#always being acted upon rarely doing anything of his own accord

[13eyond13]

I have no idea what possessed Anne Rice to write Interview With the Vampire literally as an interview and taking place entirely as a conversation between two people in a room complete with dialogue quotation marks around the entire thing, but it's both so funny and also oddly charming to me hahaha

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What Rafal's Physical and Immaterial Coolness Could Represent

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As a forewarning, this post is more... observational and has less of a singular, hard-hitting point to it. (Also, see Conan Gray's "Fight or Flight" song for reference, as, most of this post occurred to me in relation to that very song, if you interpret parts of it as representing Rafal's internal monologue on the subject of Rhian's substitutes during Rise.)

Also, this is a long post, so it's going under a cut.

⸻

Why is Rafal's immediate response to personal hurt avoidance of all things? Isn't that kind of a heightened, overly instinctive, clearly "uncool" reaction to have?

And yet, strangely, we still classify it as in character for him. His leaving was, arguably, the most iconic and true-to-self thing he did across both prequels. So, I want to ask: why is that?

That he just up and left seems apathetic and could be construed as part of his cold, cool nature, of course, but still—when we look at what his reaction truly is: he chose flight.

(Flight as opposed to the alternative fight, freeze, or fawn responses.)

FLIGHT! Like, can you believe it? This man, who's so headstrong and willing to stare down anything, chose flight. Let that revelation sink in. (Maybe this is more obvious than I think, but I can't believe I hadn't thought of this weird discrepancy before. Flight!)

Anyway, to explain Rafal's reaction to (potentially) having been emotionally hurt by his argument and corresponding bet with Rhian at the start, I'm going to reference a theory from an old post, as it has suddenly become relevant once again.

In short, the idea is about how Rhian's expressions of authority are personal while Rafal's are nearly always impersonal. Rhian is a master of social dynamics, considering how deftly he lies in Fall to gain favor from others and influence their views of him. And, this makes sense because he once cared so much about how he was perceived, as we take into account his original self-consciousness and his high-minded, conscionable tendencies from Rise. He is the one who wields interpersonal power as Rafal, correspondingly, wields impersonal (often more tangible and brutish) power.

If anyone would like more elaboration, here's an excerpt from that old post:

The strange thing is, in Fall, Rafal admits to having conceded a lot of the time to Rhian in the past, in the face of smaller, pettier arguments, a trend which also represents his yielding to Rhian's (supposedly nonexistent) authority in the early days. That tendency seems self-contradictory of Rafal, but perhaps, even Rafal's authority is situational. He's capable of exercising it over everything and world, but not over his own brother. He can't rein Rhian, the inevitable force, the "fatal" (to invoke both death and "fate") tides of change, the Prime Mover, in. Meanwhile, Rhian is the inverse of that. Rhian cannot exercise authority over everything and the world, but he can do so over his own brother. Besides, Rafal, often by sorcery or by outright manhandling, manipulates and exerts his physicality over others and his environment while Rhian rarely does. And yet, Rafal (from what I remember) never so much as lays a hand on Rhian during Rise (in Fall, everything changes and escalates). I don't yet know why this is, but I think this observation is true most of the time. At least, I haven't thought of any exceptions yet. The working hypothesis I have is that Rhian (being the brother who chose to stay in the comfort and limited confines of the home, according to the Bettelheim text's ideas) only initially felt comfortable to do anything there. To act, and exercise his authority in an intimate, narrow, personal way. By contrast, Rafal (the more worldly, well-traveled, and inconstant brother) wants to gain independence from their stifling "home" life, under the Storian, and, as a result, upon his return, could've felt like a stranger in his own home and with Rhian (who's also changed in his brother's absence regardless). Thus, while Rafal can certainly exercise his authority impersonally, he doesn't feel at ease exercising authority over the familiar because it could be too close for comfort, too unsettling, unsettlingly different and the same, like he can't shed the disbelonging that drove him out of the fairy-tale construct of the "home" as a safe, childhood refuge in the first place—when Rhian first questioned his very core purpose and Evil's existence.

Thus, again, Rafal's ability to wield power is, without exception (I think), always impersonal.

The closest he comes to Rhian's brand of power, which involves acting on a smaller scale or more on an individual, one-to-one level and being intimate, are his interactions with Hook and Midas. And, despite those seductive instances, Rhian is still the master of all the smaller scale exploits, like with Hephaestus and the Pirate Captain rescuing him from the Doom Room where he'd been "abandoned," whenever these acts are in fact intentional.

Yes, Rafal possibly unwittingly, by being more open with his victims, has broader appeal, but that side of him isn't all pure strategy, done with intentionality. Part of it is just how he is. Rhian, unlike his brother, strikes at something inside people that doesn't just rely on scare tactics and classic, one-dimensional intimidation. In Fall, he gains a creepiness factor and the ability to lie convincingly, importantly, without blushing.

Also, I want to commentate a little on Rafal's novel instance of blushing during Fall, which was quite unlike his usual self.

First, here's some context about physical coolness, the socially-perceived "cool factor," and how blushing can only ever be sincere and is valuable because it is involuntary from Quiet by Susan Cain:

I suspect Fall aimed to establish Rafal as more "trustworthy," and as more subject to having humility thrust upon him, than he had been in Rise, when he had previously been insurmountable.

Yet then, after that "invulnerable," unaffected precedent he set about himself, he started blushing, signaling that he suddenly began to care, and that the opposite was true of Rhian as Rhian changed throughout Fall and became more immune to his old, constant feelings of shame that originally must've formed his moral compass.

Also, Rafal gets more points towards being an actual sociopath! He just partially lost his former, low-reactive temperament when he turned "Good."

One other thought of note:

Has anyone ever headcanoned Rafal as having an avoidant attachment style? To complement that, Rhian would probably have an anxious attachment style.

Essentially, the traits of these attachment styles are Rafal and Rhian personified.

Rafal:

Rhian:

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I've been thinking a lot about the one-dimensional kinda fandom interpretations of Dazai and Chuuya in particular - the overemphasis on Dazai's weird brand of mischief/manipulation and Chuuya's anger and tendency to lash out and how it's not like these traits are... wrong, per se - these are their surface level/immediately notable characteristics - it's just that it misses the nuance as to why these traits likely exist.

What these interpretations don't fully capture is their very similar cores deep down - two people plagued by feelings of alienation, human inadequacy and repeated loss. Despite starting from these very similar places, they both dealt with the issue in near opposite ways. Dazai numbed himself to pain (remember: he hates pain! I cannot emphasize this enough!) and rarely gets close to anyone for fear he will lose them - his loss led to apathy, a withdrawal from humanity, a fear that he will always be empty inside - his ability: No Longer Human. Chuuya, on the other hand, refuses to numb himself and instead feels every single emotion in full and values his bonds with others over anything. He wants to belong and makes efforts to be perceived as a part of his group. Underlying this, however, is a kind of tired grief paired with resilience - remember that his ability is Upon the Tainted Sorrow. Not anger, or rage.

Sorrow is what results from this kind of heavy identity crisis and loss - for both of them. Think of Odasaku's read on Dazai as someone who looked close to tears when "acting" in front of the sniper poised to shoot him, describing him to Gide as a too-smart child left in the dark, or the way Stormbringer constantly reminds us that Chuuya is 16 and the desperation he feels in the scene where he holds his own dying clone, unable to help him.

Both characters carry a melancholy, resulting from their respective issues with their own humanity - I know I'm not the first one to comment on how their abilities could just as easily be referring to each other as well as themselves. This reads as very intentional to me - much like Atsushi's story begins as a clear parallel to the short story Rashoumon and Akutagawa sometimes being referred to in more beast-like terms than man, it makes sense that Dazai and Chuuya would reference each other in a similar vein.

And if that was the end of it, then we would expect that deep sorrow to shine through in both characters, but it rarely does except in pivotal moments. That's because the both of them have had to constantly deal with external threats - they believe they cannot afford to show vulnerability.

So, what you get instead is Dazai taking a kind of twisted ownership over his inhumanity and using it to make people afraid of him and to control everything so that he is never blindsided and hurt again, in the process, further alienating himself and making his issues worse. He inflicts fear so he doesn't have to be afraid. He can relax and be as silly as he wants - so long as everything around him is completely according to his predictions. There's a bonus to his foolish demeanour as well: hardly anyone can read him well enough to get close.

Then you get Chuuya, who feels so strongly and so much that it has no choice but to boil over, and due to never being able to or feeling comfortable with being anything but "the strongest", he hides moments when he is touched, or worried, or grieving, with anger and violence and defensiveness. As such, he is always seen as more weapon than person, a cut above the rest, forever standing out to others no matter how much he tries to integrate. The closest he came to true belonging was wrenched away from him before he could have a chance to know what that would actually feel like with the death of the Flags.

These surface traits are defense mechanisms. And the amusing thing to me is that likely means these two would love if that's all most people ever saw of them. (Of course, they clearly do want to be seen and accepted, but defense mechanisms become automatic over time because they often feel much safer. Likely another reason they clash so much - they see each other, and it is deeply uncomfortable for them both.)

So, you have Dazai defending himself with his two-faced nature, making jokes and/or manipulating everyone in the vicinity, and Chuuya defending himself with intimidation and anger, never letting any vulnerability show through because anger is easier but at the core of all of this is that loss and that grief and the sorrow and fear that pervades from it.

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

BTS Mafia Members - Most to Least Scary (According to Me)

A/N: This is strictly according to me and of what I find scary and unsettling, your opinions might differ and that's perfectly fine :)

1. Hoseok

Hoseok, as calm and loving as he is in the personal relationship, it is frightening to see him get mad. In my opinion, the calmest people are always the scariest angry. Besides, Hoseok also has OCD which stands for obsessive-compulsive (disorder). I also think he is the most possessive of the lot, alongside with Jimin and Jungkook. If he wants to, Hoseok can be very controlling and he is very unpredictable when it comes to conflict. Although calm in most situations, when you make Hoseok angry all he can see is red.

2. Taehyung and Yoongi (but for different reasons)

Firstly, Taehyung. It is my honest opinion that Taehyung is a bit (or a lot) crazy, sort of like Harley Quinn crazy sometimes. He is very loving and affectionate, he doesn't care about money as much as the power it brings him. Taehyung doesn't mind violence and mess, he rather enjoys it really (does that give me the pass to call him a sadist?). But the actual reason why I put him in second place as the scariest mafia member (I should really get my priorities straight) is because his love can be overwhelming sometimes. There are times Taehyung just loves too much and doesn't see how suffocating and controlling he can be.

Secondly, Yoongi. I think Yoongi is scary because he is so goddamn calm all the time. Even when he is angry, even when he is raging he almost never raises his voice. You cannot really tell how mad he actually is because he hides it so well. You only find out when it's already too late. Besides, Yoongi isn't sentimental about anyone or anything but Y/N. He doesn't particularly care about money or power unless it comes to protecting you. The truth is he can get extremely angry when he senses you're in danger or you're being disrespected and the consequences are ruthless (see Mafia! BTS - A Rival Gang Kidnapped You).

3. Jungkook and Jimin

I've decided to put them together because I think they are quite similar fundamentally. They both have positions in the mafia that are extremely violent - Jimin as the assassin and Jungkook as the interrogator. In this sense, I think Jungkook might even be scarier than Jimin. Because for Jimin, his targets are just that - numbers he needs to cross away, but for Jungkook things get personal with his victims. He enjoys what he does, although he doesn't show it particularly. He is not like Taehyung, who'd enjoy seeing the pain in his victims, but rather the fact that Jungkook is good at what he does. He loves that he is able to make anyone talk, that one look at him and the victims already know it's judgement day.

In my opinion, they are also quite scary because they are very possessive, especially Jungkook who wants his partner only for himself - for his eyes only. Jimin lets it go in this sense, because he enjoys showing off Y/N. Also I think Jungkook is a bit more unpredictable than Jimin. He is capable of acting very rationally even when he comes to his feelings for Y/N. Jungkook relies more on the rational part of his brain while Jimin reacts purely with emotion (which can make him react more brutally but in my opinion, it's more frightening when a person reacts to feelings with "logic").

4. Namjoon

So, you might wonder why is Namjoon second to last on this list. Well, it's not because he is not frightening that's for sure - all of the mafia members are scary, it's just that Namjoon gives me an honest sense of security most of the time. He is very wise for his age and doesn't act irrationally. He is also very experienced and extremely patient (something about him which I adore). That is why Namjoon usually doesn't act out or behave unpredictably unless he is particularly angry. He only gets emotional about Y/N, never about business, money or power. The role of the mafia leader is not something he would have chosen for himself, it was just something bestowed upon him. Namjoon accepted it and even though he doesn't find particular joy in the role itself, he cares deeply about his members, his community and most of all Y/N. The power he has gives him the ability to protect her better.

I do find Namjoon scary though. Whenever he clenches his jaw or the tip of his tongue protrudes in the inside of his cheek, I just want to drop to my knees. Perhaps because he is usually very calm, he could also share the first place with Hoseok, but I've decided not to because Hoseok often loses his nerve - he is more emotion-driven, while Namjoon is much more rational. Namjoon truly is a leader - he is calm, rational, wise and patient but also brutal if you come anywhere close to his family.

5. Jin

Last but definitely not least, Jin. He frightens me the least because I don't think he cares much about violence. He is vengeful, that's for sure, but he'd normally just pull the trigger and be done with it. His only concern is that you're safe. It is also very rare to see Jin deal with his enemies personally; at least in a physical way. He is an extremely good manipulator and he much prefers to outsmart his enemies and play with them mentally rather than torture them physically.

Yet Jin can still be brutal when you cross the line, especially when it comes to hurting or disrespecting his loved ones, not to mention his crown jewel - Y/N.

Conclusion: needless to say, all the mafia members are scary in their own way. This is just my perception so far into the story. Let me know what you guys think be it in the comments, chat or anonymous ask because I really love reading how you guys see the characters. :)

[voidcat]

— to yearn, and apricate

characters: albedo, you

wc & genre: 1.4k ops & modern au of sorts

a/n: hi hey hii so i've been pestering aqua (@pen-observing) with a genshin mafia au since forever n its like a plan of ours going on?? so it was gonna b one big thing with routes for various characters in the sense of romance, and maybe some 'extras' to follow... this was supposedly be an extra for albedo,, i got ahead of myself

Albedo is watching from afar, as he always does.

A man of logic and science, he watches with a keen eye at all times.

He observes, examines and when the time comes, he builds a hypothesis, only to test it out and follow a course of actions according to the results he receives.

Respected by many in Ordo Favonius, though more rumors and assumptions arise at any place he sets foot, Albedo is nothing if not careful and deducting.

Eyes fixated, he watches once again, turquoise eyes now trained on you.

To talk of or define your relationship with Albedo would be a rather tricky one.

Long past the “hello – hello” basis and few conversations here and there, be on foot or not, occur when needed. But that’s all there is to it: when needed.

Not that either of you seem to mind it; to some, it’s even a story of success that the blond doesn’t ignore or scoff at your presence before him.

And right now, Albedo is watching as you and Sucrose talk by the corner of the main hall. At one thing you say, she lets out a loud and cheery laugh, one not everyone gets to hear personally, (he would know, as he is one of the few lucky ones) and sees the way she looks at you.

Albedo wonders quite often what’s it like to feel.

He sees the way Kaeya and Sucrose look at you and wonders how they feel as they do so, how you must feel. Surely, you must’ve noticed the looks, as you return them in your own way too. Maybe, except for the times Sucrose longingly stares at you from the laboratory, as you converse with someone else on the other side of the room, unaware of the world going around you.

Albedo cannot help but wonder if there was ever a way he could possibly harbor those feelings his friends did, even just for a moment. Not necessarily on the same intensity, and definitely not necessarily toward you.

He thinks back to the night when Sucrose had too much to drink and talked about her university days; filled with joy, a hidden love somewhere and a grief that follows afterwards –as well as a hint of anger directed toward a third party, which piqued Albedo’s interest a little bit.

And though Albedo is bothered at how you appeared out of nowhere only to set your roots in deeper, your existence fits into the empty slots of the puzzle that was Sucrose’s, presented before him that night. The hicks, shaking hands, fists and the sudden change in her voice, hazy eyes staring at nowhere as if reliving a memory long gone. More spirited than ever; with such strong emotions carried in her chest and on her shoulders.

When it comes to Sucrose and you, the pieces fit into place. But for the rest, it only falls deeper in the light of day.

And it’s quite intriguing; how you first entered with a whim, only to display a sense of familiarity you shouldn’t be carrying, no, not when you’re new to all of these, to the people of Mond as of today, to Kaeya’s little side project Albedo prefers not to think about.

Your explanations to these only make way for more questions, even if you don’t mean so.

When Albedo observes Kaeya and you, he can see how his advances stand out more. Flirty banter back and forth, he never holds back his gaze. In his star kissed eye, Albedo can see hints and tints of some emotions, for you and only you.

It’s the way they look at you that makes Albedo grow more and more curious.

To Albedo, the phrase “love makes you blind” has never meant anything. He has seen and heard of people claiming to fall victim of it, that’s as far as his knowledge goes. Albedo has never experienced it himself, no. Yet in their eyes, he sees the truth to the saying.

Some days, when he thinks on it, he fears he will never have the bare necessities to experience it.

However Albedo knows better, as he doesn’t need to experience such emotions to see how blinding you can be.

And for this very exact reasoning, he doesn’t allow himself to be, for he’d be damned if his blindness, even for a blink of time, caused despair upon those dear to him.

And so Albedo keeps watching, not with a devotion like Sucrose’s or something more carnal like Kaeya’s.

He is on the watch, noting and analyzing even the tiniest speck of dust that shall land on your body. As a man of science and logic, it’s only expected of Albedo to be skeptical of things, and wary of you, the newest entry to the equation that surrounds him.

The state of research carries until all of his gathering shatters with a single presence that makes his way into the precinct.

It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots; though the way you’ve frozen up as Sucrose is running around in a frenzy, split on what to do, is more than telling that the balance has been meddled with.

Reaching out a hand on your shoulder, he meets your gaze with a nod and tilts his head toward the direction of his laboratory. Sucrose follows right after, trying to tidy up a bit and making place for you to sit. Turning the lock with a click, Albedo shuts the whole world outside. Yet he manages to catch a glimpse of the man entering.

Baizhu’s name has spread far and wide, known for all kinds of things, though Albedo knows about the shadier side of his business, –all thanks to Kaeya’s little secret project going.

Still, it begs the question how or why you’d be associated with a man such as him, and to end up badly on your end, clear from the way your brain and body reacted.

Just as Albedo assumed he has started finding the answers to his questions regarding you, you bring him a handful more, a new challenge.

He shrugs off the thought for the time being and makes way to you; who is still standing up, eyes fixated on the blurry green.

Placing a hand on your arm this time, he guides you to the spot Sucrose cleaned out already. Slow steps, one at a time, it’s hard to beat the rigidity of the body so quickly.

Sucrose’s concerned gaze heavy on you, yet your eyes seem blank, your expression says you’re out of it, out of this reality.

Helping you sit and leaving Sucrose to settle right beside you, Albedo walks back, closer to the door and leans against one of the counters, arms crossed. For the time being, for your sake, he’ll put aside the theories and the questions that are filling his brain.

By the time Baizhu has left, you’ve come back to your senses; although still acting rather cautious, you’re not disassociating.

Yet what captures Albedo’s attention the most is the look you give him.

Not like the ones you’ve offered Sucrose or Kaeya, or the irritating ginger who won’t stop sticking his nose into everything he sees.

This one you are offering outshines others in more ways than one. Even if it carries a hint of love, Albedo doubts he could recognize it, but he spots emotions of equal value, and gratitude.

For offering the laboratory as a sanctuary or for refraining from asking the questions about a time you’re trying your best to avoid and move one, he is not sure. Maybe it’s this mutual understanding and shared silence the two of you have held since the beginning.

Yet he can’t help but feel content all the same. And before he can notice, a smile creeps up to his face. Though it’s often loving gazes shared between others that catch his eye, only to make him yearn for such experiences and a chance to feel complete; the one you are carrying, for him, feels heavy on him, a feeling in his chest spreading.

Not sure what, exactly.

Even so, he doesn’t need a name to appreciate this rare opportunity, one not even Sucrose or Kaeya had seemed to live.

Albedo has never understood the phrase “Love makes you blind.”

Yet in that moment, he decides he wouldn’t mind going blind if it is your light that’ll caress his eyes.

