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amiedala · 3 years

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SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY: “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!! (and if you’ve already asked me and you’re not on it, please message me again!!!)

if you would like to be taken off the taglist or put on it, send me a message/ask/comment!! <3

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love-mari · 3 years

Text

hello beautiful humans and all other beings scrolling through the wonderland of tumblr.

this challenge was supposed to be a “july” thing, but i think im a b i t late and so i’ll do all the questions right now (on the last day of july) -wow my procrastination is really showing through…

these questions are from the tumblr : @morethanwords0475 :)

question one : describe your tc’s physical appearance.

L has black hair and hazel eyes and an absolutely horrible fashion sense but i think that is what draws me to him more. he’s got the most beautiful smile and a stubble on this jaw from quarantine. he’s always got one earring on his right ear and he has the best posture i think i’ve ever seen… like seriously.

question two : what was the first thing you ever said to your tc?

if i’m going to be honest, i have absolutely no idea. we met around three years ago due to the fact i was assigned to be in his class with others. i remember him being quite angry in the beginning… i would be too if i had to teach in the school i went to lol. but he was always hilarious & i always liked him quite a lot, even if he wasn’t my tc yet.

question three : is your tc taken or single? & are you taken or single?

i’m not really sure, i think before lockdown he was seeing a woman and it was new because he celebrated christmas for the first time with her - his religion doesn’t do christmas - and so i assumed it was new. i don’t think he is seeing anyone right now though. i am also not seeing anyone. i can’t really. he’s always in the back of my mind. :/

question four : is your tc more of the athletic type, nerdy type or artsy type?

i think L is a mixture of all of the above but i do also believe he is more of the nerdy/artsy type. he is an english/philosophy/religious education teacher but he does have a degree in music. i think that he is so passionate about english though and it shows so much that i’d put him under the type of artsy because the way he writes is an art itself.

question five : if you and your tc were in school together, would you be friends?

i mean, all of his experiences has lead him to the man he is today and i think we are more compatible at this moment. if he were to be younger (my age) he would probably not have this passion for english and literature the way he does today. his experiences have shaped him throughout his life and im in love with the way he talks about it. i do think i would be friends with him though, but i think i’d be more in love with him now then if we were the same age. he is wiser now and i love the words he uses to express that.

question six : name one song that reminds you of your tc and explain why

i would say that the song “Older” - by Birdie reminds me of L the most. the way birdie uses the lyrics and the music to portray their sadness that they aren’t old enough to be with said person is just so relatable. i highly highly hiiiggghhhllyyy recommend listening to that if you have a tc that is even a little older then you!!

question seven : is your tc more of the fashionable type, or more of the comfortable type? & which outfit would you love to see them wear?

L is definitely not fashionable at all. i mean he has amazing ties and cardigans but he is the type to pair purple pants with a brown jumper. i love that about him though. i would LOVE to see him in just normal pj attire because i’ve only ever seen him in a school setting. i’m just so intrigued as to what he wears at home - what are his comfy/no-one-is-looking-at-me clothes?

question eight : would you be willing to become a teacher in your tc’s subject if it meant you two could be together?

i would do it anyways honestly!! english is so amazing and i love philosophy so much. but i would most definitely do so. :)

question nine : does your tc drink or smoke?

i don’t think so but i’m not sure. i wouldn’t mind anyways.

question ten : name one item that is always on your tc’s desk.

omgomg he always has sticky notes and a blue-pastel water bottle.

hey guys!! i’ll finish the challenge later (i want to have a spoonful of nutella and watch yt) let me know if you all like this kind of stuff :)

by the way, a reminder that you are worthy and needed on this earth even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. my dm’s are ALWAYS open if anyone or anything wants to talk or just get spammed by memes ;)

i love you all very very much & i hope all your saturday’s are going great :)

again, all the credit goes to @morethanwords0475 and @baeby-tc for this format!!

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okaywitheverything · 4 years

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hi! can i request minato fall for naruto kindergarten teacher please? thank you 😁

Ma'am: A Possible New Mom? Minato x KindergartenTeacher!Reader

My actual first request! Hope I did it justice! Thank you honey for the request. I wrote some sort of mixed AU so I hope you don't mind.

A/N: This took a lot of time because I have a lot of tests every month. Also i threw up a week ago and was somewhat sick. Then I lost the two drafts and was so irritated with ms word but somehow I managed to write again. So a lot of blood, sweat and tears went into this. Please shower it with love if you even read this awful Author’s note.

Positive A/N: I did like how it turned out tho, the ending is too cute and you won't know what to expect as I didn't either. I genuinely hope you have fun reading this piece.

Word count: 3K

Your POV

“It must be fun to play with the kids all day."

People who think that are the biggest fools on the planet in the universe.

You were picking up the various toys scattered throughout the main classroom, sorting them category wise while the kids took a nap. Most of them anyways.

A few babies had insane amount of energies that they refused to sleep whatsoever. But it wasn't as big a problem as people think it is. All kids have different strengths, a variety of ways to function and unique physiology. You knew if a kid was not tired, forcing him or her to doze off isn't healthy.

Just let the kids be.

So that explains why Naruto was alongside you helping you to collect the sponge shurikens scattered around while you put away the stuffed ninkens on the high shelf. Usually Kiba and Rock Lee would be awake as well, and this trio would play in the hall until their limbs gave out but today even they slept after tiring poor Akamaru out for weird challenges.

“Ma’am, I almost forgot! I want to show you something! Come with me!” Naruto suddenly grabbed your hand leaving his task in the midst and urging you to leave yours too. You looked at him puzzled but giggled at his enthusiasm nonetheless, sometimes kids were too darn cute. You loved the ways kids’ eyes lit up, so optimistic and happy and hopeful until the world snatched it all away. You wanted to preserve this for as long as could.

He took you to the room where the kids kept their small backpacks filled with their favourite articles that they thought were absolutely necessary to take everywhere.

No Neji, you don’t need to have three combs for the care of your luscious hair every possible instant.

Naruto generally brought a lot of snacks which you had to retain sometimes so that he would eat healthy but it became even harder to do so when all he wanted was for Sasuke to taste the tomatoey flavour ‘these’ chips had and gift Rock Lee the curry flavour. That boy had a heart of gold.

He pulled the zipper of his orange backpack open, and took out a stuffed fox.

“Ma’am meet Kurama! I told him all about you and he wanted to meet you!” He held Kurama up while you were gently petting the plushie’s head, he was so excited to see your happiness to meet his esteemed companion.

These kids and their imaginations! You loved every ounce of it!

“Hello Mr. Kurama!” You didn’t feign excitement, you actually were. You loved kids and their creativity and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“He’s my best friend! Don’t tell anyone else though! Others might get sad.”

You did an action of zipping your lips, “Your secret is safe with me, sweetie.”

“Look! I also drew something!” He hastily handed you Kurama and proceeded to take out his yellow sketchbook. He kept turning pages filled with rainbows of colours morphing into one another that made some sense in his cute, little head and finally reached his desired page. He pulled your dress with his little chubby hands, an action he often did when he wanted you to sit beside him. You kneeled down, his plushie settled in your lap now as you waited for him to go ahead.

He handed you his open sketchbook where there were three figures, two adults and one kid judging by the height, all wearing triangular outfits. One kid and an adult had striking yellow hair and blue eyes while the other adult wore an orange dress with a large circle in their hands. On closer inspection, you saw your own hair colour and eye colour being illustrated to the best of the toddler’s ability, as far as the crayons allowed him to portray it. You had a circle in your hands, almost the size of your drawn head with black spots in between while the child in the photo held an orange squishy ball. To save you from your confusion, Naruto came to the rescue and started explaining.

“That’s me and Dada over here. And I’m playing with Kurama! And that’s you Ma’am! Bringing me and dada cookies for being good boys like you do in class!”

Your heart melted right there and then. For some reason, your face heated up too.

“Oh my God, honey, that’s amazing!” You pecked his cheek as Naruto blushed slightly and rubbed his head, “You liked it?”

“I Loved it! What did Dada say about it?”

“He got so red like Sasuke’s tomatoes haha. But he put it on our fridge like my other drawings and he said it was the best one yet.”

Before you could reply, crying was heard from the nap room and you sighed. Looks like someone woke up.

“Yay, someone is up! We can now play!” Naruto began running but you stopped him.

“Let’s be sure to pack this all up before, Ma’am Anko will see to your friend okay?”

Minato was waiting alongside other parents, it was 10 minutes till the kindergarten was over. His mind wandered afar, thinking about his journey to this town.

Minato was very afraid when he moved to Konoha, about Naruto settling in and making friends. Of course, back in his previous town he had already got Naruto a place in the best Kindergarten there, pulling all the needed strings but his promotion caught him off guard. Being a single parent was hard enough as it is, and with the worry of adjusting to new surroundings for his growing son, he was almost going to decline the offer. Only after much conviction from his friends that he deserved this, he took the offer, albeit hesitantly.

He was happy with his new workspace and colleagues as well, and was over the moon when he one of his erudite associates had a son the same age as his own, and recommended the city’s best kindergarten where his son was set to go. He went blindly on his associate’s word, because he knew him to be a wise dad.

For the first two months, he had to work relentlessly to prove his position as the new leader in the branch, and so he had his assistant pick Naruto up while he prepared lunch at home for his precious boy, barely making it home fifteen minutes before they did. But when the company celebrated their first real accomplishment, only then did Minato feel he could take a step back and indulge with his son more as he used to do.

When he began picking him up himself, he realised what he had been missing on: small quirky tales, new words his toddler learned, new friends’ names, his favourite teacher’s cookies apparently. Minato quickly noticed, being the perceptive man he was, that Naruto could go hours and hours talking about his Ma’am. He would have thought of it as a crush, had Naruto been older.

But when he first saw you, he could relate to his son if Naruto did have a crush. He knew he was being superficial, being attracted to your appearance at first sight but he couldn’t help himself that you were almost ethereal, too gorgeous to be true. It seemed as if you were glowing when you laughed alongside the kids or held one of them on your shoulders while searching for the parents.

However, your personality was even more so captivating when he finally talked to you at the parents-teachers conference. You were such a quality teacher, he deduced when he noticed how apt you were at describing each kid individually and how dedicated to their growth you were. He loved the bond you had with Naruto, the boy couldn’t stop grinning upon meeting you on his day off.

The bell rung, breaking him out of his reverie, and he waited as the kids ran to the parents, waving goodbyes here and there, ready for their weekend. He could hear your faint shouting over the buzz, “Make sure you have taken all your belongings, kiddos! Have a good weekend!”

He knew if you had a special place in his son’s heart, he could let you stay in his heart as well.

It was 8 PM, one hour past the Uzumaki kid’s bedtime, but the blatantly crying kid was nowhere near sleeping. A distressed Minato held him on his hip, as he searched the entire house for his favourite plushie, Kurama, without whom Naruto had never slept.

“We’ll find him, Naru. Do you remember where you last saw it?” Minato asked, pausing and sitting in the comfy sofa, looking at Naruto, hoping he’d have an answer.

Naruto’s wails quietened down, fortunately there were no tears, as he pondered and spoke, “I last showed it to Ma’am!”

Minato sighed, he grasped that Naruto would have left it at the playschool because no inch of his house was unsearched. He settled Naruto down on the couch as he deliberated calling you over a toy. He had your number for emergencies, but was this one? The real objection, the actual reluctance he had for calling was totally different though. He hated to admit it, but talking to Naruto’s daydream of a teacher always left him stuttering like a teenager. He could barely listen and respond when he met her at the kindergarten, but talking to that Goddess one on one was more terrifying and nerve-wracking than moving to a new town.

But he knew there was no way Naruto would sleep without Kurama and it was only Friday, nights to wait if he doesn’t ask you about the plushie today. He couldn’t imagine how disheveled will Naruto be without Kurama by then. He would surely award himself with wine if he managed to finish the call without fainting.

With clammy hands and a vigorously pounding heart, he dialed the number.

You were finishing up the last batch of forms and cleaning up, when you saw something abruptly put in the otherwise shipshape playroom. Before you could further inspect, your phone rang, Mr. Uzumaki flashing on top of the screen. Your heart hammered as you wondered what he could be calling about.

You were not going to lie, Mr. Uzumaki was easy on the eyes, always in class A condition with his well-tailored suits as he came to pick Naruto up. Even the married housewives ogled him not-so-subtly. He was such an excellent father, really devoted in his son’s life while simultaneously conquering the business world. An eye candy, with all the best qualities that existed, an immensely put together God’s creation. He was dream partner to have, yet somehow he was single.

Your phone’s ring broke you out of your musing, as your sweaty palms grabbed the phone and received the cal.

“Good Evening, Mr. Uzumaki.” You managed out, your neck suddenly heating up.

“Good Evening, Miss. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all, I was about to head home. How may I help you?”

“If you are still there at the playschool, could you please…… If you don’t mind….. I’m sorry again I called-”

“I assure you, it’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it. Although you do need to tell me the problem if you want me to help.” You giggled lightly, amused at that man stuttering.

“Thank you. Umm Naruto left his night time plushie there I suppose and he doesn’t sleep without it. Could you please, please check if it’s there?”

“Of course.” You held the phone and as you hummed and went to the Kid’s playroom you found Naruto’s sketchbook with the drawing laying on it, and the Kurama toy beside it. You swore you promised Naruto pack it earlier in the day.

“Looks like he did leave it here.”

“Can you keep the school open a bit late, I’ll come and collect it right aw-”

“Its pretty windy right now outside, and you’ll have to bring Naruto too at this hour. I’ll drop it at your home on my way back, I was planning in leaving in five anyways.” Your mouth spoke before you could process what you said, offering to go to his house? Nice going there, you desperate weirdo.

His choked out “Okay” almost surprised you as you ended the call.

This will be a nice, little detour.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell to the Uzumaki household rang and Minato sprinted to the door, opening it immediately.

There you stood, with tousled hair from the wind, in your long red pea coat and black heels. Your cheeks lightly tinted, no doubt because of the unruly weather outside. Somehow you still looked absolutely perfect in Minato’s eyes as he traced your form, unable to initiate the conversation.

You, on the other hand, had halted completely when the door opened revealing a ripped Minato, his muscles bulging underneath his black shirt while grey sweatpants hung loosely on his hips. His biceps were so thick, you wondered how he managed to exercise on top of all the responsibilities he had.

You handed it over to Minato whose eyes widened at the piece of paper and stood there awkwardly, processing what to say.

Somehow stopping yourself from all the gawking, you cleared your throat as you dug in your black purse and took out Naruto’s best friend and his masterpiece.

“Guess he left this as well.” He gave a forced laugh, trying to make things less uncomfortable after he stood silent for two minutes.

You chuckled lightly in agreement when suddenly thunder boomed behind you, causing you to shriek and slip, only to be caught by Minato, his hands holding you around your middle tightly in a protective manner. You coughed as you stepped back again and he cleared his throat this time when suddenly it started pouring like hell’s rage on Earth.

“You should stay for a while, at least until the rain lightens.”

You were going to decline, but when you saw how bad it was raining, you knew you would have to accept. “Looks, like I’ll have to. Sorry to impose.”

“It’s no imposition at all. I’m inviting you, don’t fret.”

You stepped inside, shrugging your pea-coat off, revealing your black dress underneath. Minato reddened visibly, taking your pea-coat from you and hanging it. He cursed himself as he thought of conversation starters, wanting to say something, anything to not stand like a fool.

“Would you like wine? I have this blush flavoured bottle reading to drink.”

“I would love that, Thank you. What are you celebrating though, if I may ask?” You agreed, maybe the alcohol would calm your buzzing nerves. Besides you were a sucker for wine.

“Nothing much, a simple personal achievement of sorts.” He said with a grin as he led you inside, hopeful of where the night might lead. Maybe the liquid courage would help him finally ask you out.

Behind the wall, Naruto grinned with a pacifier in his mouth. Mission successful.

So that was that. Until next time, cookies.

319 notes · View notes

reidingandwriting · 4 years

Text

The Archer

Word Count: ~3200 words

Ship: Clint Barton x Stark!Sister, Tony Stark x Stark!Sister (brotherly/platonic role) Loki x Stark!Sister (platonic) Natasha x Stark!Sister (platonic)

Warnings: Language, a few moments of an unhealthy relationship, a tiny bit of violence

A/N: This was requested by @stellastyless, I hope you like it!! I’ve never done a fic focused on Clint as a major character, so I hope I portrayed him well 🥺 This was my first request, I hope I didn’t let you down, darling! This one is not reader-insert due to a requested character!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Katanas: twin swords

Scabbard: sheath for swords

As the younger sister of Tony Stark, you spent the last few years of your life with the superhero team called the Avengers. You had your brother’s personality and where he excelled in the sciences, you excelled in fighting. You weren’t an enhanced individual nor did you have a special suit like many of the other members of the team, but with your agility, intelligence, and skill with your katanas, you were a valuable member to the team. You got along with the Avengers pretty well, except for one person: Clint Barton. To put it nicely, you had an interesting relationship with the archer known as Hawkeye. Truthfully? You considered each other rivals.

Your personalities were too similar, both fought for dominance. Every sarcastic remark and sassy quip you made knew how to rub Clint the wrong way. You were just as stubborn as your older brother, the true mark of a Stark, and your temper wasn’t much better. Tony figured it would take some for the two of you to learn to tolerate each other, but even after years of working together, the love-hate relationship you two shared leaned very close towards hatred more than love. And god forbid you two disagree on anything.

“Tonight!”

“Tomorrow!”

“Tonight!” You slammed your palm on the table, brown eyes narrowed as you held eye contact with Clint.

“My god, does it matter? It’s literally movie night, it isn’t that serious.” Tony groaned. “Brucey, I know I said I’m sober, but they’re about to drive me to drinking again.”

***

“I told you to go left!” Clint’s voice sounded through the comms, and you rolled your eyes. You lifted your hand to your ear, speaking.

“I’m sorry, Cap. I must have missed the debriefing where we decided Clint was the boss of me.” The sarcasm dripped from your tongue and you heard the familiar strangled groan fill your ears.

“Can we continue the lovers spat later, please? Maybe at a time we aren’t on a battlefield? Barton, Romanoff needs covering. Stark, board the quinjet, I’ve sent my coordinates to Banner. He’s waiting for you, I’ll need backup. Can we handle that?”

“On it.”

***

On the other end of your relationship, you had each other’s backs. No one was allowed to beat on Barton except for you and vice versa. You two were both skilled with your weapons, and you often trained together. You were the first person he’d come to after a mission, and you did the same. During weekly movie nights, you always found yourself settled into the couch beside him, a blanket draped over both of your laps, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Quit hogging the popcorn, you ass! To mend Tony’s ego, you sometimes sat beside your brother, but your gaze was often drawn to Clint. The peaceful moments between you two were seldom, but much enjoyed- by you two and everyone else in the compound.

“Damn. You made it back after all.” You stood in the hangar, hands on your hips as you watched the battered team come out of the jet.

“Couldn’t leave my favorite Stark without giving her this.” Clint reached in his pocket and you watched as he pulled his hand out, showing you his middle finger. You shot him a glare, but the playful smirk on your lips showed your true emotions.

“Tones, take him back wherever you came from. I enjoyed the silence without him.” Tony’s laughter followed and he stepped ahead of Clint, pulling you into his arms. You hugged him back tightly, sticking your tongue out at Clint who lightly brushed shoulders with you as he walked into the compound.

