cunt and taste you at the same time. He'd do anything to have his cock and his tongue inside you at the same time. He might've had a dream like that once, where there were two of you and he begged to have one ride his face while the other bounced on his cock. But this was the real world, and there was only one perfect angel like you, so he would have to make do. He gave your clit one last needy suck before breaking away, determining that your climax made you wet enough to take him now.

"I've missed this," he huffed, raising himself to his hands and knees. He sat back on his haunches, unbuckling his belt, releasing his member a moment later with a quiet hiss. His dick was flushed red and throbbing, hard and eager to press inside you. Luckily, you were just as eager to have him inside you.

"Me too," you whined, beckoning him closer, pulling at his untucked shirt and loose tie. "Missed you so much, Ken."

"Don't hide from me anymore," he practically begged, running his cock through your folds. "Not touching you was torture. I can't bear to be away from you for so long."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry for pushing you away," you babbled, pushing his dick down to your entrance, gasping when he started pushing into you. "Missed you, missed your cock so much—oh! Oh, I-I think I'm gonna cum again."

"Good, because I don't think I'll be able to last long." Hearing him admit that made you keen, your hand finding your cunt, fingers quickly rubbing your clit. Nanami clicked his tongue, pushing your hand away and replacing it with his own, his thumb rubbing your clit rapidly. You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Your tongues slipped around each other, licking and sucking at each other's mouths as he began thrusting into you. His thrusts were shallow but hard, hitting the end of your vagina over and over, massaging that sweet spot deep inside your cunt. He milked that spot continuously, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once again, making you thrash beneath him, impatient for that white hot pleasure you were aching for. Kento wasn't faring much better, on the cusp of his climax but determined to make you cum first despite his desperation to fill you up.

Finally, after feeling like he was going to collapse from edging himself, you came around his cock, pushing him over the edge with you. He came hard, struggling not to fall on top of you, the arm holding him up shaking as he released strings of cum inside you. You held onto him the whole time, rocking your hips to coax the last sparks of your orgasms out of your system, clawing at his ass as he finished.

When the two of you were finally spent, you stilled your movements, relaxing in each other's hold. You began to slump against each other, Kento slowly putting his weight on top of you, you wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him ever closer and holding him there.

"God…" he heaved. "That was… incredible."

"Mmm… yeah." You took a deep breath, nuzzling into his neck. "Love you, Ken."

"I love you, too, Y/N," he mumbled, burying his face into your hair. You stayed there a few minutes longer, bodies cooling due to your sweat, limbs growing sore from their unusual positions.

"I know we should get cleaned and changed," you spoke up, "but I really don't want to get up."

"I feel the same, but we must," he replied, grunting softly as he began to pull out. You whined unhappily, pouting at him for leaving you empty. Kento merely smiled and kissed your forehead. "Come on, my darling. I'll make you a late night snack after we clean up. Maybe we could go for another round after."

Well. You certainly couldn't argue with that.

───────────────

[fuedalreesespieces]

the martial arts of a kiss

or: if ranma and akane had kissed during the ice skating arc.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even asked. 

Akane stared at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place, and that was startling on its own. Usually he could identify her emotions with ease; she never made any effort to hide them. The only thing he recognized was embarrassment blooming in her cheeks, spreading an even, rosy blush over her fair skin. Her shoulders rose up like mountain slopes, and the blush grew down there, too, scattering over her collarbone and neck.  

If...if you don’t mind...then I don’t.  

A shallow wind blew through the dojo. He wished he hadn’t said anything – the sudden silence bulged between them like someone shoving an extra crayon in a too-filled box. They’d been bickering like usual earlier, but it had only taken a single moment of stupidity to dismantle the casual, if not heightened, mood. He supposed it was his fault for even bringing up kisses in the first place, for daring to goad Akane – Akane, who’d shouted back as though kissing were a feat she refused to fail at: go ahead and try it!  

She kneeled in front of him now, eyes pinned on her skirt. The air was stiffening, nearly uncomfortable, and he searched for something to say. He grappled for a moronic insult that would dissolve the ice between them, and though those were always in reach, this time he had nothing to say. He hated to feel speechless, but she did that to him - only sometimes, he insisted.  