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 13

The Darkling x Reader

This is more of a filler chapter, I wanted to write something where reader is in action🤭

As much as you loved to keep your personal and work life separate, the life at the Little Palace rarely allowed for such things. Rumors spread and tensions rose and much to your dismay the privacy of Aleksander's chambers only reached so far. Everywhere you went eyes followed you with a sense of interest, poking and prodding for the details of why the Deputy General had stayed in the Darkling's quarters, but more importantly why you raced out of there in the dead of the night, slamming every door possible with loud echoing thuds.

You ignored it all, you had work to do. Currently, you stood waiting in the courtyard for your horses, your recruited Grisha in tow. You had asked Fedyor for the best soldiers, ones who could be ruthless and loyal. Two Heartrenderers, an Inferni and the Squaller you now knew as Zoya waited behind you, shivering from a sudden gust of freezing wind.

The weather had gotten brutal over the past few days but this mission couldn't wait. You had gotten intel that somehow a Kerch merchant kidnapped Grisha while they traveled between camps and was keeping them in a home not far from the Palace, waiting to transport them across the Fold and use them as indentures. This angered you beyond means of explanation.

Your stableboy brought out your beautiful chestnut brown Arabian, and you quickly hoisted yourself up. You would all be going on horseback despite the weather, for a carriage would slow you down significantly.

'Zoya, I'll need you upfront with me, if it starts to snow heavily we'll clear the way.' You addressed the Squaller, patiently waiting as she got up on her horse and came to rest beside you, giving you a curt nod.

'Ready?'

You brought your horse into a quick gallop, cringing as the cold whipped past you.

******

Riding a horse was only comfortable for so long before your tailbone began to ache. It had been around an hour, but you were almost there as a small village came into view over the hill. You stopped your horse and put up your hand signaling the rest to stop too.

'We leave our horses just there, where the forest fades-' You pointed over to a place just to your right, where tree coverage would protect your horses from the cold. '-we walk the rest of the way. All intel pointed to the house being secluded, most likely right before the village grows more populated.'

The thing with these missions was there was never an exact location, which frustrated you and from the loud sigh Zoya gave, it frustrated everyone else too. You all slid off your horses and walked them to the forest, tying them securely to trees and beginning the walk, making sure to stay hidden behind the trees.

'What's the plan?' Asked the Inferni.

'I go in first, neutralize any threats I can see. Fedyor, keep to my side but be behind me. The rest of you, your main priority is to look for the Grisha. Don't kill anybody unless I tell you to.' You could see the surprised look on their faces and you knew why.

Even though Aleksander was extremely powerful and immortal, he never walked into a fight first, he was always the one to walk into a clear path, never cleared it himself. You did things differently, liked to be in complete control.

'What did the General say about this?' He spoke again.

You stopped and turned to him.

'If you have any issues with how your superior is commanding the missions, I suggest you turn around and learn how to be a soldier.' You snapped. Aleksander had these people wrapped around his finger. He stared at you with wide eyes and almost immediately his composure dropped, succumbing to your intimidation.

'I don't have time for this nonsense.' You scoffed and walked ahead to where Zoya was searching for the hideout.

'Is it that one?' She pointed to a cabin about with a man guarding the front door. Bingo.

'He's too far, I need to get closer.' Fedyor's raised hands dropped down to his sides. The other Corporalnik nodded in agreement.

You turned away from the group and concentrated on the man, feeling for his pulse and once you gathered the understanding, gently stopped The flow of blood, watching as he fell to the snow-covered ground with a thud.

'Don't take offense, I'm much older' You patted the Heartrenders on the shoulders and ran to the cabin. You saw Zoya let out a strong gust of wind to open the door, almost knocking it off its hinges.

Shouts erupted all around and shots were fired. You bled shadows into the hallway, rendering the Kerch men blind, hoping they wouldn't shoot in the dark. Simultaneously, you slowed the heartbeats you could make out, hoping the shouts died down. With luck on your side, the cabin turned silent and you retreated your shadows.

Three men dressed in fine vests lay slumped on the floor, a pistol or rifle in each hand. Fedyor automatically bent down to take the guns out of their hands and looked around for something to detain them with. You could hear the rest of your crew search the cabin, the loud squeak of the cellar latch opening. You too went to look around, opening all the doors that could open and listening for the beating of one's heart. Nothing.

You grew angry at the possibility of the intel being incorrect. You came to the last door on the far end of the home which was slightly ajar. You could feel a faint pulse and as you opened the door, ready to protect yourself when your eyes caught sight of a purple kefta. A Fabrikator? The figure didn't move from where they were standing. Their hands weren't bound and neither were their legs.

'Are you here with the Second-Army?' Her voice was quiet but steady.

'Yes. Come with me' You moved away from the doorframe and into the hallway once again to let the Grisha through.

'Who are you?'

'Deputy General, now come on we must get going' You heard Zoya indicate from the cellar that they had found the Healer.

She moved away from the wall and walked to you with her head down, showing no indication of being thankful for being saved. Doubt pooled in your stomach but you let it go. You returned to the main room and stared at the three men tied up in the chairs but quickly averted your eyes to Zoya who appeared perplexed and for once, you shared her thoughts. The Inferni walked out with the Healer behind him and what looked like a Squaller to his right but nobody said anything. What is going on?

'Is anybody injured?' You spoke first amongst the crippling silence. Nobody responded. Suddenly out of the corner of your eye you saw the Fabrikator take one of the disposed pistols and point it at you, not hesitating to take shots. You deflected as best you could, protecting the others from the bullets but quickly realized the girl was a Durast and wherever she wanted to shoot, she could definitely make the shot.

You looked around and to your surprise, your Inferni was lying on the ground as the Healer battled Zoya. Fedyor was seemingly pushed up against the wall by the Squaller. What in Saint's name is going on. These are not my Grisha. Your falter caused your shadow shield to break and you felt a cold bullet lodge itself in your thigh where your kefta peeked open.

The pain was too strong, clouding your mind and momentarily prohibiting you from accessing your powers. Saints this hurts.

You reclaimed your mind, letting the merciless Cut wander out to her. The Durast screamed in horror as her hand dropped to the ground. You ignored it, letting your eyes wander to the Squaller and knocking her out with a wind so strong it rattled the cabin. Zoya managed to subdue the Healer, tacking to the ground and holding her hands above her head. You shot out a tendril of onyx shadow and restrained her, relieving Zoya of the uncomfortable position.

You were beyond angry, you were fuming. You harshly grabbed at the Durast, slamming her against the wall by the lapel of her kefta, your thigh screaming in pain. You could feel blood pooling in your riding boots.

'What is this?!' You hissed

'You're not taking us back. You will not force us to be part of that army'

'You would give up the Little Palace for the dirty streets of Ketterdam' The venom rolling off your tongue was almost paralyzing.

'If I am to serve your kind then of course. You're probably stealing my power as we speak' The room stilled and your pain was forgotten. Zoya held her breath, even the Healer's stomach dropped.

Something in you snapped, and with nothing more than a flex of your fingers, the girl's neck snapped, her lifeless body tumbling to the ground. You didn't say another word. Zoya took that as a sign to tell the rogue Grisha they will be tried as traitors, and restrained them both, taking over from you.

Your previous words came back into your mind, Don't kill anybody. You shame Aleksander for merciless killing yet you just did the same. You broke your own rule because somebody offended you. You fool.

You wordlessly limped out of the cabin, completely forgetting the bullet wound on your thigh.

***

The ride back to the Little Palace was torturous. The two traitors had been subdued and riding with the heartrenderes. Your thigh was in excruciating pain and upon entering the gates, you had felt completely numb. As far as you knew, nobody knew you were shot. You had left them to deal with the mess in the cabin, too blinded by anger and arrogance to help and act as the leader. But now, the only thing blinding you was tiredness which you knew wasn't good.

Your horse diligently walked to the courtyard doors but you didn't get off, you couldn't. Your eyes had shut on their own accord. The tiredness washed over you again and your head spun.

You could faintly make out the sound of your name being called by Fedyor asking about the traitors, but you paid him no mind, focusing all your attention on trying not to fall off your horse. Your head bopped, but you fought to stay awake and pass the wave of tiredness so you could walk to the healers unit, but it was relentless.

You felt somebody pull the reigns of your horse and lift the cloak covering your leg, you didn't argue. Then the shouts started. You couldn't hear what they said as your head bopped again, once, twice, then you let go.

****

The immense itching sensation on your thigh was overwhelming. If that wasn't the reason for you waking up, it was the loud argument taking place at the foot of the bed.

You managed to open your eyes to see a Healer working on your leg, looking very focused. She spared you a sweet smile then went right back to work. Oh Saint's this is so itchy. It took everything in you not to itch the bloody wound. Thankfully, the raised voices dragged your attention away.

'We didn't know, she just left!' Fedyor.

'If you'd have gotten here 10 minutes later she would have been dead' Aleksander.

'We thought she wa-'

'I don't care. Leave before I do something I regret' The door opened and shut. You suspected the only people left in the room were you, the Healer and a fuming Aleksander. If he knew you were awake, he showed no indication of it. You didn't need to look at him to know he was brooding. Was he mad that I'm injured or that the mission went sideways?

Your hands clenched as the itching sensation got worse. You hated being healed, it was even worse than being injured.

'If you clench that fist any harder you'll break your knuckles' His voice carried no anger anymore, it was soft but had an edge of plea in it.

You didn't respond. You didn't know what to say. You hadn't seen him since the other night when you confronted him about Alina, and he made no moves to approach you since then.

'I'll give you a written report mission once I'm done here.'

'No need. Zoya took care of it already' As much as you had tried to convince yourself you disliked the beautiful Squaller, she had really come in clutch today. You were thankful.

'Alright, that's all I can do for now. You did lose a lot of blood, so take it easy for the next couple of days.' The young girl got up and left after you muttered a quick thank you.

'Are you ok?'

'We just got ambushed by rogue Grisha who had personal vendettas against me, what do you think' You sat up and rested your head against the headboard, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.

'I should've cross-examined the intel. If I knew what they were I would've given you more reinforcements.' He leaned against the wall next to the door, sensing your hostility and keeping his distance

'I didn't need reinforcements. I was just caught off guard is all'

'You killed a-'

'Please, don't say it. , it wasn't my proudest moment.'

'Zoya kept it out of the report. Said she got caught in the cross-fire.'

I love you Zoya.

'Do you want me to leave?' His question made you freeze. On one hand, you were still angry about the other night and the comment he made, but on the other Aleksander always made you feel safe and his presence brought you peace.

'You probably have work to do. I do too anyway' You got up to leave the bed, but he quickly walked over to you, pushing you back down. You grabbed his hands out of reflex.

'Take it easy for the next couple of days. Is that not the advice you got?' He cocked a smile and traced a small pattern on your hand. You stared into his eyes and tried to find a reason to not fold into his embrace, you badly needed a hug, and he gives the best ones.

'Alright, but you can leave' Your answer surprised him, it surprised you too. Apparently subconsciously you still held a grudge against him.

'Y/N, Next time you get hit, please tell someone.' He whispered as he swooped down to kiss the top of your head lovingly, letting his lips linger for a moment. Just as you were about to give in and wrap your arms around him, his warmth left you.

'It won't kill you to take a day off.' He teased as he walked out the door.

I never got that hug.

Part 14

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added to the Little Witch taglist !!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess

Here’s a masterlist where u can find previous parts of Little Witch 🖤

[brunos-beloved]

wine and cards : bruno bucciarati x reader

summary: bruno comforts a wasted y/n, unknowing that he’s the reason.

word count: 1.7k

—✧—

“Va tutto bene, y/n?” Bruno asked, a concerned look softening his normally stiffly straight posture. You’d always wondered how he managed to keep such professional composure up for so long. You yourself had never had a problem with that either, but you rarely kept one up around those you knew didn’t need it or expect it, leaving that side of you for missions or deals. But Bruno? He was capo, and a very consistent and committing one at that.

“Y-yes, grazie Bucciarati.” The stutter that formed unwillingly came from the push of a hiccup at the bottom of your throat; you’d never been a drinker...but tonight was different. Tonight you just didn’t want to think of a way to deal with what you were feeling other than that, which you hadn’t even thought of yourself, but childishly took the suggestion from Abbacchio and the bottle of wine he’d popped open for himself. 

You recalled playing cards with Narancia and Fugo, now you knew you were a confident drunk. But you could only win for so long, and you came crashing down from the high. Now things seemed to be getting fuzzy, and Narancia and Fugo’s game you’d skipped out on produced squabble that felt like nails on a chalkboard to your numbing ears. Though, this messed up state you were in, this had been exactly what you’d wanted, right? So why did you suddenly feel so much more helpless and overwhelmed than before? Every word and every noise seemed to amplify the more you thought of it, and you felt a headache coming on, along with the desperate craving to just leave. Though your body didn’t move, and your limbs just grew more tired. The high was nowhere near worth this crash, you thought, even if it did seem to null your feelings for the capo for a while.

Although you had reassured him earlier, his long black shoes never did leave your gaze that had sunken to the floor. Was he watching them play? Even raising your head had become a chore with all the noise in your head and alcohol in your system. Rather than the side profile you’d imagined, you were met with sapphire eyes, focused on you rather than the boys. 

“Is everything alright, y/n?” Bruno repeated. His striking eyes seemed sterner than the gaze you’d received last time, so your own eyes darted back to the floor rather than providing an answer. Somehow though, that and your uncomfortable expression seemed to be enough for him. He offered you a hand with such grace you wondered again just how this man managed to present himself in such a way. From his composure to his very movements Bruno was someone who just mesmerized you with anything he did. That was the very reason you’d drank bottles tonight, you could never picture yourself keeping up with him, being enough for him, being wanted by him. That is what ate you alive. But, as a soft smile formed onto his full lips and in his beautiful eyes, black bob swaying as he tilted his head towards the door, how could you say no to an exit like that?

As expected, the way off your seat and onto the balcony had been anything but graceful. Rather than being lead by only his hand, you’d found him carrying half your weight, you tried not to hang off the arm supporting you. Unbeknownst to you, Bruno truly didn’t mind the close quarters. He’d always been so careful and doting towards you according to the others, but you’d assumed that was just how he acted with most he cared about, it was just in his nature. Finally arriving at said balcony, you’d couldn’t help but gawk at the stars. 

“I thought you needed fresh air.“ He mused, the same welcoming smile upon his handsome face. You couldn’t help but stare and feel lucky. You leaned onto the railing, feeling a chill breeze run through your hair.

“I did, thank you.“ Was all you could manage, staring at the way his olive skin soaked up the moonlight and wondering what it’d feel like under your touch. Another gust of wind ran across your bare shoulders, you couldn’t help but shiver. You’re cheeks were on fire, they had been for hours but now, in front of him, they felt completely ablaze, making the ice cold feel so much harsher. His warm palm landed onto your shoulder.

“Are you cold dolcezza? We can go back if-” Your mouth ran before he could even finish. You were finally back to enjoying the night, you weren’t ready to sleep and you weren’t looking to crash with your own thoughts yet again.

“No! I want to stay with you.“ Your boldness surprised the both of you, and a silent pause followed. Immediate dread ensued, and your blurry thoughts caused you to panic and defend yourself. “We don’t get to talk often, so it’s alright if I’m cold.” Even saying that made you crave a slap to the face, your inability to think anything through made you feel foolish, yet it had gotten you to say the truth. You slapped a hand over your mouth, as if it’d move on its own, then squeezed your eyes shut to sigh and hiccup. Opening them again to look up at the man, wondering if he felt the same, if his doting nature was for you and only you, rather than just anyone. Yet in your insecure mind that seemed so reaching, so you inhaled, “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what I’m saying, you can leave if you’d like.” You said, though you prayed he wouldn’t. 

Your drooping eyes perked back up at the sound of a dry chuckle, it wasn’t something you heard often from a man so serious and hard-working, your heart tinged at the sight, remembering the heat on your cheeks. 

You’d gotten him to laugh. 

“Why would I want to leave? We don’t get time alone like this often, didn’t you say so?” You were equally surprised by the reply you’d gotten.

“I just thought what I said sounded stupid.“ You regret freeing your mouth of your palm for even a moment, realizing that acknowledging your stupidity only points out the stupidity you were trying to conceal in the first place. Bruno looks ready to laugh again, but luckily decides to spare your pride, and send you a smile instead. For that you were grateful. 

“Not at all, I thought it was sweet.“ He adds with no strain at all, easily honest. You breath stutters, and you’re also a little more grateful for your running mouth and wine stained lips. It’s your turn to chuckle, and Bruno takes the relief in your voice as a good time to leave you temporarily, coming back with a blanket for your chilled shoulders.

Bruno wraps it around you, careful and doting just like your friends had described, and your mind drifts from his eyes to his lips. “Here you go carino, better?” His hands haven’t yet left the ends of the blanket, so you’re drawn into him quite closely. The noise inside -a mix of blaring music and the gang reacting dramatically to a card game that got surprisingly competitive- muffles and fades, you wonder if it’d be alright to close the distance. All you’d need to do is cover a few centimetres, and you’d be pressed against his chest and in his arms, your stomach flips at the thought. Meanwhile, Bruno stares down at you, equally torn about letting go of you. You tear your head away and switch your gaze to the stars, your heart strained enough. 

“The stars, they’re really beautiful tonight, no?“ You feel Bruno shift, and his grip on the fabric around you loosens, looking out into the vast and dark sky like you’d asked. He hesitantly agrees, was he just breaking out of the same daze you were? When Bruno turns his head, you feel his arms about to free you, and without thinking twice, you use the angle of his face to your advantage. You grasped his cheek, pecking the other and drawing him back in. When you pull away slightly, his cerulean eyes are on you, and you wonder whether or not it was your place. Then the swift hands that had released you are easing into your waist, and your doubt dissipates, you’d actually thought correct. You can’t tell which of you closes the distance, but his lips are pressed onto yours, and your hands pull him in even tighter by the back of his neck. Your bodies press together, and the warmth he grants you is heavenly, so much so you wonder if you were dreaming, actually passed out onto a counter somewhere. Fortunately, when your eyes flutter open you instead see Bruno Bucciarati, blue eyes looking down at you with such fondness your heart could burst. You arms go from his neck to his shoulders, relishing in the soft fabric of his black and white suit as you press your face into his chest, humming in relief. You relax at the rhythm of his heart, the both of you enjoying the silent embrace.

After such warmth and relief all at once, you feel yourself sink into a soothing fatigue, and Bruno insists on getting you to bed. You wish to wrench yourself from the party inside the moment the mayhem of loud teenagers reach your ears, Abbacchio passed out in his room from his own wine presumably. 

“Well look what the cat dragged in! And with- Oooooh!” Mista whistles at you from the couch, you stick out your tongue at him, but you can’t help but grin as you lean back into Bruno’s arms and make your way up upstairs, eager to muffle the loud voices downstairs with your bedroom door. 

Once you arrive, Bruno helps you into bed, you reassured him you hadn’t had that much to drink, but he insists. The moment you curl up into bed you already miss his touch, needily flipping over to look back at him before he leaves. Your actions surprise him, he’d swore you would be out like a light, but you’re determined to see him out it seems. So, he humors you, and presses a tender kiss to your forehead before ushering you to sleep. 

“Buonanotte, amore mio.”

—✧—

first fic on here, it’s 12:30 AM, wooooooo :0 hope y’all enjoy :)

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Jealousy Isn't Good

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Tom Holland (characters) x fem!Reader (Arvin Russell and Peter Parker)

Words: 1953

Summary (requested by @peeves6261427): “jealous tom/arvin/peter where the reader knows they’re jealous and tries to tease them but then tom/arvin/peter just go FULL dom” 

Warnings: jealousy, smut, fluff, dom!Tom Holland (+ characters mentioned)

A/N - I fucking love a good angsty + smutty imagine... hope you like just as much as I did writing it AHAHA :) x 

TOM HOLLAND: 

Now, when it came to Tom’s jealous side, he was terribly awful at hiding it.

To your complete surprise, it was actually a recurring thing... It wasn't that Tom had trust issues, he just would notice how others would try to “flirt with you”, according to him.  

However, you struggled to see this and saw no harm in these interactions, as most of the time you believed people were just being friendly. 

When he did become jealous he acted like a complete, stubborn child.

He would give you short, sharp answers, always be temperamental. 

Often in the moment you’d catch him making quick glances at you as you’d be talking to whomever. 

He’d take a deep breath in, his fists would clench to the point his knuckles turned white. 

“Tom, love, you’re doing it again...” 

Tom knew how to calm himself, however his mood would be foul for the day. 

He had a reputation to hold and did not want to jeopardise that, even if it took him all his strength to not even speak against it. 

He really hated the way some would stare at you, eyeing you up and down, especially at premieres where you were all dolled up. 

