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tobirama-says-fuck-the-uchihas · 5 years

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Hashirama & Tobirama With a Little Sister Headcanons

HASHIRAMA

( as children )

♡ butsuma was never really a good father. he was constantly pushing his children into war one way or the other, so i headcanon him as being, to put it bluntly, a very abusive father.

♡ i imagine butsuma being absolutely infuriated when he finds out that his youngest child is a girl

♡ "what am i going to do with this? she won't ever be as strong as my sons!"

♡ with this being mentioned, hashi and tobi's little sister grows up constantly being called a 'total misfire'

♡ so, with that in mind...

♡ get ready for a whole lot of UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

♡ GOD, hashi just loves her SO MUCH

♡ when she was little, hashirama would play with her in her room like, all the time. no buts. all the time.

♡ "wanna play with the blocks? you want the green one? here you go!! i love you so much!!!"

♡ he can't believe he has a little sister! three brothers it took to get him here and now all he wants is to play with her constantly

♡ when kawarama and itama become fatalities to the uchiha clan, hashirama has a newfound drive to protect his youngest sibling. he vows to never, ever let anything happen to her, may god help him.

♡ stands up for her against their father. butsuma is furious, but hashi's little sister never forgets that. hashi made a vow to protect her, and that's exactly what he's gonna do.

♡ whenever she has nightmares, he's always there to comfort her, no matter what. if he has a curfew and has to be in his room and stay in there at a certain time, he'll sneak out and crawl through the halls just to get to her room. #goodfam

♡ during the colder months he likes to wrap a long scarf around his sister and throw one of the ends over her head, just for shits and giggles

♡ she doesn't mind, she's giggling too

( as teenagers )

♡ when things get a little more rocky in their lives now that hashirama is older, he finds he doesn't have enough time for his baby sister anymore. right around the corner he'll be in his twenties, and his baby sister is still only barely past the age of ten. now that he's much more stronger and able to provide more for his family, he's willing to do anything it takes, even if it means he won't always physically be there for his sister.

♡ when butsuma passes away and hashirama becomes the head of the senju clan, there's a lot of strain on him, but he manages to pull through

♡ his baby sister is always getting noogies or having her hair ruffled by him

♡ once she was complaining about her hair getting too long and how she didn't like it, so hashi sat her down and cut her hair for her. he was like "OMG KSJGFSHGBJRGH IM GONNA CUT YOUR HAIR ARE YOU READY? im not the best at cutting hair. like, TERRIBLE. im TERRIBLE at it. but i hope it'll look good on u!! cus ur so cute!! look at those squishy cheeks!!!!"

♡ his little sister is like "uhh, on second thought???"

♡ he does a terrible job

♡ he cuts it at about a few inches above her shoulders but it's so UNEVEN

♡ he tried his best

♡ she cries because it looks so bad but can't get mad at poor hashi

♡ his little sister enjoys practicing being a homemaker before fighting other clans, so that's what she does. while hashi and tobi are out, she stays at home and sweeps, scrubs the floors on her hands and knees, does the dishes, washes the laundry as best she can, etc

♡ by the time hashi and tobi get home she's fallen asleep on the floor

♡ "HEY (NAME) WANNA HEAR ABOUT THIS CRAZY THING THAT HAPPENED TODAY"

♡ when she woke up nothing went well.

♡ if his little sister wants to dabble in some medical ninjutsu, hashi complies immediately. 3 seconds after the words are out of her mouth hashi is dashing out of the house towards the medical quarters to see if he can find a nurse nin to teach his lil sis

♡ oh, btw, lots of "sis"'s

♡ and hugs

♡ and cheek kisses

♡ he can't resist he loves his baby sister SO much. like, 100/10 would fr die for her

TOBIRAMA

( as children )

♡ he comes off as a bit cold and distant sometimes, but he really does care about his little sister, especially after itama and kawarama.

♡ whenever she'd come up to him wanting to play he shrugged her off and made her cry quite a handful of times, but every time he'd cringe at her sniffling and would be guilt-tripped into stacking blocks with her or some shit like that lmfao

♡ tobi definitely would not go to hashirama's level of affection for their little sister. it's just... it's just kinda nasty to him

♡ he hates the idea of receiving such affection and wouldn't "obsessively" kiss or hug his baby sister like SOMEONE he knows

♡ although once in a while he'll lay a hand on the top of her head

♡ she doesn't really know what's happening but he takes it off after .2 seconds

♡ he just aint that kinda brutha

♡ one time his sister started uncontrollably crying in the garden outside of their house and when he came to see what was wrong she pointed at a dead lizard on the ground and "i stepped on him!" poor babey

♡ tobirama honestly doesn't see how that's a problem. big deal, how many, i dunno, ants has he stepped on before? he never cried about that. he just cant understand what the big deal is. it's a lizard. there's billions of them.

♡ "so what? he was bound to be caught by a bird sometime or the other."

♡ in which the crying ensues, again, and tobirama begrudgingly places a hand on his sister's shoulder in some way to console her, but that's the best he can do. if his sister jumps at him while she's crying for comfort, he may lay a hand on the back of her neck while cries on him. that's it though

( as teenagers )

♡ when he's in his late teens, he's constantly out of the house preparing battle strategies just in case. he's virtually never at home except for when he gets off from his strategizing earlier than normal. when he's out late, he doesn't come home till past midnight probably or he'll be pulling an all-nighter. it's just who he is, and battle strategizing in case of a uchiha attack is necessary. someone's gotta do it

♡ now that his sister is older, she now has a bit of knowledge in the kitchen, and sometimes makes a little, small snack for her brother if he gets home late. it's not much, but it's the best she can do. probably something like a little tiny cupcake or a small dish of sliced fruit for him

♡ he appreciates it, but will never ever say that to her. his pride wouldn't be able to take it, showing thanks to a little girl when at the very least it should be him cooking for her. but we all know he doesn't have time for that

♡ once hashirama switched around the salt and sugar jars by accident since he just. he just doesn't know anything that goes on in the kitchen. it was a mistake. their little sister decided to make a little treat for tobirama when he got home, and she put salt in the cupcake instead of sugar. made it all nice and as neat as an eleven-year-old could, even put only a very small amount of icing on the top, just how tobi likes it

♡ when tobi got home he found it sitting out on the kotatsu in the dining room and decided to take only a bite before getting ready for a much-needed hot bath

♡ and promptly spat it out on the floor

♡ he was SO angry. ???????? like??????? did she do this on purpose??? was she messing with him?? was she angry that tobirama couldn't stay home the other night to eat dinner with her???? she knew that he had a busy schedule, so her giving him this garbage was unacceptable and selfish

♡ he's just a big grump

♡ when he confronts her about it the next day, shes like ??????? huh??? i didn't put salt in the food, get your mouth checked

♡ and then hashirama, amidst the loud arguing, is rubbing his neck like ...... hey guys, i have a confession to make

♡ when konoha is formed, tobirama is old enough to have his own home, and hashirama is arranged for a marriage with a woman named mito uzumaki. so tobirama moves out, and brings his little sister with him

♡ she runs the house while he's out being hashi's right-hand-man and whatnot

♡ y'know, slaving away, but now, thanks to hashi, pretty good at medical ninjutsu

♡ now that they're living alone together, tobirama has a bit more time for her. when he's free, he takes his sister out to a secluded spot to practice battle moves with her, pretty much trying to show her everything he knows, as much as he can. if his sister has an affinity for water like him, then all the more convenient. this gives him a much larger platform to teach her on

♡ she lowkey hates his style of teaching though

♡ "i can't be hitting you that hard" headass

♡ tobi she's like, thirteen, with barely any battle experience. you're a grown adult male whom has literally wasted some people, including that spikey-haired angry man's brother, ok

#hashirama #hashirama senju #tobirama #tobirama senju #hashirama x reader #hashirama senju x reader #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto headcanons #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden headcanons #founders trio #founders trio headcanons #naruto scenarios #naruto shippuden scenarios #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden imagines

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mrsrcbinscn · 4 years

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Franny’s 30 Day Cover Challenge

Playlist

Franny’s 30 Day Cover Song Challenge: (categories are mostly from here, and here, with some from here, and a couple I made) in September 2020 one of her musician friends challenged her to do the thing and she was like “It seems like a fun way to show everyone what kind of music has influenced me as a musician, singer, songwriter, and just like, person. So I’m going to do it.”

In reality, she recorded most of them in 1-2 days to distract her from how sad she is because Wilbur hates her and he’s sad lmao

It helped a little.

(If you want me to drop the playlist she mentions in #24 let me know, I have it started I can finish it)

TW: mentions of Franny’s political beliefs so tw: politics, an allusion to suicide though the word isn’t directly used, mention of 9/11 and the subsequent invasions...nothing graphic with any of these triggers but worth a forewarning

Day 01 - A song that makes you happy

Honey Spiders by The Parlotones

“The Parlotones are this fantastic indie rock band out of South Africa. And I actually thought about doing their song, uh, Stars Fall Down for day sixteen, but I’m going with Honey Spiders for day 1. There were lots of Parlotones songs, I mean. Push Me to The Floor, We Call This Dancing, Should We Fight Back...but ah, Honey Spiders always puts me in a good mood.”

Day 02 - A song that helps you clear your head

Light of a Clear Blue Morning by Dolly Parton

“I grew up on Dolly, and it’s funny because for the longest time this song wasn’t really on my radar as much as it is now. But when I was twenty-two I was going through something really difficult, and my then-fiance now husband was abroad for work, so I was alone in our apartment and just. Really, profoundly sad and lonely. So I put on a Dolly Parton record and just laid on the bed and Light Of A Clear Blue Morning played and I had a good long cry and felt so much better after that. When I need to think about how to solve a difficult problem, or I feel overwhelmed, I just listen to that song.”

Day 03 - Song you love from a band/artist you hate

Should’ve Been A Cowboy by Toby Keith

“Honestly, he’s called me a nasty lady to my face and I’ve called him a facist enabling pig to his, so I have no qualms openly saying I hate Toby Keith. That being said, Should’ve Been A Cowboy is one of the best country songs of the 90s, undeniably. I loved that song when it came out when I was thirteen, and I still love it.”

Day 04 - A song about drugs or alcohol

Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss

“This is probably cheating, because my lovely best friend Daniel and I cover this a lot at Dara & Danny shows. But today look who I have! My friend Max from Seoul Hanoi’d! Max the Korean Scot who can’t hide his accent to save his life, so let’s see how it sounds in a Scottish accent.”

Day 05 - A protest song

Talking Vietnam Blues by Phil Ochs /// and Here’s to The State of Mississippi by Phil Ochs

“This one was hard because I. Fucking. Love. Protest music. I could have done a whole 30 days of protest music - wow, let me know if I should do that and give my husband a heart attack with all the twitter threats I’ll invite. Huh. Right, so I was going to do Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven by John Prine. But I decided to do two Phil Ochs songs because I don’t think Phil Ochs is talked about enough. It’s a shame we lost him so young. Ochs’ sardonic humor and honesty in his writing has influenced me as a songwriter deeply. When I write political songs, I don’t hold back, and it’s because of Phil Ochs’ writing that I have that courage. I’ve been singing Love Me, I’m A Liberal since I was in college with constantly updating lyrics. It was so hard to even choose which songs of his to do because for his fairly short career his songbook is lengthy and full of gems. I’m Going to Say It Now, Draft Dodger Rag, Spanish Civil War Song, I Ain’t Marching Anymore...I couldn’t pick one so I’m cheating and recording two.”

Day 06 - A song you wish you wrote

When I Think About Cheatin’ by Gretchen Wilson

“I will forever be pissed off that I didn’t write this song. I’m absolute trash for my husband, so it’s never -- I’ve never had to be in a situation to ever consider -- but this song gets me every time. It feels like I could have written it. Because we do spend a lot of time apart travelling for our work. And the sentiment expressed in the song is a little too real.”

Day 07 - A song in a language you don’t speak

Khattar by Khine Htoo

“This will either be a charming attempt to sing in Burmese or I’m about to offend a lot of people. Which, being a politically outspoken woman on the internet, I’m used to anyway. So. 1, 2, 3, okay here goes.”

Day 08 - A song by an artist no longer living

Phop Samnang by Sinn Sisamouth (inspiration)

“Haha, you thought I’d see the name of this category and not do a Sinn Sisamouth song? You were wrong.”

Day 09 - A song you want to dance to at your wedding

Devoted To You by The Everly Brothers

“I’m already married, so this was actually our first dance song at our wedding. Day three of our wedding, like the more Westernized wedding ceremony day. We had a three day long traditional Cambodian wedding and I felt like a princess. An-y-way!”

Day 10 - A song that makes you cry

Borrowed Rooms and Old Wood Floor by Emily Scott Robinson

“Unfortunately, Emily Scott Robinson and I aren’t related. Sad, I know, because she’s so talented. Almost her entire album Traveling Mercies is...sad as hell. The record reminded me of early Dolly Parton, and my second solo album. You know, all those sad-ass songs. The Dress is honestly the song that makes me the saddest but I can’t even listen to it without crying so.”

Day 11 - A song that you love hearing live

Prove My Love by Violent Femmes

“There is nobody I have seen in concert more than Dolly Parton, but Violent Femmes and George Strait come incredibly close. The Cranberries, the amount of times I saw them in the 90s and early 2000s...close fourth. Probably. The very first concert I dragged my husband to was a Violent Femmes concert, he was not prepared for how hard college me went.”

Day 12 - A song from before 1960

There Ain’t No Sweet Man That’s Worth The Salt of My Tears by Libby Holman

“This song is from 1928. I came across it when I was in grad school and it’s, as the kids say, a bop.”

Day 13 - A song you think everybody should listen to

White Man’s World by Jason Isbell

“I think perspectives of people of color should of course take precedence in these conversations. But I find this song to be a good faith attempt of a white man coming to terms with the institutional racism and sexism in the world around him. And I think this song can be a useful tool to explain certain concepts of racial justice to ignorant but well-meaning folks. As a woman of color I think Jason Isbell did a great job not centering himself even though it was from his perspective. This song is great musically and necessary socially.”

Day 14 - A song from the 1970s

You’re No Good by Linda Ronstadt

“Linda Ronstadt is grossly underrated, that’s all I have to say here.”

Day 15 - A song people wouldn’t expect you to like

Racists by Anti-flag

“I mean, I’ve talked about how much I like punk in the past, and I remember a video of Seoul Hanoi’d doing Spanish Bombs at a San Antonio show made the rounds, but I don’t think I’ve talked about how much I like Anti-flag. People don’t expect me to like punk for some reason. But I agree with...everything punk music is all about.”

Day 16 - A song that holds a lot of meaning to you

Blue by LeAnn Rimes

“It’s silly, but I won a county fair singing competition with this song in high school and it really fueled my passion for music, that win. It’s also the first song Cornelius heard me go full Georgia on, with the yodels and all, at the little bar in my hometown on his first trip meeting my parents. The song doesn’t cut to my very soul ot anythin’, but it’s special to me.”

Day 17 - A song attached to a memory

Supernova by Liz Phair

“I remember buying Liz Phair’s Whip-smart album when I was eleven. And in college, when I was getting ready for dates with Cornelius in my dorm room, I would dance around to a CD I burned and wrote on it with a sharpie, ‘Pre-date Movie Scene Music.’ God, what was even on there? I’m about to expose myself as the most basic 1999-2001 bitch. I remember Head Over Feet, I mean, Alanis Morisette? I was a young woman in 2000, obviously I loved her. Mm, Dreams by The Cranberries...oh, Kiss Me, Sixpence None The Richer...yeah, anyway, Supernova was on there.”

Day 18 - A song from the year you were born

Call Me by Blondie

“...I can’t believe Call Me is as old as I am.”

Day 19 - A song that reminds you of someone you miss

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing (yes, of course she does a cover with banjo)

“This was my late best friend Molly’s favorite hymn. And I sang it at her funeral at her husband’s request. Molly and I grew up together in the small town of Payne Lake, Georgia and Molly was the most devout Christian...but she was also the first person I came out to as bisexual when I was a teenager, and she said that Jesus taught her that love was the greatest commandment and that meant I was automatically twice as good at it as her. Her faith guided her every action but she never talked down on her two best friends - Dan(iel Maitland) and I for not sharing it. Molly was doing the whole emulate Jesus thing beautifully. I miss her every day and it’s been seven years. If you ever think that people won’t miss you...you’re wrong. All right, let’s see if I can get through this without crying.”

Day 20 - A song by an artist you discovered this year

Hello, Anxiety by Phum Viphurit

“I just discovered this quirky Thai-Kiwi singer and not to be dramatic, but he’s my favorite thing in the world right now.”

Day 21 - A song with a city or country in the title

Oh! Phnom Penh (track 20)

“This song was written after the fall of the Khmer Rouge, and after people began to make their way to what was left of their homes, alone, or with what was left of their families. If you want to learn more about what that was like to actually live it, my cousin Reena Boran has a video interviewing her parents and paternal grandfather and uncle about it. Reena is a journalism student currently studying in London but she lives in Cambodia. Her mother is my aunt Malisruot, my mother’s youngest sister. The video is English subtitled on her channel, I’ll link it in the description box below.”

Day 22 - A song from the 1960s

To Sir, With Love by Lulu

“I didn’t actually discover this song until I heard it covered at a 10,000 Maniacs concert in the 90s. My friend Allison was standing next to me and I just started crying and she’s like ‘are you okay?’ and all I just blubbered out ‘My dad!’ For the uninitiated, my dad married my mom, who’d raised me alone until then, when I was six and he adopted me when I was eight. My dad didn’t have to adopt me, he didn’t have to call me his daughter, he could have just been like half of my friends’ stepdads and give me a place to live and nothing else. But my dad was my biggest supporter from day one. He convinced my mom to let me join the dance team and show choir instead of science club, he was the one that talked my mom down from probably killing me when they found out I was only studying music and not music and political science at NYU. I am who I am today because he is my dad. And this song just says everything I’ve always thought about him.”

Day 23 - A song from your childhood

Una Lacrima Sul Viso by Bobby Solo

“But Franny, aren’t you a Cambodian raised in the US? Yes, but you were fooled. My very white father is also an immigrant. He is from Switzerland and while he didn’t teach me to speak Italian and German growing up, he played German, Italian, and French records all the time. My parents often spoke to each other in French and I picked up some French but properly studied it starting in high school, and I didn’t study Italian until college -- and my German is still …. [points to a spot on the screen where she later inserted a card linking to a video on her cousin Köbi Framagucci’s YouTube channel titled ‘Can My American Cousin Speak German?’ where he tests her Standard and Swiss German speaking and comprehension]. But hell if I couldn’t sing every one of the songs from my father’s French, German, and Italian record before I knew what the words even meant.”