***

“Barton.” Your voice echoed through the empty living room, your footsteps silent as you approached the man sitting on the couch. “You were supposed to meet me outside half an hour ago. I didn’t get dolled up,” you gestured to your outfit consisting of athletic shorts and a sports bra, “to be stood up.”

“Sorry.” Clint wringed his hands together, brows slightly furrowed in a grimace as he looked up at you. “Hands have been killing me lately, nothing’s been helping.” You frowned and silently sat on the floor in front of him. You took his left hand in yours and gently rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. “What are you-”

“What’s it look like? Massaging your hands.” You gave him a ‘duh’ expression, applying light pressure as you massaged each knuckle and down his hand. “You may be one of the best archers I’ve ever met, but you aren’t immune to wear and tear on the old joints. It’s not a cure by any means, but it can temporarily help ease the pressure in your hands.” You explained as you continued, switching to his right hand a few moments later.

“Aww, you do care.” Clint teased. He paused for a second before speaking again. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.” You offered him a small smile before looking back down. “But it won’t be nearly as fun annoying you if you’re in too much pain to fight me back.”

“You truly are something else, Stark.”

***

You two also worked together on missions fluidly, as if you were one. You could anticipate his moves before he even made them, and he brought in different perspectives that you never would have seen. You often took the lead in missions, and Clint trusted your decisions- these things made Fury partner you up together more often than not. You were on another mission now, collecting information on a possible new weapon of mass destruction being created by one of the few remaining HYDRA bases.

“There’s our guy.” Clint’s voice spoke through your comms and you brushed your hair over your shoulder, speaking into the earpiece.

“Copy that. I’ll give you the signal once it’s safe for you to pass.” You held your head high as you walked to the HYDRA agent standing guard, clad in a disguise made to look like the HYDRA uniform. You were there to distract the agent guarding the hall while Clint gathered all the files regarding the new weapon.

“Excuse me! What are you doing down here?” The agent took in your face. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, standing inches away from him. “I’ve been at a different base for most of my time here. My director sent me here, and I had to learn from the best.” You rested your hand on his arm, sending him a smile. “You’re Spiel, right?”

“You’ve heard of me?” His accent was thick and his brows were furrowed.

“Of course! We all have. The moment I found out you were working where I was, I insisted that I get to learn from someone who was the best, and everyone says that would be you.” The agent’s lips curved into a smug smile, and you knew you had him distracted as he turned to face you. You sent the subtle signal to Clint, and Clint silently made his way down the hall and into the room with the new HYDRA files. You continued to flirt with the agent and minutes later, you heard the archer’s voice faintly through your earpiece.

“I’ve got the files we need. I’ll meet you at the extraction point, I’m stepping in if I don’t see you in five.” You looked up at the guard, noticing how much closer he got during your conversation. You tried to excuse yourself, giving him some bullshit excuse, stopping as his hand grabbed your shoulder.

“How about we meet for drinks tomorrow night? I’d love to hear all the stories you’ve heard about me.” The arrogant smirk on his face made you want to scoff, but you gave him an award winning smile.

“Why not tonight?” The man opened his mouth to speak, stopping when you both heard Clint’s voice.

“There you are, darling!” You could see the fire in Clint’s eyes and you assumed it was from how close the guard was to you. Recognition took over the guard’s face and he began to call for backup as Clint grabbed him, knocked him out, and let his body slide down the wall. “Sweet dreams.” And with that, Clint walked out of the base with you and you boarded the quinjet, going back to the compound you called home.

———

“Barton! Can I talk to you for a minute?” Steve asked as he walked into the gym. Clint looked up at Steve and nodded. Clint walked over and stopped in front of him.

“What’s up, Cap?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to teach Stella archery. She’s expressed interest in learning, and I thought you could teach her. If you don’t want to, I can find someone who will teach her.” Steve added when he sensed hesitation in Clint’s body language.

“No, no, no. I can handle it. Besides, bringing someone new in?” Clint shook his head. “I can teach her.”

“Great. I’ll go tell her while you get ready.” As Steve walked off, Clint sighed to himself.

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

———

“Okay, Stella.” Clint spoke and stood beside you. “Nock the bow.” You felt for the notch in the arrow and lined it up with the bow. “Good. Now, draw.” You lifted the bow into position, pulling the bowstring back. “Wait.” You rolled your eyes as Clint stopped you again.

“You sure are saying wait a lot, but I don’t see you helping me.” You snapped, your frustration evident. You had been practicing with Clint for what felt like hours, but every time you went to release the arrow, you were stopped. “Can you help me? Please?” Clint’s face softened at your ‘please’ and he walked over immediately.

“Here.” Clint’s chest was so close to your back, you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands rested on yours, guiding your hands into the correct position. Your hands tingled at the touch and while it felt odd, it also felt sort of nice? “Now, release.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding before releasing the arrow. Bullseye.

“I did it!” You threw your arms around Clint, surprising yourself and him. Clint hesitated before hugging you back, smiling wide.

“You did amazing, Stella.” Clint hugged you tight once more before letting you go. He opened his mouth to speak again but his gaze drifted towards Natasha a few feet away. Natasha was sparring with Steve and Clint glanced at Stella again. “I’ll be right back, Stark.” Stella watched as Clint walked to Natasha and you felt a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You shook your head and faced the targets and tried to focus on your archery practice. After your gaze repeatedly went to Clint, you sighed and walked over to Clint and Natasha.

“Nat. Can I borrow Barton for a minute?” You called out as Natasha took a drink from her water bottle. She waved her hand, sending Clint over with you. “Sorry for stealing you. I think I need some more help.” Your tone was apologetic and Clint smiled at you.

“Of course, Stel. Let’s try again.”

———

Everyone thought you and Clint had made progress during your archery lessons, but the peace was very short-lived. You sat on a bench in Tony’s workshop, hands gesturing wildly as you talked about the fight you and Clint had after a mission the other day.

“I swear, it's like you have a death wish!” Clint paced as you sat on a bed in the med bay, getting a wound in your side treated. “I told you to stay put, but you didn’t. And now look at you!”

“I’m fine, Clint.” The nonchalant tone in your voice only furthered Clint’s anger. “I moved out of the way in time, and I don’t need you or anyone else babysitting me. I get enough of that from Tony, thank you.”

“Clearly not enough, or you wouldn’t be here. What if you hadn’t moved? What if you would have been alone? You could have died, Stark.”

“But I didn’t, Barton. So calm the hell down.” Clint stormed out after that, and you didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

And let’s not forget the fist-fight he recently got in because of you.

“Clint! Get off him!” You jumped off the barstool, Natasha and you pulling Clint off a man at the other end of the bar. Natasha sent the man a glare cold enough to freeze a desert and he scampered away, blood dripping from his nose and eye swollen shut. You grabbed Clint’s arm, dragging him out through the back of the bar. “What the hell was that?”

“He was being a damn pervert. The black eye ought to teach him a lesson if the bloody nose doesn’t.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“I heard him, I know he deserved it. But you can’t just start fights with every drunk in a bar that makes inappropriate comments about me, Nat, or anyone. They aren’t worth it.” You looked down at his hands and frowned. “Those need to be disinfected and wrapped when we’re back. Let’s get Red and we can leave.”

***

Natasha wrapped Clint’s hands, letting him rant as she listened silently. When he stopped, she spoke.

“You like her.” Clint’s eyes widened and he stammered.

“W-what are you talking about? Me and Stella? As if.” Clint protested and Natasha shook her head fondly, smirking to herself.

“You’ve never been in a bar fight for me.” Natasha said.

“You can handle yourself.” Clint responded.

“And she can’t?” Natasha countered.

“I didn’t say that!” Clint exclaimed.

“You kind of did.” Clint groaned and stood up.

“You’re impossible. I’m going to bed.” Natasha sent him an over-friendly wave and Clint shot her the middle finger as he left.

“Clueless, the both of them. Completely and utterly clueless.”

———

“Tony! Are you even listening?” You groaned, your brother’s gaze never leaving his project.

“I’ll be honest, I tuned out everything after ‘Barton.’ But on the bright side, your ranting makes great background noise.” Tony held up the finished product, wincing at the glare you were sending him. “I know you’re frustrated, kid. Have you talked to him about it?” You paused for a moment before scoffing, and you hopped off the bench.

“Talking, yeah. That fixes everything.” You walked towards the door.

“Stella.” You stopped as Tony called out your name. “I’m serious. Maybe he doesn’t see that he’s acting like a babysitter more than your teammate. Consider talking to him. If that doesn’t work, I’m sure Reindeer Games has ideas.” You rolled your eyes at the nickname your brother gave Loki.

“Loki always has ideas.” You stepped out of the lab, calling out a goodbye to Tony as you walked to the elevator. “FRI, to Loki’s floor, please.”

“As you wish, Ms. Stark.” As you made your way up to Loki’s room to continue the conversation you started with Tony, you knew you had to talk to Clint sooner or later. Later will have to work, you thought as you walked into Loki’s bedroom. Early the next morning, unknown to you and Clint, your brother and best friends were scheming in the living room.

***

“As much as I hate the idea of my sister dating Legolas, their game of who can be more oblivious is really getting old.” Tony spoke before he took a drink of coffee, sat on the couch with Natasha and Loki.

“We’ve tried everything.” Natasha leaned back against the couch, frustrated. “We’ve had them train exclusively with each other. They always go on missions together, and we’ve left them alone in the compound more times than I can count. They’re both too stubborn to make the first move.” A lightbulb went off in Loki’s head, and he spoke up.

“There is one thing we could do.” Loki explained his plan, and the three agreed to execute it as soon as possible.

———

“Anthony Edward Stark, you asshole! Let me out of this damn room!” You pounded against the door, FRIDAY’s voice responding.

“I apologize, Miss Stark. The room has been soundproofed, no one can hear you.” You cursed up at the ceiling.

“The second I’m out of here, I’m kicking his ass.” You grumbled and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I’m not happy about this either, but yelling isn’t doing anything. Neither is your complaining. Can we just talk so they can let us out?” You spun towards Clint, an anger in your eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to be irritated without your approval. I’ll be sure to schedule it next time.” Clint stalked towards you, neither of you backing down.

“Why are you always so difficult?”

“I could ask you the same question, Barton.”

“Because you act like a child, Stark!”

“You make me act that way!”

“And there we go again.” Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Why can’t you accept responsibility instead of pushing the blame onto everyone else?” You growled, going to shove his chest but his hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping you. Your strength wavered when you spoke again.

“Why can’t you treat me like we’re equals?” Clint froze, surprised at the 180 you had made. “You act like you’re above me, like I really am some child you have to babysit instead of an equal member of the team.”

“I… I didn’t know you felt that way. I never meant to make you feel like that, and I’m sorry for treating you like I was above you. I’ve never considered you to be below me, Stella. You’re such an important part of this team, and you’re important to me- us. You’re important to all of us.” Clint had calmed down by now, and you stood inches apart.

“I know you didn’t mean to. I just, it frustrated me that you treated me like I was a kid. Because I really like you, and I thought you hated me.” Your eyes widened when you realized your slip-up. “I didn’t mean to say that. Or didn’t mean that. You know how I get when I get worked up, I go on and on and-” You were cut off by Clint’s lips meeting yours, and you melted into his touch as you kissed him back. You two were interrupted by the sounds of Natasha and Loki cheering over the intercom, and your brother making sounds of disgust. You laughed and looked up at Clint.

“I really like you too, Stella. If our meddling friends let us out, we can change and maybe go out for dinner?” The door clicked open and you two ran out of the room, off to your rooms to get ready for your first of many dates.

Taglist: @daughter-of-stark @agent-barnes40 @spideygirl2003 @ditttiii @5aftermidnight @stellastyless ❤️ Taglist and requests are OPEN!

69 notes · View notes

skyflicker · 4 years

Text

always with me (amasai week day six)

written for @amasaiweek2020 hosted by @toxicisnotapineapple and @storyflight! last fic i have for the week and the last installment in the ‘shuichi gets over rantaro’s death’ series (lmao). questionable ships ahead-

but seriously, i can’t write fluff lmao. and it’s another pretty narrative piece but i hope y’all still like and enjoy it! my ao3 is @silveryyy and this fic is up there, as are all my other ones, and i’ll be posting other fics of mine up there soon, so do stick around and stay tuned, there’s a lot of me y’all haven’t seen yet!

Shuichi’s hand lingers on the doorbell as he waits for someone to answer.

The mansion is huge, and as big as the family is, there are only two maids, so it takes quite some time until anyone comes to open the door. It’s quiet all around- the house is in the suburb areas of Sapporo, and not many people of similar status come out at night. At this time of the night, Shuichi is the only one on these streets, alone.

Moonlight smiles down at him, like a gossamer veil of pearl-like periwinkle silk hanging over the area, stray strands of the light winding around the lamp posts and illuminating the rooftops of the mansions. It casts a soft ivory sheen over the greenery lining the streets, the daisies shining a lilac colour as Night’s onyx cloak of darkness attempts to camouflage it. The tar-like fog of Night reaches towards Shuichi, clouds of billowing obsidian mist flooding towards him, starting to fill him with anxiety and doubt, but he’s barely affected- he knows that his best friend is always with him no matter what, and the thought alone comforts him and strengthens him against the attacks of darkness.

Snow is falling from the sky as the ever cold and unforgiving wind whips around Shuichi with its iced daggers and snowy blades, beating relentlessly at his face, and he holds his coat closer as his scarf spins around, tossed by the wind. Despite the cold it brings, the snowflakes are graceful, twirling in an elegant dance as they land lightly on the flowers, on the grass, covering the cobblestones on the pavement, leaving piles of alabaster fluffiness on the sides of the road: it leaps everywhere, coating the roofs and falling, like dimmed meteors, the spears of the stars, onto Shuichi’s hands. He shivers from the contact- it’s freezing cold, and he’s not wearing gloves- but he smiles at the serenity of the moment nonetheless. It’s cliche, but he likes watching the snow fall. There’s something mesmerizing about how the droplets of softened ice sway to the rondo of the wind, how they fall almost uniformly but there’s a natural irregularity to it that makes it ever so interesting to watch. People normally think of snow as something beautiful and soft and lovely until they come into contact with it and dismiss it as annoying, but Shuichi doesn’t. He just loves it, loves the silence it seems to naturally bring, loves the tranquility of its nature.

There’s a poem he really likes, Quieter than Snow, by Bertie Dorherty, that he heard when he was in school. It’s a poem he always thinks about when he sees snow (which is rather often after he moved to Sapporo), even though he knows the poem isn’t actually about snow and is actually rather eerie. He’s never been much of a literature person, being more of a science kid than language, but Kaede, and surprisingly Maki both studied the subject as an elective, and the latter taught him the poem during one of their study sessions with Kaito. It’s somewhat creepy, in his opinion, and sends shivers down his spine, but it’s beautifully written, portrays silence and the strange feelings of feeling alone in somewhere that shouldn’t be, perfectly. The same silence always comes with the falling of snow, and even though Shuichi knows snow absorbs sound and that’s why everything seems so quiet around it, he can’t help but think of the poem.

It takes two minutes until the doorbell is answered. The oakwood doors creak open as Shuichi looks over, and lets a smile spread across his face as Sora opens the door, her face lighting up along with the porch, which is immediately submerged in the light streaming out from the entrance hall.

“Shuichi!” the young woman exclaims, and walks forward to pull the man inside. “We’ve been waiting for you! Sorry it took so long and sorry for leaving you in the cold, Akira was crying and everyone was fussing over her and all…”

“It’s no problem,” the man assures her, and her face relaxes. Shuichi changes into his indoor shoes- he smiles as he sees the shoes with his name clipped on them. He doesn’t live here with Rantaro’s sisters, but he’s over so often that they’ve prepared everything for him in case he drops over anytime.

“Everyone else is in the living room, I think, you’ll probably find whoever you’re looking for there.” Sora smiles at him, and then disappears into a corridor, no doubt off to the sewing room- Shuichi remembers Rantaro describing her as the most creative person he knew, and Shuichi completely agrees. Sora is an avid fan of textiles and sewing, and works as a fashion designer- she’s rather famous here in Japan, actually, and her designs are always popular. He’s seen some of them himself, and found himself extremely impressed- it’s like she weaves her outfits out of strands of moonlight and threads of sunlight. Naoko told him once that she recognized the necklace he wears upon seeing him because of the string the sea glass is strung on, and that it’s one of Sora’s special designs, woven out of the finest silks into a durable pearl-coloured string, and simply was irreplicable.

Despite how large the mansion is- Shuichi finds himself constantly surprised with the vastness of the Amami fortune no matter how many times he’s seen it in action- he’s been around enough times to know his way around. He finds his way to the living room easily, knocking lightly on the oak doors.

This time, his call is answered fairly quickly. The doors open to someone throwing their arms around him tightly. “Shuichi! We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Minori,” he smiles as he greets Rantaro’s youngest sister, the girl a whole eight years younger than he is. She was three when she was lost, according to Rantaro, and was only found four and a half years ago when she was sixteen. She’s an adult now, and Shuichi feels a pang of guilt in his stomach for not finding her earlier, but he pushes the thought away. “It’s great to see you, too.”

The teenage girl smiles happily as she releases him, and lets him into the room. The living room is vast, with dark chocolate coloured glossy floorboards, and beige pillars with gold swirled in them extend to the tall ceiling metres above him, arching to the middle of the ceiling. On the ceiling itself is a mural of the night sky and all the constellations, which glow in the dark when the lights are off, and a large light shaped like the solar system dangles from it. Further down the room, a carpeted spiral staircase, its handles painted gold and embedded with topaz stones that fracture the light and project tiny rainbows everywhere, leads up to a balcony overlooking the living room, connecting a few rooms together. It’s a gorgeous design, and even if Shuichi’s been here many times over the years since he’s found half of the siblings, which was when this mansion was bought, he still marvels at it every single time.

Rantaro’s sisters are scattered all over the room. In the middle, Ena and Akari are pouring over some drawings as Akari, ever the artist, adds small details to a painting, and in one corner of the room, Hanako is playing Mario Kart with Shiori and Inori on a large screen, and Shuichi watches, smiling, as Shiori crosses the finish line first, letting out a cheer, and her eyes turn to him. She laughs as she waves at him, and calls for her youngest biological sister, who is still behind Shuichi. Minori gives Shuichi’s hand a squeeze before she heads on over to her two biological sisters, who welcome her with hugs, and her second oldest sister. In another corner, Yuki is lounging on the bean bag chairs in the reading corner, back against the shelves overflowing with books, a pile of novels on the ground next to her, and typing away on her computer- Yuki’s a writer and poet, and Shuichi likes talking to her about plots and stories, and her books are always really beautifully written and interesting. She’s talking to Naoko as she types, and the other girl is finally smiling and laughing again, like Rantaro told him she did when she was small. The young woman had been through countless hardships and was even forced to help with numerous kidnappings, and it’d taken them ages to persuade her to come back to Japan. Initially she’d refused, and Shuichi and Amaka were forced to leave without her, but two months later, she’d appeared on the mansion’s doorstep, seeking refuge after deserting her slavers. Amaka had taken her in without a single moment of hesitation, and Shuichi was beyond relieved it had worked out okay. Naoko’s now studying translation, and she’s truly talented in the subject- Shuichi finds himself constantly impressed by her ability to speak fluently in so many different languages.