Tom would become super protective, especially amongst places where there were crowds upon crowds of people: you found that his arm would always be tightly wrapped around your waist. 

Occasionally, a verbal fight would even break out between the two of you because of this... Until Tom would realise your perspective. 

“And what about you Tom?! What about the millions of girls across the world that worship you? Do you see me complaining and whining?” 

You were happiest with Tom, and you’d mentioned it repeatedly to him... He knew you were with him for the long run, he just despised the fact that people didn’t realise this. 

He’d be the type that needed reassurance that you only had eyes for him, and to make up for his childish behaviour... Sex was the only answer.  

This also was the best way he could showcase his dominance over you: he was always in complete control when it came to sex, especially after an episode of jealousy. 

Tom would definitely be the type to leave love marks all over you, hickeys were his thing. He’d try not to leave them in obvious places where your skin would be exposed, again for his reputation especially with kids, however on the rare occasion that he’d lose himself... There wasn't nothing that a decent palette of makeup couldn’t cover up!

God sometimes he’d even surprise you with a quick, soft bite on your skin... He was playful like that. 

Definitely loves to spank you, again seeing his red hand-print form on your ass cheek just sparks joy in him like nothing else. 

And Tom, definitely loves being called Daddy. 

Nonetheless, it was a flaw in Tom’s character... He was the jealous type and it was something you were okay to live with. 

ARVIN RUSSELL: 

Now this man... Would literally go off. Not immediately, it would just constantly be building up inside until he could no longer keep the fury bottled up. 

Having to pick up Lenora from school, you also took to this privilege, which always meant Arvin would be waiting right outside for the two of you. He was protective like that. 

He was also, however, an impatient man: thus, on the occasional days that a few of your colleagues took up your time after school for a quick chat, often about an assignment or homework... He’d grown quite enraged. 

Especially due to the fact that he'd rarely see you during the weekdays from being busy with school. He didn’t want to attend and rather just work, although it took a toll very so often that he’d miss you. 

Being such a small town, didn't help the cause, whether it was walking down the street arm in arm, or catching up at the local diner, someone would stop and chat, minimising your time together even more. 

However, the jealousy would strike most with other male counterparts. 

Arvin, according to his own words “knew what these boys in this town were thinking...” 

For his age, and greatly due to his unfortunate circumstances growing up, Arvin mentally and emotionally matured rapidly for his age. 

Physically, he was also quite strong and didn’t hesitate when faced with a threat. 

Especially after the incident with Lenora and the boys at school... Arvin had a reputation that was built on sheer intimidation. No one dared to mess with anything that even remotely “belonged” to him. 

And he’d made it very clear that you were his. 

However on the downside, when a boy was “downright stupid” (again according to Arvin), and took a chance on you, or even tried to take advantage of you... Arvin would violently lash out. 

It was hard to intervene, especially when matters got physical. 

Arvin was obviously the dominant one: he’d precisely plan his attacks, when exactly to strike. 

Word would spread, and yet everyone would keep quiet... Some would even argue that Arvin did the right thing for standing by you.

“I-I just don't want people thinking the wrong things about you, baby.”   

However you did mention how upset you’d become, witnessing Arvin taking matters into his own hands: and worst of all, you’d hate seeing him hurt with minor wounds to show. 

During these times after the altercations, would be the most intimate. Arvin would apologise and promise to try never to lash out again, although you knew that was a lie. 

It was these moments he showed his most vulnerable side: he’d confess to how much you meant to him, how much he wanted to keep you safe and overall, how much he’d love you. 

“You are the absolute world to be Y/N, baby... You need to know I’d do anything for you.” 

Bless him, you thought. You knew violence was never an answer, although considering Arvin’s upbringing, it was mostly all he’d known, all that he was exposed to. 

“God, Arvin... I can take care of myself, you know that. A-And if I do ever get in trouble, you know you’ll be the first one I come to.” 

However what he dreaded the most was being apart from you. The fear that when you weren't together that’s when something terrible would befall you, killed him deep down and regardless of what you said, or no matter how confident you were of protecting yourself... He knew he’d always be there until he planned for the two of you to leave this “godforsaken town.” 

And of course, the sex helped him a lot. 

Arvin was the dominant one in the relationship throughout everything. He felt he needed to be in control, and obviously still took into consideration your thoughts and feelings.

However when it came to matters of life and death or even remotely close to your safety, he took serious. He prioritised your safety over his own, and that said a lot. 

When I tell you this man would have a breeding kink, I meant it: having children did frighten him a little, although the thought of having them with you, made him feel motivated to have a family of his own. 

He loves when you dry hump the fuck out him, seeing how you moan his name as your face to face with one another, the way your tits be jiggling/jumping the more intense you got. 

He preferred to have sex in remote, isolated locations. He preferred to silence and peace of mind. Only being in each other’s company. 

Often the sex happened in his car, and the moments after would be intimate just like after a fight. 

He loved you and you loved him... You both knew you were meant for one another. 

PETER PARKER: 

Having met Pete, there was no way you’d thought there could ever be a bad bone in him, however it seemed even the perfect Peter Parker struggled with a few minor flaws. 

Peter tended to get jealous, however over specific people that he saw as a threat. 

He was extremely calculative, and knew who posed a risk to his relationship with you.

He often wouldn’t speak up about it, letting it slide and seeking advice from Ned and Aunt May on what to do, however they’d often persuade him to believe it was nothing major to worry about, and that you only had eyes for him. 

And they couldn't be more right. 

Peter trusted you greatly, as you did with him. 

He didn't trust the cocky guys that would shoot their shot with you, and often it did infuriate him. 

At nights, when he was out overlooking the city for whoever would need the help of their friendly, neighbourhood Spider-man, he’d take the time to contemplate to himself. 

However, if he got really desperate for some help, he’d even ask his fellow Avengers... Tony wasn't much of a help, he’d just tell him to either spoil the hell out of you, “take her out to a nice restaurant, the chicks dig that intimacy shit.” 

Steve, on the other hand, was actually the most helpful. 

And they had all met you (and adored you), so they knew exactly who Peter was dealing with.

“Just talk to Y/N, I’m sure she’ll be most understanding... Usually when a guy feels this way about a girl, it means you want to take things seriously,” Captain reasoned. 

And from their Peter knew exactly what he had to do. 

Dates was a regular think, you made sure of that! Despite needing to balance school, work and Peter’s hectic life as an Avenger... You both proudly managed well. 

So taking both Tony’s and Capt’s relationship advice into consideration, Peter thought it would be perfect to just say what he needed to say.

“L-Look Y/N... I know I may not often say it or be the perfect boyfriend, but I-I just wanted to say...” 

God you loved how nervous he'd get. 

“What is it Pete?” You intervene with a bright smile on your face, trying to encourage him to just speak his mind. 

And it seemed to have worked, as his tense shoulders had finally relaxed and he returned with a smile. 

“I-I love you, Y/N. I mean, I-I really am so in love with you. It just bothers me that I see you talking to some guys a-and to think that maybe, one day... They might convince you to leave me.” 

Your heart broke silently to a thousand pieces: not only was this the first time Peter actually said the words “I love you”, however to hear that this was what had been worrying him this entire time. 

“Peter, please don’t ever think that! I could nor would I ever, leave someone as brilliant and caring as you... I love you, Pete, you need to know this.” 

And after what would have been the most sacred dates of your life, you knew exactly how to end the perfect night. 

As you both had politely left the restaurant, thanking the staff for their incredible food and service, you turned to Peter, your hands cupping his chiselled face. 

“Now how about you show me just how much you love me, huh?” 

Sex with Peter was often gentle and very personal. 

He wasn't over-the-top in control, always making sure you were comfortable and relaxed. 

However when you both had gotten into the rhythm of things... A whole, new side of him would peak. 

Definitely a boob guy... He’s rough hands would always be massaging your tits, especially when he ate you the fuck out. 

[venusdeus]

Court of Kings - Chapter 1

Summary: Sent to a neighboring kingdom to secure an alliance, forced to give up your dreams and ambitions, disregarded as a means to an end. You however have no desire to fulfil their wishes. And neither does Oikawa.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x female reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au (more like enemies to allies to friends to lovers), eventual smut?

Word count: 2700+

Warnings: All the characters are adults unless specified. This chapter is sfw. Minors do not interact.

Notes: Part 1 of a long series I’m planning to write. This is my first fic in this blog so I would greatly appreciate comments, follows and feedback!

Read Prologue first <...> Chapter 2

August 5th

The first messengers arrived when you were having afternoon tea with your literature instructor in the gardens of your summer residence, as your brother was practicing his sword skills not too far. A maid sent by your mother brought you the news of their negotiation a few hours later, accompanied by some of the strawberry macarons you loved so much.  

If it were up to you, you would refuse such a ridiculous offer even before it was brought to your attention. Now that they had a male heir to the throne however, there was no use of a girl that had no claim to become the future ruler, other than being sent to create diplomatic relations now that you were over twenty summers.

“Where do you think they are from?” your brother asked as he tried to dust off his clothes, quite tired from following the orders of his practice partner all day long.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t see any flags with them.” you continued as he looked disappointed “But they were wearing blue, so at least we know it's not from the south.”

He nodded; his eyes wide with worry “I am glad they are not sending you there.”

“No one is sending me anywhere yet Hiro.” you answered quite annoyed, turning your head sharply to glare at the boy.

It was not his fault per see but him being recognized as the heir has left you in an awkward situation for the past twelve years. You loved your brother dearly, unlike the distant relationship you had with your parents. It was not because you had the ambition to rule the kingdom either. Of course, it was unfair as you were the firstborn, and if not for what was between your legs, you would also have been the one to inherit the crown.

Even if that was so, you simply did not find it in yourself to become a leader. You, however, did wish to be able to shape your own future. One that did not involve fulfilling the selfish wishes of others.

“It would be awfully lonely without you.” he sighed, instantly making you feel guilty for sounding a little bit too harsh.

Hiro looked incredibly small for his age, standing there with his shoulders slouched, fingers flicking, a skinny and sickly kid since the day he was born. He took after your father with his dark hair and almost pitch-black eyes, but with your mother's facial features, a contrast to your own looks that bore no resemblance to any of them, another reason for your alienation from the rest of the family.

“And it would be awfully quiet without you.” you teased “Maybe then I would be able to read in peace.”

Several footsteps coming behind you silenced you both before Hiro could retort, cutting the joyful air and replacing it with a heavy feeling.

Your mother was a beautiful woman that much was true, but in a different way to that of her kids. The Queen had extremely sharp features and her painted lips always supported a displeased frown. She acted as her title suggested, prim and proper, she fit her role perfectly.

Renowned for her charm when she was younger, she did not lose much to the ages if not for the wrinkles next to her keen eyes and the white threads on her hair. Likewise, she was as smart as she was alluring. Coming from a family that lost their wealth a long time ago even though they still supported titles, no one would even dream of her being second to the sole ruler of their beloved country. She was a success-driven woman, which made her a threat in the eyes of many in the court, thus she was not given the right to make a decision when it came to the education of the heirs she produced. Although affectionate towards her kids first, she had no say on the time she had with them, causing their family ties to weaken, and mostly spent her time with foreign ambassadors. A responsibility entrusted upon her by her husband.

“I see you received my message.” she declared not looking at you directly “We will talk more about this after our guests leave. For now, I want both of you to go to your rooms and stay there until dinner.”

You could sense the irritation in her voice. It was not for her kids, however, as you could see the dark circles under her eyes, a sign of her losing sleep for the past few days.

“Won’t we meet our guests?” Hiro questioned before you could.

“It is not needed as they are only messengers.” the Queen answered shortly before continuing her walk towards the main hall, her maids trailing behind. “I will see you two in an hour.”

Leaving your brother behind, you decided to head down towards the observatory. You knew that you would get an earful from your maids later for not changing your garments for the dinner, but your head was filled with too many questions and negative possibilities to care about dresses. It was not as if you did not know that this day would come. It even took longer than expected if all things considered. Most in your position would be engaged before they even stopped using diapers. It was a more political alliance than anything else, decided by the respective kingdoms and the advisors.

You even saw the letters that were exchanged since last year with multiple seals supporting different coat of arms. The council of your father must have declined the offers before this. Not for your sake, at least you didn’t think it was, but for not suiting their taste. It was a big deal for the princess of a country, whether being the heir or not, to marry someone as it reassured the ties you would create.

The only positive thing that happened so far was the fact that you would not be sent to the south. The Southern Kingdom was placed across the sea and was an important trade partner to your own.

It was a wealthy country for sure, but also too grim and the people too wild. Other than the traded goods it wasn’t a traveller-friendly country. They kept to themselves and even though the only thing that separated the two port kingdoms was a narrow sea, they had a vastly different culture. These differences resulted in legends and the rumors about the country becoming more and more outrageous over time.

They called their men barbaric, only interested in hunt and the art of war. Their women proclaimed witches, quite beautiful unlike the stereotype, but worshippers of a different God. All just foolish rumors said your history instructor. He was a wise man that travelled a lot when he was younger and according to him these tales were nonsense. Their folk did not originate there but immigrated over a few centuries ago. He taught you that the people of the Southern Kingdom were that of culture and arts. They just did not like intruders. His words didn’t ease your or Hiro’s heart however as you were fed these tales since you were younger.

If you could find a way to escape from this responsibility you would. Yet, since the first time you sensed what was going on you were looking for an answer, just to be disappointed every time.

The dinner was cold and tasteless even though it was made from the best ingredients one could manage to find. “The lady that makes them must hate her occupation with a passion” claimed your brother when you were dismissed “I can’t understand how mother likes it.”

Once again, the King did not join you at the table. It was always the same excuse, politics, responsibilities. But you knew better. You knew why your parents did not share a bed anymore and you could see the looks women of the court gave to your father. It was not because the King was a good-looking man, quite the opposite in fact, but power attracted people.

You were fully grown now and even when you were younger, you knew what these actions indicated. You even had the most unfortunate memory of seeing one of them, who was not much older than you, leaving your father's chamber looking quite flushed. You would have not cared if only the woman did not give you a curtsy while supporting a smirk.

Lady Winna was her real name, daughter of a lord that was close to the King, nicknamed Lady Whore by you. And most of the time, she was the reason your father would skip the meals altogether only to receive a feast in his room later that night. Which was why you knew that you should never hope for a love match. If lucky you could maybe be friends with your future partner.

“She does not hate her job, she hates her life” you replied “Not that it would matter, she will leave soon. I heard she was pregnant with a lord’s child. A married one on top of that.”

Hiro gasped “What if someone were to hear you talking about these rumors” he exclaimed hitting your arm quite forcefully “you could be punished.”

“Don’t act as if you never say such stuff you little bridge troll. I know how you talk behind your instructors.” you mused rubbing the pain off. “And who will punish a princess I ask you? If not for mother or father?”

“Do I need to know what I should punish you for?”

Both you and Hiro jumped at the unexpected voice of the Queen, a gasp leaving your mouths. She was holding a box in her hand and her face was supporting a rare, serene expression.

“Nothing of importance.” replied Hiro quickly “We were just afraid of falling behind our studies.”

The Queen did not seem convinced as her eyes narrowed, but she had a small genuine smile on. “I see. Why don’t you go on ahead and start your nightly studies then? I need to talk to your sister privately in the meantime.”

Hiro let out a snort that he tried to cover with a cough. You are in trouble he mouthed before bowing to your mother and disappearing through the corridor.

“I would like you to know I was just repeating what the ladies in the court were saying. Not that I believe the rumors of course, it is quite indecent.” you tried to explain quickly but the Queen cut you with a shake of her head.

“That is not why I wanted to talk to you dear. It is however quite incident for a lady to talk that way you are right.” she sighed “Why don’t we talk in my study?”

You knew what was coming now, after all you could not remember the last time you had a conversation with your mother alone, the relaxed expression on her face, however, gave you hope. Maybe, you thought, they decided it was not time yet. Or maybe they did not like the offers that came through.

“Close the door, will you?” she asked walking towards the desk that stood before the bookshelves that covered the walls.

“Where are your attendants?” you questioned as you followed her inside “Is there something wrong?”

“I thought you would be more comfortable if it were just the two of us that’s all. I need to show you something.” She answered motioning towards the box she was holding. “It came this morning. For you of course. Go on, open it.”

The box itself was made from heavy oak, painted black with a family crest carved on top of it. The symbol looked familiar enough, but you could not concentrate enough to remember where you knew it from over the heavy beating of your heart. Opening it cautiously you took a sharp breath between your teeth, observing the contents.

Inside stood a tiara that was made from white gems shaped in intricate designs that you have not encountered before and in the middle stood an icy blue diamond so big that you could have sworn it must have cost the yearly earnings of a whole country.

“Not a ring.” You stated matter of factly “A very bold choice for a gift.”

“Indeed. But you cannot expect less from Seijoh.” Your mother replied with a cautious voice, almost as if she was calculating your reaction.

“Seijoh…” the box cluttered on the table as you let go of it abruptly “You are sending me up north? We waged war against them for years! Even before my grandfather! And now you are sending me there?”

You knew the country itself was wealthy enough and that it had a strong military presence. They had many allies within the countries that bordered yours as well.  But they also claimed right on your countries throne by sighting territorial dispute as well as a marriage between the two countries that produced no heir.

Now they were sending you there as a scapegoat. To secure his claim to the throne. And maybe even to theirs. An eye for an eye.

It took another week for your father to send a response and invite the Crown Prince and the King of Seijoh for a short visit before the decision was finalized and another two for them to arrive on the outskirts of your kingdom with their entourage behind.

As you sat in your suite biting your nails and waiting for their arrival, your maids were going in and out with different dresses in their hands looking for your approval. You on the other hand did not have the mental energy to entertain their ideas. It was bad enough that you had to attend a ball given in their honor that very evening, but you also had to be in the throne room soon enough to welcome them into the castle. Not to mention this would be the first time that you were to meet your possible future husband.

You heard of him before of course. How could you not when his reputation preceded him? A very cunning and ambitious young man, yet it was his looks that brought the most gossip. You heard his name whispered among the staff when they did not know you were listening and heard the ladies giggle when they mentioned the time that they spent in their court, with him.

It was enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth. Was it too much to ask that your future partner was a man of intelligence and few words? At least you would know that you could get along with him then. But a sharp and striking Casanova? They had to be jesting. That was the only possible explanation for this mockery.

As if your fathers’ ridiculous behaviors wasn’t enough now you had to entertain another man like him. It was pretty common for monarchs to take on other lovers, but you would not be embarrassed by a man you did not know in your own house, husband or not.

When you finally entered the throne room you could hear the commotion outside caused by non-other than the infamous man that was plaguing your thoughts for the past week. Your mother motioned you to hurry and take your place with a sudden turn of her chin just before the doors opened.

The rumors did not do him justice you thought as he strutted towards you and your family, your breath caught in your throat.

Oikawa Tooru was without a doubt the most beautiful man you ever laid eyes on.

He was beautiful alright.

And with his charming eyes staring straight at your own and his delicate hands placed on his sword, he looked ready to murder.

It might look like a filler episode, but I needed to give background and I love to build anticipation. Sorry not sorry? Reblogs are appreciated! And also this was not edited I posted it right after writing it so if you see any mistake let me know.

Disclaimer:  No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission. I do not own the character of Oikawa Tooru. This is a work of fiction.

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want me to tag you.

@triskoof​ @sassyglassesbunny​ @m-a-r-i-a-s-b-l-o-g

[famej]

Mr Smooth

(Sakamoto x Reader)

Another perfectly smooth day in Sakamoto’s perfectly smooth life.

He arrived just in the nick of time before the school gates closed, the rain didn’t even wet his neatly fixed hair and he understood everything said in class, even answering all the teacher’s questions right.

What wasn’t going so smoothly was Y/N’s day. By the time she reached school, she was soaked to the bone , all her textbooks were in a similar state. Her irritation stopped her from paying attention and she got scolded by the teacher for slacking off. And the worst was that she had to sit next to fucking perfect Sakamoto !

When the bell rang, she fished a snack from her bag, luckily  itw as wrapped in plastic and so, was intact from the water. That sweet treat came at the right time, bringing her some comfort on this shitty day.

Mr Perfect was reading whatever a perfect guy would read, re-adjusting his glasses fro mtiem to time. The sight reminded Y/N that she had a dounjinshi sleeping in her bag and she felt the urge to take it out…

Any sort of mangas were forbidden at school, but could Victuuri wait ?

The bell rang again, signalling the end of the break and answering in inner question. She sighed and got up to throw the plastic wrapper in the bin before coming back to her seat.

She was so caught up in her negative thought that she didn’t notice the backpack laying in her path and her feet hit the bag making her stumble forward.

