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80s4life · 3 years ago

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Little Dove*

Word Count: 3,949

Status: Not Requested!

A/N: Had a thought lol

Fandom: Karate Kid 1985

Relationship: John Kreese x Student!Female Reader

Summary: You had stayed around throughout all of his bullshit. Throughout the beginning of a forever-long battle with Daniel LaRusso, throughout losing all of his Cobra Kais, going through crippling debt, and now, more than ever, as he tries to put himself together. You’ve been there, the whole time. So why is it, that when a random man from his past appears, all of his problems are fixed without a glance your way? What does this Terry Silver have that you don’t (besides endless money and a history)? It’s unfair. It’s selfish. It’s Kreese.

Taglist: @intersellars-the-alien-of-human @snapessecretdiary

Warnings: smut, teasing, jealousy, age-gap paring, language, Terry being an overprotective cockblock, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight dubcon, daddy/little girl kink, degrading kink

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist

{not my gif, credits belong to @atmostories}

I just love how innocent he looks here lol ^

Staring into the window of his office, you make no attempt in engaging in the conversation your peers were having, the people on the other side of the glass proving to be more interesting at the moment. Besides, it’s the same conversation over and over again, “Terry’s so great,” “The money,” “The brawn,” “The elegance,” you snort. All that Terry was anyway was trouble with enough money to pay off his stupidity.

The other man, however, was different. He did not become as fortunate as his younger companion. He went through many hardships that Terry would simply never understand. The proof: you. You had been there, through thick and thin. You can still remember the fights, injuries, and brokenness of a man like a slideshow constantly playing in your head, haunting your dreams. You should’ve left a long time ago, but you didn’t. There were points in your life that made you consider dropping him and everything he was in contact with at one point. But, yet again, you never did. All you did was forgive and forget, most of the time without apologies.

But no matter how much you’ve tried, there was always one outlier that couldn’t be erased.

Holding onto your brothers shoulder, you congratulate him on how well he’d done. He lost the tournament, but it was his heart that shined through it. Johnny was the one who handed LaRusso his trophy even as they were beating each other senseless moments ago. Pulling him in tightly, you whisper, “You did good, Blondie. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

He smiles broadly at this, returning the favor, “You didn’t do too bad yourself, Tiny. Hell, maybe next year, you’ll be the one to beat his ass for me... That, or you’ll be the same height as him,” he ruffles your hair.

“Shut up!” you swat his hands playfully, shouldering his side, then making your way over to the man of the hour. “Congratulations,” you outstretch your hand, “You were tough to beat! I’ll get ya one day though!” you point to him smiling as Johnny pulls you out of the arena with him.

“Thanks...Oh, and I’ll hold you to it!” he yells back, lifting his trophy high above his head. You leave with a sly smirk and playful roll of the eyes, not bad LaRusso.

Walking outside, you smile at Kreese nervously, knowing that he wasn’t going to take the loss lightly. Ignoring you completely, he snatches your brother from your grasp within moments, pinning him the the nearest car in the parking lot. With Johnny under the weight of Kreese, you try to yank him off, no longer in fear of your actions but what could happen if you don’t act fast. Shoving you out of the way with a hard jab of his elbow to your eye, Kreese goes back to harming your brother, switching positions as he goes to tighten his arm around Johnny’s neck.

Tommy, fearing for his life, stands still, on the verge of passing out. Dutch goes to help you up, pulling you away from Kreese’s proximity, but not for long. Full of anger and disappointment, you tear you body away from Dutch’s, giving him a stern look that he acknowledges and respects, stepping back. You run towards Kreese once more, putting more force into your pushes and shoves. He catches your eyes for a moment, anger glazing over his own as he gets a good look at the utter helplessness and determination within your own. He doesn’t loosen up though, tightening his hold even more so as if to test you.

Lunging once more, he blocks you from him and counters with a hard blow to your face. You fall again at Kreese’s feet, Johnny’s purpling face looking down at yours in fear and worry. As you go to make a final attempt, your prayers are answered, a man about your height grabbing Kreese’s fist in a vice grip. In a daze, Johnny is able to slip from his hold to the ground beneath him, falling into your outstretched arms as you lunge, again, to protect his head. Kreese, now turning his fury onto the short man, goes for a punch, missing and smashing the glass beside his target.

As the fight starts to get worse, Dutch gets a hold of Johnny, taking his weight off of yours and dragging him to safety. Jimmy and Bobby, going to help Dutch, leaves Tommy to help you up. Taking his hand gratefully, you are able to see Kreese’s demise clearly, a burning crimson decorating his now busted fists, no doubt shredded and in need of medical care. You turn back just in time for him to look your way, grief washing over your figure as you feel a sense of uncertainty.

The boys get into Johnny’s car quickly, pulling out of the car lot. Tommy, silently turning his calming body to yours, questions you with his eyes. Shaking your head lightly, you signal for him to go with them, your head hazy with the brute force of numerous blows previously clashing with your face. He nods knowingly, smiling weakly, as if questioning your motives or even why you were considering the choice you’d made up. Johnny looks back at you too, but is reassured as the short man, Mr. Miyagi, places a hand on your shoulder. As they peel out of the lot, you sigh and all the strength you’d conjured dropped instantly.

“You need checkup,” the older man states, looking you over.

“Yeah, but I need to take care of him first,” you point at the man.

“Ah. Good heart always forgives. You come by dojo sometime.”

“I’ll think about it,” you answer, kindly excusing yourself as LaRusso runs over to Miyagi, leaving just you and Kreese left in the parking lot.

Slowly, you pace yourself as to not speed too closely, too quickly to the man, walking lightly and quietly. Upon entering a close proximity, he looks up, neutral expression catching you off guard. Blinking once, he looks back down at his continuously bleeding hands, acknowledging your presence but not daring to step the line of communication. He never does.

“Do you...Do you n- ...?” you start, at a loss for words as you try to rephrase the question in a way to still make him feel superior without appearing weak to himself, “Do you want my help?”

He doesn’t say anything as an answer, just simply stares at the reddening hands.

So, following his chosen behavior, you adopt it and act the same. Slowly, you take off your fleece sweater, soft and warm to the touch, and move closer to Kreese. As you move into his personal space, you don’t dare look him in the eyes, and go to rip a piece of the sweater in half. Silently, you carefully take one of his hands in your own, them swallowing yours in turn. Wrapping the now torn cloth around his fists, you slightly tighten the material around the injury to prevent further bleeding, tying off the ends to keep the sweater where you want it. Turning to do the same for the other hand, Kreese never winces, or sucks in a breath, or even grunts in anguish.

As you finish your duty, you step back, parts of your hands and some of your pants now coated in differing amounts of blood from the constant dripping mess he’d left it in for a while. Taking in a deep breath, you look at him directly for the first time of the night, “Get in the car.”

That was the first of many nightmares that litter your mind. You grew into a tough, headstrong, and independent woman not only physically, but mentally as well. You were no longer the child looked down from the tip of Kreese’s nose, and despite your height not making much of a difference, you had filled into your body, soul, and mind. You were a woman nonetheless.

You were understood by Johnny, but to an extent. As you had continued to serve Kreese, it was only right that Johnny distanced himself from him, and with that, came you as well. You accepted this, and knew that you were not at war with him, settling for calls and texts when you missed him most. Johnny still allowed you the time to talk about your problems like you did in high school, and even let you rant about the newest situation with Kreese. Everyday, he worried for you, but he knew that this was what you wanted.

He knew you fell for him before you even had.

After that night, you went through phases with Kreese: sometimes he was happy and nice to you, other times was full of anger, arguments, and nonstop screaming at one another. You were like an old married couple without the ring, matrimony, and age. You didn’t pay any mind to it, the mixture of feelings for him stronger than the will to leave as you’d wanted to in your youth.

But overall was the feeling of betrayal, or at least a form of it. For 4 years, after the night of the failed tournament, you were with Kreese, and finally, when things started to clear themselves out, another problem arose. Although shit out of luck, Kreese was ready to give up the dojo, give it to the owner, and move on in hopes of wiping the slate clean. You were ready to forgive him. And then, Terry Silver, unable to let the past be the past, convinced Kreese to give it a second try.

Now as you sit in a circle with Dennis, Mike, and Snake on the mat of the dojo, doing some stretches before training starts, you couldn’t help but look at the men excluding you from something you had tried to keep alive as long as they had. Longer than Terry at least.

Snapping sounds through your frustrated haze, knocking you back into reality by Snake’s fingers. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you look at him, anger now turned towards him instead. “You keep drooling like that and we’ll all be slipping around and breaking shit. Then how would we be at the tournament?”

“Fuck you, Snake,” you get up, stomping to the office without another word. He just turns a mock-offended expression to the boys who give confused ones in return.

Storming into the small cubicle deemed an office, you turn to the men standing side-by-side. “Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart? The boys not playing fair?” Terry teases, trying to push your buttons.

Face now reddened with anger, you spit, “We don’t pay for you to sit around in your office and play with each other’s dicks. You can do that on your own time.”

“You don’t pay period as far as I’m concerned. And last time I checked, you weren’t of much use here anyways, Shortcake,” Terry rebuttals.

“And last time I checked, you're just here to tie your hair back, paint your nails, torture a kid half your age and an man even older than you.”

“Why you-!”

“Terry!” Kreese warns, a hand placed on his comrades’ chest, “It’s not worth your time, just go get the boys readied up for practice.”

“Sure...sure Johnny, I can do that,” he says eagerly, leaving the room with a side glance your way and elbow to the shoulder as he passes by.

Getting up from the back of the desk, Kreese loops around to close the office door, going back to where he was previously. “Wow, you really have that dog under wraps huh? Ready to bark when you say ‘bark’ or growl when you say ‘growl’?”

“Y/N, not now. You better cut this shit out now or I’ll kick you out,” he warns.

“Oh, so now your protecting him?! You’re going to sit here, right now, and threaten me for what? Because he served with you? Because you saved him?! What a load of shit!”

“Watch your mouth! You have no right to raise your voice to me! What I do with this dojo is none of your damn business, and will certainly never concern you. Ever.”

“Oh yeah! For sure! What did he even do, huh? What’s so great about him that is worth protecting his ass for when he’s never had to do anything in return?! I was there John! I was! I dealt with your shit for 4 years! Not 1! Not 2! Not even fucking 3!”

“I never told you to! No one was stopping you from walking out that damn door when everyone else had! I would’ve done perfectly fine without your ‘help’ when all it did was provide extra shit to take care of!”

“Really?! That’s what it was? Nothing? I dealt with your anger issues, your screaming! The god damn punches, kicks, spits, screams, hell anything you wanted to do in order to harm someone else to make you feel better! But that wasn’t me... No... Of course it wasn’t, right?”

“I’ve got no time for this. Stay in this fucking room and don’t move. You even dare come out into that dojo and you’re out. I have a winner to make and not some little girl to argue with.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, tears pooling at the bottom of your eyelids as the door hides you from view.

For hours, you sit in boredom, listening to the repetitive “hut” or “ah” as blow after blow is thrown into the dummies and punching bags. If only they could do that to me, take me out of my misery for fuck’s sake. But, despite the utter pissed state you were in, you did not move from the desk, even deciding to take a nap. It wasn’t until Dennis’ unusually loud laugh is echoed within the whole dojo do you finally wake back up. Looking through the blinds, you see the boys getting packed up. Doing the same, you walk out of the office just in time for Terry to leave with the boys a few moments later.

Speeding across the length of the mats, you take long strides in order to storm as fast as possible out of the cage that holds the biggest chains around your neck. Going for the door, you are unable to catch yourself as Kreese grabs your hand and flips you onto your back, splaying your body on the mats beneath you.

Groaning, you move to sit up, watching as he goes to lock the door to the dojo, throwing the keys somewhere and closing the blinds of the big glass panes adorning the front wall. Getting up, the harbored anger floods your being once more, “I’m done with your bullshit Kreese. Let me the fuck out so I can leave this place once and for all. You seem to be doing ‘perfectly fine’ with your boyfriend, so let me go!”

Without answering, he grabs you by the neck firmly, but not enough to choke you. The memories of Johnny instantly flood your mind, causing you to grab his hand just as tight, eyes peering straight into his. Noticing your change in demeanor, he loosens his hold a little and pushes your back up against the closest wall to your back. As your back collides with the wall, his lips clasp yours.

Whining in surprise, you go to pull back only for him to pull you closer by the neck. Realization dawns on you after a moment, and within seconds, your leaning into his touch absentmindedly. You only break apart once your lungs beg for more air. “There. Is that what you wanted?” he asks you, voice gravelly.

Ignoring his comment, you grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him into you once again, tongue battling his own. Your tongue dances around, observing every crevice and tasting every bit of his mouth, grazing his teeth, biting his lips, and even tangling it with his. Taking control back, he shoves your body back into the wall, separating your mouth from his, a trail of saliva the only thing connecting your bodies.

His hand, long forgotten and hanging loose on your neck, tightens the grip back up firmly once again and moves his other to pin your arms above your head. Now basking in dominance, he kisses you once more, pinning his knee between your legs in the most delicious way. Taking advantage of the placement, you attempt to grind your core against his thigh to relieve some tension.

“Ah. Ah. Ah,” he warns, pulling his knee away and moving to unbuckle his belt instead, “On your knees, Slut.”

Obeying instantly, you do as he says and place yourself on your knees. Finally undoing the tie of his gi, he pulls his pants, alongside his underwear, down just enough to let his dick spring free. Gulping in admiration, you take in the view of his girth and length, precum oozing at the tip.

“Looks like your happy to see me,” you joke, loosening your tension in your shoulders.

Stepping closer, Kreese edges closer to your mouth, and, taking the hint, you wrap one hand around the base of his shaft. Your other hand, deciding teasing is the best get-back, wraps itself closer to the tip, thumb grazing the slit. Earning a shudder of pleasure from the man, he goes to move in closer again. Pulling your head away, you squeeze the tip loosely, staring up at Kreese.

At your locked gaze, his cheeks burn bright pink, enabling you to give the man what he wants now that he’s at a loss for words and flustered for you. Taking him into your mouth little by little, you stop just before the barricade of choking. Eyes locked onto his, you place your hands on either side of his hips for support, then take him in as fully as physically possible. Instantly, you are met by struggling moans of relief.

Swirling your tongue around and lapping at his veiny member, he struggles to control himself, the undying need for more consuming him. Pulling away just enough to keep the tip in your mouth, you nod at him, giving him the okay to do as he pleases. That was all he needed to start going, pulling your mouth around his cock again, and tangling his hands in your hair for a better grip. Thrusting into your mouth now, you try your best to breathe as you feel him start twitching, knowing you will be fine in a few minutes.

The closer he gets to ecstasy, the louder he gets, hips thrusting in any possible direction as his pleasure threatens to bubble over. “Look at me,” he orders, looking you in the eyes. Slightly confused, you do as told, looking at him through your eyelashes as he continuously uses your mouth. “That’s it, Good Girl.”

Without warning, he unleashes his load into your mouth, the hot and sticky cum shooting to the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow. Licking up the remains, you make a show of swallowing the contents as well, getting back onto your feet with a help of his hand. Pulling your body into his, he kisses you deeply, tasting himself.

You whine as you are still left in uncomfortable need for him, having not gotten your share just yet, the feeling of being filled a painful reminder. “Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of you.” And that, he does, getting to work on untying your gi and throwing the long-sleeved shirt over you head. Doing the same to him, you match his enthusiasm, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Playing with your clothed breasts, Kreese slips a hand under your bra to pinch your nipples, twisting them between his middle and fore fingers. Moaning, you pull him into your chest nibbling his ear. Gliding his hands down your sides and to your waist, he slowly edges his fingers slightly underneath your pants, pushing them down with your panties. As he busies himself with your clothes, you move your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, breasts springing free and instantly hardening at the new temperature of the room.

Fingers, teasing your entrance, catches you off-guard, moaning again at the first shocks of pleasure. “Kreese,” you start breathlessly, “Enough is enough. Mgh... Stop teasing me,” you try to order, impatient and horny.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Lifting up one of your legs and wrapping it around his hipbone, he lines himself up with your entrance, entering slowly. Together, you sigh in ease simultaneously. Nodding once, you lean your forehead underneath his chin, starting to thrust slowly. Knowing this isn’t the pace he prefers, and body adjusting to his shape, you pull him in closer, whispering in his ear, “Faster, Daddy.”

Jolting at the name, he fastens the pace, grinding in rougher strokes, rubbing every part of you body in the best way possible. No one’s ever filled you the way he is now, and it leaves you stunned in a trance of utter euphoria. Tapping your other leg, you hop up to warp both legs around Kreese. At the new angle, he thrusts upwards, the overstimulation causing you to shake in a new sensation.

Squeezing his dick tightly, you try to hold your orgasm off for as long as possible, but the building want of release causes you to topple over the edge quickly, spilling all over the body still within your own. Without faltering, Kreese continues his assault on your body, causing you to scream out in the fury of pleasure being all too much for you. Shaking harder, you struggle to keep yourself around his body for long.

Seeing this, Kreese keeps himself sheathed in your cunt, laying you on your back against the mats of the flooring. Grabbing your legs, Kreese bends them until your thighs meet your chest. Then, thrusting at the same pace as before, Kreese is able to fuck you senseless without further issues. Moaning screams of ecstasy echo throughout the dojo, the combination of yourself and the slapping of skin being the only noises in the room.

As quickly as you’d built up the previous time, your orgasm and need of release forms again, your pussy throbbing in anticipation. “Kreese..” is all you manage, the older man quickly teetering towards the edge with you. Thrusting the hardest he had the whole night, he manages only a few more before you both come at the same time, screaming as you pull him down by the neck and into your chest, your name falling from his tongue in multiples.

Sucking in as much air as possible, Kreese and you stay in the same position panting before he unsheathes himself and collapses next to you. Catching your breath, you cuddle into his side in a naked heap of sweat and satisfaction. “Are you still jealous of Terry now?”

“It depends, am I still as useless as before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Kreese giggles, “but if you pull another crazy stunt like that, I will really have to give you a good beating. Huh, Babydoll?”

“I like the sound of that,” you say, going to straddle his hips as he lays on his back, “How about round two and I’ll consider not ripping his throat out?”

“Deal.”

#john kreese x reader #john kreese imagine #john kreese #martin kove #martin kove x reader #martin kove imagine #terry silver #tig #thomas ian griffith #mike barnes #sean kanan #kk3 #kk1 #kk #karate kid #karate kid imagine #karate kid 1 #karate kid 3

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afictionalwhore · 4 years ago

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Little Miss Perfect

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A/N: I have so many plans for this bad boy that’s been sitting in the back of my mind for a hot minute now after a conversation with @jadequeen88. Thank you bby for reading over this!