He’s an only child, Shuichi is, but being with Rantaro’s sister lets him in on the feeling of being an older brother to these lovely young women. They seem to treat him like an older brother too, and even though Shuichi wouldn’t dream of ever replacing Rantaro (and he’s sure the girls won’t either), he feels welcome with them. Like they’re family. Akari calls Shuichi her brother in law, and so do a couple of the others, and even though Shuichi feels vaguely uncomfortable with it- after all, he never had the chance to confess to Rantaro when he was alive- but he grows used to it after a while.

Some of Rantaro’s sister, like Ena and Hanako, aren’t always home- they stay in where they were lost for half the year or so, reunite with the family they built there while lost, so Shuichi especially enjoys and cherishes these times when they’re all home and the family is (almost) complete. It’s also why he loves the autumn and winter seasons so much- it gives him time to spend with his newfound family. He spends as much time as he can spare with them, gives them what they want, does everything he can for them, for Rantaro’s sake, for their brother who never got the chance to reunite with all of them.

“Shuichi!” he turns to see Kaede appearing at the top of the staircase, her signature bright smile on her face as she rushes downstairs and forward. He does the same, and they meet each other in the middle, Kaede reaching to embrace her childhood friend, the closest thing she ever had to a brother in her childhood days, and vice versa.

He’s always found it rather interesting and surprising that Kaede found love in one of Rantaro’s sisters- Amaka, in fact, who’s probably in one of the children’s rooms right now (probably Akira’s , their adopted daughter). It’s like fate always meant for Rantaro and Shuichi to become family, in one way or another. He remembers Rantaro telling him the meaning of the name ‘Amaka’- heaven’s song, and that’s probably what she is to Kaede, who’s a pianist and adores music. She loves her wife a lot, after all- that much is evident, by how Kaede’s eyes light up at the mere sight of Amaka, how she caters to her every need, how she looks at her wife with nothing but adoration.

“Kaede,” he greets her. “What did you call me here for? It’s past nine already.”

She frowns a little, and gestures at one of the rooms that connect to the balcony. “Your godson wanted to see you. He’s refusing to sleep until you come by.”

Shuichi sighs, but a smile is on his lips. He loves his godson, adores spending time with him. He isn’t surprised this happened, actually- with his mother, Rina, off on a week-long exchange trip to Korea (she’s a teacher in a primary school) and his father accompanying her, and his mother’s twin Riku staying the night at her girlfriend’s, the three year old’s bound to feel scared. He gestures to Kaede to leave it to him, and as Kaede beams and thanks him before heading up to her daughter’s room, he makes his way towards the one of the far left, with its door ajar.

He knocks, and enters his godson’s room. It’s painted baby blue, and photos are hung all over one of the walls, of different countries and the young boy’s twelve aunts, and a few of Shuichi and Kaede and Rantaro. Toys are littered all over the floor, and a white bookcase is built up against one of the corners of the room.

The small boy is curled up in a nest of pillows and blankets, and as Shuichi enters, he looks up, and his face brightens. “Shuichi!” he says in greeting, and he sits down on the bed, smiling.

“Hey, Taro,” he strokes his godson’s hair softly. It was incredibly sweet of Rina to name her son after her deceased brother, and even sweeter of her husband and her to name Shuichi godfather when small Rantaro was born. The boy has his mother’s silky blonde hair that looked just like the manifestation of sunlight, and the cerulean blue eyes Shuichi found ever so familiar (Riku and Rina has the exact same eyes), and even though he doesn’t look like his namesake, Shuichi can see the Rantaro he knew in the young boy, in his quiet thoughtfulness and love of adventure, and Shuichi loves him for who he is. He knows, that up above, in Heaven, Rantaro’s looking down on this child, and smiling.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” the boy says, and Shuichi can see the terror in his eyes, the fear he carries of sleeping without his parents by his side for the first time ever. “I can’t sleep, not without Oka-san here, Shuichi, I want her here with me-”

Shuichi ruffles Rantaro’s hair as he says soothingly, “You know your mother can’t be here with you tonight, Taro… she’ll be back very soon. You know, she’s probably looking at the sky right now, where she is, and wondering if you’re asleep yet, worrying if you’re too scared to sleep alone, or if you miss her too much. Your mother loves you a lot, you know that.”

Rantaro’s cerulean eyes are large, and beautiful, as if they hold miles and miles of oceans in them, but at this moment the waters inside are wild and rogue, waves splashing and crashing down from high up, and they look into Shuichi’s desperately as he leans into his godfather and hugs him tightly. Shuichi hugs back, trying the best he can to comfort the terrified boy.

At last, Rantaro says, his voice muffled by Shuichi’s clothes, “Shuichi, tell me a story.”

He complies, starting to rise to get a storybook from the bookshelf, but Rantaro clutches onto him tightly. “Taro, I can’t get a book if you don’t let go,” he tells the boy softly, but the three year old still holds on tight.

“I don’t want just any other story, Shuichi, I’ve heard most of those books before,” he says, “you read them to me, remember? I want a story about you. About- about Uncle Rantaro.”

Shuichi widens his eyes in surprise, but he smiles, giving in to his godson’s request. He finds himself talking about Rantaro (the one who is his best friend) and him meeting, laughing slightly when he reaches the point where Rantaro waited for him for the entire night just to apologize for something his father did; he talks about how they met up every week at the coffee shop, how they had unintentionally gotten into the same secondary school; he talks about their trips to find Rantaro’s sisters, about his first kiss, about the one time they succeeded and brought Rina home; he finds himself smiling bitterly as he goes onto talking about how Rantaro had died saving Rina in the bus crash, laughing briefly at how he shut himself in, and he tells his godson about how he found his closure. But most of all, he talks about Rantaro as a person, and as he talks he sees his best friend in his mind, with his comforting smile, the constant sadness present in his pretty lemongrass eyes, his windswept, tousled hair, and how he was always so selfless and kind and caring. He finds himself unable to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek as he tells small Rantaro how his namesake cared for his sisters, for everyone around him, and tiny Rantaro listens attentively, engrossed in Shuichi’s stories.

“He died so your mother, and you, could live,” Shuichi tells the boy. “He’d be so happy to see you living today, he’s probably smiling down at you and watching everything you do. He’s always with me, and he’s always with you.”

Rantaro (the young boy, that is) is silent for a moment, and then he says, “why’s the ending so sad?”

Shuichi’s caught off guard, “Huh?”

“Why couldn’t Uncle Rantaro have lived?” the boy asks. “Why did he have to die in the end and make everyone so sad? Why can’t he and you just, I don’t know, live happily ever after?”

Shuichi laughs a little as he pats his godson on the head lightly. “Rantaro, but it is a happy ending.”

The three year old tilts his head, confused, “But he died! You were so upset, and Oka-san was upset, and everyone was sad over it…”

“Happy endings come in all shapes and sizes,” Shuichi says quietly. “Rantaro may have died and left us, but he died protecting his sister, one of the people he loved most. He died protecting your mother, and you, and he achieved his purpose perfectly- look, you and your mother are leading a life that’s full of happiness, see? Your Uncle Rantaro would’ve been so happy if he was here now. Besides, his greatest wish was to find all his sisters, and even if he died before he could see everyone back, they’re all safe and sound now, aren’t they? His death isn’t the end of the story, just the part that shocked everyone, the plot twist that makes the story worth reading. We’re living out the end of the story now. We’re living out his happy ending.”

Shuichi touches the sea glass around his neck. He doesn’t need it anymore, not now, for now, he’s finally letting go, letting the guilt and grief and everything stay in the past. His memories of him are dear, and are important to Shuichi, but Shuichi now knows, now realizes, that he doesn’t need the sea glass to prove to him that Rantaro is there with him.

Because Rantaro isn’t only in the sea glass. He’s everywhere, in his sisters’ smiles and laughter, he’s there in Shuichi’s happiness and there to guide him when times are rough. Rantaro is in his heart, a lamp to guide his way in the dark, the path of moonlight on the sea so Shuichi can pass through safely. Rantaro is there with Shuichi no matter what.

He hesitates, and then unfastens the necklace around his neck. Reaching out to take his godson’s hand, he puts it there and closes his hand gently. “Take this, Rantaro. It belonged to your uncle, to someone I loved very much, and when I was wearing it, I felt his presence with me, and it comforted me and gave me strength when I needed it. But now, it’s time to pass this on. Put it on, and your uncle will always be with you, and he’ll guide your path when you need help, and you’ll never be alone. Remember, when you touch this, that you aren’t alone, and you have me, and your mother and father, and all your aunts.”

Rantaro looks at the necklace, seemingly touched, and he looks up at Shuichi. “Could you help me put it on?” he murmurs, and Shuichi smiles, taking it and easily clasping it around Rantaro’s neck.

“Now go to sleep,” he tells his godson, who smiles and nods.

He stays there after he turns the lights off, watches his godson drift off into the land of dreams, and places his hand over where the sea glass used to be. It feels strangely empty, without the necklace he’d worn for years, but Shuichi’s no longer afraid of the dark.

“You’re much braver than I remembered,” a voice whispers from the doorway, and Shuichi turns to see Kaede standing there with a smile on her face. “I’m proud of you, and Rantaro would be, too.”

Shuichi stands, and walks out to meet Kaede. They stand on the balcony, overlooking Rantaro’s sisters living out the childhood they lost with each other. “I’m just doing what Rantaro would’ve wanted me to do,” he says. “I’ve found all of his sisters, brought them all home, finished his last wish. Rantaro wouldn’t have wanted me to be stuck in the past, or to never move on after his death. He’d want me to live his ‘happily ever after’ for him, and that’s what I'm doing now.”

Kaede laughs. “And to think that this is the same person who yelled at me when I tried to get him to move on all those years ago,” she teases him.

“Hey! I was busy being traumatized back then!” he protests, and Kaede ruffles his hair as he ducks away, laughing.

He looks out over the handrails again, and can’t help but smile at the sight of Rantaro’s sisters- his sisters- as they mingle, and live, and write out their own happy endings. They were all once lost, torn apart by fate, but they all rewrote their destinies and managed to reunite.

Now, it’s Shuichi’s turn to rewrite his destiny, to live out his happy ending for Rantaro. He touches the spot where the necklace used to be again, and smiles,

and knows in his heart that Rantaro will always watch over him.

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa fanfiction #rantaro amami #shuichi saihara #rantaro x shuichi #amasai #amasai week 2020 #silveryyyy's fanfiction

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fountainpenguin · 5 years

Text

Ex-“Refusal” Prompt

“Refusal” is a Prompt that revolves around Timmy’s Dad, Sheldon Dinkleberg, and some of the other Dimmsdale characters in their age group back when they were Squirrely Scouts together. In this draft, the Scouts go camping to Dimmsdale Flats, and Dad and Sheldon clash during a hike. I left in all my character notes in case they’re of interest to anyone wanting to explore Timmy’s Dad’s or Sheldon’s characters.

This is a really fun Prompt that was really coming together and I think I could have polished it up nicely, but I was a little bothered that a piece meant to explore Timmy’s Dad’s character had Flappy Bob for a narrator, and I’ve since found a way to portray the Dad-Dinkleberg conflict in a much more interesting way for me, so I don’t need this version anymore. “Refusal” will be one of our first Prompts once 130 Reasons comes off hiatus, so keep your eyes out.

Characters: Robert “Flappy Bob” Ferguson, Thaddeus “Dad” Turner, Sheldon Dinkleberg, Louis Bickles, Bennett Buxaplenty, Oliver Buxaplenty, Pappy

A lot of kids by this age might have started asking questions like where do babies come from, why were they here, and what were they supposed to do? When Robert Ferguson voiced those same questions, he tended to be a tad more literal. As Mr. Turner blasted “[Song]” and “Stayin’ Alive” the whole way to the outskirts of town, and Sheldon and Louis bellowed the lyrics out at the top of their lungs, Robert sank into the beaten cushions of the station wagon and covered his eyes.

Where did babies come from? In his experience, they were unceremoniously dumped by their parents on whichever unlucky saps happened to be in the area to care for them (and whenever he asked Mrs. Twittafly, she swore he’d been hand-delivered to the Dimmsdale Orphanage in a silver basket by a ghost).

What was he doing here? He honestly had no clue. One morning last February he’d hopped out of bed to try squeezing in a little juggling practice before the Powers That Be were awake to tell him to knock it off, and he tripped over the folded uniform lying on the floor. Robert knew the rules: Do as his mysterious benefactor ordered, or the seltzer bottles would get him for it. He joined the Squirrely Scouts immediately.

And where were they all going? Dimmsdale Flats. Population: Too boring to be bother mentioning.

He’d been crammed into the back seat of the stuffy car for thirty minutes, his sharp and angular thirteen-year-old body more than a little too big for the uniform he was wearing. Was it really too much to expect his benefactor to provide clothes that actually fit? On either end of the back seat, Louis Bickles and Sheldon Dinkleberg danced back and forth in what little space they had against the dirty car windows. Oliver Buxaplenty had claimed the entire middle row for himself. He was a Buxaplenty. They could do that.

Directly to Robert’s right sat Tad “Dad” Turner (sour after Bennett Buxaplenty had convinced their troop leader, Pappy Turner, to boot his own son to the rear so Bennett could claim shotgun). Dad had a spiral-bound sketchbook with an elaborate red cover in his lap. It had a strap and a buckle too, because mostly, he refused to let anyone see what he was drawing, and always snapped at curious Sheldon for peeking.

Dad loved drawing and designing clothes almost as much as Louis loved wearing them. But for now, he struggled to focus on the sleek car he was sketching. The bouncing of the station wagon along the dirt road kept making his lines smear and his pencils snap. Every few minutes, he’d shove Sheldon with his elbow or kick his ankle, as if this were all his fault.

“At least there are just four of us,” Robert grunted when they bounced over another sloppy speedbump in the dirt road. The station wagon didn’t have belts to hold them in, and he grabbed the back of the seat as Mr. Turner took a turn too fast. Mud splattered against the window nearest Louis. Robert wrinkled his nose. “We’d have to fit another one of us in here if Denzel’s mom didn’t make him join the Sugar Cream Puffs.”

The car hit a sharp rock and bucked, Sheldon’s hand flew down and slid across Dad’s notebook. Half his page tore, right through the sad-looking cow in the middle. Dad’s hands flew up, breath sharp. “Sorry Dad,” Sheldon apologized in his quick and cheerful way. Too late. Dad shoved the curly-haired boy against the window and flipped to the next page with a grimace. He tapped his eraser against his teeth.

“Why is Denzel in the Cream Puffs?” he asked Robert.

“They get half off on most of the cookies they don’t sell, I think.” Gripping his pointy knees, Robert blew the air from his cheeks. “Pretty convenient, him dropping out of Scouts right before I came in. Lucky for me.”

Clearly, no one else found this suspicious connection interesting. Dad kept drawing, Sheldon gazed in rapture at passing cows and ranches through the window, Oliver was asleep with his blond hair sticking up like straw, and Louis still had “Stayin’ Alive” on the brain (even though that song had faded out two roads ago). Finally, Bennett switched the station to random Beethoven and turned around.

“Will you urchins exercise a little volume control? Some of us are trying to read.”

Sheldon threw his hands in the air. “Why read when you can party? Move along, move along!”

“Ooh!” Louis mimicked him on Robert’s other side. “It’s always been my dream to throw a big summer bash!”

Robert thought about it, then punched his hands up too. “Party! Party!”

I mean, who was going to stop him? A gush from a seltzer bottle in front of witnesses? He’d surely be punished for wearing anything colorful or raising his voice later, but he may as well enjoy himself while he could.

Dad folded his hands over his ears. “I can’t concentrate! You’re so loud! You’re way louder than trains on fire!”

Sheldon jabbed an elbow into his side. “Aww, cheer up. We’re just having a little fun.”

Dad scowled at him. “I know where you live.”

Louis broke into song again, bellowing lyrics from the radio. That woke up Oliver. He jerked up his head and yelled, “I didn’t do it!”

“Oh look,” Robert interrupted, wrapping a warning hand around Dad’s shoulder. “We’re here.”

Dimmsdale Flats had been founded in 1744, 80 years after the main town itself. Robert had never come this far along the outskirts before. He peered past Louis and through the dusty station wagon window. The tiny town was populated with wooden buildings and the occasional saloon. Men and women dressed in period outfits drifted back and forth across the road. Two horses build a carriage. It didn’t look much like a campsite, but the mountains were closer here than he’d ever seen them before. Robert couldn’t make out the famous Dimmsdale sign from where he sat, but he knew it was up there just a short hike away.

Pappy parked under the shade of a rather spindly-looking building. Oliver hopped out first, slapping the dirt with both sandals. His twin lingered in the front seat, pouting at the book in his lap.

Sheldon was the next to crawl out. He lowered a seat for the others in the back, but in an act of utter defiance, Dad flopped over the seat that was still up. Robert took the easier exit. The wrinkles of his uniform creased in the backs of his knees and practically cut off the flow of blood to his legs. Louis bounced out with a sunny spring to his step. He set one hand over his eyes.

“Ooh, this looks like a super fun place to spend the week! Maybe when I’m older, I’ll actually live here myself.”

“I hate it,” Bennett muttered, slamming the car door behind him. Dad was still inside, lying on his back with his sticky legs straight in the air. Pappy had turned around. His mouth was moving, but Robert couldn’t make out the words.

[Eventually they all get out, receive instructions from Pappy on how things are going to go down, and transition to the campground]

Oliver ran circles around Bennett, babbling about Skittles baked into cookies instead of chocolate chips. Dad hung back, fingering the strap of his sketchbook.

Louis tossed the poles and tarps on the ground and dropped to a crouch. “Okay, so how do we make a tent out of this? I want a dream house.”

“Let me help.” Sheldon knelt down and unfolded the instruction sheet. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll start putting the sticks together. You can get the mallets.”

Bennett tossed them all a snooty glare. “Well, you ruffian folk enjoy yourselves in the dirt. I’m getting a room in the inn.”

Oliver hopped on a boulder. “Yay! Camping indoors!”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Mr. Turner grabbed his walking stick and hurried after him. “Bring your heinie down here, you rich pansy! Your parents may let you get away with whatever you want, but I have rules!”

“Pappy?” Dad called after him, clinging to the canvas. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

No response but distant shouts.

Robert hooked him beneath the arm. “Come on, Dad,” he said, fighting to keep a more enthusiastic tone in his voice than he actually wanted to. “I’ll help you. You know I want to be a clown when I grow up, right? Putting up tents comes naturally to me.”

[Tents get up. Flappy rooms with Dad and possibly Louis. Not sure if sleep scene is timeskipped or if Dad stays up drawing / confessing feelings to Flappy. I could see him up all night with lantern angrily drawing or writing his feelings in his sketchbook like a diary while Flappy tosses and turns trying to sleep, and I can also see Flappy being aware he’s angry and trying to talk to him, but Dad flops over and refuses to talk. Maybe both.

Alt version is they go on their hike after putting up tents, so we know who is rooming with who but we don’t have a sleep scene. Also note that as soon as Flappy’s alone, the Pixies will douse him with the seltzer bottle for daring to be energetic with the fun-loving kids. Pixies are really bad at seltzer punishments b/c they have a tendency to wait until he’s alone and then squirt him, rather than squirting immediately after he does something they disapprove of. My guess is there are no indoor bathrooms at the campground. Wonder if they have a buddy system / if Flappy deliberately takes a buddy with him.