Day 24 - A song that gives you chill vibes

Glorify by Ivan & Alyosha

“Dan(iel Maitland) and I actually have an entire playlist on my Spotify accounts of songs to listen to to get us out of writers’ block. And one that I often will put on repeat and just absorb through my headphones with my eyes closed is a song called Glorify by Ivan & Alyosha. I think it touches on a lot of the themes I include in my songwriting. Christian mythology, the darker side of humanity, it often reminds me of what I love about songwriting. If you say please I might drop a link to that playlist.”

Day 25 - A song that’s your signature song

Long Gone Lonesome Blues by Hank Williams“Right, so I chose this instead of a Kitty Wells song or I Get A Kick Out of You (her being

featured on a 2005

recording propelled her career majorly) because if you’re familiar with me you might have seen a video that went around in like….2017? 2016? of Dan(iel Maitland) and I doin’ the song at our hometown bar in 2014. I posted it in response to some tweets because hoes mad when a WOC calls out racism and sexism in the Nashville music industry. ‘Bet she don’t even know Hank’, really? You think I wouldn’t know the history of one of the two music industries I work in? Please. Anyway, she knows Hank and nails the incredibly technical yodel -- the

most difficult

one in Hank’s songbook - in Long Gone Lonesome Blues. Mm...Lovesick Blues though, that also strikes fear into my heart. Anyway stay mad I guess?”

Day 26 - A song by your favorite band

Gun Shy by 10,000 Maniacs

“10,000 Maniacs was one of my favorite bands when I was in like 5th grade through 10th. I listened to them for a little while after Natalie Merchant left for a solo career, but the Natalie Merchant era was really what resonated with me the most. Gun Shy was a bit too advanced for my little 5th, 7th grade ears to really appreciate when I first discovered the album In My Tribe. Merchant’s voice -- because like, I don’t have a very conventional voice either, so her and Dolores O’Riordan really changed my entire perspective on what a woman’s voice can sound like in rock music. Um, yeah, so her voice more than the lyrics just wowed me. And as I got closer to graduating high school and especially in college I actually understood what What’s The Matter Here, Hey Jack Kerouac, and Gun Shy were talking about. Gun Shy...really became a significant song to me because...being born in 1980 I grew up in a relatively peaceful time. The Cold War was all but thawed by my tenth birthday. But I was getting ready to leave my then-boyfriend-now-husband’s apartment for class at NYU on the morning of 9/11. We stood in line for hours to donate blood. And then my government invaded two completely unrelated countries and jingoism and terrifying, fervent nationalism, and xenophobia just smacked me in the face. And friends of mine from high school were convicted to drop out of college and join the Army, and died, for an unjust, imperialist war, and suddenly Phil Ochs, John Prine, and Bob Dylan lyrics hit a lot different, and I understood what Gun Shy was really about.”

Day 27 - A song you hate by an artist you love

Mrs.Robinson by Simon & Garfunkel

“Paul Simon is one of my favorite songwriters ever, um, and I actually used to like Mrs. Robinson….until I got married and everyone sang it at me. It’s kind of my fault, I did choose to take my husband’s last name. And I leaned into it by making my social media handles all Mrs. Robinson...but still. Only play the song around me if you want to die.”

Day 28 - A song that a younger you would have loved

Mean by Taylor Swift

“I’m so genuinely glad that I am older than Taylor Swift. Middle school Franny did not need Taylor Swift to enable me and fuel my ego. Some of her singles, while not really 35 and 40 year old Franny’s cup of tea, young me would have played until my mother hid the record or cassette from me. Although - fuck if Tim McGraw didn’t immediately give my happily married ass flashbacks to my first love and make me bawl like a baby? Right, so when Speak Now came out and I listened to it, Mean, while not a song that adult me has listened to maybe more like ten times, I immediately thought ‘wow, I needed this song when I was in middle and high school.’ I could literally picture 7th grade me with my little guitar and my little cowboy boots my dad bought for me singing this at the talent show making eye contact with the kids who bullied me as if it was some kind of own when it’s not. I could still, almost thirty years later, name them if I really wanted. So, for 7th grade me, Mean by Taylor Swift.”

Day 29- A song that reminds you of your partner/spouse

ផាត់ជាយបណ្តូលចិត្ / Phat Cheay Bon'dol Chet by Sinn Sisamuth (translation) (female singer covering it) (modern, studio recording of a male and female singer dueting it) (a cool violin cover) (another female singer) (cool guitar cover)

Feat. some members of Seoul Hanoi’d. Andy Chaiyaporn (violin), Max Cho (piano), Jodie Batbayar (cello), Aisulu Niyazova-Li (percussion) and Franny has her guitar

“The song, lyrically, only reminds me of my husband a little bit. But Phat Cheay Bondol Chet has several memories with my husband attached to it. The first time he heard me sing in Khmer was at my mother’s house in Atlanta when I had him visit the first time to meet my parents. My mom had a little dinner party at our house to show him off, like Asian moms do when they think their daughter snags a good one, and I was hand washing the dishes while my mom and the other Cambodian parents were listening to Sinn Sisamuth records. I’ve always loved the song I’ll be showing y’all today, like I’ve always just stopped what I was doing and -- so it came on and I just started singing along without really being aware of it. And then at a different diaspora get together that summer, that song came on and I just kinda. Pulled him aside to the side yard of that person’s house to look at the stars with him and translated the song. It’s one of the Khmer songs he instantly recognizes now, so it’s special.”

Franny did NOT say in the video that college her 100% had him sit in the grass with her outside that person’s house, where nobody could see, so she could makeout with him

Day 30- A song by one of your favorite songwriters

Reincarnation by Roger Miller

Feat. Seoul Hanoi’d, done more in the style of the Cake cover

Also instead of singing the lyric “you’re a girl, I’m a boy” she goes “you’re a girl, so am I” because she doesn’t ever change pronouns, she just makes it gay because she is a bi-con

“Roger Miller, to me, is as important as Dolly Parton, Paul Simon, Bob Dylan, in the American songbook. He’s not as talked about which is a shame because his discography is iconic. Getting to be a part of King of The Road was one of the highlights of my career.”

#&&...hc

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twinkletoes-rp · 4 years

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Naruto AU “Surface Breaker” Ch. 1 - Awakening

Fandom: Naruto Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, (Found) Family Rating: T (to be safe) Relationships: Naruto Uzumaki & Shikamaru Nara, Naruto Uzumaki & Sakura Haruno, Naruto Uzumaki & Konoha 11, Naruto Uzumaki & Everyone, Naruto Uzumaki & Sasuke Uchiha (mentioned) Characters: Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, Sakura Haruno, Konoha 11, Sasuke Uchiha (mentioned) Words: 4,456

Summary: AU/Canon Divergence post-Shippuden 215. When Naruto nearly dies at Sasuke’s hands for a second time, he makes the heartrending decision to finally heed his dead master’s advice and let the Uchiha go. Healing and moving on are never easy, but luckily, Naruto has a whole village (and even those outside it) to aid and love him along the way.

Canon Divergence start: Different from the actual episode, Naruto and Sasuke's fight goes on a lot longer and is way deadlier. It ends up a fight to the death. The only reason they both survive is because Tobi swoops in to steal Sasuke away, and Naruto passes out a second later. That's where the fic opens.

(Can also be read on FFN | AO3 | Next )

“Naruto!”

He remembers coughing up blood, a lot of it, and then…his eyelids were so heavy…

“I can’t… We have to…the village…”

He remembers hands on him. Warm and slick and…shaking…

“Stay awake, Naruto…”

He remembers intense pain shooting through him, coughing up more blood…

“Hold on!”

He remembers rushing paws, so many and so loud it became a roar…

“Just a little farther! You can…”

He remembers being set on something soft and cold, tasting more blood…

“Come on, Naruto… You’re…be Hokage…”

He remembers pounding feet and familiar voices barking orders…

“Don’t you dare… Stay with me, you stubborn…”

He remembers machines screeching and a well of grudgingly-protective rage surging through him…

Don’t give up, brat!

And then…nothing.

---

When Naruto wakes, it’s to sights, sounds, and sensations that are becoming more and more familiar over the years.

Machines beep into an otherwise silent, still room. Sterile floors and walls in dull colors that are supposed to relax and provide a sense of calm. Chemicals most might not be able to smell, the pinch of an IV, a few actually, in his arm. Slightly itchy white sheets and a starchy blue hospital gown that’s too big for his small frame. Bandages cover almost every part of him, and he thinks one of his arms might be in a sling – or at least, bound to his side temporarily. Some seriously strong pain meds must be in his system because, at least for the moment, he doesn’t feel even a fraction of the pain he’s sure he should be in. Sakura or Granny Tsunade, maybe both, must have ordered that for him. He’s grateful.

Giving his body a few minutes to adjust to being awake after…who knows how long, he turns his head slowly to look around. He almost regrets it when his vision swims, but something else he notices almost immediately takes precedence.

Body heat at his elbow. There’s…someone else here…?

For a split second, his heart rate spikes, but it calms just as quickly. His vision might not be clear yet, but he can tell from the steady heartbeat and gentle breathing that whoever it is isn’t here to hurt him. Besides, if the splotches of color he can make out are right, he thinks he knows who it is anyway, and in that case, he’s definitely not worried.

When he can finally see, Naruto can’t help but smile, what little he can manage anyway. He was right. It’s Shikamaru, fast asleep at his side with his face in his arms. Naruto breathes a laugh. It’s the same way he used to sleep in class at the Academy when they were kids. If he’s asleep, though, Naruto wonders how long he’s been here. He hopes not all night. Besides getting him in trouble with the nurses or, worse, Sakura and Granny Tsunade, leaning over on the mattress like that must be really uncomfortable.

All the same, he can’t help but soften. He never thought he’d wake up to find Shikamaru Nara, of all people, at his bedside, but he’s certainly not complaining. On the contrary…he’s happy and touched. Shikamaru’s a great friend, one he’s lucky to have, and he knows better than most that the genius doesn’t put his energy into anything he doesn’t believe in. So for him to be here…

Lifting his good arm experimentally, he finds it doesn’t hurt too much to use. Satisfied, he reaches over to rest a bandaged hand on Shikamaru’s shoulder and shake him gently. “Hey, Shikamaru,” he whispers, not wanting to scare his friend. “Wake up.”

Shikamaru instantly shifts and opens bleary eyes. Blinking a few times, he pushes himself back some and stretches, yawning so long that it leaves tears at the corners of his eyes. Wiping at them with his sleeves, he looks his way and freezes, blinking a few more times and even rubbing his eyes for good measure. “N-Naruto?” When he sees his friend really is up, he perks up instantly, face breaking into a wide smile, maybe his brightest Naruto’s ever seen. “Hey, you’re finally awake!”

His smile is contagious. Naruto’s isn’t nearly as big and bright as it normally is, but Shikamaru wasn’t expecting it to be. Not yet, anyway. “Y-yeah, I guess I—I am!” Naruto cringes and coughs at how raw and croaky his voice sounds from disuse, his throat dry as the Demon Desert. Shikamaru helps him sit up enough to drink some water, and Naruto sighs happily once he’s done. There’s more life to the smile he gives this time. “Thanks, Shikamaru! It’s good to see you, too!”

Shikamaru’s exhale is helplessly fond, the other’s voice and smile the last pieces he needed to know he really is okay – or, you know, going to be. He hangs his head with a heavy sigh, all the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his relief takes all his energy at once. “Thank goodness…”

Naruto, meanwhile, is silent, studying Shikamaru’s face. Now that it’s not hidden in his arms, his friend looks paler and definitely more tired than usual. There are some pretty dark shadows under his eyes, too. The blond’s brow furrows in concern.

“Shikamaru…are you okay? You don’t look so good…”

Shikamaru looks up, startled, and then he laughs, the action helping to further relax him. He can’t help it. He swears Naruto is the most selfless person he’s ever met in his life. “You’re one to talk. You’re practically a walking bandage roll.” Naruto doesn’t let up on his worried stare, though, not swayed by the joke and possible deflection, and Shikamaru sighs a bit, smile sobering along with him. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, is all.” He scrubs his hand down his face and then gives Naruto a semi-scolding look, smirking lightly. “You scared the shit out of us, you knucklehead.”

Naruto has the grace to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his head before he remembers that hurts. “S-sorry… But, uh…what exactly am I apologizing for…? How’d I get here again…?”

Shikamaru huffs a laugh. Honestly, this guy… “With how hard you hit your head, I’m not surprised you need a refresher.” He gets more comfortable in his chair and then fixes Naruto with a serious stare. “Depending on how this goes, this might not be the easiest thing to hear, so fair warning. Frankly, I’m glad you’re already lying down.” Naruto’s caught off guard for a moment, but he nods in the next one. Shikamaru takes that as a signal to start. “Well, for starters, you’ve been out for over a week.”

Naruto’s eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in the hospital that long before. “W-wait, really? How long?”

Shikamaru nods, resting his chin between his knuckles. “Eleven days, counting today.”

The blond pales a bit, good hand moving to the Seal on his stomach. He’s a little surprised that his immediate reaction is to worry about the Beast locked up inside him, but hey, stranger things have happened. To him, at least. He wants to try talking to it to make sure it’s okay, but he doesn’t want to freak Shikamaru out. Maybe if he explains it to him, he can try later.

As if reading his mind, Shikamaru offers, working to tread carefully, “I’ll get to the Nine Tails in a minute. But for now…what do you remember about what happened?”

Figuring the Fox is sleeping to regain its energy like he was anyway, Naruto takes a breath and does his best to think back. Everything’s so…hazy… He mostly remembers pain and blood and familiar voices…Kakashi-sensei, Sakura, and Granny Tsunade’s, specifically… Before that…—!

A face appears in his mind’s eye, and he bolts upright, Sasuke’s name on his lips, but the pain chokes it off and Shikamaru’s urgent, careful hands stop him halfway. It takes a moment for him to get his breath back. “Sa-Sasuke…! He was…!” Suddenly distracted by more important things, he doesn’t even register Shikamaru gently pushing him back down on the bed. “S-Shikamaru, is—Kakashi-sensei and Sakura—!” He swallows, blue eyes blazing as he breathes through the pain. He doesn’t want to even entertain the thought of being wrong. “A-are they okay?”

Shikamaru swears, no matter how old they get, Naruto’s insane devotion to his friends will always be one of his favorite things about him. He nods, a reassuring smile on his face. “They’re just fine. They made it back here with barely a scratch.” He pokes Naruto’s forehead gently. “It’s you we’ve all been worried sick about.”

Naruto’s whole body sags with the force of his relieved sigh, spring-coiled tension gone in a second. “Thank goodness…”

Shikamaru’s smile grows before he sobers again. “So, what do you remember? Let’s start there.”

Naruto narrows his eyes in concentration, and as the memories start to come back, he feels his stomach drop. “I-I remember…Kakashi and Sasuke about to fight when…S-Sakura tried to—“ he swallows, “—to take him out h-herself. Sasuke retaliated by—by t-trying to stab her with a—a k-kunai through the—” The last word turns to ash on his tongue, too awful to say, but he gestures to his throat with a trembling hand to finish the thought regardless. His words are shaky, horrified, more so as he goes on, and he swallows again, curling a fist in his sheets for purchase. “That’s—that’s when I jumped in. I-I saved her, and then…t-the three of us, all of Team 7, we…w-we tried to convince him to—to come back with us…b-but…” he breathes a laugh, a bitter, angry, almost scared thing, a like smile on his face, “…h-he was talking crazy… He said he—he killed Danzo and that h-he was—was going to k-kill us and then…d-destroy the Leaf to—to ‘cleanse the Uchiha name’…” His fist in the sheets tightens, though he tries to take a shaky breath to steady himself. “I’ve…I’ve never seen him like that before… It was…” he glances up at Shikamaru, knowing he’ll understand, “…it reminded me of the old Gaara, like he sounded when we stopped him from killing Lee all those years ago… That’s what he sounded like...”

Deranged. Unhinged. Totally unrecognizable from the person they knew. Hell, those are being generous…

Shikamaru swears under his breath, frowning as he glares at the floor. He knew the Uchiha was a little sick in the head, but nothing like this…! Looking back up at Naruto, he asks, “Anything else?”

He thinks, but then shakes his head. “Everything after that is…a blur, really. Bits and pieces, a lot of blood and pain, but that’s it. Mind filling me in?”

Shikamaru’s frown deepens, but he sits up a little straighter nonetheless. He’s always been one to rip off bandages quickly. “You used your clones to stop Kakashi-sensei from interfering and then went after Sasuke yourself. Once you two started fighting, there was nothing Kakashi and Sakura could do but watch. There was no way in hell they were getting between you two.” He can only imagine how hard that must have been for them to watch. “The fight went on for a long time, and it got pretty brutal. Sakura had to look away after a while. She couldn’t stand to see you two hurt each other like that. The only reason it stopped without both of you dying was because some guy in a mask showed up and took Sasuke away. You wanted to go after them, but you ended up coughing up blood and passing out a second later. Kakashi and Sakura got you back here as fast as they could, and then Sakura and Lady Tsunade headed the three surgeries necessary to save your life. According to Lady Tsunade, though, it wasn’t just them who saved you.”

He nods toward Naruto’s Seal. “It was the Nine Tails inside you, too.” Naruto’s eyes widen, and he looks down at where the demon resides. “It used up a lot of its chakra to keep you alive after yours was depleted. That’s also why it’s taking you so long to heal. Since the pair of you are basically out of chakra, the Nine Tails can’t accelerate your healing like it normally would, so your recovery’s pretty much slowed to a crawl.” Taking a sip of his water, he continues, “Anyway, after you got out of surgery, you were still in really bad shape. All the doctors and nurses did their best to take care of you, and Sakura and Lady Tsunade even stepped in and did some special medical ninjutsu stuff where they could, but it was touch and go almost the whole time. Some days were better than others. We were all really afraid you weren’t gonna make it this time.” He rubs the back of his neck and sighs, mostly in relief. “But thankfully, you’re awake now, so that’s over. Thank goodness… I’m getting way too old for this stuff…”

When Naruto doesn’t immediately laugh and spout some quip about Shikamaru only being a few weeks older, the chunin looks up to make sure he’s okay.