T/W: dubcon/noncon; religious references and religious guilt; cheating

4.5K words

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There wasn't much at all in your little town in the middle of Nowheresville: population just over 300. The nearest Walmart was at least a twenty minute drive over to the next town, but you had a Dollar General Market to do your weekly grocery shopping. There was a school that ran from pre-k all the way up to high school, where you graduated from with a senior class consisting of a grand total of sixteen. The Dairy Queen down the road from your high school did best in the region, thanks to bored, local high schoolers on Friday nights. Your town also boasted the birthplace of the state's governor years ago, but no one remembered him, having three other governors since his last term. Despite the dullness of everyday life, you were happy. You had grown up best friends and high school sweethearts with the most respected boy in town: Natsuo Todoroki.

Of course, your quaint little town also had a church, as any well-to-do Southern town would. The church was like any other Southern Baptist affair, pristine, white, and much too large for such a small town. A long hallway behind the sanctuary led to a few classrooms, a choir practice room, and a stairwell to the basement. In the basement were the kitchens, a few more classrooms, and a large empty room where church events were held that doubled as the town’s community center. This was where bingo nights for the elderly members of the community were held, and the occasional baby shower or wedding reception could be held there. Pastored by Enji Todoroki, or Brother Enji as the town lovingly referred to him, the church congregation contained essentially the entire population of your small town. Even the local alcoholic your town was very hush about would make his way to Christmas and Easter services.

Being Natsuo's sweetheart, volunteering at the church was naturally what kept your what would otherwise be boring life busy. There was always something to be done, be it a simple cleaning of the sanctuary or helping cook for the elderly's monthly bingo nights. Not only were you Natsuo's sweetheart, but you were the town's darling, working dutifully every Sunday by Natsuo's side with the church's children. You were a natural, studying early childhood education at a small, private Christian-based university just a few hours away where Natsuo had earned his pastoral ministries degree, aiming to take over the congregation when his father retired. The old ladies of the community constantly hounded you about when you and Natsuo would get married and give the church a baby to dote on.

"After I graduate," you would say with a smile, dusting your flour-covered hands off on the aging pink apron that had to be from the 1950s before setting a timer for the hawaiian roll sliders in the ancient oven in the church’s basement kitchen. “I want to work a little, give back to the community before becoming a full time mom.”

This was the only thing you dared fight Brother Enji on. Natsuo, two years your senior, had already been graduated for a year, and Enji had been adamant that you go ahead and marry after he had graduated, as eager as the old women that whispered to each other during bingo nights for you two to continue the Todoroki line.

But you would not falter, stating that while you had every intention to marry Natsuo and sign your life off as a Todoroki, the least Enji could allow you was your education. You had dreamed since childhood of teaching at the school where you and Natsuo attended elementary together. You loved children, giving your all to the church children you worked with multiple times a week, but you were not at all ready for your own. You were just barely twenty-one years old; Natsuo a young and hopeful twenty-three. The thought of having children now scared you and Natsuo both. It scared you more than saying “no” to Enji.

You may not have had the loftiest goals of your small graduating class, but you were sharp and knew that education was not something Enji would take lightly. Surely, Enji wanted an educated woman as his first, and perhaps only, daughter-in-law, seeing as Shouto was likely to move across the country for college and never come back, and Fuyumi had no intentions of marrying. Touya, Enji’s oldest son with piercings and tattoos as numerous as stars in the coal dusted skies and his hair dyed black to match, was another situation entirely.

Everyone, Touya Todoroki included, believed that he would have left by now. Touya had tried to leave, fleeing to a state university the moment he had graduated from your pitiful high school. Unsurprisingly to you and the rest of the congregation, Touya, with his undeclared major and runaway attitude, had been swept up in the party lifestyle of state school fraternities and quickly failed his way out of college. Brother Enji had been swift to bring him back home, ashamed and embarrassed at the congregation’s whisperings about what Touya had done to the Todoroki name. So here he was, Touya Todoroki, local rebel and stain on an otherwise perfect Christian family, begrudgingly coming to Easter service, listening to his father preach and watch his perfect brother, Natsuo, clean up the mess he had made of the family reputation.

You were there, naturally, front and center and practically glued to Natsuo’s side, in your pretty pink Easter dress. The pastel flowers decorating your dress seemed to float down the modestly lengthed skirt. Touya felt his blood boil, watching perfect little you with his perfect little brother listen intently to whatever biblical nonsense his father spouted off. He stretched, his suit feeling hot and tight, as though he were trying to discreetly scratch an awkward itch. You shifted in your seat, leaning slightly more into Natsuo, blissfully unaware of Touya’s hot gaze from the back row.

Touya knew the routine, after a brief sermon to the entire congregation, his father would send you and Natsuo off to take the children to children’s church and youth group. You and Natsuo rose from your seats in the pews after Enji's final blessing on the children, your pretty skirt twirling with you as you spun to face the children. Your smile was as bright as a porch light on a Southern summer night, and the children flocked to you like little moths. They clung to your skirt and pulled you towards the door while the older kids trailed behind with Natsuo. Natsuo stood straight, as though he were a shepherd and you were his most beloved lamb.

Touya made eye contact with his brother as you made your way down the aisle to the back of the sanctuary where he sat with Shoto. Natsuo looked at the older Todoroki with pure disgust and hatred, as though willing the gray ice of his eyes to freeze Touya to death on the spot. Touya broke the stare with his brother only to find that his bright aquamarine eyes met your own round ones just in front of him. Your brief surprise at his presence quickly melted into pity, a sad smile gracing your face, before you were swept out the door by the children.

The anger rose in Touya as you and Natsuo disappeared with the children out the back of the sanctuary. His blood boiled so hotly he felt he may burst into flames in the middle of Easter service. Before he could stop himself, Touya found himself rising from his seat. He needed a smoke, a drink, the floor to open up and swallow him down to hell like his father prayed it would. He just wanted out of the damned sanctuary. Shoto, who was feigning sleep beside Touya, cracked his eyes open to give Touya a quick glance, quirking an eyebrow in a silent question, “where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” Touya hissed. Touya knew Shoto could see straight through the outright lie, both of the youngest Todoroki's eyebrows now raised in further silent interrogation: "really?" Touya dipped his head below the back of the pew in front of them and mimed a cigarette. Shouto shrugged and closed his eyes again. Lucky for Touya, Shoto cared just as much about their father’s godly ramblings as Touya did, perhaps even less. Who would he snitch to that Touya had slipped out of Easter service for a smoke? If Shoto weren’t at least decently scared of their father, he may have even joined Touya.

Touya left the sanctuary and strolled down the hall towards the back entrance of the church, in no immediate rush to get back to his father’s sermon. He had almost made it to the back exit doors when he noticed a flash of pink fabric rustle down the stairwell to this left, accompanied by the graceful pitter-patter of your low heels against the hard stairs that led to the church basement.

Touya didn’t mean to follow you. He really did mean to go out for a smoke. But he couldn’t help but overhear what was unmistakably your sweet, soft voice comforting who Touya guessed was one of your and Natsuo’s youths, egging him forward to eavesdrop and hoping to catch something he could one day use against you.

You and the girl from youth, a high schooler Touya would have to guess, finally arrived at an abandoned classroom in the basement.

See. There's nothing to worry about,” Touya heard you say. “If you want, I can get rid of it for you. Just go back to Natsuo and the others before they get suspicious.”

“Thank you so so much,” the girl sniffled. "But what about you?"

“Easy,” you laughed. Touya could hear your perfect smile in the gentle laugh. “Just tell them I had to stop by the restroom if they ask about me.”

"I wish I were as perfect as you," the girl said. Touya thought he would vomit.

"Nobody's perfect," you laughed. Touya thought he'd get a headache with how hard he rolled his eyes. How much more cliche can you get?

The loud scraping of the chair against the tile floor signaling that you were leaving broke Touya from his thoughts. Lucky for him, the basement hallway was dark with plenty of shadows for him to jump into as the youth girl made her way back to the stairs to join the rest of the youth.

You had decided to stay behind for a few moments, examining something in your hands that the high schooler had given to you. When he was sure that the girl had gone back upstairs, Touya left his shadowy hiding place and slipped into the room, slamming the door behind him and clicking the lock.

You jumped up out of your seat at the sound of the door, turning quickly with a rustle of fabric and throwing your arms behind you to hide whatever it was that you were holding.

“Whatcha got there, doll?” He cocked his head to the side, as though his question were from an innocent puppy. The fire in his eyes and the smirking tugging at his face proved he was anything but.

“Oh! Nothing,” you stammered, stepping back into the table behind you as Touya stalked forward towards you.

“You sure about that?" he smirked.

It was as though the chairs parted themselves to make way for Touya.

"Drugs maybe? Ya know, if it’s weed you’re after, you can just come talk to me. I’ve got good connections still and can hook you up better than these high school wannabes. Maybe I could get ya something a little stronger even?”

You blushed at Touya’s insinuation. Your blush grew deeper, a perfect Georgia peach flush, when you realized the closeness between you two. It was the first time you got a good look at Touya. He was handsome, as all the Todoroki boys were, but there was a sharp edge to him. While Natsuo was handsome in the way that a freshly fallen snow is beautiful, Touya’s beauty resembled that of broken glass: dangerously sharp, potentially harmful, yet mesmerizingly beautiful.

"No, it's nothing like that," you said, lifting yourself up to sit on the table in a pitiful attempt to escape him. His fierce blue eyes staring you down made you uncomfortable at the least.

Touya didn't notice that he had reached you during his small speech until he was towering over your smaller frame, and you were scrambling to get away. You had to bend your neck back to look up at him. Touya felt a surge of power over you. This was the first time that Touya felt you were actually beneath him. Touya had gotten a taste of dominance over you, and it was something he wanted to savor and make last as long as he could.

Touya wasn’t obsessed with you in the sense that men like him typically obsess over pretty girls like you. Sure, Touya was a man with various unsatisfied needs, and he had thoughts of dreams of kissing you, of fucking you senseless. But his feelings for you went beyond just wanting to fuck you. Touya absolutely hated you and everything you represented. You were the exact opposite of him. You were actually wanted into the family by his father. You were loved by everyone you met. You were perfect, something that Touya could never begin to hope of being.

What Touya felt for you was something he’d never felt for anyone. Touya hated his family just as much if not more than they hated him. He hated your whole godforsaken town as much as they hated him. But you were different. The rage Touya felt towards you paled what he felt for his family or your hometown. He was used to being looked at like he was worthless, less than, a stain on the otherwise spotless community, and he was content with this. But you, with you perfect ways and perfect heart, never looked at him with that disgust, instead your eyes were filled with pity everytime they fell on him. Touya wanted you hurt just as much as he was hurting. He wanted to ruin you and your perfect world, and watch the pity in your eyes turn into a hate that rivaled his own.

Touya grabbed at your wrist behind you, causing what was in your hands to clatter onto the table and bounce on the floor below you. Keeping you firm in his grasp, Touya looked down to see a pregnancy test on the floor: positive.

“Is that yours?” Touya inquired, his mouth pulled into a sneer that caused your stomach to twist with disgust.

“No,” you flatly replied.

“Okay,” Touya mused, mocking. “So if it’s not yours, then it’s the girl that just left’s?”

“Why does it matter to you, Touya? Who are you to judge her?”

“I don’t care what the young slut does in her free time. Or should I say, who she does,” Touya laughed more at the discontentment in your face than at his crude joke. “But I know a lot of people who would care. Number one being my dad.”

“Don’t, Touya. Please don’t say anything.”

“Would you let that poor girl shoulder the blame herself?” Touya’s brilliant blue eyes were burning into yours, causing you to freeze like a deer in headlights. “Or would you help take up her cross? Isn’t that what a good little Christian girl is supposed to do? I guess you’re not really a good Christian girl though, what with all the lying and secrets. Does my brother even know about this?”

“No,” you dropped your head to break Touya’s stare. “Nobody but me and you know.”

“What are you going to do to keep it that way?”

“Touya, what do you want from me?” Your voice trembled at the thought of how Touya could wreck your reputation with just the slightest slip of his tongue. “There’s nothing I have that you could want.”

“You have so much I want and you don’t even fucking know it,” Touya growled.

A feeling of dread rooted in you at the drop of Touya’s voice. You looked back up at Touya with wide doe eyes, blushing under his intense blue gaze. As Touya gripped your smaller wrist in his large hands he realized the one thing he wanted to see in your eyes more than hate—fear. Touya could feel himself growing hard at your fearful expression.

Touya pushed you down onto the table so your legs dangled awkwardly off the edge and grabbed the fabric of your skirt and lifted up, exposing your white lace panties.

“What are you doing? Touya!” you exclaimed.

“Oh lace? What a sweet surprise; though I think black would suit you more,” Touya said, ignoring you.

“What’re you doing? Touya! Stop!”.

“You don’t want me saying anything do you? You said there’s nothing you had that I wanted. Well that’s a lie.” Touya smirked at you while pulling down your panties. “I want to wreck this sweet, perfect pussy. Now just stay still. You’ll feel so good.”

Touya hadn’t meant to take it this far. He had only meant to scare you a bit. But seeing your fearful eyes wet with tears threatening to spill over and ruin your perfect makeup was too much for him to continue holding back. He realized in that moment that his hate for you was just a sad attempt at burying the admiration he held for you at standing up to his father about marrying Natsuo so soon. He wanted to be the one to take you. You were going to be his, not Natsuo’s, but this would be the only chance he would get at having you. Touya wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity.

Touya’s long tongue flicked out against your newly exposed cunt, licking up and down from your tight hole to your sensitive clit, getting you sufficiently wet from your own growing and betraying arousal and his spit. The ball of his piercing rolled against your clit. You jumped with a small yelp and pushed your hips against him to get away, which he mistook as a sign of pleasure.

"Don't hold back, doll. I know you feel good." Touya said. You could feel his smile against your heated flesh.

You didn’t feel good, not at first. His tongue felt slimy and foreign. You weren’t used to being spread open, and your legs felt like they were going to cramp at the angle Touya had you pinned. You felt dirty, especially as you began to relax and enjoy the sensation of Touya’s tongue against you.

As the wet noises from Touya drinking in all you had to offer increased in volume, you found your hips bucking up not in an attempt to push him away but to draw him in more. Touya slipped a finger into you, and you gasped, having never been filled before. You felt like a harlot, but the pleasure Touya was giving you overtook the guilt.

“Touya, please,” you begged, praying for Touya to finish soon, that he would take your pleas as a begging for him to stop. You mostly prayed for forgiveness.

“You close, baby?” Touya asked. You nodded, despite having no idea what you were close to.

Touya inserted another finger, curling them against your wet, gummy walls as his mouth enclosed around your throbbing bud. The sound of your panting and the wet slopping noises coming from between your legs felt too loud. It was all you could hear along with the pounding of your heart.

You felt a twisting in your gut as Touya’s finger quickened their pace. It was like a knot forming deep within you that was threatening to break, stretched too taunt at your tensing muscles. Touya lavished you in sweet praises as he continued eating your dripping pussy, humming against your clit how good you taste.

That was all it took for the knot to break. Touya finally released his grip on your thighs to allow your legs to close tight around his head. Your inner muscles sporadically twitched around Touya’s fingers, attempting to milk him. Your vision grew hazy, and you couldn’t hear anything outside the distant voice of Touya egging you on as you rode out your very first orgasm on his face.

When you had finally come down from your high, you noticed Touya supporting your legs as they trembled around his head.

“Did you feel good?” Touya asked, sickening smirk still plastered on his face.

You only had the energy to nod.

“I guess you aren’t so perfect after all. I mean look at ya, doll, cumming all over your boyfriend’s brother’s face.” Touya chuckled as you turned away, face burning in shame.

How could you face Natsuo? As you turned away from Touya a poster of the Ten Commandments mocked you. You had no hope after breaking the seventh, “Thou shall not commit adultery”. You began to cry at the thought of betraying Natsuo. Even if it wasn’t originally by choice, you were still, in your mind, an adulteress. Never being one to keep your own secrets, you feared that you were also breaking the ninth commandment, “thou shall not bear false witness”, through lie by omission.

“So is she keeping it or what?” Touya’s unexpected question brought you out of your self loathing.

“What?” you replied, not understanding what Touya was referring to, brain still foggy from your first orgasm.

“That girl. She keeping the baby? Or is she ya know?” “I don’t know,” you slowly said.

“Would you keep it?” Touya pressed.

“Yes, of course,” you replied in your perfect godly manner, despite just having your boyfriend’s brother’s face buried in your cunt while Easter service continued in the sanctuary above.

“Even if it were mine?” Touya asked, taking you off guard.

“I don’t know what you—“

Before you had time to question him further, Touya had pressed the tip of his cock into you.

“No no. Touya please don’t. Please.” You cried, trying to piece together when he found the time to undo his pants.

You had already given away so much of your body away to Touya and felt yourself growing sick at the thought of Touya taking away what you and Natsuo fought to save for marriage.

“Now I know it’s big, much bigger than my fingers, but you’ll get used to it.” Touya grunted as he pushed himself to the hilt, hips flush against yours. You gasped at how full you felt, and your muscles squeezed around his cock at the larger intrusion, sending shivers down his spine.

“Hey, hey. Just relax,” Touya said. “Didn’t I just make you feel good?”

You cried, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, as Touya fucked into you, his thick cock hitting every nerve. You clutched at Touya’s arms, nails digging into his tattooed skin as you tried to find purchase. The stretch to accommodate Touya burned and the slap of his skin against yours stung. With each heavy thrust, the head of Touya’s cock knocked on your cervix, as though he were the beloved asking to cum in.

Eventually the pain subsided into pleasure and your sobs quieted into sniffles before turning into soft moans. Your tears had dried, leaving your makeup remarkably intact.

Touya pressed a hand against your mouth in an attempt to muffle the noises spilling out of you.

"I bet you thought your first time would be perfect, didn't you?" Touya punctuated the thought with a particularly hard thrust that had your body jerking like a ragdoll. “Bet you thought your first time would be with Natsuo. Slow, soft, perfect love making, right?” Another rough thrust that would have thrown you off the small table had it not been for Touya’s other hand holding a fast grip on your hips to keep you pinned

You answered with a sniffle and moan, and turned your head away from him to hide your tears.

“Well, princess, we don’t have the time for that shit,” Touya laughed, noticing the fat tears threatening to roll down your flushed cheeks and effectively ruin your makeup.

"I may not be perfect, doll, but I'm still pretty good, right?"

You turned your head back to Touya, blushing furiously at the hungry look in his turbulent eyes and hating yourself for how your body had reacted to his touch. The knot in your stomach was forming again, making you desperate for release. Touya laughed as you involuntarily pulsed around him, your body’s traitorous attempt at pulling him in deeper.

"Just hang on, doll. It'll be over soon." Touya leaned down to trail hungry kisses along your neck and jaw, nipping here and there at the modest amount of exposed flesh on the top half of your body.

You whimpered at how cool Touya’s wet kisses felt against your heated skin. With no real strength in your body, you weakly wrapped your arms around the back of Touya’s neck, desperate for something to hold on to as you and Touya quickly approached your ends.

As his thrusts lost their rhythm and became more desperate, Touya’s hand left your mouth to join its twin at your hips. Touya lifted your hips slightly, giving himself deeper access into you. The new angle had your head spinning and you cried as you felt the knot once again threatening to break.

