#I tried to understand how people read/watch fairy tail and get this interpretation and this text was born haha

[thesirenwithnovoice]

Thoughts about how different mediums of a same story may give you different views (and rambling about the Tower of Heaven)//TW: violence

Lately I've been wondering about how manga readers might have very different visions than anime watchers of a same story, because althought the plot remains the same, some little details can change our whole perception of a story.

This reminded me of the first time I read Fairy Tail and how terrified I was at how cruel and dark the Tower of Heaven's arc is.

Jellal's face (that by that time, were only an 11-years-old kid) drippling blood while being tortured shocked me so much as a kid and I still find it one of the most disturbing scenes in the manga, lol.

In the anime, the content itself is the same. We know the kids are slaves that go throught different kinds of abuse, however, I find the manga way gloomier and more graphic. And althought part of it might be just a personal opinion, it's not entirely without basis: Mashima uses different techniques in his art to represent facts whitin the story than the animators, and it leads to a topic I really love: semiotics - how we interpret images, and how detais can be used to convey a certain felling throught art.

Colors and composition helps A LOT creating an atmosphere and causing a feeling on the reader. Proportionally speaking, a manga doesn't have colors, but it has it's own alternatives - the Tower of Heaven arc, in comparison to the rest of the manga, uses a lot more black and hatching.

One can argue some scenes are still "visually darker" in the anime, since it has the advantage of being able to play with shadows and colors in a broader aspect; however, since Fairy Tail is not an anime that changes it's saturation or colour pallete, the loud colors in most scenes end up not helping building the same dreadful atmosphere.

(It doesn't mean you can't make a scary story using bright and colorful tones, tho. A great example is the movie Midsommar. But it's not an easy task!)

Erza's childhood memories in the manga also carry a "dirtier" feeling; the kids are always covered by bruises, and the background is rougher. Also, the anime chooses to represent slavery in a more fanciful way: the kids wear stylized handcuffs and are assaulted with magic attacks, what inevitably softens the scenes by distancing them from real life slavery.

In a story, an act of violence will always be more shocking if your brain is able to automatically make a connection with real life. Seeing blood conveys a feeling of disconfort easier than a character being hit by a wave of magic, even if the author tells you "this is painful"; that's why some people say they started to find difficult to watch horror movies involving kids after becoming parents, because after experenciating something in real life, they connect with fiction harder.

The above scene causes me very different feelings in each media. In the manga, the despair in Jellal's face when seeing they removed Erza's eye is much clearer, and his skinny body, his eyes filling up with tears (he doesn't cry in the anime) shows not only a feeling of worry, but of utter dread and helplessness. All that helps endorsing the fact that, doesn't matter how brave he is, they are still just fragile kids, unable to protect themselves from the cruelty of the world around them.

I want to make it clear, though, that this is not in any way meant to be a critique to the animation team, or an affirmation that one type of media is better than another. We all have our personal preferences, but each media has it's target audience and objective. Fairy Tail's animators certainly do know how to convey the same feelings on the public, they just choose not to, for a variety of reasons. Probably because the anime is aimed for a broader and younger audience, many scenes have been softened or censored somehow. Also, animation consumes more labour than a manga page, so unless you have a lot of time and investment, the art tend to be simpler.

So do you think it affects the plot, Siren?

In my opinion, yes, even if just in a subtle way. In the manga, I think this raw brutality helps Jellal's character to gain a more interesting complexity. To me, he feels less like a hero and more like what he actually is: just a really kind and brave kid trying his best to protect his friends.

Another major change they made in the anime was removing the ambiguity (something that happened more than once in Fairy Tail's adaptation, such as in the famous kiss scene), leaving clear since the beginning that Jellal was a victim of a mind controlling spell; while in the manga, until Urtear's confirmation at the end of the arc, we do not know for sure if he have been brainwashed or just convinced to adore Zeref.

And as much as I can see why some fans might hate it because it leaves room for people to see Jellal as a bad man, I (as someone who is not afraid of loving evil characters, heh), find it interesting and somehow enriching to the plot, because it gives the whole arc a reflection: is extreme suffering, specially at such an young age, capable of changing someone so much?

We are left questioning what did "Zeref" say, or do, that made him change so much. And having so many real life examples where despair has made people easy victims of manipulation throught faith or falling into extremist ideologies, after we seeing Jellal's pain and fragility in a tangible way, it's not that hard at all to understand how he went insane and managed to drag all the other slaves along with him.

Also, I think it makes it easier to understand Erza's empathy towards him. Jellal and Erza are characters connected not only by the affection they nourish for one another, but also for sharing the same pain. She is the only person that fully understands the horrors he lived in the tower, since they were the only kids that have been in the torture chamber. And althought she never tries to justify Jellal's actions, Erza does not only show him compreension, but she feels guilty for not being able to retribute his protection and prevented him from losing his mind.

That doesn't mean, tho, that there weren't many other clues he was not acting on free will: be it his grotesque change of personality, his hysterical laughter out of nowhere or his motivations that doesn't hold (because they were never his to begin with). To me, all that at first glance makes him closer to Batman's Joker, someone that grew insane after so much suffering, than a villain that's genuinely just plain selfish and thirsty for power. And that only makes me find him a creepier villain, since personally, I find sadism and insanity way scarier than ghosts.

So this is just a looong collection of thoughts about how small choices can change a lot the "feeling" we get from a scene or a character. I hope someone can find it interesting too. There are many other examples of adaptations where it happened, and if you remember one you'd like to share, I would love to hear!

Last but not less important, all the love for Mashima's art, the Tower of Heaven arc (that is a personal favorite) and Jellal, a character I deeply love and one that holds for sure the strongest spirit in the manga for being able to become such a kind and mature man despite everything he has been thought. ♡

[yukipri]

On the Baratie, Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Third part of the Baratie story tonight!

Warnings for: Thatch x Luffy, Sanji x Luffy, bg Ace x Luffy

Continues off of past parts!

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 1

👒🐟On the Baratie, Prologue

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 2

~~

Sanji's never been left this speechless by someone else's food before.

He's long considered Zeff to be the best chef he knows, the mentor from whom Sanji's polished his own skills, once acquired from lonely textbooks in a cold, cold dungeon cell. Sanji's improved, but there are few dishes he can serve that he feels can top Zeff's.

"Well?" Thatch asks, crossing his arms, a gentle smile curling his lips.

There's a small feast laid out before them, and to an untrained eye, it looks simple. But when Zeff finishes his first sip of soup, he makes a low, rumbling sound of appreciation, and honestly Sanji can't do anything but silently echo the sentiment.

Food can be incredible. Not only do living things require nourishment to survive, certain kinds can bring out various physical and mental reactions in the consumer. The right diet can encourage healing, grant clearer vision, even strengthen the body to seemingly inhuman degrees. Food builds the body after all, and the right kind can cause miracles.

But some recipes, Sanji has heard, take food even further beyond.

And this food, this does all of that and more.

Because from the first sip, Sanji immediately feels his body thrum with energy and warmth, and he jolts. What is this? There's no way his body can physically change from taking just a single sip of soup...and yet it feels like it has.

To eat like this, every meal, every day, every crew member...suddenly, "the Strongest Pirate Crew in the World" seems less an obscure, far away concept, but defined in a way that Sanji not only understands, but leaves him feeling nothing but awe. This, he thinks, this is what you eat to be the Strongest.

Sanji hates to admit it, but he's never had anything like it, not even from Zeff. And the cook, Thatch, did it in with the exact same tools, ingredients, and kitchen that Sanji uses every day.

And while the physical effects are mind boggling enough, there's more.

Because in this food, Sanji can feel the cook's raw intent in an undiluted form that perhaps only Sanji himself can recognize and interpret, as a cook who strives to do the same, but has never quite managed to this level of mastery. And in every ingredient that Thatch added, in every careful stir, Sanji knows what he was pouring in.

Love.

Sanji doesn't set his spoon down until the bowl is empty, but when he does, his thoughts feel more organized. And this, Sanji thinks, this food...it's practically a culinary love letter that only Sanji can read.

And Sanji somehow instinctively knows that the love letter is addressed to Luffy.

Sanji's torn. On one hand, he feels that his attraction to Luffy, not even a day old, is painfully inadequate in comparison to not just the devotion of her current cook, but his ability to convey it through his cooking alone. And Sanji knows that at this moment, he has no hope of coming close to replicating the way Thatch shows his love through his food. It's the first time Sanji's felt this way about his craft, and it's humbling.

But on the other hand...Sanji slowly lifts his gaze from the soup to see Thatch with new eyes, but the man's attention is fixed solely on Luffy, who guzzles the soup without a care in the world, no doubt completely unaware of just how special it really is.

On the other hand, the things Sanji could learn from this cook.

"Thatch's cooking is the best," Luffy croons, as Ace reaches around her to roughly wipe her messy face with a napkin. "But! Sanji's cooking is amazing too, and Sanji's cooking will also be the best if he joins our crew!"

Zeff wasn't exaggerating; it really is an honor to be compared to Thatch. Sanji feels his heart thump heavily, and for once it's not just because of lovely, lovely Luffy.