Before she could meet with the floor or any surface that could’ve hurted her, someone caught her, preventing the fall.

Her front was against her saviour’s chest  and their hands were delicately holding her waist to maintain her on her feet.

When she looked up, she found herself in Mr perfect in person. His glasses had slipped only a milimeter from its original place and his hair had a barely perceiptible movement from how fast he seemed to have fly to your rescue.

So fucking annoyingly perfect !

Y/N pushed herself off him and straightened her uniform. Only meeting his gaze for an instant, not able to do more due to the embarrassment. Then bowed forward in a respecting manner.

«  Thank you »

She caught him nod briefly while pushing his glasses back with the tip of his finger. A really faint pink tint was coloring his cheeks.

«  It was nothing »

Sakamoto bowed and sat back at his desk and Y/N did the same. The classroom quickly filled with the students who went to get snacks or simply take a walk.

The teacher for the mathematics lesson arrived and ordered everyone to get their textbooks out.

Everything went rather smoothly at first, thanks to the idiots in her class who always got the attention of the teacher so she rarely got asked anything.

At one point, it got to geometry, and she had to look through the mess in your bag for her geometry tools.

She had to put her bag on her lap and searched the depths. In the process of moving things around, her doujinshi flew out and landed on the floor. The light smacking noise attracted some of her classmates’ attention as well as the teacher’s who whipped his eyes toward the object of your secret adoration.

Y/N felt doom fall upon her as the teacher approached dangerously, picking it up would be even worse and you’ll probably end up in the principal’s office for hiding one of the prohibited items to bring at school.

«  Who’s is it ? » the teacher asked looking at all the close by students for the culprit.

«  That kind of reading is forbidden in school, you should be aware of it by now »

The young woman opened her mouth to admit her crime 

«  It’s… »

«  That manga is mine »

She turned her head so fast that he almost got whiplash. Mr Perfecr had stood up and was accusing himself of owning a BL doujinshi, a +18 one at that. Y/N was torned between being curious of how he would manage this one and the satisfaction the blame being on someone else.

The teacher looked confused. He eyed the others, clearly not believing the young man.

«  Sakamoto ? Are you kidding me ? You can’t read boys love »

Everyone’s eyes switched from the teacher to Sakamoto

«  Yaoi is an interesting source to learn about men acts and feeling when they experience love. And when most of the time we have the point of view of their love interests, so the way their «  advances » are seen by the other party. Men shouldn’t be ashamed to read that kind of literature be cause it expresses our most sensible side . You should try it sensei »

Y/N refrained a laugh. Did he just told a very manly and narrow minded teacher to read a yaoi ?!

«  OI ! Is he stupid or what ? » she thought

The teacher’s jaw clicked at the comment and itw as obvious that he was going to chew the hell out of this guy

«  Sorry sensei, it’s mine. It fell out of my bag when I was looking for something. Sakamoto was surely helping me by accusing himself. I know I shouldn’t have bought his I’m sorry »

He was definitely lost. What to do of those two students and what about the furiusly pumping vein on his tample ?

«  I don’t care ! Detention for both of you ! Sakamoto because youd dared mock me and lied. Y/N because you brought this horror at school »

He turned around the manga still in his hand and that moment, Y/N unplugged her brain, choosing stupidity.

«  Sensei, can I get it back, I haven’t read it yet ? »

He turned around, eyes ready to kill her on the spot.

«  Do you want me to double your hour, Y/L/N ? »

She surrendered , lifting her hands forward

«  No, I’m sorry, sensei »

On that, the day didn’t get any brighter, for any of our protagonist since Sakamoto got his fisrt detention.

***

After class ended, Mr Susuki asked hsi two victims to saty behind.

«  You two are going to clean every little corner of this classroom. I want it to be shining when I’ll arrive tommorrow morning »

Then he left, slamming the door shut, leaving the two of with their painful assignments.

Sakamoto grabbed a duster and worked right away, while you watched him, not knowing how t ostart up a conversation. She took all the necessary tools and went t oclean the windows, she was turning and re-turnign ideas in her head on how to apologize to him. Not that she really wanted to , after all the guy got on her nerves most of the time. But she felt guilty for dragging him down with her.

When it became too much for her mind to be tortured that way, she turned around, fiddling with her washcloth, took a deep breath and throw herself in.

«  Sakamoto, I’m sorry that you got detention because of me. And it’s probably not even receivable since i twill be noted on your record but again, I’m sorry »

She finished her apologies with a bow and stayed like this for a few seconds, not knowing what his reaction would be.

«  No need to apologize. It was on my own accord that I chose to accuse myself in your place. Sadly, it didn’t workout the way I expected. Nonetheless, I should be the one to say thank you »

He bowed, while you stared at him in disbelief.

Y/N replayed his words in her head ; she snapped.

«  Are you dumb or what ?! Why would you thank me when I’m the reason why you got detention ? Ugh, if you haven’t pretended to be at fault this morning I would’ve been the only one punished. Why do you have to act so perfectly well all the time ! You should get that checked out, it’s porbably maladive ! »

With that little outburst of hers, she just threw everything she thought of her classmate right in his face. Way to go…

Sakamoto, restraightened from his bow and offered her a small smile.

«  I only behaved like I did because I felt like itw as the right thing to do. I simply wanted to help a classmate out. I’m sorry if my behaviour is bothering you. I’ll try to be less «  perfectly well » in your presence »

Y/N rolled her eyes, even though she felt a ping of guilt.

«  Shut the hell up ! I’m not asking you to do anything and you don’t have to listen to me anyway… Don’t you want to yell at me ? »

He re-adjusted his glasses .

«  I have no reason to be mad. I simply wanted to act friendly toward you. And I have to admit I find the way you treat me interesting. While all our classmates praise me for everything I do, you don’t, why ? »

«  Are you serious ? Because you’re fucking annoying that’s why ! »

Y/N turned around and got back to work, knowing this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere.

«  In this kind of situations , frienships are bound to be created. If you’ll bear with me, let’s get to know each other more »

The young woman froze, and try to process the words she just heard. Then turned around to meet Sakamoto’s gaze. As serious as usual, his expression neutral….

«  You want us » she gestured between the two of them with her index «  to be friends ? We have nothing in common. You’re a grade A student and I’m not caring much about it. I read yaoi and you’re probably into Akutagawa or something  like that »

He wandered off to dust the shelves.

«  I know that. But isn’t friendship based on the difference between two people and what they can learn about each other ? »

«  You don’t have many friends, do you ? »

«  Not really. But it would do me good to meet people who have a different vision from mine »

Y/N sighed and placed her hand on her hip.

«  Okay, let’s try , and now that we’re friends, can you help me study the current math chapter, no matter what I do, I can’t get it »

He looked at you over his shoulder and showed off a satisfied smile.

«  It would be a pleasure, friend »

[maxwell-grant]

AIUI, Burbank is even more a question mark than The Shadow is; we don't know if that's a personal name, surname, or nickname, we no nothing of his past, his personal life, or even (again, AIUI) his personality. Is that something that should be kept in adaptations, or ought he be developed more?

Both.

The thing about developing a mystery is that you still need to have something in place to purposefully obscure or slowly reveal. You still need to give your audience tidbits and information here and there that makes them want to learn more and find out what the answer is, even if they know it's never really happening, even if the answer couldn't possibly live up to the hype.

Twin Peaks was able to delay the mystery of Laura Palmer's murder for an entire season and more partially because Laura Palmer had such an rich, troubled inner life and turmoil, that we could gradually receive snippets of information regarding it every episode and still not know the whole story, so much so that, even after we learned who did it, there were still many, many stories to be told within Laura Palmer's life and the city. This holds true for The Shadow, and it holds true for Burbank.

Gibson successfully created intrigue regarding Burbank because, not only was Burbank a crucially important figure in The Shadow's organization and therefore someone we'd want to know more about, but because everytime Burbank showed up to play a substantial role, you could gleam something new about him. Burbank is a great example of staging in The Shadow pulps because his scenes are often written as if we were watching a movie where the head of our main character keeps being blocked from view, until it's revealed, and it doesn't really help us understand him much better than before, even though we've come to learn more about what he acts and looks like.

In fact, The Shadow even seems to be aware of this, such as in the scene below when the narration goes to great lenghts to obscure Burbank's face, even in a scene when there is literally no one around but Burbank and The Shadow. Why go through this much trouble to obscure Burbank from no one but the reader? Why not just refrain from describing what he looks like instead of making sure we can't even imagine what he looks like in our heads in the scene? What's the mystery over what's ostensibly just an average quiet-faced man? And so Burbank doesn't become just a mystery, but a tantalizing one.

The fellow's back was toward the light; since the elevator was dark, it was impossible to distinguish his features. When he helped The Shadow carry the boxes to an open apartment, the bulky objects came in front of the man's face. Since the apartment was dark, too, the features of this silent companion remained as concealed as The Shadow's own.

The fact pleased The Shadow. The less people who saw Burbank, the better - Voice of Death

For example, we do know where Burbank's name comes from, and potentially his first name. In both “The Shadow Laughs” and “The Case Of Congressman Coyd,” Burbank is referred to as “Mr. Burbank,” which indicates it's a last name. In The Death Giver, Burbank hands Harry a business card

At three fifteen, the stenographer entered and tendered Harry a card. It bore the name:

L. BURBANK MOTION PICTURE OPERATOR

A later story specifically namedrops famous horticulturist Luther Burbank, and according to Will Murray, Walter Gibson did confirm to him personally that Burbank was named after Luther Burbank.

We know Burbank's main feature is that he's "quiet-faced" with a "soft, even-toned voice", and that characters can recognize Burbank by his voice even when his face is obscured, but his look isn't consistent. His sole appearence in a cover comes from The Lone Tiger, where he seems to be past his fifties and being semi-bald, but it's not how he looks in Edd Cartier's illustration where he's got a hairdo. Both seem to be somewhat based on Dr David Burbank, the New Hampshire dentist who founded the city. He's been said to be at least 40 once, and this in itself is at odds with some descriptions that place Burbank as younger than The Shadow and describe him as "a young man with a solemn look", which is more in line with how he tends to be depicted in comics, particularly the blonde man with the eyepiece designed by Michael Kaluta.

We know he was officially introduced after Harry Vincent and Claude Fellows, but that apparently he's known The Shadow for quite a while, as he (as Cranston) refers to Burbank as "an old friend" in his introduction (is he an old friend of Cranston as well?). Robert Sampson speculated that the two met in 1924 at a radio station, where as Rick Lai speculates that Burbank may have been recruited in an unrecorded adventure in Rio de Janeiro, mentioned in Gypsy Vengeance, that took place between the first and second novels.

We know that Burbank is at a rather unique position among the agents because he is maybe the most important figure in The Shadow's network, the main keeper of The Shadow's secrets, the one entrusted to run the organization on The Shadow's absence, the only one who can directly reach The Shadow in the Sanctum, and if anyone knows anything about whatever secrets there are in The Shadow's past, it's definitely him, but he's also the one we know the least about as a person, and contrary to the other agents, Burbank is often described in mechanized terms, which gives him a rather inhuman aura somewhat different than that of The Shadow's.

In a sense, Burbank was the mainspring of the machinery that The Shadow used in his warfare against crime.

As contact man, he kept in touch with all the active agents; there were times when he actually ran things, during The Shadow's absence. Tonight was one of those rare occasions when Burbank was needed on active duty.

Nevertheless, the human cogwheel had connected up a switchboard and had a short−wave radio set handy, so that he could continue his contact duties from this empty apartment - Voice of Death

When emergency demanded, Burbank served as he now was serving. Instead of making calls to the deserted sanctum, he was issuing orders in The Shadow's stead. - The Key

Everytime Burbank gets any sort of spotlight, we learn a little more about him, who he is, what he can't and can do. His methods, what he does to spend the time, some of the things he does for The Shadow outside of communications like planting recording devices in criminal hide-outs and devising or managing electrical devices and The Shadow's advanced technology (even if he doesn't fully understand it).

"Burbank began his own attempt to scale the wall. Ordinarily, his clutches would have been inadequate, and his toe holds were uncertain. But the wire was drawing upward under The Shadow's haul. It gave the needed support whenever Burbank floundered. The Shadow could actually sense his agent's progress by the varying strain upon the wire. At last, Burbank flopped over the roof edge like a landed fish" - Masters of Death

There were remarkable devices here. Burbank understood some of them, but the millionaire alone was familiar with all the equipment - Eyes of The Shadow

“To Burbank, long, lone vigils were nothing. He was not a man of action; he was one of endurance. Prompt, precise and always dependable, Burbank had served The Shadow well.“ - The Key

During his long hours of duty, he resorted to one methodical habit as he bided away the time. He always had a supply of chewing gum.” - The Killer

Burbank leaned back in his chair. His position was one of patient relaxation. While he awaited new telephone calls, his attitude was one of complete passivity. There was nothing excitable in the make-up of this man who sat with his back toward the light. Yet Burbank was a man of amazing endurance. In place of action, he exercised untiring vigilance. It was this quality that made him a most important factor in the affairs of that amazing personage known as The Shadow - The Killer

Burbank is, at once, the barrier between the agents (and by extension, us) and The Shadow, as well as the bridge that allows the agents (and us) to find and reach The Shadow.

And I do like it that Burbank's specifically said to not be cut for action, that he's not really a fighter or a marksman or even a super tech genius, on paper he's really just a guy who sits in a chair all day fiddling with radio equipment. But he is still cool and impressive by the standards of what matters most in The Shadow's world. He's patient and resourceful and vigilant and clever and trustworthy, and he's someone that The Shadow trusts more so than anyone else.

There was no sound of the door closing; no sound, indeed, to indicate that any person had moved in that direction. Yet Burbank knew, from experience, that his master, The Shadow, had departed, after giving him the sign that his vigil was ended.

Such word usually came from The Shadow’s sanctum. Tonight, being in the vicinity of Burbank’s present station, The Shadow had preferred to give his faithful agent fifteen or twenty minutes of extra respite by visiting him in person

Such was the way of The Shadow. Though none of his trusted operatives had ever seen his undisguised face; though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them; they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation - Death Triangle

In Suite 808, a figure was seated in front of the writing table. It was The Shadow, in his guise as Arnaud; Burbank was off duty, asleep in the other room.

The telephone buzzed; The Shadow answered it. He spoke in a quiet, methodical tone, a perfect imitation of Burbank's voice. Harry Vincent reported - The Case of Congressman Coyd

On one hand, I don't think the "mystery" of Burbank is ever going to be ruined, or should be ruined. But on the other hand, I definitely think there's a lot of room to explore more regarding what exactly is he as a person, as an agent, what kind of roles he plays, what is his connection to The Shadow or what relationship he has with other agents or other people he's meant to be in more direct contact with. I think it's a matter of balance.

There's a lot of room to work with particularly regarding how you could adapt Burbank into adaptations set in different time periods (not necessarily modern day), because with how communication technology had advanced beyond imagination, there's a lot of ways you could adapt or recontextualize Burbank, The Shadow's social network.

[girl-in-the-tower]

WHY I LOVE THE SCARABIA CM AND YOU SHOULD TOO

Listen, I don’t even know why you’d actually need to look for a reason to love and cherish this beautiful piece of animation, but to each their own. Regardless, you’re in the right place, because I’m about to gush and cry over this CM just to convince you to show it the same level of love that I feel for it. It’ll be difficult, but don’t worry, I’ll be there with you the entire time. So, let’s start with the beginning. 

What makes this CM different from the others? Well, let’s look at the most obvious aspect: it’s narrated by two people, instead of just the Overblot victim like in the case of the Heartslaybyul, Savanaclaw and Octavinelle. There we had only Riddle, Leona and Azul speak because, obviously, as the Prefects and shadows of the villains they would be the most important characters. You could call that antagonist privileges if you want, but there’s a reason a show with a big cast doesn’t go in depth with every single one of their characters. Not only would it be infeasible, but also useless. Narratives need a point of focus, otherwise they end up disjointed and incomprehensible. 

So why didn’t this CM just have Jamil narrate? He’s the antagonist of chapter 4, after all. Shouldn’t he get his own moment in the spotlight, separate from Kalim? Well, yes and no. For you see, the thing about Scarabia is that unlike other dorms the relationship between the Prefect and vice dorm leader is much more complicated. By which I mean that no other vice dorm leader is an indentured servant to the family of their dorm’s Prefect. Trey is Riddle’s childhood friend, Ruggie sticks with Leona because it gives him a better chance for survival, the Leech twins stay with Azul out of curiosity, Rook admires Vil, Ortho is Idia’s little brother (?) and Lilia has served as Malleus’ parental figure.

(Also, yes, I’m counting Ruggie and Ortho as vice dorm leaders since that’s basically their role anyways.)

None of them are bound to their Prefect. Trey has a life outside of Riddle, Ruggie will drop Leona like a sack of potatoes if the latter gets too much to deal with, the Leech twins EXPLICITLY say that they will turn on Azul if they get bored, Rook actually points out Vil’s flaws to his face, Ortho doesn’t let his brother get away with everything and Lilia’s position is more of a trusted family friend, than an actual guard/babysitter. The point I’m trying to make is that all these people have choices when it comes to their relationships with their respective Prefects. They stay by their side out of their own will and not because someone is forcing them to be there. 

The same doesn’t apply to Jamil. He can’t just decide to leave Kalim’s side one day, because he was getting sick of looking after him. And that’s because he didn’t have a choice in being by his side in the first place. That decision was made for him by his parents. Because that’s how indentured servitude works: when you’re in the service of a lord, especially if you’re a poor peasant, your period of time decided upon entering the contract tends to extend to future generations as well since you’re not given any money to save. Most peasants that found themselves in such positions often would marry and start a family while still in the service of their lord and should they die, their family, unable to provide for themselves because their whole life was spent doing unpaid labour, will also enter the same contract. This process would go on until either slavery, which this most certainly is, was banned or the lord decided to set you free. The former was much preferable to the latter, because in a feudal system to be set free by your lord often marked you as an undesirable servant. You would be hard pressed to find a lord that would ‘hire’ you after finding out your former ‘employee’ decided to ‘fire’ you. So it would be very rare for indentured servants to actually manage to free themselves from that position. 

This is precisely where Jamil’s frustration arises from as well. As a capable individual, he’s acutely aware of the limitations his status imposes on him. He’s a servant of the Asim family from birth, much like his parents and grandparents were before him. This is not something he chose for himself, but rather something that was imposed upon him. Herein lies the central issue that defines Jamil’s character: lack of choice. Much more than any character, Jamil’s life is governed by the limitations that arise due to his social position. We see that ever since his childhood he was forced to always take into consideration Kalim’s abilities and model his performance as not to eclipse him in any way. If Kalim placed second place in a dancing competition, Jamil must not be among the top three. If Kalim’s grades slipped, his own grades must as well. If Kalim lost two times in a row at mancala, Jamil must make sure he loses the next three games. Yet, paradoxically enough he mustn’t fall behind too much either, for that would make him a useless servant. And as I pointed out before, inept servants are not considered desirable by those in power. 

It is in essence a balancing act that Jamil must make sure he adheres to strictly, as not to bring shame to the Asim family to whom he is, in theory, loyal. In relation to Kalim, Jamil must make sure he performs poorly, but in relation to others he must make sure he performs well. It’s that precise position between exceptional and ordinary that he must achieve, and according to Azul, Jamil is excelling at that.

Azul: You usually never make yourself stand out—A wallflower, so to speak.

You make sure not to stand out academically, too. Whether it’s with class standing, or with practical training. But, at the same time…

You never get failing scores. (4-37)

Yet the question we must ask is why? Why must Jamil follow these demands? 

Well, for one it’s the issue of the indentured servant that we have discussed before. Jamil is bound to the Asims and going against them will bring repercussions not only on himself, but on his family as well. In the modern age in which Twisted Wonderland seems to be set in, this would not be much of an issue, we would guess. However, while that might be true, we must consider it not only from a logical perspective, but a psychological one as well. The human brain is fascinating in the sense in which it is able to transform information into patterns. And nowhere is this most apparent than in the impregnation of cultural norms into the mind. We tend to think of some things as innately ‘normal’ and ‘ordinary’ and everything that goes against those beliefs as ‘perverse’ and ‘immoral’. For example, up until a few decades ago, the idea of women as second-class citizens was seen as a perfectly reasonable notion. Those that did not agree with it were considered troublemakers and agitators, and if there’s anything the human individual loves more conformity, it’s ensuring that it’s enacted upon the population at large. The nail that sticks out gets the hammer, as the saying goes. 

But what does this have to do with Jamil? Well, the fact is that his role, as Kalim’s servant, comes with certain social expectations. 

