#also if fairytales are to be believed that fairy could be extremely dangerous

[cupcakesinfedoras]

see the thing about the walrus, for me, is part of the shock value is that now I have to deal with this walrus

if a fairy shows up at my door, yeah it would be shocking to realize fairies exist, but presumably it’s sentient and can tell me what it wants

but with a walrus not only do I have the mental gymnastics of “how the hell did a walrus get to my house and knock on my door” but also “now I am responsible for this walrus”

[gt-adventures]

Hey Little SongBird

(SFW GT fantasy adventure short story.)

A Tale of the Mystic Woods 

Staring: Yonah HaEsh the half-giant wizard. and guest-starring Ophir, the mostly human bard. 

Summary: Ophir the bard needs a story to get back in the good graces of the Bards Guild and ventures into the Mystic Woods to find one. And what a story he ends up in! In the clutches of the Great and Terrible Yonah HaEsh. Can Ophir, through story, song, and dance, touch the evil “man-eating” giant’s wicked heart and avoid a terrible fate? (yes of course he can!) 

Warnings: Yonah’s job is to be a villainous fairy tale giant (and wizard). That means the whole “fee fi fo fum” and threatening to eat people routine, and he’s really convincing. At no point in this story does he ever intend to follow through on the threat. ALSO Ophir tells a fairytale that ends slightly gruesomely (I actually changed it to be less so… still) 

---

I hate the stereotype of bards being horny tricksters who use their voices to seduce people into infidelity. Any such stories are complete poppycock and base slander. Bards are more than pretty faces and lovely voices. We are first and foremost story tellers, entertainers! Actors and chroniclers! Often risking life and limb to get you the stories you love so much. Those fancy sword moves and fight dances you see on stage aren’t just for show.  

But still. Going into the Mystic Woods in search of my next story was not a great idea. Solo’ing an adventure into such a dangerous realm was asking for death, with no one around who could tell of it. And yet. I had run out of new material and was desperate. Why didn’t I just purchase rights from another bard through the guild? You might ask. Clever, very clever, but that’s what low rankers do. The apprentices, the journeyors. Not Masters such as I. At least. Not ones who are blacklisted from the guild for not properly crediting a story. How was I to know it wasn’t public domain! It seemed pretty generic to me. 

Another problem with being blacklisted? No one wants to adventure with you. Not anyone high ranking enough to help me anyways. 

Regardless, to earn back my place in the guild I needed a new story, an impressive story. So I gathered my supplies and took the first teleport to the City of Luster, closest city in the Kingdom of Orr to the Mystic Woods. Sure, other cities exist at its borders, but Luster is the only one with a direct path into the Woods. A path that is safe, to a point. 

It’s also a great place to get a few last minute supplies. For example, a small ukulele. My previous instrument, my precious goldenrod Oud, was repossessed by the guild. I needed something cheap and lightweight. And also I was banned from purchasing from most craftsfolk because, and I’m sure you’re tired of hearing this, im Blacklisted. 

Luster is so large that I was able to find the ukulele in a pawn shop. I wasn’t after a ukulele, that’s just what was there. 

Right! I was ready to go.  

Whistling the first ever song I wrote, and tuning my new old ukulele, I set off down the road. 

And Into the Woods. 

---

Maybe I should lower my standards? Surely the guild won't be too hard on me?

Or perhaps it would just take more than a day and night in the woods to find a story. 

The first day I found some gnomes preparing for a small feast of the half-moon glory. I was confident that something would happen at the party. Something had to go wrong, and maybe a hero, maybe I, would save the day! Or night, as it would be night. No such luck, it was a very nice celebration, absolutely no issues. Wasted a day!! 

Not that i'm on a time limit. 

The gnomes were so nice, and they made the most delightful floral scented cakes. They enjoyed my songs and tales about heroic gnomes and I left their camp with a flower crown and a sack of cakes. 

I felt like today I would find a story! 

Nope. 

In this forest of wonder and magic and monsters and secrets, I ran into nothing. I even played music to attract trouble but Nooooooooo, guess even the beasts of the woods knew I was blacklisted! 

It was late afternoon when I found some interesting deer tracks and decided to follow. 

Bards aren’t known for our stealth but I’m going to tell you a secret. What’s the guild gonna do! Blacklist me? 

Anyways the secret is: certain Bards learn to play notes and pitches that cancel out our footsteps and create silence. 

I followed the prints to find a small herd of very interesting deer! 

They had really interesting patterns, each one slightly different but only if you looked closely. That meant I needed a closer look. 

So focused on the deer I didn’t watch my feet and I tripped. The deer ran off. 

“HEY!” a shrill voice called from somewhere in the trees, “What did you do that for?”

No idea who was yelling at me but I was taking no chances, and like the deer I bolted. But not fast enough, not nimble enough. 

An arrow shot by my leg and stuck in the ground. I stopped. And stood perfectly still. 

“idiot.” the voice was now right behind me! 

I turned. And looked down. It was an elf! With plum purple skin and dark green hair. 

And they were laughing. 

Then another elf fell from the trees to land silently next to the first. This one had dark green skin and straw yellow hair. Their long ears were standing straight up reaching higher than my eyes. 

They were laughing too.

“What’s so funny?”

“You responded to ‘idiot’!” Said the purple one. 

Ugh. Elves!!

Then they got suddenly more serious. 

“Can’t believe it! We’ve been hunting those deer for days and you happen to trip when we got them in our sights!”

“I’m, sorry?” 

The second elf elbowed the first, “he couldn’t have known we were there, Damian! Not his fault!” She spoke in elvish but I’m fluent. 

The first elf, Damian, looked up and half groaned half sighed, “and I suppose, Bridget, that I should apologize to the human for almost shooting him?”

I don’t know why I spoke up but I did. 

“It was an impressive warning shot!”

Damian’s ears stood up again then folded back and a little red flush appeared on the purple cheeks. As did on Bridget’s but for a different reason. 

“Yes. Warning shot,” they said. 

This time I managed to keep my mouth shut. Not a smart idea to quip about an elve’s bunting prowess. I still wasn’t happy to learn they were trying to shoot me! 

“You’re an adventurer?” Asked Bridget.

“A bard!” I said.

“Need a place to stay tonight?”

The shadows were lengthening, I hadn’t noticed. And then my stomach growled. 

“I sure do. But are you sure? I mean I did scare the deer-“

Damian shouldered their bow and nodded, “It wouldn’t be very elven to leave a stranger in the woods.”

Even not hunting they moved so silently I couldn’t take my eyes off them as I followed them to their village. We stopped by the temple, as it is the respectful thing to do when entering the village. It was set up for fall, done up in browns and oranges and paper chains. On the altar was a single brown leaf. The first one seen by a member of the village. 

I’m not elvish but I still prayed to Autumn for my hometown to have a bountiful harvest. 

I sat on the floor in the common dining hall as my new… friends, sat on stools made of tree stumps. They may not have caught any deer but there was some sort of roasted meat concoction wrapped in sugary leaves, crystallized to give it crunch, making a sweet and savory combination I’d never experienced before. The same sugar crispy leaves were used to scoop a sort of nut and vegetable curry. Delightful! I could write a song just about the food. 

I of course told them why I was in the woods, since they were curious. 

And they told everyone how I tripped and fell, exaggerating it greatly. All the elves laughed but knowing elves I was better off. They enjoyed slapstick comedy. The fact that I was able to laugh at myself seemed to gain me favor. 

One elf, with lighter green skin and dark brown hair laughed like the rest and yet, their eyes were deep in thought. They were a strange one, I think. Even by elf standards they had a strange name. 

Jacuzzi? Who names themselves jacuzzi?

Then they spoke. 

“So, you need a story?” They asked. I nodded.

���I think I can help you,” they said, “at the very least point you in the right direction.” 

At their words a lot of the company got quiet. 

“If you’re that desperate, there’s,” they paused, as if they were still considering whether or not to tell me, “A wizard. If you encounter him, you’re sure to get a proper story.”

I couldn’t think why this made the elf act so strange, plenty of mages made it their job to participate in tales. Though. With wizards they were usually evil, if not a member of an adventuring party. Nonetheless! A story about a wizard sounded fantastic. 

“Where does-“ I stopped myself from finishing that stupid sentence. Nowhere in the Mystic Woods stayed put so asking for directions was complete folly. 

“What’s the best way to, uh, find him?” 

Jacuzzi shrugged “The birds have the most up to date information. But you’ll know it’s his place when you find the tower in the garden.”

Lots of wizards had towers, few had gardens. That was more of a witch thing. 

“He’ll be there? Tonight”

“Probably, he can't- well he’ll be there. If not tonight then by the morning. Don’t mess with his things.”

“Why-”

“He considers it extremely rude-  You don't want to be rude”

Sound advice. 

“Hold on tonight?” Damian re-entered the conversation. “Are you mad? Traveling the forest at night is dangerous! Especially alone.”

“So? I’m trying to get into trouble. Doesn’t make a difference if I find it at the tower or on my way.” 

My confidence wasn’t entirely fake. I had a good meal, I wasn’t tired. I could knock this out by morning! 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

I swear I heard giggling as I departed. If these elves were pulling one over on me well! I don’t know what I would do but I’ll think of something. I had a wizard to find. 

It wasn’t long before I realized why I should have waited for morning. 

No! Birds! 

From Who could I ask directions? The sun was about to set. It was only early autumn, the days were still a decent length, but it would be dark real soon. No birds, no people. 

Wait. I spoke too soon. There were footsteps. It was a slim chance but maybe they could help me. 

“Young man, what are you doing? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be out at night alone?”

The voice had a deep and soft quality that wasn’t human. But they were speaking Orriandish. Really folks, dont meet strangers in the forest that you can’t see. They’re usually evil witches or sorcerers or cyclops ogres. Yeah, one-eyed ogres are skilled talkers, luring people to them. It was only after I answered I realized this could be an ogre. 

“Aren’t you out alone too?”

“Why yes-” the voice was closer and then I saw them. 

Thankfully it wasn’t and ogre. But it was a witch, and a dwarf one. Uncommon. Probably not evil. It did explain why they were confidently out at night. Dwarves had pretty amazing night vision. They had the traditional black robe and hat, and a cat sat down beside them. It was a really large cat, which was amusing next to the short witch. Their long braided beard was decorated with trinkets, which was a quaint look I must admit. 

“But I live here.”

I stood up straight, which I guess was a bit rude. 

“How do you know I don’t?” I stammered, “I could!”

The dwarf stroked their beard, “I guess it’s possible, do you?”

I sighed and slouched, “No…”

“But I am looking for trouble.” I explained my story and the dwarf listened, smiling kindly. 

“So the elves told me I would be guaranteed a story if I found this wizard who has a tower and a garden-”

The witch’s eyebrows raised. 

“- you know this wizard?”

The cat mrowed loudly, his tail swishing on the forest floor a bit faster. 

“I do indeed,” there was an extreme fondness in their voice. 

“And you know where he is?”

The witch laughed, “I’d say this was coincidence, but in these parts there are too many of those to be truly coincidental. I do in fact know the currently location, and it’s close by.”

“Really!” I almost danced with excitement. 

Unlike the elves the dwarf had no hesitations. They pointed me in the right direction, and informed me of a few roadblocks and landmarks. 

“Thanks so much!” I waved back at them and didn’t look where I was going and almost tripped. 

Almost. 

“And light your lantern!” 

Oh right, duh! 

Finding the tower was easy with the witch’s directions. They’d even told me the thorns were fake and the vines safe to climb up. That should have raised red flags, or some color, but I was so focused on achieving my goal. 

Now, we bards aren’t really known for our… physical abilities beyond dance. We can fight sure, but a fifty-foot climb is gonna leave most bards gasping for breath. I'm proud to say I was merely on the cusp of wheezing, though I was having difficulty standing. 

I needed to rest. So I lay on the windowsill. 

Which I failed to notice stretched so that I could more than easily lie down.  The cool night air and stone felt so nice. I looked into the tower. 

And my heart stopped. 

I’d gotten a brief glimpse before nearly passing out, but it was different now. 

Exactly the same. 

But. 

Bigger. 

You might know, my readers, that wizards are all human. All of them. Non-humans aren’t allowed to attend the academy. I’m sure those like I, being a quarter fairy, might be let in, but... This- this giant sized workshop didn’t make any sense. A giant could not be a wizard no way. Why would the elves say this was a wizard’s tower? Did they not understand the difference between wizard, witch, and sorcerer?

But the dwarf witch, they had to know! They had not corrected me. Plus, the workshop did have a very wizard feel to it.

What was going on here? 

I needed a moment to process so I rolled over to look outside. Looking inside made my head hurt. 

But a Giant Wizard. If that were real, what a story! If it were fake, then well, a giant mage is still exciting. I looked once more into the room. Three desks, one for material prepping and alchemy, one that looked like the main workbench, and one… like a spare workbench? It was not very organized compared to the other. And shelves full of things I could not identify. 

And on the floor, an open trap door with stairs leading down. Down to where the wizard must be. 

I was thankful I had noticed the shift in scale, or I surely would have fallen 15 feet onto the floor. Instead I got out my grappling hook and rope and rappelled down. With a flick, the hook dislodged. This place was large, I would need it again. 

I could have spent hours in this room, just taking in the immense magical collection, but that wasn’t why I was there. And I heard noises from down the stairs. Water? Clinking metal? I took each stair one at a time, slowly making my way deeper into the tower. 

Either the kitchen just happened to be one floor down or this stairwell was enchanted to take you to the floor you were thinking about. For just as I reached the landing I saw the massive doorframe that led into what was clearly a kitchen and small dining room. Small for the giant, who was at the sink washing pots, pans, and other things. 

He certainly looked like a wizard! A tall wide brimmed hat with a curling point, and robes that matched the garish colors and patterns. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and mutton chops, and long curly black hair tied behind his back. On his handsomely large nose rested thick square spectacles. Not only was he tall, he was just plain large. 

I know I talked about the false stereotypes of bards, but we weren't the only profession with them. People tended to think of Wizards as more delicate, as they spent all their time studying, never going out, forgetting meals. But this, man, for he looked more human than giant except for being over 20ft tall, well the only word for it was burly. 

I’d never imagined a wizard who, if you removed his wizard robes, put him in a flannel shirt and handed him an axe would be a picture perfect lumberjack. Now such a wizard was right before my very eyes. 

Suddenly I was not so confident. I should have lost my nerve back at the window, when I saw the scale of the workshop. But it just didn’t hit me until I saw the giant. I’ve seen giants before, they are actually larger than this person, that made him seem more dangerous. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

This wasn’t just any wizard, or any giant. 

This one was evil. 

Maybe I could just leave! Yeah. I would just get the fuck out of here. I was not prepared to handle an evil giant wizard. 

I made my decision a bit too late. The giant stopped cleaning a plate to look up and sniff the air. 

Shit. 

It was futile to run, but it was my only option. I didn’t even make it up two stairs before the giant roared with delight. 

“FEE FI FO FUM!”

No no no! Not that! 

“I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE HUMAN KIND!” 

Well technically I was quarter fairy but-

“BE THEY ALIVE OR BE THEY DEAD, I’LL GRIND THEIR BONES TO MAKE MY BREAD.”

Yeah… I should not have come here. Evil giants tend to eat people. I’d had a small hope that this smaller giant, who was very likely a proper wizard, wouldn’t. Also the line about grinding my bones to make bread? I’m no alchemist but I dont think powdered bones make for a good flour, and wouldn’t even be enough to make bread for a giant if it were! As far as I knew giants didn’t bother with such things and just gobbled people up. 

Which didn’t bode well for me as this giant made it stairwell in a few seconds and scooped me up in one hand, holding me up to his face. 

“How convenient, a tasty little thief” he smiled, revealing very giant-like fangs. His breath was horrible. “I was just thinking I needed some dessert.”

“Please! Mister Wizard, I did not steal anything, I am no thief! I’m a bard!”

The giant raised his eyebrows, but did not set me down, instead he turned and walked back into the kitchen. 

“A bard?” he asked, “what’s your name?”

“Ophir Shel Peh!” I said. 

“Not Jack then?” The giant tapped his chin, and his eyes found my ukulele. “Hm. Yes I would say you probably are a bard! I don’t get many of those.” 

He sat at the personal dining table. And set me in front of him, putting his elbows on the table, and his chin over intertwined fingers. It was silent except for his breathing, and my heart in my ears. Every breath he took blew around me, and it was just a little warmer than I expected. He didn’t say anything for a long time and I started shaking, adding my rattling bones to the noise. 

“Why are you here?” he asked before I fainted (I had… somehow forgot about breathing). 

“Adventuring!” I couldn’t say ‘for a story’! THAT’S CHEATING. But perhaps... Ah I can’t lie to you reader. I wish I could say I was perspicacious enough to consider this giant was a professional fairytale villain. But I had no idea. I was damn lucky he was though. And he’s really good. I understand why His Mystical Majesty hired him. 

Let’s get back to me being a complete dumbass shall we?

The giant’s face hardened and I worried I’d fucked up. 

“Adventuring?” he asked rhetorically, but I nodded, then he looked a little morose. 

“Shame, I was thinking of letting you go-”

He was!?

“-But I guess I have to eat you after all.”

He didn't sound at all troubled by it. I mean, he had threatened to do so. I backed up and he smiled, knowing he could snatch me up no matter what. I think he could tell I was going to ask why, even just to stall. 

“It’s nothing personal, I don’t like intruders on my good days. But I can’t have you out there talking about me, spreading the word of a merciful giant. You’ll only get more people killed. ” 

That was a lot to process but I got the gist. 

“I won't talk!”

He stood up and slammed his palms on the table so hard I finally fell down. 

“You’re a bard, it’s your job!” 

Unfortunately he was right. 

Then he looked a bit surprised by something, narrowing his eyes at me. 

“I suppose,” he said, “your job also involves performing?”

I nodded. 

“I don’t get to go out much,” he said, though I wasn’t sure that the entire truth “If you give me a good show, I might consider it payment for what would have been an extra special treat. I can smell the fairy blood on you.”

I tried not to make a face. My fairy blood made me smell better? Great. And there was always a chance he was lying, just to get a show and his dessert. Evil giants might be fairly honorable, but evil wizards were notoriously dishonest. So I had no idea with this evil giant wizard. 

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” I asked. 

He sat back down, perfectly copying his original pose. 