They go on their hike up the hill towards the DIMMSDALE sign. Somehow, they end up separated from Pappy. Possibly Pappy was going on ahead yakking about interesting birds and trees, and everyone fell back b/c they were dragging their feet. Then an argument started between someone... Either Bennett overreacting or Dad straight up pushing / tackling Sheldon over the edge of a small cliff. Also I need a joke in here about Pappy referring to his son by his embarrassing nickname, Tadpole. Oliver probably gleans how embarrassed Dad is by Dad covering his face and turning red, so he teases him mercilessly. It’s already established by age 9 that “Everyone calls him Dad” but things like this solidify his determination to abandon the name Tad.

Maybe Dad brought his sketchbook along and he fell behind b/c he wanted to draw a bird or deer he saw. Robert is our narrator, so he pauses beside him to look, and he and Dad have a nice bonding moment of staring quietly into the trees at the animals in the wake of their difficulties last night. Thinking Dad quietly tells Robert that his mom loves deer and he’s drawing a picture he wants to take to her in the hospital. Need to decide if Robert would know his mother’s condition is terminal and if Dad knows he and Pappy will soon be visiting her for the last time.

Maybe Dad just found out (either that it’s terminal or that this is her last week or two to live) and that’s why he’s been so cranky this entire trip. He’s coping in his own way. Dad’s coping mechanism has always been to physically remove himself from the situation (Ex: man cave in attic, retreating to the den / sewing room to cool off after Timmy melted his trophy, sneaking away from camp to cry in the woods, sobbing on the bathroom floor after dropping his invisible pencil, bongos underwater, “You’re mean! I’m telling my wife!”) and he tends to head out into nature alone. Putting him in a car with a bunch of loud kids is exactly how he does not cope. It’s natural he would either stick extremely close to Pappy up front, or fall behind. Thinking he falls behind to draw. Drawing is his escape as a kid. What can I say? He’s a pencil lover.

So he and Flappy bond. Then Sheldon comes running back b/c he’s nice and didn’t want them to get left behind, but he’s super oblivious and loud and scatters the deer or birds. Possibly he startles Dad, making him jump and scribble in the middle of a beautiful drawing, or tear it again like in the car. Maybe Dad jumps up (Flappy tries to hold him back) and all his rage comes out. He either pushes Sheldon over the edge of the small cliff, the two of them tumbling the extremely short way down, or he just runs off b/c his natural personality is probably flight > fight.

Either way, they attract the attention of the other kids while somehow not attracting Pappy’s attention, and somehow they end up getting lost. So yes, pushing and rolling down the hill could work as long as we justify how angry he is. Talking about mom and showing how grumpy he is earlier (especially with Sheldon already ruining his drawing in the car / nosing in his stuff while he was using the bathroom or at breakfast or something) would work fine. They now get lost. Possibly Dad’s sketchbook fell in a stream and is now soaked. Maybe when Sheldon startled him, he dropped it and it tumbled down the hill and plopped into the water, ruining it, and then he pushed Sheldon.]

“I’m the one who lives in these woods! Are you guys really going to follow Sheldon Dinkleberg instead of me?”

[Alt: They’re not lost yet, change “follow” to “believe”]

“Dad, listen-”

Wiping boiling tears from each cheek with a swipe of his fist, Dad turned and bolted into the trees. “Dad,” Sheldon hollered after him, “don’t be like that!”

“You’ll get lost!” Louis shrieked.

“Good riddance,” grunted Bennett. Oliver shook his head.

Robert motioned to the others. “Come on. It’s not safe out here. We have to go after him.”

[They chase after him. Pappy has no idea.]

“Dad! Dad? Dad, where are you?”

“Funny,” Robert puffed, jogging after them. “The kid has one skill in life, and it’s that he’s an expert at getting away from people.”

“That’s not true,” Sheldon said cheerfully. “He’s also our ‘dad friend’ who lets us play video games, roughhouse, and eat snacks. That’s why everyone calls him ‘Dad.’”

[Keep running, scrambling over things and just generally veering from the path. Everyone is intent on chasing Dad and for some reason no one chooses to go back to Pappy, even if it’s an option they consider.]

“Wait.” Sheldon held out an arm. “Be careful of the circle of mushrooms. We don’t want to make the faefolk mad.”

“Faefolk? You mean like fairies?” Louis brought his hands near his face and squealed. “It’s always been my dream to see a fairy!”

Bennett rolled his eyes. “Geez louise, you middle-class people are gullible.”

Oliver poked his twin in the cheek. “His name’s Louis, not Louise.”

“I don’t believe in fairies,” Robert said, stiff-voiced.

Sheldon shrugged. “Well. I do. And they can disguise themselves, so that’s why you should always be nice to everyone, so they don’t curse you. That’s what my nana says. Come on, let’s go around.”

[They go around the mushrooms and keep exploring. Possibly split up. Obviously our narrator is the one who finds him in the end, possibly after Dad shifted and accidentally knocked a pine cone down on his head. Think they’re evergreens on the Dimmsdale hill, so pine cone > acorn]

Robert tilted back his head. There, in the branches, perched a huddled mass of torn blue clothes, bloody scrapes, and rising welts from bee stings.

“Dad?”

Dad hugged the tree trunk tighter. “Go away. I’m staying up here for the rest of my life.”

“What will you eat?”

“Nothing.”

“What will you drink?”

“I can live a humble life with nothing but my own salty tears.”

Robert folded his arms. “What about when you have to go back to school on Monday?”

“I don’t care!”

“What about Mom? Won’t you miss her?”

Dad rubbed his face with his wrist and said nothing. Robert stretched up to the lowest fork in the tree and heaved himself up. “At least let me keep you company.”

[Include bonding scene here if we didn’t include it up by deer drawing scene. Possibly Dad started to open up to Flappy, but got cut off by Sheldon’s arrival. So here, they sit together for a moment of silence (Possibly even watching Louis search the area beneath them) and after a few moments, Dad opens up to Flappy again and wraps up their earlier discussion.

For some reason, Dad falls out of the tree. Not sure if he was mad and tried to push Flappy off, or if he just slipped while climbing down. Either way, he ends up getting hurt on the way down. Sheldon volunteers to bandage Dad’s leg because “I’m a certified camp medic” / has Scout badge, to which Flappy responds either “Of course you are” or “Of course you do.”

Playing on the idea that Sheldon is uncannily good at everything, but like... He literally works for everything he does. He pays close attention when they learn new things and he keeps practicing until he masters a skill, even after earning a badge or being praised. Ex: If he wants to become good at s’mores, he’ll be the first one to the campfire (even volunteer to get it set up while Pappy does other stuff) and he’ll spend the entire time experimenting and crafting s’mores for all his friends, whereas most kids would just make them for themselves. He finds everything interesting and wants to learn.

His main weakness is that he has limited artistic ability- Dad has him beat when it comes to drawing, sewing, and even stuff like dancing / charades. Sheldon is good at academics, and Dad excels in artistic things but doesn’t get rewarded for that at school (and in fact gets teased for his girly talents, even though he adores sewing and designing clothes b/c those are things his mom taught him; she’s been sick and bedridden for most of his life and her teaching him to sew is the one thing they were able to do together).

Emphasize how Pappy keeps wandering away / not listening to Dad, and Dad needs someone he can sit with and talk to. Add this into his character later with Timmy always getting distracted / wandering away / expressing boredom with Dad’s interests. Dad clicks with Mom so well b/c even if she doesn’t always understand his interests, she listens to and supports him (Think about how she keeps using his dangerous inventions in the kitchen, instead of complaining about them). Having someone take an interest in his interests is very important to Dad. Think about how obsessive he was of Timmy for his first eight years, video recording every moment of his life. That was his way of taking interest in Timmy’s life.

When writing present-day Dad, focus on how he’d love to take more of an interest in Timmy’s life, and he tends to bumble into Timmy’s business despite Timmy’s protests, or tends to push Timmy into joining his crazy activities, like building him a lousy bike or dragging him into projects like in “Lame Ducks.” He really wants to spend time with Timmy. Reasons he can’t include having to juggle work, time with his wife, and his own introverted need to relax alone and be artistic (Think about his personal sewing room in “Mice Capades”), and he also spends a lot of time building gifts (Possibly his way of trying to help his wife and son feel he loves them even when he’s too busy to be with them in person). Dad treats quality time as his way of receiving love, but he tends to express his love by giving gifts.

Thinking that due to repeating timestream, Timmy went through an extended rebellious adolescent stage (during those 40 years of Season 7) and became a bit more snappish, often trying to push his dad away. This would hurt his dad deeply, and Dad would keep trying to be a part of Timmy’s life before Timmy’s repeated insistence he back off (both b/c he’s going through a teen phase and because he needs to keep his secret hidden) finally turns him to spending more and more time with his understanding wife and less time with the son who rolls his eyes, sighs, and sarcastically insults his interests. Need to figure out where to place that episode where Dad and Timmy bond over being scared of Mom’s cooking and Timmy wishes she could cook amazingly. Excellent episode for Timmy-Dad relationship.

Back to Sheldon, think about how he spent his money on an intestine-shaped secret lair. He could have built his own awesome lair, but instead, he heard Dad describe the secret lair and he thought, “Wow, that would be cool!” Sheldon spends money on things b/c he has no creativity. He looks at things and thinks, “Oh, I want to help” and he can research how to help (Ex: Turning his pool into turtle sanctuary, buying the Turners exact replicas of all their stuff instead of jumping on the opportunity to gift them fancy stuff), but he can’t innovate on his own very well.

Note to self: Need to figure out what burglar in “Lame Ducks” did with everyone’s stuff. Seems like if they uncovered his lair, it would be easy for the Turners to get back their old stuff and have two of everything. Also still debating the legalities of an orphanage in Dimmsdale during Flappy’s youth b/c clearly we’re in a slight alternate universe here.]

Robert sighed as Sheldon began to bandage Tad’s shin.

[...]

“Come on, kiddo.” Robert took Tad in his arms. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

[End]

#Thaddeus and Dominika #Get Flappy!#ridwriting #130 Prompts #FAIRIES!#I can't believe I don't have a Dinkleberg tag what is this conspiracy

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benbarnesescape · 7 years

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The Wager - Part 4

Warnings: Sweet, awkward Logan

A/N: You guys Ben is killing me portraying Billy Russo (as seen above). I am debating updating Blood, Sex and Whiskey because I just feel bloody Punisher is going to drop this Friday and then I’ll be wrong about everything so until then the Wager Part 4 until I can figure out my ovaries and mental sanity

Need to Catch up. Check out the Previous Part Here

He was different. You had come out to model each outfit, like he had asked, and each time you had been awarded with his half hooded eyes, his body molded into the soft cushions of the creme couch that housed him. He had stopped responding after the third outfit, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you carefully. The girl’s who helped you dressed had shifted their mood along with his – now they watched you dangerously. Apparently, all of them had been with Logan at one point or another. Apparently, they had all tried to get him to pursue more than a quick romp in the sack. Apparently, he had declined them all, not paying them any attention to them afterwards.

But then there was you.

They didn’t know what to make of the woman who had become Logan’s friend. The woman who had garnered his attention and was now having him drool over her while he bought her nice clothing.

They definitely didn’t believe you were both just friends.

By the time you had finished trying on the wardrobe of new outfits, Rachel had joined Logan on the couch, talking easily to him as she propped her head on her hand, elbow propped on the couch. He was relaxed now, his easy smile returning on his face as he chuckled lowly, his eyes flashing to you the moment you left the dressing room.

You had returned to your original outfit, the mishmash of a fall non brand look that you were sure cost a total of $50. Didn’t matter to Logan, however. His eyes still drank you eagerly as you walked to him slowly, that same dark look flashing across his face despite present company.

You weren’t sure what to make of this changed behavior.

“Y/N you simply have to come back and model for me. Do you know how many women bought outfits that you’re getting just because of how you looked in them? You’re a walking advertisement.” Rachel’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you laugh, shaking your head as you shale your hair out of the ponytail it was in.

“I don’t know about that,” you manage, ruffling your tendrils. “But it was fun to model in your clothing. Didn’t realize all the cheap shit I was buying until just now. I mean, I’ll still wear the cheap stuff but I have a new found appreciation for cashmere.”

Rachel laughs, standing up and placing her hand softly on your right shoulder.

“Well the clothes are on me. I made double my sale quota and I have a feeling you’re the reason for it.”

“Rachel I can’t possibly-“

She holds up her hand, shaking her head.

“Don’t you dare deny me this. Consider it a gift, if not from me than from Logan. And besides, you got him to stay completely silent for an hour without taking your clothes off in front him. I think that might be a record - it’s the quietest I’ve ever seen him in front of a beautiful woman.”

You both glance at Logan, who had been watching the interaction in curiosity and was now trying to cover the bright blush gracing his face. He chuckles, placing his hands on his knees and standing up slowly.

“I think we’ve outlived our welcome here, Rachel. I’ll let Juliet know that you said hi.”

He places his hand on the small of your back, drawing you closer to him.

“We got plans for this evening so if you don’t mind, I’m going to steal my dear friend back.”

There it was again. That specific term used to define your relationship. You knew that Logan cared about you – you just didn’t realize how much. He had never let on.

Rachel catches the small endearment too and quirks an eyebrow before replying,

“Didn’t realize that she was such a dear friend. Makes me feel like I’m just chopped liver.”

Logan rolls his eyes, though a smile still plays against his lips as he begins to usher you out of the store.

“You’re basically like another sister Rachel so take that for what it is.” He throws over his shoulders and your left with her laugh before you’re entering the cool autumn air of New York. His town car is parked patiently in front of the store as pedestrians bustle past you and Logan. He’s looking down at his phone, his fingers quickly texting something before he glances up at you, a devious smile on his lips.

“So you have two options at this point.”

You raise an eyebrow as he finishes.

“With the bet. You have two options. We can try to make this four o’clock showing of A Tinder Affair,” you snort at the way he strains through the title, “Or you could choose any older rom com movie of your choice and we can watch it at my place. Note that if you watch it at my place there’d be dinner, all the booze you can drink and if you get too tipsy a guest bed you can sleep in.”

He watches your carefully as you raise your eyebrows, debating between the two options.

“….this isn’t a ploy to get into my pants?” you finally ask curtly and he laughs, stuffing his hands back into his pockets as he shakes his head.

“God no. I told you – this day was all about you. Besides,” he inches closer to you, bending down so he’s closer to your face. “If I wanted to get in your pants didn’t matter what we did next or where we were at. Surely Rachel’s little helpers let you know that.”

He wiggles his eyebrows and you give a light laugh, but half of you is hurt. Why was it that he’d make moves on young, naïve idiots but he couldn’t gather the courage to even kiss you? Were you reading all of his singles incorrectly and projecting your own desires onto the situation?

Perhaps this was just a wager and he wanted to stay friends? You know you need to respond some way by the unsure way he’s looking at you so you finally mutter out,

“Okay, okay. Then let’s do dinner and a movie at your place.”

He gives you a knowing smile, before he throws his arm over your shoulder and begins shuffling you toward the town car.

“Perfect. Andres will take you back to your loft in Brooklyn. I’m gonna take a cab home – need to stop off someplace first. See you at, let’s call it 7?”

“You’re dumping me?” you respond and he chuckles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Just need to make some last minute arrangements. I promise you, it’ll be worth it.”

His lips linger on your forehead and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, inhaling his scent. There was something about being wrapped in him that made you feel safe. Made you feel like you had a home.

It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in a while and it always came up when you were around him.

The gesture takes him off guard and he stiffens, causing you to instantly pull away afraid that you’ve over crossed your bounds.

“Sorry, I just wanted to thank you for such a great time today…I’ll head off…” you turn on your heels, mumbling your apology, trying to cover the embarrassment sweeping over your body.

He doesn’t let you.

His hand shoots out to grab your arm, snagging your attention as your eyes shoot back to his. His chocolate irises are watching you, that same intensity from earlier in the kitchen flashing against something else. Then someone bumps into him and you’re both drawn back to the present as he clears his throat.

“You never have to apologize for hugging me Y/N. You can have me however you like…” he frowns, shaking his head before releasing your arm and taking a step back.

“I have to go – text me when you’re on the way.”

Then he turns on his heels, losing himself in the crowd.

“What the fuck is going on…” you mumble to yourself, before shaking your head and getting into the car.

The bowl falling snaps him from his thoughts. He mutters to himself, picking up the round metal before placing it back on the counter. He had been intent on finishing the meal before you showed up, though thanks to a lot of delays he knew that wasn’t going to happen. The lady at the deli took too long to give him his rack of lamb, he had to return the two wine bottles he ordered because they were the wrong year and the cab driver he had taken home had intentionally kept him in traffic for a better fare.

This paired with showering and clearing up the area, making sure that your favorite flowers were delivered had him incredibly behind.

Now he was scrambling around his kitchen, his dark burgundy button up pulled up to his sleeves as he tried to prepare the elaborate dish that earlier had made so much sense in his head.

Perhaps it was a bit too much. The leg of lamb, the poached potatoes, the rich souffle. But he wanted you to have the best.

You deserved the best.

He knew he was in trouble after watching you model outfit after outfit, the same happy smile dancing on your lips as you twirled in each outfit. Knew he was in trouble when you wrapped your arms around him outside Rachel’s shop, the smell of your shampoo and perfume intermingling – intoxicating him. Knew he was in trouble when you tried to pull away and he wanted nothing more than to bring you back to him and kiss you until you were weak in the knees.

Rachel had been right.

“You could tell her how you feel.” She said while the both of them waited for you to change. He had leaned back in the cushions, his head thrown back as he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I’m broken Rachel.” He finally says moments later and Rachel places her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head.

“We’re all broken Logan. We’re all broken until someone finds us and shows us that for all of our brokenness we’re worth it. I see the way you both look at each other. It’s that special spark. She see’s past all those walls that you’ve built up and sees you,” she pokes at his chest and he huffs, rolling his head to her. “You have to believe that if she see’s something in you, maybe it’s not to be ignored.”

“I already told you. I’m not good enough for her.”

Rachel rolls her eyes.

“You’re right. You’re not. But sometimes that doesn’t matter. Sometimes the universe is kind to you and places someone right in front of you whether you deserve it or not. It’s up to you on whether or not you should make a move.”

Logan nods, before shaking his head.

“I just don’t want to ever disappoint her.”

Rachel gives a soft smile.

“And because of that you never will.”

It had been rolling in the back of his mind since he had left Rachel, wondering if she had been right. Should he risk your friendship for something more? Or should he do what he had always chosen to do and play it safe?

All of his instincts said the latter because he always fucked up things when it came to his emotions. But another small part of him, the part that so desperately wanted to make you happy and to be the reason for that happiness, believed otherwise.

The rhythmic knock on the door that could only distinctly be you broke him of his thoughts as he finished checking the meat and he sighed, untying his apron and pulling it over his head. He checked himself in the mirror one more time, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans before taking one last breath and opening the door.

You were looking down on your phone, smiling to yourself wearing the sundress he had requested you wear, left on your bed after you had tried it on earlier that day. You had pulled your hair back, wisps of hair coming astray in light curls and he felt his chest implode with something.

Not lust. Something else more tender. Something else he refused to acknowledge.

“I see that you got my gift.” He smiles at you and your head snaps up, that smile still planted on it.