He finds Naruto staring up at the ceiling, for once completely silent. His eyes are dull, a shade or two darker than they were a few minutes ago, almost listless. His expression is much the same, but Shikamaru can tell there’s a whole maelstrom of emotions playing behind both.

“Where’s Sasuke now?” Even his voice has lost most of its inflection. He sounds…exhausted, but it’s more than that. Almost...defeated.

Shikamaru swallows, trying to quell the worry starting to turn his stomach. He hopes it’s just the shock and maybe a reaction to the memories coming back. “Hard to say. According to Kakashi-sensei and Sakura’s reports, when that masked man came for Sasuke, it was like they just vanished into thin air. There wasn’t a trace of them left, not even a chakra signature. Kakashi has a theory that it was some kind of jutsu unique to that man. An ANBU team was dispatched to the area to see what clues they could find, if any, and they did find a red-haired woman who claims she was Sasuke’s…assistant or something, but as far as Sasuke goes…” He shrugs, next words riding on a tired sigh as he scratches his head. “For now, it looks like we’re back to square one.”

There’s a long, pregnant silence for several moments. The clock ticks by, but Shikamaru can’t bring himself to break it, waiting instead on bated breath for his friend’s response.

Naruto, for his part, heard everything, it’s just…it’s like there’s white noise playing in the background of his mind. He’s not sure if it has something to do with the Nine Tails’ weakness, his own, or maybe it’s all in his head. He’s trying so hard to process everything he’s just remembered and learned, but…it’s too much. All of it’s too much. He wishes it would stop, especially the static. It’s not helping anything. Maybe…he just needs more sleep. “I see…”

His voice is even more despondent than before, and that combined with the way he rolls over onto his side, his back to Shikamaru, sets the older boy further on edge. “Naruto…are you okay?” he asks softly. He’s well aware how stupid a question like that probably is right now, but he doesn’t care. He needs to know, and more than that, he wants to. This would be a lot to take in for anybody, but especially Naruto, who loves with absolutely everything he has in him, and hell, he basically fought his former teammate to the death (for a second time), so it makes sense that this would negatively affect him. Of course it does. It’s only natural. He remembers the last time Naruto shut down like this, after his first near-death fight with Sasuke in the Valley of the End. But still, this…it feels…different somehow. He can’t quite put his finger on why yet. He just hopes it won’t be worse. God forbid.

Finally, curling into himself a little more, Naruto answers, “Y-yeah…” His voice is so hollow and low that Shikamaru almost has to strain to hear it. The brunette swears he’s the worst liar in the world. He’s not even trying at this point. It only makes him worry more. “Hey…Shikamaru…?”

Said boy leans forward so he can hear better. “Yeah? What’s—?”

Suddenly, there’s a bandaged arm around him, and the next thing Shikamaru knows, Naruto’s hugging him. He couldn’t even sit up before without being in intense pain, but now, through sheer force of will, he’s hugging him. Shikamaru breathes an exasperated laugh. “Thank you, Shikamaru. For staying.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, but Shikamaru hears it like it’s the only thing that matters. Right now, to him, it is. He gets the feeling Naruto isn’t just talking about being here when he woke up either. He can’t help but smile and hug his friend back gently, not wanting to hurt him more than he’s probably hurting himself. He feels Naruto relax in his arms, and he holds him just a little tighter, letting his face tuck just slightly into the blond’s shoulder. He’s so, so glad he’s alive. “Don’t mention it. What else are friends for?”

Naruto actually does manage a chuckle at that, and Shikamaru considers it a personal victory. They stay like that for several seconds more before settling Naruto back in bed.

“H-hey, um…” Shikamaru’s steady, calm gaze never leaves the blue-eyed boy; he wants to help in any way he can, “…don’t leave?” Then, even quieter, “Please?”

The whirlwind in Shikamaru’s gut dies down, if only a little, and even though Naruto’s too embarrassed to look at him, feeling his request childish, he hopes he can feel the way his gaze softens. He leans back in his chair to get a little more comfortable. If the nurses want to throw him out now, they’re going to have to contend with Naruto’s word as well as his own. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises quietly. “Sleep well, Naruto.”

---

“I’m going to kill all of you…”

“You never had a family! You couldn’t possibly understand!”

“The Hidden Leaf will be destroyed by my own hand!”

Images of the Hidden Leaf in burning ruins pass by, nondescript screams and sobs piercing the air. Bodies everywhere—crushed, burning, impaled, cut in half, dismembered—so many there’s almost no open ground to be seen. Moving closer to the center, all of Naruto’s mentors and friends are lying on the ground, unmoving and unseeing. They’ve been killed, murdered, in chilling, gut-wrenching ways, each worse than the last. Those closest to Naruto were dealt the worst deaths by far.

In the middle of it all, Sasuke holds a dying Naruto by his collar, grinning at him like a lunatic, eyes wild. He leans in close, his Magekyo Sharingan glowing an unsettling red. Naruto can see and smell the blood coating his lips and teeth, gushing from now-blind eyes. “I win…Naruto!”

“No! Sasuke!”

Naruto shoots upright instantly, screaming loudly enough to wake the rest of the patients on the floor.

“Whoa, hey!”

His good arm clutches at his chest where a huge hole was a second ago, he’s sure of it.

“Naruto!”

He’s shaking like a leaf, drenched in sweat, breathing and heart rate erratic.

“Damn it! Can’t you hear me?!”

Tears flow freely from blue eyes that can see nothing but the carnage and world-ending in his nightmare. Part of him knows it’s not real, but he can’t—he can’t shake it—!

“Hey, Naruto!”

Naruto snaps his neck to find Shikamaru standing at his side. He has a tight, tremulous grip on his shoulder, and the older boy’s looking at him like he’s afraid he’ll pass out or start screaming again any second. They’re both breathing hard, but for two very different reasons. Shikamaru, seeing the change in him immediately, lets out a shaky breath, worry pinching his brow hard. “Hey, hey…” He squeezes his shoulder a little more to hopefully help ground him in reality. “You with me?”

Naruto takes a minute to catch his breath and slowly ease his white-knuckled fist from his shirt so he can reach up to wipe his eyes and face and then rest it on Shikamaru’s. He nods. “Y-yeah…I-I think so…” Shikamaru doesn’t let up right away, not moving an inch, and Naruto tries to manage a smile for him. It’s pitiful, but it’s something. “S-sorry if I scared you…”

A few more cautious seconds, and like the string holding him up has been cut, Shikamaru’s whole body slumps and he takes a heavy seat on the edge of Naruto’s bed. He sighs wearily and buries his face in his hand, just trying to breathe. He shakes his head. “No, it’s…don’t worry about it…”

He says that, and yet his shoulders are trembling, just slightly. Naruto isn’t sure he’s noticed. He gets the feeling his friend might have had a tougher time waking him up than he wants to tell him. Suddenly worried he might have actually hurt him in his terror, he looks him over for any injuries, but doesn’t find any. He lets out a relieved, silent sigh of his own. Thank goodness… “I’m…I’m sorry…” He winces at the sound of his own voice. It’s even worse than when he first woke up. Probably from all the crying and screaming. “It was…” he looks away, embarrassed and ashamed to have caused all this trouble, voice falling, “…it was just...a nightmare…”

Shikamaru, while listening intently, takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. He does that a few times before he lets his hand fall. It’s a calming exercise Asuma taught him years ago. It almost always works, and this is no exception. He’s grateful.

Turning back to Naruto, he hesitates a half-second ahead of reaching out to squeeze the blond’s fingers lightly. After so many years of being friends and as observant as he is, the notion that physical affection is something Naruto lives for hasn’t been lost on him. Never mind that he’s not usually especially physically affectionate himself, if he can give Naruto some comfort right now, damn it, he’ll do just about anything. “I know. I heard. About Sasuke attacking the village and killing everyone in horribly brutal ways, right?” Naruto looks at him like he’s grown two heads, and he explains, a tiny, wry smirk coming despite himself. “Unfortunately, your mumbles and screams didn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Paling, Naruto shakes his head roughly to get rid of the resurfaced images. “S-sorry…”

Shikamaru frowns. “Hey, stop that. This is not something you have to apologize for,” he tells him firmly. “After what you’ve been through, I don’t blame you for freaking out, even in your sleep. Any sane person would.”

Naruto breathes a laugh at that, somewhat relieved. Still, something in his expression is almost… haunted. ‘Sane,’ huh…? “So I’m not a drag, then?”

Shikamaru recognizes that look on sight. He used to wear it all the time as a kid, and it comes back once in a while when he’s reminded of back then. Hell, even just a few short years ago. His answering almost-snarl makes Naruto look up at him with wide eyes, but Shikamaru can’t help it. “No, of course not.” He doesn’t care if it’s been years. He still wants to punch all the ignorant bastards in this village who ever made Naruto feel like he was nothing but a worthless demon. He was a child, for God’s sake! “You are not a drag, idiot. You never could be.”

A heartbeat, and something in Naruto’s face and eyes softens, the shadows leaving his eyes, and a more believable, if still small, smile paints his lips. Shikamaru feels himself relax at that alone. “Got it. Thanks, Shikamaru.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s quiet for a good few seconds, and then, quietly, hesitantly, “So…do you wanna talk about it?”

Naruto blinks and then thinks. He could tell him what he’s thinking and feeling, but…right now, it’s all still kind of a mess inside, and that nightmare didn’t help. He might be able to help him figure out a solution, but he also gets the feeling that Shikamaru would tell him this is something he has to figure out for himself. With that in mind, he slowly shakes his head. “Not yet. I…I still need to…sort some things out. In my head and…my heart, too. How I’m feeling…you know?” Blue eyes leisurely move to meet brown. His tiny smile’s grown a bit. “But thank you. I’ll tell you when, okay?”

Shikamaru isn’t so sure he likes letting this lie, but…he trusts Naruto. He trusts that he’ll come to him if he needs someone to confide in. “Sure. Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Naruto softens, tries really hard not to think of the three clean-through sword wounds that traveled the length of Shikamaru’s midsection in his nightmare. He swallows, does his best to remind himself that the blood on his tongue isn’t real. His smile wavers, turns fragile, but then bounces back to be even bigger than before. “T-thanks, Shikamaru. You’re the best.”

Shikamaru’s cheeks color slightly at the compliment, not expecting it. Avoiding his gaze momentarily, he gently pushes Naruto back down on the bed. “Again, you’re welcome. Now…” he moves from the mattress back to his chair so he doesn’t crowd his friend, “…get some sleep. For real this time.” Sensing he’s nervous, he reaches out to squeeze his fingers again, leaving them there. If it’ll help him sleep and avoid any more nightmares for the night, he doesn’t mind. He offers a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. If I’m wrong, I’ll eat my words and do something we both know I think is a total drag.”

Naruto laughs, for real this time. It looks like some of his color’s finally coming back, too. That’s good. “A—” a big yawn interrupts him, and his eyelids start to droop; his exhaustion’s rushing back now that he feels warm and safe again, “—all right... Night…Shikamaru…”

He’s out like a light in just a few seconds, and that means Shikamaru can finally relax himself. He doesn’t plan on sleeping just yet, wanting to make sure Naruto really will be okay first, but he’ll get there eventually. Leaning back in his chair, head propped against the wall, he looks out the window at the clear, starry night sky. They might not be clouds, but they’ll do.

Something about all this tells Shikamaru that Naruto’s recovery won’t be as smooth as the last time.

But lucky for him?

This time, he has Shikamaru at his back.

#Naruto #Naruto AU #Naruto fanfiction #Naruto Uzumaki #Shikamaru Nara #Any feedback is appreciated #Thanks so much for reading Feel free to reblog #About Shikamaru here just in case: while he might be less 'what a drag' than usual I have my reasons for that. My thinking is that he was re #really freaked out when he thought Naruto was really gonna die (they all were); he's pissed at Sasuke;#as he gets older and more mature (espec following Asuma's death) he says it less (as shown in later eps/movies so applying it here lol);#and he knows (as much as he canat least) how hard this must be on Naruto so he wants to help in any way he can #Plus helping his friends like this is one of the few things that isn't a drag to him

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domesticsns · 5 years

Text

The Purple Turbo Tube Slide

Genre: Slice of life, Romance, Comedy, fluff

Main-pairing: SasuNaruSasu

Summary: Naruto (33) and Sasuke (33) go to their nephew’s birthday party. Soon Naruto goes off to play with the children while Sasuke spends some quality time with his the adults of his family. When Naruto gets a bit over his head he decides to slide down on a children's turbo tube slide and managed to get stuck half-way. Sasuke, annoyed his husband didn’t listen to his warnings, gets a surprise visit from the biggest demon he had to face during his childhood

The Purple Turbo Tube Slide, part one

Sasuke was fixing the collar of his white shirt before fastening the buttons on the ends of his sleeve. He looked over his shoulder to the bed where he could see his husband snoring loudly while hugging the pillows on the empty bed side.

“We’re going to be late,” Sasuke said his eyes fixated on Naruto’s face that was drooling over the pillow. The man had been getting up and falling back asleep for the past two hours. He continued snoring.

“Come on,” Sasuke turned around and walked over to the bed, shaking Naruto. “We have a lot to do.”

Naruto woke up, an groaned annoyed. He grabbed Sasuke’s wrist and pulled him in the bed.

“No, you are not getting out of this.” Sasuke sat up and pushed Naruto’s hand away from him.

“Isn’t there a nicer way to wake your husband up? I’ve heard people waking up to kisses or…” A small smirk appeared on his face.

Sasuke kicked Naruto on the side, so he rolled off the bed and onto the ground. He heard a soft moan once the men hit the floor. Sasuke leaned over the edge of the bed, looking at his idiot husband, making do with the fuzzy rug.

“I can get used to this, dattebayo..” Naruto muttered grabbing the black cat that was trying to get away and used her as a pillow to hug. Sasuke shook his head, but couldn’t supress a small smile. Naruto was adorable.

“Maybe if you were being nicer, I wouldn’t have such a hard time.”

Sasuke sighed deeply and mockingly began calling: “Sweetie, Baby, darling, Bambi, cutie pie, my one and only, sun of my moon-“

“OK-“ Naruto rolled on his back, and the black cat took her opportunity to get away an jump on the nightstand.

“The line goes, ‘Moon of my life’ and you would’ve known that if you watched HBO with me.” Naruto sat up and rubbed his eyes before looking up at Sasuke.

“Whatever,” The Uchiha sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down on his husband. They have been married for a while now, ever since they were twenty-eight and ran off and got eloped. Now they are thirty-three and still madly in love. It was so odd how opposite attract.

Naruto had ocean blue eyes, blond short hair, his left ear was covered in piercings, he had snake-bite piercings and another piercing in eyebrow. His right arm was covered in colourful tattoos, the colour orange sticking out the most because of the nine tailed fox on his upper arm. His stomach had some ancient sealing tattooed on it and his left arm was covered till his elbow, one of the tattoos was Sasuke’s name in hiragana. It is insane to tattoo your back then boyfriend’s name on your arm, but to be fair, he lost a bet with Sasuke and till now did not come to regret it.

Naruto was a nice person, pure hearted and good to the bones. He was friendly, helped everybody he could. He was kind and easy to talk to. He could even befriend the worst person on the earth and even they would end up caring about him.

Sasuke was the opposite of this. He had dark eyes that almost appeared to be black, his hair was midnight blue and his skin didn’t have any art on it or metal in it. He was cold and always saw the worst in people.

He leaned in and kissed Naruto’s forehead. Naruto smiled at this. They’ve been married for five years and yet every small bit of soft affection from Sasuke made his heart pound like a pre-teen madly in love.

“Fine, fine I’ll hit the shower.” Naruto said, getting up from the floor. “But I’ll get to choose the music on our way to Madara.”

“Fine,” Sasuke agreed “You know what you are going to wear?”

“Uhm...My orange sweater.” Naruto looked over at Sasuke, seeing his expression change ever so slightly.

“I guess…Just jeans with a shirt-“

Sasuke’s face did it again.

“….I go naked?” Naruto raised a questionable eyebrow.

Sasuke’s face did it a third time

“Uhm….What am I going to wear?” Naruto asked feeling the pressure of judgement on his shoulders.

“Well, I guess if you want me to choose what you wear today. I guess I can take a minute to think about it.”

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t been thinking about what I should be wearing all night.”

“Nonsense.” Sasuke said, and it sounded almost believable if it wasn’t for that slight twitch of his lip that formed a minor smirk.

Naruto shook his head.

“The first then minutes I was thinking about what I was going to wear.” Sasuke said.

Naruto gave his husband a small smile and headed to the bathroom where he proceeded to get ready for the day. He felt a bit hesitant because although he loved Sasuke and his family very much, his family had the tendency to be extremely…Savage. Naruto wasn’t sure if it was normal. He was an orphan ever since he could remember. He did not have any siblings, cousins, uncles or aunts. He didn’t know what was appropriate and what was normal. Sasuke was really close with his family. Ever since his mother died and his father wanted nothing to do with him. His brother and three cousins were always there for him. They were very important to Sasuke and so they were important to Naruto too. He sighed as he pulled on the clothes Sasuke had picked out for him and headed to the kitchen.

“How old is Obito now anyway?” Sasuke asked, he was sitting down on the bar table, apparently texting his brother.

“Turning eleven, I believe.” Naruto said, grabbing something to eat. Sasuke looked up from his phone to his husband and seemed generally pleased.

“You look handsome,” Sasuke commented, leaning over the bar table. Naruto smiled and leaned in to kiss Sasuke.

“What should we get him?” Naruto asked, “I was thinking-“

“A hunting knife.” Sasuke said absent minded as he read a message Itachi send him.

“He is eleven…” Naruto said, leaning on the table and giving his husband a questionable look.

“Yeah he could have some practice before he turns thirteen and Madara drops him off in the forest for a week to fend for himself.”

Naruto’s expression changed to one of horror before he could see Sasuke look up and give him a soft small smile.

“Joking.” He said before putting his phone down.

“What were you thinking?” Sasuke asked, giving his full attention to Naruto now.

“Video game. It is a bit expensive…And we would probably have to get two…” Naruto had a small grin on his face seeing Sasuke look slightly confused, “Because I kind of want to have the same game.”

“But it isn’t your birthday.” Sasuke said.

“But it will be in like eight months!” Naruto laughed, “I am an adult, I am going to get that game.”

“Sure,” Sasuke said, “then use your own credit cards except of your joined debit card.”

“Boy, when the Korean Elvis married us, you knew what you were getting into.” Naruto laughed, “A public school art teacher who is seriously underpaid.”