“Tell me a story,” he said. “And perhaps I will not eat you.”

Great. Legally there weren’t many stories I could tell. You might be asking, ‘Ophir! You’re about to die, what do you care?’ Well if I live and I'm found out, I’ll be expelled from the guild for life. I’m already in hot water. 

That… and the only stories I could think of were ones with evil wizards or giants, who ended up dead. Curse my stupid brain. But I couldn’t refuse, he would eat me! Guess I had no other choice. 

[(adapted from a real tale)

The story of Maestro Lattantio and His Apprentice Dionigi. 

It was an old tale, from the long dead kingdom of Italy, so anyone could tell it. A wild tale of a wizard and his apprentice battling it out in ways only two mages would. Wanting to be free of his abusive master, Diogini kept turning into things, animals, creatures, to escape. 

But Lattantio would transform into the exact creature or monster or animated object needed to re-capture Diogini. Eventually Diogini turned into a fish and swam down a river. Lattantio declared that he was through with these games and would kill him. Lattantio turned into a kingfisher hawk, intending to snatch him out of the water, but Diogini jumped into a basket carried by a handmaiden  for the princess. The handmaiden had been doing laundry, so being a fish wouldn’t do. He turned himself into a beautiful ruby ring. The princess found it in her pocket and he became her new favorite piece of jewelry. 

Then one day, the King became ill, and Lattantio was called in to cure him. He did of course, and in payment, asked for the princess’s ruby ring, for he could tell it was Diogini. But he could come back tomorrow for the payment 

That night, when the princess took off the ring, Diogini transformed back into a man. He apologized for his ruse, and explained that the wizard Lattantio was his enemy, and would do anything to get him back into his clutches. The princess, who at first was horrified, saw that Diogini meant her no harm, and he was as handsome a man as he was beautiful a ring. She asked how she could help. 

The next day, when Lattantio returned, the princess stepped forward and held out the ring. Then dropped it to the floor. It turned into a mouse, so of course, Lattantio turned into a cat. The princess whistled to one of the palace dogs, which leapt at the cat, breaking its neck. 

Diogini quickly returned to human form and separated the dog from the cat’s corpse, tossing it into the fire. The only way to be sure the evil was truly destroyed. 

Impressed by Diogini’s skill and at the behest of the princess, the King was happy to make Diogini the court wizard, and his son. 

]

I concluded the story, and looked at the giant, distressed to find he looked unimpressed. 

“That was,” he waved his hand in a dismissal manner, “diverting, but I could just have easily read that story.”

WHAT! I’d done voices! I was dramatic and expressive! How dare he say reading it from a book could be the same! But I couldn’t be angry because I was scared. 

“Though I suppose it was decent,” he continued, “just not enough to keep you alive.”

Crap.

“Dance for me,” he said, “and perhaps I will not eat you.”

It took me a few seconds to notice he wasn’t eating me, but instead was giving me another chance. But… Dance!? On this table? With my leather boots on? And my thick pants? And no music!? This was not good. 

“S-sure” I said, I was still shaking badly. 

Since there was no music I thought perhaps, something that conveyed real meaning through motion. I could hear the song in my head at least, so I wouldn’t falter or look like I was making shit up. 

I leapt and gestured, and waggled my body in the most embarrassing ways.  

“What is this crap?” said the giant after I had danced for only a minute. 

“Interpretive dance, mister giant,” I said, freezing in a most uncomfortable pose. 

“You’d better pick something else,” he said. “And give it some more personality”

All I knew was he had given me a second chance. Ok. So I didn’t have music, but maybe something rhythmic would be better. I didn’t have the right shoes but my footsteps were still very audible. 

So I went into a new dance. Hopping and stomping and tapping my feet. Then I started singing. I had been so stupid that I forgot I could do both at the same time. I basically re-invented a few ritual dances from my hometown, used to bless the beginning of each month. If I lived through this I would go home and teach everyone. 

The giant Watched me carefully from behind those huge glasses. Judge, jury and executioner. 

Finally I was sore and out of breath, jumped up to land with a mighty THUNK, ending the performance. 

The giant looked a bit sorry now. Why would he look sorry!?

“That was very impressive, and your singing was a nice touch, but I think such things would best be done with a group. Alone it was underwhelming.” 

What did he know! I’d danced my freaking ass off! I sat down and tried not to cry as I regained my strength. Why weren’t my best efforts good enough!? I was a Master bard. But I was at the mercy of the most subjective critic. I had to change tactics. Impressing him wasn’t going to cut it. 

“Well, since it’s getting late,” he reached out a hand.  

“Wait!” I shouted, nearly breaking my voice which would have been a death sentence. 

The giant’s hand paused, “That was so bold I’m inclined to do so, but not for long.”

“You, liked my singing?” I asked. 

The hand retreated. “You could say that.” Then he caught on. “Fine. One last chance.” 

He leaned back, crossed his arms, and cleared his throat. 

“Sing for me, little bard, and perhaps, I will consider not eating you.”

I scrambled to my ukulele. It was so old it was already out of tune, so I hurriedly tuned it, under the piercing gaze of the giant.  

“Your voice isn’t magical is it?” Asked the giant as I tuned the ukulele.

I smiled “No, it is. My fey ancestry. Never really tested its power. Mostly I’ve transfixed crowds or made them cry with the opening notes. I’ve also played monsters to sleep.”

He leaned forward as I realized my mistake and quickly added “but that doesn’t work if you know about it! Which you now do!” 

Thankfully he believed me. I was telling the truth, but there was no reason for him to trust me. 

“Well, just make it a nice song. I’ve got sensitive ears.”

Oh fantastic. That meant he could probably tell if I went out of key. I had a moment’s thought to play something screeching and horrible, to make him bleed from his ears, giving me a chance to get away, or at least cause him pain before he ended my life. No. My first choice of song was probably the best one. 

I sat down criss cross apple sauce, but back very straight. And I strummed the opening cords. 

[

In the quiet mystic morning  When the sun’s just graced the land O’er the horizon, lies a story And it begs to take my hand

Now that summer’s ceased its gleaming And the harvest’s past its prime In adventure I’ve found meaning But I’ll be homeward bound in time 

Bind me not, to the pasture Chain me not to the town Set me free to find my calling And I’ll return to you somehow

-

As the first instrumental break started I turned my attention to the giant. His face was as stoney as ever.  I wasn’t hitting my mark. So I continued. 

-

If you find it’s me you’re missing And you’re hoping I’ll return To your thoughts I’ll soon be listing  On the road I’ll stop and turn

-

The old strings were threatening to cut into my fingers but I just used the pain to fuel my voice, powering it with agony and sorrow. I saw the giant’s brows raise as my human sized voice grew to fill the giant room. 

-

For the wind has set me racing As my journey now begins To leave the path I’ll be retracing When I’m homeward bound again

Bind me not, to the pasture Chain me not to the town Set me free to find my calling And I’ll return to you somehow

-

The second, and last, instrumental break. I had started crying at the chorus and couldn’t see the giant through my tears. My last performance, and it was for my murderer. 

And still my song rang out. 

-

In the quiet  Mystic morning When the moon has gone to bed When adventure’s lost its meaning…

I’ll be homeward bound

Again

-

My ears were ringing from the sheer volume, I was clutching the Ukulele so hard it threatened to crack. I was numb from all my efforts. Now would be a great time for him to eat me, maybe I would feel no pain. 

Then, as my ears and eyes cleared up, I saw. 

The giant's eyes, red. Shiny trails of tears down his cheeks. His arms were still crossed but he looked like he was almost strangling himself. Still, I did not let myself feel any hope. 

“Dammit,” he hissed and sniffed, “I should eat you for making me cry.” 

No. No no no no no. 

“But I won’t” he sniffed again and got out a handkerchief, “You’ve more than earned your life.”

I collapsed and started crying harder. I had done it. By the gods. I had fucking done it. I let myself melt into the table, half passing out. I didn’t want to feel or think for an entire week. I guess because he wasn’t going to kill me, the giant let me lay there. 

When I finally sat up he was making tea! I very much wanted to get the fuck out of there but the tea smelled amazing, almost magical. 

He noticed me moving. 

“I find tea helps after a harrowing adventure,” he said cheerfully. 

His demeanor was entirely different. His face was softer, his voice was higher, his dark brown eyes colder, but considering they had been blazing before, it was a friendly warmth now. 

That really had been an adventure hadn’t it. One that really made use of my skill set. One that was perfect to turn into a story. It had great pacing too, with just a bit of tweaking. I’d already started writing out the flowery prose and accompanying staging in my head. My interpretive dance was going to be way better in the retelling, but don’t say anything to the guild alright? Everyone embellished. 

I had to scramble away as he set the table, which meant setting down a smaller table and chair for me, and then bringing over his own cup and the teapot. He touched the sides of the pot that must be hot enough to scald skin from bone like it was nothing, pouring out near boiling tea. I watched mesmerized as he used a bit of magic to pour the tea into my teacup. 

“Let it cool,” he said, as he took a drink of his own tea, “I’m not normally a fan of sweetened tea, but I thought a little extra honey would do your throat some good.”

I gingerly stood up and got into the chair. It was normal sized of course, since he was giant. But here I felt like a doll that some demonic girl had set up for a tea party. 

“Thanks,” I said, and indeed my throat felt raw. I couldn’t wait to drink the tea, but it was still too hot. 

“I should be thanking you,” said the giant, smiling and showing off his fangs, but it no longer felt so threatening, “That was quite a show! You must be a really high ranking bard.”

My face turned very red, “I- well I’m on probation,” I admitted, “blacklisted. So really, thanks for-”

I saw his eyes glitter, literally. 

“You- you never meant to eat me did you?”

He grinned even wider, “No, but I trust you won't include that in your tale.”

I shook my head. 

“I very much enjoy playing the big bad giant,” he mused, “But I have other work; I can’t have adventurers showing up all the time.”

Now I was curious, “If I may ask, what else do you do then?”

There was a short pause as he considered whether or not to tell me. I wondered if it was a grand secret. 

“I’m a royal wizard,” he finally said, and there was a massive amount of pride underneath his tone. And resentment. That was concerning. 

My jaw dropped, “You- A Royal Wizard?”

This might be the most interesting person I’d ever met. How did a giant, or giant-esq thing become a royal wizard!? How did a royal wizard end up running an evil tower? 

“You already got one tale, but if you’re not inclined to leave so soon, I can give you another.”

I definitely knew where this was going and I definitely wanted this tale. 

“But on one condition,” he said. “You cannot tell it until either I or the Mystic King is dead.”

“Are- you dying?” I asked. 

He laughed, “No, but I am still a villain. I try to keep a fairly low profile, but any day a slayer could show up and succeed in killing me.” 

That made sense, but now that I was not mortally terrified of him, I saw that this man was much younger than I’d previously thought. He looked barely 24, a young man, and he had to worry about slayers! It also meant it couldn’t have been in this job for that long, being evil must really suit him. 

“Hopefully it won’t be for years, which will give you time to make this tale as grand as possible,” he continued. 

He drank more of his tea.

“I’m not great story teller,” he started off, “but I suppose the tale of how a foolish half-giant with dreams of becoming a wizard, and ending up a prisoner in the woods, might be a good one.”

Prisoner? Even more layers. Yes. This should be a good one indeed. 

Though he was right. Gods, wizards! They have no concept of narrative flow! They don’t leave out details! 

And yet. It was riveting. Yonah HaEsh, for that was his name which I finally learned, was half giant, half FireWitch. His father, the FireWitch, got interested in magic, but he wanted more structured study, beyond what witches can do. So he disguised himself as human to attend school. He was found out eventually, expelled and arrested for infiltrating the kingdom as a dangerous magical monster. He was almost executed before he was offered a job here in the tower! And amazingly, the Grand Master of the school had taken pity on him and allowed him to continue his studies here and graduate, earning the right to call himself a wizard. 

I had forgotten about my tea by the end and it had gone cold. That was an easy fix apparently: he pinched the cup between his thumb and pointer finger. A few seconds later it was steaming again. 

I finally took a sip, it was incredible. I made a mental note to write a poem or a song about it. But I had other things to think about, to talk about. 

“It’s a great story,” I said, with a cockiness I should have tried to keep in check, “but it needs a lot of work. It’s a good thing I’ve got a lot of time. I’ll need to go out and interview people.”

I stood up, “Which means, I need to hear it again.”

Yonah raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“I should have been taking notes,” I said, “I need more specific dates and times and names! Oh and if you can tell me how your parents met, that would make for a great prologue.” 

He stood up too, clearing away his and my tea settings. But he didn’t clean them, just put them aside. 

“In that case,” he said, returning and offering his hand palm up, “We should take this upstairs.”

I still hesitated a bit, but I sat on his hand and was transferred to his shoulder. I’d never been on a giant’s shoulder before. I was tempted to touch his curly hair, since mountain giants don’t have hair, I thought it amazing that this half-giant had such thick silky locks. I settled to lean a bit towards his head for steadiness. Yonah didn’t say anything as he regathered the teapot and cups, and even got a few pieces of berry-nut bread and goat cheese. Then headed up to the workshop. 

Once again, he had a human sized desk that he set on his much larger one, and human sized pens (really nice ones), and a few human sized notebooks. Though I guess, since he can reduce to human size whenever he wanted (that was part of his “disguise”), and had many human friends, it made sense. 

“We can go in order,” I said, “But I think I want to start on what you got up to in school. We want people to really get attached to you and your friends so that they are on your side by the trial.”

Yonah liked that idea. I think he wanted this story to show him in a positive light, even if he was officially evil. 

We worked through the night. And my second cup of tea got cold. 

[FIN]

[PLEASE REBLOG and/or tell me what you think in an ask/message!]

FOR REFERENCE, HERE’S HOW THE SONG SOUNDS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VooU55wzSEc

Liked this Mystic Woods story? I have more!

For GT ONLY stories: gt-adventures.tumblr.com/tagged/mystic+woods+story

[I have to mention, that I have many more Mystic Woods stories, however those contain safe/soft non-sexual v/o/r/e... But lucky for you! i have filed them them separately! and (when needed) Every story comes with detailed content warnings!]

For ALL mystic woods stories:

vo/re-scientist/tumblr.com/tagged/mystic+woods+story (take out the “/” in vo/re)

[one or two of my GT-ONLY stories are on my not so secret vo/re blog but from now on I’m posting the GT-ONLY ones here! hurray!]

[an-ambivalent]

Yandere! BTS [Fairytale AU]

AU where BTS play the roles of the classic princesses, and are yandere. These are loosely based on the fairy tales, but somethings will be different because that's how I want it to be lol

Warning: As this post contains yandere themes, the characters display behaviors that can be uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behaviour irl.

Jin 

Beauty & the Beast

Jin is succumbed to become the hostage of the beast in exchange for his parent’s safety. Initially, he was very cold to [Name] the beast because she had confined him, and she was the reason why he had become separated from his family. However, although he was ‘imprisoned,’ he was not treated as a prisoner. In fact, he was given a lavish life that was even better than the one he lived with his family.

It happened slowly, but it happened for surely. Jin began to warm up to the new life he lived. Also, he became intrigued about what [Name] the beast was really like, when he heard stories about her kindness, and selfness from the tea pots and other talking furniture. He started to see how sweet she was in the little ways that made his heart skip a beat. Her benevolent nature  was evident in the way she would tenderly cater to the plants in her garden, or how softly she would read to him.

Without becoming too aware of it, Jin was beginning to become fixated on [Name]. He did not realize the full potential of his fixation on [Name] until she was attacked by his villagers. The moment [Name] fainted, and was no longer able to stand, much less fight for herself, rage blinded him enough to go on a killing rampage. Once his rampage ceased, and the blood of his enemies covered him, he stumbled back to [Name], who was lying motionlessly.

He cradled her in his arms, and tears of silent mourning rolled down his cheeks. The moment one landed on [Name], there was a bright glow as she turned back into the human she was.

Jin was in awe of her beauty. Meanwhile, [Name] woke up terrified due to all the blood that covered him.

“J-Jin what h-hap—“ She tried to ask, however Jin cut her off.

“Shh,” He began, as he brought her closer to himself, and hugged her tightly. “I killed them because they hurt you and tried to take you away from me. But you don’t have to worry because I will never let that happen again. You are mine forever.”

Yoongi 

Sleeping Beauty

Before his slumber until awaken by a true kiss had begun, Prince Yoongi was a collector and admirer of all things beautiful. He loved to marvel at anything which fit his standards. If there was ever an antique which there was only one of, and Yoongi had set his sight on it, every competitor during his era knew to let him have it for their own sake.

In the new era he now lived in, he was the lost prince who had returned. He was given the right to rule the current throne in his kingdom almost immediately.  After his power reigned, the new competitors learned to stay out of Yoongi’s way the hard way.

See, [Name] was his destined princess who was the one who had broken his curse. Out of everyone else, and all other possibilities,it had been her. So surely, it was fateful for her to belong to Yoongi and no one else.

Yoongi had become infatuated with [Name] the moment he had seen her. Now, that infatuation had become so extreme that he was going to stop at nothing until she was completely his. Anyone who tried to prevent that from happening, were certainly going to face consequences which would be worse than death.

Hoseok 

Aladdin

For his entire, Hoseok had been isolated from the outside world. He had his freedom restricted within his home.  He never got to experience life for its raw experiences, create meaningful relationships with others, or explore the ways excitement and adrenaline felt until he met [Name]. Granted that she had peaked his interest unfairly through the wishes the genie gave her, and she portrayed herself to be the status she was not. However, what she had shown Hoseok, what she had made him feel was all on her own terms. The parts of life she showed him took his breath away.

Hoseok experienced what it was like to live in a situation for what it was; in which limitations existed, and no one catered to him like a baby. He got to taste true freedom and build the courage to make his own decisions, all because of [Name]. In his dull life that once only consisted of materialistics and statuses, she had become his light, and  shown on the colours he yearned to see.

Eventually, he became addicted to her light to the point he planned to shroud her entire life with the darkness he had to live in. This was so he could return the favour, and become her light in her darkness, the way she had for him.

Namjoon 

Snow White

It was no new news to anyone in the kingdom that the current Queen [Name] [Surname], hated one of the local aristocrats Kim Namjoon with a burning passion. To the public, their relationship seemed like a small rivalry which caused them to always banter, or attempt to hurt each other out of innocent jealousy or spite. However, in reality, their relationship went a lot deeper than that. It was a lot more dangerous and toxic than what others could see it as.