Akane made the first move. Her voice was quiet. “I...I don’t mind.” She added, reaching up to tug on one of her side-bangs, only to remember they were gone. Her hand drifted delicately to the cusp of her knee, “...if you don’t mind.” 

The distance between them shrunk to nothing with those words. He could make out every detail on her face, the exact pattern of her blush and the petite scrunch of her mouth, like she’d eaten something sour. Her eyes were wide as pots, filled with a stew of emotions he wished he could pick out. “Close your eyes.” 

He blinked owlishly. “Me?”  

“Yes, you,” she huffed. “If you can’t do it, then I will!” 

“I can!” 

“I’ll be as old as my dad by the time you get the guts!” 

“Oh, you-” He grit his teeth and placed either hand on her cheeks, pulling her closer than ever before. It was a brazen, idiotic move. He was sure she’d conk him on the head for this display, but instead, her left hand came to gently drape over his. Her skin was the color of a tomato – he would have told her if his own face was much better. Their mutual touch seemed to steam, like red-hot coals pressed together under a grill.  

He’d hoped to see the kiss coming, at first. His previous (and only kiss) had felt like a swift, unexpected attack, and to close his eyes after that was to give up his semblance of control. But this was Akane – he trusted her. He would know her in the dark, and he would know her by her rugged palms skirting over his skin, and most importantly: he wanted this. He wanted to feel her kiss. Just admitting it in his head made him senseless, and part of him wanted to run, maybe lift some weights, anything to settle the erratic energy him from within, but Akane’s presence kept him in place. 

So he closed his eyes. Swathed in darkness, the touch of her lips against his felt like a thousand colors bursting under his eyelids. She was...warm, and her lips tasted like sweat from her training, and she was clumsy. He almost forgot, what with her confidence, that this could very well be her first kiss, because after their mouths met she seemed to forget where to place her hands. Ranma laughed against her lips.

Akane tilted her head and the kiss found its balance. His fingers trailed down her shoulders, tapping at her collarbone. Her hands played with the stray, unruly strands of his hair, and the touch of her made him ache. It was both the pain and exhilaration of a night run, the awe and excitement of watching firecrackers explode in front of you. He could combust any minute with how tentative she was being.  

She drew away from him, breathless. There was ire in her eyes, though her lips were hiding a questionable smile. “You’re terrible at this.” 

“Me?” he scowled, but there was no heat to it. “You’re the one who can’t kiss.” 

Furious, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and reeled him in. This kiss felt more like a crash, a loving punch on the mouth, and when she felt her breath run tight, he would pull her back in for a second, and a third. It didn’t calm him in the slightest. He remembered how as a child he would sometimes take lit matches and squeeze the fire dead with his fingers the way his father used to. The sensation of flame against his skin was momentary, a hiss of pain that tore through him, made his heart squeeze, then faded. This felt like that, except the cycle was never-ending. The heat of each kiss was exquisite, and he wanted the moment to go on forever, to feel the same excess of uncontrollable, delighted energy, like somehow all their fights were being channeled into one momentous, if bumbling, exchange.  

Ranma Saotome didn't bumble at anything. But this felt right, like the sort of kiss only they could share and no one else. Not a spectacle nor a sport.

“Ranma, Akane!” Kasumi’s light voice danced through the hall. Their lips might as well have ripped from each other. “Dinner’s ready!”  

Her shadow lingered outside the dojo screen. Akane came to her senses first and shouted, voice all throaty, “We’re coming!” 

“Y-yeah! Just practicing!” he added. Goddamn that stammer.

They watched as Kasumi’s shadow disappeared. Akane pinched him on the nose. “Hey!” 

“’Just practicing?’ What kind of excuse was that?” 

“What kind’a excuse? It ain't no excuse. You do need practice.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I’ll help ya out.” 

Her face turned red again. “You....” Her fingers clenched into a fist. “Big words from a guy who couldn’t even get the guts to kiss me first! You were shaking like a wet duck!” 

“What?” 

“But don’t worry, Ranma,” she assured, using her hands to lift his jaw close. In a poor imitation of his voice, she crooned, “I’ll help ya out.” 