“My, my, don’t you clean up nice.” You smile and despite his best effort, he can’t help but blush. He covers it up by rubbing the back of his neck, shaking his head and standing aside.

“Come in. Please.”

You nod, moving past him and he catches the faint linger of perfume, soft vanilla and tries to bite back the internal groan. He wants to get lost in you.

“Logan…” you breathe out taking in the setting. He had set the lighting low, candles strewn about. The dinner table set with the most lighting, your favorite flowers adorning the full set table. A chilled bottle of wine sat aside, the faint music of Sabrina Claudio drifting in the air.

He had asked his sister Juliet how he should impress you and though she giggled and teased she didn’t prod as she talked her older brother through a romantic evening. She was curious but figured it would come up in time. This whole day had turned him into someone even he didn’t recognize and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Would you like a glass of wine? Its you’re favorite, a rich Malbec from Argentina.” he asks, watching your reaction with intention and you give a soft nod as he brushes past you, grabbing the bottle and starts to twist it open. The cork smoothly slides out of the glass container with a single pop and he pours two bottles of glasses with finesse. He catches the way you watch him with awe before you finally let out,

“Logan this is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He chuckles, handing you the glass before raising it.

“That’s because no one has treated you like the woman you deserve princess.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t challenge him as you clink your glass against his before you both take a sip. When you finish your drink you ask,

“So now I’m your princess? Graduated from your dear friend to this?”

He walks toward you, brushing a strand of your hair from your eyes before his hand lingers on your face.

“You’ve always been my princess Y/N.” he whispers, his calloused fingers rubbing against your cheek and your face falls into his touch, your eyelids fluttering close.

“God you’re so beautiful.”

The admission takes you both off guard as your eyes snap open, looking back at him. Your lips part open, your breathing hitched and all he can think about is bending down to taste your lips, to get his hands lost in your hair as he draws you closer to him.

Instead, the oven alarm goes off and you’re both taken off guard as the light chime feels the apartment air.

“I should get that.” He mumbles, hesitantly pulling away before striding to the oven. He takes a large swig of his wine, shaking his head.

He had to figure his shit out or he wasn’t going to make it through this evening alive.

#ben barnes #logan westworld x reader #logan westworld #the wager #benbarnesescape

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fairytail-whathesays · 7 years

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What are your thoughts on how sex (or lack there of) is presented in Fairy Tail? Because for a series who's main theme are the importance of closeness and companionship and is brimming with sexual imagery. The series never really uses it to any meaningful extent. Which could be contributed to how Fairy Tail is a Shonen manga aimed at teenagers.

You would have to actually try in order to achieve a worse presentation of sex in a manga.

Sex is almost always used as a means of humiliation with regards to women or, if you’re Juvia, harassing a man. It is never allowed to be dignified; women must be stripped against their will for “comedy ha ha” or worse yet, for torture scenes. Nudity during torture is supposed to display vulnerability–and that vulnerability is not supposed to be sexy or titillating, something which Mashima apparently never got the memo about.

Of course, this is coming from the author who literally made sex into a weapon against women. Starbiter Satsuki, anyone? Oh wait, we don’t need to go there–we have Larcade. I feel like people need to be reminded that Sorano Aguria’s only purpose in the war was to show up in a bikini and be orgasm’d halfway to death by rape magic.

In another author, I’d feel the need to remind them that women being embarassed by being sexually harassed, stripped, or otherwise nude is not “comedy”–naked people are funny when done carefully and subtlely–you can’t just show tits and go “hey it’s okay! It’s funny”. It’s not funny, it’s just uncomfortable. But with Mashima, I don’t need to do that–because I know he doesn’t think it’s funny. Mashima clearly wants us to think it’s there to be funny, but it’s there to get his rocks off and both he and everyone else knows it. The comedy is a paper-thin excuse.

As far as sex is approached with men, it’s….eh. Fanservice is done semi-competently, at the very least because Mashima knows how to show a man looking hot and badass while not feeling the need to humiliate him sexually. Gray Fullbuster (who every dickhead likes to use to say that Fairy Tail isn’t sexist because, after all, he’s constantly getting naked right?) is quite clearly given a nonsensical habit in order to increase viewership, primarily among women. If Mashima didn’t think it would increase his audience, Gray wouldn’t have the habit at all. It’s not a believable habit in the first place–behaviors that lead to public humiliation and shaming are generally cut off pretty quickly.

Even if you do take into account that men do lose their shirts often enough, you have to notice the vast difference in how male sex appeal versus female sex appeal is treated. Look at Tartaros, the guild full of demons. 7/9 of the Gates of Hell are male–and are ugly, cartooonish monsters. Torafuzar, Tempester, Ezel, Keyes, and Franmalth are all inhuman, beastly caricatures of demons with no sex appeal whatsoever, at least until Tempester is put through the Hell’s Core at Lamy’s whim. Jackal fares better, but is still not given the same overt, blatant sex appeal of his female peers–anyone who finds Jackal hot probably does so because he’s simply their type.

Even Silver, a gorgeous DILF, is covered in thick, heavy armor at all times that leaves his body completely to the imagination. Contrast that with Kyoka and Seilah, the female demons. They are dressed in completely inappropriate clothing, with Seilah’s only hint towards being demonic being the horns on her head. Kyoka’s wearing some sort of spandex underwear that is clearly cutting into her ass cheeks, for no other purpose that I can tell other than getting Mashima’s rocks off.

If a man is given fanservice, it’s to show off how badass he is. Someone with huge muscles like that is going to impress the dudes in the audience and make them want to be like him! If a woman is given fanservice, it’s to show how vulnerable and funny she is when she’s vulnerable. Expect men to lose their shirts if hit by a powerful attack. Expect women to lose basically their entire goddamn outfits and be left with some shreds of cloth over the course of a twenty-page chapter or twenty-minute episode.

Sex is essentially what started the ruination of Juvia’s character. What started out as a gloomy, serious, but capable water mage looked at Gray, got blushy heart eyes, and it was all downhill from there. Sex, specifically her sexual attraction to Gray, began to absorb almost all of her other character traits until her “love” for Gray was the only thing left, and was based mostly on his hot body and the fantasies she’d constructed in her head without ever really getting to know Gray.

While men think about sex in this manga, it’s fairly down-low in comparison to the women. Juvia has already been mentioned, while Lucy is constantly teased for her failures to seduce anything out of anyone, and Erza is hailed as a seductress who even has a goddamn “Seduction Armor” she thought about using on Azuma, not to mention the bunnygirl armor. Wendy gets jabbed at for having small boobs (despite being, you know, 12/13) and is always wishing she would grow into a more womanly body. Levy, too, is constantly the butt of jokes about her small breasts. Mirajane is a goddamn model, and she and Cana both have no objections to showing off the goods for the audience. Evergreen alone seems to have escaped overt sexualization, although she didn’t escape being jammed into a flat love interest role for Elfman.

By contrast, Gray might think about how cute Erza or Lucy are from time to time, or Elfman might blush when looking at Evergreen. Being overtly interested in sex if you’re a guy is reserved for A) older characters, who are portrayed as undesirable perverts (Makarov, Macao, Wakaba, Ichiya, or heaven forbid–Master Bob), or villainous characters (Laxus pre-Fantasia; Kain Hikaru, a fat undesirable stupid slob; Larcade with his rape magic.) Because showing sexual interest is for women, not men. There are a few exceptions–the Trimen pursue attention from women, though are usually not taken seriously. Bacchus Groh is clearly sexually active and promiscuous, though his perversion is never punished or acknowledged as wrong, which is perhaps a tad scary considering what he’s like. Bixlow, who is interested in sex, is portrayed as creepy for it, while Freed is far more reserved and professional and is portrayed as desirable. Levy, Juvia, and Erza are all the ones more interested in romance or sex and prone to humor centered around sex, while their male love interests all have much less sex on their minds.

Considering this is a shonen manga aimed at teens, potentially younger ones, it’s no surprise that actual pursuit of sex is limited to comedic harassment and not any actual serious encounters. But one wonders how Mashima can jam sex into so damn much of his series and break the tension of his arcs over his knee by forcing in a bunch of irrelevant fanservice, and still call it a PG-13 affair. There is a LOT of sex in this manga, just no actual intercourse, if that makes sense.

It makes its way into so much of the manga that it begins to become clear when the author is drawing with one hand in his pants. Need to show a torture scene? Make sure it’s a naked woman. Need to get the audience laughing? Yank some of those clothes off of Lucy or put her in embarrassing fetish costumes. Let’s donate one of the 7 super serious deadly dragons attacking in the Future Rogue arc to sex and preying on women! Want to design a scary demon or Satan Soul? Pack some boobs and skin-tight, body-hugging clothing in there. Carla wants to become more effective in combat! So obviously, she’s going to turn into a catgirl. That last one is especially notable because even if you countered that Panther Lily’s got it goin’ on in the body department himself, that is due to the above mentioned attempt to make Panther Lily look badass and capable, while Carla’s is solely to make her look fuckable.

I could be reading a fantastically-written story (I’m not) and the amount of sex jammed into it and used in all the wrong ways would still turn me off of reading any more of Mashima’s work.

#discussion #fanservice #mrfandomtrash

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alexjoblingdvp · 5 years

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Digital Video Production Week 3 30/9/19

Lighting

Three Point Lighting- This technique is a commonly used method within film which consists of a system which forms the basis of most lighting. Three point lighting is a key component to understanding all lighting.The technique uses three lights called the key light fill light and back light. Naturally you will need three lights to utilise the technique fully, but the principles are still important even if you only use one or two lights.

Key Lighting- This is the main light which will be the most influential in the scene and show the strongest of lights. This will however create shadows.

Fill Lighting- This lighting is a backup to the key lighting, it is used to counteract any shadows that the key will create and will be placed opposite to create an even amount of light within the scene.

Back Lighting- Unlike the others, this type of lighting will be be shown directly onto a subject for the scene. It will illuminate from behind to create subtle features be more noticeable. It helps to provide more depth between the cameras and the subject.

Cinematography

The inspiration behind cinematography has been around for hundreds of years in the appearance of art. Painting were a brilliant way for artists to express themselves and show what they saw by portraying it through their perspective on a canvas. Rembrandt is a good example of inspiration for movies which I will discuss further. He was known to be the master of light and shadow by the creation of his paintings which give them a real life visual affect which is mesmerizing.

These artists had a heavy impact on film making, an example would be Martin Scorsese who is a world known director for his films such as ‘The Taxi Driver’ and ‘ Goodfellas’. His work has been created upon Caravaggio paintings with the dark overtone and a serious and tense atmosphere surrounding it. In my opinion I think this edgy vibe the movies give off are what makes them such excellent pieces of directing. As Scorsese has been around for a while, many of his good films are older which means the cameras weren't as high tech as today. That being said some of the shots he produces in the films summarizes his brilliance and how close to paintings they were and how good these artists actually were.

Task 1+2

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00hqprn

In the link above, there is an interview with Scorsese that discusses how his movies have been influenced by Caravaggio and more specifically the lighting,shadowing and realism.

He was introduced to the artist by the writer of the movie taxi driver Paul Schrader. He told Martin to look at him and he then began to love his paintings. He loved the use of colour and that movies may be black and white instead of full colour as they are still a combination of colours.

In this painting ‘The conversion of St Paul’ It is displaying Paul as being inferior and not the main focus point. He is being portrayed to be vulnerable with the dark shadowing being pushed onto him. In the interview Scorsese says ‘The horse is being made to be the image, the composition is brilliant and I must say moving’ I completely agree with his perspective as the painting has such attention to detail and accuracy of shadowing and lighting that it could even be a photograph. The painting’s features are excellent as they are being focused onto the horse whilst not excluding Peter from the scene. It creates a dark atmosphere to the painting and a cinematic overtone to it. This is a perfect example of the inspiration that has resulted in Scorsese’s work.

These images are of The calling of Matthew painting in 1599 by Caravaggio and then a scene from Goodfellas in 1990 by Martin Scorsese. Immediately you can see the similarities between the two with the composition. In Caravaggio’s the scene is a group of people sitting around a table in what appears to be a negative atmosphere and they are sitting in darkness but there is also natural lighting coming through a window by sunlight which is beaming onto them. I love this aspect of the painting as it is over 400 years old and has such detail to shadowing. It is pure excellence in my opinion and the fact that someone who created this so long ago and can still have such an impact on modern film. The second image in my opinion is a modern version of Caravaggio’s painting as the scene consists of a dark room with no lighting apart from one light in the center of the image giving that eery effect to it. Scorsese has used this inspiration very well as you can see the outcome of it and how he has used the same techniques and applied them to his work. The people are both sitting around a table in the dark and it is a negative influence. There is not a main focus point but the image still as a whole can be considered the focus. The shot type is also a factor between the two as they are both at a medium distance to see their upper bodies with a brief view of some lower body, provoking attention to that area.

With the analysis of both images, Scorsese has took the best out of Caravaggio’s work and applying it to his own. The dark and shadow aura that is applied to the films is what his movies are based around and make them into such edge of seat creations. The art of light and composition does not change as you can see from artists excluding Caravaggio also. Shot type and lighting can play a serious role on the mood of a scene and allow the viewer to feel a particular emotion associated with it.

Task 2

The Night Watch , Rembrandt 1642

This is a painting called ‘The Night Watch’ which was made in 1642 by Rembrandt. It consists of many men figures which are standing in what appears to be a town hall. The name of the painting suggests that it is associated with violence. More evidence to support this is a substantial amount of weapons in the painting with muskets and spears being the main focus of the image. The contrast of shadowing is well done as you can see the background having a more negative impact on the image where as the foreground has a brighter overtone contrasting with the figures in the image. The lighting has been placed to appear as sunlight coming through a window and shining onto them. Rembrandt has included some diversity within the painting through the various outfits the men are wearing. It is shot with a long shot to set the scene and capture the correct emotion. In my opinion I feel that the scene that is being set is the confirmation of an attack. A town hall in the 17th century would generally be used for trials or meetings with the locals which indicates that they are using the weapons for a violent reason. However, this adds to the cinematic effect making it dramatic and adding tension to the scene. I feel that Rembrandt has set the scene this way deliberately to create a mysterious yet curious effect to the painting. It has contrasting features but the viewer will not know what is fully ongoing within the image.

Judith and Holofernes, Caravaggio 1599

I chose this painting by Caravaggio to discuss as it is not always one that would be discussed often and it is one that caught my eye during research. In contrast to Rembrandt you can immediately the relation between the two with the shadowing and composition. In the scene, it is showing a man getting beheaded by a woman in a dark room. They are the main focus of the painting but as you pay attention to it and look at the finer details you can see another male in the image who has a more aggressive look to him. With the expression on his face it gives you impression he is angry and suggest maybe is happy the other male figure is being executed. In my general opinion, I like this painting as I can visualize what this scene would look like in modern film and the emotion attached to it. As for the cinematic perspective to this painting, It can be attached to directors work like Scorsese for example as the previous painting has similarities to his work. Developing this, the people who are within the scene are made the focus point and the backgrounds are usually blurred or made plain as to draw attention away from them. The lighting is being put onto the two main people involved with this putting the intended attention on them. It has been framed to where you can see the distress in the mans face and the concentration of the woman. With the painting, I feel that Caravaggio was attempting to create an explicit yet time related environment. It is a situation you would not want to witness but this is the reality of the 17th century. This gives the viewer that spine chilling effect whilst creating a brilliant piece of work.

After we had spent time researching these artists and the modern day cinematography associated with them, we attempted to make our own modern recreation of paintings using photography:

Martha and Mary Magdalene (Caravaggio)

With this painting, as a group we decided we wanted to modernize the image to apply it in today's society. We took the main components of the painting and applied it to our own photograph. An extra detail which may be subtle yet effective is the use of clothing over the chair and monitor. I feel that we have paid attention to detail and used the cinematography methods correctly to create this image.

Members of the Drapers Guild (Rembrandt)

This photograph was a bit more complex to create as it involved a lot of positioning which we wanted to make as accurate as possible within our own twist. We each had our own role to play and maintain our pose. We wanted to take this seriously also so we incorporated some LED lights and adjusted the CBK to give it a more warm composition recreating the painting well.

Task 3 - A Matter of Life & Death + Black Narcissus

In the image below which was shown to us with a presentation by our tutor is a still image from the movie Black Narcissus which is showing a Nun stnading over the edge of a what is most likely a church. The scene is implementing the use of high angle to show the subject but on a smaller scale to show the actual proportions of what lies beneath her. She is placed within the left side of the shot giving the majority to the valley which irradiates how big it actually is. It is a good shot in my opinion as the character must be feeling some emotion of breathlessness and being nervous. They have created it in this manner to allow the viewer to have empathy for her which causes us to feel similar emotions.

A Matter of Life and Death

In comparison to the previous film, I have chosen this particular screenshot from the 1946 film ‘A Matter of life and death’ as it has the same use of a high angle but in its own unique form. You are able to see a man standing on a ledge looking around him with many people below him which ties in with that sense of empowerment. They have set the scene like this for a reason to show his importance within the scene. The unique ability with this shot is to not make the subject appear inferior but to centralise him and to make the camera appear to be from the perspective of someone behind him.

Task 4 Vermeer & Tom Hunter

Pictured above are two images sourced from a presentation show to us by our tutor of a comparison of the two. In the first image is a painting called ‘A girl reading a letter at an open window’ Which was painted by an artist called Johannes Vermeer in 1657-59 estimately. It is showing an image of a woman looking down at a letter in a bedroom which appears to be almost empty which sets the tone of the overall painting. Straight away you can see her emotion is negative which is in align with the mood that has been set. The visual you get is that she is poor and has been given bad news with a letter. The painting as a whole is well made as the colour is contrasting well and is dark shadows with the open window being a natural light source which may represent hope to the subject.

As for the photograph, it is shot by a photographer called Tom Hunter who is London based and is most popularly known for recreating classical paintings such as this one. In the recreation of this painting, I can straight away see his approach to it which was to apply the same techniques as Vermeer but apply it to modern society. Taking this point further, you can see instead of a fruit pile it is a baby which could mean that the father of the child has wrote this letter to tell her he is leaving. It could also be an eviction notice as her living conditions look poor and London is quite notorious for having council estates. I feel that Hunter has recreated this painting brilliantly and has applied his expertise to create an accurate representation of the painting. The clothes are dark and gloomy aswellas the room being dirty with the window frames. Again only showing a light source from the window.

https://tarthead.com/2012/03/12/giving-a-horses-ass-carracci-vs-caravaggio/

https://arthive.com/topics/articles/8858

http://mentalfloss.com/article/67050/15-things-you-should-know-about-caravaggios-calling-st-matthew

http://www.dutchamsterdam.nl/139-rembrandt-night-watch

https://theculturetrip.com/europe/italy/articles/10-artworks-by-caravaggio-you-should-know/

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Michelangelo_Merisi_da_Caravaggio_-_Martha_and_Mary_Magdalene_-_73.268_-_Detroit_Institute_of_Arts.jpg

https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Syndics_of_the_Drapers%27_Guild

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magiccatprincess · 7 years

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Pink

This is for @mindsebbandflow‘s new giveaway, and let me tell you I wasn’t sure how to express my love for my favorite character. Although by now, I’m very sure that my followers can guess which boueibu character is my favorite.

Ryuu has been my favorite ever since I first watched the show, and even before. He stood out to me in all the promotional material as well. By now it was just his pinkness or.. The adorable factor that caused it, although... What's not to love?