Firstly, [Name] wanted to hunt and get rid off Namjoon because she was envious of his attractive appearance. He was everything that she wanted to be, and held all the titles that she wanted to have. [Name] wished to be known as the most divine and beautiful person in her Kingdom. She was incredibly pretty, but Namjoon was the perfection she could not beat. Hence, she wanted his existence to cease.

However, despite her attempts to send assassins to kill him, none ever succeeded. Her predicament actually led the situation in a direction she had not anticipated. It was in the direction where Namjoon had come to love her for her hatred and glory, and he loved the excitement of the chase and action he experienced due to her hunting him. For him, this had all turned into a game, and this game was nearing its end when he was the one who had captured [Name] instead.

“You can’t— you can’t get rid off me,” [Name] stammered in fear, while Namjoon backed her into a corner. His lips were spread across his face in a sinister grin, and there was madness glinting in his eyes.

“Oh baby, I’m not going to get rid off you. You are too much fun at the moment for that to happen. Instead, I’m going to hunt and chase you now until you break and submit to me.”

(makane line under the cut!)

Jimin  

Cinderella

For the majority part of his life, Jimin had lived in cruel circumstances where he was treated like an abomination. He was forced to cook, clean, and serve the people that was ‘supposed’ to be his family, but never treated him as such. Despite everything that he did for them, they never repaid him with even the smallest act of kindness. It was not farfetched to say that Jimin had not been genuinely happy for years. But this, and everything else in his life changed from the night he sneaked into the ball which was hosted by the princess.

He only went to the ball because he simply wanted to enjoy himself for one night by dancing through its entirety. However, fate had better plans written for him because he attracted the attention of the princess. She was the first one in years to smile so fondly at him, and treat him with kindness, and as the person he was.

His time with the princess in that night was absolutely magical; he loved every moment of it. For this reason, after being wedded to the princess and through starting their new life together, he came to cherish her kind personality a bit too much.

He turned into a possessive tyrant who wanted to be the only one to receive her kindness, and relentlessly punished others who dared to avert her sweet attention away from him.

Taehyung 

Swan Lake

In this tale of magic and romance, Taehyung was a cursed prince who spent his days as a swan, and nights as a human in loneliness. There was no one for him to converse with, spend his time with, or to love. Until one day, a princess came along. She visited his abode in the evenings to escape her royal life, and for a “breath of fresh air.” She caressed his soft feathers lovingly, and told him the tales of her world. She become the sole light in Taehyung’s darkness, and he was enamored.

One night, he promised to himself that the next evening when the princess visited, he would reveal his identity to her. He believed that by doing this, she will fall in love with him too, and as a result, his curse would end.

However, when the princess never visited again, and Taehyung found out about her marriage to another, he was enraged.

Finally, he decided to set out on a journey to find his princess. He swore to end the person who dared to try and steal her away from him, in the cruelest way he could.  

Jungkook 

The Little Mermaid (lol how original. It's not like I already have a whole story with this au for JK and just reusing it for this thread because I was out of ideas)

Jungkook is the new crowned King for the merfolk. Under the sea, unlike humans, merfolk only consisted of males. Jungkook was already obsessed with humans to the point he spent his entire time and resources to gather intel on them and neglected his duties for his people. However, his obsession went to new extreme levels when he saved a drowning woman, and became besotted by her beauty.

The softness of her skin, to the memorizing sight of her drowning face -- Jungkook was immersed and was willing to go beyond any limits to have her his. Compared to his need to find [Name] on the shore and own her as a possession, everything else fell short and became insignificant. His responsibility as the new ruler for his people, or consideration for the life [Name] lived as a human was disregarded. All that mattered to Jungkook was [Name], and that she should belong to him.

(you can find the link to the whole story on my masterpost ^^)

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Wizard of Oz: Genre and Themes

The Wizard of Oz is about a lot of things.

It’s a story about courage, brains and heart.  It’s a story about the importance of family and the home. It’s a story about coming of age, and growing up.   It’s about traveling down the Yellow Brick Road of your own life, facing down your own witches, and realizing your own potential and place in the world.

Of course, that’s all what the movie is about.  Today, I’m interested in finding out something different: what type of story is The Wizard of Oz?

To answer that, we’ll be looking at the one facet of film that most dictates the elements of a story, be it characters, setting, or plot: Genre.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, genre is defined as being a category of ‘artistic composition’, such as music, literature, or film, characterized by ‘a particular style, form, or content’.  Put simply, genre is the sum of a series of similarly themed parts that come together to create, in this case, a movie.

It’s easy to think that movies can be placed neatly into little boxes because of this, but the fact is, each film, while predominantly carrying characteristics of one specific genre, also shares some themes and attributes with other genres, and that’s where things get tricky.

No film is categorized into merely one genre, and The Wizard of Oz is certainly no exception.  It’s a combination of compatible themes and morals, merging seamlessly into the story.  From the fantasy to the comedy, The Wizard of Oz has it all, and that’s what we’re going to be looking at today. Spoilers below!

First and foremost, we’re going to be looking at the obvious category: the musical.

You don’t get much more musical than Somewhere Over the Rainbow.  Dorothy Gale’s famous ‘I Want’ song was so memorable that it became the template of many hopeful songs in the future of musical theatre, such as ‘Part of Your World’, ‘Little Town’, ‘Tomorrow’, and ‘Somewhere That’s Green’.  That’s only the tip of the iceberg, as The Wizard of Oz holds an impressive amount of catchy tunes throughout the whole film, including ‘We’re Off to See the Wizard’, and the ‘If I Only Had‘ trilogy.  

But there’s more to a musical than just the songs. Protagonists in traditional musicals usually all have a few things in common, most notably something to sing the ‘I Want’ song about, and the struggle to meet their goals and find themselves.  In that, Dorothy works extremely well.

As we’ve mentioned, early in the story, Dorothy looks around at the dry, expansive, brown nothingness that is Kansas and wants more, wants to travel somewhere over the rainbow.  Once there, in that multicolored, eventful, unknown land of Oz, Dorothy begins her journey to find out where she belongs.  I’ve often compared this progress of events to that of the Hero’s Journey, which also goes hand in hand with another genre: the Fantasy, specifically fantasy-adventure.

Witches and wizards, magic ruby slippers and talking scarecrows, Oz is clearly a fantasy land, taking place somewhere that’s very obviously Not Here.  There’s a whimsical, optimistic feeling to the whole film, echoing the ‘fairy-tale’ vibe intended by the original novel.  By that alone, it could be argued that The Wizard of Oz is very much a fun, family, fantasy flick, but there’s more to it than that.

It takes more than a setting to make a fantasy.  Just like with the musical, a fantasy comes with its own set of usual tropes and themes for its story and characters.

Dorothy’s adventure, from her beginning in the Ordinary World to Crossing the Threshold to Oz, to meeting her Tests, Allies and Enemies, fits in very nicely with several other stories of fantasy heroes whisked from their humble beginnings to a series of events that happen outside the normalcy of the protagonist’s ordinary life.  Her ‘dragon slaying’ moment, while coming about in a less than usual way, also falls in line with other fantasy-adventure characters.  (Stay tuned in the upcoming articles for an in-depth look at The Hero’s Journey)  In a way, The Wizard of Oz’s genre seems clear, doesn’t it?

Well, maybe, but wait, there’s more!

Despite its bright colors, uplifting story, and entertaining songs, there is a sometimes scary edge underlying throughout this story. Dorothy’s life is in constant danger, as are the lives of those around her.  The Scarecrow is set on fire, Dorothy is abducted by flying monkeys, and the Wicked Witch is often among the first (and scariest) antagonists young children meet. The Haunted Forest borrows a tense atmosphere from horror movies of the day, and yet, we do not say that The Wizard of Oz is a horror movie at all.  

Similarly, there is a quick-witted, banter-esque quality to the dialogue, with a lot of Vaudeville humor making its way into the movie to endear the characters to us as well as lighten the danger to the audience.  The Cowardly Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow especially pack in quite a lot of humor during their time onscreen, ranging in material from jokes to the Scarecrow’s ragdoll movements, and yet we do not think of The Wizard of Oz as a comedy.

‘Now, wait a minute’, you might say.  ‘Are you trying to tell me that The Wizard of Oz can be considered a horror or comedy movie?’

Absolutely not.  In fact, I believe this movie should be categorized as it often is: a fantasy/adventure/musical for the whole family.  The question I’m asking by pointing out any other ‘aspects’ taken from other genres is this:

How do we know what genre a film is, when each film is a combination of multiple elements from different genres?

The answer is very simple.

In my opinion, we can tell what genre a film is by answering two questions that are connected very closely in the realm of entertainment.

Question 1: What style of story is this?

Question 2: What style of hero/protagonist is this?

One of the things we’ll be looking at as we continue this study will be the many different kinds of heroes and the stories they belong to, so stay tuned for more detail on that front, but in the meantime, let’s focus on the topic at hand.

Put simply, The Wizard of Oz is an upbeat fantasy/adventure/musical because of Dorothy Gale, and how she interacts with her story.  Dorothy as a protagonist works in the world she’s been placed in due to a working combination of the setting, as well as her own traits and journey as a character.  If Dorothy had been an eccentric, quirky joke-cracker, she might have worked in a comedy take on the story, but that would have changed the primary genre.  If she had been a vulnerable skeptic, she might have been cast in a horror version of the film, but again, that would have changed the style of story.

Dorothy Gale is an earnest dreamer, a brave, but frightened girl trapped in another world and desperately trying to get home, facing down obstacles in her path to fulfil a quest that happens to be in a very magical and fantastical setting.  As a result, The Wizard of Oz is, at heart, a fairytale fantasy, a fun family musical/adventure with something for everyone, another reason this film has endured and endeared for so long.  

Thank you all so much for reading!  Please, let me know your thoughts and ideas.  Stay tuned for next time, when we’ll be discussing the colorful, charming characters of The Wizard of Oz.  I hope to see you all in the next article!

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Oppa Knows Best | Part 2

Word Count: 4.3k Genre: Smut, Angst Summary:  If there is anything a lot of people can agree on when it comes to college, it’s that college is about much more than just education; it’s a whole transformative experience.  The person you were before college is not the same person you will be after college, and no one knows the truth of that statement quite like you do. You just didn’t expect to change so much so fast. Chapter Plot: You go back on your promise to Jaehyun, or at least you try to, only to you find out just what he’s willing to do to stop you from sleeping around.  Warnings: This story contains a very unbalanced power dynamic between the two main characters that is unhealthy and shouldn’t be tolerated irl. If someone treats you this way irl please run. This is a fictional story and the plot is basically just a vehicle for the smut. Contains slutshaming and controlling behavior. Also the dirty talk is painfully corny and pornolike so be warned lol. Oppa kink if it wasn’t obvious. Not as edited as it should be rip me  Part 1 and the rest of my masterlist are in my bio bec tumblr is a dick

It’s been a month since your drunken tryst with Jaehyun. You never got the chance to confront him about it, not really anyway. After that chastity agreement he had roped you into, any hope you might’ve had about finally coming clean to him about your feelings was completely dashed to the ground. Unlike the fanciful dreams that dominated your hours of your sleep that night—few but seeming to stretch on forever in your dreamscape of rainbow love and fairy dust—Jaehyun wasn’t interested in a relationship with you—not romantic, not sexual. You had stood there that morning in your new room, after all your stuff had been moved there, with your face cradled between Jaehyun’s hands and his body almost flush with your own, as he sucked you into another one-sided conversation. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have acted out that way. I should be protecting you, not the one hurting you. Please forgive me.” He had entreated, looking glum and downtrodden, thoroughly disappointed in himself. You wanted to tell him that there was nothing to forgive—on the contrary, last night was one of the happiest moments in your life. To touch him, to be one with him, was your longest-lasting dream, and he had given you that last night. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t regret it, but you’d only be exposing yourself to the man who obviously wasn’t on the same page as you.