He groaned, his face leaning on her shoulder, as Akane’s laughs echoed in the empty dojo.  

[sendpseuds]

WIP Wednesday: Perfect Spiral

In honor of everyone being so helpful in my quest to find Anakin's perfect ass tattoo, we've got a pretty long snippet from the beginning of chapter three [Practice].

Extra special shout out to @amadwinter and @palfriendpatine66 whose suggestions I combined for the final ass tattoo design.

Enjoy 🖤

[PERFECT SPIRAL]

It’s not difficult to understand why the locker room is so often a setting found in porn.

A room full of men in peak physical condition, shamelessly stripping down to nothing but their naked flesh, standing beneath the steaming spray of the shower to wash sweat and hours of excretion from their skin.

On paper, it sounds downright erotic.

In reality, there is nothing even remotely sexy about a football locker room.

There is nothing seductive about several dozen flaccid dicks parading around. 

Nothing arousing about catching an accidental eyeful of a teammate’s hairy ass crack.

There is absolutely fucking nothing enticing about that smell.

There is, however, something strangely, stupidly, unexplainably comforting about the whole sordid situation.

Already, the little cubby emblazoned with Anakin’s nameplate feels a bit like home.

Already, this team feels a bit like family. 

It’s part of the reason, Anakin assumes, that even professional locker rooms — which are otherwise decked out in all kinds of luxuries like TVs, couches, gaming councils, etc. — still have communal showers. Because if hours of training to play a sport that is, essentially, the modern equivalent of a gladiatorial game doesn’t bond you with your teammates, showering together sure as fuck will.

A form of forced vulnerability to balance out the violence.

It’s all part of the game.

And it’s always the same.

Confidence is, obviously, extremely important, but it’s never good to tip over into arrogance. Being surrounded by men who look as if they should be on display in a museum makes humbling oneself a bit easier, but overcompensating is not hard to do, and no one gets put in their place faster than a cocky rookie.

So far, Anakin has managed to fly under the radar for the most part. There were a few pretty predictable whistles that first day, and more than one mention of fattening him up from Jabba and the other linemen — whatever the fuck that means — but most of the comments have been about his tattoo. 

Not the tattoo on his arm — the one that extends from his right elbow to his knuckles — black ink in the broken blistered pattern of burnt wood turned to coal, cracked and carved apart by flame. The one that had taken months to design and three multi-hour sittings to complete.

No.

Most of the comments have been about the tattoo on his ass.

The one he got his first year at Mos Eisley State because when the five coolest guys on the football team tell the scrawny redshirt quarterback that something is a great idea, it’s very easy to believe that it is, in fact, a great idea.

As it turns out, it had been a terrible idea.

The next day in the locker room, the same teammates who had encouraged him to get his own lip print tattooed in bright red ink on his left ass cheek tore him to pieces in front of the entire team. 

Anakin had gone back down to the tattoo shop as soon as the lips healed to add BITE ME in big black letters. 

None of them could have known the monster they created that day.

He knows better than to shy away from it — honestly, he’s grown quite fond of the little tattoo and the way it seems to disarm people — but trying to cover it up would only draw more attention to it in the end.

It’s not that modesty is an issue, a lot of guys are certainly more on the reserved side — a wrapped towel is totally normal, no need to strut around bare-assed just for the sake of it — but hiding, turning away, avoiding the showers altogether — that will draw attention and comments faster than just about anything else.

Well.

There is one thing that is almost guaranteed to make someone the butt of every locker room joke.

There’s always one guy with a big dick.