Jamil: Kalim’s parents were always better than my parents. That’s why… Kalim should be better than me, too. That’s why, I could never surpass Kalim when it comes to studying, exercise, and even playing— (4-36)

The role of a servant is that of support. The Master leads while they provide the conditions and the means to do that. That is precisely the position that the Viper family is supposed to take in relation to the Asim family. For a servant to surpass his master, it leads to a deeply problematic realization: that one’s status is divorced from one’s capacity. Medieval rule was often characterized by monarchs assigning themselves as God’s anointed on Earth. Their right to the throne was not ensured by their capacity or disposition or ideals, but simply by their nature. They were meant to rule, because of the social class and family they were born into. Nothing less, nothing more. It was instinctively understood that there was a great differentiation between them and the common people and that was translated in their position as those to be considered ‘elevated’. They did not mingle with the common folk, because that was beneath them. 

And unfortunately, that is a cultural inheritance that is not easily done away with. For though we might claim we left behind the days of feudalism and vassals, there is still a great divide between social classes. It merely took a different form. Lords of the castle turned into politicians, celebrities and glamorous multimillionaires. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, as Shakespeare would put it. Call it what you will, but the end result is that social divide still exists. And we can see that is the case in Twisted Wonderland as well.

Though the game tends to gloss over it in certain aspects, by having Leona’s reception by the main student body be as that of a lazy Prefect, and Malleus’s position is often eclipsed by his elusive attitude, it is constantly made clear that Kalim is someone with an important social background. We might have to be reminded that Leona is the second prince of the Afterglow Savannah, or that Malleus is the next king of the Valley of Thorns, but we aren’t offered the same discretion with Kalim’s character. He is almost always introduced as Kalim, the heir of a multimillionaire family. It is thus impossible to separate him from this title, and by extension, Jamil as well. Whether he likes it or not, as the servant of the Asims, Jamil is tethered to Kalim by being a part of his social image. No true Master can exist without servants, and no servants can be had without a Master. The two are reliant on each other, much like Kalim and Jamil are reliant on the other to define their position in life. 

Kalim is the son of a wealthy family because he has Jamil to prove his special status. Jamil is a servant of the Asim family because he has someone to serve. But whether he wants to be part of this system and have his identity be defined by this connection is out of his hands. And that’s the truly unbearable notion that Jamil has to deal with in his chapter: no matter what he does he is never in control of his own life. It’s always something that is decided for him.

This, in itself, is not coincidental I would say. You see, besides being interesting social commentary, it is also an unexpected look into the underlying themes of Disney’s Aladdin. If we were asked to describe what the movie is about, I think it’s safe to say most of us would cite “poor street-rat learns a valuable lesson about not pretending to be someone else and marries the princess” as the answer. And we would not be wrong. It’s obvious that “Be Yourself” is one of the most important lessons Disney wanted to teach to young children and this in itself is not a bad thing. But while these might be understood as genuine life advice at a young age, as adults we often tend to look more closely into the themes and motifs of the movies that shaped our childhoods. And thus I would argue that Aladdin is more than just a story about interclass romance, but rather a look into how the social class system functions as a whole. Aladdin, the main hero, is a street urchin with no money to his name. Jasmine, the heroine, is the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the land. Their romance and subsequent marriage is interpreted as a victory over a flawed and classist system, because they managed to surpass the limitations imposed upon them by society and ‘be themselves’. And though this is a heartwarming message to see performed on screen, it’s important to remember that there are more than just the protagonists in the story. Alongside them we have three more characters we must pay close attention to: the Sultan, Jafar and the Genie. 

To do a short summary:

The Sultan: Jasmine’s father and the most powerful man in the country, but rather bumbling and childishly naive. As is typical with Disney parents who are still alive by the start of the movie, he is a figure that possesses authority merely in name. Though kind and generally well disposed, he lacks any real power when it comes to the plot of the movie being tricked by both Jafar and Aladdin, as Prince Ali, and ultimately having to rely on the latter to be saved from the former. The Sultan is the quintessential look at a spoiled monarch whose rule is being facilitated by someone more competent than him, and this informs most of his character as a result. He himself might be a doting and benevolent figure, yet his reign is a prosperous one by accident not by his own making.

The Genie: The spirit who resides in the lamp that Aladdin finds in the Cave of Wonders and who becomes his ally in his quest to marry Jasmine. Perhaps one of the most memorable characters in the movie, thanks to the late William Robbins’ performance, Genie's entire quest in the movie is to achieve freedom by helping out his Master. The parallels between him and the indentured servant position are made abundantly clear by the fact that he is bound to Aladdin until the latter agrees to set him free. Genie’s role in the story is one that is important, but his position is one that mirrors Jafar: they are in the service of someone who is less than them, whether it be competence or magical ability. However, while Jafar detests his position and the Sultan, Genie becomes a father figure to the protagonist. The fact that the two exchange places (Jafar is turned into a Genie and imprisoned, Genie being set free and retaining all his powers) stems directly from how they relate to their social class. Jafar is self-serving and ambitious and Genie is altruistic and self-sacrificial. Genie thinks of the happiness of his Master, though he is still displeased by the concept itself, and for that he is rewarded, proving that putting the well-being of others above your interests is the way to happiness after all. That is, if you’re a Disney hero.

Jafar: The Grand Vizier and the second most powerful man in the land, but is a scheming backstabber that plans to take the throne for himself. As one of the most easily recognizable Disney villains, Jafar makes a strong impression through not only his design, but through his philosophy as well. He’s in spite of his high rank, still pretty much a servant, having to ensure that the rule of the Sultan is enacted accordingly. Yet, as an antagonist he makes certain that whatever he does is in his own interest as well. To say that he is ambitious would be an understatement, but what is it that he wants exactly? There is no clear answer, but the closest we can get to is that Jafar wants power. 

But wait, you might say. Didn’t Aladdin also want that? Why is only Jafar the villain, if they were both after the same thing?

That is a good question! And the answer to it is yes and no. Though indeed, both Jafar and Aladdin wanted power it was for different purposes. Aladdin wanted it for the sake of overcoming his social limitations and thus becoming a worthy candidate for Jasmine, while Jafar wanted power for power’s sake. The lesson that Aladdin learns is that he shouldn’t have attempted to do that, because it would have never worked out in the way he intended it to. Though Jasmine can bring herself down to his level, he cannot bring himself up to hers since it would disrupt the social system. One cannot rise up to a higher social standing through power alone, they need recognition as well. Which is why marrying Jasmine becomes an important plot point. Jafar, who achieved power through his scheming, still lacks the recognition, which can only be granted through marriage to a royal or someone of higher social standing. He fails to achieve it, because his rise in social ranks did not have a ‘noble’ purpose like Aladdin’s but it merely satisfied his own agenda and needs.

Jafar’s status as a villain is thus due to the fact that in Western media ‘Ambition Is Evil’ is one of the most prevalent tropes. Think of the Becky Sharps, the Slytherins, the Lucifers, the Littlefingers that populate our literature, their evil nature is more often than not tied to their necessity to rise above others. 

To reign is worth ambition though in hell; 

Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. (Paradise Lost)

Power corrupts, and ambition corrupts absolutely. Disney characters thus often learn that it is better not to be swayed by power from their role in society for the sake of power, or they will pay the heavy price for doing so. That is why Jafar fails and Genie succeeds, because they related differently to their role in their Master’s lives. 

And that is a theme that Twisted Wonderland also touches upon in Jamil’s story. Twisted from Jafar itself it was inevitable that his story would deal with such a topic. However, what deeply impressed me was how self-aware the narrative had been in regards to it. 

Ruggie: I feel bad for you. By helping out Kalim you have burned your hands considerably. (R Card School Uniform)

Jamil: I want to avoid standing out. I can’t be satisfied with this. I cannot be too good, nor fall behind, and neither should I get satisfactory grades or fail. This is the best shortcut to success. (SR Card Lab Coat)

Jamil: I am a sworn servant to the house of Asim and thus have a duty to protect the master. (SR Card Ceremony Robes)

Azul: You are always welcome in Octavinelle should you find yourself freed from Kalim. (5-10)

The matter of Jamil’s role as Kalim’s caretaker is one that has been brought up at several points throughout the game. This is usually done with the express purpose of reinforcing his status as his servant, but also to affirm that it is indeed this very position that is preventing him from achieving his full potential. 

Azul: If you look at your grades, there are no visible gaps in your classroom lectures, practical skills and physical training. Even I have a weak point when it comes to flying… For you to not even have such an instability is frankly amazing. It is like you can tailor yourself to suit your needs. (SR Card Lab Coat)

Just as Azul remarks Jamil holds himself back on account of his need to perfectly perform a certain persona: the reliable valet. It is a character we often see in media disguised as the Hypercompetent Sidekick or Servile Snarker, who is by his very nature much more accomplished than the master, but must out of financial necessity submit himself to someone else. Or in Jamil’s case, out of filial obligation. And this is where the comparison with Jafar becomes important because while Jamil does embody Jafar’s ambition, it is not treated in the same manner as in the movie. Jamil’s motives for betraying Kamil are similar to the villain: he wants to impose himself upon others and overcome his social position. Having been raised in servitude since young he has been forced to ‘tailor himself’ to the demands and expectations placed upon him. However, because this position has been imposed upon him and it wasn’t of his own volition, Jamil comes to resemble the genie much more than he does Jafar. Which is completely intentional, I believe. But we’ll get to that soon enough. 

Taking this into consideration it is interesting to note how the resolution of Jamil’s arc differs from Jafar’s in terms of narrative. The end of Aladdin has us witness the defeat of Jafar at the hands of Aladdin, his imprisonment in the lamp and the release of the genie from his bonds of servitude. It is, of course, a typical Disney happy ending: the villain was defeated by his own hubris, while the heroes prevailed through self-sacrifice and cleverness. The main character has learned the necessary moral lesson (cynically phrased as: do not aspire to overcome your social class through hard work, but wait for recognition from your superiors) and all the characters that aided them during their journey get rewarded as well. It’s the culmination of the Disney formula that selflessness and altruism are the values that separate the heroes from villains, and by extension good from evil. Evil only seeks its own interests, while good works in the interests of others. So what about Jamil?

The end of the Scarabia arc is quite ‘Disney’ to a certain degree: the villain has been exposed, the heroes send to the other end of the ‘world’, they get their second wind, defeat him and live happily ever after. Well, not really. You see, what happens before the heroes go to defeat the antagonist is that Kalim breaks down crying due to Jamil’s betrayal and Azul remarks the following thing:

Azul: Kalim’s gentle disposition towards others is completely different from Jamil and I… No… Taking into account everything, he probably built a grudge over the years. You have been causing trouble for Jamil since you were little, after all. However, you are not in the wrong. You were born a cut above the others. You were loved by everyone around you and we were raised under such a good environment.

You were simply unaware of the greed you’ve been showing. (4-34)   

Jamil’s actions aren’t excused, because they are indeed those of a villain: plotting, backstabbing and double-crossing the heroes for his own gains. Yet, they are not simply attributed to his ‘evil’ nature, but rather explained by the environment in which he was raised and the morals that were instilled in him. Jamil is not evil, but rather merely desperate enough to resort to evil means. And that is a profusely important distinction. Though we might commit malicious acts that does not mean that we are malicious by nature, much as committing benevolent acts does not make one irreproachable. And Twisted Wonderland understands this notion: not in the sense that Jamil was right in what he did, but rather than we can understand why he felt like he was pushed to such extremes. 

Jamil’s story is one of the more complex ones, in my opinion. It speaks about an issue much deeper and much more insidious than any that have been explored so far in the game. The result is that unlike the other three previous Overblot victims, Jamil has no clear-cut solution to his problem. Even after the incident he is still in the service of the Asim family. Even if Kalim asserts that they are equals at school, he still will remain a servant everywhere else. No matter what he does he is bound to the Asim’s and more specifically to Kalim. 

I feel like this would be the note on which I should safely conclude this very long introduction, as we move further and into the real meat of this post: the analysis itself. Thus, without further ado, let’s see why this CM is such a treat from a symbolical and storytelling perspective.

The opening of Aladdin (1992) is perhaps one of my favorites due to the fact that it seeks out to reference its source material: One Thousand and One Nights. By that I mean that it utilizes a technique known as the ‘frame story’: a story which contains within it another story. In the novel the framing device is Scheherezade, the vizier’s daughter who upon learning that she will marry Sultan Shahryar and be promptly killed at dawn, devised a plan to subvert her fate. She would each night begin a tale that would leave the Sultan so enchanted that he postponed her beheading until the next day so she might finish her tale. However, upon finishing the previous story Scheherezade would continue with another one and so on and so on until she eventually managed to avoid death for one thousand and one nights. Hence the name of the collection. 

Aladdin uses a similar device in the character of the Merchant who appears at the start of the movie and introduces us, the viewers, to the world of Agrabah which is a place “where they cut off your ear if they don’t like your face” according to the original lyrics of the song. But it also includes a shot at the end of the movie which has the Genie lift up the ‘wallpaper’ and speak directly to the audience. These scenes, though easy to disregard, do reinforce the fact that the movie we’re about to see is not taking place as it happens, but rather a second-hand account of it. Much like Scheherezade attempts to avoid her decapitation, so does the Merchant at the start of the movie attempt to convince us to give the story a try, become immersed and then abruptly reminded of the fictionality of what we have just witnessed. And I don’t mean in the sense that it is a movie, but rather in the sense that even within the logic of the movie, this whole set of events has a certain fictionality to it. The fact that initial plans had the Genie and the Merchant be the same character only strengthens this notion. 

But the Scarabia CM doesn’t start with the Merchant now, does it? No, it does not. But rather it starts with the very first image of the movie itself: purple smoke against a red flaming background. Except that there is no red flaming background this time, but a calming blue shot of the dunes with what appears to be the Scarabia dorm building in the background, or even Agrabah itself. There is no smoke either but sparkling dust that emanates from a lamp half-buried into the sand. The images are clearly meant to evoke the general aesthetic of Aladdin (1992), but they can also be interpreted symbolically. 

The imagery of smoke is often one of ascension, of leaving the earthly shackles and rising higher towards the spiritual world. But it is also a rather solemn symbol as well, given that it can also be associated with the burning of corpses. Its presence in the movie is explained by the fact that this is after all a story about liberation: most obviously the Genie’s, but also the other characters. Everybody wants to be free in some form or another. The colour symbolism is also interesting to remark upon as according to Richard Vander Wende, the production designer of the original film, certain colours have different meanings within the movie. Red symbolizes heat and evil, while blue is a calm colour associated with water. The red background thus carries negative connotations, but it is eclipsed by the presence of the smoke in the foreground, that is a combination of red and blue. If we were to interpret this visual choice we could claim that the movie is trying to let us know that the story we are about to watch is one in which morally-grey protagonists overcome the forces of evil. For, even though Aladdin is our main character, he is not a pure hero by Disney standards as he is after all a thief and the lesson he has to learn is that he should not attempt to scam his way into a better social position. 

But the Scarabia CM uses a blue background instead, so this is certainly not the same message it might try to send. Rather, due to the positioning of Scarabia/Agrabah in the background, I believe that it is indeed a story about rising above, but not above the forces of evil as much as above social norms accepted as standards. The Scarabia storyline is very much centered around the notion of social positions and how they function within a system of indentured servitude, as is obvious through the way in which Jamil attempts to overcome the position of servant through schemes and planning. We most certainly encounter the thread of evil within his character, but though his methods are unsavory, his end is, I would say, understandable: freedom. 

Jamil: For me, and my family... I'll do anything for our sake!!! (4-31)

Jamil: I’m done playing servant!! I WILL BE FREE—!! (4-32)

The choice of a blue background might thus allude not necessarily to goodness as in the moral concept itself, but rather to the comfort of social norms. There is a certain stability to be had in a system that declares that all those born into wealthy families shall remain wealthy, and all those born into servant families should remain servants. To quote Aladdin: “It’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home.” (Arabian Nights) In such a system that relies on absolute conventions regarding social classes, someone like Jamil is a threat, because he questions and subverts the limitations imposed upon him. He is smarter and more capable than Kalim, yes, but because he must ensure that he does not draw negative attention upon himself, he is forced to adhere to a lifestyle that is not representative to whom he truly is. The similar shape of Scarabia and Agrabah only serves to highlight that regardless of his environment, as long as he remains a servant through his bond to the Asims, he shall never be able to change his destiny.

The lamp is the most important object in Aladdin (1992) as it is the MacGuffin that is coveted by Jafar and the prison of the all powerful entity that is Genie. The lamp in the movie has thus two connotations: power and imprisonment. The juxtaposition between the two creates an interesting image of how power changes according to one’s position in society. Though Genie’s powers are indeed great it seems that he is incapable of wishing himself free, which is I think a good analogy to the position of indentured servitude in which only a lord’s permission would be capable of restoring an individual’s freedom, even though they would be in theory capable of physically leaving their place of servitude. Their choice not to is not only a reflection of the possible corporal punishment they would endure if captured, but also due to the social contract that forced them to remain in that position. As servants they would remain branded forever as second-class citizens at best or dangerous felons at worst. Not a fate one would ever wish upon themselves in those days. 

It is clear that besides Jafar, Jamil also bears quite a lot of similarities to Genie.

It’s like being the genie of the lamp, calling me anytime and anywhere. (Jamil Chat 1)

As I mentioned above, Disney draws an interesting parallel between Jafar and Genie when it comes to relating towards their ‘superiors’: Jafar despises the Sultan and wishes to disposes of him, while Genie forms a parental bond with Aladdin and even reluctantly agrees to remaining bound to the lamp if it means his ward’s happiness. The fact that they exchange positions at the end (Jafar being imprisoned in the lamp, Genie being freed) is the result of the moral choices they make. Genie’s altruism is what allows him to be freed, while Jafar’s ambition is what traps him as thus is the rule of Western philosophy: the needs of the others are superior to our own. 

But ignoring Jamil’s OB for now, we realize that he does not truly commit to either one of those positions. He is resentful of his enslavement at the hands of the Asims, but I believe he does not genuinely wish harm upon Kalim himself, but rather towards the system as a whole, which is represented by him. This is an idea we’ll return to eventually, but it is important to mention it in advance, because it paints a better picture of what Jamil’s true intentions were during his attempt to take over Scarabia. It was not power for power’s sake as in the case of Jafar, but rather him trying to assert control over an aspect of his life, which in this case would be his position within the dorm. Jamil isn’t truly interested in the position of Prefect as is, but in what it symbolizes: freedom. As Aladdin shows power is not synonymous to freedom, but rather something adjacent to it. Even a most powerful creature like Genie is bound to the whims and wishes of a mere mortal, much like Jamil is bound to those of Kalim. To overthrow him as Prefect would mean to assert himself as independent of social bonds by having no one be superior to him anymore. Yet, because he does it through immoral means he fails and thus keeps in line with the moral of the movie: you cannot advance socially without the approval of your superiors.

The moon is one of the most referenced symbols in literature due to the fact that it innately appeals to writers and poets alike. It is fundamentally female in nature, due to its connection to the Roman Diana and the Greek Artemis, and associated as a result either with the concept lunacy, to which it lent its name, as well as with witchcraft, solitude, power and change. The moon’s circular shape as observed from Earth is also associated with the notion of eternity and cyclicity, which is perhaps the symbol that is of most interest to us when it comes to Western interpretation, as in Japanese culture the moon can represent a person’s core, unaffected by others. It is more succinctly put a representation of the Self, that which is considered quintessential to one’s identity. And it is this imagery which the CM tends to gravitate towards I would argue.

The moon is a particularly prominent symbol in Aladdin (1992) as it symbolizes the notion of change and new beginnings. Aladdin and Jasmine’s flight during the song sequence “A Whole New World” uses the moon as a backdrop and confers upon it a romantic aura of serenity and calmness, which is referenced towards the end of the movie wherein they fly towards it upon their success at convincing Jasmine’s father to allow their marriage. The moon in this regard is symbolic of unity and fortune, synonymous with true love’s conquest over everything else. But there is also a comedic twist to it as seen in the very last scene of the movie wherein Genie’s face is projected upon it. It is thus primarily a positive symbol associated with goodness.