“I was just so angry and drunk and I tried to prove my point in a really fucked up way. I crossed a line I never dreamed of crossing. I laid my hands on you, my little angel. I hurt you.” He had almost sobbed, clearly distressed and regretful. It broke your heart, because it hurt seeing him in pain, but more so because of the reason for it. In his inconsiderate view that you’re a child and it’s wrong for him to desire you, he deprives you of your own capacity to be a sexual being and have desires of your own for him.   “When you said that thing about not coming here if you had known I would act that way… fuck, that killed me. I couldn’t sleep. It’s all I can about, that I was so stupid that I let my anger put us in danger. I would never forgive myself if I was the reason I lost you. I’m so sorry.” He leaned down even closer to you, eyes boring into your soul and breath gently fanning over your lips in what would’ve been a thrilling prelude to a fiery kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he was crushing your hopes at ever getting a kiss from him again at this very moment. “All I ever did was for you. Please understand that.” You felt like crying. This wasn’t the fairytale confession you’ve been dreaming of. It seemed foolishly asinine now, but last night you had actually got yourself to thinking you might have a chance with your childhood love. You convinced yourself that the reason he was so riled up was because he felt the same way about you and he got so jealous he couldn’t control himself, like the Tsundere male lead of a cringey drama. But there were no hidden motives behind his protectiveness, and you were left having to continue the scene alone and pretend that the tears that were now streaming down your face were the result of his brash actions last night and not the words he said trying to take them back now as he waited breathlessly for your response, hanging his life on your next words.   “Of course, oppa. I understand.”                                   •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• That had been the start and end of your romance with Jaehyun, a pitiful thing that died even before it was born—or so it had seemed. For a while, Jaehyun seemed truly remorseful about how he acted that night, and he was back to the old Jaehyun you knew, patient and gentle; the furious and impulsive man you had seen that night nowhere to be seen… until you drew him out of hiding, unintentionally this time. “What the hell, Jaehyun? Did you like send out a memo to all the guys on campus to stay away from me or something? You’re ridiculous!” You shout as you burst through the door, your fury preceding you to lash at the unsuspecting man sitting on the living room couch. “I didn’t. You can talk to whoever you want to.” He answers noncommittally, pretending to be oblivious to your actual meaning, but you could see the understanding in his eyes.   A couple of months had passed since then; it made you forget the fearsome side of Jaehyun that he’d shown you for the first time that night, or maybe you were gullible enough to believe you’d seen the end of it, so you innocently make the mistake of confusing his current evasiveness for guilt. But that side of him was still here, perhaps it always was, and it wasn’t guilt he was feeling.   “Stop with the bullshit, Jaehyun. You know that’s not what I meant. Did you warn people not to hook up with me?” You stand in front of him, towering over his seated form and glowering down at him with all your might. By all means, you should be the intimidating party in this situation but Jaehyun doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even bother standing up in order to be level with you. He just glares back at you in a way that makes you feel like a student being given a timeout by their teacher. You had no doubt he’d done it, there was no other explanation as to why you suddenly couldn’t get hookup when you had no trouble finding one before, and all the guys you tried to talk to would try to get away from you as fast as possible as if you had some kind of new, highly contagious, highly incurable STD. Jaehyun is a popular guy, friends with all the guys and crushed on by all the girls. He’s a guy’s guy and the definition of boyfriend material. Not to mention that he is a member of the biggest fraternity on campus. He can be extremely intimidating when he wants to, something you had been aware of ever since you were a kid but had never experienced directly before that night; no one ever dared bully you and when Jaehyun decided that someone was bad news, they weren’t allowed near you again. In short, Jaehyun had both the motive and the means to pull something like this off. You’re not usually one to care what people think of you, but the knowledge that essentially everyone on campus now knows that you’re being cockblocked by your overbearing brother figure is fucking mortifying. “Why were you trying to hook up with someone in the first place?” His voice was calm, but of the deceptive kind, the kind where all the anger had reached a singularity, lulling you into thinking it’s not there, only for it to eat you up when you get closer. “T-that’s not the point!” You falter, somehow feeling like you’re the one who had things to answer for.  “Did you or did you not—“ “Yes, it is.” He spit out, shutting you up. “We had a deal.” “Fuck your deal. This whole thing is dumb anyway. I don’t need you to parental control me. I’m a grown woman and I want sex.” You curse at him, but it sounds insolent and whiny in your shrill and jittery voice, like a sixteen year old petulantly declaring to her dad that she’s not a child anymore. “You can have sex when you’re in a long term committed relationship.” He says with finality as if he was already done discussing this, not the least bit convinced or amused by your act. His words didn’t upset you so much as his dismissiveness of the need for your input on your own sex life had. Jaehyun was never this unreasonable. Yes, he always had strong opinions when it came to you, but he made sure to explain clearly and patiently why he thought what he thought and, almost always, that was enough to convince you that he was right. There were some instances when you weren’t completely convinced by his reasoning, but those were few and far between and he had shown you time and time again that he only wanted the best for you so you always ended up listening to him anyway. You were forever his good girl, but that was because he was a good oppa. Now he was acting more like an overbearing parent than a protective older brother, and it frustrated you. “That could be years from now. I’m horny. I need to have sex now!” “Don’t speak that way. Are you an animal that you can’t control your urges?” He hisses, and you flinch back at the clear distaste in his voice, making tears start to bubble up behind your eyelids. You were entirely out of your depth dealing with a Jaehyun that was on the offensive, let alone a Jaehyun who was looking at you like you disgusted him. Does the thought of you having sexual needs like anyone else repulse him that much? You get that you’re like a sister to him, but you’re not actually related and the fact that the man you love, and have sexual thoughts about, finds the idea of you being sexual so revolting makes you want to cry. But you can’t cry. Because then Jaehyun would try to do anything to stop you from crying, even if he has to go as far as to lie and claim that he does want you. You have a theory that if you ever come to confess your love to him, he might just pretend that he loves you too just so he wouldn’t hurt you. He’d date you, marry you, be with you forever, if that would make you happy even if it came at the cost of his own happiness. No, you’d rather face the truth than live a lie. You don’t want to cry, so you get angry. “I’ll talk however the hell I want. I’m horny and I want to be fucked. I want a dick in my pussy. I want a dick in my mouth. Hell, I’d even take a dick in my ass at this point.” “___.” He growls in warning, but you couldn’t stop now if you wanted to. “Oh, you know what? Why don’t I have all those at once. I should just go to a bar and have a group of guys gangbang me—“   “Shut up!” He bellows suddenly, making you almost jump out of your skin. You stand shaking like a leaf in front of his full wrath. Suddenly, crying doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Jaehyun would soften immediately, scooping you up in his arms and whispering sweet lies into your ear until you’re smiling again. It’s a jarring thing, him being the source of your anxiety yet the only one who can ease it. He frightens you yet you want to fall into his arms and be safe within them.   Jaehyun closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. You think he’s trying to calm himself down but when he opens them again, you’re hit with a nauseating sense of dejavu—there in his eyes is the same look he had that night, a furious ravenousness, like he could just eat you whole. The chill that shoots down your spine curiously embeds itself in your lower stomach then spreads out, leaving a warm, tingling ache in its place that you knew too well, and that Jaehyun was frequently the cause of. Maybe you were fucked up, but the dangerous air that curled and slithered around him right now swallowed all the meager defiance you had mustered within you, and dragged out the pathetic submissiveness you have towards the man in front of you by the teeth. Your eyes were glued to his, like a small animal hypnotized, and you see them going down your body as if to size you up, only to stop midway and fixate on something, his jaw clenching. Following where his gaze had settled, you realize with horror that you’ve unconsciously been rubbing your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to ease the ache burning between them. For an immeasurable amount of time, Jaehyun’s looks as if he’s in pain as conflicting emotions flit over his face, none of them readable to you which only makes you all the more distressed. Will he send you off in anger? In disgust? God, please anything but that.   All at once, his face is wiped clean, and you watch as he leans back on the couch, his frame affecting a stance of relaxation and calm that leaves you breathless and anticipating the worst. “Come here.” He orders, running a hand over one of his thighs deliberately. “Oppa?” You hesitate, not comprehending what he wanted from you, or not daring to. “Don’t make me repeat myself now, angel.” He warns, tapping his thigh impatiently. You don’t want to disobey him, yet you still hover where you are, buzzing with uncertainty and making little jerky half-movements to follow his order only to yank yourself back right away. You were scared that you were misunderstanding his intention, and even more scared that you weren’t. Suddenly, a hand wraps around your waist and yanks you down, Jaehyun propping you up where he wants you to be. Startled at the sudden drop, your body attempts to steady itself; your hands fly out to clutch at his shirt and your legs clench around his thigh that you were now straddling. Bad move, because now you could feel his toned torso underneath your palms, and your sensitive core was flush against his thick, muscular thigh.   “I’ve got you, angel.” He reassures you, but his husky voice so close to your ears only arouses you more, making you involuntarily buck your hips against him, your heat pushing down against his firm thigh and tearing a choked moan from your throat. Jaehyun stares at you, gaze calculating and trying to catch your own elusive one, “What’s the problem, angel?” “Nothing.” You bite your lip, avoiding his eyes, so he tangles a hand in your hair and tugs on it roughly, forcing you to look at him. “You will look at me when I’m talking to you. Is that understood?” His gaze is so sharp it could cut, and you can do nothing but nod meekly. That seems to appease him because he starts stroking your hair softly. But instead of being soothing, his touch burns you, building up your desire with every gentle stroke of his nails against your scalp, pleasurable but cautionary. “Now tell me.” You shake your head, scared to utter a word. You still didn’t know what he wanted. All you knew is what you wanted, and that is for him to keep touching you. There were so many ways for you to mess this up so you keep quiet. But Jaehyun didn’t like that. “It’s like you���re trying to piss me off.” He scoffs. His hands fall down to your hips and push them down, rubbing you against his thigh and making you cry out again, your hands fisting at his shirt and your eyes open wide. “Nothing, huh?” He goads you. Without intending to, you find yourself uttering out a small, “Please.” But it wasn’t enough for him, he wanted more. “What is it, angel? What do you want?” Why is he doing this to you? Is this a trick to get you to spill out your desire for him just so he could turn you away in disgust? No, Jaehyun would never hurt you like that. But that leaves only one other option… that he actually wants you. But that didn’t make any sense. He had told you himself that he regrets what he did that night. He seemed so sincere in his apologies too, much to your dismay. Yet, here he is, stone cold sober and trying to get you to tell him that you want him. Why?   Jaehyun didn’t like that you were taking this long to answer him. He props his thigh up, pushing it harder against your heat and increases his pace. “Didn’t you say something about being horny?” He prods, starting you off. Your brain starts to shut down, not caring if this was a trick or not anymore, too high off the maddening pleasure that was too little yet too much. “Yes.” You squeak, “I’m so, so horny.” “I can tell. Everyone can. Look at the way you’re dressed.” He tsks, eyeing your skimpy outfit consisting of a plunging tank top and ultra short skirt with disapproval. His hands run up your body, finger slipping under the thin straps and pulling at them, only to make them snap back against your skin, stinging you. “You might as well have gone out naked with ‘fuck me’ spray painted across your tits.” So there it is; this is what he wanted. All of this was just to make a point. You feel sick, the contents of your stomach turning over as you prepare for the ruthless rejection that is to come. But it never does. Instead, he engulfs your breasts in his large hands, kneading them over your paper-thin top. Your nipples instantly harden under his fingers and he pulls at them punishingly, but the pain and the pleasure are nothing but a dangerous cocktail to your touch deprived body, making you arch into his hands and whine. “Fuck, you’re not even wearing a bra.” He growls, pulling your tank top down under your breasts. “Didn’t we agree that you’d be a good girl? Is it too much to ask you to control yourself? Are you incapable of shutting your legs?” “I can.” You insisted, feeling his thumbs circle around your nipple teasingly and pulling away every time you try to push your breasts against his hands.   He scoffs at your answer, and pinches your nipples again. “You’re dripping on my leg.” Your eyes fly down, and sure enough, there is a big wet patch where your crotch met his thigh, your arousal having drenched through your panties and onto his sweatpants, making a mess. “You’re hopeless.”  He mutters as he leans down towards your breasts. His tongue swirls around a nipple, and you arch your back again, trying to push more of it into his mouth. He gives you what you want, but not without a price. He opens his mouth wide, engulfing your areola and sucking harshly on it, then he pulls on the nipple with his teeth, just hard enough to sting but not to actually hurt you. You whimper and moan under the assault, sharp pleasure stabbing through you as you desperately rut against his thigh trying to find some relief. “That’s right, baby girl. Hump oppa’s leg like the little slut you are.” He pops your nipple out of his mouth and starts moving to the other one, laying kisses between your breasts on his way. Taking your other nipple into his mouth, he gives it the same treatment while his fingers flick the one he just left and his hand kneads your breast. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly, his wet, bruising kisses making you lose your mind. “Fuck, oppa, I’m wanna cum.” You cry, your hand dropping to your crotch and trying to slip underneath your shorts so you can finish yourself, but Jaehyun catches it quickly, he glaring at you. “Did you ask permission to do that?” “No oppa.” You whimper, your wrist frail in comparison to his large hand and the vice grip he has around you. “Are you so turned on by your oppa that you forgot your manners?” “I’m sorry, oppa.” You wail, “I just need to cum, please.” He regards you with cold eyes for a moment, looking displeased. Suddenly, he scoops you up and hauls you to his room. Once inside, he makes quick work of your clothes then pulls you to the floor, seating you on his lap facing his full length mirror with your back is to his chest. He pulls your legs wide apart, planting your feet on the ground and ordering you to keep them there.   “Look in the mirror.” He orders, fondling your breasts with one hand as he kisses your neck, tongue darting out to lick a trail down your neck. His other hand travels down to your pussy, fingers skimming over your slit teasingly. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head, embarrassed to see yourself so exposed, especially when he himself was still fully clothed. Jaehyun bites down on your neck and gives your breast a punishing squeeze, growling at you, “I said look.”   When you open your eyes, the sight of yourself reflected in the mirror flushes your face with a red, bursting heat that spreads down your neck and over chest. “Do you see what you look like?” Jaehyun breathes in your ear, his fingers spreading your pussy lips wide open. “You look like a whore, cheap and easy. This is how everyone sees you when you insist on going out dressed like that, searching for a dick to sit on. Is this what you want?” You shake your head vehemently, and answer in a small voice. “No.” “Then why do you insist on being a whore?” He snarls, frustrated. “I’m just horny.” You mouth, sound barely leaving your mouth. “Then you come to me. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” His fingers swirl around your clit, making you dizzy, and murmurs into your hair like a promise. “Always.” When he starts rubbing the pads of his fingers firmly and incessantly against your clit and sucking bruises onto your neck, your minds fogs over, causing you blurt to out, “But you’re not my boyfriend.” “Hmm, so what?” He spits out and suddenly plunges two of his fingers into your dripping hole. Startled by the sudden stretch, your legs spasm, trying to close shut, but Jaehyun hooks his ankles over yours and keeps you spread wide. “You said I shouldn’t have sex with anyone who isn’t my boyfriend.”   “I said you shouldn’t fuck around. But you’re a woman now and you have needs like you said. I can help you take care of that and protect you from what’s out there. I can keep you safe until he comes.” He cajoles, kissing the sensitive skin under your ear and curling his fingers inside of you. “Do you want that, baby?” “Yes,” Later, you’d try to tell yourself that the word that came out of you so readily was a mere reaction to his fingers finding that sweet spot inside of you, but it would be useless. “That means keeping your legs shut around everyone but oppa. Think you can do that?” He dumbs it down for you. “Yes, oppa.” Your voice quivers as you feel your high building up. Pumping his fingers faster in and out of you, he angles it just right to hit that sweet spot every time. The pleasure inside you was reaching critical mass; you just needed a trigger, which he grants you when he turns your head back towards him, humming a ‘good girl’ against your lips then kissing you. You pant and moan against his mouth as you climax, making it easy for him to push his tongue inside your mouth. When you instinctively wrap your lips around his tongue and suck lightly, you’re rewarded with the sexiest moan that has ever graced your ears. You never want this to stop, and he’s kind enough to stay like that for a few minutes, fingers wedged deep in your pussy and his mouth and tongue locked with your own in a messy makeout session. Eventually though, Jaehyun slips his fingers out of you and presses a last peck against your saliva coated lips before pulling back to look at you, eyes clouded over and lids drooping. “You’ll be good, won’t you, angel?” He implores you in his sweet husky voice, and how can anyone expect you to say no?   “I will.” He smiles at you, not a toothy smile but still warm and happy and it makes your heart swell. Heart bursting at the seams and eager to please him more, you turn around in his embrace and direct your attention to his hard length that’s been poking against your back for some time now, intending to return the favor. But when you reach out for it, his hand shoots out to stop you and the smile falls from his face. You feel uneasy at the sudden change in his demeanor, but you courageously power though anyway. “Let me take care of you too, oppa.” “There is no need. I can take care of it myself.” He says emotionlessly. “I know but wouldn’t it feel better if I helped you?” You croak, feeling your heart pounding erratically against your rib age. “I said no.” He barks, and you shrink back. He sighs in annoyance at your reaction and rakes a hand through his hair. “Just… I don’t need you to touch me, ok?” “Of course. It’s no problem.” You choke back your tears, “Can you, um, let go of me?” Jaehyun was still holding your wrist in his hand, staring at you and looking as if he doesn’t have any intention of releasing you soon. You know he can see the tears brimming in your eyes, and you start preparing yourself mentally for the forced coddling that is to come, knowing it will only make you feel worse. But for the first time ever, Jaehyun pretends that he doesn’t see your tears, and lets you go.                                     •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• A/N: Is this story falling apart yet? I’m nervous, please donate some feedback to this starving artist.

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

Final Conclusions

Ten conclusions people came to about Marcos Diaz and Lorna Dane, in reverse order. 

10. Esmé

Esmé takes a large amount of pride in being able to read people. Granted, it’s helped by being able to sense their thoughts, but even without her power she thinks she’d have been pretty good at it. But even a novice would have been able to figure out that what Marcos and Lorna had between them was love. And when she realizes that, as she watched him pull his girlfriend to his side as Esmé recounted the Hound girl’s horrific story, she rejoices. Because people who are in love are people who can be manipulated. People who are so in love that in a moment of sadness they can put aside their differences and hug are people who have something to lose and therefore something worth fighting for.

Yes, Esmé thought, I can use this.

And she does. She makes Lorna have nightmares and taunts her and makes it clear that an extreme stance now could mean Marcos and the baby being safe later on. And Lorna fall for each and every one of the deceptions and half-truths. Esmé doesn’t lie. She believes almost everything she’s saying. Yes, something needs to be done to stop the hate that mutants have been facing and she truly does think bringing down Campbell is the way to do that, but what she honestly doesn’t know is if Marcos will take Lorna back once she’s done what she had already set her mind to. Once upon a time, when fairytales seemed like they could be real life Esmé might have believed that true love could conquer and that the two lovebirds would be able to reconcile in the new world she, her sisters, and Lorna were building. But Esmé Frost had stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.

Esmé’s final conclusion: They may be in love, but no love is that strong.

9. Andy

Andy is a typical teenage boy and that more than anything is the reason it takes him so long to realize that Marcos and Lorna aren’t just dating but are instead head-over-heels crazy for each other. And really he only figures it out because he hears them say it. He’s 15 and a bit preoccupied with not dying for goodness’ sake! He’s not focusing on people’s romantic feelings. But even he can pick up on hints that people are in love with each other, especially when the hints are them saying those exact words.

Sure, there were lots of signs that they were probably in love before the day it finally clicked for him. They were dating. A kid was on the way. Marcos had gone crazy trying to get Lorna back. Lorna talked about Marcos a lot. And they spent a ton of time together. But Andy knew people at school who did all of those things too who then went and broke up. It was sad, sure, but it was also perfectly reasonable for him to think that maybe these two would end up just co-parents a year down the line with no romantic feelings between them.

He and the other kids are in training when it happens. First, Lorna nearly chucks a small pot at Marcos’ head, which is really funny for all involved (except maybe Marcos, but who knows for sure that he wasn’t laughing on the inside?) and brings an abrupt stop to the lesson. Some sort of mission is going on today. Andy isn’t very clear on the specifics but he knows that Marcos, John, and Shatter are heading out soon to try and meet up with a contact of some sort. The couple steps aside of the group of teens (“Lauren, you’re up. Try and see if you can get Andy to stop something without bringing the building down.”) and proceed to talk in hushed voices. He hears bits and pieces about the baby, training, being home before dawn, and the importance of not being spotted. All pretty normal stuff. But then Marcos says he loves Lorna and she says it back and it sounds nothing like the way kids at school throw around the terms or how people in movies might say it. It sounds like two people trying to put their hearts into three syllables, both painfully aware that eight letters can’t encapsulate their true feelings. It sounds a lot like a promise of forever. A promise that tomorrow they’ll still be together and that the same will be true in a year and for every day beyond that. It sounds exactly like when his parents tell him that they love him. And if there is one thing he knows it’s that if someone is talking like that, they’re never going to let go of each other.

Andy’s final conclusion? Sometimes when people say they love you they really, really mean it. And don’t get hit in the face with a spatula.

8. Lauren

Lauren is well-versed in the art of spotting crushes and relationships thanks to nearly four full years of high school drama. It’s not so much a skill as much as a means of survival. But the one feeling you don’t really see in high school is love. So it’s not until she sees her parents hugging a few days after being reunited that it clicks. Marcos and Lorna didn’t have the same vibe as the couples at school or the same look in their eyes as she had seen on countless faces as they looked at their crushes. Nope. Lorna and Marcos held each other like her parents did. Which meant only one thing: love.

“Hey, Mom. Can I ask you a question?” Lauren asked one day as she sat nearby while Caitlyn finished making the daily lunch of macaroni and cheese.

“Yeah. What’s up kiddo?”

“Do you think a relationship could survive all of, you know, this?” she asked, gesturing to the mutants around them.

Caitlyn turned away from the pot she’d been stirring and sat down on a chair near Lauren with a quizzical look on her face. “That’s an odd question. What brings that up?”

“I was just thinking about Lorna and Marcos. They’re obviously in love and I was just wondering if they had any chance of making it. Everything is just so crazy here and their lives are even more dangerous than ours and I’m certain having a baby on the way makes things even harder.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if they can make it. I want to think so, but, like you said, this isn’t an easy way to live. But what I can tell you is that I think they’re family and, just like us, it’ll take a lot more than this mutant insanity to ruin that. Now go and get your brother and dad for lunch. I put canned chili in the mac and cheese this time so it’s not a meal to be missed.”

Lauren’s final conclusion: Only two incredibly strong people could get through this still in love. She hoped Lorna and Marcos were strong enough.

7. Caitlyn

Caitlyn knows that the man sitting next to her in the car is in love as soon as he calls Lorna is his family. It clicks instantly because those are the words she’s been saying over and over as she tries to convince people to help her save her husband: “He’s my family.” And now here was a young man who was saying the exact same thing about this girl whose fate so resembled Reed’s.

Marcos’ eyes are focused on the road but she can see the desperation beginning to seep into them as he thinks about his partner who, for all he knows, he may never see again. No, Caitlyn reprimands herself because if Marcos doesn’t ever see Lorna again then there is almost no chance that she’ll see Reed and Caitlyn Strucker refuses to believe that such a thing could ever happen.

“She seems like a wonderful woman,” Caitlyn offers up like a life preserver to Marcos as he struggles to keep from drowning in his thoughts.

“She is. She’s amazing.”

“What’s she like?” Caitlyn is determined to keep him talking and focused. She knows just too well just how dangerous it can be to allow one’s mind to wander to dark places and she needs Marcos at his best if they’re going to pull this off and get back to Clarice before she destroys the Underground entirely.

“She’s… I don’t know. She’s like a force of nature. If she thinks something needs to be done she’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish it. She loves people more than anyone I’ve ever known and if you’re lucky enough for her to love you then she’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe. She’s smart too. So many of our missions have only worked because she’s planned them. She can be funny, when she wants to be. But mostly she’s just so strong. She’s determined and nothing can break her and…,” Marcos’ voice peters out as they approach the hospital.

Turning to the young man sitting next to her, Caitlyn reaches out a hand and places it on his arm. “Hey. We’ll get them back. Lorna and Reed.” Marcos offers a small smile in exchange as he parks and gets out of the car. When he looks back to make sure that Caitlyn is following him up to the hospital steps she catches a look of pure determination in his eyes.

Caitlyn Strucker’s final conclusion? Marcos Diaz will do anything to get Lorna Dane back and she never want to see what happens to someone who comes between them.