“Just like that, doll,” Touya chanted as he rolled his hips into yours, pelvic bone hitting against your clit with each roll of his hips. Your warm, wet walls squeezing around him in waves like an earthquake had him toppling over the edge, spilling hot white into you, causing you, in turn, to follow him off that ledge.

Touya laid his heavy body over you, propping himself on his forearms so as not to crush you. You took a moment to regain your breath before reality came crashing down on you.

Touya assaulted you, and you enjoyed it. Touya took away your first time, and you let him. You didn’t fight him back hard enough. You didn’t want to fight him back. You fucked your boyfriend’s brother and loved it.

You started crying, kicking and beating at Touya to push him off of you.

“Get away from me!” you cried. You sat up painfully straight and clutched at the fabric of your dress at your chest.

Touya chuckled seeing you act like a feral kitten. He tucked himself back in and fixed his pants, acting like nothing had happened.

“You better hurry up before Natsuo asks where you were. You’re smart I’m sure you’ll come up with some lie, you perfect little sinner.” Touya winked and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head before exiting the room to join Shoto back in the sanctuary where their father was sure to be finishing up his sermon, leaving you to sit in confusion at what had just transpired between the two of you.

You wept.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#touya x reader #tw dubcon #tw noncon #implied natsuo x reader #mha touya

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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a good jedi {obi-wan x reader}

summary: obi-wan kenobi always knows what to say, and he's always right - most the time, it's pretty annoying, but when you need advice? you're in luck. (this is platonic obi-wan x padawan! reader btw! for @raeshin -- i hope you enjoy!)

warnings: it probably has language in it somewhere? at this point i don't even know when i do and don't swear.

enjoy!! if you'd like to read more about commissioning a fic, the faqs are here :)

- jazz xx

The Jedi Temple had been scary at first.

With it's high walls and long, tangled history, you felt the pressure of being a warrior weigh on your shoulders almost the minute you set foot in the grand corridors. You'd been just a kid at the time - wide eyed and filled with some kind of weird, naive hope - but in your few, short years in the galaxy, you had heard more than enough about the Jedi. Who they were, and what they stood for; the adventures they went on and the way they brought balance to the Galaxy. The connection you felt to them had never seemed to be anything more than a youthful obsession with a world you wanted to be a part of.

Then, not long after your sixth birthday, things began to make sense. A mysterious man in a cloak paid your home planet a visit -- for you. Your interest in the Jedi hadn't been coincidental. Not in the slightest. Your connection to the Force was almost overwhelming, and it was something that Obi-Wan Kenobi could sense the minute he met you for the first time. For a young kid who had been torn away from their family and had the trajectory of their life changed entirely, your upbeat approach to the change of circumstance was pleasantly...surprising. It was clear from the get-go that you had a thirst for adventure, and a strong sense to do the right thing. Two things that, arguably, would have made you the perfect Jedi.

Obi-Wan was a good example of one; he was calm under pressure, patient as a mentor and things were never boring. It didn't take long for him to become like an older brother to you, and for that, you were grateful. There were other Padawans who hadn't been as lucky -- their mentors were either obsessed with the rules, or they were more preoccupied by their outstanding missions and meetings with the Council. Obi-Wan had always made you his main priority, focusing on your training and making sure that you didn't make the same mistakes as him (but let's face it -- were there many?).

Perhaps, it was that idolisation that had lead you to become scared of opening up to him about your own fears. Of course, he would never judge you, but the irrational, anxiety-induced voice in your head didn't know any better. You were terrified of letting him down, and even more fearful that he might lose faith in you for having doubts. Doubts in yourself, doubts in the Jedi, doubts in everything they stood for. What kind of warrior questioned their dedication and the morals of the order to which they were seemingly destined to be a part of? A bad one - or so you told yourself.

It had been easy to push them down at first; to brush aside your worries and tell yourself you were being silly. But, what had started as a little voice in the back of your head soon became a loud, all-consuming bellow. It was hard to ignore, especially now that Obi-Wan had thrown around the idea of beginning practice for your trials. You were no longer a child anymore, but a young adult. It was time for you to start moving up in the world, and in the Jedi Order, and that would mean reaffirming your commitment to them. You'd near enough dedicated two decades of your life to the cause, but it was only now that the doubt was truly starting to plague you.

It was becoming harder to hide it from Obi-Wan. Not only was he extremely intuitive and pragmatic in himself, but the Force connection that your Jedi-mentor relationship had provided you with made it even harder to kick your emotions under the fridge like ice and pretend they weren't there. Even when you gave him your best fake smile and promised you were excited for what was to come, he saw right through it. Your thinly-veiled emotions were no match for a man who could read you like a book.

"We have to report the council." Obi-Wan said. He stepped aside, allowing you to exit the ship with him in tow. "It might be useful for you to deliver the mission report. Good practice for when you're out there on your own-"

"- master, we haven't even got a date for when I'll be doing the trials." You cut him off. The Temple wasn't too far of a walk, but it took you through the gardens. "I'd rather not get ahead of myself."

"It's always better to be a few steps ahead then a few steps behind." He shot back.

"Yeah, I suppose." You muttered. "I think I'm where I need to be right now. Not ahead, nor behind."

He thinned his eyes at you. "If you're sure."

"Very." You forced a smile. "Besides, I'm tired out. It's been a long few days."

"I find myself doubting the sincerity of your statement given that you threatened Anakin over a game of holochess just mere seconds ago-"

"- he was cheating!" You exclaimed. "But really, master, I am shattered. I'd be grateful if you'd let me retire for the night, unless you're really that desperate for my presence in front of the council."

"Very well." Obi-Wan nodded. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning for training?"

You stopped in your tracks, just in front of the corridor that lead to your chambers. Normally, you were pretty good at coming up with excuses - now, your ability had failed you entirely. It wasn't that you didn't want to wake up early and train, but rather that you were so caught up in your own concerns and doubts that it would affect your ability to fight at all. And, with all due respect to Obi-Wan, the last thing you needed was to be thrown half-way across the room at 5AM on a Saturday morning during combat training.

"I'm not sure," you nervously shuffled from one foot to another. "I might skip training tomorrow and focus on my readings."

Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest. "Something is going on with you."

"There isn't." You tried to sound confident in your words. "I'm just-"

"- tired?" He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been getting enough sleep lately?"

"Of course." You replied quickly- perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Hmm." Obi-Wan clearly wasn't taking your bullshit. "You know that you've been my Padawan for the better part of twenty years, don't you?"

"Right."

"I can tell when you're lying." He continued. "We'll finish it here tonight but I'm not done with this conversation."

"There's nothing to talk about." You coldly said. "Good night, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed, blue eyes flittering to the floor. "Good night."

True to your word, you slept through training the next day. You didn't even bother setting an alarm, instead choosing to snooze right through til late morning. It was a much-needed lie in -- between your missions, your late-night stressing sessions and constantly running away from the subject of your trials, you were shattered. The sleep had been good, but it didn't much when it was your soul that was tired.

You found yourself in the Temple gardens not long after you woke up. They were the most peaceful place in the entire building -- fields of fresh, green grass, and tangles of unkempt plants that stretched out as far as you could see. The late-morning sun was hanging high in the sky, casting a golden glow on your skin as you slowly wandered down the path. There were a few other people sat on the lawns, either meditating or reading a book. Instead of doing either, you simply meandered. It was hard to remember the last time you weren't doing something...Jedi-ish.

"That isn't reading."

You froze at the sound of your Master's voice -- he was sat on one of the benches, lunch laid out beside him. Knowing Obi-Wan, he'd probably risen at 4AM and done ten times as much in his waking hours than everyone else in the Temple had done in a week. He was always on the go, always dedicating himself to something. Sometimes, he took you along for the ride.

"I was taking a walk." You shot back.

"I can see that." Obi-Wan said. He tossed his sandwich into the bin and stood up, dusting off his trousers. "Let's walk and talk."

"Master, I'm going to be honest with you, I really wanted this time for myself." You explained. "And with all due respect, most of the Padawans out here are alone, and not with their masters-"

"- so you're too cool to be seen in public with me now?" He raised an eyebrow. "I can sense your anxiety and I think it would be good for us to get to the bottom of it."

You sighed to yourself -- the gig was up. But, to give credit where credit was due, you had been able to hide your woes from him for the better part of six months. You could feel your heart-rate picking up in your chest at the thought of coming clean. What if he was disappointed in you? Or worst, insulted that you were worrying about the Order he had sworn his life to?

Obi-Wan placed his hand on the small of your back, forcing you to start walking beside him, through the gardens and towards the temple. So much for a peaceful morning.

"Talk to me." He said. "What's troubling you?"

"I..." you let your eyes fall to the floor. "Look, if I tell you, can you promise me one thing?"

"Of course."

"That you won't be disappointed in me?"

"I could never be disappointed in you." Obi-Wan replied. "If you've made a mistake, it's fine. How else are we supposed to learn?"

"It's not so much a mistake, so much it is a feeling." You began. "I've dedicated most of my life to this Order, and the things it stands for, and by the looks of it, the rest of my life will be too. That was amazing when I was a kid, and not entirely capable of thinking for myself. Now I can, and I find myself full of...doubt."

"Right," He pondered on your words for a moment. "Doubt about what, exactly?"

"The Order." You replied. "There are so many rules to follow, and so many codes. It's been okay up until now but what if one day, I find myself wanting to make a decision that goes against it? Or making a choice that I think to be correct, but the Council see as wrong?"

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. He felt your words in his core -- he'd had his moments like that too. Many, many moments of doubt, sprinkled throughout the last three decades. But, just a few was plenty enough for him to remember - the hesitation, the worry, the endless thoughts of leaving and breaking free plaguing in his mind. There had been so much loss; so much grief and hurt that had pushed him to the edge. Qui-Gonn, Satine, members of the 501st who had fallen victim to the ongoing Clone Wars. There were days where he came closer and closer to his breaking point - in the same way there were days that it felt like it was inching further away. Like the day that the two of you went to Corellia, and he saw you hold your own in battle for the first time, or the day that he managed to get himself kidnapped, and you and Anakin came to rescue him and make a joke out of it. It was the days like that which he'd clung onto so tightly.

You never would have known, not from his outward appearance. From where you were standing, Obi-Wan Kenobi was calm and collected. He always stood his ground and did the right thing, and aside from a few grey hairs that had cropped up in his otherwise-strawberry-blonde hair, you never would have known the losses he had faced. The sacrifices he had made.

And it broke his heart that you feeling that same misgivings and apprehensions that he had.

"Master, you've been quiet for a really long time." You murmured. "Maybe I should just forget it, pretend I didn't say anything-"

"- Not every decision that I've made has been in line with what a good Jedi is." Obi-Wan cut you off. "But you don't need to worry, I can assure you of that much."

You peered up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You might not always be a good Jedi, but you'll always do the right thing." He explained.

"You think so?"

"I know so." He replied. "I see it in you. Whatever way you interpret the Jedi Code, you needn't worry, because you can't be a good Jedi until when, stripped back to the very core of your humanity, you're a good person. And you are, undoubtedly so."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"There are going to be times when you doubt everything you stand for, and everything you dedicate your life to." Obi-Wan continued. "And when I find myself doing that, I look at it from a different angle. The be-all-and-end-all of what we do is to help and protect others, whether that's under the guise of the Jedi, or as a civilian. That's what matters."

"That makes sense." You nodded. "Thank you for listening. I was worried you were going to be disappointed in me."

"I've been disappointed with the Jedi Order itself hundreds of more times than I've been disappointed with you." He said. "Your ability to question authority when necessary is going to get you far. It's better to be overly cautious than overly naive."

"Does that apply to your authority too?" You grinned.

"If need be - but I like to think I'm a pretty relaxed master." Obi-Wan replied. "I could be a lot harder on you. Especially on mornings when you lie to me and sleep in."

You groaned. "It won't happen again. I can assure you that your current methods of teaching are more than sufficient."

"Sufficient enough that you're ready for the trials?"

"Maybe." You cautiously said. "I suppose we could at least talk to the council about it."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan grinned. "Then you can finally get rid of me."

"I could never." You shot back.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagines

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ibijau · 3 years ago

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Futures Past pt16 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang learns more about his future self, and gets burdened with yet another annoying mission

Winter was never Nie Huaisang’s favourite season to begin with. It was cold, and wet, and grey, and generally unpleasant in every possible way. To make it worse, that year he wasn’t even allowed to head out of the Unclean Realm for a bit of bird watching, nor indeed to go alone in Qinghe to check the food, or just wander around and have fun. Nie Mingjue might not have been too upset about his brother failing his classes but he was still generally angry. He had apparently been worried sick about him disappearing, fearing the Wens had decided to take his brother from him, after having murdered his father.

After Nie Mingjue had confessed that fear to him one evening, Nie Huaisang stopped complaining against being grounded. Once, merely a year earlier, he would have called his brother paranoiac for jumping to that conclusion, and continued whining until he got his punishment lifted. Now though, with his older self’s promise of a war to come… It made him wish he could have found another way to rescue Xue Yang from his fate without worrying his brother. It also pushed him to make more of an effort to be a nice and obedient brother, though all that got him was Nie Mingjue thinking he’d gotten sick and asking the sect's doctor to check on him several times.

So Nie Huaisang was stuck in the Unclean Realm, bored beyond belief, constantly aching from all the training his monster of a brother forced him to do, wishing he could just go for a walk and do a bit of bird watching or find a nice landscape to paint. It was truly hell. Though at least, being constantly home gave him a chance to practice the guqin (he’d bought one of his own on the one and only outing to Qinghe he’d been allowed, after which Nie Mingjue complained at length about him spending too much money as always) and to keep a close eye on Xue Yang. That was nearly a full time job.

It was almost a relief when one night, his future self appeared in his room as he was preparing for bed. Unpleasant as their encounters tended to be, at least Nie Huaisang would know if his great plan had worked. So he sat cross-legged on his bed, and waited for the scolding that was sure to come.

“I should have come earlier,” his future self said with some annoyance, looking no angrier than he always did. “But my last visit drained me more than planned. When are you returning to the Cloud Recesses?”

“In a week,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, pointing at a pile of trinkets he’d just gotten around to unpacking from his previous stay. “Da-ge said to wait until after the new years celebration to start preparing, because I always bother the servants otherwise, and they’re busy enough already, and…”

“How is da-ge?” his future self interrupted. “Didn’t he hurt himself during a Night Hunt around this time?”

Nie Huaisang nodded. It had worried everyone when Nie Mingjue had returned from a Night Hunt with long gashes on his chest due to a particularly nasty fierce corpse, and they’d all made a big fuss of it. But in the end it hadn’t been anything threatening, and Nie Mingjue had healed quickly. In fact, he was currently absent on another Night Hunt, this time with Lan Xichen. That didn’t seem like a detail worth mentioning.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Nie Huaisang said, increasingly puzzled that his older self wasn’t scolding him yet. “It’s just, I’ve been wondering, you know and… well, is he alive now?”

His future self glared at him.

“What?”

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang clarified. “I’ve changed things, right? He’s got to be alive in the future now, right? You’re not on your own anymore, are you?”

His older self went still and stared at him with wide, shining eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. After a moment the older man regained control of himself and turned away, opening his fan with a sharp gesture.

“That’s not how it works,” he hissed. “I thought it would be, but… but it’s not. I cannot change what has happened for me. My da-ge is dead, and nothing can change what happened to him. It’s… I don’t care. I’ve made my peace with that. He wouldn’t like what I’ve become anyway, and I couldn’t bear to lose him again, not like that. But I need to know…”

He paused, and Nie Huaisang thought he heard a soft sob.

“I have to know there’s a place out there where da-ge is alive. Not just alive, but he’s safe, he’s happy. No matter the cost to others and to myself, as long as da-ge is well… that’s what matters to me.”

For all the dislike Nie Huaisang had accumulated toward his older self, his heart ached to know that the man would never even get a chance to see Nie Mingjue again. It made him want to take his older self to have a chat with their brother, to see Nie Mingjue smile at him. Maybe he’d be a little less of a prick like that.

But since his older self was a prick, and unlikely to accept such an offer, Nie Huaisang instead jumped off his bed and went to take his hand to comfort him.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “Thanks for… thanks for saving my da-ge. I’m so sorry for yours, it must be…”

His older self turned around, tearing his hand free with such rage that Nie Huaisang stumbled a few steps backwards.

“I won’t be pitied by anyone!” the man hissed. “I’m not sorry for myself, and I forbid you to pity me, you stupid little brat! If I’d been smarter at your age I wouldn’t have let him die, so how dare you pity me?”

Nie Huaisang lowered his head and hunched his shoulders. His older self should have been happy: any pity he’d felt vanished instantly.

“Now tell me what I came here for,” his older self ordered. “Is Xue Yang dead?”

“He is,” Nie Huaisang lied, and he found it easier than he’d have expected, now that he knew the truth couldn't be discovered.

A certain tension left his older self’s shoulders at that answer. In fact, he seemed relieved enough that it worried Nie Huaisang a little, and almost made him confess the truth. If Xue Yang was really fated to become such a horrible person…

But he wasn’t horrible. Not yet, anyway. No more than a lot of other people were.

Xue Yang was a brat, sure. And he struggled with a lot of common decency, doing things like stealing from other kids, or stashing food away, or trying to fight teachers that disciplined him. But in those few weeks, Xue Yang had also made a lot of progress already. He’d started understanding that nobody would let him starve, so he didn’t need to hide food that would rot somewhere, and should instead eat everything that was presented to him right away if he was hungry. He was also slowly learning to accept that, a lot of the time, if he needed something he could ask for it instead of stealing it from someone. He still had a problem with authority, and that might never change, but he sometimes seemed to understand that the teachers were not his enemies, that they only wanted to help him learn.

But the turning point had happened just three days earlier. Xue Yang, with great reluctance, had finally explained how he’d lost his finger. From the defensive manner he told that story to Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue, it was likely that those he��d shared it with before might have mocked him for being naive enough to think he'd ever have gotten the sweet he'd been pormised. But Nie Mingjue, instead, asked if he remembered any names or precise locations, if he could recall when it had all happened, any details at all that might help if they decided to confront Chang Ci’an for what he’d done. In the end, Xue Yang’s memory had been too fuzzy to think of building up a case, something for which Nie Mingjue had expressed great regret, before saying he'd still keep an eye open in case he might discover who was the man whom Chang Ci'an had insulted.

The expression on Xue Yang’s face was one that Nie Huaisang wouldn’t ever forget. He’d looked… young. Like he really was an ordinary ten years old kid, instead of the tough criminal he tried to be. Like he might cry, just because someone was showing just and deserved horror over what had been done to him.

There was no saying whether Xue Yang would turn out good or not, whether the efforts of Qinghe Nie would be enough to bring him onto a more righteous path than would have been his, but they were going to try.

“This is wonderful,” Nie Huaisang’s older self said, fanning himself a little too fast, as if unable to contain his excitement. “I’ve always hated that little creep, even before he started slaughtering entire sects. Now the world is safe from that at least, and that’s one worry less for da-ge. Now, on to your next mission…”

“Are you ever going to stop giving me orders?” Nie Huaisang complained. “Every time I do something you say, you tell me there’s more to do!”