The CM however is closer in meaning to the notion of the moon as the human core observed in solitude. Unlike the moon in Aladdin, whose shadows are barely perceptible and thus looks more natural, the moon here is overtly engulfed by darkness, with the sole space of light providing a sharp contrast in tone. It is not a symbol of unity, but rather of division creating barriers and boundaries between the characters who are positioned at opposite ends of the circle. Kalim, as a superior in terms of social and financial power, is situated upon the side that shines brighter to symbolize his role as the face of the dorm. He is the Prefect, the one that represents his dorm and the ideals that it is founded upon. Yet, upon further inspection we notice that the word ‘Scarabia’ appears on Jamil’s side, which is not only the dark part, but also takes more space. It is an unequal division but so is much of their life: Jamil remains in Kalim’s shadow, though it is only due to the former’s help that the latter manages to shine as a Prefect. This is confirmed by the positioning of their dorm’s name on Jamil’s side, as he is in fact the one that more overtly exhibits the ideals of careful planning that the Sorcerer of the Hot Lands is known for.  

Kalim’s face change is interesting if we consider the notion of the moon representing the human core on which one’s identity is formed, because it confirms that he is indeed as cheerful as he appears to be. His cheerful disposition though likened to the image of the sun, lacks the usual masculine and aggressive features associated with it in Western culture, as he tends towards more feminine ideals of pacifism and serenity, which are associated with the moon. Moreover, as it has been pointed out to me, if one is to consider the Japanese cultural context we would be able to observe that the feminine characteristics of the sun are in perfect accordance with the female interpretation of the star in the form of Amaterasu. His body language is relaxed and openly friendly and there’s nothing about him that truly stands out in terms of contradictions. 

Jamil on the other hand presents an entirely different picture. His stance is guarded, that much is certain, and his expression is to be considered at best wooden. Unlike Kalim’s dynamic movement, he remains static and unchanging, sporting merely a look of resigned indulgence towards Kalim, and it seems to a certain extent as if he asserts control over his own reaction towards it. In other words, it is not in the slightest bit natural. Moreover, what does attract our attention is not his expression as in the case of Kalim, but rather the shine of the metal of his choker. 

Unlike Kalim which is bathed in light in warmth, Jamil is surrounded by dark and shadows, with the sole point of light being the metal around his neck. This is different from Kalim whose accessories do not stand out in the same vein. The reason is that on a fundamental level they represent entirely different notions. In Kalim’s case it is a representation of his wealth and power, with the lack of focus on them hinting perhaps to the fact that he is at ease with his position as the heir of a multimillionaire family. It does not stand out because that is his right by birth and thus just a natural part of himself. Jamil’s core, on the other hand, reveals that his identity is very much forged by the Viper’s bond to the Asims. 

Jamil: I’ve been looking after Kalim ever since we were kids. That’s the Viper family’s duty. (Jamil R School Uniform Lines)

In Kalim’s case the accessories are just that: accessories. But in Jamil’s case they are a mark of servitude. They stand out among the darkness because this is how he perceives his own persona: dominated by the image of the loyal servant who is socially inferior to his master. Even the metal itself seems to have a silver tint, rather than gold, symbolizing that even though he and Kalim should be equal (both sporting gold chokers) reality is very much different, since he is forced to be subservient even though it goes against his instincts.

It is interesting to note that in Aladdin (1992) the notion of space and how it relates to characters plays a significant part. Agrabah, the setting of the movie, is a place of social division in which those of lower status live in poverty, financial distress and crowded spaces, whereas those of a higher status enjoy the luxury and the vast space provided by the palace. Compare the streets of Agrabah during “One Jump Ahead” which are constantly filled with people, objects and animals and project an image of recurring chaos, to the quiet serenity of the palace where the Sultan and Jasmine live. The contrast is staggering. But more than that it is indicative how much social class can make a difference. 

It is also interesting to note that with the exception of the Sultan, all characters have at some point transversed these two spaces: Jafar and Aladdin move between the city, the palace and the desert, Jasmine sneaks into the city in order to experience real life and the Genie has access to a fourth space in the form of the lamp. However, the Sultan always remains within the palace walls. The reason for that is rather obvious: it is the seat of power and to leave it would be to admit to inferiority in regards to his position. Unlike the other characters that long for something more, the Sultan is content in his role as representative of financial and social power. He does not need to switch locations, because his static nature is what allows the other characters to progress in their journey. 

The CM builts on this premise as well, by showing us the very different worldviews that Kalim and Jamil experience. Fulfilling the role of Sultan, Kalim is surrounded by luxury and comfort, as he rests in his room at the dorm. The colours are warm and calming, as the light very gently illuminates the room in order to cause an impression of coziness, which fits perfectly with his own character. Kalim’s personality is at its core a ‘refreshing’ one, orientated towards creating harmony and a content attitude. All his life was spent among servants that catered to his every whim and desire, so his sense of independence was greatly stifled. If we may put in blunt terms, he’s sleeping through life, relying entirely on his social position due not necessarily to laziness, but rather naivety. Because he never had to leave the palace walls, he never had to develop any sense of autonomy and thus has managed to remain faithful to his social role. He does not experience a sensation of contradiction between who he is and who he is regarded as because he lives in accordance to the characteristics deemed appropriate for him as a member of the elite.

The same cannot be said for Jamil. Juxtaposed with Kalim’s scene we see Jamil walking through the desert as the harsh light shines upon him. There is no comfort to be found in this particular shot. Whereas Kalim is sleeping peacefully and at ease, unaware of the difficulties of life, Jamil is wide awake. Unlike the former, the latter’s life is dictated by restrictions and hardships, all which he has to endure without showing displeasure as befitting his social role. He does not have the privilege of laying around not only due to the demands that are made of him, but also due to his innate desire for change. The desert can thus very easily symbolize the unfairness which he has to endure as a servant, but it can also symbolize his ambition and the effort he is willing to spend on making sure he can change his social status. Unlike Kalim, who rests in the palace, Jamil seeks to escape its confines even if it means enduring hardship. For you see, though the palace is indeed a place of stability, it is also a prison.

The similarities between Agrabah’s palace and the Scarabia dorm building are most certainly intentional. They’re places of unimaginable wealth that function as status symbols for the people that control them. Agrabah is, as we mentioned before, heavily divided, but it is paradoxically the slums that offer more freedom than the palace itself. Looking back at the movie we notice that the biggest symbol we can associate with Jasmine is the bird in the cage yearning to be free. The notion, moreover, is also supported by imagery such as setting the birds free after a talk with her father and, as it had also been pointed out by other critics, that the canopy of her bed is designed to resemble a birdcage. As a princess Jasmine is bound by social roles and conventions to adhere to the expectations placed upon her, and her journey in the movie is to assert herself as an autonomous person before her father by insisting that she be allowed to make her own choices. The problem however lies with the word ‘allow’ itself which once again contradicts her ideals. The notion of allowing someone to do what they want situates the power in the hands of the person who is recognized as the social superior. In the case of Jasmine, it is her father, the Sultan. In the case of Jamil, it is the Asims. 

The Scarabia dorm as a symbol of the prison is an obvious one due to the fact that it served as such for Grim and Yuu during episode 4. But that is what we might refer to as physical confinement, which at its core is not compatible with the message of the CM and even of the movie. Because the CM does not focus on Grim and Yuu, but on Jamil and Kalim, so this is not a case of a physical prison, but rather a mental one I would argue.

In several respects, the prison must be an exhaustive disciplinary apparatus: it must assume responsibility for all aspects of the everyday individual, his physical training, his aptitude to work, his conduct, his moral attitude, his state of mind; the prison, much more a than the school, the or the army, which always involved workshop certain specialization, is 'omni-disciplinary'. Moreover, the prison has neither exterior nor gap; it cannot be interrupted, except when its task is totally completed; its action on the individual must be uninterrupted: an unceasing discipline. Lastly, it gives almost total power over the prisoners; it has its internal mechanisms of repression and punishment: a despotic discipline. It carries to their greatest intensity all the procedures to be found in the other disciplinary mechanisms. (Foucault 235-236)

Foucault’s Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison is an interesting look into the social and theoretical mechanisms employed by prisons in order to ‘reform’ convicts. The end goal of these institutions is to reintegrate the individual into society and to achieve such a thing it is not necessary just to punish and torment them, but to discipline them. By this Foucault understood as allowing one’s life to be entirely dictated by “a disciplinary apparatus” decided by those within power. It’s main aim was to restructure one into a “docile body” beneficial for the economical and political necessities of that specific age, which in many cases referred to the idea of one being content to pursue the interests of the state and those that governed it. 

I bring this up because I can see the same ideas reflected in Jamil’s character arc as well. Foucault mentions that the prison is a space in which discipline is uninterrupted and unceasing. In other words it is a space which constantly reinforces the ideals that are considered desirable, and we can see that Scarabia unintentionally functions the same way. It is a space in which Jamil is cast as inferior to Kalim once again, trapped into the position of Vice Prefect, despite the fact that he embodies the ideals of the dorm more than he does. Though this is a different place, his routine has remained unchanged: he must still cater to Kalim’s wishes and perform the role of the servant, despite the fact that in theory the two of them should be equal now.

Scarabia Student B: Our family standing and status shouldn’t matter inside the school! We’re all equal here, right? (4-18)

Under normal circumstances, Night Raven College is supposed to be a neutral space in terms of social standing. Leona and Malleus are recognized as princes, but are not given any particular attention in terms of political and social superiority, and rather scrutinized due to their peculiar attitudes and personalities. They are, in theory, equal to the other students at the academy and the same should apply to the relationship between Kalim and Jamil as well. But things are not so.

During episode 4 we find an interesting detail about Scarabia: it seems that the building had been renovated once Kalim was accepted into the dorm. This is not usually a detail that would require any particular attention, but it reveals something about the environment in which Jamil resides: it is representative of the Asims. The ostentatiousness and extravagance are the result of their direct influence and thus molded by their own desires. By remodeling the building they have reforged it into an image of their social position and installed a member of its own family as leader. Its neutrality has been compromised and so has Jamil’s attempted escape. Attending Night Raven College is not merely a case of attending one of the best magic schools in the world, but also one of asserting one’s independence. Jamil was given the chance to finally break free from the system that has had him ensnared for all his life, only to have his hopes be dashed by being reminded that in the end the influence of his masters is much greater than he could have anticipated. Thus, Scarabia was turned into a space of imprisonment which perfectly replicates the dynamics of the Asim household and thus denies Jamil any possible form of freedom. Much like Genie and Jafar at the end of the movie, he is unable to escape his prison without the approval of his superiors.

Jamil is aware, however, that he is not and will most likely not ever be able to receive such freedom from the Asims. And consciously he knows he cannot attempt to break free on his own either. 

Jamil: My family, the Viper Household, has been serving the Asim Family since olden times. A retainer drawing his sword against his master is unforgivable. Even more so, if Kalim’s father found out about it, my family will end up being punished. I’m sorry, but I cannot put my family in danger just because of a selfish request. (4-18)

Jamil’s sense of filial duty is one of the driving forces behind his character. It’s not only that he himself wants to be free, but wants his family to be released from their bonds as well. Because the system in which he has been raised permits a master to punish an entire family for the disobedience of one member it becomes understandable why Jamil is such a guarded person. It is not merely his own person that is at stake, but the lives of those he cares about also. It is a thought that has weighed heavily upon his head since young childhood most likely, once he became aware of how exactly the social system set in place works. To go against it would not be an act of brave rebellion, but that of sentencing others to punishment to fulfill his own ambitions. Which for a character twisted from Jafar seems contradictory. Yet we must remember that he has certain traits of Genie as well. Unlike him whose loyalty lies to his Master, Aladdin, Jamil’s loyalty lies to his family. He’s only willing to endure things as they are now due to the fact that rebelling would mean having them suffer the consequences. And Jamil is aware of that.

Yet, it is also necessary to ask the following question: Why does he end up rebelling in the end?

The most obvious answer: accumulated frustration. 

As I stated before, Jamil does not hate Kalim. However, it is also obvious that his Overblot had very much to do with the fact that he had become increasingly irked by the latter’s attitude to life. His critique of Kalim’s character, though harsh, was entirely accurate. Kalim is indeed spoiled and naive to an almost ridiculous degree, even though it is not entirely due to his own fault. Moreover, it is not necessarily these particular traits that Jamil takes issue with, but rather his predilection towards inaction. To briefly reference a previously discussed shot: though Kalim is content in his passivity, Jamil cannot abide by the current system. He desires change, but he knows he is in no position to enact it and is thus frustrated that the one who would be able to perform this task is oblivious to the struggles of those around him. Jamil does not hate Kalim as a person, but rather that which he represents: the power of the system itself. As the CM shows Kalim is able to move forwards, uncaring of limits and boundaries, but uninterested in change (initially) while Jamil, though he desires to advance, is stuck in one spot. 

The brief image of Kalim reflected in the surface of running water captures this concept perfectly. Jamil is not looking at Kalim as he is, but rather as perceives him to be: an unclear image. Water has the same reflective properties of mirrors, but due to their unstable state they cannot portray accurate images. Jamil attributes maliciousness to Kalim’s denseness as not only a means of explaining his actions, but as a way to excuse his own eventual betrayal of him. If Jamil considers Kalim as a representative of the system, he feels justified in his actions and thus more willing to go through with them, since he can project his frustrations upon a material, solid person rather than an abstract entity. Kalim is in a sense a scapegoat for Jamil’s anger.

The snake is laden with multiple meanings being both a manifestation of evil (Satan taking the form of a serpent to trick Eve into sinning) as well as a symbol of rebirth and transformation. In keeping with the colour motif of the movie the serpent staff that Jafar carries with him has eyes which glow red when he’s using it to hypnotize the Sultan to indicate his evil influence upon him. In the CM we have the image of a red snake coiling around Jamil’s feet which is the physical manifestation of all his feelings of dissatisfaction regarding his position as a servant finally bursting apart. But before he is overtaken by those negative feelings we notice interestingly enough that the snake takes the form of an ouroboros: a snake which eats its own tail. A symbol of eternity.

Jamil: I’ve been raised as a retainer to serve his family, so I really can’t understand. A master is a master and a servant will be a servant. Most probably for as long as we’re alive. (4-26)

When discussing Jamil’s character we must admit to a certain cyclicity. Not one he engages in, but rather one in which he is stuck. He is the son of a family that has served the Asims for generations, creating a chain of servants and masters that is currently supposed to be replicated by him and Kalim. His sense of autonomy is constantly denied due to the intervention of forces beyond his control. Moreover, in chapter 4 itself his plans get constantly ruined by either Grim or the Octavinelle Trio, creating a sense that the universe itself has aligned itself in opposition to him. 

But there is more to it still. Jamil is a highly ambitious person, who desires to establish himself through his talent and skill, thus giving him the perfect reason to despise a system that requires some individuals to be subservient to others for arbitrary reasons. However, by his own admission he cannot envision a life outside the system either. This is in essence the insidiousness of such phenomena: they entrap not only the person physically but psychologically as well. Once one’s identity is dependent upon a certain ideology and philosophy of life it is extremely difficult to extract themselves from that mindset. Much like Foucault said, once the mind is disciplined and the individual turns into a ‘docile body’ they become reliant on that particular system in order to form a coherent identity. 

Though Kalim can step outside the bounds and limits imposed upon him, by virtue of his social position, Jamil is only allowed to operate within those boundaries. It is precisely why he stops advancing further once he reaches the end of the round court. Though physically he should be able to overcome such obstacles, mentally he is unable to not. Not as long as he remains under the governance of the Asim family, at the very least. It is obvious however that he cannot simply rise against them, and this realization is what causes him to hit the limit in terms of patience. He finally realizes that he has been robbed of his independence even before he was born.

Jamil: But if I have, it’s better you don’t know what I really think of you. If everything goes to plan… I’ll finally be free. (Scarabia CM)

Sight is an important theme to Jamil’s character as he, much more than any other character perhaps, actively attempts to manipulate the perception of others about him. He is not what he appears as Azul remarks in many of their interactions, and that is because to Jamil allowing himself to be genuine would come with a price: revealing his true feelings regarding his social position. And that, as previously stated, is not something he can afford.

Eyes are often called the ‘windows of the soul’ in the sense that they reflect a person’s true intentions and thoughts. Moreover, the notion of sight is one that literary authors often like to explore in their works. Out of all the senses, sight seems to be considered the most unreliable, since it often fails to discern that which exists in obscurity. The notion is explored in Aladdin (1992) too to a certain degree. Everybody sees only what they desire to see, and because the images they form are so contradictory that it creates misunderstandings and unnecessary conflict. Jafar’s power of hypnotism is even more interesting in this context since by definition it allows him to influence a person’s perception of reality and thus a part of their identity and how they relate to their environment. 

The end of the CM hints towards this notion as well, as we see that the Overblot first manifests itself is his eyes, obscuring his sight from the reality around him. He’s chosen to throw himself into the negative emotions that have finally overtaken him, and as a result given him the power to recreate reality to his discretion. We see the parallel with Genie and Jafar in his Unique Magic as well, since though he possesses one of the most potent powers, he’s still considered an inferior. Jamil’s Overblot is thus one formed by the depressing realization that for as long as he exists within the system, he’ll be forced to endure the continuous cycle of subservience forced upon him since before his birth. His transformation moreover is the result of a desperate yearning for freedom which has driven him to extreme actions. The appearance of the red eyes behind him symbolize more than the eyes of the serpent staff. They are a stark reminder that he is consumed entirely by the realization of his own powerlessness and over-dependence upon the Asims, even if it’s against his desire. 

To note is also the fact that out of all the Overblot victims, Jamil’s expression is the only one that is peaceful. If we take a look at the Heartslaybyul, Savanaclaw and Octavinelle CMs all of the Prefects display either rage or shock during their transformations. It is clear that this process is a horrific one, which explains their reactions, yet strangely enough Jamil seems serene and accepting as if he has come to terms with this course of action. Unlike the Overblot victims before him, his transformation is liberating to a certain degree, because it allows him to finally achieve his goal: get rid of Kalim and instate himself as leader of the dorm. Not because he covets the position itself, but rather because through it he manages to finally become free and unburdened by his social position. In a way, the dark appeal of Overbloting is just that: unlimited power, and for a character like Jamil, who very much lacks this, it is especially hypnotic. 

Out of all the Overblots so far, I consider Jamil’s the most tragic because in the end there seems to be no obvious escape for him, perhaps except in the case of Kalim setting him free. But this is still an event that will happen in a few years at best. It does not answer his current need for autonomy. Yet, despite this we see in chapter 5 that there is indeed some improvement. Though he has refused Kalim’s offer of being friends, he nevertheless has begun acting more like his equal within school grounds and their relationship overall seems less hostile on his end. The fact that much of the action of chapter 5 takes place in Ramshackle Dorm is also an important thing to note as it manages to create a neutral space, untainted by the Asim’s interference. In Vil’s system of meritocracy Jamil is finally able to act as himself and stop performing a role for others, thus he is finally able to assert a degree of autonomy over his own person, which he was not capable of doing before.

Coming now to the ends of this post I think it goes without saying that in terms of narrative cinematography the Scarabia CM is currently unmatched. Though short it manages to give a perfect summary of the themes explored in episode 4, the relationship between Kalim and Jamil and a brief but insightful look into the latter’s psychology and reasons for Overbloting. 

So, there’s really nothing else to do but thank Yana for giving us such a wonderful CM for what I consider the best dorm and best boys in the whole game.  

Additional Links

Indentured Servitude: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt--B1Y-u6Y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti7Kbd6gSIo

Twisted Wonderland, Episode 4: https://kanadesmusingsblog.wordpress.com/2020/06/01/masterpost-twisted-wonderland-episode-4-translations/

Jamil Chats, Personal Stories: https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Jamil_Viper/Personal_Story

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Jamil_Viper/Chat

Scarabia CM: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVSx_BvTlmQ

Aladdin (1992) commentary: https://filmschoolrejects.com/38-things-we-learned-from-the-aladdin-commentary-fd9f1d8573b3/

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The peeps over in the Twisted Writings discord know this has been brewing for a while, but I’ve finally managed to sit down, write and edit this monster. It bears witness to the fact that I adore Scarabia more it is healthy (lol). 

Also wanted to thank fellow Scarabia stan buddy @chillableu​ for proofreading and brainroting with me about these boys. You’ve been such a great help and I’m so thankful to you!  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

All the translation sources have been linked in the last section of the commentary.

[archerdaryl]

Peppermint Sugar.

You’ve been tasked with decorating the Christmas cookies while Carol is out on a hunt. It would have gone just fine if the archer hadn’t shown up.  

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Tags: more cute christmas vibes, sfw, fluffy and fun but still a little slow burn Word Count: 2.5k  Notes: This one-shot follows on from London in Your Eyes! I’m thinking about turning it into a little collection of Christmas fics that all link together. As always I would love to hear your thoughts. ♥

You’d been at Carol’s house for barely ten minutes and you were already overwhelmed.