6. Reed

Reed Strucker had seen enough of cases of unrequited love in his life to know that just because one person was in love didn’t mean that the person they cared for loved them back. He’d also seen more than his fair share of people who got pregnant and didn’t stay with their partner. And it was for those two reasons that he didn’t assume that what Ms. Dane had with her child’s father was love. Sure, she refused to give him and the Mutant Underground up to Sentinel Services and nearly killed a police officer who had shot him but she could have just been loyal to her cause and someone who was clearly part of her team. Did her actions maybe suggest that she loved him? Sure. But he didn’t have enough evidence to pass a true judgement and expected to never have the information necessary to do so.

That is, until a little over 24 hours late when he found himself sitting across from Marcos Diaz, begging for help from the organization that he had just been trying to destroy. It’d been a long day.

And here was the thing, any doubts Reed may have had about the feelings between the two young adults fled from his mind when Diaz put his glowing hand right above Reed’s arm. That wasn’t the move of a casual boyfriend. Marcos was not making an idle threat. That was something that he would have done for Caitlyn or Andy or Lauren. That bespoke true love. Here was someone who was willing to risk everything for a girlfriend he had no guarantee of ever seeing again. Diaz had no way of being sure that Reed wasn’t actually working as a spy trying to get him in prison. There was no promise that Reed was actually a father with two children who had revealed mutant abilities the night before. And even if that was the case, Diaz had to realize the potential consequences of threatening someone who only a little while earlier was trying to prosecute his girlfriend. A simple boyfriend would have made some idle threats. But Diaz had a burning hot hand inches from Reed’s skin and that was the move of someone who was desperately trying to reunite with the love of his life.

Reed’s final conclusion: Don’t ever get between Marcos Diaz and Lorna Dane.

5. Clarice

Clarice felt horrible when she realized how close Marcos and Lorna actually were. Sure, she felt bad beforehand but this was on a new level. She had separated two people who were clearly very, very in love. How did she know they were in love? She saw it all over Marcos’ face. Heard it in his voice. Recognized it in the purposeful way he moved. Everything about his entire being screamed of a shattered piece of a whole that had been ripped from their other half. She knew the look. Not because she’d been that half but because she never had been.

Clarice Fong was pretty certain that she’d felt just about ever feeling on the spectrum. She’d felt joy and anger and heartbreak and contentment. But she’d never really felt that sort of love where you were certain that the whole universe had conspired to bring you and this other person together. But clearly Marcos Diaz had because everything about him was new to Clarice and that earth-shattering love was the only thing left that she hadn’t seen.

He was so desperate. That was the thing that stuck out the most to her. The way his shoulders slouched and his voice scratched and his eyes searched every room as if maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t heard her slip in a back door. Only she wasn’t ever there. And then his eyes would still and fall down to his hands, as if praying that maybe if he stared long enough her hand would appear in his.

Clarice’s final conclusion: Never fall in love with someone and then lose them.

4. John

John figured it out because Marcos told him.

“I think I might be in love with her,” Marcos had muttered one day.

John hadn’t really been listening (still wasn’t). “In love with who?”

“Say that a bit louder next time; I don’t think she heard you. C’mon, man.”

Much quieter this time,  “Sorry. It’s just not something you expect to hear.” A pause. “What makes you say that anyway.”

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t know. We’ve been together for half a year now and things are going great and I think I’ve loved her for forever but now it’s finally all clicking and now I’m aware of the fact that I’m in love with her and now I have no idea what to do,” Marcos looked at John with pleading eyes as he finished his speech.

It really shouldn’t have surprised John to hear. Afterall, the two had been nearly inseparable for the past six months. They ate together; they attended meetings as a couple; they tried to be on the same missions.  If you couldn’t find Marcos you just looked for Lorna because she was never far behind and vice versa. They had truly moved from being a pair to being two parts of the same, incredible whole. In hindsight, John should have known they were in love long before either had a chance to confide in him.

“So are you going to tell her that?”

“That I love her? I guess at some point I’m going to have to, but I just… What if she doesn't love me? What if I ruin everything? What we’ve got now is so good. I don’t want to destroy it just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Have you considered that maybe she’s thinking the same things right now?” John asked, looking at his friend with only a hint of pity in his eyes.

“No…”

Rolling his eyes, John responded, “Go and talk to her, you idiot.” And with that Marcos Diaz turned and nearly ran to find Lorna Dane.

John’s final conclusion: Love made people rather stupid.

3. Sonya

Sonya knew they were in love when she saw the way Lorna smiled at Marcos when he wasn’t looking. It wasn’t a bright smile, one with wattage that could outshine the sun, but a quiet one full of contentment and peace. And it was exactly the sort of smile that Sonya herself had when she looked at Johnny. And that’s when Sonya’s “best friend mode” kicked in.

The two women had only known each other for a couple of years but it had been enough time for her to see just how much Lorna shouldered on a daily basis. Between being one of the leaders of the Atlanta Underground and trying to deal with her mental illness without the help of medication (none of them could just swing by their local Walgreens and pick up drugs as needed), plus training kids to survive in an increasingly hateful world, Lorna was, in a word, swamped. Sure, Marcos had been a godsend in the beginning. He brought some much needed manpower to the Underground and he and Johnny had become a nearly unstoppable team. Overall, Sonya liked him a lot, but she also knew firsthand the dangers of a heartbreak. She’d seen in dozens of times in the women at the shelters. Women who, despite having been beaten and hurt over and over again, couldn’t help but cry because at one point they’d thought they’d been loved and now they were having to realize that their abuser’s feelings were far from love. Sonya didn’t expect Marcos to start beating Lorna, but she wouldn’t put it past him to end the relationship one day and to leave Sonya with a betrayed Lorna. (With a Lorna who looked at Marcos the way Sonya looked at Johnny, with a deep sense of longing and tears not far behind.) Sonya believed in her friend’s ability to overcome anything but picking yourself up after being in love and then losing that love was a messy and painful business and no one had time for that.

And then Sonya turns to see Lorna laughing at something Marcos had just said as he pulls her in for a hug and she can’t help but hope beyond hope that it all works out.

Sonya’s final conclusion: Marcos better not break Lorna’s heart or he was a dead man.

2. Lorna

Truthfully Lorna doesn’t really know when she actually fell in love. All she knows is that one day she was sitting there laughing with Marcos about something stupid and it hit her like a slap to the face. This wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t infatuation or just someone she really liked. This was it. This was Love with a capital ‘l’ and all the joy and sadness and fear that came with it.

In her head she swore like a sailor.

Not because she wasn’t happy or because she didn’t think Marcos was a great person or anything but because how could he, a rather exceptionally well-adjusted (all things considered) man ever love someone like her? Here she was, a terrifying mess of a person who was barely avoiding drowning in her duties with the Underground and rarely felt mentally stable. And there he was, a person who literally shone and would project rainbow lights onto the ceiling of their room when she was manic and couldn’t sleep and would hold her when she cried for hours on end until there was no more tears left to shed. How on Earth could two such completely different people in such a chaotic world ever dream of making this work?

She was yanked out of her reverie by Marcos’ voice. “Babe?”

“Huh?”

“Did you hear a word I said?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Meet with Daniel at 4:00 sharp to get the plans for the Sentinel Services building. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

At that Marcos gave her a look that wordlessly asked her to share what thoughts had dragged her away from him. And it was that look in that moment that sealed her fate, for better or for worse. That look that showed that he wanted to follow what was happening in her head whether it was good, bad, or incredibly ugly. He wanted to hear her thoughts and be told about the demons that ran through her mind oh so often. It made her stomach flutter with joy because maybe, just maybe, this could be something wonderful.

Lorna’s final conclusion: She was going to do whatever she had to to keep this going.

1. Marcos

Marcos fell so hard and fast that he doesn't even remember the 'falling' part, just the 'in love' part that he's found himself living in. And it is that last part that has brought him to a bar in the middle of nowhere with just a small bag of belongings and a deep-seated fear that he is about to be taken out by the cartel, despite promises from Carmen’s father that he could leave the family on good terms (Carmen was far less agreeable when he broke the news to her that he was leaving).

The drink he was nursing was doing absolutely nothing to take the edge off and he was bouncing his leg rapidly, trying to release at least a fraction of the nervous energy inside of him. In truth, he knew how stupid all of this was. He’d met with Lorna and John only a month ago and had helped them out a couple times since but he’d been adamant that he was not, under any circumstances, leaving the cartel. He’d come up with excuse after excuse and Lorna, with her quick wit and sharp tongue had called him out on each one. It was too dangerous, he’d say. She’d retort that the Underground protects their own and he’d be safe. Carmen would never be okay with it he’d sigh. She’d roll her eyes and promise him that truly she could find him another girlfriend if that was his hang up about the whole thing. He’d make a comment about it just not being a good fit and she would get up from the table and walk away because “that was the most ridiculous excuse ever”. (Years and years later, when Aurora is older and the world is a fair bit brighter and they’re not running and hiding anymore, Marcos will decide that it must have been during those early arguments where he fell for Lorna.) John hadn’t ever pushed Marcos to join them, but Lorna had pushed incessantly until he’d found himself laying in bed with Carmen desperately trying to come up with an actual reason to not leave. He didn’t love Carmen; they both knew that. It would be dangerous, but he knew that he could take care of himself if he needed to. And he did enjoy the work he’d done with mutants in the past. He’d liked the way the work had made him feel like he was making a difference. That’s it, he’d thought, that’s why I want to leave. But that hadn’t felt right either. There was something else. You mean someone else, a small voice in his head whispered. It wasn’t until he’d woken up with images of black hair and green nails in his mind that he’d begun to accept that maybe his heart was telling him it was time to go.

And that’s how he’d ended up sipping a truly horrendous drink in a bar at 4:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday, ready to leave the cartel to join a group of mutants.

Then Lorna Dane walked through the door and gave him that smile of hers and he corrected himself. He was leaving the cartel for the chance of a future with someone better doing something good, regardless of the cartel and his past and his flaws and the fact that this was all an enormous risk that could blow up in his face at any moment.

Marcos’ final conclusion: He was doomed. But maybe it’d be worth it.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Stories

Author’s notes: So, I meant for this to just be a super light-hearted fic about Damian and his family...Then the angst attacked. Not much, mostly a happy fic. Enjoy! Send me requests if you want to see more of this!

Rating: G for once

         “Baba! Watch me! Watch me!” Damian looks at his daughter as she stands on the edge of the pool. Her wet, black curls stick to her smiling cheeks.

         “I’m watching, I’m watching,” He says with a proud grin. His brothers, sisters, friends, and father have to admit, Damian smiles more when she’s around. Asha dives into the water. Jason shakes his head,” What?”

         “Most three-year-olds aren’t that eager to jump into a 9-foot pool.” Asha comes to the surface, paddling to Damian. He pulls her towards her, kissing her face. Asha giggles.

         “Most three-year olds aren’t Asha West-Wayne,” Damian tells his older brother, looking at his daughter with affection. Asha is absolutely tiny in his arms. Barely three feet tall and not even 28 pounds soaking wet. Her doctors weren’t concerned, especially with her over active metabolism. The little girl wiggles away from Damian, swimming to Jai and Jon. Jon lift his niece into the air, throwing her straight into the air.

         “Higher, Unca Jonny! Higher!” She squeals.

         “Kent, you break her and I will kill you.” Damian informs his best friend calmly. Jon looks scared, but Jai rolls his eyes.

         “Please,” Jai takes Asha from Jon, tickling her belly. Asha’s laughs fill the backyard,” If this little beauty is anything like her mommy, she won’t break.”

         “Just because you’re my brother-in-law, Jai, doesn’t mean I’m above physical violence.” Damian gives him an amused smile. Jai rolls his eyes again. Asha slides from his arms and dives under the water. She can’t swim exactly, no free style or breast stroke, but she loves the water and can move relatively well in in. Asha climbs out of the pool going to her bag of toys,” I can’t believe it’s her third birthday.”

         It is hard to believe. Asha looks like she could be a big two-year-old, but she’s also insanely smart. By the time she was one, she had a large vocabulary. By one and a half, she could speak in basic sentences. Irey and Damian read to her all the time, which helped her learn more words. Asha loves being read to. Irey will read her science books for kids, and Damian will read her children’s plays and fairy tales. Sometimes they’d have her read to them while they point to the words. She’ll stop to ask them questions, which they are more than happy to answer.

         Her intelligence scares most people when they meet her. Damian had to go into the office once when Irey was out of town and brought Asha along. Asha was extremely well behaved, sitting at Damian’s desk reading a book of fairytales. His assistant asked if she was looking at the pretty pictures. Asha told her she was reading Rapunzel while her baba handled his reports. Poor girl wasn’t sure why she got the strange look from the assistant.

         Damian and Irey have never seen a point in treating their daughter’s natural curiosity and intelligence as something wrong or bad. They were happy to show her all the wonders of the world. They censored some stuff, but not much. If she asked, they would tell her.

         “I know,” Dick groans,” She’s not allowed to get any bigger.”

         “I can’t wait for her to start dating,” Jason teases, ruffling Damian’s hair. The former assassin slaps his brother’s hand away,” I doubt too many guys will last after meeting Damikins- “

         “There is one person on this earth that is allowed to call me that without disembowelment. You are not her. Asha is also not allowed to date until she’s married.”

         “Shouldn’t she get a say?” Tim points out. They look up as Asha throws a sinking ring into the water,” Asha?”

         “Ya, Unca Timmy?”

         “What do you think of boys?”

         Asha wrinkles her little nose,” Boys are icky and dumb. They aren’t good for anything.”

         The men laugh at her response. Jai snickers,” If there was any doubt she’s yours, it’s gone now.”

         Asha rolls her eyes, looking just like Damian. Dick comes up behind her and tosses her into the water. Asha shrieks as she hits the water, coming to the surface, scowling,” That’s not nice, Unca Dickie.”

         “Sorry, kiddo,” Dick winks at her. The grin on his face disappears as Mar’i, who had been lounging with Lian, Cass, and Steph on the side of the pool, tackles her father. They both fall into the water. They swim to the surface, both cracking up.

         “Aunt Mar-Mar,” Asha giggles, now being held by her father,” You can’t do that to your baba.”

         “I think it was warranted, Asha,” Bruce tells her, sitting on the side of the pool.

         “What does ‘warranted’ mean, Jid?” The little girl asks.

         “It means he deserved it,” Bruce explains. Asha seems pleased with that answer. They all swim around, the girls hopping into the water with them. Lian moves a little slower, her swollen belly getting in her way. Jai smiles at his wife, the same way Damian looks at Irey and Jon looks at Mar’i. Like she was everything good in this world and didn’t know it.

         Asha loves her family. It’s big and messy and crazy and she loves it. She loves listening to Baba and her uncles tease each other. Loves being pulled into people’s arms and smothered with hugs and kisses. Loves hearing different languages being shouted at each other- English, Spanish, Tamaranian, Romani, French, Russian, Arabic, Chinese- all of it teasing. Loves the way that everyone just…gets along. She knows that there’s lots of complicated grown up feelings in her family, but she loves that today they get along.

         Eventually they have to climb out of the pool for food. Damian dries Asha off, laughing at the growl she gives him when she sees the lion on her towel. Asha notices a mark on her baba’s chest. Her family is a mess of scars and burns, most of which she knows not to ask about. But this one has bothered her for as long as she can remember. It’s right over his head and goes from his collarbone to the bottom of his ribs. Damian sets her towel to the side and feels his daughter’s small hand on his chest. Right over the scar from Heretic’s sword. He looks at her.

         Asha’s intelligent green eyes meet his,” Baba, who hurt you here?”

         Everyone is silent. What Asha doesn’t know is a year before her birth, Damian had been killed. By a miracle and a dangerous mission led by the Bat family, he was brought back to life. Asha was born about 9 months later, which no one commented on. Asha knows her parents are superheroes. She knows it’s dangerous. But she doesn’t know all the stories behind their scars. Damian covers her tiny fingers with his hand.

         “A very, very bad man did that, my love.”

         “Did it hurt?”

         “Only for a second. Then Baba had to leave for a while.”

         “Was Mama sad?” Everyone but Damian recalls Irey’s screams when he was killed. Her desperate attempts to convince them he was ok. Her sobs when it finally hit her. The way she just…stopped living. Jai remembers holding her back to keep her from changing the timeline, even though every single bone in his body wanted to let her go.

         “Mama was very sad.”

         “Did you miss her?”

         “Very much. But you want to know something, qalbi?” Asha nods,” Baba missed Mama so much that when he saw her, he fell in love all over again. Mama was so happy to see him that she tackled him.”

         Asha giggles at that image. Mama did that a lot when Baba came back from a mission,” What happened after that?”

         Most of the adults know what happened after that or can guess, but Damian isn’t about to have that talk with his three-year-old.

         “After that? Well, a few months later, Mama told me that you were growing in her tummy. And then after that, you were born. Baba forgot about the bad man that hurt him because he had you and Mama to love him.”

         “Did the same bad man who hurt you hurt Unca Jason?” Asha looks at Jason. The old autopsy scar, one of the few reminders of his premature death, is white against his tan skin.

         “No. That was a different bad man.” Damian takes her hands,” Do you remember what Mama said about theses?”

         He gestures to his scars. Asha nods,” Mama said they’re stories. About the people you help and bad people you stopped.”

“That’s right, Jamila,” He tuck a curl behind her ear,” We all have stories on our bodies. One day, we’ll tell you all of them. 'ant tafahum?”

         “I understand, baba,” She thinks for a moment,” When will I get my stories?”

Damian’s body tenses. The thought of anyone, anyone, hurting his little girl…he’d kill the person that tried… Damian pulls her into his arms, kissing the top of her head,” Never.”        

 “Why?” She looks up at him.

         “Because I love you too much to let someone hurt you,” Damian tells her, looking down at her with adoration.

         “I love you too, Baba. I wanna grow up to be like you.” Their hearts melt at the look she gives Damian and her words. Damian smiles at her, kissing her forehead.

         “You should be like you. Because there will never be another Asha Nuri West-Wayne in this lifetime.”

         “Besides,” Jason teases,” There are plenty of other people here to want to be like.”

         Asha turns to her uncle. Puffing out her little chest (which would be more intimidating if it didn’t have Minnie Mouse on it), she says,” I wanna be like my baba, Unca Jason! He’s my favorite superhero!”