“But did you finish that other game that was almost sixty bucks?” Sasuke asked, folding his arms. “I thought we made a promise that you will have to finish a game before you buy another.”

Naruto raised an eyebrow and put his glass of apple juice down before walking towards the bookshelf and grabbed a book turning to Sasuke.

“Did you finish this?” He asked.

Sasuke eyed the book before looking Naruto straight in the eye.

“Yes.” He lied almost convincingly.

“How did it end?” Naruto asked.

“….They got married.” Sasuke remained his straight face.

“Did they though?” Naruto opened the book and looked at the last page. “No, they all die.” Naruto said, pushing the book back on the shelf hearing Sasuke whisper: “Spoilers much…”

He grabbed another book and held it up.

“So you haven’t finish that book and yet…These three books appeared out of nowhere on the shelf.”

“Yeah it is crazy how books just….Appear….” Sasuke sighed looking at Naruto giving him a ‘are you kidding me’ expression, “Alright buy the game.” Sasuke gave in.

They headed To the store to get the gift and headed towards Madara that was a two hour drive to his house in the suburbs. Madara was a men that was very well off. His house had five bedrooms and a huge garden. It was only him and his two sons, Obito and Tobi. His wife and him got divorced three years ago, but they remain on good terms. They went around the back and walked inside the garden. There was a swing set where Itachi was pushing his daughter, Naori. And Shisui was pushing his daughter, Mirai. The girls were laughing and shouting to go higher and higher. Up on the tree house Tobi and Obito, chasing one another.

“UNCLE SASUKE!” Obito shouted from on top of his longs. He slid down the purple turbo tube slide . He ran up to Sasuke and wrapped his arms around the men’s waist and hugged him tightly.

“Happy birthday,” Sasuke patting the boy’s head.

“I’m so glad you came!” The boy said excitedly.

“We got you something very good,” Naruto said, handing Obito the present. “It is actually PG 13,” Naruto whispered.

“Presents after dinner!” Madara shouted from the BBQ grill. He was wearing an apron saying ‘kiss the cook’. Obito had a pouting expression on his face.

“Uncle Naruto!” Naori and Mirai ran from the swing to Naruto and jumped at him. Tobi wrapped his arms around Naruto’s left arm and Mirai on his right one. Naori hugged his leg as she was just tall enough to reach Naruto’s thigh.

“I drew a cat. You wanna see. You wanna see!” Naori grabbed Naruto’s free arm.

“I drew a dog!” Tobi exclaimed.

“I drew unicorn!” Mirai added.

“Naori, Tobi, Mirai let your uncle Naruto first have a drink first, alright.” Itachi told his daughter and nephew. They both looked sad for a moment and so did Naruto. He looked over at Sasuke.

“Oh just go. Stay hydrated” He said, causing all four to smile again and run inside.

Itachi sighed and looked at his younger brother.

“How have you been, little brother.” He let his hand run down Sasuke’s hair, fixing it slightly on the sides.

“I am thirty-three, can you stop calling me little,” Sasuke said slightly annoyed as he tried pushing his brother’s hand away.

“You could be eighty-two and I still see that little boy running after me and begging me to play with him.” He laughed seeing Sasuke’s slightly embarrassed face.

“Oh remember when he was a baby and kept crawling towards you. Adorable!” Shisui tried to pinch Sasuke’s cheek, but Sasuke had no problem to slap his hand away as soon as it approached him.

“Don’t Shisui, you know he’s a cop now.” Itachi chuckled.

“I’m a detective.” Sasuke corrected his brother, but his words went unnoticed.

They walked up to the patio where the other members of the Uchiha-family were.

“Sasuke, I’m so happy to see you.” Izumi, Itachi’s wife, said as she got up from the chair and gave Sasuke a big hug. She has known him for almost twelve year and still managed to be oblivious to the fact that Sasuke did not like people inside his personal space. He decided to let it slide, yet another time, she did gave birth to his niece after-all. Kurenai, Shisui’s wife, did respect his personal space and greeted him with a simple nod.

“Oh the handsome Uchiha came too,” Mei, Madara’s ex-wife, walked outside, holding two cold beers in her hand. “I’m glad seeing you here again,” she said handing him a cold one and proceeded to smack his ass before sitting down between Kurenai and Izumi. Sasuke had an annoyed expression on his face, glaring at her. She smirked, taking a sip from her beer before putting her hands up and saying, “arrest me officer!”

The awkward tension was shrinking when Madara called for Sasuke: “ Hey Sasgay! Hey Sasgay!” he sniggered at his joke before pointed at the sausage on the grill.

“You want the sausage!” He laughed like he was the villain of a Disney movie.

“I would Maddy but you don’t seem to have it.” Sasuke said, causing Shisui, Kurenai and Izumi to laugh while Itachi tried to hold back his smile.

“Confirmed, it ain’t impressive!” Mei said loudly, “you would think with that bush of untamed hair you would have a-“

Mei was interrupted by the sound of something falling and breaking inside the house followed by Naruto’s voice shouting: “EVERYTHING IS FINE! NOTHING IS BROKEN!”

“I swear to God if that is my mother’s ashes…”

“I be damn happy the ugly urn is out of my house.” Mei finished Madara’s sentence for him. They shared a look and a grin. Even though they were divorced they were great co-parents with the occasional booty call. How they worked…It was a mystery to almost everybody present.

“Nah seems to be the Chinese vase they broke,” Sasuke said looking through the window.

“I thought the purpose of an adult watching over the kids was so they would not break anything.” Kurenai stated.

“Naruto is a slightly taller child,” Mei chuckled “By now you should know that.” She turned her gaze back at Sasuke, her eyes were looking at him like he was some sort of not so secret sexual desire of hers.

“I don’t understand, how are you gay?” Mei said, “I get if you are an ass kind of men, but women have asshole’s too.” She raised an eyebrow. “We’ve all done butt-stuff, right ladies!” she looked at Kurenai and Izumi that looked away, not willing to participate in the conversation. The awkward tension was back.

“Fine,” Mei sighed, a bored look took over, “But then why not a rich sugar daddy why a mere professor?”

“Professor?” Sasuke frowned slightly, “He teaches public school.”

“Oh, poor soul.” Madara said. “You know, I have a pretty good divorce lawyer…And he is also very into ass.”

“I get why you two were married…”Sasuke muttered and shook his head at Madara before looking back at Shisui.

“When is Izuna going to be here?” He asked.

“He said he was stuck in traffic-“

“That’s code for not having left the building yet,” Sasuke said, rolling his eyes.

Maybe if Izuna got here he could take some of the heat off Sasuke. Izuna was quite the hot mess of the family. He would have been able to swift the conversation away from Sasuke.

Sasuke took a sip from his beer before looking at the cool box and pushing it away from the door opening to the side. It caused most of the others to give him a slightly odd look, but soon their questions were answered when Obito, Mirai, Tobi and Naori ran from the back door in the garden, all four not looking in front of them as they rushed towards the tree house. Naruto ran outside getting a strange looks from his in-laws.

“…We’re playing a game….” He said.

“Naruto, you don’t have to look after the children. They’ll be fine as long as they are in our view.” Izumi said, “sit down, you want a beer?”

Naruto’s expression stiffened and Sasuke had a small smile on his face.

“Yeah…I would do that but…You know…We’re playing tag and you know…I am ‘it’ so…..” Naruto slowly walked away before sprinting off.

“He would make a great father, don’t you think?” Kurenai stated, getting an agreeing nods from Itachi and Shisui.

“Speaking of children-“

Sasuke rolled his eyes, he couldn’t believe how un-smooth they managed to swift the conversation to yet another sensitive topic.

“I don’t think so-“ Sasuke was quickly interrupted by Mei

“I would be honoured to be like your surrogate.” Mei said and for a moment Itachi looked very weirded out. He gave his brother a quick look and shook his head.

“No…” Sasuke said.

“Adoption is great too.” Shisui said. “We’re actually talking about adopting a second child.”

“Why you have good swimmers yourself, don’t you?” Madara commented.

“It is not about being fertile-“

“We’re bored already,” Madara added.

The door bell rung and Madara looked annoyed.

“it is probably Izuna,” Itachi said, “forgot to use the back door as stated in the evite.”

Madara walked back inside the house as Sasuke looked at the tree house where he could see Mirai, Naori and Obito ,Naruto and Tobi. He headed towards it.

Sasuke didn’t know how he got the ability to sense something going wrong before it happened, but he knew he become like this after Naruto and he moved in together.

“Hey Naruto,” he called out. Not a moment later his husband looked down. “I don’t think the tree house was built for more than two children-“

“Looks pretty steady to me.” right as he said that Mirai screamed at the sight of a spider and bumped right onto Obito that fell over the wooden window. Obito screamed but was saved by Sasuke who caught him in his arms. Obito stopped screaming and wrapped his arms around sasuke hugging him tightly.

“I’m so sorry!” Mirai shouted.

“Enough, everybody out of the tree house. That includes you Naruto.” Sasuke said with a strict voice. He was just happy no other adult has seen Obito fall down or else he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Owh men…” Naruto turned his head to Mirai, “you ruined it for all of us.”

“Thanks uncle Naruto…” You could see the slight annoyance on her face.

“Can I go from the turbo tube slide !” Naruto shouted as the children climbed down the ladder.

“It is designed for children, not grown men.” Sasuke said.

“I bet I fit in there…” Naruto said eyeing the turbo tube slide before diving head first in it. Sasuke could hear Naruto get stuck at the turn of the tube slide.

Sasuke put Obito on the ground, the boy was shaking.

“Get over yourself, you aren’t hurt.” Sasuke said harshly before walking to the end of the turbo tube slide .

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?” He asked squatting down at the end of the turbo tube slide .

“No….” He could hear Naruto’s voice echo. He couldn’t see him, it was too dark inside the purple tube.

“I told you not to. Do I need to call the fire department….Again?” he sighed. He really didn’t want to explain for a second time to the firefighters that Naruto was his husband, a thirty-three year old men and mentally not behind in a…Diagnosable way.

“No! I can totally get out of here!” Naruto shouted back. Sasuke shook his head while feeling somebody tap his shoulder. He didn’t want to hear any of his family’s mockery so he pushed the hand away without looking behind him.

“Not now, I’m busy because an idiotic moron got himself stuck inside a children’s turbo tube slide ! AND NEVER LISTENED TO ME!” Sasuke shouted the last part right inside the tube slide so Naruto could hear it echo.

“I’m sorry….” He could hear a slight mumble coming back.

Sasuke rolled his eyes and sighed deeply before turning around, expecting to see his brother, but the moment he did. His heart stopped beating and his body stiffened. His expression changed from annoyed to ultimately shocked.

Standing right in front of him was Fugaku Uchiha, his father, who he hadn’t seen or spoken to in ten years. The men who had belittled him, crushed him and abandoned him. The man that made every bit of love, happiness and light disappear from Sasuke’s life for the longest time.

Sasuke quickly looked in the corner of his eyes where he could see Madara, Itachi, Shisui and Izuna stand there staring at the situation speechlessly. Mei, Izumi and Kurenai looked confused. He felt like a weak hopeless child again.

“Hey! I can crawl! ” Naruto’s voice came from the slide, waking Sasuke’s up. He realised he was no longer a child he was an adult and he was a respected detective, he was married and had two cats. Yet his husband is stuck in a purple turbo tube slide for a second time in his life.

“Father…” Sasuke spoke softly.

“You look just like your mother.”

“That is not much of a compliment for an adult men.”

“It wasn’t meant as one. It’s an observation.”

“Very well.” Sasuke lowered his eyes, even when he tried to remind himself he was an adult his father did manage to get the upper hand and make him feel worthless.

“I see you got married” He indicated to the ring on Sasuke’s finger.

Just before Fugaku could say something else, he could hear a scream coming form the tube slide. Naruto slit out of the slide, head first, and landed on the ground. He groaned when his back hit the grass and looked up at the sky seeing his husband’s face giving him a concerned look and a grumpy old men giving him the most disgusted look he had ever seen somebody give him.

Naruto set up, rubbed the back of his head before standing up. From the conversation he heard from inside the tube slide, he wished he could have stayed stuck there for a little longer.

“Uhm…Hey…I’m Naruto….” Naruto said, getting up and extending his hand to Fugaku, he looked down at Naruto’s left hand, seeing a wedding ring, before looking at the extended hand in front of him.

He remained quiet.

TO BE CONTINUED

#narusasu #sasunaru #sns #naruto #sasuke #the uchihas #don't like don't read #domesticsns #first story post #fanfictions #sns fanfiction

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thequeenxofhearts · 6 years

Text

Horror House | Scooby Doo Fanfic Chapter 8

Rated M

Nine o’clock in the morning, the air was cool and slightly breezy, the sun was rising over Clifford House, almost as if it was a sign.

“Are you going to be ok?” Fred asked. “Yeah, I’ll solider through.” Shaggy said, “These innocent people are relyin’ on me, these kids are relyin’ on us.” He looked at the team of detectives who were gathered outside Clifford House.

It had been a week since the arrests and Fred and Shaggy joined Alessandro, Green and a few other detectives from Topaz Police Station to recover the victims buried on the house grounds, using the map that Luelle Clifford had made.

The road was blocked half a mile left and right of the house, to stop any media intrusion and crime scene contamination. The news was all over the murder case, but the names of the victims had not been released. In fact, they only mentioned that two people had been murdered, they had not been identified.

This was the only time that Fred felt relieved that Daphne wasn’t with him. When they recovered the victims from the ground the detectives made comments, about how cruel someone could be to do this to innocent people. Then they recovered the remains of the Clifford Children, the group of detectives had to take a break.

“Listen up people,” Shaggy said, as he looked at the faces of the detectives, “We’re here today for these people, includin’ these kids. They’re countin’ on us t’help them. So, let’s get back to work.”

Fred admired that Shaggy, even in a time of despair, could always think so positively, and his speech encouraged the detectives, who, as Shaggy put it, “soldiered on”.

By the end of the day, they had recovered the remains twenty-four victims. The bodies of the couple who were murdered the other night in the hotel, were recovered from the basement on the night of the arrests.

The remains were taken straight to the lab for examination.

And when the gang returned to New York the next day, not much had changed since leaving Michigan.

Daphne and Fred rarely slept, sleepless night number eight was coming up. Every time, Daphne closed her eyes she saw Luelle with an axe or hearing the words in the back of her mind, “The children are buried in the garden.” And Daphne would wake in a cold sweat.

Fred drank four cups of coffee in the morning to keep him awake while he drove the gang back to New York, refusing to let anyone take over from him. HIis mother was phoning them every hour, checking up on them.

When Shaggy hadn’t drunk himself into a blacked out ‘sleep’, he and Scooby stayed awake, not talking or watching TV, but sitting in silence. When they returned to Buffalo, Shaggy and Scooby walked around the local park, there were kids playing on the swing set, Mr Goldblum threw a tennis ball for his dogs to chase, and a group of small children were playing Duck, Duck, Goose and laughed with excitement.

For a few seconds they forgot about the murder case, until they saw a man reading a newspaper headlined; 24 BODIES RECOVERED IN CLIFFORD MURDER CASE.

Then it was time to go home. Whilst they were away, a new kebab shop opened up by their apartment building, and Shaggy was grateful that they had the Subway across the road from their office.

Velma was the only one who slept, she was the only one who made it through the day without crying or rethinking about their night at the hotel. She slept through her nightmares, she thought if she got the sleep she needed she didn’t care about the nightmares, she thought they would go away soon, but it would be months until she slept without seeing Luelle and Thomas Clifford in her dreams. If she ‘soldiered on’ through the day, then it made her feel a little bit better, and the gang admired her.

The day after they returned to Buffalo, they were in their office.

The results from the lab were sent to them, the detectives had successfully identified the victims, they knew that 6 of the victims were Elias, Toby, Maggie and Rosie Clifford and the two who the gang had witnessed being murdered in the hotel, they were identified as Rachel and Michael Herman.

Daphne and Fred sat in the office, going through all the missing persons files from the victims to get the addresses of their families. They decided that they were going to visit their families and give them the unfortunate news. Velma, Scooby and Shaggy stayed behind, Shaggy dealt with the press who had gathered outside their office. Daphne and Fred went out the back way to Daphne’s car.

“Two of our colleagues have gone t’inform the families of the victims. Before anymore details are released, the families have the right t’have their privacy respected and the time t’grieve.” Shaggy said, before he returned to the office and pulled the blinds down, the press left not long after.

Daphne drove back to Michigan, “Do you think we should have flown?” Fred asked. “What, and be hassled by the press, no we’ll be fine.” Daphne said. “Are we going to-” Fred began. “No, we’re not staying in a hotel, we’ll sleep in the car.” Daphne said, stubbornly.

This was something else he would have to get them both through, a new fear of hotels. Sounds ridiculous but after the night they had, Daphne told herself she’d never go into another hotel again.

One of the victims was Sarah Jane Pepper, Fred read the file and told Daphne that she has four sisters; one older and three youngers.

Daphne and Fred parked outside the house, it was lucky if Sarah’s family still lived there as she had been missing for five years. Daphne looked at the house through the car window, a white picket fence, surrounded the pale blue house.

As they walked up the path, Daphne admired the flowers growing in the front garden. This is how she imagined her house with Fred.

Fred knocked on the door. A woman opened the door, she greeted them with a smile. Her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, she was probably in her mid-forties. “Hello.” She smiled. “Hello, are you Mrs Pepper?” Daphne asked. “Yes, who might you be.” The lady asked.

“I’m Detective Jones and this is my partner Detective Blake, may we come in?” He asked, Daphne and Fred showed her their badges, which they had recovered from the hotel. Mrs Pepper looked into his eyes, her smile fade, she nodded. “It’s about Sarah, isn’t it?” She asked. “Yes.” Daphne said.

“Please sit down.” Mrs Pepper said as she led Fred and Daphne into the living room, “I’ll get my husband.” She wondered into another room, “I think she knows.” Daphne said quietly. Mrs Pepper returned with a man who looked like the girl in the picture inside the file Fred held.

“We were investigating the disappearance of Harry and Jessica Allen.” Daphne began, “We discovered that they had stayed at the Clifford House Hotel, in Ironwood. Your daughter also stayed there.” Daphne said, she felt her heart racing, how can she tell them their daughter was murder and buried, leaving the Pepper’s thinking she was missing.

“Unfortunately.” Daphne shuddered, “Unfortunately, your daughter was killed in the hotel.”