I’ve taken this as an excuse to rant about my favorite character so prepare yourself for a long post dedicated to Ryuu Zaou and my love for him.

Also included: - Headcanons - Speculations - Some pics - AU ideas (sponsored by me and @fillyrika) - LOTS of ranting, I mean it when I say this turned out long.

Ryuu is adorable, there is no denying it.

His Looks His hair is bright and looks so soft, and he's got big, bright, brown eyes that really go well with all that pink. I have a bias for him with his hair down, but he's had his hair plenty of ways which I all enjoyed, look at these!

I'm sure there's probably some I missed. I love those two from the posters too. Look at how bright they are. And Ryuu really knows how to accessorize. I like that he has earrings, and wears headbands, plus the fedora looked really nice on him too.

His outfits from what we seen range from stylish (season 1 ep 7, staff said they picked the outfit from a fashion magazine) to cozy. (season 2 ep 8, sugary ioryuu poster)

I think he looks a lot younger with his hair down, which is probably why he wears it up. Can't be a womanizer if you look like a kid after all.

Personality Enough about his looks now. On to his personality. Ryuu is playful and fun. Reckless, bold, impatient, loud, charismatic, cheery and sweet. He often acts without thinking, and always speaks his mind. Those don't always go well together, and it led to him hurting Yumoto's feelings in season 2. It was never addressed, mainly because Yumoto himself didn't address it.

Still personality but some speculation and headcanons join in now ^^

But there's also some things Ryuu doesn't say. Those things are noticed through his actions. Ryuu has a strong, needy desire to be liked. Not just popular, but liked. It's where his people pleasing tendencies come from. That combined with how he dates around, leads me to think that Ryuu wants to feel wanted.

Did I mention that I LOVE how one of the first thing Io noticed about Ryuu, was that Ryuu is a huge people pleaser and does anything to be liked?! Because my feels!!

And judging by how Ryuu reacted how Io was leaving the defense club in season 1 episode 6, I think kiddo has abandonment issues.

The source of it? Well in novel 1 we find out that Ryuu is raised by his grandma and not his parents. This leads me to believe that

Considering that Ryuu lives with his grandma and not with his parents, I headcanon that his parents left him with her, not when he was a baby, but when he was old enough to understand that his parents left and didn't come back for him. But he wouldn't be old enough to be able to understand that it was his parents' error. He'd think they left because they didn't like him. Because they didn't want him.

So from then on Ryuu started to do everything he could do, to get people to like him. And when he discovered dating.... Well Ryuu is a softy. He likes romance, those trival realistic moments, like sharing coffee with a girl, or when your shoulders brush when the train shakes. Dating lots of girls makes Ryuu feel like he's wanted.

Plus he's a fluffy romance lover!

THEY GROW UP SO FAST!!!

Another thing that's amazing about Ryuu is that deep down he doesn't always feel like he's amazing. That's what we found out in season 2 episode 6.

"I'm an idiot who only thinks of getting with girls." -Ryuu Zaou s2e6

Me and Io shared that appalled tone because D: !! Kiddo no! You're amazing and I love you. And of course I ADORED THE SUBTLE LAYER OF WONDERFUL ANGST!!!

There's more than meets the eye with Ryuu. He's not the smartest and he knows it. But he's a social butterfly and good with reading people. I was honestly surprised by his good analysis on the Beppu twins. So was Io for that matter.

I think that Ryuu is a very good liar/actor, because he knows what people want to hear. We've seen him do it with Wombat in season 1 episode 11, making up the word 'lovetivity' and saying just the right things to get Wombat to agree with him.

Another thing we learn about Ryuu in season 2 is that he can draw. At least chibis XD and in the otome game, when we see Ryuu's room there's this framed picture of a man in fashionable clothes. Now I doubt that Ryuu would frame a magazine clipping. So... What if he designed that himself?

Headcanon: Ryuu goes to study fashion design in Tokyo. Not only that but he ends up going to the same college as Akoya where they end up being roommates.

I can also picture Ryuu becoming a fashion designer when he's older.

I headcanon that Ryuu's grandma owns a bakery, and she helped Ryuu make those chocolates for Io.

Some talk of the side material. Well I love Ryuu in the otome game. It gave us lots of gems like that picture of Ryuu's room. This adorable pj pic

Thanks to @vashtijoy for giving me that keychain I still treasure it! That game also gave us that wonderful ioryuu route. I still love reading @intra-fiducia‘s translations of that game, and the ioryuu friend end. Plus there is that wonderful post about how ioryuu are in the game.

I didn't actively follow the conquest club's manga, but I enjoyed that it showed that Ryuu being good at those machine grabby game things, to win stuffed toys. He must have had lots of practice thanks to winning toys for his dates.

The novels are a treasure, not just for how they portray the characters but also because of the more serious plot. I already talked about the first novel so I won't do it again. The second and third novel aren't translated though, but a bit from one of the first chapters makes me think that Ryuu may be the result of an unplanned teen pregnancy.

Someone told me about how shippy the third novel is, and I can't wait to find out more about that!

There's that comic thing, which I adored, mostly because of my ultimate brotp! Pink Bros! I love the comic in which the pinks work out together, and how Akoya worried about telling Ryuu he was leaving. Those to became close friends and I love it! I love how Akoya grew to care about Ryuu and- Akoya is good at reading people too! I bet he understood that Ryuu has abandonment issues and worried about telling Ryuu that he was leaving.

And their friendship was still in a fragile new place for him too.

Now I LOVE the Boueibu manga, it's still going, but that ioryuu chapter made that thing priceless! How ioryuu have their first real fight in it! Io worrying about Ryuu getting a cold and putting a blanket over him. And that face kiddo makes when Io says "Stay at my side forever!" Amazing! Amazing! Amazing!

It's no secret that I enjoyed the boueibu stage play. Aramaki portrayed Ryuu so well. Captured his fun spirit and his cuteness, and looked great while doing it. Aramaki spoke like Ryuu, walked like Ryuu and sang like Ryuu. It's scary! He even moved like Ryuu! The play is filled with so many wonderful moments as well!

Relationships with others

IORYUU = LIFE

I'm not joking, this ship brings me so much joy. The way they look at each other, how they sound different when talking to each other. How they'd blindly defend the other against their peers. Io's protectiveness is so great! And that they're opposites but admire each other's differences. They're so proud of each other! I'll say it again I love protective Io.

There's so many wonderful ioryuu moments, all of episodes 6, both in season 1 and 2. Those posters, their duets. God I love Sync a Think!

I've made many separate posts about ioryuu so I'll leave it at this for now.

There's akoryuu/pink bros. My ultimate brotp. In my recent fanfic Pink Blood, I made them discover that they're actually related in canon universe. All because Akoya's father had a one night stand with Ryuu's mom. I've loved this BROTP since I started planning my fanfic In the Name of Love, and have been in love with it ever since.

They're also related in several of the AUs I created with @fillyrika. Such as: - Mermaid AU - Fairy AU - Magic School AU - DC Villains AU - CPS AU

And they have a sibling like bond in - Brothel AU - Slave AU - Monster AU

Then there's also Enryuu, season 2 give me a thing that I had kinds hoped for but didn't expect to fall in love with. I kind low-key shipped enryuu before, because the smut would be steamy. (get it Fire + water) But now it's a strong brotp as well. There's several GREAT fanfics for this brotp as well. Like the fic where En stop Ryuu from being bullied, and the one where enryuu wear matching skirts ^^

I have lots of Ryuu merchandise too, I'll share a pic of it later ^^

And I've reached the point were I call Ryuu my son so much, that my mom started calling him her grandson.

Now this post turned out very long, so I wonder if you're still reading this. Sorry about this, I feel like I still have things to say, but I can't think of more right now. At the very least I got the chance to share some of my thoughts on kiddo.

#binan koukou chikyuu bouei bu love!#boueibu #ryuu zaou #zaou ryuu #mindsebbandflow #long post #really long post #really REALLY long post

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mortallyburningobservation · 3 years

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Serena meets a vampire

First, Id like to introduce myself.My name is Serena and Im a witch.I know what youre thinking and the answer is no.Im not the kind a witch that worships the elements or practices Wicca.Im the real kind.I can cast real spells which really work.

Given I look very human I blend in with the rest of you, therefore you wouldnt know that Im a witch by looking at me.I eat, drink, and sleep - and when I fly Im a passenger in a plane and not on a broom.

Incidentally, Im nearly two hundred years old.

Relax!I dont look that old.In fact, I physically turned fifteen years old last July.Confused?Id be.

Now, where should I start?I guess everything stems from a Halloween Party that I attended eleven years ago.I just love Halloween Parties.

Huh…?Hang on a second my mom is calling me.

Okay, Im back.My Mom wanted to remind me that Charmed is on television tonight.Its a Halloween Special.Theres something about a show filled with hot witches that turns me on.Anyway, in my family we all sit around the television to watch this show.

Whats that?

Oh yes.Im the only witch in my family and they havent a clue.

Did I mention its Halloween in a couple of days?Ive been, like, invited to a really kewl party.A couple of my girlfriends are trying to set me up with Damien.Hes in my algebra class and really cute, but to be honest, I have my sights on someone else.But Ill get to that later.

Halloween night is a very special night for me.It was midnight on this date, two hundred years ago, that I was conceived.In fact, its the only night of the year that a witch can get pregnant.It certainly makes for some interesting parties.Anyway, on a certain Halloween night there was another significant event, and like I mentioned before, this happened eleven years ago.Ill never forget about it because Im reminded of it several times a day.All I have to do is look in the mirror.

No, Im not hideous.In fact, Im a very pretty girl.I mean, really pretty.Im even pretty enough to be a model.Anyway, eleven years ago, I was a very beautiful 28 year-old woman, who stood about 58 and weighed about 115lbs.I was extremely fit and firm, not to mention incredibly curvy.My most prominent feature back then was my tits, which I contributed to my biological mom, who was pretty healthy herself, and a growth spell that I cast on them during countless hours in front of my vanity mirror.If I had worn a bra back then, I probably would have needed a 35DD-cup.

I guess I should get going with what happened to me but before I do let me go over some facts.In order for a witch, or a warlock for that matter, to stay young, they have to steal age from humans.I know this sounds mean, but in most cases, you humans arent even aware it is happening.Did you ever notice how some people look much older than their age?For example, some girls who are 14 look more like 20!You know the kind - trust me - theyve been tampered with.

You will also be happy to know that the nicer witches outnumber the evil ones, so when a nice witch steals age, they usually steal a little at a time.The victims never know.By the way, Im one of the nice witches and have never intentionally stolen more than 3 months from the same human.Evil witches are another matter and can be very dangerous.Id recommend that you stay clear of them but chances are you wouldnt know one if you met one.If they did do something to you, theyd probably cover their tracks and tamper with your short-term memory as well.

Just to shine some light on how serious stealing age can be, let me share a very sad story with you.It happened about thirty or forty years ago.Im sorry, when you lived as long as I have; trying to pinpoint a time frame is difficult.What I do remember is my cover, because I enjoyed some of my most memorable experiences during this time frame.I was physically 21 at the time and portraying myself as a rich girl attending a prestigious college in the Northeast.I laugh now at my motivation for attending this specific college, for this Institution is female exclusive.

I remember renting a small house in a quaint little suburban area.I even grew a friendship with my neighbors, and the young couple had the most adorable little girl.Every day she would stop by and visit me after school and I loved listening to her talk.She would say some of the silliest things.

Anyway, just to stay in the loop of my true nature, I would occasionally attend a Coven party, and it was at this party that I toyed around with a warlock.The guy was a creep, and had a reputation for playing the witches.I thought it was about time someone paid him back in spades.I knew he wouldnt try any spells on me for it was against the code, and to be truthful, Im pretty powerful so I seriously doubt his powers would have been a match for my own.Well, by the end of the party, the warlock realized he wasnt getting any from me and he became outright belligerent.I was relieved to see him leave the party.

One Friday afternoon returning home from an afternoon lecture, he showed up unexpectedly.I was shocked.He said that he decided to forgive me and surprise me with a weekend getaway.Of course I told him I wasnt interested.I remember thinking; doesnt this warlock get the hint?Anyway, I told him that what he was doing was called harassment and I threatened him with a formal complaint to the Warlock & Witches Council.

Well, this only made him angrier.If you hadnt guessed it by now, Im a lesbian.Well, at least I was then and I never disclosed this to the warlock during the party.But even if I were into men back then, this guy wouldnt have had a chance.He was a creep - plain and simple.

Anyway, the warlock asked me if it was due to our age difference.His body was that of a man in his mid thirties, so he must have assumed that I preferred younger men.I again asked him to leave, and it was about then that my little friend came through the door.You know - the little girl.Now, stealing age doesnt take that long and can be accomplished in a matter of seconds.The warlock spotted the girl, grabbed her arm, and before I could react, he applied the age transformation spell.He stole the girls childhood right before my eyes!

I stood there in utter shock.How someone could be cruel enough to do this to a little girl was beyond me.I looked at the warlock, who now looked in his early 20s and then looked back at the little girl, who was no longer little.In fact, the girl was now a stunningly beautiful young woman!Given her clothes were torn to shreds from her transformation, she stood there near naked and looking like she was about to cry.If I recall, her name was Christina.

Anyway, Christina was now wearing a body of a young woman about 19 or 20, but she was still mentally a child!Once a witch or a warlock performs this age transformation spell, its final… at least to the best of my knowledge.

I quickly led Christina over to the couch and placed a sleep spell on her.Then I turned back to the warlock.He stood there thinking he was gods gift to women and I screamed a bunch of profanities at him.I would have loved to cast a curse on him, but the laws prevented me.Anyway, he told me to go fuck myself and walked out the door.

So, there I was, faced with a 10-year-old girl inside a 20-year-old body.I knelt down by Christina and cried.It was my fault.10 years of this girls life was gone and shed never get it back.How was I going to explain this to her parents?How was Christina going to adapt?As all these things ran through my mind, I kept on staring at the girl and I admit she was starting to make me feel horny.The girls 20-year-old body was breathtaking and like I already told you I was a lesbian.Christina looked so sweet and obviously she was innocent.I hope you dont think the worse of me for my bodys reaction, but it isnt something that I could control.

Think about it.Im staring down at a young, innocent, very vulnerable woman, who was incredibly beautiful and near naked.I would have given anything to make love to her, but I restrained myself.I didnt go there!I wanted too, but I didnt!Instead, I spent the rest of that day and night casting various spells.I did what was best for her and her parents, but what I did is another story and I need to get back to this one.

Like I had mention earlier, at 28 years of physical age, I was a knock out and believe me when I say I draw my share of attention.My hair is blonde and I kept it long.So long it actually tickled my butt when naked.Incidentally, Id appreciate it if you hold back the blonde jokes.

Anyway, here I am at this party and thinking that I was all that and having no idea what was in store for me.All I knew is that I love Halloween parties and despite this experience, I always will.I love the fact that people dress up in costumes and hide their inhibitions underneath a mask.I myself tend to be more daring.

Oh, let me tell you what I was wearing.My costume was the one I always wore.Remember that old television show from the sixties?Bewitched was the name.Remember the blonde cartoon at the shows introduction.I looked like her, but even sexier.I wore a black short skirt, black top, black sexy hat, which set off my long blonde flowing hair.Thats what I looked like, except for my tits were much bigger.

Anyway, the black outfit I wore was form fitting and showcased every curvaceous attribute I possessed.So, I was attracting all kinds of attention.I was out on the prowl and feeling very horny.Oh… did you know that in my two hundred years that almost all my sexual relationships only lasted a week?Although there was Cassandra North, who I shared the same bed with for a much longer period of time, but Cassandras another story for a different time.

As the party progressed I settled on a cute hottie dressed as Super Girl.She looked college age and I looked forward to my favorite part of the evening, the seduction.Most girls were virgin to female sex and this made it all the more erotic for me.Dont get me wrong, there are plenty enough hot looking lipstick lesbians out there, but I prefer my girls pure and innocent to lesbian sex.I absolutely love how confused they become when theyre suddenly aroused for another girl.

Super Girl was petite, and possessed shoulder length auburn hair.She looked very sexy in her mini and cape.If I remember correctly, I think her name was either Lisa or Lana... or something that started with an L.Everything about the girl was perfect, except maybe her breasts.I really did feel shed look far sexier with a bigger pair, but then again Im partial to bigger breasts proven by how much time I spent perfecting my own.I had the girl approach me using a compulsion spell and found she was here with her roommate.Apparently, the girls were friends of the host, but since I crashed the party, I had no idea who the host was.

The girls roommate was dressed as Batgirl.The girls attended the local community college and I immediately got wet thinking about a threesome with them.I mean, if Batgirl looked half as hot as Super Girl, how could I resist?

As Super Girl and I talked about various interests, I decided it was time to make my move.So, I cast one of my favorite spells on her.

Just to let you know, there are over one hundred different spells to choose from when it comes to seducing a girl.My favorite is the arousal spell.Now, I know youre thinking why would a girl that looks like me need to resort to using magic.Excuse me.Hello...?The girl Im seducing is heterosexual, remember?Just because Im all that doesnt mean that a girl that likes dick is suddenly going to want to lick pussy.So, even witches that are knock outs have to resort to witchcraft every now and then.

The arousal spell I used transmitted a stronger version of my own arousal inside the girl.The hornier I become for the girl, the hornier she would become for me, but I made sure to amplify her arousal almost five fold.I also decided to do something about her breasts, and ended up using a time delayed growth spell on them.Im usually pretty good at measurements and decided to go with an increase of three additional cup sizes.I wasnt completely sure what size bra she wore, but she didnt look bigger than a B cup.Not wanting her boobs to be painfully entrapped in her bra, I made it where the spell would trigger the second she slipped it off.Super Girl would go from a 34B cup to Double Ds!I also made it where her breasts would be extra sensitive to sexual stimulation, and then tied the stimulation of her nipples directly to her clit.

Well, it wasnt long before Lisa started to fidget.She was soooo adorable as she tried denying her desire for me.She mentioned more than once how hot it was and I saw her discreetly touch herself.She blushed when I caught her staring at my boobs.

I then looked around for Batgirl, but unfortunately she was still nowhere to be found.I decided I was too horny to wait any longer, so I invited Super Girl to come upstairs with me.But just as I was about to take her hand I noticed a man.

Now, that in it self should have set off some alarm bells.Simply put – I never notice men.They notice me and I ignore them.What bugged me about this man was that he was so damn good looking.My eyes were glued to him.What was it about him that hit me with those powerful vibes?

Then the mans eyes locked on my eyes and suddenly I felt a strange tug inside my mind.I also felt suddenly weak with an overwhelming desire to spread my legs for him.Here I was a lesbian and feeling heterosexual desire for the first time in my life.Im not sure how I was able to look away but I did and quickly shook off the feelings and composed myself.I then turned back to my pet super heroine and could see from her heavy breathing that she was ready.Hell, I could smell her.

I leaned over and copped a feel of her lovely ass and as I did I made sure to slide my hand underneath her sexy mini.I pressed my middle and index fingers against her pussy and she nearly came right then and there.Gasping and blushing, she pressed her ass down against her fingers in hopes that I would enter her.I so loved teasing my conquests.

As I was about to lead her away, the man that had so captivated me a few moments ago now stood boldly in front of me.Had I really forgotten about him?He had this huge grin on his face, gave Super Girl a quick once over with his eyes, and then returned his attention to me.