Sanji doesn't have a response for Luffy, but at the moment he doesn't need to--because Don Krieg walks in.

~~

Things happen in rapid succession.

Gin and Krieg arrive.

Then the greatest swordsman in the world, Dracule Mihawk shows up, and the green haired idiot pounces at the opportunity to challenge him, and immediately loses.

"Hawk Eyes," Thatch says warningly, with far too much familiarity and lack of fear facing down a Warlord, but perhaps that's to be expected, given that he's a Whitebeard pirate.

"Thatch," the swordsman acknowledges. "The boy's not dead. Even if he were not under your crew's protection, he has captured my interest."

Sanji frowns at their exchange.

But then he's fighting, and there's no time to worry about it, and the Baratie's in danger, Zeff's in danger, so Sanji has to fight--

And then for some reason, Luffy's fighting.

Sanji's heart leaps into his throat the first time he sees her slam into Krieg, and he moves to abandon his own fight to go to her aid, when a hand stops him.

It's the Dangerous Man, Ace, the one who acted like he was Luffy's keeper, though that antagonism is gone from him now as he watches the mermaid engage in combat with Krieg. He looks surprisingly calm, and he doesn't move to help Luffy, or even to call her back, but instead looks on silently from the sidelines, leaning against the outer wall of the Baratie next to Thatch and the blue-haired man, who are likewise quiet.

"Let her fight," Ace says, though he and his crew mates don't look away.

"You don't care if she gets hurt?! That's Don Krieg!" Sanji spits out blood and tries to move towards her again, but Ace's hand doesn't budge.

"And she's my co-captain." Ace says, and Sanji jolts. "We're headed to the Grand Line. Krieg is nothing compared to the opponents we'll face there."

Sanji wants to object, to call the man utterly insane and heartless for using this as what, a training exercise?! for Luffy, who isn't just a delicate lady, but a vulnerable mermaid! Adrenaline has completely shot Sanji's restraint, and it suddenly doesn't matter how much stronger Ace is, because Sanji's about to give him a piece of his mind--but he stops.

Because when Sanji looks at Ace, he doesn't see the cold eyes of a master evaluating the performance of his subordinate. Ace, for all his power, looks so incredibly human as he watches Luffy fight. Sanji can tell that he cares for her, that he's worried, but above all, that he has absolute trust in Luffy. And it's that belief in her that keeps him rooted to the spot when Sanji can now see that he's itching to annihilate Krieg like he no doubt could.

It's the look that true family gives, that people who don't love you can never hope to replicate, and Sanji knows the difference all too painfully well.

And so Sanji turns to watch Luffy as well. He can't say that the fight looks easy for her, but she's holding her own, far better than Sanji would have expected. Despite being a mermaid, she balances easily with her tail to hurl punches that fly far and true with her devil fruit powers, before she spins on her arms to lash out with her fins, delivering a slam that sends Krieg crashing through the wreckage of his own ship.

Her fighting isn't what even Sanji could call particularly elegant, much more like brawling, but he still can't look away.

~~

Luffy's bare hands shatter Krieg's golden armor, before her tail deals the final blow, even as the mermaid herself, bleeding and entangled in Krieg's net, plummets into the sea.

Conviction, Sanji thinks, repeating Zeff's words, his observations of the mermaid.

The three by the Baratie make their moves then, all at once. Ace and Thatch leap forward to dive into the sea after the mermaid, but are slammed to the deck by their blue-haired companion before they can touch the water.

"Hey you! Blond cook!" the blue-haired man shouts, and Sanji realizes he's referring to Sanji. "Go in after her! She's eaten a devil fruit and can't swim, and neither can these idiots! She'll drown!"

"You'd best do as he says," Zeff agrees, and Sanji swears and takes off sprinting.

Down beneath the waves, it's like the battle overhead never took place, and Sanji wonders if he'd imagined it after all as he finally reaches Luffy. Her eyes are closed, and the majority of blood has already been washed away by the water. Her body is completely limp as Sanji cuts it free of the net so she slides into his arms.

It's his first time touching her, and though she settles heavily and unnaturally against him without a hint of buoyancy...she's soft. Small bubbles rise from her lips, and Sanji realizes that she's breathing underwater. With light from the surface dancing across her face, she looks so incredibly different from when she was awake. She's hauntingly beautiful and serene, and the blue veil over her makes her look like she belongs to another world, like a sleeping sea goddess waiting to be awakened by a kiss. She looks like a true mermaid princess straight out of a fairy tale, not a pirate capable of pummeling an infamous pirate commodore.

Sanji feels his own lungs beginning to scream, and regretfully kicks out, but keeps firm grip of the mermaid in his arms.

When they break the surface, wreckage is around them, and hands immediately pull them onto the deck. Sanji reluctantly lets Luffy go.

"Luffy!" Ace shouts, all pretense of calm gone as he pulls Luffy into his arms to peer down at her.

Luffy doesn't gasp for air like a human who's been under water, but rather takes a longer, deeper breath, and slowly opens her eyes as though finally realizing that it isn't fluid, but air in her lungs.

"Hey, Ace," she says, lips quirking into a smile as she continues to breath in deeply. "Told you I could beat him."

"So you did," he agrees, crushing her briefly against his chest, before pulling them apart so he can catalog her injuries.

"Thanks for that," a new voice says, and Sanji looks up to see the blue-haired man offering him a hand, which he takes. "I can't guarantee Ace'll agree, but I for one am all for more swimmers joining us. I'm Deuce."

~~

~~

(Deuce, probably: So Nami stole our ship, Usopp's following her with a half-dead Zoro and the two bounty hunters, leaving...fantastic, me alone with three stupid devil fruit users. Again.)

I did skim through the manga again for a vague sense of order of events, but I have zero interest in writing every detail of canon into my AU stories. Sure, I'm sure some things could have gone interestingly different that I didn't mention, like Lu possibly avoiding Krieg's gas by dunking her head under water, or Thatch sucking it all up into a black hole....but eh, you can imagine that if you want LOL! This was already getting too long ^ ^;

Some other notes: I re-read Novel A again, and confirmed several things:

1) Thatch is confirmed Head Cook/Head of Dining of the entire Whitebeard Fleet

2) Thatch's division, the 4th, is also primarily in charge of Dining, including but not limited to cooking, gathering food such as hunting and fishing, and presumably procuring other foodstuffs from their territory. I already HC'd this, but nice to have it be confirmed canon!

3) It's a little hard to tell from the wording whether he's just calling it that, or whether it really is Special, but possibly implied that he can cook especially energizing and nourishing foods (in the novel, stamina soup for Pops), possibly like the Kamabakka Kingdom recipes.

(note, I have not read the official English translation, so have no clue what they chose to translate these things as, I only got the original Japanese which is enough for me ^ ^;)

Regarding the last point, I do HC that Thatch knows those recipes and is friends with Kamabakka Kingdom cooks. I also HC that Iva-chan's okama aren't the only country or culture that has Special Foods like that, and Thatch has a very, VERY broad repertoire ;D

I also just love the idea of both Thatch and Sanji, master cooks, being able to read parts of each other through their cooking that goes completely unnoticed by everyone else on the crew <3

As always, thank you so much for reading, and any thoughts you'd like to share with me are immensely appreciated! <3

�� ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: On the Baratie, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (3/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack in Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 2020. Square filled: “Bucky’s Safehouse”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of wounds and accidents. A couple of uses of the word “shit”.

A/N: This chapter’s a little slower, but bear with me (and my terrible dialogue writing).

She’s pacing. Has been for half an hour, fists clenched at her sides as she tries her darnedest to wear a hole into the shaggy rug in front of the sofa he’s sitting on. All the windows are shut and bolted, every curtain drawn, midday light filtering feebly into the room just enough that none of them crash into furniture when making their way around the small space. Not that there’s much furniture to speak of: a small, handmade table in the corner that also houses the kitchenette, a sofa, and a bed against the wall opposite to where he is seated.

His knee bounces up and down, so fast it’s almost vibrating, and he clenches his gloved, metal hand around it to make it stop. Getting worked up isn’t going to get either of them anywhere, or so he tells himself, trying to work up the courage to say the same to her. Anything to make her quit pacing, because her movement is making his head spin. Her shock seems to have faded away, but his body is starting to catch up to the crash, a pounding headache settling in his skull. 

It had taken almost an hour to get here, and he’s now just as eager to leave as he was to arrive. They’re sitting ducks. Safer, sitting ducks, relatively speaking, but easy targets nonetheless, and they need to keep moving. The repercussions of the car crash, still aching in their rattled bodies, make that impossible, for the time being. 

After pinching the bridge of his nose, he reopens his eyes to find her staring at him with unabashed concern. An impatient tap to her toe, and he wonders if she’s waiting for something, or worse, someone.

Following his gaze to her feet, she immediately stops. Drags a chair from the dining table to sit down on it heavily, hands on her knees, the turmoil evident in the depths of his eyes such a contrast to the shield that has glazed his own over, no emotions escaping for her to interpret and misuse. Opening her mouth, she seems to think better of whatever she was about to say, and she shuts it again, pressing her lips together tightly. Bucky thinks that if she is a spy, she’s shit at hiding her emotions. He can read her like a book, he just doesn’t know what to make of what is written on the pages of her behavior.