[nadiv22]

My favorite quotes from civ VI

TECHNOLOGY

“No man ever wetted clay and then left it, as if there would be bricks by chance and fortune.” – Plutarch

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” – Will Rogers

“I AM FOND OF PIGS. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” – Winston S. Churchill

“Who deserves more credit than the wife of a coal miner?” – Merle Travis

“When you find yourself in a hole, quit digging.” – Will Rogers

“I don’t believe in astrology; I’m a Sagittarius and we’re skeptical.” – Arthur C. Clarke

“Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.” -W. H. Auden

“I shot an arrow into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.” -Mark Twain

“I’m also interested in creating a lasting legacy … because bronze will last for thousands of years.” – Richard MacDonald

“MONEA, if it does not bring you happiness, will at least help you be miserable in comfort.” – Helen Gurley Brown

“A man on a horse is spiritually as well as physically bigger than a man on foot.” – John Steinbeck

“The Lord made us all out of iron. Then he turns up the heat to forge some of us into steel.” – Marie Osmond

“I cannot imagine any condition which would cause a ship to founder … Modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that.” – Capt. E.J. Smith, RMS Titanic

“Create with the heart; build with the mind.” – Criss Jami

“One man’s ‘magic’ is another man’s engineering.” – Robert Heinlein

“There is no easy way to train an apprentice. My two tools are example and nagging.” – Lemony Snicket

The purpose of education is to replace an empty mind with an open one.” – Malcolm Forbes

“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” – Aristotle

“Rocks in my path? I keep them all. With them I shall build my castle.” – Nemo Nox

“Not all who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

“People can have the Model T in any color – so long as it’s black.” – Henry Ford

“The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press is heavier than the siege weapon. Just a few words can change everything.” – Terry Pratchett

“Astronomy’s much more fun when you’re not an astronomer.” – Brian May

“If facts don’t fit the theory, change the facts.” – Albert Einstein

“No one starts a war – or rather, no one in his senses ought to do so – without first being clear in his mind what he intends to achieve by that war and how he intends to conduct it.” – Karl von Clausewitz

“Science owes more to the steam engine than the steam engine owes to science.” – Lawrence Henderson

“Bolt actions speak louder than words.” – Craig Roberts

“Never criticize a rifleman until you have walked a mile in his shoes. That way, he’ll be barefoot and you’ll be out of range.” – The 2nd Target Company

“For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.” – Leonardo da Vinci

“If you can walk away from a landing, it’s a good landing. If you use the airplane the next day, it’s an outstanding landing.” – Chuck Yeager

“Benjamin Franklin may have discovered electricity, but it was the man who invented the meter who made the money.” – Earl Wilson

“Chemists do not usually stutter. It would be very awkward if they did, seeing that they have at times to get out such words as methylethylamylophenylium.” – Sir William Crookes

“If God had really intended men to fly, He’d make it easier to get to the airport.” – George Winters

“Untutored courage is useless in the face of educated bullets.” – George Patton

“There may be no forgiveness for polyester. On this one matter, Satan and the Lord are in agreement.” – Joe Hill

“I’m a big laser believer – I really think they are the wave of the future.” – Courteney Cox

"Even though the future seems far away, it is actually beginning right now.” – Mattie Stepanek

CIVICS

“Bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.” — Colonel David Hackworth

“A strong economy begins with a strong, well-educated workforce.”– Bill Owens “Look back over the past, with its changing empires that rose and fell, and you can foresee the future, too.” – Marcus Aurelius

“It was luxuries like air conditioning that brought down the Roman Empire. With air conditioning their windows were shut; they couldn’t hear the barbarians coming.” – Garrison Keillor

Divide and rule, a sound motto. Unite and lead, a better one.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” – William Shakespeare

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” – Sun Tzu

“History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon.” – Napoleon Bonaparte

“A good navy is not a provocation to war. It is the surest guaranty of peace.” – Theodore Roosevelt

“In democracy it’s your vote that counts; in feudalism it’s your count that votes.” – Mogens Jallberg

“There are very honest people who do not think that they have had a bargain unless they have cheated a merchant.” – Anatole France

“You can’t go around arresting the Thieves’ Guild. I mean, we’d be at it all day!” – Terry Pratchett

“Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government … You can’t expect to wield supreme power just ‘cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!” – Monty Python

“In diplomacy there are two kinds of problems: small ones and large ones. The small ones will go away by themselves, and the large ones you will not be able to do anything about.” – Patrick McGuinness

“A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday but never remembers her age.” – Robert Frost

“New opinions are always suspected, and usually opposed, without any other reason but because they are not already common.” – John Locke

“A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.” – Douglas Adams

“Destroying rainforest for economic gain is like burning a Renaissance painting to cook a meal.” – Edward Wilson

“If you don’t read the newspaper, you’re uninformed. If you read the newspaper, you’re mis-informed.” -Mark Twain

“Sports do not build character. They reveal it.” – Heywood Broun

“A good plan violently executed right now is far better than a perfect plan executed next week.” – George S. Patton

“We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” – John F. Kennedy

“Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?” -Jane Austen

“I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.” –Albert Einstein

[speculativepages]

I recently started world-building for a new story idea (I know—bad when I'm supposed to be in the middle of revising my current project) and in trying to figure out the level of technology and feeling of my new world I got lost in google searches about the different punk genres.