         They all burst out laughing at that, even Damian. He scoops his daughter into his arms. Asha shrieks with laughter as he tickles her belly and kisses her little face. She’s saying something in Arabic, probably put me down, but Damian keeps tickling her. Irey appears in a crack of lightning, followed by her father. They’d had to run back to Central City to handle an emergency (Damian would later learn that Irey kick the shit out of the bad guy for making her miss part of Asha’s birthday.) Irey smiles at the sight of her husband tickling their daughter.

         “Mama!” Asha beams at her,” Mama, did you know Baba is my favorite superhero?”

         Irey takes the little girl into her arms, attacking her face with kisses,” You told me I was your favorite hero yesterday.”

         Asha thinks for a minute,” Baba is my favorite boy hero. You’re my favorite girl hero.”

         This makes her family laugh. Jai pretends to be outraged,” What are the rest of us then? Chopped liver?”

         “Yes.” She answers honestly. More laughter.

         “That’s my girl,” Damian says, pressing a kiss to her head.

         “You are my favorites,” Asha looks up at her parents,” If you weren’t heroes, you wouldn’t know each other. Then you wouldn’t have me.”

         Damian and Irey look at each other. She had a point. Irey hugs the little girl tighter,” Oh, lightning bug, what would Mama and Baba do if we didn’t have you.”

         “Be grumpy like Unca Jason.”

         “HEY!” Jason protests.

         The rest of the afternoon is spent together as a family. Wally, Irey and Jai get into a hotdog eating contest (Wally winning by half a hotdog). They watch her open her presents. Asha squeals at the Robin and Impulse action figures that Jason had gotten her, holding them up and exclaiming It’s Mama and Baba! She gets all sorts of books and toys and clothes, genuinely happy about all of them. She chases Ace, Damian’s old dog from years ago, around the living room, shouting in Arabic. They sing her Happy Birthday as she blows out her candles. The day is just so…normal. Of course, there’s talk of old villains and the showing of weapons so their version of normal. They climb onto the roof to watch the 4th of July fireworks explode over the city. Asha sits in her mother’s arms, Irey leaning back into Damian’s chest, watching the colors explode above her.

         Asha falls asleep on a chair later. Damian carries her to bed, as they were all spending the night in the Manor. Irey leans against the door frame watching her husband tuck the covers under their little girl’s chin. He presses a kiss to her curls and walks towards the door. Irey looks at him. He raises an eyebrow,” What?”

         “Have I ever told you how good of a baba you are?” Irey asks. Damian smiles.

         “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” Damian tugs her hair teasingly,” Have I mentioned how good of a mama you are?”

         “You don’t need to tell me. I already know.” Irey gives him a cocky grin before walking down the hall. Damian takes a moment to admire his wife, wondering how he got so lucky. They join their friends outside by the firepit. Lian’s rubbing a hand over her belly, a little uncomfortable. Irey can sympathize,” The boys kicking you again?”

         “How do you get used to being punched from the inside?” Lian asks. Irey laughs as she settles next to Damian on one of the love seats.

         “I don’t know what to tell you, Li. Asha used to kick me all hours of the day. Drove me crazy when I was trying to sleep.” Irey smiles, remembering her pregnancy,” I told Damian it was his fault. What with all his ninja skills.”

         Damian snorts,” Yes, because your endless energy has had no impact on that at all.”

         Irey playfully hits his chest. Damian rolls his eyes, making Jai and Jon laugh.

         “Asha looks like Damian when she rolls her eyes,” Jai tells his sister, who laughs.

         “She also informed up that boys are icky and gross and not good for anything.” Jon says. Irey exchanges a look with Damian,” Why are you looking at each other like that?”

         “Asha may or may not have gotten in trouble last week at daycare.” Irey admits,” For putting a little boy in a half nelson.”

         Their friends bust out laughing. Mar’i giggles,” Where did she even learn a half nelson?”

         “She watches us spar sometimes.” Damian says simply, grabbing a beer from the cooler. Irey steals it away.

         “You’ve put each other into half nelsons in front of her?”

         “We’ve put each other into full nelsons in front of her. She watches us when we spar sometimes. Asha was just playing with the kid.” Irey sips her drink,” She is her father’s daughter.”

         Jai snorts,” Things I never would have expected to hear 15 years ago.”

         “Most of our lives I never would have expected when we all first met.” Mar’i points out,” I never thought Damian would be a good brother when we met- “

         “Hey!” Damian protests,” I wasn’t that bad- “

         “You challenged me to a fight and cut my hair with your katana, while telling me that I was a mistake and no one wanted me.” Mar’i and Damian are both dead pan at that.

         “Fair enough.” Damian shrugs.

         “Could you imagine if we went back in time and talked to our younger selves?” Jai asks.

         “I think I would have passed out if I knew I would marry Mar’i. I would pass out knowing she had a crush on me.” Jon admits. Mar’i laughs.

         “Babe, literally everyone knew I had a crush on you. It was painfully obvious.” Mar’i tells him.

         “Yeah, dude. She was pretty forward about it.” Lian winks at her bestie. Mar’i gives her a grin,” I don’t want to think about 12-year-old me.”

         “Why?”

         “One: 12 is always a cringe age, no exceptions. Two: if I knew at 12 what I know at 27, I would cry. Three: past me would slap current me if she knew Jai was my husband and the father of our twin boys.”

         “Nah, you’d punch my lights out.” Jai teases his wife. Lian half glares at him,” Damian would definitely freak out if he knew about him and Irey.”

         “True,” Irey nods at her twin.

         “I would not!”

         “Yes, you would. You would go on and on about ‘I’m the heir of the demon, heir to the batman’s cowl, youngest member of the League of assassins- ‘” Irey mimics young Damian’s serious scowl and pseudo deep voice. The team cracks up at that. Damian pretends to pout, making Irey laugh,” Sorry, babe, Asha’s got you beat in the pouting department. I would probably cry if I knew what I know now at twelve.”

          The weight of those words hit them hard. Damian lets her rest her head on his shoulder. Jai wraps an arm around Lian’s waist, placing a hand on her belly, protective of their sons. Mar’i cuddles up to Jon. He kisses the top of her curly black hair. They watch the fire for a few minutes, each thinking of mission failures, people they’ve lost, bad news they’ve gotten. Mar’i absentmindedly touches her stomach, knowing no child will ever grow there. Lian tries to recall her parents’ voices and can’t. Jai and Irey both feel Thawne, even though he’s thousands of miles away, taunting them, threatening them. Jon holds Mar’i tighter, guilty that he could hide his heritage while she faced constant abuse from others. Damian hears the voices of all the people he’s killed and everyone he failed to save.

         “We’re alive.” Damian says,” None of us should have made it to this point. But we have.”

         “We’re alive.” Irey echoes,” We have a daughter and she’s alive.”

         “We’re alive.” Lian adds,” Our family is growing.”

         “We’re alive.” Jai smiles a little,” The West line continues on.”

         “We’re alive.” Jon kisses the top of Mar’i’s head,” We’re making a difference.”

         “We’re alive.” Mar’i reaches over, taking her pseudo brother’s hand,” We’re telling our stories.”

         For one minute, they all remember everything that they have lost and sacrificed. They remember their fallen friends and family. Mar’i and Damian think about how many death days there are in their family. But this time, when they remember, it doesn’t cripple them. Because they aren’t alone. As long as they are together, they will always be the same willy bunch of preteens trying to be a team. They will always be friends. They will always be family.

         They will always have someone to share their story with.

[ars-simia-animus]

You’ll Rise Up, Free and Easy

Chapter Five: “The Boy’s Done Wrong Again”

Summary: Tony revealed his suffering to Ana and Jarvis. He wanted them; he longed for their comfort. They decide how to approach their lives together now, knowing the danger imposed on the young boy they love.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: descriptions of child abuse and injuries.

June, 1868

Tony visited the Potts’ estate a couple times during their summer stay in Canada. He met Samuel’s mother and father, as well as his sisters, the first time and saw Samuel’s parents again on the second playdate. It seemed to him that the entire family was always at their home; but, surely his father and mother were away sometimes , Tony reasoned.

Samuel’s father, Virgil Potts, shook his hand and said, “I am very pleased indeed that our Samuel has you for a friend!”

Tony was bewildered by this and couldn’t remember how he’d replied. Mr. Potts shook his hand every time he saw him after, too. He was a very cheerful man for being so professional in appearance.

Mrs. Jennifer Potts, ”Jenny” Mr. Potts called her, was very quiet, but affectionate. When he said goodbye, she would take both his hands and squeeze them. “Thank you for visiting our home,” she said, like the moan of wind in a deep well.

As for Samuel’s sisters, Tony liked them, but they seemed more like ghosts or fairies than real people. They were twins and both invalids. They didn’t venture far from the settee the entire time Tony saw them. Their dresses were entirely ruffles and lace and ribbons. Ginger hair, a little blonder than Samuel’s hot pepper hue, fell in locks onto their shoulders so that, between their curls and their flounces, they were like two pom poms.

Samuel spent long hours playing with his older sisters, who were too sick to leave the house. They were asthmatic and also frail from a disease that Samuel, if he knew it, never named. “I love them, but I dearly love being outside,” he told Tony guiltily. So, he played with them until they drowsed, then changed his clothes and ran out into the sunshine and the wind.

Tony carefully carried the large kite he’d made Samuel in both arms. He’d used the birdlike schematic Mrs. Ana and he had designed the summer he was seven-years-old to construct a swan. The tail of the kite was made of pink silk stockings that his mother had thrown out, since Samuel said white and pink were his favorite colors. Tony made the swan’s eyes blue— a blue like chilled lips, like Mr. Jarvis’s eyes— and its legs were green, even though green legs were not naturally occurring in real swans. But, Samuel liked green.

He met his friend in the pasture near the western extremity of the Stark’s estate. Samuel was sitting by his chokeberry tree, reading. Samuel, like Tony, marveled at tales of knights in armor, but he read more poetry and folklore than Tony.

There was a fairytale on which he was especially keen. Seven brothers became swans and were transformed back as human by wearing shirts knitted from nettles. That is, except for the last brother, who lived forever with one arm still a swan wing because his shirt was unfinished.

Tony was irked by the tale. There was no logic to the curse or the cure and it seemed the rules kept changing arbitrarily throughout the plot, just to cause the characters sorrow. At least in Arthurian legend, the magic followed a system. Samuel said, “But can’t you just imagine how it feels to have a swan’s wing or wear clothes made of nettles?”

Tony could imagine this. It was how he felt all the time around his father: irritated, taunted, suffocated. “I suppose.” He said, “Why would you want to, though?”

Samuel shrugged and almost surrendered, then he said, “Because I feel that way. And it’s nice to see how you feel show up in a book someone else has written. Even if it’s a fairytale, eh.”

Tony disagreed. He didn’t want books to remind him of the way he felt; he didn’t want to be reminded by anything. Books were a stronghold, a protective armor, and a chance to hide. “What do you have to feel nettled about?” Tony sounded much more argumentative than he’d meant to.

Samuel only shrugged politely.

When Tony presented the swan kite to Samuel, his friend examined it with slowly rising awe. He touched the pasted papers of the wings and his mouth began to hang open. Finally, he asked, “You didn’t really make this, did you?”

Tony blushed and kicked the tufted ground. “Well, take it, you silly ass! It’s yours!”

Samuel mindfully held the kite, listening to it crinkle, and lifted it from Tony’s hands. Then he surprised Tony by setting it on the little mound by the chokeberry tree and whirling back to Tony with a grin. Samuel cried, “thanks!” and swiftly pecked Tony on the cheek.

Two very powerful sensations bore into Tony’s body, one in his ribcage and one below his stomach. He chuckled and pushed Samuel. Then, the two raced the swan kite across the field, running all the air from their lungs until their chests were burning. Tony ran faster and faster and didn’t seem to slow until he collapsed in the grass, feeling as wide open as the sky.

Samuel coaxed the kite from the air. Once they had their breath back, he led Tony to a large patch of wild blackberries. They played knights, battling through enchanted brambles to a forgotten kingdom besieged beneath. As they battled the thorns, they filled themselves with the fruit.

Tony giggled. “Your mouth is all purple!”

“The magic of the bramble dragon has taken hold of us!” Samuel exclaimed. He took a blackberry and smeared it thickly over his lips. They became dark like Tony’s hair, with thin splashes of red-violet like cordial wine.

Laughing, Tony grabbed more berries from the gnarled briers. Occasionally he scratched himself or caught the fabric of his play clothes on the thorns, but he didn’t mind. “Haste, pluck his brier bare and he shall surely fall, a trophy to our Chivalry!”

By the time Mrs. Ana hiked out to the very end of the field, calling for him to return for supper, Tony’s fingers, mouth, and clothes were stained. She looked at him and began to laugh. “You look like a grape-treader of Eger who stomped while standing on his head! Come, I believe you’re to have dinner with your parents tonight. Guests are here, so you’ll need to look presentable.”

Tony and Mrs. Ana bid Samuel farewell. Mrs. Ana gave the other boy a particularly warm smile and a wink before turning in the direction of the main house. Tony clomped ahead of Mrs. Ana, bragging about how Samuel had loved the kite and how strong it was. Then, he said, “I am going to build a kite strong enough to carry a person.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Ana said. “Well, I hope you’ve been giving your Mathematics your full attention.” Though, she knew he had; chiding was just a natural way for a governess to talk to her charge and Tony enjoyed verbal sparring.

He smirked. “I will build one that can carry you!” He promised grandly.

“Far be it from me to say you couldn’t.”

When they reached the garden patio, Tony’s mother was there, lingering while the staff cleared the glasses, table service, and bottles with only a little bourbon or sherry left at the bottom. Tony thought that his father’s guests must already have arrived. Maria was sniffing but her face was unmarred; it may have been a nervous tic. She was often edgy when Howard had guests.

Maria saw them, saw the dark stains all over Tony’s mouth, saw the brambles still stuck in his hair, and saw the carefree look on his face. She darkened and cried, “Anthony! — bimbo cattivello ! Do you have no sense?”

Tony was quiet. He had grown to internalize his mother’s rejection, choosing to feign apathy when she became emotional. Usually, it incited Maria to try harder to elicit a remorseful response from him.

“Your father’s business partners are here for the evening and you return twenty minutes until supper looking like a tramp child!”

“Forgive me, fair damsel, for my most impertinent appearance.” Tony began, cheekily, and Mrs. Ana clicked her tongue. “I have forsook thy honor—“

“If all you’re able to act as is a fool, you will not play with that child again. Your father already disapproves of him.”

Tony went cold throughout his torso. “Mother, if I had known guests were coming, I would not have dared to be a child today. I would have woken as an adult—“

Mrs. Ana intervened. “Young sir, you will not speak to your mother in such a fashion. Go to your bath directly .” She tried to move him toward the house, but Tony stubbornly planted his feet. His friendship with Samuel had been threatened and he would not tolerate it.

Maria abandoned trying to scathe him with words. Instead, she looked at Mrs. Ana. “Mrs. Jarvis, I recall telling you that he needed to be dressed for guests by six o’clock.”

“We were just on our way to his bath when you addressed us, madam. It’s already drawn in his room. If there’s nothing else for you to discuss with him, I can have him dressed in time.” Mrs. Ana replied evenly.

With a sniff, Maria adjusted her jaw. Then she stepped closer to her son and lowered her voice. This was not her usual manner. And Tony was struck by her tone. Mrs. Ana noticed as well, apprehensively, how the woman was trying to intimidate him. “If you do not behave respectfully this evening, I cannot guarantee what your father will do.”

With that pronouncement crackling in his spine, Tony allowed Mrs. Ana to shepherd him inside the house.

January, 1903

Tony never showed up at the Parkers’ house to take Peter to the university library. Peter had even sat on the stoop for a while, watching, around eleven, until May discovered him and shooed him inside, out of the cold. “You plan to catch your death today?” She fussed.

“What if I was meant to meet him in Greenwich Village?” Peter asked May anxiously. If that were the case, it was impossible to make it there in time for the lecture.

May bit her lip. “Perhaps, motek .” She said, finally. “It would be more sensible for him than to ride such a distance and then back to Manhattan, with you. However, Mr. Stark seems the type to see to every little detail…”

Peter understood what she meant. Tony was a meticulous planner, despite acting insouciant, and he worried over others. It was unlikely that he wouldn’t send a carriage even if he didn’t come himself.

At 12:30, Peter was convinced that Tony had purposefully not come.

June, 1868

Ana sat in a wing-backed chair in their bedroom at the Toronto estate. She hated this style of chair; there were no such chairs— so pretentious and unyielding and overbearing— in her cottage home. Girdled in her own arms, she leaned uncomfortably on the armrest, watching Tony sleep in their bed, the “wing” of the chair hovering behind her. The nervous jerking of her ankle sent the foot of her one propped leg flopping in the air. She’d chewed her lip until a pinprick of tinny blood could be tasted.

Father whipped me .

Tony had whispered to them last night, almost as though he were not in control of the confession. Immediately it had hit Ana’s stomach like a draught of icy water. Something was unnatural, wrong, about it.

The entire household knew that Howard was severe with his son. It was no secret that the man was punitively minded and the young heir was often disciplined for some infraction or other. Ana disagreed with Howard’s harsh attitude and his method of correction. Yet, she knew she had no right to contest his authority as the boy’s father.

It had been the most difficult for Ana to bear when Tony was younger and still begged not to be punished as his father took him into his study. He was far more resigned to his lot now, not protesting, yet still resisting the hold on his arm.

Ana felt she had abandoned him when the study door closed. So, she would wait in airless suspension, hearing everything, until he slunk from the room, cowed and sullen and marred by teartracks. He always glared at her, embarrassed and desiring to be alone. But, even if he seemingly hated to see her there, she wanted him to know that he would not be forsaken, no matter what.

Often, if she were present for the transgression, she could convince Howard to let her, as his nurse or governess, handle Tony’s discipline. Then, she would take the boy to the nursery or outside and they would speak about expectations as the Stark family heir and what constituted appropriate behavior. Then, if Ana felt Tony needed help remembering the rule, they discussed a consequence that made sense to them both. It was usually something like thinking of three alternate responses to a rude reply he’d given; or, he would take an enforced respite from his tinkering if he’d neglected other duties.

However, if Tony struck the right nerve in Howard with his actions or words, his father couldn’t be dissuaded from taking his son to the study.