“What?” Mr Pepper asked. “We arrested one of the murders just over a week ago, the other one was killed when the police raided the house.” Fred said.

“When… When was Sarah killed.” Mrs Pepper asked. “Five years ago.” Daphne said, “Before she was reported missing.”

Mrs Pepper burst into tears, Mr Pepper held her. “How do you know it’s Sarah, for sure? The killers could have been lying.” He said, trying to remain calm. Daphne took a deep breath, running her hand through her hair.

“Sarah was one of twenty-six, they were all found buried in the grounds of the hotel.” Daphne said, she felt like she was going to throw up, her skin turned pale as she watched the couple cry. She heard a noise from upstairs, like a door closing and out the corner of her eye she saw a figure looking down from the staircase, it was one of Sarah’s sisters, she looked around eleven years old, so she would have been six when Sarah disappeared.

Mrs Pepper saw her daughter too, “Megan,” She said. “Get your sisters and come here.” The little girl stepped back up the stairs and returned with four other girls, they all looked like Sarah, same colour eyes, same jaw and nose, but the eldest had darker hair and the youngest, Megan, had blonde hair, like her dad, Sarah had the same hair colour.

Mr and Mrs Pepper broke the news to their daughters, one of them ran upstairs, slamming her bedroom door whilst the other three cried with their parents.

Daphne took Mrs Pepper into the kitchen and helped her make coffee for her husband and warm milk for her daughters, Mrs Pepper smiled as she made the warm milk, “It was Sarah’s idea to give Laura and Megan warm milk when they were sick and when they were sad.”

“Mrs Pepper, I don’t know if this will help you, but I know it would help me. One of the killers, the one who was arrested, will be trialled soon, the courthouse has offered to save seats for the families if you want to attend. It’ll be difficult I know, but it might give you closure.” Daphne said.

“Have you ever lost anyone, close to you?” Mrs Pepper asked. “No, but my sister has.” Daphne said, “Her best friend was killed in a car accident, the other driver was on his phone. My sister went to the courthouse, she listened to the sentencing and she said it helped.” Daphne replied.

Mrs Pepper nodded, “We will think about it.” Daphne nodded, she wrote her phone number down on a page from her notepad and gave it to Mrs Pepper. “If you decide you want to go to the trail, or if you need me, you can ring me.” She said.

Mrs Pepper took the number and wrapped her arms around Daphne, “Thank you Detective.” She said, “Call me Daphne.” Mrs Pepper smiled.

“That’s my name too.” Daphne smiled.

Daphne and Fred visited the other families, it was hard to watch parents and the siblings cry when they told them the awful news, a lot of the families agreed to go to the trial, some didn’t, and Fred and Daphne accepted that.

And though it was a rough day, Daphne felt that she could sleep better at night, knowing that some of the families were going to get closure, and the victims were getting justice.

When they returned to their office later that night, they were relieved to see that the press had gone. Velma, Shaggy and Scooby had also gone home, Daphne and Fred put the files back in the office before they returned to their home.

The next morning the phone rang, “Hello?” Daphne answered it, still half asleep with Fred’s arm draped over her as he was still snuggled close to her. “Daphne! Turn on Channel Five, quick!” Velma screamed down the phone. Daphne grabbed the remote, turned the TV on and put on Channel 5. Fred woke up when he heard the TV, he sat up and looked at the screen.

A news anchor sat at the desk saying the words, “Judge Arlo James has called for a retrial for Jack English, who, we now learn, was wrongly accused of murdering Beatrice Clifford, nine years ago. We don’t have many details on the Clifford murder case, but new evidence suggests Jack English was not the murderer.”

Daphne ran her hand through her hair. “This is going to be one hell of a trial.” She said. Fred climbed out of bed and made them both coffees, “We’d better get down to the office and get the papers ready.” He said.

#scooby doo #fred jones #daphne blake #fraphne #shaggy rogers #velma dinkley #scooby doo fanfic #rated m #horror house fanfic

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 6 years

Text

Ralph Domzalski’s Guide To Falling In Love With A Sorceress

Summary: Snapshots into the tragic love story of Toby’s parents, Ralph and Megan.

Step 1. Step 2.

AO3

Step 3: Settle Down In (Completely 100% Definitely Normal) Arcadia Oaks

All was silent but for the quiet tick-tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

Then a noise. A slurp. Like some invisible person chose that moment to suck the last drop of soda from the bottom of their Mega Gulp Cup, couldn’t quite get it but continued to inhale nothing but air through their straw anyway.

Movement. The space in the middle of the otherwise normal-appearing office room shimmered. Not quite like the space above pavement on a blistering hot day would shimmer, but close. There was something off about this shimmer. Something that would have sent any witnesses running for fear their nightmares were coming alive.

A shadow, a dark space the size of a golf ball, appeared in the middle of the shimmer and wasted no time in growing until it was large enough for a human to fit through.

Not one, but two, did.

“You’re getting better at that.” Ralph inhaled sharply. Traveling via shadow portal felt like, for a moment of his life, something was yanking everything good and happy away.

Megan sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. “Well, you know, practice makes perfect and all that.” She took a deep breath. “I got us this far, now it’s your turn. I think I need to close my eyes for a minute. Making portals is exhausting.”

Ralph knelt beside her. He put a hand to Megan’s forehead, but she wasn’t feverish. He let himself exhale. That, at least, was a good sign. He’d always supported and encouraged Megan’s experimentation with her magical powers, but this recent one, these portals, were…they were something else entirely from the levitation, flying—fun—spells she’d been practicing before.

“We shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have let you do this. It’s too much. You’re—”

Megan interrupted, “Ralph, I love you, but shut up. I’m fine.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “The baby’s fine. As I’ve told you a hundred times, worst case scenario they turn out to have some magic themselves and then you’re going to have to deal with two of us bringing chaos into your life.” She laughed. “Come one, sweetheart, that was a joke. Laugh.”

Ralph stood. “I’ll laugh when we’re out of here. Any ideas where the Janus Order keeps their stash of fake passports?”

“In a big bin that says ‘Fake Passports, Please Take One If You Grew Up In A Secret Cult That Never Got Documentation Of Your Existence’. That seems like a good bet.” Megan laughed again.

“I was being serious.” Ralph yanked open a file cabinet and perused its contents. No luck. He moved on.

“So was I.” Megan paused. “Tell me what it’s like? In Arcadia?”

Ralph walked over to the first of the cubicles. “Again? You’ll be there yourself once we get you a passport.” He downright refused to let Megan shadow portal them home. The distance from Rome to Amsterdam, where the Janus Order base they found was located, was bad enough. But to California? No, that was way too far.

“I know, but I like hearing you describe it.” Megan got up and joined him in his search. “The peaceful little houses, the nice neighbors, the parks.” She ran a hand over a desk. “We have to live somewhere near a park, one with a massive playground so our kid can play and make friends. Oh, and we need a yard, someplace for a dog. A really active one who’ll lick your face and love you and…”

“Are you sure you need me to describe anything?” Ralph smiled. “You seem to be doing a very good job of it yourself.”

Megan smiled back. “But it’s more romantic and dreamy coming from you.” She ran her hand over her belly, though she wasn’t nearly far enough along to have a baby bump. “I grew up in a secret underground bunker with paranoid cultists who believe in an ancient demon sorceress. If we’re going to have this kid, I want them to have a much better childhood than mine.”

Ralph walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. “And they will. I told you when we found out, I would make sure both of you get to be as happy as can be. That’s not a promise I’m going back on.”

“You better not.” Megan tapped a finger on the tip of his nose. “And remember you’re promise that we’d all travel the world together when the kid gets old enough.”

“Of course, how could I forget that?”

“Go find the passports, you ridiculous man.”

“Joke’s on you.” Ralph whipped out a small selection of fakes out from behind his back. “I already did.”

“I don’t want to have to ask this, but the seats next to you are my and my husband’s. Do you think you could move over to the window so I can have the aisle?” Megan asked the man currently sitting in the seat next to Ralph and her seats on the airplane. “I’m probably going to have to get up and go to the bathroom a couple times during the flight.”

The man looked up from his reading, first at Megan, and then Ralph, who offered him a shrug. It really would be best for everyone involved if he just let Megan have the aisle seat. Sure, her baby bump was only just becoming visible, but she fully felt the effects of pregnancy.

“Of course.” The man gave an awkward smile. “I would be happy to.”

A bit of shuffling later and they were all seated. Megan in the aisle seat, Ralph in the middle, and the man by the window. Once everything was settled, Ralph held out a hand to the man.

“Ralph Domzalski. Considering we’re going to be spending the next eleven hours next to each other, we should probably know each other’s names.”

The man waited a minute, where it was clear he was carefully considering his words, then responded, “Walter Strickler. You and you’re wife, I assume, plan on settling down in Los Angeles?”

“Nope. There’s this little town about a two hour drive out called Arcadia Oaks. It’s where I grew up.” Ralph couldn’t help the pride that entered his voice. For all he traveled the world, Arcadia was still home. “My family’s there, so, you know, it seemed like the best place for us.”

“Oh, really?” Walter’s eyebrows went up. “You don’t say. I’m headed to Arcadia myself. I recently accepted a teaching position at one of the local schools. Perhaps, in a few years down the line, your child will be in my class.”

Internally, Ralph thought that traveling half way around the world for a public school teaching job in the United States was a bit odd, but he didn’t express this. Instead he offered a noncommittal shrug.

Soon, the airplane took off. Ralph let out a relieved breath. He, Megan, and their future child were going home.

“Happy house-warming!” Margaret greeted her son with a hug and then barged right past him into his house. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place!” She stopped in the middle of the hall, put her hands on her hips, and looked absolutely everywhere. “You got all the baby gear we sent over, right? The books? Oooh and the toys, heaven forbid you forget those!”

“Yes, Mom.” Ralph dutifully closed the door behind Vraxel, who took off his glamour mask and hung it on the new coatrack.

The large troll stretched to shake off his transformation. Then gave his son his patented “be patient with your mother, she’s excited” look.

Ralph made a face at his father in return. “Meg’s just upstairs resting. She’ll join us in a bit. She was just feeling a little under the weather this morning. We already called the doctor.” Ralph held up a hand to stop his mom from going into a massive tirade about proper health during pregnancy, especially when pregnant with a child that wasn’t entirely human. They were handling it just fine themselves. “She’ll be fine. She just needs some rest. How about I show you guys around in the meantime?” The prospect of showing off his house to his parents was admittedly very appealing to Ralph. He, and Megan, had put a lot of effort into turning the place into a home.

Also, it would take his mind off the fact Megan was feeling ill because she’d craved, then tried to literally eat, a raw steak last night. Neither of them knew where the urge had come from and, as much as they wanted to chalk it up to just a weird pregnancy thing, there was a lingering thought at the back of both their minds that there was more to it than that.

Ralph knew he should think about it, but he really didn’t want to.

“I think a tour of our son’s dwelling would do nicely,” Vraxel spoke. Like Margaret, he’d taken in his surroundings carefully, but he remained quiet while doing so. “I see you don’t have any wards set up yet. I can come by later this week and help with that if you like.”

Ralph winced. “Thanks, dad, but no thanks. We tried. Wards mess with Megan’s magic.” She’d lost control and set off a bunch of spells when they tried to set up the protective wards. Most of their kitchenware had vanished into a massive dark portal that had opened without warning. Thinking about it still made shivers run up Ralph’s spine. Once they’d arrived in Arcadia, Megan had promised to never use the dark portal spell again, since they tended to drain her. This one, though, this one seemed like it had sprung into being of its own accord during the chaos. Ralph wanted anything but a repeat performance of that.

Vraxel frowned at his son. “Are you sure? Without them, you’d be defenseless against attacks.”

“Megan and I discussed it and yeah.” Ralph stuck his hands in his pockets, an old habit from childhood whenever he had to tell his parents something really important. “Her old cult has never been able to track us down. They have no idea who I am. It’s unlikely that they’d think to search in little, old Arcadia. Plus, with Trollmarket here, there’s like zero chances changelings are just going to hope on a plane and come here. What would they do? Settle down into a poorly-paid teaching job?”

“As long as you’re sure.” Vraxel crossed his arms. He didn’t look convinced.

Margaret pushed herself into the conversation. “Lighten up, dear. Today is a day worth celebrating! Our son has a home, a wife, and a child on the way! Sure I would have liked him to introduce us to his wife before the baby development and maybe been able to be present at their wedding.” This last phrase was said with a pointed look thrown in Ralph’s direction. “But still, it’s a good day!”

“Um actually Mom.” Ralph braced himself. “Megan and I aren’t really married. It was just easier to get her into the country if, on paper, it looked like we were. We called each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ so no one would suspect anything.”

Margaret stared at Ralph. Then, very deliberately, she spoke, “You know what this means. I get to plan a WEDDING!”

The entire neighborhood surely heard the shout.

Later that night, Ralph quietly walked into his and Megan’s bedroom. She was curled up under as many blankets as possible.

“Sorry I couldn’t come down.” Megan sneezed. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I just feel so ewwww.”

Ralph sat down on the side of the bed. “It’s fine. My parents are really understanding.” He sighed. “If a bit too enthusiastic. Mom’s determined to plan our wedding.”

“Oh.” Megan twisted a hand into the bedsheets. “Should be fun though. Something to look forward to.” She looked back up at Ralph. “She knows that she has to plan it with me, right?”

“Yes, I made that very clear.”

“Good.” Megan turned away from him to gaze up at the ceiling. “Hey Ralph, be real with me, do you think I’d make a good mother? What if this sickness is really some kind of genetic thing? What if I pass it on to the baby? What if—”

“Meg, trust me.” Ralph cut her off. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” He leaned forward and pecked her on the lips. “Remember what the doctor said. You keep getting sick because you exert yourself too much. Just lay off the magic and the weird food cravings and everything is going to be fine. I promise.”

Megan smiled at him. “Ok, just one more question and I think it’s a really important one.”

“What’s that?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes I will.”

Tobias Domzalski came into the world a gurgling, happy baby. He was a little bigger than the average newborn, but that was considered normal for his family. The first person to hold him would be his father, who would stare at him with wonder, and then proceed to make incomprehensible noises at him until he fell asleep. Toby’s mother also slept. The birth had had no complications, but it had still taken hours and exhausted her.

Toby’s grandparents were allowed in his family’s hospital room after his family had had an hour to themselves. His grandmother—his new Nana—entered the room with arms full of teddy bears and balloons from the hospital gift shop (she’d been very busy for the last hour). His grandfather, who he’d learn was really a disguised troll a few years down the road, carried a couple containers of all the foods he knew Megan and Ralph liked best, also a videocamera to record his first day of life.

When Toby came into the world, he wouldn’t remember it, but he was surrounded by family and love.

“So, you gonna continue hogging our son or you gonna let me hold him?” Megan propped herself up on her elbow. She wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“You sure you’re ready?” Ralph answered. “He’s really delicate. If you’re still tired—”

“Ralph, dearest, I just took a nap that the clock tells me lasted an hour longer than the birth itself. Give me my baby.”

Ralph sat on the edge of Megan’s hospital bed. “Move over.” She did, and he settled next to her. Then, as carefully and as cautiously as humanly possible, Ralph passed Toby into her arms.

Megan cooed at her son. “Aren’t you just the perfect little boy? You’re so adorable and wrinkly. He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

“Just as perfect as his mom.” Ralph grinned.

“Stop you.”

“What? Did you think just because we’re parents now, it means I’ll stop joking? The little guy needs to lead the fine art of comedy from somewhere.” Ralph gently stroked his son’s head.

Toby wiggled in his blankets.

Megan gave Ralph a Look. “He’s not even 24 hours old yet and already you’re starting with the comedy routine. No, I think our son is going to be a magician. Isn’t that right, Toby-woby? With a hat and sock tricks and everything. Ooooh.” Her face lit up with joy. “We’re going to buy him a bunny. A white one. When he’s old enough.”

Ralph smiled again. “Well, we do have all the time in the world to see who he grows up to be.”