“Welcome to adulthood. Now shut up.”

But I’m not an adult, Nie Huaisang thought. He was just going to turn sixteen, there was an entire four years before he’d be considered fully grown. Even Nie Mingjue, who always complained about him being an immature brat, never actually demanded from him the things he’d have expected from an adult. After all, Nie Mingjue knew too well what it was to be forced to leave one’s youth behind too early, and he’d said multiple times he didn’t want that for his brother.

Too bad Nie Huaisang couldn’t extend the same courtesy to himself.

“I’ve had to give a lot of thought to the problem that is Wei Wuxian,” his older self said, starting to pace the room. “I still haven’t come up with a satisfying answer. On the one hand, it was so convenient to all of us when he left the established path during the Sunshot Campaign and became a horrifying master of death. But I can’t decide if it’s worth all the trouble it created after the war, when his new skills were no longer required. And it’s not like I could ask you to simply kill him after he’s stopped being useful because…”

“I appreciate that, actually.”

“I can’t ask you to kill him because you’d never be able to,” his older self dryly finished, pausing his pacing just long enough for a glare before he resumed walking. “Wei Wuxian is only the most brilliant cultivator of our generation, skilled in every martial art, a genius who has invented talismans and tools beyond your imagination. He’s already so talented you could never harm him now. By the time the war ends, the only way he could die is through self-destruction, as we’ve all come to learn.”

That sounded scary and, quite frankly, Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure he wanted to get anywhere near such a person. Geniuses tended to be difficult to deal with. Like his own brother, who was always so intense about everything, and didn’t have any hobbies except cultivation and leading their sect. Or Lan Wangji who was very intense as well, and had even less conversation than Nie Mingjue. Or Lan Xichen who…

Well. Actually, Lan Xichen wasn’t so bad these days. In fact, Nie Huaisang missed their music lessons, and he missed chatting together immensely, because Lan Xichen was one of the most interesting people he knew, along with Su She. Nie Huaisang couldn't wait to see him again. But it had taken a while to get there, and before they’d found common ground, Lan Xichen too had been boring and difficult to get along with.

The problem with geniuses, Nie Huaisang figured, was that they didn’t know how to have fun.

“Here is what we are going to do,” his older self announced, stopping his pacing and closing his fan to point it at Nie Huaisang. “You are going to befriend Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, as you were always meant to do. But you must also get closer to Lan Wangi…”

“What? But he’s awful!”

“...and make sure he befriends Wei Wuxian as well. None of that pining for a lifetime nonsense! If they become close earlier and realise their love as youths, then Wei Wuxian will probably not go dark quite as easily as he’s done from where I stand. And Jin Guangshan will hesitate a little more to antagonise Wei Wuxian if he thinks Gusu Lan too has close ties to him. Yunmeng Jiang was easy to pick on, but Gusu Lan is of a different class. Its sect leader might have been spineless, but anybody would think twice before crossing Lan Wangji. I think that’s our best course of action.”

Even more than before, Nie Huaisang became convinced that this Wei Wuxian had to be the least fun person in the world. After all, if someone like Lan Wangji could fall in love with a person, then that person had to be absolutely awful and boring. Wei Wuxian was probably a stickler for rules too.

“Can’t I just help them without being their friend?” Nie Huaisang begged.

“Why wouldn’t you want to be Wei Wuxian’s friend?” his future self retorted, sounding puzzled by the request. “Whatever else he becomes later, I remember he was one of my favourite people when we studied together. I’ve always felt it was a shame he got kicked out so early. If he had stayed longer…”

The older man trailed off, his hand clenching on his fan, then promptly shook his head

“Nevermind,” he muttered. “Jiang Cheng was there the whole year, and that didn’t change anything to how shallow our friendship turned out to be. Just… just make sure to get them to like you, and help Wei Wuxian befriend Lan Wangji. But don’t get attached. No matter what promises you exchange with others, remember you don’t actually matter to anyone, so don’t let them matter to you either.”

“I won’t,” Nie Huaisang easily promised.

He didn’t think he was at any risk of ever liking someone who had Lan Wangji’s approval. And as for Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang had thought him to be a pretty interesting person when they’d met in Yunping City, but he was fairly sure the feeling was not mutual in the least.

“Excellent. I’ll cut this visit short then,” his older self announced. “Hopefully I will have recuperated enough for a brief visit in a month to hear about your progress. At worst, I’ll check on you for Qingming. Do not disappoint me.”

“I’ll try,” Nie Huaisang promised, but the older man had already disappeared.

It sounded like he had a very boring year ahead of himself.

And to make it worse, Su She was going to be so annoyed if he started hanging out with Lan Wangji.

#xisang #nie huaisang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #double time travel

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sunshinereversed · 4 years ago

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𝙙𝙮𝙡𝙖𝙣’𝙨 “𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡”: 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙨

I think it’s eerily prophetic how the song “Flowers on the Wall” (performed by the Statler Brothers) radiates so strongly with Dylan Klebold. The country tune has already been associated with Dylan because it appears in the background of the video where he and Nate are driving to school. But if you really listen to the lyrics and reflect on Dylan’s inner struggles, they coincide strangely well.

Let’s take the very first line of the song.

I keep hearin' you're concerned about my happiness.

The constant ‘Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so down lately’ from his parents, especially Sue, is reflected here. His mother sees that Dylan is ‘moody and irritable,’ often withdrawn, spending time hauled up in his room. She notices the tightness of his voice, which is unlike him, and she offers to make him French toast or an omelet. This must be about something small, she thinks. Yet his sullen demeanor stays as days turn to weeks, and she must ask again in vain, ‘Are you okay?’

But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess.

It doesn’t even cross Sue’s mind that her son may be unwell. She is simply asking out of concern for him looking unhappy, believing whatever it is will solve itself out. His mother wears her heart on her sleeve, and it pains her to see him so sad. But what can she do if he refuses to talk about it? All she can do is ask and wait for it to pass. He’s a good kid, after all. He’ll do the right thing because she’s worked hard to instill her morals into what he does.

If I were walkin' in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.

Dylan reassures her repeatedly. ‘I’m only tired. I have a lot of homework. Nothing’s wrong. No one gives me a tough time, I’m 6’4”.’ He wishes she would leave him alone. He thinks she wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t listen. He tells his parents not to worry. ‘You can trust me,’ he tells his mother one evening after the prom. Dylan goes out of his way to prove that he is the golden child. It works, and they worry none.

While you 'n' your friends are worried about me I'm havin' lots of fun.

Dylan’s social life serves as a mask for what is going on in his mind. He goes over to his friends’ houses, bowls on Friday nights, makes videos after school, plays catch with his dad, and even watches old movies with his mother. He has pictures of good times with friends. Outwardly, he is smiling; life is a dream. This makes his parents rethink their concerns. He’s a happy kid who does normal teenage things. What is there to worry about? He’s assuring those around him that he’s fine.

Now here comes the chorus, which is a bit tricky but makes sense when you consider these things:

Countin' flowers on the wall.

If anyone is familiar with the book The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, this might be a clue. Like the protagonist in the book, Dylan is trapped in his four-walled cell (his bedroom) which is where he does most of his thinking and spiraling downwards. This is where he writes in his journal and vents his frustrations. It’s a toxic environment for his brain. His room is where he cries himself to sleep; hugs his pillow in loneliness; gets drunk by himself. Most importantly, it’s where he blurs fantasy and reality. While not as plainly mad as the poor woman from Gilman’s novel, Dylan is mentally tortured by what he perceives to be ‘an unfair/miserable existence’ and being ‘stuck in humanity.’ He rejects both, and often retreats into his fantasy where he is with his love and away from the world. The ‘flowers on the wall’ symbolizes his own deception of life when he is alone, and might not only symbolize his bedroom, but also his brain.

That don't bother me at all.

Unlike the real world, Dylan very much prefers to live in the fictional one he’s conjured within his mind. It’s his safe place. Paradoxically, his mind is also where he tears himself down and others around him. It’s a poisonous escape. Yet he is already so far gone in that escape, he can’t see the damage he is doing to himself. And he continues to do so, unbothered, and unaware.

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.

‘Playing solitaire’ could be a metaphor symbolizing his isolation and loneliness, his solitude. Solitaire is a single-player game, and Dylan feels alienated most of the time, especially when he is sulking in his room. Thinking, always thinking. Sometimes, as the line implies, until dawn. He is a night owl who cannot sleep because his mind is constantly awake. Playing music, conversing in chats on the computer, formulating poems in his notebooks, doodling, or just thinking (negatively). He oversleeps often because he is up late doing these things. He is alone, in the middle of the night, consumed by his own sadness. Something is missing inside him, and that is why he plays with ‘a deck of fifty-one.’ He thinks a significant other is the thing that is missing, and if he finds her, he will finally be playing with fifty-two cards, figuratively.

Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo.

For Dylan, this is a dichotomy. An everlasting contrast. The balance between two things, lightness, and darkness, good and evil, etc. He’s doing grown-up things like holding a job, applying to colleges, driving a car, and as the lyrics say, smoking cigarettes. Marlboro, preferably. At the same time, Dylan is caught between acting his age and longing for simpler days. This is where ‘watching Captain Kangaroo’ comes in. It’s a kid’s show and is intended for such an audience. Dylan thinks back with nostalgia for his childhood, when life wasn’t full of disappointments, stress, high school bullies, responsibility. He hangs onto items that remind him of his youth: his stuffed koala, origami, classic movies, his trademark baseball cap, his love for fixing old cars with his dad. Dylan is stuck somewhere in the middle of the two, never truly satisfied with one over the other.

Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

Again, Dylan tells those around him that he is perfectly fine by engaging in normal teenage things. He hides how depressed he feels. Dylan becomes increasingly irritated the more people ask if he’s okay. The repetition of this line throughout the song is more like a cry for help than a reassurance.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.

This could symbolize several things, but what comes to my mind is Dylan’s prom night. The fact that he even goes to prom is a pleasant surprise to his parents, confirming that there’s nothing abnormal lurking on the horizon. His father helps him get dressed in his tuxedo, struggles to figure out how the bow tie works, and he pulls his newly washed hair back into a neat ponytail. His mother thinks he looks quite handsome, comparing him to a character in a movie they are both fond of. For a moment, he is just a normal high school kid going to a dance. Nothing out of the boring ordinary.

As long as I can dream it's hard to slow this swinger down.

For one night, at the prom, Dylan pretends this is his life. He is good at blocking out what he considers evil, and Dylan allows himself to enjoy the moment. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his pain. If he can retreat into the fantasy he’s created in his mind, he is capable of anything, good or bad. It’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s not there when he’s there. Nothing can stop him. He has two settings at this point, 0 and 100. An unhealthy dreamer can be deadly not only to others, but to the dreamer himself.

So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doin' fine.

As mentioned previously, Dylan flies under the radar to not be asked about his well-being. He holds out his arms to point to all these social activities he’s engaging in with his friends as if to say ‘Look what I’m doing. I’m fine. Do not worry.’ It’s a cruel deception, and he doesn’t even realize he is being deceived as much as those around him are. Dylan starts to believe what he’s telling others. He doesn’t think he is worth the worry.

You can always find me here; I'm havin' quite a time.

‘Here’ can mean one of several places: his bedroom, his mind, or perhaps his existence. Either way, ‘I’m having quite a time’ is a sarcastic remark. He’s drowning in his harmful thoughts, yet that’s where he feels the safest. It’s his protective shell that he puts up against the world. Dylan entertains the idea over and over in his mind that his love is waiting for him in another existence. No matter where he physically is, he’s ��always there’, lost in his thoughts.

The chorus repeats. Dylan outwardly seems okay. Left to his own devices, he is not.

It's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.

This is a goodbye. Even though it is a casual farewell, it has deeply painful undertones. He says he didn’t like life too much but hopes he will find peace in the next one. He offers a final goodbye to those he loved, family and friends. ‘It’s good to see you’ displays how detached he feels toward the end. These are no longer people he knows fondly; it was simply good to see them. The thoughts must end, and he must leave before they worsen. Like the lyrics suggest, he doesn’t want to stick around and knows he must go. A big part of his self-esteem had to do with his self-image. The line ‘I know I look a fright’ symbolizes how negatively he thought of his own appearance. Dylan couldn’t see his own attractiveness. He felt awkward due to his height, long facial features, shaggy hair, and the way he dressed.

Anyway, my eyes are not accustomed to this light.

This is the trademark dark sunglasses that Dylan wears almost everywhere. He hides behind them, shielding his tears from the world. The light comes from the sun, and he cannot withstand the same light that others can, a nod to him feeling isolated from humanity. Though he is called the ‘sunshine boy,’ his eyes are not meant for its light. So, he dawns the shades to (metaphorically) keep it out.

And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.

Unlike the sneakers worn by the jocks at his high school, Dylan sports black combat boots. They are unusual among the other students, but Dylan feels comfortable in them. Again, he separates himself from the rest of humanity. He is not meant for it. He knows he must go somewhere he feels free.

So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

By the end of the song, it becomes clear that Dylan now lives inside the world he’s created in his mind. It almost becomes odd for him not to retreat there at least once a day if not all the time. But like the final lyrics, he goes to stay there forever and never to return.

The final repetition of the chorus only emphasizes the truth. He was not ‘doing fine’, despite all the work of convincing others the opposite.

The last line loops again before the song ends. The upbeat and happy tune only makes the message more haunting.

Don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

And no one did.

#analysis #flowers on the wall #dylan klebold #american tragedy

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missramu · 4 years ago

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Johnny Joestar Headcanons

So, I was really bored and decided to write about my favorite Jojo, 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷𝓷𝔂! This is a mix of headcanons with some canon stuff.

So, here we go!

✰ Johnny was that typical doll-like perfect baby: curly blond hair, pale skin, pink cheeks, little freckles and big blue eyes that followed everything with curiosity. The clothes he used to wear also helped to mantain that look: in the Victorian era, babies from wealthy families used to wear dresses with plenty of ruffles, laces, ribbons, buttons and frills -no matter their sex- and bonnets. Nowadays he still has freckles; although not that many. They’re mostly on his cheeks and arms.

✰As we know, Johnny is the youngest of two brothers (being Nicholas 5 years older tan him). This, plus the fact that he also looked really fragile, made his mother really over-protective of him. This was usually seen as Johnny’s being Anne’s favorite, but she only wanted to protect his youngest son. The way his mom treated him made Johnny a shy, yet kind, child. That kindness made him adopt Danny, as well as taking care of Slow Dancer even if he knew that she was old and almost ruthless.

✰ His hair gets wavy in humid weather. When he was a child his hair was a curly mess after taking baths, but now it simply curls in soft waves, which he tries to straighten as much as possible.

✰He was born in Danville, Kentucky; so he has a heavy Southern accent. But since the Joestar family used to constantly travel to Britain -and actually lived there for some years-, Johnny added some British idioms to his vocabulary, thus resulting in a funny combo of British slang said in heavy Southern accent.

✰He grew up in a wealthy family -his father was tied to aristocracy, and also was a famous racer and breeder, having won the Triple Crown seven times and owning farms to breed racing horses-, so he’s a little bit of a spoiled brat sometimes. This status also made him picky over certain things, like food or baths.

✰Johnny was educated to be a “British gentleman” and, even if his own personality sometimes makes him fail at it, he still tries to behave as polite as possible. One habit that stayed with him was the one to note everything down, showing off his fine calligraphy and his accountant skills. The Joestar kid also knows Latin and Greek, as he was schooled. He even went to Oxford for a short period of time.

✰Johnny has never been fond of dark colours; he has always preferred to dress up in light ones. Luckily, they suit him.

✰Since he was a child, he has proved to be very perceptive of his surroundings, as well as being able to read the mood quite easily. Johnny is also good at focusing, what makes him a really good shooter -probably hunting would have been one of his hobbies, if he wasn’t kind and compassionate-. He has proved to being able to shoot at little and/or moving targets, even if firing from odd angles and perspectives.

✰Johnny loved his mother, and would try to follow her everywhere like a duckling would follow its mother. It wasn't surprising that his first words were "mama". His next word was "horsie", and would enthusiastically say it as he pointed to the horses in the fields when the family decided to take a walk around the farm.

✰In the Victorian era, it was common for toddlers to rarely be in contact with their parents; as they were mostly raised by a nanny. He did have a nanny -whom he loved deeply-, but his mother was still around at all times; she was always there for him. Despite breaking this usual thing, he was indeed raised to be like the stereotypical Victorian child: proper, polite and quiet.

✰The youngest Joestar loved to visit the horses in the family farms, enjoying their company. His fondness for these animals evolved into his skills as a jockey; as he also is well-versed in equine science.

✰Johnny was five when he first rode a horse, and his father quickly considered him a genius. The young boy quickly started to believe this as an irrefutable truth, his ego beginning to grow. Although he indeed is a genius with plenty of skills that allow him to ride across many types of terrain, or even challenge fellow genius jockey -ahem, Diego Brando-; having such a big ego ended up wounding him.

✰Even if George did praise his early horse-riding skills, the rest of Johnny’s childhood was marked by a strained relationship with him. His father was unnecessarily severe, to the point of physically punishing Johnny. He also favored Nicholas immensely, belittling the younger one with constant comparisons. After Nicholas’ death, George was convinced that “God had taken the wrong son” and took out his sadness and rage on Johnny. This cruel behaviour caused Johnny great pain, and an enormous feeling of inferiority.

✰Anne's death was a big shock for the youngest Joestar. He felt like he had lost the only support he had in the family; his mother would comfort him after his father scolds and punishments. She also happened to die a short time before Nick's accident. Johnny was 9 when his brother died; and around 7-8 when Anne died. His father cruel behaviour towards Johnny hurt him, and the little boy was upset because he didn't entirely comprehend why his mom wasn't coming back.

✰The only one who calls him by his full name -Jonathan- is his father, and he despises it. Nowadays, hearing his full name triggers something on him, reacting with some kind of fear. He was used to listen to his father call him only to point out his mistakes and scold him; so hearing “Jonathan” makes him have that kind of reaction.

✰He is a magnificent horse tamer, as seen with Slow Dancer: the horse was introduced as wild and ruthless, but she warmed up to Johnny, to the point of helping him get on her by hoisting him and rolling him down his neck and into the saddle.

✰After his father disowned him and threw him out of the Joestar household, Johnny, in shock, decided to shut himself off. With this, he also created a vain and narcissistic facade in order to hide the sadness this rejection caused him.

✰He tried to take Black Rose -Nicholas’ horse- with him when he was disowned.

✰After he was disowned, when Father’s Day arrived, Johnny used to spend the day in a sour mood, secluded and probably drinking, trying to forget his lame childhood.

✰With his pride harmed, he decided to prepare for the Kentucky Derby, winning it at the age of 16. He made it out of spite, trying to prove his father wrong and growing his own ego; maybe he couldn’t defeat Diego back in the UK, but he won the Derby. He still believes that winning the Derby was his greatest accomplisment.