Yet this — Ana agonized as she waited for Tony to wake— this was different. Even when he was as young as six, Tony never sought comfort after punishment. He preferred to hide in the attic with his metal soldiers until he could reappear and pretend nothing had happened. This was the first time he came to them; and, Ana nearly cried to think he’d lain on the floor, not daring to approach them when he was so hurt and frightened.

Jarvis was disturbed as well. He had met her gaze in the dark. They hadn’t spoken, too worried that they’d wake the little mister. As soon as the morning light was strong enough, Jarvis opened the curtains and Ana lifted the fabric of Tony’s night shirt, revealing his back.

She forced her eyes closed and felt her husband cover the boy again in warm blankets. The child shuddered but slept on, whining once. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Jarvis sitting next to her, his hand on Tony’s shoulder, as if anchoring the child in sleep. She had no breath; all she could do to communicate her intense, unspeakable feelings, was frantically shake her head, look away, look back at her husband, shaking her chin as though she were an earthquake in human form. Jarvis answered lowly, “I know.”

They moved to the other side of the room, behind a dressing screen to discuss their course.

“Has he ever done this to the child before?” Ana whispered through trembling jaws to her husband. She felt fierce, her fighter’s instinct and maternal instinct roiling together as one tremendous and dark storm in her gut.

Jarvis breathed through his nose. “No.”

“Edwin,” Ana said. “I know the child has been punished beyond what I considered age appropriate before, but,” — she hissed— “this is...”

“I will speak to Mr. Stark.” Jarvis said firmly.

“This is not discipline.” She couldn’t stop. Her spirit was riled and charging against its restraints. “I don’t care what the boy said or did to anger him. It’s wrong!”

Jarvis nodded and brushed a thumb against her eyes, drying tears. Though he was not so verbal with his outrage, she saw him quiver. “If you can trust me to address it with Mr. Stark, I would ask you to keep Tony comforted in the meanwhile.”

Ana chewed her bottom lip. She said, “First, could you retrieve a bottle of salve and some breakfast? I don’t wish any of the staff to find him here. No need to inflame Mrs. Stark as well. You’ll never be heard then.”

Jarvis dressed and did as she asked. He passed a hand over Tony’s hair, hardly touching him, then left for Howard’s office. Ana sat in the wingback chair and kept a vigil. Soon it would be seven o’clock, when the little mister always waked. She would tend to him then, to the prickly hot belt-lashes down his lower back and thighs, tend to the blue bruises of a hand that was clamped on the back of his neck, undoubtedly holding him down, and she would feed him the breakfast waiting on the tray. But, how she could tend to his heart, she did not know. She only could try.

January, 1903

Peter opened the door to Mr. Hogan—Happy— standing on their stoop. His expression was stoic as ever, but Peter noticed a wrinkle under each eye that made him appear even more haggard. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hogan! Did I misunderstand Mr. Stark’s intentions about our outing? Am I still to go meet him?” He asked, all in one breath.

“Peter, bambino , don’t make the man stand in the doorway,” May said from the hallway. She appeared and spoke to Happy. “Come in, sir!”

Happy reluctantly entered, removing his snow-dusted hat. “Pardon the intrusion.” He said to May. Then, he turned his attention to Peter. “Mr. Stark sent me to deliver this message.” Then he added to himself grumpily, “instead of a messenger ” before speaking up again. “He regrettably was unable to meet you today. Nor did he present his lecture at the university, due to unfortunate circumstances.”

Peter’s heart bucked. “Is he okay?”

Mr. Hogan appeared annoyed. Perhaps he felt that it wasn’t Peter’s place to ask about the household’s affairs. Still, he answered. “Mr. Stark is well, but he will be staying in Long Island for an indeterminate time.” With this, his voice seemed to strain.

Anxious curiosity bubbled in Peter. He didn’t want to irritate Happy further, but many awful possibilities were percolating in his imagination. May must have guessed at her nephew’s distress. She pressed Happy in a courteous tone: “I don’t mean to pry, but, could we ask what’s caused Mr. Stark to stay away from his home?”

Happy melted a little. Peter noted the changed expression whenever Happy glanced at his aunt. “I believe Mrs. Stark means to speak with you herself, but,” he said, “Mr. Jarvis has fallen quite ill.”

May covered her collarbone with a hand. Peter felt his brow contract. “ O porvero! ” May whispered. “That dear man...”

“Is there anything I can do?” Peter asked with eager, innocent eyes.

Happy regarded him more compassionately this time. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Will Mr. Jarvis get better?”

The stiffness returned to Happy’s voice. “I don’t believe it’s my place to say more than I was instructed.” He glanced at May, looking for support, and back to Peter.

“Why is Mr. Stark going to Long Island if Mr. Jarvis is sick?” Peter asked, not relenting. May placed a hand on his shoulder; he read her expression and quieted.

Happy drew a breath that seemed to indicate this was the last he would say on the subject. “Mr. Stark is taking Mr. Jarvis home.”

September, 1868

Tony snapped another of his pencils in half. The sound was sorrowful, wasteful, and Ana was beginning to lose her patience. All he’d done the past hour was sulk at the writing desk. Now he drew pencils one by one from the box, and snapped them until the pieces were so small his fingers couldn’t apply enough pressure to a single break point.

When the first one cracked, Ana was so unsettled by the act, she didn’t address it at all. The boy just sat at the desk, staring at the splintered halves in his hands. His mood had turned volatile ever since they had returned to New York. When the next pencil broke, she remarked lowly, “I daresay you have plenty of work on that desk to occupy you without seeking other entertainments, Little Mister.”

Tony’s eyes turned to her. Keeping that languid gaze locked with hers, he split the pencil again. Ana bristled.

After Jarvis had spoken to Howard about the cruel treatment of his son, there had been no other such incidents; Jarvis and Ana had kept close watch. She didn’t know what her husband had said to Howard, but she was often impressed by his skill in telling superiors what they did not wish to hear in a manner that they accepted nonetheless. (This was not her gift.) Plus, Howard truly respected Jarvis because of his diligence and effective service. He was more a confidant and steward of the household than a butler.

Nevertheless, even without further evidence of abuse, there had been many nights when Ana lie sleepless, painstakingly listening for sounds of violence. “Edwin,” she would whisper.

“I’m awake, if you’re inquiring.” He answered. He turned toward her and caressed her cheek.

“He would come here if he needed me, right?” She gasped. “He’s not somewhere… alone…”

Mercifully, her husband understood. “I will go check on him, if you wish, beloved.”

She frowned. “No, I will go and return directly.” Then she slipped from bed, dressed in her robe and slippers, and took a candle into the foreboding hallway of the mansion. Tony would always be in his bed, asleep— or, disassembling some contraption in an insomniac burst of passion, but otherwise unburdened, unharmed.

“Those are your supplies for completing your work.” Ana reprimanded as reservedly as she could. “If you break them into such difficult sizes, you will still need to use them to write.”

Tony rolled his eyes. He hunched over and tossed the pieces onto the desk. “Not as though I can’t buy more.”

“You will use them, as I’ve said.” She reiterated firmly. “Only when they’re gone, will I order more.” To this, he huffed loudly. “What’s bothering you, Little Mister—?“

“Do not call me that!” Tony snapped. After a few harsh breaths, he jumped from his seat and paced the room.

Ana regarded him with surprise before folding her arms. She leaned back and gave him her attention. However her expression made it clear that his behavior was not well-received.

“That’s not a proper way for you to address me.” He continued, his face a shade more pained than angry. His volume steadily increased with each word. “And I’m not a child in need of a nurse.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Not about being a child; I believe that you’ll discover that eleven years is not sufficient experience to be considered an adult— as you’ve proven just now.” She gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her breathing calm. Regret was already forming in her; her last statement had only further provoked him. He stood coiled like a viper. “But I don’t address you properly. Now, tell me, is something bothering you, Mister Anthony?”

The sound of his given name flicked him like a whip. This was how Maria addressed him with disapproval. Not Ana. Never Ana, who spent her time with him, who built with him, who held him. He lurched away from her.

“You don’t do anything properly! You wear sports pants out in the field where all can see you, you box, you build things and get dirty, you don’t teach proper lessons—“ Here he sobbed tearlessly. “With lots of memorization and drills.”

“Boring for the both of us…”

“You’re not preparing me for when I go away to the academy!”

Ana listened to his breath hitch. She wanted to reach out for him, but refrained. He was too skittish and upset; it would be like removing an iron pot from the fire, holding its handle, unprotected. “I take it Madam has discussed your educational career with you recently?”

He turned his glare to the wall when he saw her empathetic eyes.

“Well, Mister Anthony, I think that once you see all that there is beyond the walls of Stark Mansion, you will feel quite freer and happier at the academy.”

For several moments he stared at her, aghast, perhaps betrayed. He ground his jaw and flared his nostrils. She noticed his fists clench, a habit he’d picked up recently, but she decided not to acknowledge it.

Breaking the silence, she instructed: “If you’re finished with our conversation, I would have you complete your calculations, Mr. Anthony.”

Tony stalked to the desk and she retreated to the window. The air was thick, reverberating their stress. Ana unlatched the window frame and pushed it open. No relief poured in, however— only a sickly warm breeze entered as she rubbed her temples.

What mercy is out there? She wondered. That can restore this household?

June, 1868

After discovering Tony‘s injuries, after Jarvis had spoken to Howard, Ana had kept Tony out of the house all day, swimming in the cool pond away from the grounds. She promised no one would bother them, (no one would see him.) The water soothed Tony and he only climbed out when Ana instructed, to avoid sunburn.

That night, when Tony was secured in his own room, Jarvis met Ana there and revealed more information on the events leading up to Howard punishing Tony the way he had. To no surprise, Howard was drunk. Ana shook in her rage.

“There’s more,” Jarvis said. “Sir suspects his business partner, Mr. Vanko, of trying to usurp Stark Industries. That’s why Mr. Stane and Mr. Richards were here. We will return to New York straightaway, within the week.”

Ana had frozen for a heartbeat. She wondered if Tony knew they were leaving Canada so abruptly. Losing his friend had been an inevitability looming in his mind for a while. This would be difficult.

She recovered, then bit out: “What has that to do with the little mister?”

Jarvis explained that Howard’s temper was looking for a release anyway. “Then, it seems that Madam mentioned the young sir arriving to the mansion in an embarrassing state—“

“He was playing!” Ana nearly shouted. “He was playing with the very first friend I’ve known him to have!”

“Another factor in this, I’m afraid...” Jarvis’s tone dipped ever so slightly into heartbreak. “Is Master Potts himself. After dinner, Mr. Stane inquired after the young sir and was regaled with tales of their play. It struck his father wrong in some way. He mocked the boy in front of the young sir and it escalated from there.”

Ana thought she understood and didn’t ask for more.

No, there had not been another incident in the following months; instead, Tony and Howard began to bait each other. Tony was rightfully hurt and furious; he looked at his father now not as an impassable structure he must climb but as an obstruction he must demolish. Howard, still irascible over the threat of his power in Stark Industries, compensated by enforcing stricter control over his son.

The tension in the house spared no one, not even the lowest ranking servant was unaffected.

Tony’s hostility toward his father manifested as challenges to his authority over the slightest rule. Once Howard began to roar, Tony would rise to meet him. Jarvis bore the brunt of the backlash, being present during the times father and son were together.

Jarvis had taken the role of removing Tony from the room when Howard began to ramp up. He told Ana, “The young sir incites his father and refuses mediations from his mother or myself. And Sir becomes increasingly difficult to divert.”

Ana told him that she’d noticed Tony brooding more often and the child had taken to biting himself. When Jarvis inquired, Ana explained: “He sits curled up with his hands or arms tightly hidden against his mouth. When I am able to coax him to unfurl himself, he has mean little bite marks in the skin of his arm or fingers.”

“He needs an outlet,” Jarvis had responded after a pause. “What would you think about increasing his time for sports?”

Ana sighed. She was watching all of Tony’s growth and progress stagnate. Worse— she saw the brilliant, sensitive, and confident boy she loved drying up, deoxygenated, turned to ash. “If I can build his interest in it. He’s become so dispossessed.”

September, 1868

Tony toppled the writing desk and all its contents exploded across the floor. The clamor was like that of a cannon. Ana confronted him in shock, then anger began to leak into her face. He dared her with his gaze to act, jaw quivering violently. When a maid entered the room, drawn by the racket, Ana snapped: “Leave— now!”

Tony didn’t react to the fleeing maid. He twitched with exhilaration and— curiosity. He seemed to both confront and guard against her. This, she realized was a challenge directed only at her.

No longer mastering her indignation, Ana hissed. “What has gotten into you?” The words were quiet but forceful.

Satisfaction replaced curiosity and Ana drew an enormous breath. This was some kind of test— but what he meant to accomplish she could not comprehend. She felt tears press under her eyes but stifled them with righteous rage. Squaring her feet, she raised her eyebrows, prompting an answer.

“You,” Tony sputtered, “you preach at me about expectations”— he gulped— “that I must abide— yet— yet you— openly defy any sense of decorum!”

Ana patiently interrupted. “I am not shouting at you, Mister Anthony, so do not raise your voice at me—“

“Stop calling me that!” Tony screamed.

“What should I call you, Tony?” She asked with genuine respect, although irritated, and her quietness crushed him.

“You have no right.” He was unraveling; Ana watched closely but did not approach. She wondered if his experiment was failing. “You do whatever you wish yet I must perform every way everyone expects me to even when they aren’t around—! Why?”

“Little one,” Ana said in a sigh.

“Do not talk to me that way!” He kicked up the papers where he was calculating the ratio on Ana’s scaled drawing of the Triumphal Arch of Vac. Rearing back, he clenched his fists again. “Why, I asked! Why?”

Then a cough guttered through him; he choked. “Because you don’t matter.” He paused when she flinched. “You’re just the immigrant wife of our butler and it doesn’t matter what you do.”

“Very well,” she replied. Warring to keep the song of weeping from her voice, she said: “Very well if that’s what you believe. Nevertheless, you are my pupil for now and I’d have you right that desk and finish your calculations, as you were told.”

Seizing this moment, Tony flung out the phrase he’d been preparing. “You cannot order me around and you are not big enough to make me.”

Ana saw the apprehensive curiosity flash through him again and her chest loosened. Here was the boundary challenged at last! This was the hypothesis tested by this experiment.

“Oh, hell!” She exclaimed and Tony stumbled back, eyes agog. This silly fool, she thought. All that trouble... She massaged her closed eyelids, exasperated. “Is that what this is about?”

“You cursed!” He muttered stupidly.

“Yes,” she piped and dropped her hand, “I did. Come here.”

Tony stood immobile, his arms crooked like a frightened pup. He collapsed into his shoulders and nearly took a step back. Ana hated to see him in such a submissive and mistrustful stance. Still, she did not soften her voice. Not yet.

“Come here, now.” This she spoke with widened eyes, demanding to be taken seriously.

Blinking, grimacing, he moved forward until he stood before her. He glowered at the floor in a marriage of resignation and defiance. His fists clenched and unclenched. Fear, shame— both rattled in his chest.

“Look at me, please,” she said. “I would want you to have the respect for us both to look me in the eye.” Haltingly, he shifted his glare upwards. Red rims betrayed the threatening emotion in him. She saw hopelessness and it constricted her heart. She took his hands, ignoring how he jolted.

“Look at me.” She repeated, for his face had dropped again when she touched him. When he complied, she asked: “What is my job, Little Mister?”

Tony’s lips parted in a silent cry. He swallowed weakly… Shook his head.

“What is my job?” She pulled gently at his hands. “Do you remember what I said?”

He nodded and the lenses of tears broke; they ran down his face. His face didn’t lift the last time.

“Tell me, then.” Ana commanded. She tapped his chin then gently lifted it when he refused.

“T—to,”— his tortured sobs straggled the words. But, she waited, grasping his hands to hold his attention. She’d never seen him act out this way with her, so she was determined to see this through, despite his distress. “To lo—love m-me.” The effort weakened his control and he sobbed bitterly.

“Yes.” She licked her lips and let him cry a moment, not wishing to unduly overwhelm him. When his breathing no longer shuddered, she said, “Look at me, Tony. One last time. Look at me, now.”

He barely managed but tried to obey.

“I,” — she girded each word with passion and love— “will never strike you. Never!” She let a tremor pass through her and into his hands, still clasped between hers.

Tony bit his lip.

“I will do my job.” She choked on her own emotion now that her declaration had made its impression. “Do you hear me? No matter what anyone, including you,” — she stroked his hair— “might do.”

He hung by some unseeable thread, certainly, there was nothing left in him that could have kept him upright.

She gasped then muttered: “And for heaven’s sake, you little fool…” She drew him into her embrace, taking most of his weight against her. “There are better ways to determine the veracity of that statement!”

Tony covered his face with his hands, pressing into her. They sealed in his cries. Shushing softly, Ana rubbed his back. Tony’s knees sank every so often and, eventually, she led him to a bench nearby. They sat together side by side and she rocked him in her arms.

“I’ll do my job,” he whimpered. “I will!”

Though his mouth was covered and his voice unrecognizable, Ana discerned his statement. “I know.” She closed her eyes, sweeping them clean of dwindling tears. “My Little Mister...”

Time lost grip on them. Tony only looked up when the door’s latch clicked. To his horror, he saw Jarvis standing in the door. He must have been alerted by the frightened maid. After surveying the scene, he closed the door behind him. Then he saw how Tony cowered from him and he sat in a chair on the other side of the room to lessen his the intimidation of his presence.

The three of them took many tense minutes to settle. Then, Tony wordlessly stood and set the desk upright. He picked up the scattered papers and fractured pencils. Ana gestured for Jarvis, who nearly stood to assist him, to allow Tony to clean without comment.

Tony came and stood humbly before her when he was finished. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ana.” She reached out and touched his cheek.

“Don’t think about it anymore, dear.” She said and Tony’s jaw softened at the term of affection. He peeked at Jarvis to judge his reaction but only found a surprise that was somehow also pleased. She continued. “It’s done now, and I’ve already told you the consequence.”

“It’s awfully difficult to write with such short pencils,” Tony remarked with a twist of his lips.

“It’s too late to think about that, Little Mister. I’m sure you’ll remember in the future.”

Smirking, he said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“May I tell you something I’ve been thinking about?” Ana asked. Turning to Jarvis, she called: “Come join us, Edwin; this concerns you, too.”