“How long do you think we can stay?” She asks eventually, nervously, a tremor in the rapid breath she exhaled her question in, the content of it echoing his own thoughts from moments prior. 

“Not long. Rest tonight, but we should pack up some of the supplies here and leave early tomorrow.” He says, folding his hands together, rubbing at his knuckles harshly. They still smell of antiseptic.

His wound has healed completely, and hers are bleeding less, so he’d wager that there is little to be concerned about in the way of physical repercussions of the accident, but they’ll need their strength. Apparently, she agrees, nodding towards the bed as she gets up. “I’ll take first watch,” she says, and Bucky stands, watches her retrieve her map from her bag, unfolding it apparently to do some planning, before going to the bed. If she wanted to have him killed, he’d be dead already, he tells himself, turning to the wall, trying to relax in the presence of another person for the first time in his memory. 

---

He’s awoken by the scent of hot chocolate filling the cabin, its sweet, heavy scent covering everything in a damp layer of soft goodness so rich he’s dizzy by it. Sitting up, he can see her standing by the small stove in the kitchenette in the corner, stirring the concoction that is intoxicating his every sense. He can’t remember the last time he tasted chocolate, but the joy that comes with it is an association even he would be hard-pressed to forget. 

The domesticity of the scene, misplaced as it is with him having slept with his boots on, and her backpack ready and waiting by the door, strikes him with an unfamiliar pang in his chest. Even by moonlight, with her face turned away from him, her presence is magnetic. Shaking these impractical feelings out of himself, he gets up to go to the bathroom.

When he emerges, she’s sat at the small table. Rather, on the table, as there is only one chair, which she has graciously left for him, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of his spot. She watches him cautiously, eyes boring into his with a curious intensity, and that wit that indicates that she’s too clever to get relaxed around. The sleep did him good, and he tells himself he’s ready for whatever the rest of the night holds for him. 

“I’ve been looking at some possible routes, and I thought we could discuss what to do next,” she tells him, tracing the rim of her mug with the casualness of discussing the weather. After having seen her take the first sip, he drinks his, too, relishing the hotness pouring over his tongue and down his throat.

On the table is an outspread map and an open notebook, that he rises from his seat to look at more closely. Lines in blue ballpoints have been traced outwards from there location and there’s a red line -- in marker -- from Bulgaria, to Turkey, to-- “You want to go south,” he notes, following this highlighted route through the Arabian Sea and to the eastern coast of--

“Africa,” is her answer, and it’s all he can do to only raise an eyebrow in surprise, rather than let his jaw drop the way he wants to. She sighs. “Look, I considered Russia first,” -- he did, too, for the guarantee of not being extradited -- “but that’s where they’ll expect us to go and they’re monitoring the situation north too closely--”

“How do you know that?” He cuts in, standing up straighter now. Ordinarily, survival instincts and awareness such as hers would be a great tool, but it’s the source of said awareness that worries him. She’s a farmer, not a soldier, not a spy, so why is she so good at running away?

Deflection is a response that does not work with him, but he watches her make an attempt at it anyways. “It’s what I would do if I was them.” Impressive, her layman’s response, but Bucky isn’t fooled. 

He's staring her down, piercing gaze interrupted by a strand of hair that falls in front of his face. Somehow darker than the blackout curtains behind him. Pushing it back impatiently, he waits, still. Hopes for an explanation, something to alleviate even an iota of the anxiety that vibrates in his skin when he’s around her, his epidermis tingling with something he doesn’t understand. 

Surprised to find not only frustration and stubbornness in the blue of his ocean-irises, but also desperation and fear, she falters. “I’m not a farmer,” she says, as if Bucky doesn’t know that already. However, he is taken aback by her ability to voice his thoughts exactly; she can extract them from the depths of his broken mind and put them into the world. Her words are suspended in the air like dust particles in sunlight, a state of stalemate, between the light and the dark, words that neither of them are sure what to make of. So the memory of humor, embedded into the muscle of his tongue makes its appearance, inopportunely. 

“Yeah, no shit, sweetheart.” She laughs. Well, she starts to laugh, and is only able to stifle the sound into a short giggle that is as sweet in his ears as the hot chocolate starting to go cold on the table next to him. At his bemused gaze that comes across as confused, she loses it. Closes her eyes and shakes her head, hand -- with deep purple nail polish starting to peel off -- desperately pressed over her mouth to stop.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, regaining her breath, eyes shimmering. “I know it’s not funny, it’s just--” A sigh, and another exhale of a laugh. “This situation is just ridiculous, and I can’t tell you who I am, not yet, but I will.” Her tone turns serious, voice lowering now to convey sincerity, and Bucky watches her pick at the skin around her nails. A nervous habit, something to look at besides him and his questions. “I promise, I will.”

“You know that’s not good enough,” he answers, watching her raise her eyes to him, seconds, minutes, what feels like hours, after she’s spoken. “Give me a reason to trust you.”

“I don’t know if I can, James.”

“Try.” Try like your life depends on it, because it just might.

“I can tell you I’m a journalist.” Bucky wants to tell her that that doesn’t make him want to trust her any more. Reporters are just as dangerous to him as the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre that is surely still on their tail. “I was injured while working in the field last year and decided to go on sabbatical, to take some time for myself. Starting staying in Romania with my grandfather, who owns the plum farm I was selling for,” she says. “I recognized you the moment I saw you, but I didn’t feel the need to report you, and when the attack happened, I knew you had to leave, and I could help.”

It’s quite the story, he’ll admit, and he believes part of it. But there are a lot of moving pieces to this puzzle that she is, and he doesn’t have time to put it all together. For now, he has enough to stay. To follow and hope for a good thing, for the first time he can remember. She picks up on his hesitation, which colors the air in spite of the efforts he has been making -- and is tired of making -- and attempts to talk straight through his tensions.

"I'm sorry. I really am. The person who killed all those people at the UN is still out there, and he's trying to get away with it by framing you. If they catch you, he wins. We need to get you somewhere that can't happen, so we can work on finding him." When she speaks again, it's a low whisper, and he can tell that she regrets it. Hates that she sounds like a poacher trying to entrap its prey, when in fact, her purpose is quite the opposite. She's trying to keep him away from the poachers. Little does she know that he's shocked. Frozen again, for a different reason. He thinks this is the first time he's heard compassion. It's petal-soft and hits him in the gut. He reels from the impact of the honey-slow drip of her voice flowing through his ears. Gentle throughout their journey thus far, it is now vulnerable. And that's new. 

She breaks him out of his reverie with a murmur of his first name, and that’s when he realizes he never asked for hers. Winter Soldier though he may have been, he’s losing his touch. Maybe he does need a partner to get him out of this mess, this time. If that’s what she is, and the jury’s still out on that one. “Why do you care so much?” Bucky asks, watching her closely.

“I can’t help it. I just can’t watch them take you away,” she answers, and oh, how Bucky wishes he could believe her, and that honest-to-goodness smile, although now she seems to be neither. How he wishes the world was as black-and-white as she’s making it appear, that the swirling enigma he has been sucked into would stop, just long enough for him to see the clear picture, but alas. His world is a carousel, where the circus music is loud, blaring sirens, that she leaps to her feet at the sound of, and that has him reaching for his backpack.

[klove0511]

Stricta Dormire

Sastiel CC: Round 6, Theme: One More @sastielcreationschallenge

Prompt: Music

Ship: Sam/Cass

Rating: T

Word Count: 3583

Tags/Warnings: Temporary Character Death/Fairy Tale Type Character Death, Sam!whump, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Season 14 spoilers

I'd like to thank everyone who read this fic and gave me feedback! Thank you so much @katekvnes, @ohnoitsthebat, and @cerberus-s!

Summary:  When Sam is hit by a spell, Cass is the only one that can save him. Meanwhile, Dean is grieving his brother, unaware of the struggle going on within Sam’s mind.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676872

The world blurred, and Cass found himself in a dark, crowded room that suddenly filled with light and noise from somewhere behind him. He whirled and saw a stage, with musicians. Some sort of performance, then. He cast about, looking for Sam. There, a few feet to his left, looking younger than Cass had ever seen him. Cass’s jaw clenched. He was running out of time.

He pushed through the crowd to stand next to Sam. “Sam!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the din.

Sam looked around, and his look of confusion told Cass when he’d been spotted. “Who are you?” Sam asked.

Cass hesitated. This Sam was an unknown to him. Dean was nowhere in sight, so it was entirely possible this memory was from Sam’s time at school. It wasn’t a period the Winchesters talked about, and Castiel knew enough to assume it was associated with painful memories. Still, one thing he could count on was that the brothers would do anything for each other. He hoped that had always been as true as it was now.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m a friend of Dean’s.” True enough, in any case. Sam could always tell when he was lying.

Sam looked him over, appraising. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So why are you here?”

The suspicion in his voice hurt, but Castiel reminded himself that Sam didn’t know him. He didn’t remember their relationship, their history. “I need your help.”