✰When he was shot and paralyzed, Johnny felt his own pride crushing him: everything he showed off suddeny vanished. Unable to ride again, the horse-riding promise fell into oblivion; he lost all the friends and respect he had earned as a jockey. No one came to visit, leaving him behind; even his own father disappeared from his life, not even visiting him in the hospital. For that, Johnny is used to being abandoned: he forces himself to not get attached to anyone, since he believes that they’ll probably leave him.

✰During his stay in the hospital, the nurses used to dose him with morphine. They did it in order to shut him up –the poor boy was in terrible pain-, but for that, he got addicted to morphine. Luckily, it was only for a short time, since he managed to get clean several months after leaving the hospital.

✰Due to having such a big ego, now his past glory crushes him. He hates how he lost everything in such a pathetic way; but also believes he deserves it.

✰Surprisingly, his arms and chest are really strong; because he is always using them to crawl around and to lift himself.

✰Due to his light complex and weight, he is terribly ticklish.

✰He is a Christian, and believes in Fate and karma, but in a kind of wretched way. Johnny believes that, throughout the years, Fate itself was taking revenge on him for his misdeeds; and that he deserved every misfortune he received. His obsession with the Corpse showed his obsession with karma too, and how he wanted to reset it to a neutral state, paying off his negative debt. His beliefs in Fate explains his lack of confidence and constant panic of losing everything, since he firmly believes that Fate could at any moment take away his hopes.

✰Johnny has depression and, for this, a lack of confidence. He considers himself a useless person, a burden, and unworthy of love. This gloomy perspective of life came from his youth, making him a pessimistic man.

✰TW//suicide. He has considered -and tried- to commit suicide; but he couldn’t. He claims that it’s because he’s a “coward that hates pain, and doesn’t have the balls to finish everything”; but, deep down, it’s because he holds on to even the smallest hope.

✰TW//self harm. He has several scars: the ones on his arms are smaller, and were self-inflicted -self-harm and suicide attempts-. He also has some scars on his legs, caused by wounds he got by trying to stand up, walk and ride; but the biggest scar is the one covering half his back, as a memento from the accident. The bullet left a mark, surgery made it ugly, and the abuse he endured during his stay in the hospital made it worse. Therefore, he now is ashamed and self-concious of his back.

✰Seeing his legs makes him feel weak, and he hates that. He also despises feeling as defenceless as when someone picks him up to carry him without his consent. He truly hates feeling powerless, and it also makes him incredibly angry -and lowkey sad-. He can only tolerate this if it’s someone who he deeply trusts and knows, and only if he has asked for it.

✰At first, he wouldn’t let anyone touch neither his legs nor his back; but after warming up a little, he would tolerate caresses and gentle pats.

✰He also hates when people look at him with sorrow or as if they were pitying him. He may be disabled, but he’s still perfectly capable of plenty of things. Usually, he will reject any kind of help as politely as possible, but his anger will show.

✰Meeting Gyro made him throw away his harsh facade. At first, he was uncaring of everyone else save himself, only maintaining a polite but cold demeanour towards people he met; but Gyro’s influence made Johnny slightly more friendly.

✰ Gyro also made a great impact in Johnny’s perspective of life; not all of a sudden, but in gradual steps. The Italian man gave him hope, helped him to knock out his lack of confidence, gave him some assurance and optimism and also was genuinely nice to him, making Johnny grateful for meeting him. He treasures their relationship deeply.

✰Johnny doesn’t belittles Slow Dancer for being old, as he knows that she has plenty of experience as a Racing horse, and plenty of stamina. He truly knows his mare, possessing great knowledge of her: he knows and perceives her abilities and limits, and is able to predict what Slow Dancer will be capable of. They have grown quite close to each other, and she ocasionally nudges and licks him gently. Johnny loves this.

✰Sometimes, to kill some time, he and Gyro will exchange curses and slang in their respective languages. Gyro finds American sayings strange.

✰Gyro and Johnny had a hard time understanding each other in the beginning of their relationship: the older man had a thick Italian accent, and Johnny had to decipher what the hell was he trying to say. After a while, they grew used to each other's accents, but Gyro still made fun of Johnny's.

✰ His determination doesn’t waver, despite having failed several times. Johnny focuses on his goals, and puts them above anything else. He is also willing to endure severe wounds in order to reach them. And if you also add his stuborness…

✰The man is REALLY stubborn. If he wants to get something, he WILL, no matter what. If he has to, he will be violent or kill his opponents. This is called as “dark determination flickering in his eyes”, indicating a ruthlessness which would make Johnny able to kill in cold-blood. For this, he may seem amoral and selfish, even extending this to the interest of his loved ones. Yet he isn’t truly amoral, protecting defenceless people and taking damage to protect the ones he cares about.

✰He’s rather impulsive and hot-headed, which makes him take action as soon as possible. Sometimes, he might end up regretting not thinking BEFORE acting.

✰ Johnny would do anything for his loved ones:

Even if he’s afraid of his father, he has always tried his hardest to live up to his expectations.

He loved Nicholas deeply and looked up to him as an idol, and blames himself for his death. After he died, he became guilt-ridden, believing that his brother’s death was his own fault and that he should have died instead.

He was willing to abandon the Corpse Parts he had to save Gyro.

(JOJOLION SPOILERS!) When Rina was struck with the Rock Disease, Johnny stole the Corpse to make it transfer the disease away from her, not caring who would receive it and suffer in her place. But when the disease transfered to his son, he healed him by transfering it to himself, dying in order to save his wife and son.

✰He’s the CEO of being done with everyone’s bullshit. He’s angry 85% of the time, and usually cries out of anger.

✰ He’s also a sarcastic little shit. Any stupid questions you make him will be answered with his fine sarcasm.

✰He’s HORNY! This is shown with his bug bite fetish and the fact that he has been involved in at least one threesome. He doesn’t mind empty sex either -as he slept with several girls who came to him only for his fame-. He’s also bisexual.

✰When it comes to affection, he prefers to show his emotions through actions. For him, they speak louder.

✰Regarding to affection, Johnny will deny it; but he is touch-starved. The man really loves hugs and physical contact. He likes to hold on tight and get as close as posible. Since he doesn’t usually speak out loud his emotions, he will show them physically. However, he would rather be held, feeling loved and protected.

✰He feels guilty when someone falls in love with him, since he believes he’s not worthy of happiness nor love. He tends to think that he’s making them waste their time on him, when they could be with someone who could provide them with what they deserve. He can’t help but compare himself to others, belittling himself.

✰When he has a crush, he will do anything to deny it. He doesn’t want to admit how someone began to be so important to him, and is afraid that “Fate” might take them away from him. If he has to avoid them, he will; just to get away and not face his feelings.

✰George does reconcile with Johnny, and feels ashamed of how he treated his own son. He claims to be proud of him now, and even gives Johnny Nicholas’ boots. At first Johnny was resentful and wasn’t planning on forgiving him, since he believed that his father was only coming back for his recovered fame. After a couple weeks he decided against that, forgiving George and honouring him by naming his only son after him.

✰Nicholas’ boots were one of his most beloved possessions, and were passed down as a family relic.

✰If Rina had allowed him to name their daughter, he would have called her Anne, in honour to his mother.

✰In Japan, the Joestar-Higashikata family lived in a farm. Although the place is designed in the Japanese traditional way, Johnny couldn't help but give it some Western touches, specifically to the barns. These ones were designed to be as similar as the ones his father had in Britain and Danville. It made Johnny nostalgic, but in a gentle and warm way; he purposefully made them like that, so he could remember his roots.

✰They were quite wealthy: not only for the Higashikata's fruit business, but also for Johnny's connection with the Japanese government.

✰As a horse-riding teacher, his pupils loved and respected him deeply. Johnny liked discipline -as he took his profession seriously-, but was also very kind to them, treating them with the respect he never received.

✰Obviously, he taught his children to ride as early as possible.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #johnny joestar #steel ball run

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newsies-geek · 5 years ago

Text

Newsies in Quarantine (Javid) Part 1

Idea from @dragonsrrad !!

***

Davey hadn’t exactly been sure how he felt about Jack the first day he met him. One could call many different events having been their “first-time-meeting”.

When Jack had run into him while being chased by the Delancys.

When Davey first stepped foot into the world that was being a Newsie, receiving all sorts of gawky stares from boys who were all dressed in outfits that weren’t as pressed or clean as his.

Or, perhaps, when Jack had bought Davey extra papers, and for the first time, Davey decided to deliberately make eye-contact with the other boy.

Davey recalled every occurrence, but he considered the last one to be the first time he truly met Jack, the first time he really noticed him. He was almost caught off guard, unsure if he should reject or accept the stranger’s kindness, or if he should take it as kindness at all to begin with. His father had taught him to be kind to others, but to also have pride’s in one’s self, resulting in an awkward denial of the papers, that his younger brother had quickly thwarted when becoming sales partners with Jack.

Davey wasn’t sure how he should feel about the wanna-be-cowboy, but he sure knew how he did feel.

Skeptical, seemed to be the most obvious first answer, but keen was a one that rooted deeper within him.

There was something about the way the other boy delivered the way his words, his movements, his smiles, that would sometimes be pointed at Davey in particular.

And by the end of the day, Davey knew he was fond of Jack, of the way he could get out of trouble while still looking out for those around him, his lack of manners that he tried to desperately to make up for in quiet apologies, apologies that weren’t made up in the word sorry, but in more looks and smiles that could take a moment, or a century, to decode.

Davey was certain he could gladly look at Jack’s face for a century if it meant knowing how the other felt all the time.

Jack was expressive but not verbally, any verbal expression he had were words that he had picked up from others, usually from David. But through art, there was no telling what Jack could and would say. His art was so influential and raw that Davey couldn’t help but admire it, which is exactly what he was doing now.

Around half of the Newsies were currently inside Medda’s theatre, having not been able to make it from the last show they’d been watching to the lodging house before the county went on an affective lock-down.

Sickness had been ravishing the town for weeks, but matters to contain it had only been discussed until now.

Davey had begun to momentarily freak out when he heard the news about how they would be forcefully kept within the theatre.

Policemen on horses trotted around tirelessly outside, and David knew his parents would be more upset if he and Les tried to make it home illegally than if they just stayed out. Regardless, this hadn’t help Davey to stay calm much.

The other newsies hadn’t been so affected, Jack hadn’t been there when the announcement was made, too busy back stage painting to be bothered all that much, while the others simply took the news with slight dismay to the fact that they wouldn’t be making money selling papes, which was quickly silenced by Medda’s offer to feed and house the boys seeing as they couldn’t leave.

She’d sent a few of them up into the rafters to look for anything that could he used as a bed, seeing as how she wasn’t going to make them sleep on the floor. They’d sleep on the stage instead.

Davey had begun to hyperventilate at the news that they would be required to stay here. Sarah was at home with his mother and father no doubt, meaning that they were all most likely safe. That helped him a bit. He’d seen Les no more than a second ago before he had excitedly scrambled off with the other newsies, chanting about a sleepover. It helped Davey to know his kid brother wasn’t as phased by this as he was. But even with all of this combined, thw curly-haired boy couldn’t help but focus on the beat of his heart, quick and anxious, thundering from his chest to his toes.

He wasn’t going to see his parents for...how long had Medda said? Two weeks they were to shelter-in-place?

This reminder only made Davey feel sicker as he stumbled to the edge of the stage, leaning all his weight on it to relieve some stress from his body. His parents wouldn’t receive the money he’d made today- nor any of the money he would have made this week.

Would they have enough food?

Could they afford the bills?

What about the water bills? They could last longe without food than without water-

Would they be allowed to leave to get water if they needed it desperately?

Probably- but what if they had to prove it and someone had to come inside and then that person gave the virus to his family and they couldn’t afford the medicine because Davey himself was here with all the money. It would be his fault, no doubt. Even if the back of his mind told him that it was the Virus and not him, it was the front of his mind that Davey was listening to.

He’d have to be stuck with boys who looked like they hadn’t showered in- well, ever. Davey knee they did, despite getting just as much dirt on them, if not more, than they had when they started the day. While their hygiene was questionable, Davey at least knew that it existed, having walked into the lodging house to more than a few boys taking bathes in ice cold water once or twice. The sight had appalled him, but they didn’t seem to bothered, living with tons of other boys around them, they were used to the lack of personal space.

A realization seemed to drop into the pit of Davey’s stomach.

He wouldn’t have personal space now, would he?

Davey clutched at his arms and held them tight to his chest. Don’t presume wrong, Davey was all for physical affection, but it varied. Only with particular people. Les was basically attached to his knees when he got bored and Sarah never stopped fixing his hair. But Davey wasn’t very used to physical contact outside of his family. Well, them and Jack.

Jack was a wonder to Davey in the way that he couldn’t wrap his head around the boy. The dirty-blonde haired boy had practically forced himself into Davey’s life, by word and by action. Constantly, Jack’s arm would find a way over Davey’s shoulder while they were selling. Later in the evenings when only the desperate and the youth were out on the town, Jack would place an arm around Davey’s hips.

The curly-haired brunette wasn’t quite sure what to think about it, all he knew is that Jack’s hand felt different than any hand he had touched before.

Not just in physical texture, rough with calluses from endless work since he’d been old enough to, but also in the feeling of it on Davey’s shoulders, hips, or even his own hand on the occasion that Jack might clasp it, throwing their held hands together in the air as a sign of victory. It was warm, not just Jack’s hand, but the area that it touched. Warm and pleasant, careful and intentional, almost wary of how Davey would react to its placement.

And this thought, is what finally seemed to calm Davey’s mind.

He wasn’t sure where his friend had run off too, and that suddenly seemed to become the most important thing to him at the moment.

Looking around the near empty theatre, other than a sleeping Romeo who leaned against an also sleeping Specs, the boys’ faces having gentle, content smiles, probably from the fact that they could finally relax, what with knowing they’d be well taken care of without having to go outside to work.

It made Davey smile slightly from where he stood. Ah, to find bliss in not having to worry- wish I could relate.

Davey felt as though he always had someone to look after, or to look for- and that person, at the moment, was one Jack Kelly. And he had a good idea of where the boy was. Turning on his heel, and nearly running into the side of the stage before aiming for the stairs that led up to it on either side, Davey made his way to the wings, sidestepping down along the solid concrete wall that made up the back of the stage, using it to guide himself to the backstage door as all the lights were currently off in the wings, due to all present people being up in the props room and rafters.

Davey turned the doorknob and was greeted by pleasantly warm light as he entered the large room behind the stage, it being almost completely silent, what with the walls being made out of concrete, disturbed only by the occasional swish of a brush and slosh of water.

Davey turned his head to the left of the room, looking down from the wooden-plank floors and along it until his eyes glanced up at Jack, who was currently sitting in the ground in a white undershirt and paint-stained black pants, looking a bit big on him, unlike the undershirt, which cling to his body, showing the curve of his spine that looked as though it might be in pain from how long it had spent in that position as Jack focused in on the half-painted canvas before him, squinting with his tongue slightly blepped out.

Drawn to his face, Davey took notice of his red bandana hung over his left shoulder, covered in paint much like his face and arms.

Davey was able to get a few more moments of...studying.. before Jack seemed to register him and look up, presuming a sheepish smile as he tried and failed to hide his work, unable to from the size of the canvas, considering he was painting a backdrop, and the fact that the paint was wet, meaning his quick attempt to try and cover it with his body, failed when he realized a moment before he nearly touched it, that the paint was wet. He now sat up and stretched with an expression that gave away the fact that yes, he had been in that position for quite some time.

“Heya there, Dave.” Jack grinned as he swung his torso to the left and then to the right, popping it as he did so.

“Is that Santa Fe?” Davey approached the other slowly, bending down beside him and squinting at the warm-colored canvas that looked like mountains of clay had been painted onto it.

“Good eye you got there, Davey- I’m not sure.” The taller boy cocked his head and seemed to examine the painting for himself before nodding, “I think it is. I wasn’t really paying no attention to what it was that I was paintin’, just that it’s felt right.”

“Mm, I’m not surprised.” Davey sighed in amusement with a nod.

“So glad I’m typical.” Jack snorted as he got to his feet and stretched some more.

Davey felt his cheeks heat up as he looked over Jack’s torso. The boy was in incredible shape, from years of hauling newspapers around from every corner of town. God, Davey hoped the other didn’t lose that perfection during their two weeks inside.

“Somethin’ on me shirt?” Jack cocked an eyebrow at Davey, who hadn’t noticed that Jack was now looking at him.

This made the light haired boy blush more and shake his head, “No- no, just thinking.”

“Aw, ‘bout me?” Jack cooed teasingly as he took a few steps forward to stand before Davey with a cocky grin.

When am I not? Well, maybe when he was worrying- but that was quite often as well so maybe then too-

Davey would have had to have been an idiot to not realize his feelings for Jack were more than platonic, but he’d have to be an even bigger idiot to ever voice that, “Just thinking about the time inside is all.”

“Time inside? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack chuckled as he sidestepped a few inches to lean against the side of the cement wall that faced the backstage room.

Davey lifted his eyebrows in surprise as he strode over to lean against a patch of wall a few feet up from Jack, “Didn’t you hear about the lockdown?”

“What lockdown?” Jack frowned.

“We’re stuck in here for two weeks so the virus can be contained.” Davey frowned at the thought of it.

“You’re kidding!” Jack sat up straighter with lifted eyebrows.

“Wish I was.” Davey scratched at his arm anxiously.

“But what about the boys back at the lodge?” Jack fretted.

“They’ll be fine there I’m sure.” Davey reassured.

“And your family?” The so-called dime-novel-cowboy crossed his arms over his chest in concern.

“A-At home.” Davey’s scratching on his arm got faster and with more force.

“Sarah’s with them?” Jack asked quietly.

Davey’s nails dug into his arm at the comment, “Yeah.” He responded quietly.

Jack and Sarah had gone their separate ways nearly a season ago, but their friendship had lingered, much to Davey’s selfish dislike. He didn’t favor the fact that Sarah constantly talked about Jack as though they were still together.

And even though Davey knew almost certainly that they weren’t, he wasn’t exactly in control of his jealousy.

“That’s good.” Jack nodded in subtle relief.

Davey knew it wasn’t fair to Jack nor his sister that he was jealous. They were both simply living out their lives with their own story, and Davey was doing so as well. He just couldn’t help but think that his story would be a lot better with Jack by his side in a more than friendly manor.

Davey’s arm was getting redder as he scratched it harder, growing more nervous.

“So we can’t leave here at all?” Jack snapped Davey out of his thoughts.

The shorter boy shook his head, “No. Law enforcement is patrolling the whole city. You can only leave for necessities. His arm was bright red now and-

“Stop doing that.” Jack made eye-contact with Davey.

Davey’s nervous antics slowed for a moment as he looked at Jack, “Do what?”

“That-“ Jack reached forward and put his hand on top of the hand that scratched at Davey’s arm, pulling it into his own while he looked over the blue-eyed boy’s arm, “Geez, Dave. You’s gotta’ find a betta outlet than that for yours nervous energy.”

Davey shrugged as his mind eased, feeling Jack’s hand on his own, “Maybe.”

“Here, how about yous try painting a bit.” The boy led Davey over to the canvas, picking up a paintbrush from his cup of paint water and flicking it to the side to dry it before handing it to Davey, “Draw somethin’.”