#trollhunters #nana's troll husband au #troll husband au #ralph domzalski's guide #troll grandpa vraxel #toby domzalski #nana domzalski #toby's parents

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aoibhs · 6 years

Text

Girlfriend

Chapter One

Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Riot Club/Posh, and all OCs were beautifully crafted by @club-riot

"You look lovely by the way," Upon hearing that, Guy's entire face twitched. Dimitri just laughed, being the only one who noticed. "Oh, no.. I mean thanks," Elizabeth stuttered in response, nerves suddenly kicking in, "It was rushed, Honora helped with most of it," "The black suits you," James went on, smiling softly at her. "Will he just stop?" Guy muttered, gripping his knife and fork tightly. "Do you disagree?" Dimitri smirked at him as he put his fork him his mouth which previously had a piece of chicken on it. "No! Of course, not," "Something wrong, Bellingfield?" Poppy asked from the other side of the table, she was directly in front of him. "I'm fine," His smile was rushed and frustrated. Dimitri nodded his head in the direction of the head of the table. Seeing her friend and The Riot Club president submerged in conversation, Poppy understood why Guy was annoyed. "Just talk to her or something," She leaned across the table to him. "Yeah, whenever he isn't," He grumbled. "Don't be a child," Dimitri rolled his eyes. "It's okay, we can all get a little jealous," As she finished, her eyes glanced over to Miles chatting to Sunniva about Lauren. Her eyes then fell on Alistair. He looked like he wanted to kill someone. Probably Miles. It was no secret that they hated each other. Or more that Alistair hated Miles. He despised him. It was odd that Poppy managed being friends with both of them. "Honestly, Montgomery," Tamsin began, leaning back in her chair with her wine glass balancing between her fingers, "When was the last time you had a girlfriend?" "Umm... What?" Ed was taken aback and Toby went into fits of giggles. "A girlfriend, when was the last time you had one?" She repeated, calm. "B-boarding school," He spluttered, going to take a sip from his glass. "Liar," Toby laughed, earning a look of horror from his best friend. "I am not!" "You've never had a girlfriend?" Imogen talked across the table as soon as she heard. "No, I have," Ed argued. "What was her name then?" Tamsin raised an eyebrow. "...I don't remember, it was a long time ago," Ed shook his head, "And besides, there's been so many over the years," "Oh, has there?" She smirked. "Yes," He smiled, proudly, assuming he was actually getting his way. "You remember how old you were, right?" Imogen asked, leaning forward and hoping for more gossip. "Pffft, of course I do," He scoffed. "I do too," Toby could've fallen out of his chair with laughter. "Shut up," Ed muttered. "Did you kiss her?" Tamsin winked, leaning forward again. "What else would I do with a girl?" He laughed, shrugging. "Did you go any further then?" She had no problem with prying for entertainment's sake. "Yeah well..," He trailed off. "They were nine," Toby snorted. "You haven't had a girlfriend since you were nine!?" Josephine laughed, overhearing from across the table. "Excuse me, but I was twelve," Ed corrected him. "Yes, massive difference," Alistair stated in a monotonic voice, earning a giggle from Poppy. "Just because I haven't had a relationship since her doesn't mean that I haven't been popular with the ladies," He tried to reason with them but it just resulted in more laughed. "We went to boarding school, mate," Toby shook his head, "You can't talk yourself out of this one," "First year wasn't bad though," Ed continued to stick up for himself. "Didn't you sleep with Victoria during Fresher's week?" Tamsin recalled, while Victoria's eye widened with anger. She aggressively slaps Tamsin's arm. It hurt but Tamsin was too busy laughing to care. "Oh my god, that's where I've seen you before," Ed gasped, "Hi, how are you doing?" He held out his hand to her across the table to shake. She slapped it away and got up. "I need a cigarette," She snapped, heading for the door. "Victoria, wait!" Meredith melodramatically got up and ran after her. "Wow, you can say a girl touched your hand today," Harry joked from the end of the table. While Victoria and Meredith were absent, Poppy arose from her seat and sat in between Tamsin and Imogen, where Meredith was previously. "Hi," She greeted Miles and Alistair, beaming. "Hi," Miles smiled back. Alistair just nodded with a small smile, happy to see her but still wildly unhappy to be beside Miles. "You're all looking nice, I love the suits," She giggled. "Thanks," Miles said, "That's a nice dress. Remind me to ask for a photo of it later on. I know that Lauren would love it," "Yeah, right," Her face fell, but she nodded. It would never not be unpleasant to talk about Lauren. "I like the red," Alistair said, in such a tone that made it sound like he was pretending Miles hadn't said anything, that Miles wasn't there, "...It suits you," "Thanks Alistair," Poppy noticed. A few seats away, Dimitri had given up on talking reason into Guy and was trying to get his cousin's attention. "Honora?" He began, "Is there a particular reason that Villiers is staring at you right now?" "No, he's not," She just shook her head. "Yes, he is. He has for several minutes now and it's getting weird," Dimitri sighed, "Is something going on between you two?" "Nothing you don't already know about," It was her turn to sigh as she went for another mouthful of wine. "You snogged him last month," He nodded, knowing that. "And this month and two weeks ago," She summed up. "Jesus Christ, Honora," He laughed slightly in an exasperated way. "What?" "Nothing," He chuckled, "It just makes sense now. You're leading each other on," "He's not leading me anywhere," She said, picking up the bottle to refill her glass. Her words earned a laugh from Louisa. "Well, he's certainly following you around," She chuckled, turning to see Harry gazing at her best friend with a pensive expression. "Villiers? Are you listening to me?" George asked, tapping his arm slightly. "No," He replied halfheartedly, then looked at him, "What were you saying?" "I was just telling Josephine about the tourists at your house and the problems with the roof," George explained. "My house has the same problem," Josephine nodded, gesturing to herself as she spoke. "You have tourists as well?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah," The redhead nodded, "We don't have great artwork or anything. It the architecture that the people love," "Ooh, do tell me more," George grinned excitedly. "Old styled Georgian house with a chapel on our grounds, a Gothic church," She said, "It was there long before the house was built," That's when Hugo got up, hoping to get a chance to talk to Miles. Tamsin had moved up a few seats to sit beside Honora, so Hugo sat beside Poppy. Guy saw an opportunity. "Excuse me," He got up and sat right in front of Elizabeth. He looked at both her and James and placed his hands on the table, "So, what are we talking about?"

Chapter Eleven

#theriotclub #guybellingfield #fanfiction #harry villiers #dimitri mitropoulos #edmontgomery #tobymaitland #alistair ryle #milesrichards #laurensmall #jamesleighton-masters #hugofraser-tyrwhitt #george balfour #riotclub #character x oc #posh

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raendown · 7 years

Text

Chapter 66

The latest chapter of the Soulmate Collection! Every time someone requests MadaTobi my heart just sings! Writing for the pairings I love is always the most fun. :)

As always, under the cut or on AO3!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Soulmate au: The one where soulmates meet in their dreams every night

Neither of them could remember the first time they met in their dreams. Madara was only two years old and Tobirama had come in to the world only hours before, strangely silent and colorless. Mostly they ignored each other. Tobirama stared thoughtlessly at the soothing colors around them while Madara contemplated the complexities of his toes.

By the time Tobirama was three and Madara was five they had exchanged names and built an incredible world inside their own private dreamscape. The sky was green and the grass was blue. Buildings taller than mountains rose in the distance and they laughed together as they played in a purple ocean. It was here in this incorporeal world that Tobirama took his first steps, learned his first words. It was here that he made his first friend, the boy that greeted him with a smile every time he fell asleep. Little Madara puffed his chest out proudly every time Tobirama squealed and ran to greet him with a hug, wondering how it was possible to have so much love for such a small person.

When Madara was eight years old he made his first kill and a strangely solemn six year old Tobirama held him as he wept. They spent their dream that night wandering through the jungles that Tobirama had created, with wild branches and twisting trunks, some with eyes and others with multi-colored leaves. Of the two of them the younger seemed to have the wilder imagination. Madara vowed that he would kill as many people as it took to protect his innocent little friend and let his imagination keep growing.

When Tobirama turned nine and Madara eleven neither of them could be called innocent anymore. Their conversations often turned to the art of war and they spent many nights holding hands in their dreams as they shared the pain of losing their brothers. Madara told Tobirama of a friend he had made in the waking world, a stupid boy with a bad haircut who taught him to skip rocks on the Naka River. Tobirama was silent and thoughtful, saying nothing more that night until he pressed himself in Madara’s side with a quiet “good morning” before disappearing from their dreamscape. Madara’s hand traced the air where the other boy’s form had been only moments ago, missing him already.

It was only hours later that his life changed forever. The afternoon sun was hot above his head and Hashirama was sulking at something Madara had said when the leaves across the river parted to reveal a small boy. He was skinny and underfed yet the muscles in his arms spoke of hours spent on the training field. His skin was ice-white and his hair the same, making the red of his solemn eyes stand out like bloody stars.

“Tobirama!”

Madara and Hashirama both looked at each other in surprise, having called out the boy’s name at the same time.

“How do you know my soulmate!?” he demanded.

“How do you know my brother!?” Hashirama cried, almost over top of him.

The two of them continued to stare at each other in bewilderment as Tobirama silently picked his way across the river. When he made it to the shore where they were standing he walked right up to Madara and slid thin arms around his waist, burying a tiny head in his chest. Madara looked down at him in awe, dropping the skipping stones he had been holding in favor of enfolding this boy in his embrace.

“Tobirama…” he whispered, unable to believe he was really here. “All this time, you’ve been this close? I can’t believe I know your brother!” Tobirama’s head nodded and his familiar voice graced Madara’s ears for the first time outside of a dream.

“You talked about your new friend last night so I followed brother here today.” He pulled away a little bit and fixed Madara with a single raised brow. “You’re an Uchiha, aren’t you?” Madara swallowed harshly at the question. They had deliberately never exchanged last names. If they had never met before then it was almost certain their clans were at war and they had agreed that they didn’t want that to taint their bond.

“I am. And…you?”

“Ah crap,” Hashirama said from beside them, smacking his forehead with one hand. “Tobi, your soulmate is an Uchiha!? Dad’s gonna lose his mind!”

“That’s very interesting, you idiot, but it doesn’t answer my question.” Madara gave his friend a stink eye but the expression melted away in to an adoring smile when Tobirama squirmed in his arms to get his attention. Beautiful bright red eyes looked up at him and for a moment he almost didn’t hear the boy speaking, so lost was he in staring at them.

“We’re from the Senju clan,” Tobirama told him.

When the words did manage to sink in Madara felt his spine stiffen. “That complicates things,” he said faintly.

Hashirama slumped his shoulders, sitting down on the riverbank and curling around his knees as if he were the one affected by this. Madara remembered bonding with him over how much they both loved their younger siblings, how they would both do anything to protect them and see them happy.

They had talked about peace. They had shared a vision for the future in which their clans could put down arms and work together, maybe even build a village with some of the other warring clans. Peace would spread across the land and never again would a brother have to watch his younger sibling die. Never again would soulmates be kept apart by family loyalties.

“But we’ll find a way,” he murmured determinedly after some time. He smiled as he looked back down in to his precious soulmate’s eyes; he had been dreaming of these eyes every night for his entire life and he wanted to keep dreaming of them every night for the rest of it. “We’ll find a way! We’ll make peace! Now that I know where you are I won’t let anything keep us apart.”

Tobirama narrowed his eyes in that thoughtful way he had, like he was chewing over something in his mind. In the end he tucked his head under Madara chin again, obviously relishing in their first actual physical contact.

“You’re almost as over dramatic as Hashirama.”

Hashirama called him mean and Madara started shouting about how offensive that comparison was but Tobirama only smiled and closed his eyes. He agreed with Madara of course. He wouldn’t let anything keep them apart.

#soulmate collection #rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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ciathyzareposts · 5 years

Text

New Tricks for an Old Z-Machine, Part 2: Hacking Deeper (or, Follies of Graham Nelson’s Youth)

Earlier this year, I reached out to Graham Nelson, the most important single technical architect of interactive fiction’s last three decades, to open a dialog about his early life and work. I was rewarded with a rich and enjoyable correspondence. But when the time came to write this article based on it, I found myself on the horns of a dilemma. The problem was not, as it too often is, that I lacked for material to flesh out his personal story. It was rather that Graham had told his own story so well that I didn’t know what I could possibly add to it. I saw little point in paraphrasing what Graham wrote in my own words, trampling all over his spry English irony with my clumsy Americanisms. In the end, I decided not to try.

So, today I present to you Graham Nelson’s story, told as only he can tell it. It’s a rare treat given that Graham is, like so many people of real accomplishment, usually reluctant to speak at any length about himself. I’ll just offer a couple of contextual notes before he begins. The “Inform” to which Graham eventually refers is a specialized text-adventure programming language by that name targeting the Z-Machine (and much later a newer virtual machine known as Glulx which has finally come to supersede Infocom’s venerable creation); Inform has been the most popular tool of its type through the last quarter-century. And Curses is the first full-fledged game ever written with Inform, a puzzly yet eminently literary time-traveling epic which took the huddled, beleaguered text-adventure diehards by storm upon its release in 1993, giving them new hope for their beloved form’s future and inspiring many of them to think of making their own games — using Inform more often than not. In the third and final article of this series on the roots of the Interactive Fiction Rennaissance, I’ll examine both of these seminal artifacts in depth with the detachment of a third party, trying to place them in their proper historical context for you. For today, though, I give you Graham Nelson unfiltered to tell you his story of how they — and he — came to be…

Great Baddow, the quiet Essex village where Graham Nelson grew up.

I was born in 1968, so I’m coeval with The White Album and Apollo 8. I was born in Chelmsford, in Essex, and grew up mainly in Great Baddow, a quiet suburban village. There were arable farms on one side, where in those days the stubble of the wheat would still be burned off once a year. (In fact, I see that the Wikipedia page for “stubble burning” features a photo from the flat countryside of Essex, taken in 1986. The practice is banned now.) My street, Hollywood Close, had been built in the early 1960s on what used to be Rothman’s Farm. The last trees were still being cut down when I was young, though that was mainly because of Dutch Elm Disease. The houses having been sold all at once, to young families of a similar age, my street was full of seven-year olds when I was seven, and full of fifteen-year olds when I was fifteen. I went to local schools, never more than walking distance away. My primary school, Rothman’s Junior, was built on another field of the same farm, in fact.

My father Peter was an electronics engineer at English Electric Valve. My mother Christine — always “Chris” — was a clerical civil servant before she had me, at the National Assistance Board, which we would call social security today. In those days, women left work when they had a child, which is exactly what she did when she had me and my brother. But later on she trained as a personal assistant, learning Pitman shorthand, which I never picked up, and also typing, which I sort of did: I am a two-fingered typist to this day, but unusually fast at it. I did try the proper technique, but on our home typewriter, my little finger just wasn’t strong enough to strike an “A”. Or perhaps I saw no reason to learn how other people did things.

My parents had met in school in Gosport, a naval village opposite Portsmouth, on the south coast of England. As a result, both sides of my family were in the same town; indeed, we were the eccentric ones, having moved away to Essex. My many aunts, uncles, second cousins, and so on were almost all still in Portsmouth, and we would stay there for every holiday or school break. In effect, it was a second home. Though I didn’t know him for long, a formative influence was my mother’s father Albert, a navy regular who became a postman in civilian life. He was ship’s cook on HMS Belfast during the Second World War; my one successful poem (in the sense of being reprinted, which is the acid test for poems) is in his memory.

None of these people had any higher education at all. I would be the first to go to a university, though my father did the correspondence-course Open University degree in the 1970s, and my mother went to any number of evening classes. (She ended up with a ridiculous number of O-levels, rather the way that some Scouts go on collecting badges until their arms are completely covered.) They both came from genuinely poor backgrounds, where you grew a lot of your own food, and had to make and mend. You didn’t buy books, you borrowed them from the library — though my grandmother did have the Pears Cyclopaedia for 1938 and a dictionary for crosswords. But I didn’t grow up in any way that could be called deprived. My father made a solid middle-class income at a time when that could keep a family of four in a house of their own and run a car. He wasn’t a top-bracket professional, able to sign passport applications as a character reference, like a doctor or a lawyer, but he was definitely white-collar staff, not blue-collar. Yes, he worked in a factory, but in the R&D lab at one end. This is not a Bruce Springsteen song. He would not have known what to do with a six pack of beer.

My brother Toby, who later became a professional computer programmer working at Electronic Arts and other places, was two years younger than me, which meant he passed through school with teachers expecting him to be like me, which he both is and isn’t. He’s my only sibling, though I now also have a brother-in-law and sister-in-law. “Graham” and “Toby” are both definitely unusual names in England in our generation, which is the sort of thing that annoys you as a child, but is then usefully distinctive in later life. At least “Graham” is unabbreviable, for which I have always been grateful.

The local education authority would have expected me to pass the eleven-plus exam, and move up the social ladder to King Edward VI Grammar School, the best in the area by far. But my parents, who believed in universal education, chose not to enter me. So at eleven and a half, I began at Great Baddow Comprehensive School. I didn’t regret this then, and don’t now. I had some fine teachers, and though I was an oddity there, I would have been an oddity anywhere. Besides, I had plenty of friends; it wasn’t the social snake-pit which American high schools always seem to be on television.

Until around 1980, there were no commercial home computers in the UK, which was consistently a couple of years behind the United States in that respect. But my father Peter was also an electronics hobbyist. Practical Electronics magazine tended to be around the house, and even American magazines like Byte, on occasion; I had a copy of the legendary Smalltalk number of Byte, with its famous hot-air-balloon cover. But the gap between these magazines — and the book in my school library about Unix — and reality was enormous. All we had in the house was a breadboard and some TTL chips. Remarkably, my father nevertheless built a computer the size of a typewriter. It had no persistent storage; you had to key in opcodes in hex with a numeric keypad. But it worked. It was a mechanism with no moving parts. It’s hard to explain now how almost alchemical that seemed. He would give a little my-team-has-won-again cheer from his armchair whenever the BBC show Tomorrow’s World used the words “integrated circuits”. (I think this was a little before the term “microchips” came into common usage, or possibly the BBC simply thought it a vulgar colloquialism. They were more old-school back then.)

Until I was twelve years old, then, computing was something done on mainframes – or at any rate “minis” like the DEC VAX, running payroll for medium-sized companies. Schools never had these, or anything else for that matter. In the ordinary way of things, I would never have seen or touched a real computer. But I did, on just a few tantalising occasions.

Great Baddow was not really a tech town, but it was where Marconi had set up, and so there were avionics businesses, such as the one my father worked for, English Electric Valve. Because of that, a rising industry figure named Ian Young lived in our street. His two boys were just about the same age as me and my brother, and he and his wife Gill were good friends of my parents — I caught up with them at my parents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary only a few weeks ago. Ian soon relocated to Reading as an executive climbing the ranks of Digital Equipment Corporation, then the world’s number two computer company after IBM, but our families kept in touch. A couple of times each year my brother and I would go off to spend a week with the Youngs during the school holidays. This is beginning to sound like a Narnia book, and in a way it was a little like that. Ian would sportingly take us four boys to DEC’s headquarters — in particular, to the darkened rooms where the programmers worked, in an industrial space shared with a biscuit factory. (Another fun thing about the Youngs was that they always had plenty of chocolate-coated Club biscuits from factory surplus.) We would sit at a VT-220 terminal with a fluorescent green screen and play the DECUS user group’s collection of games for the VAX. These were entirely textual, though a few, like chess or Star Trek, rendered a board using ASCII art. Most of these games were flimsy nothings: a boxing simulator, I remember, a Towers of Hanoi demo, and so on. But the exception was Crowther and Woods’s Adventure, which I played less than a year after Don Woods’s canonical first version was circulated by DECUS. Adventure was like nothing else, and had a depth and an ability to entrance which is hard to overstate. There was no such thing as saving the game — or if there was, we didn’t know about it. We simply remembered that you had to unlock the grating, and that the rusty iron rod would… and so on. Our sessions almost invariably ended in one of the two unforgiving mazes. But that was somehow not an unsatisfying thing. It seemed like something you were exploring, not something you were trying to win.

It was, of course, maddening to be hooked on a game you could play perhaps once every six months. I got my first actual computer in 1980, for my twelfth birthday: an Acorn Atom. I had the circuit diagram on my wall; it was the first and last computer I’ve ever owned which I understood the physical workings of. My father assembled it from the kit form. This was £50 cheaper — not a trivial sum in those days — and was also rather satisfying for him, both because it was a lovely bit of craftsmanship to put together (involving two weekends of non-stop soldering), and also because he was never such a hero to his son as when we finally plugged it in and it worked flawlessly. Curious how much of this story appears to be about fathers and sons…

At any rate, I began thinking about implementing “adventures” very early on. This was close to impossible on a computer with 12 K of RAM (and even that only after I slowly expanded it, buying 0.5 K memory chips one at a time from a local hardware store). And yet… I can still remember the epiphany when I realised that you could model the location of an object by storing this in a byte which was either a room number or a special value to mean “being carried”. I think the most feasible creation I came up with was a procedurally-generated game on a squared grid, ten rooms wide by infinity rooms long, where certain rooms were overridden with names and puzzles. It had no title, but was known in my family as “the adventure of Igneous the Dwarf”, after its only real character. My first published game was an imitation of the arcade game Frogger for the Acorn Atom. I made something like £70 in royalties from it, but it really had no interactive-fiction content of any kind.