“Ask Dean and Dad. You’re a hunter, right? I don’t do that anymore. Can’t help you.” He turned back to the music.

Castiel frowned. “I cannot ask them to help me.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“Dean requested my help first.” Also true, if a tad misleading. Castiel could still hear the desperation in Dean’s aborted prayers, knowing Castiel was too far away to help.

Sam was immediately on alert. “What about Dad? Are they ok?”

Castiel rushed to reassure him. “Dean is uninjured. Though I have never met your father, I am sure he is fine as well.” That was stretching the truth so thin he was sure Sam would call him on it, considering John Winchester was dead. Still, he was enjoying his heaven, and that was, in many ways, doing fine. The direct approach had failed multiple times now, however, and at least this version of Sam was still engaging him.

“You’ve never met him? Is Dean hunting on his own? Where the hell is Dad?” Sam was becoming agitated, something Castiel was not prepared for. He had understood Sam’s relationship with his father to be tumultuous at best, outright hostile at its worst. He was not ready to discuss John’s whereabouts, especially because they were not in the least relevant to the situation.

“Dean was hunting, but he was not alone. There was a witch.” Cass saw Sam open his mouth to ask more questions or protest further and hurried to cut him off. “She cast a spell on his hunting partner. Neither Dean nor your father were affected by the spell.”

“And Dean asked you for help.” Sam nodded, seeming to accept this abbreviated version of events. “That doesn’t really explain what you’re doing here.”

Castiel took a steadying breath. Hurdle one cleared. “That is more complicated. Perhaps we can go somewhere quieter?” On command, the concert melted around them, and a forest took its place. He swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected his request to be met so readily, and he feared he’d entered another new memory. Luckily, Sam was still next to him and appeared to be unchanged. Perhaps it would work this time.

 48 Hours Earlier

The witch finished her spell as Dean pulled the trigger, and he watched helplessly as power pulsed from her hand just before red blossomed on her chest. One of his worst memories repeated itself when he turned to check on Sam just in time to watch his brother crash to the ground.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, falling to his knees by Sam’s side. Bad, this was bad.

He hadn’t been paying attention to what the witch had been saying. The spell could have been anything. It had obviously knocked Sam out. Except his hand, which had instinctively gripped tight to Sam’s shirt, wasn’t moving.

“No, no, no, no,” he muttered.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he fumbled to feel a pulse in Sam’s neck. Nothing. Dean’s eyes burned. He pressed a hand over Sam’s heart and willed it to beat, to no avail.

“Come on, man. Don’t do this,” he said, as tears blurred his vision. The knowledge settled heavily in his mind. Sam was gone. His mind automatically turned to Cass, but he shut that down fast. They were hours away, and Cass hadn’t had the power for a resurrection in years.

 Castiel had just begun a new episode of The Good Place when he felt it. A tug on his grace almost like a prayer, then sharp, blinding pain. He gasped as it subsided, and he barely caught the tail end of a prayer from Dean. Something had happened to Sam. He pulled out his phone and dialed. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he’d hoped. It went straight to voicemail. So did Sam’s. He tried not to worry. The Winchesters were excellent at taking care of each other.

 Hours later, Dean’s phone rang again, for probably the twentieth time. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Cass.”

“What happened?”

He couldn’t do this, not over the phone, not with Cass. Except he didn’t have much choice, did he? Still, the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he managed to croak, “Sam.”

Apparently that was enough for Cass to interpret. After a moment he heard Cass say, “How?” His voice sounded rougher than usual.

“Spell,” Dean replied.

A pause. “Is the witch dead?”

Dean breathed, trying to steady himself. The hope in Cass’s voice almost broke him. “Yeah, she is. Sorry.” No chance the spell would break with her death. No hope this was a mistake. “I’m on my way back.”

Cass didn’t quite managed to stifle the wounded sound that escaped from him. “What can I do? Should I contact Rowena?”

God, no. Anything but her. “No. Just—Can you call my mom? You don’t have to tell her. Just get her to come back.”

“And Jack?”

Shit. Dean hadn’t really thought about Jack and how he would take this. What with Jack’s recent return to life and having lost—and regained—Sam himself less than a year ago, he guessed it was going to be bad. No way was he going to understand why Dean was letting Sam go, how he knew this time was for keeps.

“Up to you,” Dean said. “I can tell him if you want.”

“No. I will tell him.” There was strength in Cass’s voice this time. “Be safe.”

 Sam looked at the trees critically. “We were just at a concert. What the hell is going on?”

Castiel recognized this as the best time to come clean. “We are in your memories. You, Sam, were the one hit by the spell.”

“I don’t hunt,” he said, shaking his head in denial, but Castiel could see recognition growing in his expression. “I know you.” He squinted, looking to the side as he poked at his memories. “Your name is…Cass. You hate me.” He frowned, as though the statement didn’t taste quite right.

Castiel flinched. “That could not be further from the truth. I care for you very much.”

“You said my voice was grating.”

Castiel grimaced. Sam had remembered a particularly embarrassing memory for the angel.

“You called me an abomination!” Sam said.

Cass tilted his head in acknowledgement. There were no excuses for that. “The beginning of our relationship was difficult. It has…gotten better.”

Sam turned away, brow furrowed. “What’s with the trees?”

“I’m not sure. You have told me several stories that involve forests, but I would expect to see another version of yourself if we had entered a memory such as the last one.” Cass looked up. Sun filtered through the trees and warmed his face. Sam had only told him one kind of story with a calm, beautiful forest like this.

 Dean drove fourteen hours straight, only stopping for gas. Sam was lying in the backseat, and Dean didn’t want to leave for the time it would take to get food. He wasn’t hungry anyway. He just wanted to be home.

By the time he arrived at the bunker he knew he was running on fumes, but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t feel tired or hungry, just numb. It didn’t matter. He had to finish taking care of Sam, get him cleaned up.

“Let me help.” Cass’s voice startled Dean so much he almost dropped Sam as he was pulling him from the backseat.

He should let Cass help. He knew it, he did, but it wasn’t in him to pass this job to anyone else. Not even Cass.

 Castiel watched Dean disappear into the bunker, struggling under Sam’s weight. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to help, but it stung. If he’d still had wings, if he’d kept the power that had allowed him to revive Bobby once upon a time, this wouldn’t be happening. Mary wouldn’t be grieving her son; Jack wouldn’t be short a father. He wouldn’t—No. Self-pity served no purpose here.

Mary was on her way and would be arriving any time. Jody and the girls would be arriving tomorrow. He would start building the pyre, as Sam had once done for him, then perhaps the humans would send him out to run errands. Jody had said she would spread the word through the hunter community, and Mary and Bobby were contacting the people from Apocalypse World, recalling them to the bunker. There would be many people, and as he had learned so painfully, humans needed to eat. Himself, he needed to keep busy, especially since Jack had refused to speak to him for the last twelve hours.

He popped the trunk and rummaged until he found an axe. This, at least, he could do.

 “I believe you come to this forest when you are near death,” Castiel said. “This spell is killing you, and we are running out of time.”

“Then what are we waiting for? What do we have to do?” Sam turned back to face Cass, his eyes wide and his forehead wrinkled in concern.

Cass looked away. “If I understood the spell correctly, it involves accepting the worst of yourself.”

“Ok, great, I accept it. Now what?” Sam flung his arms out in frustration. “If I’m dying, why the runaround earlier?”

“I’m sorry. This was not my first attempt to help you. Previous attempts have gone rather poorly,” Cass said. Sam quirked an eyebrow, obviously waiting for further explanation. “You have to actually remember the worst of yourself in order to accept it.”

Sam groaned in understanding. “And, of course, I barely remember anything. That the spell too?”

“I believe so, but that is only part of the problem. The you I met in more recent memories, a version of you capable of remembering, was not ready to accept this solution.”

“When you say the ‘worst of me,’ what exactly are you talking about?” Sam asked.

“If I am correct, then it means accepting the worst of your memories, the worst things that have happened to you. Taking them back into yourself.” Castiel met Sam’s eyes. “You don’t understand what that means. You barely even remember me, and we are—“Cass stopped. They had never formally defined what they were to each other. More than friends, than family. More than simply lovers.

“We’re what, Cass?” Sam asked softly. Before his eyes, Sam melted and changed, and gone was the twenty year old with shaggy hair and a bright smile. Instead Cass faced his Sam, complete with worry lines and stray gray hairs.

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and said, “Everything.”

“Show me, one more time? Help me remember?” Sam said, so softly Cass barely caught it. Then the world blurred, and they were in a bar.

 Some time later, Dean wasn’t sure how long, Sam was clean and dressed. Dean sat a vigil by his bed, still unwilling to leave his side. It was Mary that got him to move.

“You should come eat something,” she said. “Let others say their goodbyes.”

It was hard, but he let her tug him to his feet and led him out to the common rooms. They were, inexplicably, filled with people. His shock must have shown because she said, “After Castiel called me I had him call Jody. Word spread fast. We should,” her voice faltered a moment. “We should talk about the funeral. I thought tomorrow morning would be good, but I didn’t— Not without your input.”