“It would ruin the painting though.” Davey reasoned with a frown.

“Art is art.” Jack shrugged, “It’ll be nice to have a little bit of Dave on it.”

Davey smiled at his friend’s words. Jack always seemed to know exactly what to say to him. But he wasn’t sure how affective him painting would be, “I just- any color?”

“Well-“ Jack began before shaking his head, “Any color.”

Dave thought about it for a moment and reached for the paints.

***

Part 2: https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/615272010026827776/newsies-in-quarantine-javid-part-2

#javid #newsies #davey #gays #jacobs #1992 #1992newsies #jack #javey #davey jacobs #jack kelly #1992 newsies #fanfic #fanfiction #quarantine

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zoey-wades · 4 years ago

Text

Honeymoon (King Liam x MC)

Rating: M (Drug Use, Substance Abuse, Violence, Self-Inflicted Violence)

Characters: Dark!Liam Rys x Dark!Lyra Frasier (MC) x Dark!Drake Walker

Summary: Fresh out of school and trying to figure things out, Lyra Frasier spends her weekdays going to a job she hates and her weekends in a drug fueled haze. And then she meets golden boy Liam. Lyra soon realizes that the violent underbelly of New York City’s elite may be more than she can handle.

Author’s Note: I haven’t updated this thing since uh......last year? I’m bad at making a writing schedule for myself. I think, the way TRR has been going as a series, I just haven’t had the motivation. But when I separate this world from that one, it helps a bit more.

Honeymoon Series

ooo. Prologue.

oo1. Honeymoon.

oo2. Midnight City.

--x--

oo3. C.R.E.A.M.

It was bad enough that Liam’s father was ill; he also had to be stubborn as fuck.

Liam winced as his ailing father lifted the shaking glass of whiskey to his lips, determined to keep drinking despite what the doctor and his wife told him about the effects on his body. Liam cleared his throat, earning a single passive glance from his father across the desk.

“Oh come on,” Constantine groaned, licking the droplets of liquor from his chin, “Not you, too. I don’t need anymore shit about what I do in my free time.”

Unwilling to take advice from those he deemed inexperienced, Constantine was an unwavering force in a world of deeply complicated decisions. Liam patiently rested his folded hands in his lap, training his expression to convey as much stoicism as he could in the given circumstance.

“You don’t seem to understand that this,” he motioned towards the glass, “is the reason why Sebastian Clark was able to fly under your radar for so long? What would’ve happened if Walker and I hadn’t figured him out? Who knows what he could’ve gotten away with--”

“That rotten, coked out fucker,” Constantine spat with a wave of the hand, “Good riddance. I didn’t need him poisoning my ranks with his bullshit.”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain,” Liam leaned forward in his seat, speaking slowly to emphasize his next point, “We don’t know that he hasn’t. And the fact that he was in your ranks for as long as he had should be worrisome. Who knows what else is going on that we don’t know about.”

“My men are loyal to me,” Constantine stated plainly, “One bad apple doesn’t always spoil the lot.”

At the age of 67, he’d been away from the action for quite some time. Evidence of a hard youth decorated his face and body in the form of scars and bones that didn’t quite heal correctly. Liam couldn’t remember a time when his father didn’t look tired. If he hadn’t seen a photo of a young Constantine with his own eyes, he’d believe the man just came into this world with a shock of white hair and bloodshot eyes. His stepmother half-joked that Liam’s older brother, Leo, caused their father to gray prematurely with his gambling and sex addictions.

On the other hand, Leo had to get it from somewhere.

Liam watched his father struggle to take another sip from his glass before averting his gaze to a family photo on his father’s desk. Teenage Justin and Liam sat side-by-side, unsmiling, with neatly pressed suits on in front of their equally serious fathers. Why Constantine kept that particular photo on his desk, Liam never understood. Nothing about it exuded warmth.

“Did Justin ever talk about a girl around you?” Liam suddenly asked, refocusing on his father who swirled his whiskey in deep thought.

“A girl?” He repeated in thought, “Once or twice. Usually he was asking advice on how to keep them tamed, you know?”

Constantine attempted a conspiratorial smile that Liam didn’t reciprocate.

“Did he mention any specific names?” Liam pressed on, “Or descriptors?”

Constantine raised a brow and sat the sweating glass on a wooden coaster, “What is this about?”

What was this about? Liam wasn’t entirely sure. There was something about the girl, Lyra, that intrigued him. How was she able to dip in and out of their world so easily without leaving any footprints behind? Who did she know?

After dropping her off back home the previous afternoon, Liam did some quick research into who she was. Aside from a few high school choir competition press reels, she was an otherwise ordinary woman.

“Well I...” Liam chose his words carefully, “ran into Justin at the bar, talking to a girl. You know we never really see him with anyone. So I was just curious.”

There was a brief pause between the two men, and the grin returned to Constantine’s face, “A hot piece of ass, huh? Thinking of getting in there?”

Liam said nothing, but fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. His father wasn’t technically wrong. But god damn if the wording didn’t make him feel like the grossest piece of shit.

He decided to drop the subject for another time.

“Sorry to push us off topic, Dad,” Liam quickly corrected, “But, back to my original point...how do you know for sure Clark was the only shady one in the group?”

Constantine considered this, tapping his pen on the wooden desktop, “What reason would I give them to turn their backs on me? I’ve been with these men for well over 30 years, I fed them,” he counted on his fingers, “clothed them, put their kids through school, made them dukes in their own respects. They made their names on my back, and they think they’re gonna fuck me over!”

The sudden exclamation caused the man to cough violently into his arm and then into a handkerchief. Liam instinctively jumped to his feet, and rushed across the room to fetch a glass of water for his father.

“I’m fine!” Constantine croaked, attempting to catch his breath, “I just got a bit overexcited.”

Despite his protests, Constantine took the glass and sipped from it slowly. It hurt Liam to see his father deteriorating so quickly. A part of him felt like Constantine believed himself to be invincible. A smaller part of Liam felt like his father was simply just giving up. He had to put on an air of confidence, as he was at the top of the pyramid and could not show weakness. But as he grew older, cracks in the foundation began to form. Cracks that Liam had been working to seal.

Liam loved his father. There was no doubt about that. But every day the work grew more difficult. Liam could almost envision the empire crumbling at his father’s feet, all because he was too stubborn to fix the loose bricks.

As if reading his mind, Constantine sat the glass down and looked over his son, “You do know that I love you, right, kiddo?”

There was a faraway look in his eyes, a look Liam saw once in a while. And he always wondered where Constantine went when that happened.

“Yeah, I know, dad.”

Sadness darkened his father’s features, “Despite the issues that your mother and I had,” he cleared his throat, “I did love her. And I think you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m always going to be proud of you.”

A pit formed in Liam’s stomach and he reached across to grab his father’s hand, “Hey, what are you not telling me?”

And just like that, Constantine switched the darkness off, a confident grin returning to his face. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“A man can’t tell his kid he appreciates him, anymore? Lighten up, Liam.”

--x--

Liam sat in the garage of his apartment building to smoke and attempt at shuffling through his thoughts. Maybe it was counterproductive. An hour after leaving Constantine’s office, Liam learned of another potential fuck up in his father’s ranks. Someone was making trade deals on the low, and informing a rival company of some arms delivery pick up spots before they arrived for a cut of the profit. He passed the message along to Drake, who responded with the same concerns regarding Constantine’s failing leadership.

Liam was only one man. Though he was sure he didn’t feel an ounce of the pressure his father did, the stress he felt nearly crippled him sometimes. He briefly allowed his mind to wander to Lyra and what she was doing. Did she know how much he envied her life? She didn’t answer to anyone, she could leave the city if she wanted to, she never had to constantly look over her shoulder. Lyra carried herself with the air of freedom he could only dream about. Clutching his phone in tatted knuckles, he almost considered texting her. But truly, what would he even say?

“Hey, I know we only spoke once and you gave me your number because you wanted to pay me back for the gas (which you still don’t have to do). But what does freedom feel like?”

Right now, Liam imagined she was laying across the secondhand sofa in some old college sweatshirt, watching YouTube, her mind a thousand miles away from him. He’d never even seen her apartment. But he had a feeling she had a lot of plants and a collection of decorated whiskey bottles on her kitchen counter. She seemed like the type. He caught himself chuckling at the thought and frowned. Ideally, he’d just let her go. He could never bring her into this world, she was too good for it. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could grow to like her.

The shrill ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, sharply pulling him from a moment of escapism he didn’t even know he needed.

“Hello?” Liam answered, attempting to mask his disappointment.

“Idon’tknowwhathappened! Idon’tknow!” A shrill voice cried on the other end between sobs. Liam pulled the phone from his face, and realized it was his father’s assistant, Penelope, calling from an unknown number. Alarm bells went off in Liam’s head, and he turned the ignition in his car.

“Pen, what happened?” He asked, sitting up in his seat.

“I just came in and he was....! I don’t know what happened, Liam! I was gone for an hour!”

“What. Happened?” Liam asked, again. His heart began to thud in his ears, and he gripped the steering wheel, “Just fucking tell me. Spit it out-”

“Constantine shot himself!”

#playchoices #liam x mc #naja writes #honeymoon**#crime au! trr

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vinodiriso · 4 years ago

Note

What was Yoshino like as a child?

Anonymous || impromptu asks I cherish immensely.

List of the NPCs mentioned in the following headcanon here. You can also consult the Yukinohana tag for more info on subjects mentioned below.

YOSHINO. 愛

Yoshino’s childhood was not easy. She was a bright, gifted and curious child, whose positive tendencies were constantly obscured by her father’s trauma and abusive behavior.

Kenshin had lived the horror of Gods’ Clash in first person, being forced to cut down two of his beloved siblings, among whom his revered and idolized elder brother, Chi You. He was deeply traumatized, depressed, stressed and incapable to process love coherently.

Having one child was already a shock to Kenshin, but having a second daughter revived the ghost of the fratricidal battle for him, plunging his hands into the never-washed blood of his siblings and staining them with the to-spill blood of his own children.

Given that Yoshino was ‘the weak child’, younger and ill, Kenshin focused all of his attention on her by training her extensively, in his eyes to make her stronger and able to stand a chance against Ainai (a powerful fighter from young age gifted with her mother’s kekkei genkai), but actually exposing her to torments and hardship a child in her condition should not be able to endure.

Her inability to meet her father’s exaggerated expectations hurt Yoshino deeply, making her constantly second guess herself and fear her father’s opinion on everything concerning her. Kenshin’s punishments for Yoshino’s underperforming were also violent and harsh, culminating with that one time he cut through Yoshino’s back with the tip of his jian, scarring her for life. When Lei Gong told Kenshin the girl had survived for a stroke of luck because he didn’t dig his blade deep enough to slit her spine, Kenshin promised himself he would have never lose his cool with Yoshino so ever again.

The youngest Yukinohana’s only solace was music, with her mother teaching her shakuhachi, and reading, history for the most part, but also mathematics (small digression: books and scrolls for leisure purposes were and still are considered a great luxury within Yukinohana Shokumin, and Yoshino only had access to her grandmother’s collection, plus occasional gifts from Chihana).

The only merit her father’s training had on Yoshino was making her able to endure the shinobi practice she was put through in Konoha when she enlisted as a kunoichi; also, thanks to her father’s teachings, Yoshino became a gifted swordswoman and taijutsu user by the age of 9, being able to stand her own against Kenshin, one of the First Shinobi World War heroes and member of the Yukinohana Gokyoudai.

Her mother helped Yoshino through her lowest moments, when her genetic condition was still settling in and Lei Gong was still perfecting his remedy for the most aggressive aspects of chakra virus. Chihana was not a sunny soul, one must consider she was Xuanyuan’s war prisoner (Xuanyuan is Kenshin’s birth name) who married her for her kekkei genkai, but she sincerely loved her daughters and tried to help them as she could.

Even if Chihana could not stop Kenshin from hurting Yoshino with both words and fights, she tried to lift her spirits telling her tales of Kokuyoseki and Iwagakure. Chihana told Yoshino that her father was a gentle soul harmed by war, and that his coldness was an armour to protect him from the harshness of the world. It’s thanks to Chihana’s words that Yoshino developed her tender heart, even if Kenshin’s abuse made it hidden to most who don’t dare peering past her spiked cocoon of harshness and icy attitude.

Another part of Yoshino’s youth was Lei Gong, mentioned earlier, Yoshino’s cousin, son of Chi You spared for his medical knowledge. Being Yoshino’s doctor, Yoshino had a childish attachment to him, using him as a confidante and a crutch to let go of her frustration against Kenshin. While Lei Gong had a real fondness for his younger cousin, his loyalty was sided with Kenshin, which means all of Yoshino’s words, even those she considered secret, were reported to Kenshin. When she became aware of this, it shattered her ability to trust and made her wary of relying on her own judgement of people for a while.

As long as her relationship with Ainai is regarded, it’s safe to say they never had a true bond, because they both trained most of the day and only met to dine together and sleep in their shared room. Ainai is also significantly older than Yoshino (10 years, in a crucial age range that makes the difference between childhood and teenage) which means their interests were quite different; Yoshino was a shy kid and Ainai a guarded teen, which resulted in a clear lack of communication, even though they loved each other in silence. All in all, knowing that one day they were destined to fight to death did not encourage sisterly affection, even though when Kenshin told Ainai with his last breath to have Yoshino run away to Konoha to meet Nuwa, Kenshin’s only survived sister and the kids’ aunt, she obeyed with no second thoughts.

This brings us to Nuwa and her family, the last of Yoshino’s relatives who played a big part in how Yoshino was raised. Nuwa and her husband, Akio, took the orphan child in with no hesitation when she ran away from Yukinohana Shokumin (Yoshino was 11), both because of their compassionate nature and also because Nuwa owed Kenshin a life debt, having allowed her to run away before the Gods’ Clash took place.

Nuwa took care of Yoshino like the daughter she never had. At first, Yoshino was cautious and distrustful of her aunt, but eventually, thanks to Nuwa’s perseverance and her kindness, she was able to break through Yoshino’s cocoon and admire her sweet nature. Also, again, Nuwa was a medic and a healer (she was Lei Gong’s teacher), so her tending to Yoshino’s frail health encouraged Yoshino to trust her and eventually, grow attached to Nuwa

Yoshino loves her aunt deeply and considers her a second mother, having lived alongside her the greatest torments of her life (the loss of Haru and Sakumo, the post-Iwa torture) and her greatest joys (recovering the use of her legs, taking Hana in, marrying Shikaku). Nuwa is to account for Yoshino’s ability to love and care deeply for others and Yoshino’s great empathy, being Nuwa a beign person with the biggest heart one can possibly imagine. Most of what’s good in Yoshino exists because Nuwa has allowed her to be soft and form true familiar bonds (with her, with Akio and with their children) instead of the cruelty she was exposed to in her earliest years.

#anonymous #answered ask #child abuse tw #abuse tw #abusive parent tw #i had another hc written about this #but it was old and needed update #this one is neat and i like it #yoshino (headcanon)#yoshino yukinohana/nara.#ask to tag #q.#naruto content

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scandalsavagefanfic · 5 years ago

Note

Congrats on 500 followers! :D For a prompt, oh boy... I think I'll go with 'Slade is the strongest gladiator in the arena, so it's only right the gamemakers should want to see his genes passed along to the next generation of fighters. That's where Jason, an omega specially selected from the al Ghul's harem for the task, comes in.' SladeJay A/B/O, as you can probably guess. Make it as nice or as terrible as you want ;)

Soooooooo….

In case you couldn’t tell, I loved this idea.

I’m not going to attach the whole fic because it clocks in at +7k and that feels like a little much for a Tumblr post :D

But here it is:

Fortune Favors the Bold - Read on AO3!

Rating: ExplicitWarnings: Non-con, a/b/oWords: 7180

EXCERPT:

————————————————————————

Slade thinks the invitations are unnecessary.

A breeder is a breeder. It’s the sire that matters and hedoesn’t see any reason to make a fuss about carrying on his line.

He is used to the fine trappings of wealth as he skirts theedges of the room like a big cat keeping an eye on its prey. The silks and goldand gems have been perks of being the best, almost since the beginning for him.Never losing a fight in the Colosseum gave him the grandest life an owned mancan ask for. He likes fighting, that rush of adrenaline, the way strategy andinstinct come together, the skill required. And he likes the luxuries that thatskill affords him.

He could have escaped ages ago, but he way he figures,everything is a fight. Might as well be here with adoring crowds

“See anything to your liking?”

Slade takes the cup of wine his owner holds out to him witha perfunctory bow of his head. Just enough deference to meet the expectationsof anyone watching. Vandal gives him a lot of slack on his lead, even more inthe day to day operations where they’ve become almost friendly, but he stillexpects Slade to behave like the slave he is when they have company.

And right now, they have a lot of company.

Littered around the room are groups of richly attired peoplestanding or sitting on piles of cushions and low chaises, eating and drinkingmerrily. Serving slaves move through the crowd, in their simple undyed tunics,carrying trays of finger foods and pitchers of wine and ale.

But that’s not what Vandal is asking about.

Slade’s gaze drifts back to the slightly raised dais in themiddle of the room. Barely-there curtains of translucent gauzy fabric separatethe soft, plush creatures on offer from the rest of the crowd.

Omegas. Not just any omegas. These are bred and trained tobe ideal pleasure slaves by the great houses and neighboring kingdoms. They’remeant to be sold or gifted to nobles and kings and princes.

They’re probably not the grandest quality options available,everyone invited knew who and what the omega is for. But the current ownersmilling about are still trying to earn favor with the Emperor and there is nosmall amount of prestige offered by Slade’s domination in the gladiatorialgames. And pleasure slaves for breeding are already a luxury item. So, theomegas are absolutely better than anything Slade would have gotten, even as afree man.

From what he can see, they’re all pretty, delicate things withdecorative gold chains dripping from their wrists and necks, precious stonesand feathers woven into their hair, lips bright with rouge, eyes smoky withkohl.

“A womb is a womb,” Slade responds with a shrug. “Can’t seewhy you’d go to all this trouble just for me.”

Vandal snorts and takes a sip of his wine.

“I wouldn’t. Not just for you anyway.” He claps a giant handon Slade’s equally giant shoulder and nods at the see of aristocrats. “I like towatch them grovel. Scramble to earn my favor.”

“Of course you do.”

He keeps his voice low. It wouldn’t due for someone tooverhear him speaking to the emperor as though they were peers.

“Besides,” Vandal continues conspiratorially. “Who saysyou’re the only one who will benefit?”

This time Slade snorts. “You expect me to share my mate?”

He’s joking. Nothing that is his is really his. He,and everything in his possession, belongs to Vandal Savage. Slade neverexpected any mate or slave he might be given to be any different.

Which is probably the reason Vandal just raises his brows,amused smile playing on his lips.

“So none of them have caught your eye, hm?”

“No. They’re all just slightly different versions of eachother. I’m sure one will be as good as the next.”