My first experience of commercial interactive fiction came for the BBC Micro, the big brother of the Acorn Atom; my father being my big brother in this instance, since he bought one in 1981. The Scott Adams line made it onto the BBC Micro, and so did ports of the Cambridge mainframe games, marketed first by Acornsoft and then by Topologika. I thus played some of the canonical Cambridge games quite a while before going to Cambridge. (Cambridge was then the lodestone of the UK computing industry; things like the BBC Micro and the ARM chip are easily overlooked in Cambridge’s history, given the university’s work with gravity, evolution, the electron, etc., but this was not a small deal at the time.) In particular, the most ambitious of the Cambridge games, Acheton, came out from Acornsoft on a disk release, and I played it. This was an extraordinary thing; in the United Kingdom, few computer owners had disk drives, and no more than a handful of BBC Micro games were ever released in that format.

I made something fractionally like a graphical adventure, called Crystal Castle, for the BBC Micro. (In 2000, Toby helpfully, if that’s the word, found the last existing cassette tape of this, digitised it to a WAV file, signal-processed the result, and ended up with about 22 K of program and data. To our astonishment, it ran.) It was written in binary machine code, which thus had no source code. Crystal Castle was nearly published, but the deal ultimately fell through. Superior Software, then the best marque for BBC Micro stuff, exchanged friendly letters with me, and for a while it really did look like it would happen. But I really needed an artist, and a bit more design skill. So, they passed. I imagine they had quite a large slush pile of games on cassette sent in by aspiring coders back then. You should not think of me as a teenage entrepreneur; I was mostly unsuccessful.

I did get two BBC Micro games published in 1984 by a cottage-industry sort of software house somewhere in Essex, run by a local teacher. Anybody who could arrange to duplicate cassette tapes and print inlay cards could be a “software house” in those days, and quite a lot of firms with improvised names (“Aardvark Software”, etc.) were actually people running a mail-order business out of their front rooms. They sold my two games as one, in that they were side A and side B of the same cassette. The games had the somewhat Asimovian names Galaxy’s Edge and Escape from Solaris. I honestly remember little about them, except that Escape from Solaris was a two-handed game. To play, you had to connect two BBC Micros back-to-back with an RS-232 cable, and then you had to type alternate commands. One program would stall while the other was active, but the thing worked. I cannot imagine that these games were any good, but the milieu was that of alien science being indistinguishable from magic. The role-playing game Traveller may have been an influence, I suppose, but my local library had also stocked a great deal of golden-age science fiction, and I had read every last dreg of it. (I hadn’t, at that time, played Starcross, though I’d probably seen Level 9’s Snowball.) I do not still have copies, and I am therefore spared the moral dilemma of whether I should make them publicly available. I did get a piece of fan mail, I remember, by someone who asked if I was a chemist. From this memory, I infer that there were some science-based puzzles.

The Quill-written games weren’t any influence on me, nor really the Magnetic Scrolls ones. The Quill was a ZX Spectrum phenomenon — and the Spectrum came from Acorn’s arch-enemy Sinclair. I think my father regarded it as unsound. It certainly did not have a keyboard designed to the requirement that it survive having a cup of coffee poured through it, as the BBC Micro did. But it did have an enormous amount of RAM — or rather, it didn’t consume all of that precious RAM on screen memory. The way that it avoided this was a distasteful hack, but also a stroke of genius, making the Spectrum a perfect games machine. As a result, those of my friends whose fathers knew anything about computers had BBC Micros, and the rest had Spectrums. It is somehow very English of us to have invented a new class distinction in the 1980s, but I rather think we did. Magnetic Scrolls were a different case, since they were adopting an Infocom-like strategy of releasing for multiple platforms, but they came along later, and always seemed to me to be more style than substance. The Pawn was heavily promoted, but I didn’t care for it.

I really must mention Level 9, though. They wrote 200-room cave adventures – albeit sometimes the cave was a starship – and by dint of some ingenious compression were able to get them out on tape. In particular, I played through to completion all three of the original Level 9 fantasy trilogy: the first being an extended version of the Crowther and Woods Adventure, the second and third being new but in the same style. I still think these good, in some relative sense. Level 9’s version of the Crowther and Woods Adventure, Colossal Adventure, was the first version which I fully explored, so that it still half seems to me like the definitive version. Ironically, none of Level 9’s games had levels in the normal gaming sense.

I didn’t play any of Infocom’s games until, I think, 1987. I bought a handful, one at a time, from Harrod’s in Knightsbridge — a department store for the rich and, it would like to imagine, the socially elite. I was neither of those things, but I knew what I wanted. Infocom’s wares were luxury goods, and luxury goods tend to stay on the shelves until they sell. Harrod’s had a modest stock, which almost nobody else in the UK did, though you could find a handful of early Infocom titles such as Suspended for the Commodore 64 if you trawled the more plebeian electronics shops of Tottenham Court Road. The ones I bought were CP/M editions of some of the classic titles of 1983 to 1985: Enchanter, I remember, being the first. These we were able to run on my brother’s computer, which was an Amstrad, a British machine built for word processing, but which — thanks to the cheapness of Alan Sugar, Amstrad’s proprietor, a sort of British version of Commodore’s Jack Tramiel — ran CP/M rather than MS-DOS.

That was just after I had begun as an undergraduate at Cambridge and joined the mainframe there, Phoenix, as a user. Each user had an allocation of “shares”, which governed how much computing time you could have. As the newest kid to arrive, I had ten shares. There were legends of a man in computational chemistry, modelling the Schrödinger equation for polythene, who had something like 10,000. At any rate, ten shares was only just enough to read your email in daytime. To run anything like Dungeon, the IBM port of Zork, you had to sit up at night — which we did, a little. I think Dungeon was the only externally-written game playable on Phoenix; the others were all homegrown, using TSAL, the game assembler written by David Seal and Jonathan Thackray. As I wrote long ago, to me and others who played them them those games “are as redolent of late nights in the User Area as the soapy taste of Nestlé’s vending-machine chocolate or floppy, rapidly-yellowing line printer paper.” As I noted earlier, most of them ultimately migrated to Acornsoft and Topologika releases.

But there were other social aspects to Phoenix as well. There was a rudimentary bulletin board called GROGGS (the “General Reverse-Ordered Gossip-Gathering System”) and it was tacitly encouraged by the Phoenix administrators because it stopped people abusing the Suggest program as a noticeboard. (We did not then have access to Usenet.) GROGGS was unusually egalitarian — students and faculty somewhat mingled, which was not typical of Cambridge then. Its undoubted king was Jonathan Partington (JRP1), a young professor who had a generous, playful wit. The Phoenix administrators dreaded his parodies of their official announcements. In his presence, GROGGS was a little like the salon in which the hangers-on of Oscar Wilde would attempt to keep up. Numerous people had a schtick; mine was to mutate my user-name to some version of the Prufrockian “I am not Prince Hamlet”. Commenting on the new Dire Straits album, I would post as “I am not Mark Knopfler”. That sort of thing. Jonathan wrote some of the Cambridge mainframe games. He taught me for a few second-year options.

There was also a form of direct messaging, the “notify” command, and you had the ability to link your filespace to somebody else’s, in effect giving them shared access. At some point Mark Owen and Matthew Richards, inseparable friends at Trinity College, observed that these links turned the users of Phoenix into a directed graph — what we would now call a social network. Mark and Matthew converted the whole mainframe into a sort of adventure game on this basis, in which user filespaces were the rooms, and links were map connections between them. You could store a little text file in your filespace as your own room description. Mark and Matthew’s system was called MEGA, a name chosen as an anagram of GAME. Mark went on to take a PhD in neural networks, back in the days when they didn’t work and were considered a dead end; he eventually wrote a book on signal processing. Matthew, a gifted algebraist and one of the nicest people I have ever known, died of Hodgkin’s disease only a couple of years into his own PhD — the first shock of death close up that most of us had known. The doctors tried everything to keep him alive. There’s no length they won’t go to with a young, strong patient, however cruel.

At any rate, back in the days of MEGA, it occurred to me that more could be done. Rather than storing just a single room description, each user could store a larger blob of content, and we would then have a form of MUD. This system, jointly coded by myself and a CS student called John Croft, was called TERA (I forget why we didn’t go up from MEGA to GIGA — perhaps there already was one?) and its compiler was “teraform”. This is the origin of the “-form” suffix in Inform’s name.

Cambridge mathematics degrees were in four parts: IA, IB, II, and III. Part III was an optional fourth year, which now earns you a master’s, but which for arcane funding reasons didn’t in my day. The Part III people were the aspiring professionals, hoping for a PhD grant at the end of it. Only seven or eight were available, which lent a competitive edge to a social group which was all too competitive already. I was thoroughly settled in Cambridge, living in an old Victorian house off Trumpington Street with four close friends, down by the river meadows. It was a very happy time in my life, and I had absolutely no intention of giving it up. As a geometer, I was hoping to be a research student of Frank Adams, a legendary topologist but a man with an awkward, stand-offish character. I’m now rather glad that this didn’t happen, though I’m sorry about the reason, which was that he died in a car crash. The only possible alternative, the affable Ray Lickorish, was just going on sabbatical. And so I found myself obliged to apply to Oxford instead. I was very fortunate to become the student of Simon Donaldson, only the fifth British mathematician to win the Fields Medal. (He is warmly remembered at St Anne’s College, where I now am, not for the Fields, or the Crafoord Prize, or for being knighted, or winning a $3 million award — not for any of that, but for having been a good Nursery Fellow, looking after the college crèche.) Having opened up a new and, almost at once, a rapidly-moving field of study, Simon was over-extended with collaborators, and I wasn’t often a good use of his time. Picture me as one of those plodding Viennese students Beethoven was obliged to give piano lessons to. But it was a privilege even to be present at an important moment in the history of modern geometry, and in his quietly kind way, Simon was an inspirational leader.

So, although I did find myself a doctoral perch, I had time on my hands — not work time, as I had plenty to do on that front, but social time, since everyone I knew was back in Cambridge. I read a great many books, buying up remaindered Faber literary paperbacks from the Henry Pordes bookshop in Charing Cross Road, London, whenever I was passing through. The plays of Tom Stoppard, Alan Bennett, David Hare; the poems of Philip Larkin, Seamus Heaney, Auden, Eliot, and so forth. I wrote a novel, which had to do with two people who worked in a research lab doing unethical things attempting to control chimpanzees. He took the work at face value, she didn’t, or perhaps it was the other way around. By the time I finished, I knew enough to know that it wasn’t any good, but in so far as you become a writer simply by writing, I had become a writer. I then wrote four short stories, and a one-act play called A Church by Daylight (a title which is a tag borrowed from Much Ado About Nothing). This play was thin on plot but had to do with loss. I wasn’t much good at dialogue, and in some way I boiled the play down to its essence, which was eventually published as a twelve-line poem called “Requiem”.

It was during my second year as a DPhil student that The Lost Treasures of Infocom came out. At this time my computer was an Acorn Archimedes with a 20 MB hard drive. I bought the MS-DOS box because I could read the story files from the MS-DOS disks, even if I couldn’t run the MS-DOS interpreter. I had no modem or network access from my house, and could only get files on or off by taking a floppy disk to the computing-service building right across town. I used the InfoTaskforce interpreter to actually play the games on my Archimedes.

So, I would say that the existence of a community-written interpreter was an essential precondition for Inform. In the period from 1990 to 1992, there were two significant Infocom-archaeology projects going on independently, though they were certainly aware of each other: the InfoTaskforce interpreter, and a disassembler called “txd” by Mark Howell. The InfoTaskforce people were based in Australia, and I had no contact with them, but I saw their code. Mark, however, I did exchange emails with. I remember emailing him to ask if anyone had written an assembler to make new games for the Z-Machine, and he replied with some wording close to: “Many people have had many dreams”. I set myself the task of faking a story file just well enough to allow it to execute on the InfoTaskforce interpreter.

I recall that my first self-made story file computed a prime factorisation and then printed the result. Except that it didn’t. I would double-click on the story file, and nothing would happen. I would assume that this was because there was some further table in the story file which I needed to fake: that the interpreter was refusing my file because it lacked this table, let’s say. As a result, I got into a cycle of making more and more elaborate fakes, always with negative results. Eventually I found that these faux story files had been correct all along; it was just that the user interface for the Acorn Archimedes port of the InfoTaskforce interpreter displayed nothing onscreen until the first moment when a game’s output hit the bottom of its virtual display and caused a scroll event. My story files, uniquely in the history of the Z-Machine, simply printed a few lines and then quit. They didn’t produce enough output to scroll, so nothing ever showed up onscreen. (This is why, for several years, the first thing that an Inform-written game did was to print a run of newlines.) So, when I finally managed to make a story file which factorised the numbers 2 to 100, and found that it worked correctly, I had a fairly elaborate assembler. This was called “zass”, and eventually became Inform 1.

The project might have gone no further except for the arrival of Usenet and the rec.arts.int-fiction newsgroup. Suddenly my email address was one which people could contact, and my posts were replied to. I was no longer on GROGGS, talking to a handful of people I knew in real life; I was on Usenet, talking to those I would likely never meet. People didn’t really use Inform much until around Inform 3, but still, there was feedback. An appetite seemed to exist.

A curious echo of the fascination the Z-machine held is that a couple of tiny story files produced by me in the course of these experiments — I remember one with two rooms in it and a few sample objects, one of them a football — themselves started to be collected by people. Of course there were soon to be lots of story files, an unending supply of them. But for just a brief period, even the output of Inform had a sort of second-hand glory reflected onto it.

Inform 1 was the result of my experiments to synthesise a story file, so it preceded Curses; it’s not that I set out to create both. Still, I did once write that Inform and Curses were Siamese twins, though the expression makes me flinch now. It’s not a comedic thing to be born conjoined. That aside, was it true, or did it simply sound clever? It’s true in part. I steadily improved Inform as I was building up Curses in size, and Curses undeniably played a role as a proof of concept. Numerous half-finished interactive-fiction systems had been abandoned with no notable games to their credit, but TADS, especially, shone by having been used for full-scale works. Yet this linkage is only part of the story.

In retrospect, the decision to write Curses fits with the pattern of imitation which you tend to find in the juvenilia of writers. I had read some novels, I wrote a novel; I had read some plays, I wrote a play; and so on. Lost Treasures may have played the same role for me, in computer-game terms, that those 1980s Faber & Faber paperbacks played in literary terms. But I also wrote Curses as an entertainment for my friends back in Cambridge, who attacked it without mercy. A very early version caused hilarity not so much for its intrinsic qualities as because the command “unlock fish” crashed it right out.

The title alludes to the recurring ancestral curses of the Meldrew family, each generation doomed never quite to achieve anything. (Read into that what you will, but it caused my father to raise an amused eyebrow.) The name was actually a hindrance for a while. In the days of Archie and Veronica and other pre-Web systems for searching FTP sites, “curses” was a name already taken by the software library for text windows on Unix.

What is Curses about? A few years ago Emily Short and I were interviewed, one after another, at the Seattle Museum of Pop Culture. Emily described Curses as being about the richness of culture and the excitement of discovering it. This may be an overly generous verdict, but I see what she means. Curses has a kind of exuberance to it. The ferment of what I was reading infuses the game, and although most people saw it as a faithful homage to Infocom, it was also a work of Modernism, assembled from the juxtaposed fragments of other texts. At Meldrew Hall, I could connect everything with everything.

There were four main strands here. Most apparent is the many-volume Oxford History of England, an old-school reference work, which lined up on my shelf in pale blue dust jackets. I had collected them by scouring second-hand book shops with the same assiduity as a kid completing an album of football stickers. Something of each went into Curses, from Roman England (Vol. I) through to society paintings by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and so on. The second strand was Eliot and The Waste Land, not solely for its content but also for its permissive style, as if it had authorised me to throw everything together. The third strand was classics: I was reading a lot of those “Cambridge Companion to Ancient Greek Philosophy” type of books, and I liked to grab the picturesque parts. Lastly, of course, the fourth strand is Infocom. Some of the puzzle design is lovingly imitative of Lebling, especially. The hieroglyphics from Infidel make a direct appearance. I also took affectionate swipes at the conventions, as with the infamous “You have missed the point entirely” death incurred simply by going down from the opening room, or the part where the narrator awards some points and then, a few turns later, takes them back again. Or the devil, who gives hints, all of which are lies. People actually filed bug reports over that. But really, I don’t think I did anything so transgressive that Infocom might not have done the same itself.

Those four strands are the main ingredients, but I should also acknowledge the indirect influence of the 1980s turn towards magical realism in fantasy novels, where it became possible to marry the fantastical with the merely historical. I had certainly read John Crowley’s Little, Big, for example. You could, at a stretch, say that Curses lies in the same genre.

The art of the Modernist collage is to somehow provide some cement which will hold the whole thing together. In the case of Curses, that cement is provided by the continuity of the Meldrew family and of the house – to which, and this is crucial, the player is always returning, and which ramifies with endless secret rooms. Moreover, you always experience the house through its behind-the-scenes places, joined in a skeletal way around the public areas which you never get to visit. The game is at its best when this cement is strongest, with the puzzles directly related to family members or to the house’s nooks and crannies. It loses coherence when it goes further afield, and this is why a final proposed addition, to do with the subway systems of various world cities all being joined up, was dropped. It didn’t feel like Curses any more. The weakest parts of Curses are the last parts added, and I suspect that the penultimate release is probably a better experience than the final one.

I am sometimes asked if Curses was autobiographical. As the above makes clear, in one sense yes, in that it’s a logbook of my reading. And in another obvious sense, no: I never actually teleported to ancient Alexandria. Nor have I ever lived in a grand house. My family home was built around 1960. It had seven rooms, none of them secret, and its map was an acyclic graph. There were early players who imagined that I might really be from some cadet branch of the landed gentry, with spacious grounds out of my window. This was not the case. Our estate consisted of one apple tree and two gooseberry bushes. All the same, England is not like America in this respect. Because of the Second World War, and because of inheritance tax, the great stately homes of England had essentially all become public places by the time I was a child. A routine way to entertain visiting grandparents was to take them around, say, the Jacobean manor house at Hatfield, where the Cecils had lived since the reign of James I. You didn’t have to be at all rich to do this.