Dean grunted. “That’s fine. These—They’re all here for Sam?” He recognized some as the hunters from Apocalypse World, others as hunters he and Sam knew. Others looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them, and many more were totally unfamiliar. People were everywhere, talking, eating, laughing. How could they laugh? Sam was dead. Dean’s world had ended, and his home was full of laughing people.

Anger bubbled up until he heard Sam’s name. He listened, eavesdropping without making any conscious decision to do so.

“And then he blasted the ghoul to pieces! Never even broke a sweat. I’m telling you, it was epic.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Sam and Dean helped me with a demon up in Syracuse?”

“Sam saved my ass from—”

“He was amazing. He saved—”

“I’ll never forget—”

Snippets of conversation floated around him. They were all sharing stories about Sam, about how his little brother had touched their lives. And it—Sam—was making them happy. His eyes burned. His pain had in no way diminished, but he suddenly understood why people held wakes. It felt good to know Sam would be remembered.

Eventually, someone recognized that he had joined the crowd. Before he knew what was happening, Donna was smothering him in a hug. Then Jody and the girls appeared. Someone pushed Dean into a chair, and someone else brought him food. Jody ordered him to eat, her eyes shining. Dean pushed the plate away, claiming he wasn’t hungry.

“When was the last time you ate?” Alex asked.

He thought about it. “Breakfast,” he said.

“This morning?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He shook his head. He may not be sure how long it had been, but it had been long enough to know it wasn’t the same day. “Before.” He waved his hand to indicate, just, everything. He couldn’t say it yet. They were burning Sam in the morning, and he couldn’t say that Sam was—that Sam was dead.

“Dean, that was two days ago. You need to eat, even if you aren’t hungry,” Jody said. She sighed. “Believe me, I get it, but,” she hesitated, “Sam would want you to take care of yourself.”

“Where’s Cass?” he asked.

Claire spoke up. “Pretty sure I saw him in the kitchen with Jack.”

Dean nodded. “I should go check on them.”

Alex pushed him back into the chair. “Eat. I’ll go grab them for you.”

 Sam and Cass looked around the bar as the music on the jukebox changed to a new song. “Do you remember this night?” Cass asked.

Sam took a moment, then replied, “Our first dance. Our first kiss.”

Cass slid his hand into Sam’s palm and led them to the dance floor. Everything around them lost focus. Even the potent smell of alcohol and sweat seemed diminished. It felt like they were the only ones left in the world. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

They danced; Sam made a small noise in acknowledgement.

“I am not really Castiel. At least, not all of him.” When Sam started to pull away he hurried to explain. “Several years ago, you asked me to possess you, just for a moment, so that you would always carry a piece of my grace with you. After everything you have experienced, I could think of no higher honor, so I agreed to do it. To know that you trust me so completely—” He shook his head. “I am that piece of grace. I’ve done my best to keep you safe over the years, given you healing when I could. But I was always connected to my larger self. The spell has cut me off from that completely. I suppose, in a way, I am now your grace, and no one else’s.”

Sam frowned as they swayed to the music. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cass sighed. “Because I believe I also contain your worst memories.”

“Hell,” Sam said simply.

“It drove you mad, nearly killed you once already,” Cass said.

“I didn’t have you then,” Sam answered, tracing Cass’s jaw.

Cass leaned into Sam’s touch. “I may not be able to protect you.”

Sam leaned forward, resting his forehead against Castiel’s. “I know,” he swallowed and clenched his jaw, “but I trust you. And I’m ready. Can we have one more dance first though?”

 Dean stood quietly in the doorway to Sam’s room, roll of linen in hand. It was time, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to go through with this part. He swallowed, licked his lips and ducked his head. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I’m sorry, man. You know, I never really thought we’d get here. Me, doing this for you. Always figured it’d be the other way around. And sorry I’m not letting Cass help. I know it’s hurting him, too, seeing you like this. I—I just need to be the one to do this. After all those other times—” He worked his jaw as a tear finally escaped, sliding down his face. “Right. Let’s do this.”

He gently unrolled the shroud and laid it over Sam’s still form. Taking the ties he’d brought, he started tucking the ends of the shroud under his brother’s feet and tying it tight.

 They danced to another three songs, in fact, before Sam really felt ready. Cass gently cradled Sam’s cheek, taking one last look at this marvelous boy he’d fallen in love with. Sam’s eyes were closed, his body tense as he braced himself for the pain of Hell to come flooding back. Cass leaned forward, brushing his lips against Sam’s before pressing in firmly, deepening the kiss. He let go of the essence of himself, pushed all that he was into Sam’s being. The bad, yes, but also the grace. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to protect Sam’s soul this way.

 Sam took a huge gasping breath and sat up straight. He flailed under a sheet, coughing the stagnant air out of his lungs. He panicked a little when he realized his legs were restrained and struggled to free them. Then he felt hands on his shoulders, exploring his face, his head, his sides. He looked up, found himself staring into Dean’s shocked green eyes.

“Sam?”

God, Dean sounded broken. Sam remembered his time in the woods with Cass, mostly, and before that the witch. He knew something had happened. It must have been a close one. “Hey,” he said, not sure how else to respond.

In another moment, Dean had him in a near stranglehold, muttering, “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Sam held on and murmured reassurance that he’d do his best. When Dean finally pulled back, Sam managed to get a glimpse of what was tangled up around his feet, and he realized this one had been much closer than he’d thought. “Dean? What--?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze and immediately started untying his legs and pulling the shroud away. “Yeah, sorry. I—Sam.” Words had evidently failed Dean. “What the hell happened?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Sam said. “But from my end, I was, uh, swimming around in my memories, I think. Kind of lost. Cass saved me.”

“Cass?”

Sam gave Dean the short version of what he remembered, leaving out the part about regaining everything involved with Hell. He would tell Dean, later, when he hadn’t just come back from the dead. Right now, he just wanted to see Cass. Luckily, Dean had entered full mother hen mode, and was busying himself with gathering the supplies he’d brought in and talking about grabbing Sam a plate of food, seeing as how he hadn’t eaten for the last three days. After a minute, Dean was out the door.

A moment later, Cass’s face appeared in the doorway. When he spotted Sam sitting up, his head dropped to the side in confusion.

Seeing Cass again felt like seeing a miracle. Sam grinned, and he knew his dimples were out in full force. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened after that kiss, but he couldn’t feel Cass’s grace inside him anymore. He’d never noticed it before, when it was present, but now there was a palpable loss that ached. Being in the same room as Cass made that ache vanish.

“Sam.” Cass’s face was unreadable, but Sam could feel confusion, awe, and most of all, love radiating off him.

He didn’t know what was going to happen now, but he knew it was going to be ok.

[beanymachine]

A Post About Fairy Tail (Series)

Warning:

This post will mention the word “porn,” and ”nudity”. If you want me to tag as #nsfw I understand, but please understand I am not describing anything and am simply having a discussion. If this post makes you too uncomfortable and/or mentally triggers you and you wish for the post to be deleted, I understand and will immediately delete it. I do not want to do any harm on anyone.

Hey, I know a lot of people are loyal to Fairy Tail and I get it, I’ve been there. But I just wanted to talk about and ask some stuff to you the community. So please know I’m not trying to be rude or mean. With that being said, I will start.

I used to like Fairy Tail a lot. I loved it. It helped me during middle school and had everything I loved: Magic, friendship, adventure, and transformations (like Erza’s armor). And as I kept watching the anime, there were some inappropriate parts (like when some female characters didn’t have anything covering their boobs or barely had anything on there). Looking back, I see I always tried to look around it, deny, or just say to myself since because there was still a little clothing left, it still wasn’t nudity. In truth, I was just trying to find a way to look around it to stay loyal and read what the story had to offer.

It had a good beginning, much better than the end. And when I caught up with the anime, I read the manga. It was right before the last chapter of the series I found out something.

You see, during the Tartarus Arc (I think that’s what it was called) I skipped the part where Lisanna and Nastu were tied up naked. There was a time before I caught up to this arc that while I was on the wiki for Fairy Tail, I heard of this and maybe saw a photo of them being naked, but I couldn’t believe it. I told my mom and she told me it might’ve been fake, or it was my decision if I wanted to stop reading. I can’t remember which was which, but I think I forgot at the time and took a break from reading it. But after hearing numerous people who read the manga talk about it, I decided to skip the part. After all, they are just naked and nothing inappropriate was going to happen right? Just jokes right?

Looking back at it again, that was also denial. And them just being naked and making jokes was inappropriate in that fact.

But what I also skipped was the torturing scene for Erza.

Apparently, (and I think they censored it in the anime which is good) Erza is tortured while naked, and some tentacle creature also tortured her. And I remember once watching an Anthony Bourdain documentary on Japan that there is apparently some genre of manga or illustration of tentacle porn. And I remembered this when I discovered what happened to Erza.

That was the moment I really opened my eyes. I think Hiro Mashima sexualized torture.