So I decided to make a master list.

According to Wikipedia (a highly reputable source by all accounts) a punk genre can be described as “a world built on one particular technology that is extrapolated to a highly sophisticated level (this may even be a fantastical or anachronistic technology, akin to retro-futurism) a gritty transreal urban style, or a particular approach to social themes.”

There are so many (so so many) and some people roll their eyes at every new addition but I think the names and distinctions are interesting and fun (I mean, Magicpunk may just be regular fantasy, but it sounds so much cooler). I love the idea of scientific fantasy, and of blurry the lines between the sci-fi and fantasy genres. Who’s to stop you from mixing the culture of the Japanese samurai with an epic space opera in the stars?

This is an incomplete list. I've organized it by time period (loosely, because some overlap or can go anywhere). I've also provided an example of a published work (for those that have them).

Established Fantasy Punk Genres: An Incomplete List

Magicpunk/Dungeonpunk: Fantasy punk genre where the “one particular technology” that the world is build on is magic. You have trains running on lines of sorcerer-fueled energy and ships powered by wind magic and computers running on sub-dimensional energy from the demon realm. Popular examples include The Sleeping Dragon by Jonny Nexus and The War of the Flowers by Tad Williams.

Aetherpunk: Subgenre mix of Magicpunk/Dungeonpunk where the magic source of the technology is specifically the element of Aether. Often, if not always, also has Steampunk elements. The Aeronaut’s Windlass by Jim Butcher is the only example that comes to mind.

Mythpunk: A punk genre that is inspired by or incorporates myths and legends. These aren’t usually a retelling of a popular myth, but rather one that includes elements of the myth, or twists and changes the story around to it’s own ends. Popular examples would be American Gods by Neil Gaiman or Deathless by Catherynne Valente.

Stonepunk: Set in the stone age, this genre is characterized by the use of non-technology as technology, creating pseudo-tech and modern inventions with natural, basic resources like stone, wood, water, fire, clay, and rope. The Flintstones would be the best example.

Sandalpunk: Sandalpunk is on thin ice as a punk genre. Rather than being inspired or defined by a technology, it instead focuses on the period of time of the ancient world before the Middle Ages, often set in Greece or Rome. There aren’t many examples of it. But the name is cool.

Steampunk: Arguably the most popular punk genre (after Cyberpunk) featuring science fantasy stories set in Victorian era, with advanced technology powered by steam engines and clockwork mechanics. Doctor Who perhaps described it best, “The Victorian Age accelerated. Starships and missiles fueled by coal and driven by steam.” There are many examples, both in literature and film, including His Dark Materials by Phillip Pullman, Mortal Engines by Philip Reeves and The Parosol Protectorate by Gail Carriger.

Clockpunk: Close-cousin subgenre of Steampunk, characterized by a lot of clocks and inspired by the pre-steam energy period of the Renaissance and Baroque eras. Pasquale’s Angel by Paul J. McAuley is more Clockpunk than Steampunk.

Silkpunk: Silkpunk is another subgenre of Steampunk, one generation removed. While steampunk is defined by it’s Victorian era brass and steam aesthetic, Silkpunk is inspired by East Asian culture during the period of the Silk Road. Examples include The Dandelion Dynasty by Ken Liu and The Tea Master and The Detective by Aliette de Bodard.

Cattlepunk: Yet another subgenre of Steampunk, Cattlepunk is the across-the-ocean-bastard-cousin set in the wild west of early America. Cowboys, bank robberies, and train heists meet robots, warmechs, magic, and super-weapons. The Wild Wild West and Firefly verse are classic movie examples. Book examples would be the Mistborn Era II series by Brandon Sanderson and The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. (And I didn’t realize until I just did all this research but based on examples this is like my favorite punk.)