The air was thick and sweet like molasses, a pleasant surprise that was almost enough to soften the visual overload that was waiting for you in the kitchen. There were trays upon trays of cookies sitting on almost every counter space you could see. You had happily agreed to help decorate while she went out on a run with Ezekial and his knights, but good God.

There were at least a hundred cookies there. And they all needed expertly icing.

You approached the kitchen island slowly, eyebrows knitted together as you cursed under your breath. You can’t have been the only person she asked. Especially considering you weren’t exactly artistically inclined. Sure, a snowman was simple and you could probably figure out how to ice a Christmas tree adequately enough, but a couple of the shapes you couldn’t even identify.

“She’s lost her fucking mind.” The words escaped you in a mumble, followed by a long exhale.

Looking back you weren’t sure why you agreed to this in the first place. Maybe it was the assumption you wouldn’t be stuck here alone at 7am or that it would only be a few cookies you could hide at the bottom of the pile. You couldn’t have been more wrong, but you were at least relieved that you didn’t bother to change out of your yoga pants for the occasion considering you were going to be standing there decorating for hours.

Eventually you accepted that simply staring at the endless trays of cookies wasn’t actually going to do anything and you moved towards the stove to boil some water for coffee. While you waited for it to bubble, you organised the trays according to cookie shape and decided to start on what you could only assume were snowflakes.

How could you possibly mess those up? All you needed was white icing. If by some miracle Carol had got her hands on some food colouring, maybe you could be real fancy and mix a little blue in too.

You continued to wipe down the counters, dusting off remnants of flour before placing the first tray in front of you. You soon found a set of instructions left behind by Carol and you would be lying if you didn’t say you were relieved. You followed them, grabbing everything you needed and mixing up some sort of concoction that resembled a very basic icing.

Carol had to have chosen you for a reason. You hoped she had more faith in you than you did in yourself.

She had to, because you were already bored and you had barely begun.

And then the door swung open, almost making you jump.

“Oh my god, my very own knight in shining armour.”

Daryl Dixon stopped in his tracks and stared at you in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“I could settle for scrap metal.” You grumbled.

He narrowed his eyes before hesitantly moving his way through the house, eventually disappearing into the basement with Dog trailing along behind him. You mumbled a rather sarcastic goodbye before grabbing a ziplock bag and carefully spooning the icing into the bottom right corner, following Carol’s instructions as closely as possible.

“Thought you were huntin’ today.” Daryl shouted as he climbed back up the stairs.

“I was supposed to be. Carol wanted me to do… well, this.” You gestured to the mountain of cookies behind you and tried to hide your disdain. Dog happily padded towards you and demanded neck scratches by pushing his snout against your legs. Naturally, you obliged.

“On yer’ own?”

His crystalline gaze traced your form as he leaned onto the opposite side of the kitchen island. You were in an old hoodie, hardly form fitting but the dark red hue complimented your eyes, and there was a dusting of icing sugar across your cheek. He smiled ever so slightly, but said nothing.

“Unless you’re offering to keep me company, yeah, it looks like it.”

The pair of you hadn’t spent much time together since the Christmas fair. Keeping food stocks up was more important than ever with the snow being as heavy as it was, and the fact The King insisted on an extravagant Christmas celebration wasn’t helping anyone’s work load. Keeping busy kept you both from thinking about that stolen moment of innocent intimacy, though Daryl still found himself staring at you just a little bit longer with his fists clenched every time you crossed paths.

He was chasing the sensation of your hand in his without even knowing it.

“Ain’t got much else t’ do,” He lied, shrugging and leaning further onto the countertop with his forearms, “Watchin’ you fuck up might be fun.”

You didn’t bother glaring at him, your hands went straight for the icing sugar, picking it up in a pinch and flicking it right into his face before turning to find some scissors. You heard him splutter and blow hard, as if that alone could erase your act of vengeance.

“Don’ start somethin’ you can’t finish girl.”

You snorted and returned to your original position at the kitchen island, your grin widening after seeing the mess you made of him.

“I think you look great.” You insisted, “As ruggedly handsome as always.”

Daryl’s lips thinned in faux annoyance, though his eyes betrayed him. He was unable to come up with a retort of his own. He was stuck on two words in particular.

Ruggedly handsome.

He knew you were being sarcastic, you had a habit of that, but it still made him feel a little embarrassed. If not for the icing sugar speckled across his face, you likely would have noticed him blush a little.

“Handsome huh?”

Daryl had never been one to concern himself too much with the way he looked. He could never afford to and there certainly wasn’t any point anymore with the world in the state it was. However, in that moment he realised that when it came to you, he felt a sense of insecurity previously unknown to him.

“Oh yeah. I’m super into the whole dandruff thing.” You teased further, gesturing to the sugar speckled in his hair.

He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the island counter, “You talk too much.”

You had thrown him off on purpose. You had no choice. You couldn’t stand there and lie to him to protect yourself from the feelings you constantly tried to bury. Daryl Dixon was many things but ugly was not a word that ever came to mind. Yet, you couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him he looked like home either.

“C’mon. Carol will kill me if I don’t get something done.”

Daryl wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was supposed to be doing, but he was perfectly happy to be there even with the nerves causing havoc in his stomach. Anyone else would have considered them butterflies, but he wasn’t exactly a teenager dealing with a high school crush.

He met you behind the island and towered over you at your side. You forced yourself to concentrate on the task at hand, continuing to spoon icing into the ziploc bag. As he watched your hands at work, he leant down onto folded forearms and chewed the inside of his bottom lip absentmindedly

How did they look even softer than before?

He supposed it was because you were inside where it was warm, nuzzled within that oversized hoodie of yours. Was the rest of you as soft as your hands? He lost himself for a moment wondering what it would be like to fall asleep against your chest, your heartbeats perfectly in sync.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Quickly clearing his throat, he took his index finger and scooped up a blob of icing before you could steal it away with your spoon. He savoured the sweetness as he sucked it off his finger and then looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

This was the most time they had spent together in days and he wasn’t about to ruin it by getting caught up in shit that didn't, no, couldn’t matter.

“Don’ start somethin’ you can’t finish girl.”

You met his gaze, eyes briefly drifting to his sugar sweet lips before you allowed a smirk to tug at the corners of your own.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Dixon.”

“Oh yeah?” He replied, cocking a brow before going in for a second scoop of icing.

Before you could even try to swat him away, Daryl had gotten his hands on the bowl and darted out of reach. Though his mischief may have been a distraction from his wandering thoughts, you were none the wiser. To you, this was one of those rare moments where he let his guard down enough to act a fool without wanting to beat himself up about it. You couldn’t be pissed even if you wanted to.

Grabbing the bag of powdered sugar, you immediately rushed after him, eager to make an even bigger mess than you already had. You followed him into the lounge where he had collapsed onto the couch, making himself comfortable and continuing to scoop out sticky white icing with his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whined, unable to keep an amused grin from tugging at the corners of your mouth, “Don’t think I won’t ruin this couch.”

Daryl looked up at you and allowed a snort of amusement to escape him. He didn’t doubt you for a minute, but he didn’t care about decorating no cookies and he knew you didn’t either so it wasn’t like he felt particularly guilty about the matter.

You stood your ground, your hand venturing into the bag of powdered sugar. Daryl watched you carefully and weighed up his choices, which didn’t take long at all because he soon found himself leaning forward to grab your forearm, pulling you down onto the couch with him in a poor attempt to keep you from attacking again.

What he didn’t consider was the bag of sugar doing a somersault out of your hands and creating  an even bigger mess anyway.

“Ah, shit!” He groused.

You landed awkwardly on him, having to adjust yourself so that you were flat on your back while he was laying on his side next to you with his arm bent to prop up his head. You quickly found yourselves coughing and having to wave your arms as you tried to dissipate the cloud of sugar, which mostly landed in a little hill on the rug but had still managed to leave heavy traces all over you.

“This,” You gestured to your hoodie and the mess around you, “- is on you.”

“Fuck that, I weren’t the one chasing me with sugar.”

After a futile attempt of wiping down your stomach with your hands, you turned your head to look at Daryl with a frown. You didn’t realise how close you were to each other until you met his eyes, which almost made you trip up on your words. You didn’t remember them being that blue.

“You’d really leave me to fend for myself like that?” You pouted.

Daryl opened his mouth to speak but the words got stuck in the back of his throat. You were so close. Too close. He could smell the sweetness on your skin, paired with peppermint which he could only assume was your toothpaste or some sort of lip balm.

“Carol won’t get mad at her pookie.”

He reached for the pillow by his legs but didn’t follow through on the threat as you quickly grabbed his arm and pulled it back towards you.

“I’m kidding!” You practically shrieked, his arm resting over your stomach with your fingers still wrapped around it to keep him from going for the pillow again, “Well, actually…”

“Stop.”

“It’s true and you know it. Please don’t leave me with this.”

Daryl went a little stiff. He wanted to pull away. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, could see each individual eyelash, and, fuck, those fingers of yours were wrapped around his arm. He was almost afraid to breathe. He didn’t want to take up more space than he already had.

You had spent many sleepless nights at each other’s sides in the past, either in temporary shelter while on a run or for comfort when things got bad. You had not, however, been this wrapped up in one another. Not in the slightest. He only had to put his head down for you to take him into your arms, and the thought of that alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Once again, something had shifted and those uncharted waters were only getting deeper.

“Ya’ know, Dog can be pretty bad sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes were locked and the words spilled from each of your lips slowly. Your grip on his forearm softened but you made no effort to let him go. In that moment it seemed as if you only saw each other and that the wall you insisted on keeping up was starting to crumble. It was only a matter of time before one of you rebuilt it, but right then, right in that moment, you could have laid there forever.

You wanted to know what he was thinking, if his thoughts were as scrambled as yours. You felt safe at Daryl's side, as if nothing could ever hurt you again, and you found yourself wanting him to pull you in closer.

God, he was already so close. One of you only had to lean in.

“Yeah. Carol don’t gotta know.”

“But the cookies…”

“Can’t ice no cookies without icin’.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Daryl wet his bottom lip with his tongue and he could have sworn your eyes lowered to his mouth for just a second. He wanted to be put out of his misery. He felt like a damn school girl losing his head over someone he couldn’t have. You hadn’t approached this - whatever this is - for a reason but he wasn’t feeling very reasonable anymore.

Did your mouth taste as sweet as his? Would the peppermint make his lips tingle?

All he had to do was lean in.

Then, the unmistakable sound of the front door being opened echoed throughout the house. You both froze and confusion turned to horror when Carol eventually called out to you, claiming the weather had taken a turn for the worst.

You sat up on your elbows, eyebrows knitted together in worry whilst Daryl went completely silent, both annoyed and embarrassed that Carol had trespassed in her own home. You were mortified, there wasn’t a damn thing to show for your time there other than icing sugar everywhere, but you were also a little relieved - not because you didn’t want to be pinned in place next to him, but because you were finally able to take a full breath.

“Quick.” Daryl muttered, “Out the back.”

“But -”

Daryl didn’t give you a chance to argue. He quickly but carefully climbed up off of the couch and grabbed your hand without hesitation, squeezing it tight and pulling you along towards the back of the house where you could both escape.

You squeezed back, a childish grin growing across your sugar dusted face as your hand fit perfectly into his once more.

[ditttiii]

Brothers Conflict || 03.

Thrust into an already established family, you struggle to find your footing while dodging the advances of seven, incredibly good looking stepbrothers.

Your father marrying, and you suddenly having to live under the same roof with seven step brothers was a royal mess or so you had thought, Because them falling in love with you was so much worse. Or was it?

◈ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Humour, Smut and maybe a little angst. (PG-18) (step brother AU)  (I do NOT support incest, this work is inspired by the popular anime/manga Brothers Conflict)

◈ Pairings: OT7 x Reader (reverse harem)

◈ CHAPTER THREE

WC: 2.7k

Warnings: Language (sfw)

Masterlist

"How about this?"

"Nah, it's too sideways," you reply from where you are standing near the doorway of your bedroom.

"Right or left?" Sunmi asks, as she grips the frame and distances her torso from the wall, trying to see for herself where she should shift the frame. From the looks of it, she's failing spectacularly at it.

Suppressing a snort, you answer ‘left’ and hum when she tilts the frame and you are finally satisfied with its position on the wall. Walking back in, you marvel at the sheer grandness of your room for the umpteenth time as you take in all the space around you. Roughly four times the size of your old bedroom, it was huge. 

Floor to ceiling windows on the side opposite the bedroom door, before which was your queen-sized bed. A decent size, intricately designed bedside table beside it, with the floor underneath covered with a soft, plush rosy white carpet. A walk-in closet the size of your old bedroom, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, curtains heavy enough to suffocate and kill you if they were to ever fall upon your body; your new bedroom screams rich.  

It would be a lie to say that you don't feel intimidated. Raised in a middle-class, humble neighbourhood, you hadn't in your wildest dreams ever imagined living in a room like this. But here you are, soaking in the reality of the moment; and realising that it feels like something between a dream and a nightmare. 

Nearly four hours since you first started unpacking, and five since you had first met your new family, most of your room was organised. All boxes untaped and emptied as you and Sunmi worked hard to make the unnecessarily large, empty room less of a hotel room and more like the bedroom of a 19-year-old girl. 

Sighing, you push the last book of your novel collection into the bookshelf. Made from some sort of whitewood, much like everything else, it was designed intricately and looming large over your small shadow. 

"This is it."

Slouching, you fall onto your back, eyes straying to the ceiling above and the textures carved onto it, refusing to reply to Sunmi’s statement. Agreeing would mean that you'd have to let her go and you don't think you can, the isolation and abnormality of the situation already sinking in and scaring you. 

 "Mmn," you reply noncommittally instead. 

A long sigh, and then your best friend is curling on the floor beside you, her hand snaking around yours, fingers intertwining, as she silently lets you know that she is here for you. Repressing the tears you can already feel trying to escape your eyes, you squeeze her hand back. 

The clammy, ice-cold touch of your skin against hers goes unmentioned as you both lay there in silence. 

"I'll call you every day," you whisper, your voice choked as your death grip around Sunmi's waist tightens, and she lets out a strangled moan before pushing you away. 

"Woman, stop being so dramatic! You'll see me back in college every freaking day once summer ends and you know I'll come to see you whenever you want me to, the hour-long ride be damned," Sunmi chides. There’s no bite in her words, and her voice wobbles despite her trying to act tough, but you don't call her out on it and only nod. 

"You better, you airhead, lord knows you'll probably sob your body dry without seeing me every day." 

A giggle comes out of your best friend's tall, lean body, one you are entirely too envious of, and her eyes soften, your smile softening with it. 

"Take care, will ya?" 

"Always," you whisper back, and with one last kiss thrown over her shoulder, she leaves. Her figure grows smaller and farther with every step she takes, and you bite your lip to prevent a call from tumbling out. Not moving an inch until you hear the distant roar of her car driving away, you finally shut the door when you no longer hear or see her car. 

Suddenly you feel scarily small. Like a tiny, irrelevant existence born in a world too large and glamorous; a world where you evidently do not belong. 

Meandering through the floor, you gaze at the picture frames on the wall as though you are the actress of some old seventies cinema, bemoaning the absence of a long lost lover. 

Dramatic, yes, but you have always been more on the theatrical spectrum of humankind, and it isn't like there is much you can do right now anyway. Not unless you want to hole up in your room and stew in your sadness alone. And even though that might sound appealing to most (considering what your room now looks like), it wasn't something you felt like doing at the moment. 

So you mindlessly gaze at the pictures, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow in the darkening hallway as you try to find some semblance of familiarity, a speck of comfort or intimacy. 

"Y/n?" a soft voice calls out to you, and you twist on your heels, your eyes meeting with those of Yoongi. 

"Yoongi-oppa." Voice coming out soft, your words fade at the end as your eyes track the way Yoongi's face glows when the rays of the setting sun hit his skin. Long messy dark blonde hair makes space for his glittering curvy eyes to shine through, and your breath gets caught somewhere in your chest when you look at the vision that was Min Yoongi. 

"Exploring?" he asks casually, but even without knowing him for all that long, you can detect the underlying layer of concern in his voice. You don't know if he is being open with you right now, or if you can just read him well, but the concern makes your heart feel a little warmer. 

"Something like that." Your answer is ambiguous, but Yoongi doesn't ask you to elaborate, so you don't add anything more, turning back and looking at the pictures again instead.

"This something you enjoy?" Yoongi asks as he moves beside you, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his pants, and leans; making himself comfortable against the wall.  

Your eyes stray to him. "Sounds like you don't."

"Not really my forte, I can appreciate it from a distance, sure, but not an enthusiast," he replies, the back of his head hitting the wall behind as he looks up at you. 

Humming, you shrug. "Same, I guess, it's just fascinating to me. I wish I was smart enough to understand what half of these actually mean, but I am not, so I just appreciate the beauty and move on."

"Fair enough." 

You nod and let the silence reign again, but it's a comfortable silence, the kind of quiet where you are both lost in your own thoughts but at the same time appreciate the company of the other.  

Slowly the sun sets behind you, and the glassed walls shimmer one last time before the ceiling lights are switched on, bathing the entire floor in warm but bright light. 

Yoongi had been silent the entire time as you explored the floor like a child in a zoo, poking and prodding the potted plants, oo-ing and aah-ing over the art around you, fascinated and occupied with the attractions around.   

But when the lights switch on, he clears his throat and gets up from the couch he had taken a seat on some time ago, head tilting as he wordlessly asks you a question. You nod back and smile, making your way to him as you finally get ready to spend some time with the rest of your newly acquired family. 

As you both make your way to the main hall, you don't miss how your heart is feeling much lighter now. The silent company that Yoongi had provided you with seems to have put you at ease and calmed your racing thoughts. 

Walking into the kitchen alone, you try your best to make as little noise as possible. Yoongi, much to your displeasure, had promised that he'd meet you out in a few minutes only to disappear inside of his bedroom and leave you to your own devices.  

The sudden bout of bravado from earlier had left your body too, in its place leaving raring, gut-twisting anxiety. 

Tiptoeing to the refrigerator, you take out a bottle and pour yourself a glass. The chilled water slides down your throat, quenching your thirst, and you let out a satisfied sigh, smacking your lips in contentment after. 

"That thirsty, huh?" 

You jump, startled, heart racing and in your throat, as your gaze snaps to the doorway and finds Seokjin standing there. Suit coat hung over his left arm, and a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, he was clearly returning back home after a workday. 

"Holy fuck, you scared the shit outta me!" 

Your brain to mouth filter is seemingly not working after being startled. Feeling anxious was a problem enough, but being scared after was evidently enough to send your last two brain cells out the window. Your common sense and the knowledge that Kim Seokjin was now your stepbrother, eldest stepbrother, flying out the window along with them. 

You hear crickets chirping in the distance as an awkward silence blankets the room, and in that moment you want to die. Spontaneously combust and float away into thin air, disappear, dissolve, vanish—die. 

"I am so sorry, can we pretend I didn't say that, “you voice out meekly, your eyes avoiding Seokjin’s and instead finding purchase on the wall behind him, seemingly fascinated by the utter whiteness of it. 

Hearing a chuckle ring and break the awkwardness in the air, you shift your gaze to the source of said chuckle and catch your eldest brother's gaze. "It's alright Y/n, I get that this is a big adjustment. Please don't feel like you need to rush on anybody's accord, take your time."

And then Kim Seokjin smiles—his pouty, full lips stretched into a small but ridiculously warm smile, and something in your chest clenches at the sight of it. Warning bells ring in the back of your mind, and you squash the thoughts threatening to come forward, their not-so-appropriate nature resulting in an immediate rejection from your end. 

Mumbling a thank you, you let him know you'll be down soon and then dash to your bedroom, slamming the door closed once you're inside and sinking down onto the floor. 

What the hell was that!?

Raking a hand through your hair, you groan in annoyance, wincing when said hand gets stuck in a tangle and pulls a few strands loose.

Looking back at your impression so far in front of Seokjin, one of your seven step brothers, it had been nothing but absolutely marvellous. So you can't imagine what could possibly go wrong when you sit down at the dinner table and are surrounded by all seven of them. 

Nothing, nothing at all, nope-nada-zilch!

Frustrated, you slide a hand down your face, hoping to calm down, but the move only ends up irritating your skin under. The day has been long, and all that you pray for now is that it ends soon. Your bed, which from the looks of it was fit for royalty, was beckoning you over too. 

With one last huff, you are pushing yourself up onto your feet and to the bathroom to splash some water, before you go and join the rest of your new family. 

Pulling the chair in, you wring your hands nervously under the table, away from any prying eyes. One by one, the rest of your family filters in and takes a seat; Seokjin and Yoongi both pick their seats at the two heads of the table. Hoseok and Namjoon sit on either side of you, with Jimin plopping himself down opposite you, and getting flanked by Jungkook and Taehyugn on either side. 