The guy oozed virility and was on the tall side.He wore black, but if he were trying to pass himself off as a vampire, I thought he failed miserably.I was about to tell him that he was intruding on something private but Super Girl suddenly announced that she had to go home.

Impossible!I could still smell the girls arousal for me!How could she be putty in my hands one second and then be leaving the next?I was about to throw a get lost spell at the man when he suddenly caught my gaze again.

His eyes were soooooooo hypnotic.Soooooooooo deep.Soooooooooo incredibly beautiful and it no longer bothered me that Super Girl was leaving.

The man started to make small talk with me and I felt compelled to respond.Strangely enough, I even found the conversation enjoyable, and boy did I want him.Im not sure how the topic landed on immortality, but it did.

It has always been my contention that warlocks and witches should not be classified as immortal because if we chose not to steal age, we wouldnt stay young.Ive certainly had my share of debates on this subject, not to mention some really heated ones, and this guy was no different.I remember becoming really angry at his smug smile.I mean… who the hell did this guy think he was?

I was really getting pissed and declared that witches can die of old age - just like humans and therefore this in itself proved their mortality.

Witches choose whether to live or die.Only immortals have this choice, the guy responded, just as angry.

Youre wrong!Witches need to steal their youth in order to survive.How can you be so ignorant not to see this and besides, what makes you such an authority on the subject?

It sounds to me like youve had this argument before.Maybe if you were less a bitch and more a witch, youd be as attractive on the inside as you clearly are on the outside, the man replied, smiling.

I was fuming!How dare this guy talk to me like this!How dare he call me a bitch!I was about to let him have it when he simply stared into my eyes again.Those damn eyes!I lost myself in them.They were big, beautiful, dark, deep, and ever so gorgeous.It wasnt until that very moment that I realized I had lost my will in them.Whoever this guy was, he had successfully hypnotized me.I was powerless to do or say anything.I remembered desperately trying to break eye contact with him but found I couldnt.Not until he asked me a question was I able to say something, and even then it was only to answer him specifically.

Whats your name and your true age, the man asked me.

Serena Templer.Im one hundred and eighty-eight years old, I whispered in response.

Youre very pretty for someone so old.It must be immortality that keeps you looking so young, huh? he responded with a smile.

Yes, I whispered.

I couldnt help it!This man had mentally forced me to admit that I was wrong in my definition of immortality.I turned beet red from embarrassment.

Let me introduce myself, Serena.My name is Michael Anthony Lexington and Im what you would consider a vampire.Not an every day run of the mill vampire, but Im an ancient one and have been undead for nearly a thousand years.Now, follow me, witch.

If I were allowed, I would have panicked, but instead I found myself following the vampire through the crowd of partygoers and out the back door.Damn me to hell – I saw Batgirl on the way and she was just as hot as her roommate.Anyway, when we got outside we went another fifty feet until we were alone in a back ally.We stopped next to a black limo that was parked on the side of the street.It was obviously his.

Tell me, my pretty little witch.Have you ever made it with a vampire before?

Yes, Cassandra North… we were lovers for a decade.

Ah yes, Cassandra North… Im aware of her.Im curious about something.Were you always a lesbian witch or did Cassandra turn you?

I... I... I dont understand.Ive always been a lesbian, I responded, suddenly very confused.

Cassandra could have easily altered your sexual preference when she drank your blood.I swear… you witches are as helpless as these humans.Have you ever been with a male before?

No.I mean... not really, I whispered in response, suddenly remembering an incident that happened a long time ago.

Explain.

I... I had sex when I was real young.The boy got me drunk and took advantage of me.

And your witchcraft didnt protect you?

I was too young.

I see...Well, did you get revenge when you turned sixteen?

Yes... I... I cursed him, I replied, wondering how he knew about my witchcraft kicking in when I turned 16.I cursed him where he would only feel sexually aroused from the act of masturbation.

Hmmm… interesting, he responded, smiling.

I stood there like a statue as the vampire approached me.When he stood inches from me, he brought his hands up to cup my chin.Im not small, and usually I dont have to look that far up at someone, but with him I had to look up... and I felt very small.Weak, too!Another thing I was feeling was that strong sexual desire Id been feeling before for him… but this time it was about five times stronger!

Please, I begged, needing him.

The vampire brought his mouth down to my mouth and we kissed, and then I wanted him more than anyone else before in my life!I wanted him to fuck me!I desperately wanted him to fuck me!I remember my huge breasts bouncing up and down with each heavy breath I took and feeling wetter than I ever felt before in my life.Never had I wanted to be with anyone more than this vampire and that included Cassandra.If he wanted my neck, I would have begged for him to drink from me.If he wanted my life, I would have begged for him to take it.

As he kissed me, I continued to kiss him back, harder and with more passion than ever before.I blush to this day at the memory and did I mention he left me with a vivid recollection?My only thought was how desperately I wanted him to bend me over the hood of his car and outright fuck me.

Then suddenly, he broke away from me which left me gasping.My eyes pleaded for more and if I had control over my actions, I would have dropped down to my knees and begged him.

Tell me, Serena... what would you like more than anything else in the world?

I... I want you to fuck me, I replied, honestly.

Strip for me - slowly.

The fact that we were outside... didnt matter.All I remember caring about was undressing, but undressing slow enough to look my sexiest.I forced myself to go slower than I would have preferred, but I knew how important it was to please him.After I stripped completely, I stood submissively naked before him.Damn did I ever need him, and I knew my eyes represented this.Id been reduced to his sex slave and he made me crave it!

You still want to be fucked, Serena?

Yesssssss… pleeaaaassssssseee, I whimpered and begged.

Go ahead and lean yourself over the hood of the limo, he commanded me.

I eagerly turned around and did as I was told... spreading my legs with anticipation.

Im going to give you a taste of what youve been missing all these years.

As the vampire moved behind me, I felt myself getting hotter and hotter between my legs.Waves and waves of arousal crashed down on me and my knees nearly buckled when I heard him lower his zipper.

Uuuuunnnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh, I cried out as he penetrated me.

Never in my 200 years had I felt more pleasure from a single act.As the vampire thrust into my dripping wet hot cunt, I cried out in ecstasy and wished he would never stop.Every time the vampire pulled back, I cried in fear that he was withdrawing, and then screamed out louder as he plunged back into me.I know I was loud, but I couldnt help it.If someone was outside in a couple block radius they would have heard me.By the time he was done, I had lost count at how many times I came and eventually passed out.

Im not sure how long I was out cold, but when I woke, I was still leaning over the hood of his limo.I must have presented quite a sight with my legs spread eagled and my naked ass on display.I also remember how incredibly satisfied I felt.

I heard the vampire tell me to turn around and as I did, I noted the soreness inside my pussy.He smiled as if he knew what I was thinking.Was this a reminder of my first fuck?

When I looked down and saw that the vampire had put his cock away, I felt a rush of disappointment.Apparently, he was done fucking me.Then I noticed the teenagers standing by the side… a boy and a girl who didnt look much older than fifteen or sixteen.My first thought was to cover my nudity, but my arms remained at my sides and my sexy costume remained on the ground by my feet.

Serena… I must tell you that this was one of the finer fucks Ive had in a very long time.You were not only hot, but tight as well.

I blushed at his comment, but I also felt proud... and I had no idea why.

Now, let me introduce you to Jeremy and Connie.My chauffeur selected them.He found them while you were taking a nap.Youve been sleeping in that position for more than an hour and Ill tell you this much, both Jeremy and Connie couldnt get over how hot you looked in that position.Yes, even Connie, who had never looked at another girl sexually before in her life, thought you looked hot.Anyway, theres another thing that the three of us did while you were sleeping.We talked about the future.Your future, their future, and how you will all be one happy family.

I just stood there wondering what he was talking about.More sex…?I could feel myself becoming aroused again.

Incidentally, it seems like Jeremy and Connie are just friends.Jeremy has always had a crush on Connie but Connie never felt anything other than a friendship towards him.Theyre both virgins.Apparently, she has a boyfriend and although she hasnt gone all the way she has done everything else.

I watched the Vampire walk over to Jeremy and Connie and stand directly in front of them.Both kids faced forward apparently in some sort of trance.

I have plans for them… and you.First, let me make some adjustments to them.

The vampire stood silent, alternating his gaze back and forth between them.It seemed like a long time but it was probably less than a minute.I only did what I was allowed to do... watch.

All set with the first phase.When they come out of their trance, they will have a real passion and love for one another, but of course, Connies sexual desire for Jeremy will be much stronger and she will be more passive when it comes to their relationship.This way Jeremy has the power to keep her in line.

The vampire then walked over to me.

I could simply make you believe that you no longer want to live.As a result, you would grow old and die, but where would the fun be in proving you right regarding our earlier discussion?

I stood there in silence.

So, what do I do?How about I make you my own personal sex slave?Based on your response a little while ago, you obviously enjoyed it.Im sure you would look hot crawling around on your hands and knees to me… begging me to make use of you.I could make it where you want it so much that your pretty little pussy would be perpetually creaming.

I stood there, envisioning life as this vampires sex slave and I could feel myself growing aroused from it.I knew he was putting the image there, but I responded anyway.My desire for this overwhelmed me and my intellect took a back seat.

Or I could provide you an opportunity to start over.Of course, the big advantage of starting over is grooming you to be much more compliant.Wouldnt you like that?

I wanted to shout no but I still stood there silent.

Yes Serena, youll be much more docile and passive around everybody… the way you should have been the first time around.This way your big mouth wont take away from that beauty of yours like it did tonight.

I looked at him, not wanting to understand where he was going with this.

Youve also been much to obsessed with one type of sex when a girl that looks like you should indulge in a whole variety.Of course, youll have to wait a spell before this happens.

Ill leave your memories alone - especially tonights because I wouldnt want you forgetting our time together… every thrust of it.

If I could have looked alarmed I would have, but I continued to stand still like a statue.I watched the vampire walk over to the boy and lead him over to me.I still wasnt sure exactly what he had in mind and felt fear when I heard him tell the boy to strip.Within seconds, the boy was completely naked.He had an erection and I wondered if he was going to force the boy to have sex with me.I tried moving, but still wasnt able until he instructed me to take the boys hand.I reached out my hand and did so.The kid must have still been in a trance because he didnt seem to notice that we were both completely naked - nor what he was doing.

Alright Serena - take twelve years from him.

The command stunned me, but there was no hesitation in my action.I just did it.I couldnt refuse because I was nothing more than a puppet, and the vampire held the strings.I performed the age transformation spell and within seconds the boy was no longer a boy.He was a man.In fact, a good looking man!He looked mid to late twenties and possessed a huge erection.I gasped at the sight of him and felt myself grow damp.I wanted him!Then it hit me!If the boy was a man - that made me...

Serena, you may look at yourself, but you cannot move your feet nor talk above a whisper.

I quickly looked down at my body and cried.What I saw shocked me.I was sixteen again!During every age regression I performed on myself, I never ever went below the age of 18.I now had some baby fat added to my curves and instead of being a beautiful adult I was sixteen year old.Yes, I was still great looking, but with enough baby fat to make me more cute than beautiful.I felt heavier in my ass and hips, and for good reason.I wanted to look behind me to check my ass out, but felt too embarrassed.My breasts shrunk but only a little due to the growth spell I had placed on them.I dropped maybe a cup.My face would obviously give proof to the fact that I was sixteen.Then another realization hit me.Good thing he didnt go back any further because if he had I would have lost my witchcraft.

I looked back at the boy – now a man.Our age difference was reversed and I wanted him!I looked down at his erection and the sexual desire flooding my body made me feel weak in the knees.Only if I could move!I wanted to be fucked by that big pole sticking straight out at me!

The vampire walked over to the girl and whispered something in her ear.She then proceeded to strip.My mind was racing.Why was he doing this?Did he want us to be a threesome?The girl was a doll and with every article of clothing she took off, I found myself feeling more and more aroused.Despite her young age... hell, we were physically the same age now.I wanted her… and wanted him… I wanted them both!If the vampire allowed it, I would have cried out with joy!

Alright Serena...what Ive done is give you a taste of what you will look like in about twelve years.Ive been kind enough to let you enjoy both sexes.Instead of a lesbian, Ive made you bisexual.Now, take twelve years from Connie.

NO!!!You cant do this to me!I shouted in a whisper, but again I was merely a passenger as my hand reached over and took a hold of Connies hand.She, like the boy, had no idea what was happening.I performed the age transformation spell, and within seconds, the girl was no longer a girl, but a woman.God, what she ever tall!She was a beauty as well.She even rivaled my previous form!Her breasts had grown from a B cup to a DD cup, and she had curves in all the right places!Her hair, which had been long to start with, grew down past her very rounded buttocks and WAIT!As much as I appreciated her very beautiful looks I realized I felt absolutely no arousal!

I felt absolutely nothing for this lady and then remembered why.I started to cry… really cry.I was a child.Actually more like a toddler.Four years old if that.No breasts!No patch of... nothing!Just a little toddler…

Why?Why make me little girl? I asked in my new high pitched voice.

I still maintained my intellect and my memories but my words came out like the little girl I looked like.

To teach you respect, little witch, and oh yeah - no more witchcraft.Not until you reach sixteen... almost twelve years from now.Tell me Serena, what do you want right now?

I want my mommy, I replied, sobbing.

Remember Serena - never engage in a debate with a vampire… especially one as old as me.

The vampire walked before the naked couple and stared at them for a few moments.He then knelt down in front of me and as I looked into his eyes - it became so clear.I could move again and I ran into my pretty mommys arms as she lifted me up.

Mommy, mommy! I screamed with happiness, loving as my pretty mommy hugged me tight.I heard her whisper… Yes, my precious Serena - what is it dear?

Can we go home, I sleepy... pleeeaassee, I replied.

Well – thats my story.Like I said, Im fifteen now and in nine months Ill be sixteen again.More importantly, Ill be a full fledged witch again.Unlike the last time, I remember a lot more about my childhood.As you kind of figured out, the vampire had turned Jeremy and Connie into my parents.They love each other - and as far as they are concerned, Im their first child.

My Mom and Dad are constantly making love.Its hard not to hear them with my mom being so loud.Theyve been at it ever since that special Halloween night.

I have six younger sisters and another one on the way.No brothers.I remember the vampire telling them to have ten children, so my Mom has two more pregnancies to go unless she has twins.

The vampire also did a few things to me.I have a passive personality.Its like I have this burning desire to please everyone and I feel weak during confrontations.Ive never been in an argument.Some of the boys in school have picked up on my submissive nature.I even found myself allowing a boy to grope my tits during in the movie theatre.I couldnt believe how horny I got.Not because he attracted me so much, but because I felt so damn helpless while he was doing it.Im hoping I turn sixteen before the boys start really taking advantage of me.

This leads me to tell you about Jason and Jessica.Theyre twins at my school and they turned fifteen last summer.They look older than they are and Im almost tempted to believe a witch or warlock got a hold of them.Im constantly thinking of them.Jason is really cute and Jessica is very pretty.Theyre going to be at the Halloween Party Im going to and I cant wait!

Like I said, childhood was a lot different this time around… much easier.Modern technology is a little like magic because it makes life easier.I also play soccer and that keeps me busy.Im pretty good at it and play the striker position.The coach calls me her secret weapon.I think she has lesbian tendencies because I catch her stealing glances at me.Shes attractive and I have a feeling if she tried to seduce me, there would be very little resistance on my part.I just hope Im sixteen before she tries.

My breasts have been getting bigger lately.Maybe Im not ready for a C cup but it should be soon.Of course, when Im sixteen, I can simply make my tits as big and shapely as I want them to be.Jessicas are already big.I stole a glance at her bra size in the girls locker room.She wears a ‘D cup.Its hard for me not to look at her when we take showers.

Lately, Ive been masturbating while fantasizing about the two of them.God, they make me so horny.Im really looking forward to getting my powers back.Right now, Im only a casual friend of Jessicas and Jason is too preoccupied with sports to recognize girls.But thats going to change.Love spells are the easiest type of spell and nine months from now theyll both be feeling the affects.

Hang on...

My Mom is calling me...Charmed is on.Dont you think Alyssa Milano is a hottie?Yes, I have a crush on her.Every time I watch the show I think of how kewl it is being the real life version of a witch.Maybe when I regain my witchcraft, Ill go visit the set of Charmed.

Oh... I havent seen Michael Lexington since that night.You remember him - the Vampire.Maybe one day Ill meet him again.God I hope so...

Talk to you later…

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portfolioforwritingwork-blog · 7 years

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Death and our children, how death is presented in modern children’s literature today

Before comparing the texts from the previous chapter, it is important to first provide the background on the ideas circulating in the public sphere at the current moment. Death is considered a very personal event in modern society, whereas in the Victorian period, funerals were to show the importance of the person who died and their family’s status. In contemporary society (in Britain), death is in fact viewed as more personal to the average person than sex is. This is a fairly new idea, as historically it has been the other way around. However, due to the rise in healthcare and the advancements of the medical industry, people are dying later in life, with dramatically lower mortality rates. Therefore, we as a society are less accustomed to seeing death than we previously have been. According to JM Hick in his 1998 works on death and eternal life, “Death has replaced sex as the new taboo”. This suggests that we are less able to deal with death in the modern media than we are with someone involved in a sex scandal or a new relationship, as was formerly the norm.

This in part is to do with the secularisation of Britain and the recent secular doubt of the afterlife. Before the Victorian period ended, the strong religious dogma of Christianity held in Britain meant most did not fear death for themselves, as it was just accepted that after death the soul would go to heaven. A common superstition people carried out at the time was placing penny coins over the dead’s eyes, to pay the boatman at the river styx, so the dead person can enter heaven.

End of life specialists also agree with this, as “Most of us will gradually ‘wear out’, predominantly in old age, rather than meet an untimely, brutish or short end. This means that around three-quarters of deaths in the UK are ‘predictable’ and follow a period of chronic illness. Despite this, we often still seem keen to avoid discussion of dying.” This is of course according to a centre for social research into end of life planning, an organisation dealing with people who know they are going to die. However, it can also be seen through what is shown on the television before the watershed, when programming is considered appropriate for children to watch.

In sociology, the feeling has been much the same since the early 50s. Geoffrey Gorer, for example, in his article “The Pornography of death” asserted, “At present death and mourning are treated with as much prudery as sexual impulses were a century ago”. This shows even in 1955 Britain’s ‘Death cult’ of the Victorian era was being cleansed beyond recognition. This was later affirmed by philosopher JM Hick, who started his philosophical study on Death and Eternal Life with the assumption that it is “that death has replaced sex as the great unmentionable.”

Specialists in end of life care such as Hayley Rowson De Varis suggest this is because we as a culture have become “death denying” and scared of our own mortality. According to her report, two thirds of the population over sixty-five years of age has not written a will. This may be due to the gradual secularisation of society. When we were a mainly Judeo-Christian country, there was a certainty in life after death, as the mythology was strong within communities. However, as we have secularized and become more scientific, the idea of dying becomes scarier, as there is no verifiable afterlife or justice therein. However, it is also acknowledged that the secularisation of society also makes a funeral more of a personal ritual in order to say goodbye to the person, and not to ensure they had their last rites.

Because of this, children’s writers have to be more sensitive about how death is portrayed in their novels. Death cannot be a complete joke, or it might become offensive. However, if the death has too much pathos in the narrative, the story changes its main message, and if it is shoehorned in, it reflects a poorly written novel.