Women have whatever opinions or feelings on how women are depicted in media and their thoughts on feminism. At the time I discovered this, I thought as a woman I was disgracing what pride or self respect I had. I shouldn’t read or support something that a person created that’s demeaning to women, and sexualizes them. Not only that, but this is a shōnen manga. Women and girl teens can enjoy it, but this manga is aimed at male teenagers. These teens shouldn’t be taught it’s okay to sexualize women like this, or see what’s going on is okay. I mean sure in Fairy Tail it was shown wrong, but I don’t think the writing did a good job on showing the everlasting effects the torture did on Erza. Also, maybe it’s different in Japan, but in the US, young men or male teens can interpret this wrong. Also as a woman I am disgusted. But those are my thoughts, you can have your own opinion.

So for some weeks I dropped the manga as I felt it was my duty as a women. Which today I think it shouldn’t really be a duty. It just depends on how it affects you. And maybe it didn’t affect me as much as it did to others because I was still REALLY curious on how the story ended. Because that’s what really kept me going.

I liked some of the art, and I also wanted to know what would happen to the characters. Would Lucy and Nastu end up together? Or would the become very close best friends? Would Gray have a moment telling Juvia his feeling towards her or no? How will the story end? But I think I mostly held out because I still had hope that maybe, somehow, Hiroshima would turn around and start writing well and actually give accurate character development to he characters. It also helped me realize I really like character development.

The manga taught me on what not to do when writing or drawing a story. Because there was so many ways I thought on how he could make some good out of the last arc, or how he could’ve written it, or ideas on using the logic of the manga and it’s magic he could somehow make a somewhat well written or at least good ending.

But he necessarily didn’t.

In the end Nastu was the one to KO the evil dragon guy and not all the dragon slayers. Lucy and the rest of the group had there moment, but it was mostly support. Also, the manga made it seem like one day Lucy would end up with all the celestial keys and become a powerful wizard. BUT IT DIDN’T HAPPEN (I guess it’s my fault for hyping up myself).

Back to the topic, I finally decided to read the last chapter to stop making myself curious and just finish what had helped me out all the way in middle school. I felt bad and disappointed in myself since I failed my duty as a woman, but eventually I got over it. I also see how it shouldn’t really be a duty.

So when I read the last chapter after my break I finally saw... how bad the manga is.

There were a lot of things tied up sure, but maybe it would’ve been better if there was a longer time skip and Levy and Gajeel were a bit more older and had children. But it’s fine if that’s what they decided. But another thing is how Mavis and Zeref got reincarnated and Mavis was still in a little girl’s body! Let the lady age man! Let her finally be an adult. Not only that but it made me realize how creepy it was for Zeref and Mavis to have a kid. I mean sure she was an adult stuck in a kid body but maybe Hiroshima could’ve said that they combined their magic to make a child but... that’s not what happened. Also Gray shouldn’t say Juvia’s body is his. People aren’t property, and that is not how love works.

This was also the last chance for Lucy and Nastu’s relationship to finally show how deep it is. And I’m not saying anything shippy. It can just be deep best friend stuff. But when Lucy got emotional, you know what Nastu did? He just stayed in character and basically said “it doesn’t matter since we are always together!” The thing is, it does matter. Best friends who have been together in times near death should talk and be emotional and comfortable Around each other to talk about each other’s feelings. How did they feel fearing the other one possibly died in the war? And I know it’s Natsu’s character to not be too deep but, every person is deep. They are deep in something, at least slightly. Natsu just stayed as a 2 dimensional character and dissed on Lucy’s feelings. 

So you are probably wondering after reading all my feelings why I have brought you here. I just wanted to ask some questions and see how you feel about all this. Did anyone ever ask if Hiro Mashima thought he was sexualizing women too much? Or did anyone tell him what he draws and writes might be offensive too some or many? Did he ever apologize for anything he might’ve done and has done wrong? Did fans ever ask or confront him about this?

And how do you, as a former Fairy Tail reader, feel about all this?

So yeah, that’s really what I wanted to ask for this post. It’s always been in the back of my mind how things didn’t end well with this series for me. A part of me always wanted to rewrite or redraw it, like a reboot kinda, but you shouldn’t change the original source. You aren’t really fixing the problems it has. It’s just I loved all these characters so much and I saw how it could change and make things better. But that wouldn’t change the situation in reality. I also am now wondering if it’s because I live in the US that I feel differently than some women may feel in Japan and if it’s more of a cultural difference.

So I guess I just wanted to ask if I’m missing something or don’t have enough information on stuff, and how you feel about all this. Anyways, thank you for reading. Have a nice day.

Good bye!

P.S. I remember that there was a spin off series called Fairy Girls. It was focused on obviously the main female characters. It was nice and gave them moments to shine, kick butt, and actually do stuff. I don’t recall it being as fanservice-y as Fairy Tail. So if you still like Fairy Tail despite all its flaws I recommend reading it.

[slimyscrivener]

Sugar Syrup Summoning Pt2

Successful demon summoning leads to an awkward conversation in the kitchen. A young lady is anxious, a demon frets. There is also coffee.

Beginning ~~~~~ Next

We faced each other over a janky pile of plastic and aluminum I had the audacity to call my kitchen table. It had a stained green top, ostensibly fuzzy. Presumably it was meant to be a card table but when you start pulling furniture out of the dumpster the pretense of purpose is the first to go. Regardless it was completely functional, though to call it green was being quite generous.

Together we sat, on mismatched chairs, my demon and I.

I was having a hard time looking at them, though their appearance was only part of the reason. My embarrassment at having broken down in front of them was still hot on my cheeks. I’d only just recovered, still red eyed and blotchy, and come to the kitchen when she’d called me in. She hadn’t commented on the ten or so minutes of sobbing on the couch, I doubted she would. When we both came to sit down there was a lot of awkward looks that had finally resolved into a vague mutual stare. Well, I suppose I’m staring at her shoulder and she’s occupied with her arcane coffee methodology.

The demon placed a small ceramic mug in front of me and another in front of themself. Then, from their little pot, they poured us each an equal measure of a thick, dark liquid. It smelled stronger than any coffee I had ever had before, without having the undertone of being severely burned. I wasn’t certain how eldritch the draught would be, but it smelled pleasantly of cardamon.

I watched the demon shift in their seat to get comfortable, pushing a well groomed looking tail between the slats of the chair’s back. It didn’t look especially comfortable with the way their legs and ankles bent not to mention having their tail cramped up behind them but they kept a cheerful smile up.

Wretchedly I wondered if they weren’t forcing that happy disposition for my sake. How pathetic does a person have to be for a demon to be worried about them? My next thought was how upset they would be if I asked them to stop smiling, or at least not do it with so many vicious looking teeth.

“I make it very sweet”, they said, “so I hope you don’t mind. When I make it for company I usually use a lot less sugar.” They sipped at their coffee, one three fingered hand fussing with their shawl.

“It uh-” I hesitated, chewing my lower lip.

“It won’t like, seal an ancient and deadly compact or something right? It’s not like, fairy rules, is it?”

“What? Fairies aren’t real. What a silly thing to say.”

I gave a spot over the demon’s shoulder and slightly to the left an incredulous look.

“That didn’t actually answer my question I think.”

She made a bubbling, musical sound that I interpreted as a laugh.

“Oh, no. No, nothing like that. You’ve already made your deal with me. It’s just coffee. It won’t make you beholden to fae contract or turn you inside out or anything like that.”

I collected the tiny mug and felt it warm my hands. It was cold out, being deep into fall now, but my apartment was warm enough at least to take the chill out of the air. My eyes lingered on the dark liquid.

Just coffee, nothing magical or anything. As she had explained: just strong coffee. Casually lifting the mug to my lips I began to inquire.

“So, uh, about that contract-”

I sipped the brew.

An involuntary spasm ran through the muscles of my face and I felt my jaw tighten. I squeaked out through gritted teeth.

“Sssweet! It’s really S-sweet..!”

Eyes blinking, some furrowing, confusion looking like pandemonium on the demon’s face. It resolved into concern and they made a sharp ‘tsk’ sound, drumming their digits on the fuzzy tabletop.

“I’m sorry, here- here... “ They made as though to take it from me, attempting to lay a hoof on the mug.

I reflexively pulled away from the creature and lifted the mug up in both hands.

“N-no no, it’s okay. I was just really surprised… It’s more like, coffee syrup, i-it’s so thick.”

Sipping again to show them that it was alright, I only shuddered, having prepared myself for the shock.

They watched me drink, squinting a swath of eyes as though testing my resolve, then eventually leaning back in their chair. I watched a very uncomfortable moment where the demon squirmed in their chair and finally they tucked their legs up and perched, hooves flat on the plastic seat.

“So... “ Here they seemed to struggle, chewing the inside of their lip as they thought of what to say before continuing.

“So… I am called Lilwanyu, She, from the Spoke of Darkness.” When they said ‘Spoke of Darkness’ the lights dimmed in the kitchen for a moment, then flickered back on again.

Another encouraging smile from the demon, shudder, another sip of coffee.

I frowned, mulling over ‘she’ as an appellation until I caught on. Mentally I amended my description of her.

“The Spoke of Darkness?” I asked, bringing coffee to my lips but balking at the saccharine miasma that wafted off of it. Noting, as I did, that the lights did not dim when I spoke it aloud.