Vandal frowns at that. “We are trying to replace you, Slade.You might be invincible but you’re not immortal. I want you around to trainwhatever you spawn. So, the most important thing is that you don’t find itdifficult to perform. After that, if you don’t like the bitch, we’ll just bringit out when it’s in heat. After all, I find them all quite pleasing. They canwarm my bed in the interim.”

They both take dignified sips of their wine and Slade findshimself scanning the omegas again. They’re all slim, attractive boys and girlsa third his age. Which suits him fine, he guesses. The youthful part. He’salways been partial to youthful beauty and he certainly doesn’t want a crusty,used up omega his own age.

But otherwise they’re just more of the same kind ofbeautiful omegas flitting around the court already.

He’ll perform fine. Physically there isn’t a singleobjectionable thing about any of them. And Slade doesn’t have the time orprivacy to get to know them beyond their pleasing appearances.

“Any will be fine,” he says. “Pick the one you like best.”

With another quick glance around the room, Slade angles hisbody away from the crowd and speaks softly enough he is certain only theemperor can hear him.

“Where’s the Demon? Thought you two had other matters todiscuss and were using this as a way to meet without drawing unwantedattention.”

They both look up to briefly eye the representative fromGotham, making sure he is still on the other side of the room. They didn’t comewith a tribute, of course. Gotham doesn’t trade in slaves. But they’re a majorneighboring kingdom and relations are… constantly strained. So they keepambassadors at all times.

“Late,” Vandal mutters without moving his lips. “Ran intotrouble on the road. Should be here any min—oh… I guess he’s arrived.”

The emperor nods in the direction of the ambassador, whofinds himself being approached by what Slade knows to be his favorite omega playmatein the capitol. One of the courtesans kept on staff for people with principlesthat don’t allow for the use of slaves.

Slade watches as the first prince of Gotham is tugged awaywith a playful grin on his face. The kid is pretty for an alpha but reeks ofthat competing dominance in a way that even Vandal doesn’t. Slade liked thefirst ambassador better. The second son, whose scent was earthy and fresh undera spicy cologne he always wore. Easily the the best smelling alpha Slade hadever met. Considering Slade’s preferences, he had always tried to place himselfin the prince’s path.

Pity the kid went got himself killed.

It made a lot more sense on a purely political level, tohave the second son act as a liaison. It’s a risk under the best ofcircumstances, to send the heir to another kingdom. The bad odds go up when thefate of the younger brother is taken into account, and then plummet with thefact that the two kingdoms are so ideologically different and could feasibly beat war with each other any moment.

Slade guesses that’s why he’s here. That Prince Richard isplaying a dangerous game and investigating what happened to his brother.

If he’s not careful, Gotham will be down to its final heir.

“Ra’s asked that we… distract Gotham when he arrived.Tiger was watching for their convoy with orders to tempt the prince somewheremore private when they finally showed.”

“Why?” Slade asks, narrowing his eyes as the main doorsswing open and Ra’s al Ghul is announced. “It’s not like he’s leaving. Seemslike a temporary solution.”

“I don’t know. Ra’s was light on the details. But I do lovea good conspiracy against Gotham, especially the minor ones that they can’treally do anything about. And the Demon assures me that by the end of theevening it won’t matter. One way or the other.”

“That is… too vague. Do you trust him that much?”

Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, strides into the room, asingle large manservant on his heels dragging a chained omega.

“Not nearly as much as I trust you,” Vandal rumbles low againsthis ear before striding off to meet the new arrivals.

Slade follows at a respectful distance, keeping his eyes andears open while feigning disinterest. Since it’s what’s expected of him, hefocuses on the omega.

The omega, presumably the one being offered, is otherwisedressed much like the ones lounging on the dais. Only his sheer green skirtsare held up with a belt of leather and gold instead of another length of silk pinnedtogether with gems. And, although he wears golden bangles around his wrists andankles and golden serpents around his muscular biceps, the heavy steel chainsthat keep his limbs bound too close together to be any trouble are veryobviously not decorative. The leather and gold collar at his throat isattached to his wrists by even more real chains where the other omegas wearcollars of lace or fine golden weaves. And none of the other omegas are wearinga muzzle across the lower portion of their face, even if it is coveredin glinting rubies.

The boy is young, just like the others, but big for anomega. Where the others are soft curves, this one is sharp muscle. He issmaller than the Alphas in the room, but he dwarfs the other omegas on offer. Hiseyes are bright aquamarine, with bursts of gold around the pupil and flecks ofvivid green throughout.

They’re angry and indignant and they are eerily familiar,even if Slade can’t immediately place them.

He subtly scents the air around the kid, already wrinklinghis nose in anticipation of the sweet, floral scents of most omegas. Only to bepleasantly surprised to find that he smells like a forest after a storm.Something tugs at his memory there too.

Despite himself, he finds that this one has absolutelycaught his eye. To the point where he’s missed the conversation between hismaster and the Demon until his name is spoken.

“Apologies, Master,” he says, only because everyone iswatching. “I was… distracted.”

Ra’s grins at his statement, the white points of his teethvisible, like he’s won some great argument.

Meanwhile, Vandal frowns at the omega.

“I said you wouldn’t be interested in an untrained omegaslave,” Vandal clarifies, narrowing his eyes at Ra’s. “If I didn’t know youbetter, I’d consider this an insult.”

“But you do know me better,” Ra’s answers easily with anunconcerned wave of a ringed hand. “You know I have the best harems andtraining in the known kingdoms. And you know I have an uncanny ability to matchhigh value slaves with the proper Alphas. Perhaps we can speak more privately?”

“What exactly is high value about a feral, beast of anomega?” Vandal hisses as the crowd presses closer.

…

[Read the rest on AO3!]

#Slade Wilson #Jason Todd #Slade/Jason #SladeJay #mind the tags #mind the warnings #mind the rating #absolutely destroyed that max word count I was going for #50 fics/500 followers #celebratory prompt-a-thon #crumpeting

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razberryyum · 5 years ago

Video

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The Untamed/陈情令 Rewatch, Episode 3 (spoilers for everything)

(covers some of MDZS chap 13 and erm...that’s it. They mostly go rogue for this ep*)

WangXian meter: 🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

(a 🐰 is earned every time there is a WangXian scene or even when they’re just thinking of each other...some scenes deserve more than one 🐰...don’t worry about it, it’s not an exact science 🐰🐰🐰)

Really, bless Team CQL for transforming what was only an anecdote in the novel into one of the most beautiful scenes in the show. The first time Wei Ying and Lan Zhan first crossed swords played out like a moonlite, rooftop ballet and it is completely breath-taking and romantic and perfect. What makes this scene even more meaningful to me now is the added sense of poignancy of knowing that they will never be able to spar like that again due to Wei Wuxian’s diminished abilities in his Mo Xuanyu form. Although, even before his rebirth they wouldn’t have been able to repeat this dance since Wei Ying's extraordinary swordsmanship had already gone away with his golden core. It's yet another reminder of not only how much he’s lost, but also how great a sacrifice he made for Jiang Cheng. Just thinking about that is enough to make my heart ache like crazy all over again over how much Wei Ying loves his bro and how much he went through for him without JC even knowing it for such a long time.

But back to happier thoughts, what I also loved about this scene is just how downright adorable Wei Ying was being. Actually, he really was being a total mischievous cutie during most of his time at Cloud Recesses, which makes sense since this is the Wei Wuxian that was still brimming with boyish charm and innocence as his life still hadn’t been touched by heartbreak and tragedy yet. That reminds me of another reason why I am so impressed with Xiao Zhan as an actor is because he basically had to portray three different roles in The Untamed—as the youthful, wide-eyed Wei Ying, followed by the more bitter and mature Yiling Patriarch, and then finally the carefree yet jaded Mo Xuanyu—and he performed each persona with equal aplomb while injecting noticeable differences in each phase of WWX’s life as exemplified by alterations in his posture, expressions and even the way he says his lines. I'm not familiar with what acting awards are available in China’s entertainment industry, but I hope he receives some sort of award recognition for his work. He definitely deserves some nominations at least.

That is not to say that Wang Yibo was being a slouch either; even though I had my doubts about him initially, I do still recognize that playing a stoic character is not an easy task since he had to find creative ways to avoid falling into dullness. A good deal of microexpressing is involved that can be difficult for an unseasoned and non-professionally trained actor, but WYB definitely lived up to the challenge as the show progressed. But because WWX is the more blatantly dynamic character, one’s attention is naturally drawn to him, even I was more focused on him at first, so I ended up neglecting what was going on with WYB’s Lan Zhan. It was only after revisiting this episode that I was truly able to appreciate the subtlety of performance.

While it’s hard to imagine anyone being able to resist Wei Ying’s charms, I do believe Lan Zhan was indeed mostly irritated by him during their initial interactions. At the same time, however, he also clearly noticed that there was more to WWX than meets the eye since he was definitely intelligent (after all, he correctly deduced, twice, what was going on with the injured cultivator Lan Zhan brought back) and he was also quite skilled since their sword fight ended at a draw. But because Lan Zhan had years of propriety instilled in him by Uncle Lan, his automatic reaction to someone who was as unruly as Wei Ying had to be instant disapproval and annoyance. The irony of that is most likely because Wei Ying was such an annoyance to Lan Zhan that he couldn’t help but constantly notice him as a result, as one would do with an eyesore, so even from the first moment they met, his attention was already captured. It’s not the most positive way to start a relationship to be sure, but obviously it worked out for the best in the long run, especially once Lan Zhan got to know Wei Ying better and that animosity turned into something more affectionate.

Big Brother Appreciation Time

There are many reasons to love big bro Lan Xichen—he is such a sweet, caring, gentle, considerate, and loving soul who is also a skilled and talented cultivator—the least of which is his intent on playing matchmaker between his little brother and WWX right from the start. I loved that he noticed something in Wei Ying immediately and realized he would be a good person for LWJ to have in his life. Bless him for being so observant and intelligent.

Random Bits of Randomness

If Lan Qiren knew that this rude, improper kid would one day be the person to “corrupt” his beloved nephew and steal his pure, innocent heart, he probably would’ve spit up all the blood in his body and dropped dead right then and there. I will always laugh at just how offended he looked when Wei Ying dared to rest Suibian on his desk, as if he had dumped dog shit in front of him instead.

I just wanted to commend Mian Mian’s fellow sect-mate on the left there who, even though she was not complimented on her good looks or even given a second glance by WWX, still generously talked Mian Mian into allowing the Jiangs to stay at the hotel. I thought she deserved some credit for her nice gesture.

Not having read the novel yet when I first watched this episode, I was actually shocked at the reveal that Shijie was engaged to Jin Zixuan because I would never have thought they had that relationship from this scene. I know JZX didn’t really have any intention of honoring that arranged marriage at this point in the story, but the rudeness he allowed his servant to get away with was still unbelievable. I mean, seriously what the hell, she was still his fiancee, he hadn’t broken off the engagement yet, how DARE he allow that nobody back there address Shijie and his potential future in-laws in such a rude way. The fact that he actually kicked them out of the hotel was also shocking because it felt completely unnecessary. I really didn't like JZX because of this moment and that sentiment stayed with me for quite some time. What made the scene sadder is Shijie obviously was crushing on him and for the longest time I couldn’t understand why because I thought she totally could do better AND deserved better. I can’t say that I ever learned to love JZX, but I definitely don’t dislike him anymore.

Though I’ve been pretty critical of the CGI in The Untamed for the first two episodes, I do want to point out that not all of it is horrible: I was actually impressed with how both Cloud Recesses and Nightless City looked, even though I think their design for Nightless City was rather off the mark since it no longer suited its name. Since they were going to go with the dark theme and make the Wen Sect as blatantly villainous as possible, the production team should’ve just changed Nightless City’s name to Forever Night City (“長夜城”). Personally, I would’ve preferred it more if they had just stuck with the design of the Wen sect’s residence and uniforms as they were described in the novel (which was beautifully brought to life in the donghua) since I liked how deceptively righteous the Wens seemed. In CQL, they were so obviously the bad guys that they bordered on being cartoonish, especially Wen Ruohan (portrayed by Xiu Qing). Man, his performance simply was NOT working for me AT ALL. Even his make-up was a mess...looked like it was melting off of him all the time. In contrast, I thought Wen Chao (portrayed by He Peng) was bit much at first too, but then eventually I started to appreciate the actor’s performance, especially during his last scenes where he actually made me feel bad for his character because he was so convincingly pathetic. WRH never won me over and I was really relieved when he finally died. I actually thought they gave the actor too many scenes already leading up to his death. Felt like a lot of unnecessary filler to stretch out the episodes.

Xue Yang is absolutely evil and horrible and psychotic and a total mass murderer and villain, but dammit, as soon as he showed up, I couldn’t help but immediately take a liking to him, and it’s all the actor’s fault. I have never seen Wang Haoxuan in any other show before...then again, I think he’s only been in two other shows prior to The Untamed, both of which I haven’t watched...but much like with Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo, I think the show struck gold by casting him as Xue Yang. In addition to making his character difficult to hate, he has also made him so interesting and magnetic that I couldn’t wait to see him pop up again. I am so glad that Team CQL altered the Yi City arc so that we were introduced to Xue Yang, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan sooner than in the novel. Not only did it allow us to become acquainted with the characters early on so that by the time Yi City rolled around, everything that happened in that arc would be even more emotionally effective because we were already invested in them, but we also got Xue Yang sooner and more often, and for that I am thankful. I already liked him before I read the novel so by the time I came across his character in the book, all I could imagine was Wang Haoxuan. He completely fit the image of Xue Yang for me. I don’t know if I would feel the same way had I read the novel first before watching the show, but I would probably still like Wang Haoxuan’s portrayal. I know there have been criticisms that he is overacting, but for me, everything he did worked. It worked so much that I wish things had been different with his character, that Xue Yang wasn’t the monster that he is and committed all those atrocities that he did. I mean, he’s literally worse than Charles Manson. And yet, I still like him; I can’t help it, he’s just so much fun to watch. His eyes freaking sparkles. How am I supposed to resist that?? Look, there are times in a person’s life where one must make certain decisions that are undoubtedly not wise ones, but one still must stick with them because that’s the choice that was made. Liking Xue Yang is definitely one of those decisions for me and I’ll just have to live with it.

**I didn’t want to put this right at top since they would be unavoidable spoilers, but Shijie, Wen Qing and Wen Ning never attended the studies at Cloud Recesses. I’m really happy for that change in the drama, especially since we got to know Shijie more. As mentioned above, the early introduction of Xue Yang and the yin metals was also a deviation from the novel.

Questions TBD:

I had questions regarding the whole yin metal drama, but I have a feeling it’s only because I wasn’t paying close enough attention to that part of the story every time I watched these earlier episodes. I tend to zone out when we dropped in on WRH because I just find him so ridiculous and his whole set up in his fortress ridiculous too. Those zombie/ghost puppet dudes are just silly and I think it's kind of hilarious that WRH would just have his precious yin metal floating in the main hall like that for everyone to see. He has a cool throne, I’ll give him that, but otherwise, I really just can’t with him. On this rewatch this time around though, I am going to really force myself to pay closer attention to WRH and yin metal stuff so that I can finally make sense of it all, or at least know for sure that it was never meant to make sense because they actually botched that whole storyline.

Overall Episode Rating: 8 Lil Apples out of 10

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trishmilburn · 5 years ago

Text

Wonho, Monsta X, The Culture of Online Hate and Standing Up for What’s Right

One of the challenges of being an author is knowing where to start a story. I find myself facing that same question as I begin this blog post. There are times when we are feeling so many emotions at once that it’s difficult to express them fully. But I’m writer, and I should be able to put feelings into words even when those feelings are like a maelstrom inside of me.

As many of you know, I dove head-first into the world of K-pop a year ago. It wasn’t something I sought out. It almost seems like destiny that it found me, and I’m so glad that it did. At the time I found K-pop, I was at a crossroads of a sort. Though I’d been publishing books for a decade, the market was changing and I was burning out on the types of stories I was telling. I still loved those stories, put my all into them, and I’m thankful to my editors, publishers and readers for the opportunities and support they’ve given me. But that creative part of me wasn’t truly happy anymore. And I had no idea what to do about it because this is how I make my living. Did I have to give up the idea of enjoying what I do in order to put food on the table and pay the rent? That was depressing, to say the least. After all, I’d left journalism because I wanted to write fiction full-time. I didn’t think I could go back to being a journalist in today’s climate.

Enter K-pop, which I found by way of watching Korean dramas. Not since I was a teenager into a variety of 1980s hair bands (Hello, Bon Jovi! You’re still awesome!) had I been so into music. And to be honest, I’m pretty sure I’m enjoying music more now than I ever have in my life. That is saying a lot considering I’m a 49-year-old white lady from the American South and that enjoyment is originating a world away in a country I’ve never been to. But K-pop is infectious in the very best way. Not only are the typically upbeat songs fun to listen to, the entire world of K-pop is fun and fascinating. It has brought me countless hours of enjoyment. I listen to K-pop in my car on long road trips to concerts in Atlanta and on short trips to the grocery store. Dance is one of my two preferred forms of exercise in addition to walking at our local beach, and the playlists are all K-pop. I love watching not only the official music videos, but also the dance practices, the goofy videos the groups do in Halloween costumes, and the variety shows on which you get to know them better. K-pop is a bright, colorful, happy-making world of singing, rapping, dancing, fashion, cosmetics and more.

Until it isn’t. Today is one of those days. K-pop is not immune to the current world of online hate. While social media has allowed me to connect with my readers and fellow K-pop and K-drama fans around the world, which is fantastic, we all know it also had a dark side. Behind a computer screen, people say the most heinous things to each other, often people they don’t even know. Often while hiding their real identities. But in the current climate, many don’t even feel the need to hide their identities anymore. They feel free to direct hate at others in the full light of day, and others egg them on. It’s disgusting and it harms people who do not deserve it.

Today’s victim is Wonho from the group Monsta X. They are one of the four groups I’ve seen in concert so far this year, and their concert was fabulous. Wonho wasn’t feeling well during the show, but none of us knew that until he collapsed and had to be helped off stage. A bit later he came back out and apologized. I just wanted to wrap him in a hug and tell him he didn’t have to apologize for not being well. After all, these idols (that’s what members of K-pop groups are called) push themselves hard. They are constantly working, running on little sleep and little food to make it in a highly competitive industry that can easily discard them because there are always more groups debuting that can take their place. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.

An apology from a K-pop idol for the slightest perceived infraction or disappointment to fans is not unusual in an industry where them even dating is often considered a scandal. Not only do they have to perform their professional duties, but they are expected to be perfect with nary a wrong step, even before they became idol trainees. It’s unrealistic and it’s unfair. Who among us hasn’t done something in our life, particularly when we were young, that we regret? Something we learned from and grew because of having done it. Idols are not allowed this luxury of having been at any point a normal human youth. This is the fault of the companies they work for and the unrealistic expectations of certain segments of the fandoms.