Dieselpunk: This genre is set in the aesthetic of the 1920s-1950s era and is characterized by the use of diesel-powered technology. Commonly incorporates alternate history elements, as well as themes surrounding the Great Depression and World War II. It’s been called the darker and dirtier version of Steampunk with an emphasis on air travel and combat, dirigibles, and air pirates. Examples include The Iroon Dream by Norman Spinrad, Dreadnough by Cherie Priest, and Pirate Utopia by Bruce Sterling.

Atompunk: A retro-futuristic punk genre set in during the Cold War and characterized by atomic nuclear technology, ray guns, robots, hover cars, and interdimensional travel. Atompunk often deals with the themes of nuclear power gone wrong and alternate versions of the Cold War. The most popular example of this would be the Fallout games by Bethesda.

Capepunk: Capepunk is just superhero fiction set in the modern-era world where people have powers. Example would be any superhero story ever. I just think the name’s cool.

Gothicpunk: Gothicpunk is also usually set in the modern-era, but incorporates The Goth. Generally characterized by an underworld of supernatural creatures lying in wait and secretly controlling the workings of our world where humans are but cattle. This is basically dark Urban Fantasy, but it’s popular enough to get a distinction. Anne Rice’s Interview With a Vampire is an okay example. The movies Priest and Daybreakers are much better ones.

Cyberpunk: Cyberpunk, the grandfather of all of the punk genres. Characterized by dystopian and cynical future world in which technology has brought about cultural nihilism and a crap society. Often combined with Film Noir or detective fiction. (Fantastic Noir is a fantasy version of Cyberpunk). Heroes are most prone to be some form of hacker, rebel, or antihero fight against a totalitarian police state or corporate empire oppressing the people. Examples Neuromancer by William Gibson and the movie Blade Runner.

Post-Cyberpunk: This is Cyberpunks chipper, more optimistic sibling. It has all of the vision of a scientifically advanced cyber-culture without the gritty, dark, and edgy world elements. It still share’s the Cyberpunk elements of analyzing how technology interacts and impacts with society, just without such a grimdark view of humanity. Examples would be Agent G by C.T. Phipps and The Peace War by Vernor Vinge.

Biopunk: Biopunk is Cyberpunks genetically engineered half-sibling. This punk centers around organic technology with a healthy smattering of bio-augmentation and biotechnology. Examples include In the Courts of the Crimson Kings by S.M. Stirling, West of Eden by Harry Harrison, and Wolfish Nature by Vladimir Vasilyev.

Nanopunk: Also a subgenre of Cyberpunk with characterized by the use of nanites and nanotechnology as the predominate form of technology. Examples are Tech Heaven by Linda Nagata and Micro by Michael Crichton.

Solarpunk: Solarpunk is a genre characterized by it’s environmentally friendly technology meshed with African and Asian cultures and an emphasis in community, art, and a bright solar future where humanity has found a balance between technology and nature. Can also include many elements of Biopunk, but with a much more optomistic, for-the-future-of-species-and-environment outlook. Example works include Zahrah the Windseeker by Nnedi Okorafor, Maurai by Poul Anderson, and Songs from the Stars by Norman Spinrad.

Apunkalypse: This genre is defined by the collapse of civilization where society is replaced by lawless bands of roving scavenger gangs or cities collapsing into decay or the rise of punks overthrows the rules of the past. Examples include Mad Max and Mortal Engines by Philip Reeves (which is also Steampunk, so it’s a good example of book incorporating more than one punk genre).

Desertpunk: Punk genre characterized by sand. Who doesn't love a good desert planet? Often features roaming tribes, wandering heroes, desert bandits, and sand storms. Can be combined with Cattlepunk, for a Western desert, or Apunkalypse, for an-after-the-end-of-the-world setting. Examples include Dune by Frank Herbert and Railsea by China Mieville.