“It’s where you summoned me from..? I would tell you the specific city but I expect it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

“Oh, right right.” I said, abruptly worried that there was some detail here that I was missing, that I might have missed some bit of data in my research. Demons had cities? I suppose that made sense really, I had sort of assumed they just hung around great pools of boiling sulfur or something. All of the net searches I had performed prior never mentioned such a place, but then they also didn’t adequately describe the sort of creature that might come from the other side. Nor, how sincerely pleasant they were to talk to, if perhaps, not to look at.

I wasn’t staring her in the face, I was trying to avoid that, so instead I watched her arms. The fur reminded me of satellite pictures of nebula, the particularly cool coloured ones.  At least, I assumed she had fur, the equine shape of her might be affecting how I interpreted the fuzzy exterior. I watched her fidgeting with the tiny mug, tapping it between two hoof like digits. Pointed at the tips, I had a hard time understanding how they could be so articulate. Then I saw her lift an arm and the flesh of her stuck, very minutely, to the fuzzy tabletop. It stringed out and then slowly oozed back up into her forearm.

She was speaking I realized and I had missed the entirety of it. My heart had started to race again, I kept trying to cling to mundane details as a means of centering myself in this moment but they kept failing me! What was she made of..? Some sort of animate goop?

Clearing her throat, the demon repeated herself.

“What do you need me to do to help you feel less alone?”

I balked at the question, “Ah, well… I had sort of hoped that you’d be able to deal with that. Like, I dunno. Just magic me up into someone less shitty or something.”

Feeling wretched, I sipped the coffee if only to stop myself from having to talk.

Ugh.

She finished her own measure of the dark draught and placed the mug down with a soft thup.

“Well…” She said, “I don’t really know that I can ‘magic’ you into someone else exactly. Would changing your appearance make you more desirable to other humans? I don’t know much about them, I admit. But I could do that, if you wanted.”

I sighed. “No, not exactly. I think I look… Fine? I guess?”

Perhaps I could mime drinking the coffee, or would that be exceptionally rude?

“It’s not really that..? Just maybe, make my brain less awful?” I swirled the liquid in my mug, kicking up the dregs, just to have something else to focus on.

“So I can talk to people and not freak out, or get all sweaty and gross?”

She put up a hoof to her cheek and leaned on it. Various eyes peered around the room, at the bare walls, the mismatched chairs, the chipped plates in the drain rack. I began to feel anxious about the state of my apartment, I honestly had been about as prepared for company as the demon. Then I started to feel rather anxious about my life in general, that there really wasn’t any changes I could have made to make the space any less terrible.

She said, “I could do that, I suppose. But anything like that would be temporary, and honestly only marginally more effective than just getting you drunk, I suspect. There are permanent methods but then you might no longer be you? But then you already dislike who you are it seems…” Trailing off, staring at the plates in the drain rack, her expression seemed pensive. For as much as I could read that escher painting of a face. Well, no, that description was probably a bit too cruel. She was probably very pretty by whatever metric people used to judge appearance where she comes from. Somehow, I liked the idea of considering her pretty. It seemed like a pleasantly defiant thought.

“How much experience with people do you have?” She said finally.

Now, I thought glumly, it was beginning to sound like I’d summoned a therapist instead of great and terrible demon. I glanced at her face briefly, a few of her eyes blinked independently of one another and then turned to look at me.

YUP, definitely still a demon.

“I used to have a few friends a long time ago.” I managed to say, dredging up the memory.

“But that was when I was a little, just some other kids in my class. We stopped talking somewhere in highschool and then-”

I shrugged and finished my coffee. It wasn’t any more palatable after cooling off.

“And you never met anyone else?” She said.

“Not really, I was busy. I talk to some people on the net but, that’s different.”

Lilwanyu gave me a blank look, then tilted that equine head.

“What is ‘the net’?”

“Oh it’s ah…” I tried to shape the answer in my head but I suddenly realized how utterly alien the concept would be to someone from another world. I felt myself start to say something about a series of tubes but squashed the notion down.

“You know, why don’t I just show you?”

[natsubeatsrock]

The Rewrite of Fairy Tail: Bonus (Mentality)

Is my rewrite of Fairy Tail supposed to be a replacement of canon?

Honest to goodness, I was planning on doing this for about two months. I feel as though this has been an elephant in the room of this series. While I have been saying that I love Fairy Tail and was okay with the ending of this series, I still decided to go through with this project. When I planned this post, I was going to compare the analysis done by Craftsdwarf on Fairy Tail and Nux Taku’s recent videos about Fairy Tail, as criticism done from different points of liking the series.

And then, Voltron Legendary Defender ended and I decided to take this in a different way. If not for any reason, but this is my only real outlet to get my thoughts on this whole mess out.

Before we get farther into this, I need to make it clear that I haven’t seen Voltron. At first, it was because I didn’t have access to Netflix. Then, it was because nothing about it seemed appealing to me and I was told that it wasn’t written well (No comment on the writing.). About the only reason I have to watch it now is to understand it. 

And that’s the funny thing about VLD. Despite knowing and following people who were into the series, I don’t even really understand a whole lot about it, why this was the show that blew up how it did, or, despite all the salt I’ve seen, what is so bad about this ending that it effectively ruined the show for seemingly everyone who watched it. (Normally I’d say things here about it, but spoilers.)

But, oh my goodness, the Voltron fandom. I’m sorry to those unfortunate souls following me who have the misfortune to call themselves part of the Voltron fandom. The things I’ve heard you guys go through make me question if it’s even possible to have ever called the Fairy Tail fandom toxic. Like, this fandom has done some messed up stuff in the past, but Voltron is on a completely different level of bad. You guys deserve T-Shirts or something. 

So, why talk about a series that I have little to no interest in as a launchpad for my topic of trying to replace Fairy Tail? Because a lot of what I’m seeing from the fallout of it’s ending is exactly what could spark the mindset that one could go into making a rewrite of a series as a replacement of the series. 

As I acknowledged in my introduction, I am by no means the first person to think that it would be a good idea to retell the events of a series with changes made to it. Incidentally, much of the Fairy Tail fanfiction I’ve been reading recently can be argued to fall into this category in some way. The argument can be made that this is the driving force behind most fanfiction that seeks to exist within its parent series universe. And it’s not like this is a practice for only fanfiction. In a very real sense, abridged versions of a series are essentially rewrites of their canon material. 

But, that’s just it. They are re-writings of a story. They aren’t the original version of the story. They are, in fact, a re-presentation of what has already existed. Arguments can be made for how it is when compared to the original, but, by any definition, it is not and can never be the original. And here’s where the importance of my question lies. 

I do not believe that it is a good idea to come into the rewriting of a series without a thorough understanding of the series you are trying to remake. When you ignore any potential thought process behind what happened in a series, it’s hard to think of how what happened could be salvaged. It’s why part of my rewrite involves this series, where I explain my understanding of why certain events happened, filtered through the lens of being a Fairy Tail blogger for over three years and having gone through the series more than once. (Though not without bias.)

After all, despite how you feel about how a series was handled, you were not the one to make it. While this can be seen as a reason not to change a series any further than what exists, as usually is the case, this also means that your interpretation isn’t the primary interpretation. (Primary, in this sense, meaning the first, as opposed to the most important, for readers in the “Death of an Author” camp.) Trying to understand why someone would make a certain decision can help inform your change in direction.

In my opinion, the best retellings of stories come from people who demonstrate an amazing understanding of their source material. I think this is one of the big reasons that TeamFourStar’s work on Dragon Ball Z Abridged and Something Witty Entertainment’s take on Sword Art Online are as successful as they are. They don’t just tell the same exact same story with a bit more jokes, as other less successful abridging projects have done.

In the case of TeamFourStar, in addition to tight writing and clever running gags, they have referenced as many parts of the Dragon Ball universe as could possibly be referenced. Not just in playful nods to the versions of Dragon Ball, GT, and Super every now and again. They have referenced material from obscure and unpopular dubs. They even made a shot at the less than stellar Dragonball Evolution in an early episode. Even watching their Dragon Ball themed Let’s Plays and DBCember lists, you can see the love and respect the members have for (most of) the Dragon Ball Series.

SWE has had less time around in the abridging world. However, their work is already being considered as some of the best abridging work of an anime. It’s not hilariously uncommon for less than talented people to criticize SAO for its poor writing. While one could argue that any rewriting of SAO could show a better understanding of the universe than the series author, people calling the abridging of this series better than the original are justified. Even simple changes like retconning an in-series justification for Dual Wielding and the end of the final battle between Kirito and the final boss are enough to show some genuine thought was put into remaking one of the most popular modern anime.

And, of course, each episode of both (except for the first one of SAO Abridged for some weird reason) starts with both a recognition of not being the original owners of the series and a plea for fans to support the official release. Regardless of how cynical you may think this practice is, the fact still stands that there is a recognition that they wouldn’t be able to do what they’re doing without the original.