Then there are the netizens who, for whatever twisted reason, love to cause chaos and do actual harm to the idols and their careers. That’s where we are today. There is a certain young woman in South Korea who has repeatedly caused problems for idols in one way or another. It’s often difficult to dig down to the root cause of why scandals blow up in K-pop, but supposedly she or her boyfriend posted some snarky comment about Wonho owing someone money. If that is true, there are ways of rectifying the situation that don’t include destroying someone’s career or life. Don’t take to social media where the person in question is not the only one who gets hurt. Wonho had also been the target of other malicious rumors for something taken out of context, and now Shownu, another member of Monsta X, has been targeted by false rumors. I don’t know that this is the case, but it feels very coordinated because of the timing. Monsta X just released a new album this week and are in their promotion period, and in the world of K-pop there is unfortunately an element that likes to try to tear down other bands so their own favorites can supposedly rise higher. This is complete nonsense and yet it seems to fester and spread like a disease. I don’t know the reasoning behind the attacks on Wonho and Shownu, but it’s part of a bigger problem – that of unchecked online hate.

I say unchecked because instead of the idols’ companies standing behind them, instead of them saying, “No, we will not let you tear down this person who has put his heart and soul into making his group a success and is beloved by fans,” they always put out the same kind of statement that the idol made the decision to leave the group for the good of the rest of the group members. I call a huge sack of BS! Even if Wonho did say he would leave for the good of his brothers in Monsta X – and I say brothers deliberately because K-pop groups become family since they live together, work together, vacation together, love each other – Starship Entertainment executives should have said to him, “That’s admirable but not necessary. We’re going to stand with you and behind you as we fight this. We will help you get through it, and you and the rest of Monsta X will come out stronger on the other side.” I would have admired them greatly for taking this stand, which is not something you see from the Korean entertainment companies. Instead, the idols are allowed to make sacrificial lambs of themselves for “the good of the group.” Again, I call BS. This is for the good of the companies’ monetary bottom lines. In no way do I believe that Shownu, Minhyuk, Kihyun, Hyungwon, Joohoney and I.M benefit from this. I’m sure in this moment their hearts are breaking and they’re worried about their dear friend, their brother, more than anything else. And yet they are going to be expected to perform to promote this new album in the midst of all this upheaval and heartbreak.

I chose not to have kids of my own, but in moments like these there is a dormant mama-bear instinct inside of me that makes itself known. I want to wrap all these boys, who are young enough to be my sons, in a protective hug and swat away anyone who dares take a swipe at them. I want to tell them that I’ll be strong for them while they’re hurting. I want to hold those attacking them to account and make sure they pay for what they’ve done. And I want to tell their company to grow a spine. I know the culture is different in Korea than it is here in the U.S., but how many times have you seen an American celebrity do much worse and no one bats an eye? There is a middle ground between letting people get away with true wrongdoing and destroying a person’s life and career for something that wouldn’t even be – and shouldn’t be – a blip on the radar here. And we should allow people to acknowledge youthful missteps that are relatively harmless – if they even happened – apologize, and move on. It’s called growth, and it can be an inspiration to others. If all of us who ever made a mistake as a teenager lost our careers because of it, there would be a lot of unemployed people walking around.

What needs to happen is this: all the Korean entertainment companies need to band together and say enough is enough. Rumors and magnifying small incidents to the point where netizens are ready to ride with torches and pitchforks should be called out and the instigators held to account, even by legal means. The companies need to stand behind their idols when they are attacked instead of throwing them away like they are disposable. Taking them away from everything they’ve worked for and their bandmates is cruel, not unlike ripping a child from his family and then telling them it’s their fault. If an idol has a problem, find them help. They are under so much pressure that it’s no surprise that they offer suffer from anxiety and depression, and unfortunately Korea still reportedly has an antiquated view of mental health. It’s part of the reason – along with external attacks – for their abysmal suicide rate. Look no further than Sulli, another K-pop idol who recently committed suicide after being attacked online for years. I don’t know that there has been a line drawn between those two things, but my gut tells me that it was at least a contributing factor. And I don’t want to hear of it ever happening again. Too many young, beautiful, kind, talented, giving lives are being lost.

Today, I’ve gotten next to no work done. I can’t pull my thoughts away from Wonho and how wrongly he’s been treated, how much he, the rest of the group and fans are hurting. I’ve been fighting crying all day because I know I’ll just feel worse afterward. I hate to see injustice. It just eats me alive inside. And unfortunately we are seeing more and more of it. Some might say there are worse injustices in the world than this. Yes and no. Yes, children ripped from their families at the border and genocide are great evils, but wrong is wrong. And what has happened to Wonho and other idols in the past because of online attacks is all kinds of wrong.

Wonho, if by some chance you and the rest of Monsta X read this, I hope you’re able to take comfort from the fact that you have many fans around the world who love you and who will go to bat for you. I hope you’re able to focus on those voices instead of the hateful ones. As a creative, I know it’s difficult to not focus on the vocal minority, the ones who say the negative things. Those are the voices that work their way insidiously into our brains, but we have to fight against them and remember that there are many more people to whom you have brought joy and to whom you will continue to bring job as a member of Monsta X if we have anything to say about it.

And to the decision-makers at Starship Entertainment, do the right thing. Do what is right, not what is easy or most beneficial to your bottom line. Bring Wonho back and stand up to the people who attack your idols, the people who work hard to make your company successful.

#wonho #monsta_x #online hate

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lollytea · 5 years ago

Photo

Some Moomin OCs! (Above art by @ask-artsy-oncie who was sweet enough to draw my kiddos!!)

My original thought for Moomin and Snufkin’s future together was that they would have no children, as canonically Snufkin has made it very clear that he’s not sure if he likes kids. However, Moomin was kinda tricky to think about. He does come from a family that’s famous for adopting any lonely little creature that seeks a home. So, maybe this sort of thing is in his nature. It’s possible that when he’s older and more mature, he may wish to start a family of his own.

( A ton of stuff under the cut about how Moomin and Snufkin decided to adopt them and some info/HCs focusing each of the kids individually.)

When Too Ticky shows up at their doorstep with three escapees from a rotten ol’ children’s home, the couple are hesitant but welcome them with open arms regardless. While she was willing to care for them herself until she found them a permanent home, she had urgent business to attend to (invisible moose turf wars up south.) and left them in the care of Moomintroll and Snufkin for a week or two until she returned.

Moomin becomes fond of the children almost immediately. They’re a handful, obviously, but their spirit is incredible. He begins to feel quite comfortable and content in this parental role and even though he tries not to show it, he’s devastated when Snufkin reminds him that they’ll be leaving soon. He’s come to realize that he does want children but is also aware of how Snufkin feels about it. He would would never want to force him into that sort of thing if it’s not what he wants.

Meanwhile, Snufkin has been thinking. Though Moomin has been doing his best to hide his feelings on the matter, Snufkin knows just how attached he is to the kids and how upset he’ll be once they’re gone. He’s in a difficult position here as his conscience is reminding him repeatedly that Moomintroll had always let him choose the life he wanted. He let him wander whenever he pleased and never forced him to stay. Would it not be worth it of Snufkin to return the favor and not stand in the way of what Moomin wanted out of his life?

They discuss it one night after putting the children to bed and they let themselves be honest. Moomintroll adores the kids and wants to raise them. But under no circumstance would he ever pressure Snufkin to do the same. Because he loves Snufkin.

Snufkin admits that he feels uncomfortable with the title of Papa. He likes the kids, he wouldn’t mind sharing a home with them and spending time with them and watching them grow. It’s just that thinking of himself as a father makes him very anxious. But more than anything, he wants Moomin to do whatever makes him happy. Because he loves Moomin.

So, an odd sort of agreement is reached but nonetheless, it’s an agreement both are happy with. Moomin will adopt the children. They will be Moomin’s children. Snufkin will continue to be Moomin’s husband. They will all live together in the same house and they will all love eachother as families do. But the children will not be Snufkin’s. At least not now. If he’s ever ready to be a father alongside Moomin, the kids will still be there. But there’s no rush. The agreement is silly, of course but it puts Snufkin at ease.

It doesn’t happen right away, but within a few years of raising the kids, Snufkin finds himself warming up to the idea.

The Children

Torben - The Witch. Oldest of the three children, Torben is extroverted, witty, charming and a true rowdy boy at heart. He has a hard time juggling responsibilities with immaturity, as while he’s a fiercely protective and nurturing older brother, he’s usually the driving force of mischief that tends to get them all into trouble.

- Is excellent at annoying Moomin. Not that he doesn’t love his papa dearly and vice versa but that boy is the most prominent reason that the poor ol’ troll is going grey. Despite this, Moomin always trusts him with the job of taking care of his siblings. It’s the one thing he has 100% faith in him in. Maybe they’ll cause a bit of mischief but at least he knows that with Torben, they won’t be hurt.

- When he first came to Moominhouse, Torben suffered from frequent nightmares. He was five years old at the time and having cared for his siblings alone until then, he had a hard time accepting that he could finally relax. It was Moomin who pulled him into his lap and sang him back to sleep every night. Nowadays, Torben is very embarrassed about these memories and it’s a silent agreement between himself and his papa to keep it a secret

- Absolutely Idolizes Snufkin. Ever since he was little, Torben has been enthralled with the stories Snufkin tells from his youth, and wants to be just like him one day. Naturally, Snufkin receives an earful from Moomin the first time they have to collect Torben from a holding cell. Not that Snufkin would say it but he was beyond proud that day.

- Torben adores music. Instruments, singing, dancing, he’s invested in all of it. Another reason he looks up to Snufkin so much is his talent with a harmonica, which he eventually teaches to Torben. As he gets older, he picks up a wide array of instruments, his favourite being the violin. If there’s ever a party/social gathering at Moominvalley, either Torben planned it himself or he had some part in it. You will most definitely see him encouraging everyone to dance once the party gets into full swing too.

- Makes his own clothes. Enjoys knitting, sewing, crocheting and embroidery. Cloaks, coats, ponchos, hats, gloves, quilts, whatever he pleases, all decorated with the most showy of patterns. Moomin jokes that they could never survive hibernation without Torben’s blankets to keep them warm.

- Wants to smoke like Snufkin but Moomin won’t let him until he’s older so he just carries around an empty pipe to pretend to puff on and look cool.

- Grows to be far taller than his Papas and his siblings.

- Isn’t aware of his witch heritage just yet. He learns in his early teens by pure accident when roaming though the woods and encountering an older Alicia. She tilts her head at him curiously, commenting that he bears a striking resemblance to a witch she was friends with long ago. With a little encouragement from her, they manage to find some trace of magic in him over a cup of tea. He realizes with great fear and great excitement that there’s been this whole side of himself that he went all these years without noticing.

- Moomin is shocked by this development while Snufkin takes it in stride, saying that it’s no wonder Torben would always nick his hat as a small child. Every witch needs a hat!

- Though Alicia handles most of Torben’s witch training, Snufkin also pitches in by teaching him how to read tarot cards. Meanwhile Moomin tells his son that it’s okay if he believes in the cards but if they tell him to leave home before he’s ready if he catches a certain amount of fish or something silly like that, then they’re wrong!

Birch - The Woodie. The middle child. Two years younger than Torben and three years older than Essi. Primarily the voice of reason among his more reckless siblings. However, he is still a child and loves a good adventure and a laugh every so often so he’ll usually tag along without question. While the trio have been thrown in jail several times, it’s worth mentioning that there’s plenty of times they haven’t gotten arrested and Birch’s quick thinking is usually to thank for that.

- Birch is quite the introvert. Calm, reserved and a bit shy around strangers. But that does not stop him from having a tongue sharp as a pinprick when he’s around those he’s comfortable with. He’s good with a snarky retort to any of Torben’s comments and will gladly dish them out at any opportunity.

- He and Torben bicker constantly. They are always a word away from launching at each other into a full blown wrestling match over the kitchen table. They disagree on all trivial things. They’re also best friends and there is no force in this world that can tear the brothers apart.

- Keeping Essi safe is usually their top priority but Birch often forget that he’s also a younger sibling and Torben is always looking out for him too.

- Likes to collect the things he finds, especially funny shaped rocks and seashells. He’s always carrying around a little pouch to store his treasures. The shelves in his bedroom are packed tight with everything he’s gathered over the years, which he polishes every day.

- Doesn’t like affection from just anyone but will allow it from his family and actively seeks it from Moomin. His papa gives very good hugs and Birch often finds himself needing a specific kind of comfort that only Moomin can give him.

- He’s cleaner than the average Woodie, bathing twice as regularly as is required of him. He then has to scrub the shedding moss he left in the bathtub.

- The little flower patches that grow on his body tend to wilt and fall off during the colder months and burst into bloom again in Spring. The older he gets, the more flowers he accumulates.

- Birch is a dreamer. He’s the musing, pondering sort who likes to fall away to his own imagination. He likes reading and enjoys writing and while he’s tried out a variety of different types, such as stories, plays and memoirs (at Moominpapa-…or rather moomingrandpapa’s insistence) he finally finds that he’s best suited for poetry.

- When Birch and Snufkin first met, his future father was sceptical. Seeing a Woodie child again brought back a mix of nostalgia and an instinctive urge to back away before the confounded little one imprinted on him like last time. And true, while as a young child, Birch was a lot more touchy and clingy but much to Snufkin’s relief, he had an obvious favouritism towards Moomin.

- Snufkin was astonished as Birch grew older and it became clearer with each day that they had a lot in common. Birch often needed his space too, he needed alone time, he didn’t like large crowds and he got grumpy when he wasn’t left alone when asked. And while his siblings didn’t always get that, Moomin and Snufkin understood and allowed him his solitude when he needed it.

- One year, Birch’s heart tells him he needs to leave. Not forever but just for a bit. He doesn’t understand the urge but every inch of him is suddenly screaming “we need to go!” and he has no idea how to react to it. Eventually, he realizes that this is the exact feeling Snufkin always described as he hugged them goodbye every winter. It was something he simply needed to do.

- He’s very anxious about telling Moomin, knowing how family-oriented his papa was and how worried he could get over his childrens’ wellbeing. But once he finally works up the courage to announce his plans over the dinner table, his two papas share a shocked look but the response from both of them is surprisingly supportive. Moomin explains that if it’s what he must do, then do it. Though he had never gotten that feeling himself, being with Snufkin so long has given him a lot of insight on wanderers and the way their souls are. Snufkin says nothing on the matter but Birch catches his smile from across the table and the proud gleam in his eye.

- Birch is the first of the children to go a winter without hibernating. He’s not entirely sure if he’ll do this every year but maybe once in a while would be nice. When the time to leave finally came, Essi clings to him and weeps as Birch holds her close and assures her that he’ll be back again in no time. He can tell Moomin wants to burst into tears too but he holds himself together as not to hold Birch back. Torben is doing the same thing but Birch suspects that more on account of his own self-pride.

- For his first time vagabonding, it’s not as nerve-wracking as he thought it would be. He’s alone of course, but every so often he and Snufkin would cross paths on their respective journeys and share a campfire and talk into the night. It’s only every few weeks but it’s comforting to know that no matter how vast the woods seem to be, his father is out there somewhere. And he doesn’t always need him there. The peace he gets in the weeks between is quite nice. His journal bursts with poems in a way it never has before. Birch believes he might do this again next year.

Essi - The Mumrik. The baby of the bunch. An exploding ball of sunshine and an unstoppable force of nature fused into one tiny form. Often considered the second generation Little My due to how small and rambunctious she can be. That being said, while the similarities are certainly there, there are plenty of differences between the two in the personality department. Essi was put on this planet solely to have fun and play and love, love, love with every beat of her heart.

- Essi has never spoken a word in her life but that doesn’t stop her from having plenty to say. Since she was a baby, her family has caught on to her way of communicating which she does through her paws, facial expressions, whistling, body language and the thump and swish of her tail. Her tail tends to be reserved for her more intimate sayings. When referring to Moomin for example, she bats her tail twice against the nearest surface, producing a little ‘pah pah’ sound.

- Has absolutely no idea how to pace herself. Essi bursts from the house every day to go play, her brothers in hot pursuit and once she’s out, she’s go, go, go. Never stops running, jumping, climbing, swimming, fishing, whatever. She can never make it home on her own as she’s always burned out and snoring in the meadow by sundown. Torben carries her home on his shoulders.

- Does not like baths and prefers to simply groom herself. However, she falls in the river at least once a day when trying to swipe for fish. Snufkin believes that to be an adequate form of bathing. Moomin disagrees. He also does not appreciate it when Snufkin helps Essi to hide when Moomin is hunting her for bath time. Meanwhile, his husband and daughter consider this quite a fun game.

- Is extremely cuddly, especially where Moomin is concerned. He hardly gets a chance to sit down without Essi hopping on her papa’s stomach and curling up to the warmth of his fur, purring happily. When content, she’ll knead her paws and when affection is being demanded, she will bash her head into Moomin’s nose to receive the cuddles she wants.

- While Birch sometimes finds her nonstop energy annoying/draining at times, Essi looks up to her big brother unconditionally. She doesn’t understand his rock collection or why he’s always writing or locking himself in his room but he’s good! He kisses her scratches when she gets hurt and he hugs her, even if he doesn’t want to and shares his lunch with her he tells really good stories! He even includes more knights at Essi’s request. She tries to thank him for everything he does by bringing him dead bugs but for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to like it.

- Torben dotes on Essi and he always has. Whether it be by tickles or funny voices or throwing her up in the air, he loves to make his sister laugh. And when Birch isn’t in the mood to join in their nonsense, they make an excellent crime duo. He’s not the greatest influence sometimes but he loves her. He also doesn’t enjoy dead bugs as gifts, which Essi can’t wrap her head around at all.

- Like Snufkin, Essi has an inexplicable bond with nature. She attracts beasts of every sort, who have followed her home on several occasions. Though of course, she isn’t half as annoyed as Snufkin. She’s absolutely delighted by all her new pets! She’s on the lookout for a dragon of her very own though. Like the little one from her papa’s stories. She is a knight after all and what’s a knight without a dragon. (Birch tends to leave out the part of his stories where the knight slays the dragon. Essi is far happier with the interpretation of them being best friends.)

- She found an old sword washed up by the riverbank once and it has become her prized possession. Her family have tried everything but simply cannot talk the little one out of giving up her sword. Torben believes she’s entitled to keep it under the ‘Finder’s, Keepers’ rule. So, she has a sword now and that is that.

- It took Snufkin a while to accept being a father. At first, he didn’t want anything to do with that title at all. Of course, he lived with them, they were his home, he cared for them but it was always Moomin who was the father. Snufkin was just Snufkin. They called him by his name. That’s all he was and all he wanted to be. But one night, he was feeling particularly night owl-ish. Moomin had retired to bed and Snufkin was sitting by the stove, basking in the heat. Silence was then disturbed by the pat pat pat of little feet down the stairs. A tearful Essi, stricken by a bad dream, was welcomed into Snufkin’s arms as he gathered the child into his lap. Little paws going wild as she recounted it all, she was finally soothed by Snufkin’s stroke of her hair and the way he rocked her back and forth. All was quiet, as she began nodding off against his chest, when her tail batted once, then twice, against his leg. ‘Pah pah’ His breath hitched. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say, really, as everything seemed to click in that moment. He hugged Essi tight.

#moomin #moominvalley #moomin ocs #moomin oc #springdove children

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