Jarvis stood and took a seat by her on the bench, leaving a space for Tony to sit between them. Tony hesitated, but sat and willed his muscles to loosen, enveloped by the Jarvises’ calm presence.

“I debated telling you this, but,” she said with a chuckle, “I worry more that you won’t ever realize how much I truly love you if I don’t.”

Tony went rigid. The nondescript sound in his ears seemed to swell until he couldn’t hear. He fought his rushing blood back down. “What is it?”

Ana didn’t answer for a long moment. She spaced her breaths; Tony listened to them, nearly lulled to sleep. He always felt exhausted after an outburst.

Finally, she said, “I think my name should have been Hannah.” She grinned almost reproachfully at herself. “Do you know the story of Hannah? Who prayed for a child and when he was born, he lived away from her, at the temple?”

Tony didn’t know that story, but he felt his stomach burn at its implications.

Jarvis reached over Tony and laid his hand on Ana’s shoulder. Tony inhaled the sense of security created by Jarvis’s strong arm behind him. He caught himself just before leaning into the butler’s side.

“I’ve begun to think that I am like that woman. That the child Heaven gave me… lives just beyond my reach.” Ana bit her lip.

“I thought,” Tony murmured, “you didn’t want children.”

Ana laughed and Tony saw the glistening beneath her soil-like eyes. “Not until you.”

Tony didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t speak. Jarvis didn’t speak. Neither did Ana.

However, they drew closer together. Ana wrapped her arm around Tony’s back. Jarvis kept his hand on Ana’s shoulder. They both took one of Tony’s hands.

When he felt Jarvis hold his hand, Tony risked lying against the man’s side. He’d never been held by his father, never by any older man. He felt the barrellike form of Jarvis’s chest under his cheek. The sensation was similar to yet unique from the way Ana felt when she held him. Both embraces protected him, but each relieved a very different memory of rejection.

Jarvis felt the child against him and looked at his wife. She had just revealed to Tony that she thought of him as her son. She was not his mother, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t given each other by the right of bloodlines or the law. But they found each other; they belonged together, despite everything.

Now Tony had invited Jarvis into this familial pact they shared. Ana smiled and nodded to him like a cue. With his thumb, Jarvis brushed Tony’s hand, with its mauve tooth-prints. “We’re here, young sir.” He said.

[chibinekochan]

Cinderella on the Moon Mystic Messenger fairytale  part 15

cover art   part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6  part 7  part 8  part 9 

part 10  part 11   part 12  part 13    part 14

rating : teen

Genre: fairytale fluff , fantasy and drama

Synopsis : A version with the RFA as characters from a fairy tale world. She goes threw some hard times and adventures. She sets out for a adventure that turns into something she never Imaged Eventually she will fall in love with someone but will that love last ?

Cinderella headed to her room and waited their for Jumin and Jaehee to come to her. A half hour passed and then Cinderella saw Jumin coming he alone “Sadly Jaehee is really busy but to avoid drama could you get the items out here so I can at least see how they are ?” Jumin sounded slightly annoyed but it could not be helped. Jaehee was a really busy woman after all. “”Sure just wait a moment.” Cinderella was glad that Jumin rather waited outside. Cinderella went to her room and looked for the bag in her room she got it from under her bed. She quickly grabbed it and brought it out.

Jumin had not moved a inch. “Here it is” Cinderella held the bag up to Jumin. It was their that she noticed it was lighter then it should be. Cinderella looked at the bag. “That is strange I cold sworn it was heavier.” She said this more to herself then to Jumin. “Let me see.” Jumin took the bag and opened it. He saw the white cloth was still inside of it and he saw several items but the most important ones where missing. Jumin was sighing : “This is bad.”

“So it not just was my imagination.” Cinderella looked sad how could anyone stolen items from it it was not in the best hiding spot but she ever had locked her door. “Yeah someone clearly took the most suspicious items out. With these left in here that means....No that would mean that...” Jumin was lost in thoughts and his eyes became darker. Cinderella was scared at that sight. “What do you mean Sir ?” Cinderella stepped carefully a bit back from the Wizard. “Miss Cinderella did you take anything out of here ?” Jumin looked with a extremely stern expression to Cinderella. “No I would never dare to do such a think I swear I not took anything.” Cinderellas eyes where full of fear. She could only hope that the wizard would believe her.  “Yeah you seem like a honest girl plus if that would been the case you could had simply lied about the bag.” Jumin looked to the bag. “Cinderella  have you felt strange lately ?” It seemed this idea suddenly just struck Jumin out of no where.  “I was a bit tired lately but their was a lot to do and I had these strange dreams...” Cinderella not felt like it was any important till this point. Why did the Wizard ask this ? “Those dreams where their shadows hunting you ?” Jumins eyes widened and Cinderella started to fell really frighted. “Ye...yes how do you know ?” Cinderella felt it was really strange for the wizard to know this. “How long do you have those dreams ?” Jumin not answered her question instead it seemed like his fear only grew. “I am not sure but I think I had then ever since I am here.” Cinderella tried to remember when this started but when could not really recall it. “Where their ever hurting you ?” Jumin sounded confused over Cinderellas reply. “No I ever woke up before they came closer.” Cinderella felt also more and more confused. “Interesting good that you left this cloth on the items then.” Jumin looked at the pretty white cloth that was still loosely wrapped around the items.

Cinderella was asking herself what this cloth had to do with anything. Jumin referred to it as useless before after all. Cinderella looked at Jumin in confusion. “You should keep this bag with you from now on. You should not hand it to anyone.” Jumin packed everything nicely back in the bag and handed it over to Cinderella. “Is this really save and what should I tell the price when he asks me for the items ?” Cinderella took the bag back but she really not had a good feeling about this. “You can give the items to him just keep that cloth." Jumin not sounded like that was a issue at all. “So with not give it to anyone you meant other then the prince ?” It was really strange wording Cinderella thought.

“Yeah exactly. I am sorry that I not made this clear but if I´m right he wont ask you for this anyways.” Jumin was still thinking and Cinderella wished that someone would just tell her what was going on. “What do you mean ?” Cinderella was hoping for any kind of explanation. “You should not worry about it.” Jumin had no intention to explain anything. It really was frustrating. “You could at least tell me what these other items can be used for.” Cinderella was angry it was not really like her to be like that but she had to know. “Nothing on their own but with the some of the other indigence they could make a really dangerous curse.” Jumin not expected Cinderella to get angry but he could understand how frustrating this must be for her. “What a curse but who would do such a think and what kind of curse ?” Cinderella had heard of curses but this was the first time she ever was involved in something like this. “I wish I would know who it is even when I have a few suspects.” Jumin looked really dark again like he knew who it was but not wanted to admit it.

“ That curse could be a number of thinks but in worst case scenario it could kill a lot of people.” Jumin took a deep breath after saying this out loud. Cinderella felt a shiver down her spine. “What should we do now?” Cinderella barely could breath from that shook but she thought on all the people in the castle. “I will need time to figure out what they exactly have planned and there are a lot of people here tonight at the ball...” Jumin was deep in thought again. Cinderella knew she could not do much. “Should we cancel the ball ?” Cinderella thought this was the best idea. “No if we do that they will just choose some other method to get what they want. Its best if we let the ball run as its planed.” Jumin still thought but it made sense to Cinderella. “Should I go and find Jaehee then ?” Cinderella thought that she sure could help the Wizard somehow.

“No I will go and find her later. Are you attending the ball too ?” Jumin thought that Cinderella was in the right age to be invited to such a event. “No I was asked to work for the ball.” Cinderella found his question a bit strange after all she was a commoner not suited for a ball like this. “That seems quite sad but we maybe can take advantage of that tonight.” Jumin looked at Cinderella like he came up with a plan. “What do you mean ?” Cinderella was really confused but maybe she could keep an eye of everything from the sidelines. “Tonight is a masquerade that means you could mix yourself easily in with the other people.” It really sounded like a good idea to Jumin. Cinderella had huge doubts about the whole think. “But I can just keep on the side when I work nothing will change if I am one of the guests.” Cinderella had no idea what Jumin was even implying. “I need you to keep an eye on the prince that is only possible if you disguise yourself.” Jumin knew that what ever was going on the prince was at the very least involved in this. “I guess that makes sense but what about my work ?” Cinderella worried about that still too.

“Mr. Kim will take care of that he is very competent.” Jumin already thought his whole think threw. “Oh okay and what should I dress ?” Cinderella had only really simple dresses none of them where suited for a ball. Jumin looked a bit surprised. “I forgot but actual with a bit of magic that should be fixable.” Jumin had not thought about this small detail since he not cared about such thinks but he had to admit that Cinderellas dress was quite simple. “I also can´t dance...” Cinderella not really liked the sound of the word magic so she tried to get out of that by mentioning that. “Hm I see is their no one here that can teach you how to dance a few steps at least ?” Jumin thought that all young maidens should at least know a few steps. “Zen offered me to teach me but he is really busy.” Cinderella slightly blushed as she remembered that. “Zen ? A possible suitor hm ?” Jumin thought that he had heard that name somewhere but he had no clue where. “No nono we are just friends.” Cinderella denied it strongly but it almost felt like lying.

“I not meant to be noisy it is not really my business after all. Where can we find this Person ?” Jumin really not tired to embarrass Cinderella but now where it had happened he tried to forget it as quickly as possible. “I am not sure Jaehee told him their was something important maybe he is practicing with the orchestra again.” Their where plenty places where Zen could be. “ Its that noisy person from earlier am I right ?” Jumin had tried to forget that meeting but it had not worked.

“Yeah how do you know ?” Cinderella ha no idea why the wizard was so good at guessing. “Just call it a hunch. I think he is still playing with the others but they should be soon done.” Jumin had heard the schedule for everything from Jaehee so he had a good picture what was going on. “I am sure he will be still quite busy after that. “As far as I know everything is done by now but if not ill make sure that he will be free. Just wait for him in the garden behind the castle their should be plenty space. “Okay but din´t you said we should go to him ?” Cinderella was wondering over this change of plans. “Yes but as you saw he has something against me so I will have to send someone to him and after that I need to get ready myself. We meet back here just when the ball starts.” Jumin had no intention of dealing with Zen right now. Other thinks needed his attention right now. “okay then I will go.” Cinderella bowed to Jumin. “Yes I will see you later again be careful and not tell this to anyone.” Jumin said in a serious tone and Cinderella could add to that was nodding.

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Narratology Lecture Notes 3

Noteable Books

The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films (2011), Jack Zipes

From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairytales and their Tellers (1994), Marina Warner

Morphology of the Folktake, Vladimir Propp

“One of the best-kept secrets in the study of the cinema concerns the neglect of the influential role that the fairy-tale narrative has played in informing most of the films ever made” (Zipes, 2011)

What is a fairy-tale? “A wonder tale involving marvellous elements and occurrences, though not necessarily about fairies.” Encyclopedia Britannica

Fairytales do end “happily”

Justice is served, there is closure (such as the fate of the step-mother in Grimm’s Snow White, forced to dance to her death in red-hot iron slippers fresh from the fire)

Bluebeard (1697), Charles Perrault May have roots in real life story of a 15th century serial killer Bluebeard gives his new wife a key to a secret room that she must never enter, and inside the room are all his dead wives.

Medieval versions of Cinderella: her step-sisters slice off their toes to fit in the slipper - versions which the Grimm brothers based their story on. The Fairy Godmother was Perrault’s romanticised version. Cinderella is actually helped by birds who visit a tree she plants on her mother’s grave. The step-sisters are physically beautiful and inwardly ugly, and are punished for their deception and cruelty by having their eyes pecked out by pigeons (the natural world can only ever be appeased, not tamed). The glass slipper was originally made of squirrel fur.

The Little Engine That Could (1921), Lucy Sprague Mitchell Focuses on stories about the “here and now” because old fairytales had peculiar and disturbing images.

Dr. Gardner’s Fairy Tales for Today’s Children, 1974 Disturbing psychological messages removed - Cinderella decides the prince is out of her league, opens her own dress shop and marries a hardworking printer from the shop next door.

The earliest fairytales were shared amongst adults, contained serious meanings and ritualistic elements with clear polarity between good and evil. Draws lines between myth and religion. We can never be that heroic or that perfect in our actual life.

Fairytales rarely have names and instead use nicknames (Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella), implying that they could be us. They are about “everyman” and “everywoman”.

Angela Carter (1940-1992), feminist writer (dark fairytales: The Bloody Chambers (1979)) brought sex and death to fairytales.

Modern “subversions” often reject the “polarity” of the old-fashioned tale. (Charle’s Perrault’s 1967 version of the tale, Little Red Cap, was a clear warning to “stick to the path”: danger was “out there”, in the forest, a thing to be avoided.

Angela Carter suggests that danger is also “in here”, in us - our “inner hairiness”

Tales of Mother Goose (1697), Charles Perrault

Children’s and Household Tales (1812), The Brothers Grimm

Georges Méliès, the pioneer of the fairy tale film (and the man who accidentally invented stop motion animation when his camera jammed) with Cinderella (1899)

The trouble with live action fairytales are special effects.

Animation: the ideal medium for fairytales?

Disney has started doing live action as well as animation (the new Beauty and the Beast has CGI puppets)

Who is the audience aimed at?

Muppet fairytales

CGI is so good now that you can use elements of that in a live action and create a believable movie - NASA didn’t believe that the movie “Gravity” was actually CGI

“Metamorphosis defines the fairytale” Marina Warner, 1994

“Shapeshifting is one of fairytale’ dominant and characteristic wonders: hands are cut off, found and reattached, babies’ throats are slit, but they are later restored to life, a rusty lamp turns into an all-powerful talisman, a humble pestle and mortar becomes the winged vehicle of the fairy enchantress and the slattern in the filthy donkey skin turns into a golden-haired princess.”

Images eat each other in Fantasmagorie (1908)

The Fleischer Brothers, Snow White: A Cartoon Fairy Tale (1933)

“The moveable silhouette charmingly maintains the right balance between the product of art and life; we believe enough to be enthralled, and we do not believe it enough to get the goosebumps we get when experiencing the supernatural.” Rudolph Arnheim (film critic) describes the silhouette film as the ideal medium for the realisation of a fairy tale.

Lotte Reiniger, Cinderella (1922)

“The Three Brothers”, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, J. K. Rowling 3 minute animated shadow-play sequence created by Framestore, for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part One) Follows along the idea that silhouette is best for fairytale - the animation is precise and straight to the point with no focus on details. Assumed to be a brief history of the Peverell brothers, who each owned a Deathly Hallow (Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, Invisibility Cloak) that made up one Master of Death. J. K. Rowling loosely based this on Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Pardoner’s Tale”. Follows the idea of the “rule of threes”, and would probably be more of a fable than a fairytale. Has connotations to the “Three Billy Goats Gruff” which also features three goats trying to cross a river manned by a troll.

Has several interpretations and morals: taught to wizarding children to provide humility and morality, teaches that you “cannot cheat death” and you will eventually “part [with death] as equals”, suggests that extreme greed leads to an untimely death.

Les Contes de la Nuit (2011), Michel Ocelot - CGI silhouette animation (contemporary)

Disney was among the first (Zipes, 2011) “to realise how the fairy-tale genre might be enriched by film in unimaginable ways, and how film might be enriched by the fairy tale.”

Disney did “Bowdlerise” (so called for Thomas Bowdler who produced a ten volume set of the collected works of Shakespeare in 1818 which took out all the “offensive” content) the tales he told.

One hand, he was entitled to this - fairytales have always been subject to change depending on the audience they’re aimed at (Disney wanted as big of an audience as possible).

Other hand, the emphasis on romance - on dreams “magically” coming true - could stand in opposition to the true moral of the fairy tale: that rewards are earned by overcoming tests and challenges rather than simply “wishing” for things.

Epic Forumals in the Folktale (1908), Axel Olrik - identified so-called “Epic Laws” including:

The Laws of Threes - “three is the maximum number of men and objects that occur in a traditional narrative”

The Law of Repetition - actions in folk tales are typically repeated 3 times

Such as Grimm’s Snow White, the bodice laces, poisoned comb, poisoned apple

The Law of Contrast - other people should be antithetical to the hero; therefore if the hero is generous, other characters should be “stingy” to contradict him.

The Law of Twins - two people can appear together in the same role, and should be similar in nature

The Law of Patterning - situations and events are told and re-told in “as a similar a manner as possible”

Olrik also said that folktales are “single-stranded” have a “unity of plot”. There is a Concentration on a Leading Character. They don’t branch off into sub-plots.

“31 Functions” - Vladimir Propp analysed 100 Russian fairy tales and found striking similarities between them. He found they were all built on a pattern drawn from 31 functions (actions) occurring in a set order. In other words, only 31 things can happen in a fairytale.

Alfred Hitchcock 1939 “MacGuffin” described this as a plot device

Before Propp’s seminal work, fairy tales were categorised according to type (animal stories, fantastical stories, etc.) or “motif” (the appearance of a dragon). There were weaknesses: many tales belonged in more than one category, and the system did nothing to illuminate the underlying structure of the fairytale. Propp argued that fairytales had a “particular structure” and, although many details were variable, there were also set elements, or constants.

Any basic plot “will have static elements and variable elements. If we decide, for example, that the quest is a basic plot then we can say that a static example is that it will always involve a journey. A variable would be the destination.” Thomas, 2012

You can’t find 31 functions in 1 story

Propp’s “dramatis personae” (characters, like the archetypes)

Villain

Doner

Helper

Princess and the Father (single agent)

Dispatcher

Hero

False Hero

Villain appears twice usually - sneaks up, is sought out - Hans from frozen saves Ana from falling into the ocean, Ana then seeks him out for true love’s kiss

Doner is encountered accidentally and provides the hero with a magical object or gift (such as Rumplestiltskin)

Helper - such as the fairy godmother

An “initial situation” is followed by any of 31 functions, organised into 6 stages: Preparation (1-7), Complication (8-10), Transference or donation (11-15), Struggle (16-19), Return (20-22), Recognition (or difficult task) (23-31).

Deviations on Propp’s theory do occur. It aimed to catalogue oral fairytales of Russian origin, and he admits that it may not fit all fairytales.

Useful Vocabulary

Märchen - popular folktales, oral in origin (predate written records, many are hundreds, if not thousands, of years old) Kunstmärchen - literary (written) or artistic fairytales, mostly produced in the 19th century (such as The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen (1837) Morphology - the study of forms Dramatis Personae - Proppian version of the archetypes