And, that is the mindset that I have with this rewrite. I don’t agree with everything that Mashima’s done regarding Fairy Tail or every sentiment he has. Heck, early last year, I shared my disagreements with Mashima over his own perception of Nali. If I thought that everything that Mashima did throughout the series was good, I wouldn’t be doing this. Even as much of this series involves the defense of Mashima’s established universe, much more has been trying to explain things that weren’t explained and even making up things that didn’t happen in the series (albeit, usually using canon material).

But, at the end of the day, I still do love the series. I love the characters. I love the world. Even some of the things I have and will complain about and change are things I struggle with as they’re part of this hilarious mess I’ve come to love known as Fairy Tail. I feel as though it would be a mistake to forget to make Fairy Tail something other than Fairy Tail.

More importantly, I don’t know that, if I were actually given the opportunity to start from near scratch, I would be able to make Fairy Tail again, let alone outdo the original. I don’t think anyone other than Mashima could make Fairy Tail what it has become. 

If this rewrite is considered to be good, it will only do it because I’m working with a heavily established series with close to a decade and a half worth of canon material and spin-offs, of which the creator has had and taken multiple opportunities to explain his reasoning behind the decisions, mysteries, and mistakes made throughout the series. And because I, recognizing this, do my best to keep the series as close to what it was, while also changing material to make things feel more refreshing than many felt them to in the original, after years of talking about and interacting with its fandom and detractors.

Now, I don’t say any of this to mean that it’s impossible to come away from a series thinking that it’s entirely terrible, try to rebuild it without regard for what was done in the original, and come out with a good product. I absolutely defend the right for people to dislike something for whatever reason they want to, legitimate or pedantic, provided they do so respectfully. Given my track record, I’m almost legally obligated to. 

In some cases, rare though they may be, it may even be possible to create something people can and do consider to be better than the original. (Though it’s worth considering that the only situation I can think of this kind of thing happening is SAO Abridged, which I’ve already explained doesn’t neglect canon.)

The issue is that I personally don’t think that, in succeeding to do so, you’ve replaced the original series. At best, you’ve likely created either a well-liked fan alternative to the original or something so wholly different as to not even be considered similar to the original, save in potentially sharing names, titles and, on occasions, themes and plot lines. At worst, your efforts prove that you have completely and fundamentally misunderstood what was happening within the series you tried to rewrite. Either way, unless you can genuinely convince whoever made the original to throw it out and accept your version as the new standard for canon (good look with that, by the way), you haven’t succeeded in “replacing the original”.

So, if I don’t want to replace Fairy Tail, why rewrite it?

I have a few reasons. I want to consider how the series would look if certain changes were made to it. I want to explain how elements of Fairy Tail succeeded or failed in canon, which I have been explaining through this series. As I have been noticing, I have come to think of ways that what Mashima has done throughout the series can make sense without having to break too much about the series.

But, as I’ve been learning while I’ve been rewriting this series, I’ve recognized how much I love this series. Some of these choices involved in rewriting this series have been genuinely difficult. Not just in deciding how much to change to keep Fairy Tail similar. I want to be very careful about how I treat the characters in this series I’ve come to love.

Doing this has given me a newfound respect for Mashima. Despite much of what I’ve said about him in the past, I think that what exists within canon is special. Fairy Tail really is something different from many of its peers. From plot direction to characters (which will be the topic of later posts), I don’t think Mashima gets enough credit for what he did different from those around him, regardless of how well executed you may think it was.

I’m not doing my normal “In Conclusion” for this, given this is technically a series post. But, long story short, I don’t want this to be a co-opting or replacement of the original series. I see this less as making a new house on top of an older one, and more restoration of that old house, with new additions. 

Based on the Introduction.

[angstandhappiness]

Interesting

Thoughts about how different mediums of a same story may give you different views (and rambling about the Tower of Heaven)//TW: violence

Lately I've been wondering about how manga readers might have very different visions than anime watchers of a same story, because althought the plot remains the same, some little details can change our whole perception of a story.

This reminded me of the first time I read Fairy Tail and how terrified I was at how cruel and dark the Tower of Heaven's arc is.

Jellal's face (that by that time, were only an 11-years-old kid) drippling blood while being tortured shocked me so much as a kid and I still find it one of the most disturbing scenes in the manga, lol.

In the anime, the content itself is the same. We know the kids are slaves that go throught different kinds of abuse, however, I find the manga way gloomier and more graphic. And althought part of it might be just a personal opinion, it's not entirely without basis: Mashima uses different techniques in his art to represent facts whitin the story than the animators, and it leads to a topic I really love: semiotics - how we interpret images, and how detais can be used to convey a certain felling throught art.

Colors and composition helps A LOT creating an atmosphere and causing a feeling on the reader. Proportionally speaking, a manga doesn't have colors, but it has it's own alternatives - the Tower of Heaven arc, in comparison to the rest of the manga, uses a lot more black and hatching.

One can argue some scenes are still "visually darker" in the anime, since it has the advantage of being able to play with shadows and colors in a broader aspect; however, since Fairy Tail is not an anime that changes it's saturation or colour pallete, the loud colors in most scenes end up not helping building the same dreadful atmosphere.

(It doesn't mean you can't make a scary story using bright and colorful tones, tho. A great example is the movie Midsommar. But it's not an easy task!)

Erza's childhood memories in the manga also carry a "dirtier" feeling; the kids are always covered by bruises, and the background is rougher. Also, the anime chooses to represent slavery in a more fanciful way: the kids wear stylized handcuffs and are assaulted with magic attacks, what inevitably softens the scenes by distancing them from real life slavery.

In a story, an act of violence will always be more shocking if your brain is able to automatically make a connection with real life. Seeing blood conveys a feeling of disconfort easier than a character being hit by a wave of magic, even if the author tells you "this is painful"; that's why some people say they started to find difficult to watch horror movies involving kids after becoming parents, because after experenciating something in real life, they connect with fiction harder.

The above scene causes me very different feelings in each media. In the manga, the despair in Jellal's face when seeing they removed Erza's eye is much clearer, and his skinny body, his eyes filling up with tears (he doesn't cry in the anime) shows not only a feeling of worry, but of utter dread and helplessness. All that helps endorsing the fact that, doesn't matter how brave he is, they are still just fragile kids, unable to protect themselves from the cruelty of the world around them.

I want to make it clear, though, that this is not in any way meant to be a critique to the animation team, or an affirmation that one type of media is better than another. We all have our personal preferences, but each media has it's target audience and objective. Fairy Tail's animators certainly do know how to convey the same feelings on the public, they just choose not to, for a variety of reasons. Probably because the anime is aimed for a broader and younger audience, many scenes have been softened or censored somehow. Also, animation consumes more labour than a manga page, so unless you have a lot of time and investment, the art tend to be simpler.

So do you think it affects the plot, Siren?

In my opinion, yes, even if just in a subtle way. In the manga, I think this raw brutality helps Jellal's character to gain a more interesting complexity. To me, he feels less like a hero and more like what he actually is: just a really kind and brave kid trying his best to protect his friends.

Another major change they made in the anime was removing the ambiguity (something that happened more than once in Fairy Tail's adaptation, such as in the famous kiss scene), leaving clear since the beginning that Jellal was a victim of a mind controlling spell; while in the manga, until Urtear's confirmation at the end of the arc, we do not know for sure if he have been brainwashed or just convinced to adore Zeref.

And as much as I can see why some fans might hate it because it leaves room for people to see Jellal as a bad man, I (as someone who is not afraid of loving evil characters, heh), find it interesting and somehow enriching to the plot, because it gives the whole arc a reflection: is extreme suffering, specially at such an young age, capable of changing someone so much?

We are left questioning what did "Zeref" say, or do, that made him change so much. And having so many real life examples where despair has made people easy victims of manipulation throught faith or falling into extremist ideologies, after we seeing Jellal's pain and fragility in a tangible way, it's not that hard at all to understand how he went insane and managed to drag all the other slaves along with him.

Also, I think it makes it easier to understand Erza's empathy towards him. Jellal and Erza are characters connected not only by the affection they nourish for one another, but also for sharing the same pain. She is the only person that fully understands the horrors he lived in the tower, since they were the only kids that have been in the torture chamber. And althought she never tries to justify Jellal's actions, Erza does not only show him compreension, but she feels guilty for not being able to retribute his protection and prevented him from losing his mind.

That doesn't mean, tho, that there weren't many other clues he was not acting on free will: be it his grotesque change of personality, his hysterical laughter out of nowhere or his motivations that doesn't hold (because they were never his to begin with). To me, all that at first glance makes him closer to Batman's Joker, someone that grew insane after so much suffering, than a villain that's genuinely just plain selfish and thirsty for power. And that only makes me find him a creepier villain, since personally, I find sadism and insanity way scarier than ghosts.

So this is just a looong collection of thoughts about how small choices can change a lot the "feeling" we get from a scene or a character. I hope someone can find it interesting too. There are many other examples of adaptations where it happened, and if you remember one you'd like to share, I would love to hear!

Last but not less important, all the love for Mashima's art, the Tower of Heaven arc (that is a personal favorite) and Jellal, a character I deeply love and one that holds for sure the strongest spirit in the manga for being able to become such a kind and mature man despite everything he has been thought. ♡