The Attic area of Curses, where the game begins, does also contain just a little of my real family. The most intriguing place in my childhood home was, for sure, the attic, because it was so seldom accessible to me: a windowless but large space, properly floored, but never converted into a living area. My father would develop photographs up there, pouring chemicals into a tray, under a red lamp with a pull-cord switch. He would allow me to pull this cord. The house also had an airing cupboard — that is, a space around the hot-water boiler where towels could be dried. In this cupboard, my mother at one time made home-brew wine, in a sort of slow chemistry experiment with evil-looking demijohns. My brother doesn’t really make an appearance in Curses, which I’m sad about now, but it’s essential that the protagonist has ancestors rather than contemporaries. Though the protagonist has a spouse and children, mentioned right up front, they never appear, which I think is worth noting in a game where almost everything else that is foreshadowed eventually comes to pass.

Curses is by any reasonable standard too hard. In its first releases, I would update it with new material each time I made bug fixes, so that the game evolved and grew. Some players would play each version as it came out, and this enabled them to get further in, because they had prior experience from earlier builds. A dedicated fan base sent in bug reports, my favourite being that the brass key could not be picked up by the robot mouse, because brass is non-magnetic. The reward for any bug reported was that the reporter could nominate a new song to be added to the radio’s playlist, provided that it was both catchy and objectively dreadful. It would be interesting to extract that playlist now and put it on Spotify.

Feedback from players gave Curses a certain polish, but it wasn’t the only thing. I think it’s noteworthy that, just as Infocom had an editor as well as play-testers, so too I had an editor for at least part of the process: Gareth Rees, a Cambridge friend, author of the very wonderful Christminster. Richard Tucker also weighed in. I have the impression that before 1992 works of interactive fiction didn’t have much quality control, not so much because people didn’t want it, but because networking conditions didn’t allow for it.

To my great regret, the source code for Curses is now lost. It was for a while on a disk promisingly labelled “Curses source code”, but that disk is unreadable, and not for want of trying. Somewhere in my many changes of address and computer, I lost the necessary tech, or damaged it. (And Jigsaw too, alas.) It wouldn’t be hard to resurrect something, by working from a disassembly of the story file: there’s actually a tool to turn story files into Inform 6 out there somewhere. I occasionally think of asking if anyone would like to do that, and perhaps produce a faithful Inform 7 implementation.

Today, people play Curses with a walkthrough by their sides. But the game never quite goes away. Mike Spivey told me recently that he introduced himself to modern interactive fiction – “modern” interactive fiction – by playing Curses in 2017. A few people, at least, still tread Meldrew Hall. I remain fond of the place, as you can probably gather from the length of this reminiscence. Once in a blue moon I am tempted to write a sequel, Curses Foiled. But no. Sometimes you really can’t go back.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/new-tricks-for-an-old-z-machine-part-2-hacking-deeper-or-follies-of-graham-nelsons-youth/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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A final dash across the United States: Updates from the 2018 March for Science | Science

After a rally on the Mall, science supporters marched to the U.S. Capitol

Katie Langin

By Science News StaffApr. 14, 2018 , 12:11 AM

The March for Science celebrated its anniversary today. And while the turnout around the world was significantly smaller than last year, supporters haven’t lost any of their energy.

The global grassroots movement has evolved from having a million people take to the streets in 2017 in more than 450 cities to year-round advocacy for science and for evidence-based policies by government officials. But 14 April is still the big event for many local groups.

Below are some of the highlights from events around the world, including the flagship rally in Washington D.C.

In Washington, D.C., fewer marchers but still fired up by Trump policies

At today’s march and rally on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., the flagship event of the day’s global series of rallies, the crowd that gathered under sunny skies was considerably smaller than at the inaugural March for Science a year ago, when attendees packed the same space, a wide expanse near the Washington Monument, in the rain.

“It’s disappointing to see so few people” at the rally, said John Cosgrove, a retired high school science teacher who traveled from Easton, Pennsylvania, to attend, as he did for last year’s March for Science. “It’s waned a little bit, but the energy is still there.”

Science organizations that partnered with today’s March, among them AAAS (the publisher of Science), aimed to promote a nonpartisan message of support for science and its use in public policy. That message was echoed by today’s speakers, who included internet pioneer Vinton Cerf; public-health expert Susan Sorenson of the University of Pennsylvania, who spoke about the need for research on gun violence; and David Titley, a professor of meteorology at Pennsylvania State University and former chief oceanographer of the U.S. Navy, who led a Navy review of the effects of global warming on the Arctic, said and said that when it comes to climate, “Ultimately the facts on the ground and the evidence win.”

But national politics and the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump were very much on the minds of many in the crowd.

“Since Trump got into office, Scott Pruitt [administrator of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency] has been rolling back environmental regulations,” said Dianne Holland, who lives in Northern Virginia and whose husband works for a government science agency. She attended last year’s March for Science, and since then, “I think what’s been happening with the administration has gotten worse. But I think the activism for science has improved.”

For example, she said, attending last year’s rally helped encourage her to work in her state to support petitions to ban offshore drilling for oil and natural gas. “I am more aware of the details of what’s happening than a year ago.”

Cosgrove, who carried a sign reading “Science: a candle in the dark” — an homage to a book by Carl Sagan by that name —said he worries about efforts in states to remove the science of climate change from school textbooks. He also fears the Trump administration is ignoring science in decisions such as withdrawing the United States from the Paris accord to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

Jenny Kolber, an eleven year-old from Point Pleasant, New Jersey, carried a sign that said “I can’t believe I’m marching to save reality.” She was supposed to attend school today, in a make-up session following a series of snow days earlier this winter. But she and her mom drove to D.C. for the march instead because science is her favorite subject and she’s concerned that scientific facts are being denied. “I love school, but I’d come here everyday.” After a brief pause, she added: “If my parents let me.”

Kids also took center stage. Max Schill, a nine year-old from Williamstown, New Jersey, who has a genetic condition called Noonan syndrome, spoke about the need for more funding to fight rare diseases. Research to find cures can cost billions, he said, and he doesn’t have that kind of money in his “big blue piggy bank.”

After the speeches, several hundred marchers walked along Constitution Avenue from the Washington Monument to the U.S. Capitol, led by organizers carrying the same “March For Science” banner as last year. The march route was packed with onlookers—mostly there to see the cherry blossoms, visit museums, and otherwise enjoy the nice weather—and many stopped to watch the marchers pass by. Outside the National Gallery of Art, one man took photos and shouted “Science is cool! Go science!” Nearby, a woman asked her companions: “Can we get in?” –Katie Langin and Jeff Brainard

Katie Langin

Jeff Mervis

Marching in the U.S.A.

#ScienceMarchNYC #MarchForScience #KnowledgeIsPower pic.twitter.com/Od8AFGZNyQ

— Teodora Pavkovic (@PsycoachTP) April 14, 2018

#MarchForScience #Oakland pic.twitter.com/FeObh6H1eY

— JJP (@phelanjj2) April 14, 2018

https://t.co/6a2oYmeaKr#marchforscience2018 #MarchForScience

Good to see all the support at the March for Science today pic.twitter.com/xGOuXvYhq7

— Steph S. (@StephSEcologist) April 14, 2018

A small but hearty group braved the Midwest weather to march for science in Des Moines today #marchforscience2018 #marchforscienceIA #marchforscience pic.twitter.com/YVmpdgHPw5

— MarchForScienceIA (@ScienceMarchIA) April 14, 2018

Antarctica and Africa join the marchers

Message of support from Antarctica: overwinterer at the Neumayer Station support the #MarchForScience @ScienceMarchDC @ScienceMarchGER pic.twitter.com/9yGPlJi0m9

— AWI Medien (@AWI_de) April 14, 2018

Uganda is ready for #MarchForScience!@nmugwanya @ScienceAlly pic.twitter.com/aLysGcpnll

— Ongu Isaac (@onguisaac) April 12, 2018

We did it @ScienceAlly #MarchForScience #Uganda pic.twitter.com/S5km901K1E

— Ongu Isaac (@onguisaac) April 14, 2018

‘Neighborhood nerds’ bring science to Berlin’s bars and cafes

BERLIN—No massive crowds at the Brandenburg Gate this year; the organizers of last year’s March for Science in Berlin—which drew more than 10,000 people and ended in a stirring song about freedom of thought—had instead invited scientists to meet with neighbors and other interested people in bars and cafes, an initiative named Kieznerds (“neighborhood nerds.”) After the 2017 success, another march might have become a “poor copy” that might even hurt the cause, says co-organizer Susann Morgner. So she and her colleagues asked Berlin’s watering holes if they would play host to scientists.

Some two dozen venues joined in, hosting talks about chemical experiments, animal communication, and viruses. One of them was La Tazza, a cafe in the trendy Prenzlauer Berg district whose owner, Delia Lemke, happens to be a professional science communicator. Some 10 guests sat at a long table for a discussion about “the importance of trust in modern times,” led by communication researcher Stefanie Molthagen-Schnöring of the University of Applied Sciences for Engineering and Economics in Berlin. (She and her husband have held similar debates at their home the past 3 years.)

To kick off the discussion, Molthagen-Schnöring cited alarming studies showing the diminished public trust in traditional media. She mentioned the work of German sociologist Niklas Luhmann, who has argued that trust reduces complexity. While trust between individuals or within organizations is a well-researched topic, trust within the public sphere deserves more study, Molthagen-Schnöring said.

The group discussed several questions, including how trust can be re-established in the Middle East as a precondition for peace talks. A student in regional management wondered how trust can be reactivated after it has eroded; a futurologist explained the limits to his predictions, which made him more trustworthy, a teacher who also took part in the discussion said. A participant working in science communication argued that researchers and scientific press officers should be clear about limitations and mistakes in science in order to build trust.

Kieznerds organizers had hoped that a considerable part of the audience would be nonacademic. But while the group in La Tazza included an artist and an au pair from China, the majority had links to science. The problem may just be that Prenzlauer Berg is home to many young academics, Lemke says. On Tuesday, Molthagen-Schnöring will lead a discussion in a low-income neighborhood with run-down highrise buildings where she might find more Berliners who have no connection to science. — Hinnerk Feldwisch-Drentrup

Kieznerds organizers worried that after last year’s successful event, another march would just be a “poor copy.”

Hinnerk Feldwisch Drentrup

Near Downing Street, a small rally focussed on climate change

LONDON— A small but enthusiastic group of about 80 people turned up today for the March for Science in London, a far cry from the estimated 10,000 last year. As the sun shone and several members of the crowd stripped down to T-shirts for perhaps the first time this year, one attendee wondered whether people had been mistakenly put off by the recent spate of stormy weather. Organizer Jillian Sequeira, a conflict studies student at the London School of Economics, had another take. Since last year “the world hasn’t fallen apart,” she said, and the feeling of urgency that characterized the previous march has dissipated.

But that doesn’t mean the issues have gone away, Sequeira said. “Even though there are fewer people, the message is just as important as before,” said rally participant Toby Olsen, who was visiting from Rhode Island. “There’s not really an excuse for being quiet.”

Those present had a variety of reasons for attending. Guy Pearce, runs the Worthing and Hove branch of Skeptics in the Pub, said that he was concerned that science funding was not a priority for the government. “Science works,” said another attendee, Duncan Rasor. “When somebody undermines that … we need to show support.” A common motivation was concern about the impact of recent policy decisions, particularly in the United States. Emma Fernandes, a visiting environmental science student also from Rhode Island, said that she was there to protest the Trump administration’s roll-back of environmental protections.

She was in the right crowd. The list of speakers this year was dominated by environmental groups such as Friends of the Earth, climate researchers, and self-proclaimed activists, so climate change was inevitably high on the agenda. “Science must play a central role in the pursuit of climate justice,” said speaker Rupert Stuart-Smith of the UK Youth Climate Coalition. Sequeira said this focus was intentional: While last year’s talks were mainly given by people from research institutes, this year she wanted to connect people with local organizations that they could get involved with—and most of those were groups involved in climate work.

There was no actual marching this year, but the 2-hour rally took place just across the road from Downing Street, the crowd mirroring the cluster of tourists hoping to get a glance at Prime Minister Theresa May. And given the focus of the day’s talks, the location seemed appropriate. Dorothy Guerrero of advocacy group Global Justice Now summed it up: “Science is political.” —Matt Warren

“There’s not really an excuse for being quiet,” says Toby Olsen (left), who attended the London rally with Emma Fernandes (right).

Matt Warren

A sign at the London rally.

Matt Warren

On the streets of New Delhi, to “keep alive the tradition of asking critical questions”

NEW DELHI—Last year, Indian scientists and science supporters didn’t march on 22 April, the day rallies were held in Washington, D.C., and around the globe, but more than three months later, on 9 August. This year, they took to the streets on the same day as the rest of the world. Marchers in New Delhi, pictured below, demanded that India’s investment in research and development increase to 3% of gross domestic product and asked for better science education and an end to unscientific thinking.

“For me the march is an opportunity to reach out to both members of the society as well as policymakers, to impress upon them the need to strengthen our scientific base,“ says Soumitro Banerjee of the Indian Institute of Science and Research in Kolkata, who participated in the Delhi march. Debabrata Ghosh, a professor at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences in New Delhi, had a wider audience in mind as well: “I attended the March in Delhi to keep alive the tradition of asking critical questions and to bridge the gap between scientists and non-scientists,” he says.

Marchers asked for India to spend 3% of its gross domestic product on science.

Manoj Singh

Don’t have your sign yet? Everyone is offering ideas

Last year, sign making parties were a popular pastime in the days before the March for Science. This year, a bevy of websites have put up stories aimed at giving marchers who might be at a loss for words (and pictures) a few ideas for their placards. A sampling:

At Thrillist, Joe McGauley offers “Funny, powerful and clever poster ideas for the science march this weekend.” I”[I]’s always a bit tough to figure out how best to get a message across in a sea of signs and chants,” he writes.

Don Duggan-Haas of the Paleontological Research Institution in Ithaca, New York, offers a few sign tips on the website of the National Association of Geoscience Teachers. “If science saved your life, or the life of a loved one, say it,” he writes. Then, you can “use the other side of your sign for your geoscience message.”

The website a plus has “13 awesome signs to inspire you before the march for science this weekend.”

And in case you missed it last year, STAT had “The 31 best signs people took to the March for Science.” And Bustle had “30 funny March for Science sign ideas.”

On Twitter, some folks say they are having a hard time deciding on their message:

Brainstorming for tomorrow’s #MarchForScience and I think I have hit a wall (and can’t find the rest of the markers.)

Don’t worry @FieldMuseum I will work on something a bit more, uhh, creative. pic.twitter.com/PQJ6v9dUeA

— Heidi (@heidyhoho) April 14, 2018

The marching is underway in Australia

Hours away from the beginning of the March for Science here in the eastern United States, the marching got started elsewhere around the globe. In Australia, events are planned for at least eight cities.

It was a small but enthusiastic crowd in Sydney. I look forward to updates as the #MarchforScience rolls around the world! pic.twitter.com/WgTuXYpY9F

— Lisa A. Williams (@williamslisaphd) April 14, 2018

And we’re off!!#marchforsciencesydney #sciencemarchau #sciencenotsilence pic.twitter.com/RWP2Z2oUSl

— GB-WildLyf (@MistressGeorge) April 14, 2018

March for Science in Townsville. So inspiring! #ScienceMarchTSV #ScienceMarchAu #ScienceNotSilence #KeepMarching #MarchForScience @RACI_HQ @RACI_Inorganic @RACIQld #ozchem @jcu @peterjunk2 pic.twitter.com/zB5Tz3I0hl

— Vicki Junk (@VickiJunk) April 14, 2018

Narrandera has now been added as an official #MarchForScience location! pic.twitter.com/GIxbFvB2F0

— Fiona Caldarevic (@FionaMagic) April 14, 2018

Global March for Science 2018. Kickoff in Sydney. Many thanks to organising team. Adam Spencer super MC. Focusing on need for science @iSTEMAustralia pic.twitter.com/g00WWusmCR

— Ken Silburn (@KenSilburn) April 14, 2018

In Virginia, ‘it will be different this year’

One person preparing for today’s event is Margaret Breslau, who last year helped lead a March for Science in Blacksburg, Virginia, that attracted more than 900 people. This year, she’s not sure how many people might show up, and she expects the tone of the march to be different. Instead of focusing on science “with a big S,” she says, she expects speakers and marchers to focus more on how the work scientists do affects social issues. Speakers, for example, plan to read statements from incarcerated people about the environmental and health conditions in prisons. There’s also likely to be discussion about a controversial local pipeline project and climate change.

“For me, it’s not just speaking out against the people and administrations denying science and defunding science and discrediting science,” says Breslau, who chairs Blacksburg’s Coalition for Social Justice. “I also want people to know that people are impacted every day by science, for better or worse. Science has incredible power. I think a lot of scientists probably do factor this in, but there has to be a human good.”

She credits March for Science organizers with maintaining communications since last year’s event. “They’ve been very good about it,” she says. “I found they’ve stayed engaged, and that’s really important. You have a lot of power in your hands when you do a national march, and keeping the energy up and the education is hard. I just can’t imagine. They’ve kept me engaged.”

And she doesn’t see this year’s march as the end of her engagement. “We have to keep building on what happens,” Breslau says. “As long as scientists are being silenced and cuts to education and programs [are happening] … you just have to keep going, that’s all.” —Catherine Matacic

Marches make a statement in the Philippines, Africa and Europe

Large and small, events are underway around the globe. Click here to see a map of all the scheduled March for Science events. Twitter is a good place to see what’s happening on the ground:

Not even the rain could stop science allies to ‘pour’ onto the streets of Kampala to #marchforscience @ScienceAlly @nbstv pic.twitter.com/Tah54IxPYH

— Nassib Mugwanya (@nmugwanya) April 14, 2018

Agham-Advocates of Science &Technology for the People joined other scientists in holding the March for Science Philippines #marchforscience pic.twitter.com/4dMNvKvBqr

— Agham Youth UPManila (@aghamyouth_upm) April 23, 2017

It is amazing how UKZN staff, students and various stakeholders have come in numbers to support the March for Science which starts at Durban City Hall. pic.twitter.com/alpN4EDOMI

— University of KZN (@UKZN) April 14, 2018

#Science

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