Oceanpunk: This punk is set on the high seas. Often features floating cities of wood and iron lashed together and mighty nations fighting for dominion of the watery world and may also feature civilizations and cultures below the waves in underwater cities. Sometimes called Pirate Punk, because nothing breed pirate stories like ocean cities and sailing ships. Examples include The Scar by China Mieville, Tranquilium by Andrey Lazarchuk, and Dark Life by Kat Falls.

Did I Miss a Punk? Can you guys think of any other punks to add? Either ones you've thought up, or any you've heard of that I don't have listed. I'd love to keep this list updated. I find it's useful to look through when creating a new world to get the overall feeling of what I'm going for with the story and world-building.

What punk are you writing in for your current WIP?

[master-of-the-railway]

Thought abt putting Sonny in my AEG au, he'd also be one of the kiddos, and I realized that if I gave him the backstory he has in my cgi au then he would be such an emotionally shaken little guy. Anyways I'm giving him the same backstory. (Slight TW for mentions of child abuse? Sonny's a steam engine but in this AU he is one of the child locomotives so it's the same principal. just wanted to give a warning just incase.)

In this AU it's more like: he ended up at the site of an old mining business as a newborn. The owner of the company took him in and raised him, and he worked shunting coal trucks for a good while until the buisness unfortunately shut down and his owner had to give him up for sale. Two men bought him and offered to treat him as part of their family, which he was happy to hear...until he found out they were using him as a getaway vehicle. He's hard to fit in for two adult humans, sure, but he's young and fast and he's really good at hiding both off and on railroad tracks. Sonny objected to this a lot at the start, the elder engines and the owner of the coal company had brought him up with good morals, and he wasn't going to become a dirty stealer! But his new owners, specifically the sterner and seemingly smarter one, found ways to shut him up pretty quickly. They never hurt him severely, but he got a lot of dents and bumps, and he was yelled at quite a lot. Eventually, Sonny stopped protesting. He put on a brave face and tried to enjoy being a thief.

Then he came to Sodor. His "caretakers" were planning a pretty big heist, and he was instructed to make friendly with the trains on the island so no suspicions were raised. He ended up encountering Thomas, who helped him with deliveries and ended up being a pretty good friend. Sonny tried to be snappy and mean, but it just isn't him, and Thomas is too nice for him to be mean to. So he spends time with the other kids, and he starts to really enjoy being surrounded by other young engines his age. Until it comes time for the heist. He disappears suddenly in the night, and as he's getting loaded up to take away the cargo- Gordon and Thomas catch him and his caretakers in the act. Gordon looks furious, Thomas looks betrayed, and Sonny is terrified. He's trying to get his wheels to move and he can hear one of the men shouting but he's too stricken with fear to move it. Gordon's loud whistle is blocking everything out and Sonny is panicking and shutting his eyes as he's forcing his wobbling wheels to carry him forward as fast as he can go. But he's stopped. Big engines surround him. James and Henry come screeching to a stop as Gordon appears behind him. Thomas is at his side, Percy and Nia right there alongside him. Sonny's eyes shut again and he prepares for whatever's about to be done to him...

And then his caretakers are arrested. He's sitting there, tears in his eyes, as he feels a huge buffer beam gently bump his little one. "You're alright." Gordon whispers softly, "Sonny, you can open your eyes. We're not angry with you." And so Sonny opens his eyes, Gordon's kind face looking back at him, reassuring him that everything is going to be okay. All of the big engines and those in charge of the railway perfectly understand that Sonny isn't to be blamed at all, he's simply an engine and a child engine at that. He was just doing as he was told, and as Sonny would later testify, he was being threatened in the process.

They take him in. He's put under Sir Topham Hatt's leadership, in which he's assigned to do most of his work on a quiet branch line not very far from where Edward is stationed. They share a shed infact. It turns out that Sonny's treatment from those who "adopted" him caused him to severely distrust humans, he panics in the presence of them and sometimes reacts with more than just panic if he's afraid he'll be in trouble for doing something. He has genuine trauma that's being slowly worked on, but for now the poor kid is being given his space and Edward is always close by to keep an eye on him and take care of him. He is still friends with Thomas, and he's become pretty close pals with Diesel, who tries to come visit at least once a week.