Writers have also, since the dawning of the 20th century, written books to help children (and sometimes adults) cope with the idea of a loss. Personal Reactions depend on the stages of grieving. The model often used by psychologists is as follows: shock, denial, disorganisation, depression, anger, guilt, failure, depression and resolution. All of these stages are a long, difficult processes, which can make it hard to progress beyond the original shock administered at the start. With regards to children, it can be hard understanding what death is at all, as many don’t necessarily come across it until later life. Children’s lit on the subject can help both adults and children understand what has happened, their feelings about the situation and ways to move on.

In the Graveyard book, the supernatural (i.e. life after death) is not presented as scary for the main character. This subverts the trope of the ghosts in the graveyard. As a result The Graveyard book portrays the real monsters as human. However, the ones who would conventionally be called ‘monsters’ do appear in The Graveyard Book, such as The Sleer. The Sleer is a well-meaning entity who constantly seeks a master to “protect” along with any “treasure” it can find. Although this novel meets many characters who would have been considered monstrous previous to this novel, in this narrative they are presented as the `’goodies’, the ‘baddies’ being completely human, and yet more monstrous than the monsters.

ASOUE also presents humans as monstrous, as the book, although in the fantasy genre, bases it’s story in the real and rational world. Although the Baudelaire Orphans are thrown into ridiculous situations meant as allegories for bereavement, they are those based not in the supernatural but in the rational and sometimes in the grammatical. For example, when Mr Poe tells them their mother and father have “perished”, and continues to explain what perished means, the orphans quickly tell him that “We know what perished means”. This in a way gives them superiority in a situation from which there is no escape, even at one point being sure that Mr Poe “must have misspoken”. This shows the orphans in one of the first stages of grief, denial. This in a way is the real challenge, not defeating Count Olaf, but overcoming their grief to stick together as a family. However, with his motley crew of characters Count Olaf serves as a kind of monsters, bringing in men such as the hook handed Fernald to terrorise the orphans when they placed in his care in the first novel.

Alice in Wonderland doesn’t explore monsters in the first novel, but rather in the second, whereby the reader is exposed to the bandersnatch and the jabberwocky, both of which are the creation of Lewis Carol. The purpose of these monsters is to show how strong and brave the main character is, whilst also giving her something to overcome whilst also defying the real world logic, in an attempt to create more of a child-like narrative that appeals to children. They are also used in this part of the narrative to teach a different approach to language. In the poem Jabberwocky, words which don’t exist such as “Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe”. This nonsense poem plays with language in a way that is enjoyable and eccentric, not to mention fun to try and pronounce. It also removes the monster from reality using made up words to describe it. However, far from calling this nonsense, many such as Peter J Lucas, who instead of “non-sense” labeled it “distorted-sense”

The Graveyard Book not so much plays with language, but presents it in a humorous way. The characters have funny regional accents and the illustrations are rather caricatured, but rather than cartoonish punch-magazine style, the pictures in the novel are more akin to that of the graphic novel. (figure 1) This creates a different illustrative style than any of the Victorian children’s books I have looked at. This is also to do with the age of the child the novel is targeting. Beatrix potter uses sweet, colourful animal drawings in human outfits because her main readership was aimed at younger children, delineated today as key stage 1. The pictures in The Graveyard Book however, are aimed at older children, delineated today as key stage 2 and above. Whilst creating funny characters, in also create haunting images, such as that of Elizabeth Hempstock, an unfairly executed witch who Bod, the child at the centre of the novel befriends in one of the earlier chapters. “What nonsense, of course I was a witch. They learned that when they untied me from the cucking stool, nine tenths dead and covered in duck weed and pond muck” The supernatural element of this novel, i.e. the fact that the main character can talk to dead people about their deaths after they have died, creates a safe narrative in which death is not necessarily an unhappy end. None of the ghostly characters in the novel are particularly sad about living in the graveyard, and none are particularly resentful about where in the graveyard they live. Therefore in this novel, death is a kind of justice. The afterlife creates opportunities for the ghosts they did not have in their lifetime.

And it is because so many of the characters are already dead that we only really see two instances of death in the narrative: Bod’s family in the first chapter, and their murderers in the third from last.

Nursery rhymes are used in mostly of the novels, bar that of A Series of Unfortunate Events and Oliver Twist. In most of the novels I have looked at, however, there is always some use of nursery rhyme included in the narrative.

A way of using language which is familiar to older children, but because it is included in a novel with older themes, it is not so childish that older children would not want to read a book when nursery rhymes are involved. Sometimes the nursery rhyme is written by the author and based in reality Sometimes it is used because it relates to the narrative. Alice in Wonderland is asked to repeat the poem “You are old father William” by the Hookah smoking caterpillar. The first verse is presented thus:

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,

“And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head –

Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

After Alice gets the first verse wrong swapping a word she can’t remember for a similar one, the caterpillar then corrects her on the verses she gets wrong.

However, putting it into nonsense (or rather distorted-sense) terms then helps them to absorb the actual logic of the real world, for example children will know when reading about the hookah smoking caterpillar that the scene is funny, primarily because caterpillars can neither talk nor smoke, as teachers could at the time. According to Florence Milner, all the poems in Alice in Wonderland are parodies of rhymes used in the classroom to help children rote learn their knowledge. However, she also suggests that (like in ASOUE), words (in this case, poetry) was used to assert the identity Alice felt she had lost through growing and shrinking.

“After Alice had fallen down the rabbit-hole and had passed through her first transformation, when she shut up like a telescope until she was only ten inches high and then grew bigger and bigger until ‘her head struck the roof of the hall’, she became confused as to her identity. To make sure of it, she tried to repeat a little poem which everybody in those days knew by heart, and to such children is was very funny when it cam out all wrong[1]”

The nursery rhyme Neil Gaimen uses is quite different from both Alice in Wonderland’s distorted sense poems, and the daring storytelling of Treasure Island. There are two included in the overall narrative, one as a foreword, and one mirrored at the beginning and end of the book. The second is written by Gaimen himself, sung by the ghost who takes on the maternal role for Nobody Owens. Ironically, this song is about living life, something a ghost knows plenty about.

Sleep my little baby-oh,

sleep until you waken,

when you wake you’ll see the world,

if I’m not mistaken

Kiss a lover,

dance a measure,

find your name in buried treasure,

face your life it’s pain its pleasure,

leave no path untaken. [2]

This nursery rhyme creates a different atmosphere at each end of the book. At the beginning, Mrs Owens is singing it to a baby who she’s going to look after during his childhood. The world he is yet to live in is not yet real. Therefore the world he’ll see will be her world, that of the graveyard. However, when he is a young adult at the end of the novel, it is time for him to leave her at the graveyard and make his own life, something which is painful for Mrs Owens, but which she knows he must do. This scene is therefore an emotional one. Instead of contemplating the future he’ll have, it is time for him to go out and live.

The use of grammar throughout the novel series ASOUE also serves a kind of purpose in cathartic reasoning. At first the orphans use their pedantic knowledge on grammar and language to distance themselves from difficult situations. It becomes a comfort to the orphans that words will always stay the same, no matter the changing scenery. The children even believe their skills are so advanced that Mr Poe in the above passage was supposed to be completely wrong purely due to the grammar he had used. This kind of language game then gets portrayed quite differently in the third novel in the series in which the character Aunt Josephine clings to textbook grammar – the only thing in her house she has not been afraid of since her husband died.

“It dawned on them that unlike Aunt Josephine, …the three children had one another for comfort and support over the course of their miserable lives[3].”

The techniques of language games, outlined in Wittgenstein’s ‘Philosophical Remarks’, states that most language games can be used in situations whereby the language game is easier to use than everyday language in that particular situation.

For example, in one general part of the narrative when the author is exploring language through examples, he states that “Although ‘jumping to conclusions’ is an expression rather than a physical activity, it is just as dangerous as jumping off a cliff, jumping in front of a moving train, or jumping for joy”. Here he is exploring different meanings of the same word, in keeping with the overall tone of the novel. It also adds some form of trepidation to the characteristics of the orphans; jumping to conclusions for them would be considered detrimental, the same as all the others on the list.

This is not so much the case in Oliver Twist or The Graveyard Book, however another novel which does use language games in it’s narrative is Alice in Wonderland, whereby Alice uses language pertaining to the fictional world she is in, that would be total nonsense in real life, even making up words in certain poems spoken by fantastical characters such as the mad hatter, or the white rabbit. These characters are very non threatening, and appeal to the young child due to their personification, for example, The White Rabbit wears “a little blue waistcoat[4]”, and the caterpillar smokes a hookah pipe.

The trope of the orphan is a commonly used tool when writing about death in a children’s chapter book. By introducing the main character as someone who has no parents is easier than showing one parent who has died and the effects of this on the family. The death of both parents also gives the main character freedom to move in the narrative, becoming more of an independent child rather than a minor or ordinary character.

The way that the reader hears about the deaths of parents in most of the modern texts I have studied, is usually through second hand accounts from minor or supporting characters. In SOUE, we hear about the deaths of the Baudelaire parents through a third party (i.e. that of the bumbling Mr Poe). We are not introduced in media res during the scene of the deaths, as this creates a continuation of the mystery. Throughout the series the Baudelaire orphans go through stages of wondering whether their parents are still alive, who killed them. David Handler (AKA Lemony Snicket) takes the reader on the same journey the children are on, through all the stages of grief.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you children” the three Baudelaire siblings looked at him. Violet with some embarrassment, felt the stone in her hand and was glad she had not thrown it at Mr Poe.

“Your parents” said Mr Poe “Have perished in a terrible fire.” The children didn’t say anything…”We know what the word perished means” Klaus said, crossly…but he was still having trouble understanding what Mr Poe had said. It seemed to him that Mr Poe had somehow misspoken.[5]

The uselessness of Mr Poe as The Bearer of Bad News creates a kind of superiority for the orphans. They don’t need the death of their parents explained to them, yet Klaus does show some sense of denial. Since we do not see the parental death ourselves, however, in the later novels when the children start pontificating upon whether their parents could be alive, we are none the wiser than they.

Neil Gaimen on the other hand, introduces us to the scene of parent death in media res, with the effect of creating tension and grabbing the attention of the reader from the first page.

“There was a hand in the darkness and it held a knife. The knife had a handle of polished bone, a blade sharper than any razor. If it sliced you, you might not even know you had been cut, not immediately. The knife had done almost everything it was brought here to do and both the blade and the handle were wet” [6]

Gaimen here uses impersonal pronouns, such as “a hand” and “a knife”. The person holding the knife is genderless and faceless at this point. The narrative also avoids talking about the motive or method of the person holding the knife. All that is known to the reader is that a knife was used to kill any number of the people in the house described. It also lets the reader know, however, that not all the people in the house had been murdered, creating enigma. This passage brings up several questions for the reader. Who owns the hand which is holding the knife? Why is that person holding a bloody knife? What did the family do to warrant being killed? What else was it “brought here to do”? Not only does this passage grab the interest of the reader however, it also introduces them to the dark themes that will later emerge in the novel, and also allow the reader to know more about Nobody Owens’ origin as an orphan, rather than leaving us blind as ASOUE does.

Both of the 21st century novels show differences to the Victorian portrayal of the orphan. First however, the term “orphan” must be defined. According to Laura Peters, the Orphan has not always been defined as it is today, as a child who has lost both parents. According to her text Orphan texts: Victorian orphans, culture and empire, the figure of the orphan also referred to “one who was deprived of only one parent.”

According to her research, because the Victorian era was one of building social convention and keeping the status quo, the orphan was considered “a promise and a threat, a poison and a cure”. When a child was orphaned, they were put into the care of the parish, the responsibility of The Board of Guardians. However, because they were mainly self governed, the idea of the orphan posed a threat to the Victorian nuclear family, and therefore were “othered” within society.

In Oliver Twist, when Oliver is placed into the Orphanage, the Sowerberrys’, and then Fagin’s care, we are aware that although these adults are supposedly caring for him, he is essentially on his own. Most of the time in fact, Oliver becomes exploited, or receives some kind of unwarranted abuse. In the sense of how he comes to know he is an orphan, he is more akin to the Baudelaire orphans who know from the start of the narrative that they are alone except for each other. The exploitation the orphans in ASOUE receive is quite different than that in Oliver Twist however. Whilst Oliver is unable to overcome his own exploitation without top-down socialism, the Baudelaire orphans encounter each situation of oppression as a kind of puzzle, and use their intellect to outwit the adults oppressing them. For example, when Violet is being made to marry the evil count Olaf in order to get her baby sister back from the cage he put her in, she soon finds materials from around the room to make “a kind of giant metal spider” that she then uses as a grappling hook in order to climb the tower in which her sister is being kept hostage.

This shows that although modern children have less autonomy, the extent of their capabilities is larger than it had been thought during the Victorian period, when children were seen as something that needed to be protected and cared for, rather than those capable of freeing themselves from great oppression.

In the third novel, the orphans are made aware that unlike Aunt Josephine, who has grown accustomed to her “irrational fears”, the orphans have each other “with which to share their miserable lives”. Compared with Oliver, a Victorian equivalent of the novel, the children are a lot less helpless. This may have been because Oliver Twist was aimed at adults and the writer wished to create pathos for his characters who represented all working class and destitute children.

However, this may also be due to the genre of literature each novel applies to. Whilst ASOUE was written purely as a fantasy novel, Oliver, although a cartoonish and characteristic in the way it is written, is intended as a fairly serious criticism on British society of the time, and it’s attitude towards it’s most vulnerable, these being the most likely to perish in Dickens’ narratives.

In the Graveyard Book most of the characters are already dead, most of the descriptions of death are retrospective. (e.g. Liza Hempstock). Introduces the readers to history, as well as presenting sensitive issues regarding deaths to the forefront of the narrative. For example, at one point Bod asks about an abandoned part of the graveyard in which he lives, which it turns out is reserved for victims of suicide.

“Does it work? Are they happier dead?” “Sometimes, mostly no. It’s like the people who believe they’ll be happier if they go and live somewhere else, but learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you, if you see what it means”

The way Gaimen introduced this subject is very sensitive indeed, and also shows a deeper understanding of the concept in discussion. Many would proceed with caution when explaining what suicide is to children of the book’s reading age. Removing the concept from the grieving process as well as no personal experience from the characters creates a sense of detatchment, a useful tool for explaining this kind of death to the children reading the book.

Handler, however, takes on rather a different approach to exploring grief. In the third novel in his series, The Wide Window, he uses a reducto ad absurdum approach to putting problems into perspective. “If you were upset about an ugly pimple on the end of your nose, you might try to feel better by keeping your pimple in perspective. You might compare your pimple situation to that of someone who was being eaten by a bear, and when you looked in the mirror at your ugly pimple, you could say to yourself, 'Well, at least I'm not being eaten by a bear.[7]” This creates humour in the midst of all the death that happens in the book series. He also uses each novel to convey a different lesson on how to deal with bereavement. Each individual novel, whilst not able to work necessarily as a stand-alone narrative, has a different message based on the situation the orphans are put in, and the way they find a solution to the problems they face. However, whilst the orphans are experiencing grief and loss, the author (whilst creating some level of pathos) does not create quite such a Dickensian situation as Dickens himself, who emphasised poverty and the powerlessness of the working class, prescribing top-down Marxist theory rather than letting his characters find fortune of their own volition.

A very famous novel which uses the trope of the orphan is the Harry Potter books, which soon gained a cult following after merchandising and film adaptations were released. It entailed the story of a young orphan living with his aunt and uncle in a suburban English household. Throughout what we are told of his life there he is treated as inferior, made to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, never receiving the post that is meant for him until one day magical owls start appearing on the front lawn posting thousands of acceptance letters to Hogwarts, a magical boarding school. This novel, like Oliver Twist, starts with Harry in the care of unworthy adults (in this case, his uncle, aunt and spoilt cousin). However, instead of being ‘saved’ by top-down socialism, he is saved by the magical and fantastical. The idea of an army of owls smothering someone’s house in order to bring justice to a little boy who belongs in a magic school brings dignity to Harry, and justice to his mean, hard hearted relatives. When the character of Hagrid, the man who is essentially Harry’s guardian, hears Uncle Vernon insult Hogwarts, he stands up for Harry by using his magical pink umbrella.

“I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon. Hagrid seized his pink umbrella and whirled it over his head "NEVER -" he thundered "- INSULT -ALBUS -DUMBLEDORE - IN - FRONT - OF - ME!”[8]

However, whilst Harry is helped to escape his situation through the strength of others, he essentially finds his power on his own and therefore is the master of his own fate. Before he leaves for Hogwarts, Harry is known to his carers as a trouble maker, even giving his cousin a pig’s tail at one point.

In this way, Rowling almost uses anthropomorphism to portray the characters’ inner narrative.

Anthropomorphism is also a literary trope following the Victorian era, often used in modern pedagogic novels to explain difficult situations to children. In Alice in Wonderland, there are many anthropomorphised characters, such as the field mouse and the lizard whose house Alice grows into. The effect of this is again to show distorted sense throughout the story, and to create a feeling of fantasy.

However, Beatrix Potter, another novel that uses anthropomorphism, approaches the technique quite differently in her children’s writing.

Peter Rabbit for example, uses anthropomorphism to remove the humanity from the death of Peter’s father, described only in one line as having been “baked into a pie”[9]. The fact that the only picture we see of Peter’s father is of him as a pie removes the connotations of both parent and animal death. (see figure 1)

However, in modern novels, this model of presenting death or macabre situations through the medium of animals is mainly used for younger children, as older children are more likely to be able to deal with coming across stronger themes surrounding death in the literature they read.

Whilst there is not anthropomorphism in Harry Potter, there is an awful lot of shape shifting into animals as a kind of anthropomorphism as well as the houses of Hogwarts using animalistic emblems. Slytherin, for example, uses the snake as its house emblem. This house and it’s characters can be described as sneaky, containing Harry’s arch rival Draco Malfoy.

Harry’s relation to death is obviously a deep connection due to his declaration as an orphan at the beginning of the novel series. However, like Bod, he only learns about his parents and how he came to be an orphan towards the end of the first novel, as most of the narrative is focused on the wonder of the new environment of Hogwarts and the rivalry between Harry and Draco, his arch nemesis.

The character of the orphan, like in the graveyard book and Oliver twist, is looked after by people from outside of society. Oliver is taken in by criminals, Bod is looked after by the ghosts of a graveyard, and Harry is accepted at a magical boarding school. This extends the othering process of the orphan character. Whilst being exiled from society for challenging family values, the extra otherness added of being part of a social outsider group enhances this otherness.

Of course, Peter Rabbit is here the exception, his being the Victorian definition of an orphan and living in a positive family environment, despite having only one parent around (his mother, who makes him camomile tea). However, another difference is also that the Peter Rabbit stories are decidedly for younger children, as the text to picture ratio is different to all others examined in this dissertation, and death is never mentioned outright, only that Peter’s father has been baked into a pie by Farmer McGregor, something fairly common in Victorian rural England, but which makes Mr McGregor the villain nonetheless.

In conclusion, as British life has become more distant from the concept of death, so have we become better at writing about it so that children, and sometimes even adults, can understand what is a certainty for everyone Therefore, although death is still a taboo, the fact that it remains an important literary topic has ensured that it will continue to be discussed and cause our attitudes towards death to change.