Not much conversation had taken place as they picked their seats, everyone sufficiently tired enough after a long day, but they had smiled or nodded at you when they first entered the dining room. 

'Well most of them at least,'  you think, eyeing the two youngest, who had both refused to give you even a cursory glance, resulting in your smile going unseen and unreciprocated. Their attitude, however, doesn't bother you too much at this point; as it was, they were virtually nothing more than strangers to you. 

Conversations pick up around you, and you feel slightly out of place, as though you are a guest over for dinner rather than their new stepsister, but the feeling doesn't last long, because both Namjoon and Hoseok soon pull  you into a conversation. Inquiries come forth about your day, and how your unpacking had gone.

The conversation is mostly superficial, nothing too emotionally challenging; neither of them ask how it feels being a part of their family or something like that, and you are relieved. Grateful, because you don't know if you'd be able to answer those questions anyway. The whole situation is still very odd no matter how many minutes of the day pass. 

Someone clears their throat, and your eyes snap to Seokjin, who was pushing his chair back and picking up his glass, the red wine inside sloshing with the movement. 

"I've done this before, and yet it never gets any less nerve-wracking," Seokjin starts, and your eyes furrow in confusion, but he continues before you can think about it any more. "Y/n," he says and tips his head in your direction, "I know this must feel a little scary—actually, scratch that, you're probably terrified right now, and that's okay.” he pauses, and takes a breath before continuing, “I'm sure it feels crazy suddenly being thrust into an already established family and being told that now you're one of them, and I just want you to know that I get it. We get it, and we are here for you. If you don’t want to accept us as family, that’s okay too; all of us would understand and support whatever decision you make. I just...” Sighing, he locks eyes with you.

 “...I just hope you can let us in eventually, family or not." 

Seokjin's eyes bore into yours as he says this, stressing the 'us', and you gulp, feeling the back of your throat tighten at his words. Sensing the fine thread of control that you had over your emotions loosening, you swivel your gaze to the table instead, nodding, your vision growing blurry as you try to blink back the burn in your eyes. 

The room goes quiet, as the boys give you time to collect yourself—or sob, you don't know, but you appreciate the consideration nonetheless.

It was going good, it really was. You were holding on, no matter how precarious the hold was, you were holding on. Grasping onto that last string of control and restraint you had with all of your might. 

But then Hoseok is wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, letting you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, and the string snaps, his neck growing wet as tears streamed down your face and slid down his skin. 

For a few minutes, you forget that you were now surrounded by strangers who you had to accept and call your family. For a few false, delusional minutes you forget that they don't know you, that the care they were showing was genuine and not something they were obligated to. That the one whose hands were drawing circles across your back, the one whose voice was whispering reassurances in your ear—stupid sweet-nothings that you would tell a small child to make them feel better, actually gave a shit about you.  

You forget the reality and slip into a safe headspace, letting the warmth of another human encircle you, hold you, wrap you in its cocoon as you weep. 

A/N: dedicating this chapter to @mel-gonzalez07​, one of my oldest, most loyal readers, and more than anything else an amazing friend. ily angel 💖  

Y/n is going through some shitt here. Imagine being thrust into a dynamic that has been established for years, and then having to act like you are meant to be a part of it. 

The taglist for the story can be found:- here. A kind reminder that tumblr sometimes doesn’t give an alert for a tag notification, but you’ll find the notification in your notification dash. So, check it once a week as I usually update weekly.

Feedback means the world to me, so tell me what you thought. What would you do if you were in oc’s shoes?        

Until next time! Take care you sweet soul and Oo! Go stream folklore 💖 

Tag-list: @mel-gonzalez07​​ @favsssxx​​ @imluckybitches​​ @nomimits7​​ @alex4243​​  @calling-dips-on-j-hope​ @joonsinnerchild​​ @iconicgguk​​ @untamedfaith​​ @kaheryn​​  @nottodayjjk​​ @moments-of-melancholy @gee-nee @confusemonkey​​  @beautyyounggirl​​  @blossoming-cherrytrees​​  @seoul9711​​ ​​ @btsismybiass @toochie-too​  @sugakookie0698 @maboiisuga @kurohas-world @namseokiesmoonv @kerikaaria @chiidbits @girlyyzzyz @loveyoongles @btsfeelzies @knjkitten​ @honeyspillings @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​ @starrykook97  @xanny91 @leilalago @jiminie-08 @voguejoonie​ @lovelikeyouwant

[captcas]

Something to Hold Onto by captcas

Emma Swan has always had two superpowers. First, she can always tell when you’re lying. Second, she can retreat into the magical storybook she was found with to visit her fictional friend, Killian Jones. When Emma gives the book up, she wonders if she’ll ever see Killian again. read on ao3

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

Pregnant?

Emma slides down the tile wall of the Shell bathroom. Usually she’d do everything in her power to avoid touching anything in a gas station restroom. Right now she can’t find it in herself to care about the amount of infectious diseases she’s being exposed to, her eyes fixed on the two pink lines that just threatened to change her entire life.

Threatened? More like promised.

She jumps when she hears a knock on the door, “Ems? You ok?”

It isn’t until she wipes the tears from her cheeks that she realizes she’s started to cry. Neal knocks again, “Ems! You good?”

Clearing her throat, she musters up the will to answer, “Yeah, uh, just a minute.”

She scrambles for her backpack, desperate for an escape she’s not entirely confident will be there.

It’s been too long.

When her fingers touch the cool leather of the mysterious book that has somehow woven its way into every important moment in her life, a sense of calm overwhelms her. She knows that avoiding her problem isn’t going to change anything, but right now, she couldn't care less. As she settles in her lap, the positive pregnancy test laying the floor in her periphery, she thinks back to the first time it allowed her to escape.

Des Moines, IA; 1989

Emma hears footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly pulls her blanket over her head. She hates the way it makes it hard to breathe but she also fears what’ll happen to her if she gets caught up past curfew again. She holds her breath as the door creaks open and doesn’t move again until the door shuts and the footsteps walk away. Coming out from under the covers, she takes a deep breath of fresh air. Once she’s sure no one else in her bunk is awake, Emma pulls the thick, leather book out from underneath her bed. This book is one of the only things her parents left her; a book, a blanket, and a name. Ever since she could read, and even before, if her foster parents were kind enough, she’s poured into these stories– escaping reality for ogres, pirates, princesses, and true love. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the stories almost seem ever changing and expanding. She never has to choose what to read, the book opening and picking a story for her– although she finds herself partial to the updates of the young Snow White.

Tonight she opens to a brand new story titled “The Brothers Jones”. She’s never heard of this fairytale, but that’s how most of these stories start out until they twist and turn into well-known characters from movies that the other kids watch to pass time. It seems rather short, but Emma doesn’t mind, especially seeing as it’s way past her dictated bedtime. She hunkers down into her pillow and begins…

Once upon a time there were two brothers. Liam, the eldest, was outgoing and mature, helping their parents around the house and picking up odd jobs around town to help with trips to the market. Killian, on the other hand, was quiet and kind. He often found himself staying home to take care of their mother. At ten years of age he was too young to get a real job, so their father, Brennan, and Liam took care of earning money in hopes to keep their mother alive.

One night, Killian’s mother took a turn for the worse, her breathing slowing until it stopped. The family gathered around, comforting one another over the loss of Alice.

The following days seemed like a blur for the family, preparations for her funeral taking up most of their time. When the day finally came, the Jones boys were distraught. Her burial became too much for young Killian so he took off to the one place which could calm his worries, Brennan and Liam calling after him as he ran. Liam wanted to go after his younger brother but Brennan stopped him, urging him to give Killian some space.

Emma pauses for a second, shining her flashlight over the picture of the two boys which accompanies the start of the story. Her finger traces over the face of the younger one, she thinks to herself that she wishes she could meet this Killian. She glances a moment longer and turns back to the story…

Killian ends up by the docks, his legs moving on their own accord. He finds an empty slip and decides to sit on the end of the pier, crying over the loss of his mother.

Emma suddenly feels as though she’s drifting to sleep. The words seem to be floating off the page and wrapping themselves around her. When a flash of light surrounds her, Emma is sure she’s dreaming. She shuts her eyes in fear, unsure of where this dream is taking her.

Suddenly, her bare feet hit cold ground. She shivers, still too scared to open her eyes, her hands acting as a makeshift blindfold. She hears what sounds like a seagull and smells what she can only imagine is the sea. It’s a comforting quiet disrupted by the soft sound of someone crying. In a quick bout of bravery, the young girl opens one eye. Gasping, she removes her other hand from her face and her eyes grow wide. Sitting in front of her is Killian Jones, the boy from the storybook. She hesitates, but slowly walks towards him. She now knows he’s the source of the quiet sniffling and pauses, unsure she should bother him. Before she can turn around and explore more of her dreamworld, Killian looks over his shoulder and wipes his runny nose on his hand. He looks at her intently, and Emma is drawn to the deep blue of his eyes which seem to shine brighter through his tears. His eyebrows curve in confusion and he speaks, “Who are you?”

His voice is the most beautiful thing Emma has ever heard. His accent is unlike anything she’s heard before, but it’s melodic and reminds her of her favorite song. She hesitates to respond, but somehow feels comforted by his presence. “I’m… I’m Emma. Are you… Killian?”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline but he gives her a soft smile, “Yes, miss. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you here before.” He scratches behind his ear as she struggles to explain where she came from.

She’s sure she can say anything, she’ll wake up in the morning and Killian Jones will remain the figment of imagination he is, so she’s honest. “Oh! I’m not from here. I’m from Iowa! Well, at least I’m from Iowa right now…”

“Iowa?” Killian questions her once again. “I’ve never heard of such a place. I don’t get to travel much. Is it close to here?”

Emma decides to sit down next to him, both of their legs swinging over the dark water. “I think I’m pretty far from home. One minute I was reading in my bed and the next I was standing behind you.” Emma flinches at her own honesty but reminds herself it can do no harm. She’s finding peace in this dreamworld, she almost feels as though she has a friend.

“Well, Emma, I don’t know how you’re here but I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad moment.” He hangs his head, fiddling with a hangnail on his left hand.

“Your mother…” Emma says it in barely a whisper but Killian hears it all the same. She clasps her hands over her mouth.

“How did you––” He looks afraid of her and she hates it.

“Killian, I––,” She reminds herself again he’s just a dream, “The book I was reading… you were–– are a character in it. That’s how I knew your name, and about your mom. I also know about your brother, Li––”

“Killian? Is that you? Killian!” Emma is cut off by who she can only assume is Liam looking for his little brother. She scoots a bit away from him and hides her face in embarrassment while he turns to talk to his brother. Confusion was etched across Killian’s face before they were interrupted.

“Aye, Liam. It’s me. I’m sorry for running, it’s just… mother… she––” Killian is practically toppled over by a hug from Liam.

“I understand, Killian.” Liam looks as though he’s been crying but smiles and rubs his brother’s head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It’s then that he notices Emma. “Brother, who is this?”

Killian’s neck heats up with blush and Emma has to suppress a giggle. “Liam, this is Emma of Iowa.”

Emma chuckles loudly this time and Liam looks a bit confused but brushes it off quickly, “Ah, hello Emma. I hope my little brother hasn’t burdened you with our troubles too much. Where is your family?”

Killian mumbles something that sounds like “younger brother” and Liam smirks slightly. She supposes it’s something between siblings and ignores the ache for a family that lives deep in her soul. Emma snaps out of her melancholy to answer, “Oh, um, they’re at home.” She shoots a look at Killian, urging him to help her keep her secret. She once again is warring with the part of her brain which says none of this is real but shoves it down in light of Liam’s stare. “I should be going.”

Killian looks like he’s about to say something when Liam speaks, “Ah, yes, well we should be getting back to our parents as well.” Liam’s voice cracks at the word parents, but he continues his strong facade in front of his brother. “Ready, Killian?”

“Aye, I’m right behind you, brother.” Liam hesitates but turns away to leave Emma and Killian to say goodbye.

Emma speaks first, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Killian.” She looks down at her hands, she’s never had parents, but she can imagine watching one die is not easy.

“It’s ok, Emma. Liam and I will manage.” Emma can tell he’s being brave for her but she lets him continue. “You go home now, I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“I don’t have parents, I’m an orphan.” It bursts out of her before she can stop herself, her innate need to be honest with Killian taking over. She’s scowling now, ready to spit back any pity he throws her way, but when she looks up, all she sees is understanding. He nods at her.

“Will I see you again, Emma? Friends are all too rare in my life.” She smiles softly, happy to have made a friend herself.

“I hope so, Killian.” They smile at one another and she hears Liam call him from a distance. Killian nods once more and runs to his brother, glancing back over his shoulder one last time. Emma smiles, and watches him fade from sight.

As quickly as Emma landed in this world, she is back in her bed. The book sits open on her side table. She grabs it, hoping to see more of Killian’s story to add fuel for the rest of the night’s dreams. Emma is shocked at what she sees. Side by side are the text of her encounter with Killian, and a perfect sketch of the two of them sitting on the edge of the pier. Emma expects to be scared, but instead she’s comforted by the drawing of her and her new friend. She closes her book, and places it in it’s hiding spot, easily drifting off to sleep with memories of ocean air and the sound of Killian’s voice.

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

She hasn’t visited him since Ingrid— it’s not fair that she uses him like this, but she needs him.

And he promised. They promised.

With a deep breath, she opens the book and thinks of her friend as the warm light surrounds her and takes her away...

Sea air fills her lungs as she finds her footing– the breeze a sure sign she’s landed wherever Killian finds himself these days. She orients herself by finding the water and spots a ship coming into land– Emma would know that ship anywhere. While she can tell it’s the Jewel, the vessel’s usually regal presence seems tarnished somehow. As it nears the shoreline, she sees Killian at the helm. A smile spreads across her face before she can stop it– he always looked so at home on the water. As he nears the beach, Emma senses something different about her old friend. He’s older, each of them learning long ago moves differently in their separate worlds– almost as they need it to rather than on any set timeline– but she can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than age.

Killian directs the crew effortlessly, not a single soul arguing with him. The ship hits land and Killian gazes over the side long enough for Emma to notice the heavy space beside him. Something’s missing– someone’s missing. It dawns on her as the ramp hits the sand… Liam.

Killian walks off the ship with a swagger she doesn’t recognize– a false confidence she’s positive only she would recognize as a front. Second guessing her decision– maybe she’d stayed away far too long– Emma reaches for the leather book. Selfishly, she takes one more look at her friend, or the man which used to be. He scans the beach with a stoic look that only falls away when he meets her gaze. A smile breaks out across her face as he runs towards her. She lets go of the book, anxious to learn more about where she is and what Kilian’s been up to. He barely says hello before she's wrapped in his arms choking up at the pure innocence of his laugh when he picks her up and twirls her around.

“Emma Swan!” Killian puts her down, swiping a soft curl from her cheek, “It’s been so long, love.”

Emma can’t speak, she’s changed since they last met, but not like him. Studying him, she releases him from her grasp and her hands trail down his arm, hesitating when her left one hits something foreign. Killian flinches and tucks it under his jacket. She’s still unable to put a finger on what’s different, but her old friend, always sure and steadfast, seems… lost. She can’t help but speak candidly, “Killian, where is Liam?”

He smirks, a mask unfamiliar to her aside from her brief glimpse of him exiting the ship, “Ah, yes, ‘fraid my brother was lost to the sea.” He gazes off before seemingly being startled into remembering her existence, “Emma! You can’t be here, it’s dangerous.”

Emma looks around for the first time since she arrived and realizes this place is unlike any portside town she’d landed in previously. “Where exactly is… here?”

If she didn’t know better– Killian Jones is not afraid of anything– she would’ve sworn she saw fear flicker across his eyes, “Best you not know. Why are you here? Is everything alright?”

His genuine concern reminds her of the pregnancy test she left in the Shell bathroom. Never one to mince words and never sure how long they truly have, Emma breaks the news abruptly, “Killian, I’m pregnant.”

Now she knows its fear– coupled with a brief flash of sadness that she doesn’t have the energy to dissect– that crosses his gaze, “Emma, ho–”

She cuts him off, she doesn’t want to answer the questions, doesn’t want to disappoint him, “It doesn’t matter. I will be ok, I just… needed to see you.”

He nods before turning to a small man in a red beanie who has hovered close by but out of earshot for the entirety of their conversation. “Smee, it will be dark soon. Gather supplies and take the crew aboard. I will return shortly.” The man nods before yelling a feeble attempt to wrangle up the rest of the crew while Killian leads Emma closer to the water’s edge. She knows there’s more to everything happening here than he’s letting on, but she also knows that if he’s not telling her, it’s with reason.

They find a small alcove, hidden from the ship, and Killian takes her in his arms swaying slowly. She can’t help but giggle, “Killian, what are you doing?”

“Just, I know you probably don’t have long, but please– before you go, just– one dance.” She nods, this tradition is one she should’ve seen coming. They danced the first time when Emma was nervous for her first homecoming dance– he taught her how to slow dance. Her next trip was to tell him she’d moved again and never gotten to go to the dance after all– so they swayed once more... that was the last time she’d visited.

As they settle into a comfortable stance, Emma feels something cold hit the small strip of skin exposed at her back. Logically she knows it should be his left hand, but the chill feels metallic. She stops herself from flinching, not at what must be a prosthetic, but at the temperature of the metal. Meeting his gaze, she can tell her lack of response comforts him briefly before the exhaustion and fear returns to his features. He forces a smile before pulling her closer— clearly, he doesn’t want to be here anymore than she wants to be home, so she dances. Killian hums quietly, a melody she’s heard many times before and often sings to herself when she needs the comfort of her friend. They don’t speak at first, the soft sound of his hum and the distant white noise of waves hitting the sand more than enough to fill the air around them.

Emma feels another wave of fear fall over her and breaks the silence, “I don’t really know how, Killian.”

He leans in closer, “It’s easy. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He winks at her and they feel like children again— twirling in fields of flowers and playing along the shoreline. For a moment, she forgets the monumental changes waiting for her at home and just tries to be happy. Killian spins her around, dipping her, and making her laugh like she hasn’t in what feels like her entire life. He slows and begins to hum a different shanty she doesn’t recognize but causes her to sway back and forth all the same. She has to stop herself from jumping when he speaks again, “I know you’re scared, Swan, but you can do this.”

Emma doesn’t tell him that she knows she can’t, that she knows Neal can’t– or that he won’t. Instead, she just savors the moment with her best friend.

Whether he’s real or fiction or an impossible dream stopped mattering long ago— Killian is always here, a constant in her inconsistent life, and that’s worth everything to Emma. She gazes into his eyes, as easy to lose herself in as the ocean, and he looks back. They’re practically nose to nose and Emma can see every scratch, bruise, and line of exhaustion that covers his face.

He’s still one of the most beautiful humans she’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s that realization that causes her to lean in ever so slightly. His eyebrow raises quickly before mimicking her movement. They have history, it’s patchy and incomplete, but it’s theirs and no matter what Emma always finds herself back in this fantasy’s arms.

He’s fiction, always has been, but he’s been an escape all the same. Emma doesn't second guess her decision to kiss him– no harm, no foul when this is all a dream anyway…

But it never comes.

Their moment is disrupted by a loud cawing noise. It almost sounds like a bird, but the way he flinches and the stoic fear that settles across Killian’s face hints that, whatever made that noise, is not to be messed with. His back stiffens beneath her hands before he moves in front of Emma. Using his left hand– no, hook– he pushes aside the tree blocking their view, “I’m sorry, Swan. You need to go. Now.” He turns back to her frantically, and with fear in his eyes growing, she has no choice but to believe him.

Her heart is beating loud enough that she's positive he can hear it too and she’s not sure if it’s the imminent danger or the fact she almost kissed him.

He’s not real, Emma.

Still, the look in his eyes fools her into playing along once again, rushing back towards his ship as darkness falls like a blanket across the beach. Emma stops him, selfishly pulling him behind a bush for just one more moment alone. “When will I see you again?” She isn’t sure why she’s asking when it’s always been up to her.

He smiles at her before pulling her tight, “Just hold onto this— to us and our parallel existences.” His right hand cups her cheek and she takes a moment to find comfort in his warmth, “You’re one of the only reasons I’m alive, Emma Swan. Let me be your something, as you are mine.”

Emma can feel herself crying now, the reality she’s returning to feeling scarier than whatever has Killian rushing her home, but he’s counting on her to survive, so she will. “I’ll see you soon, Killian.”

He smiles at her one more time, bright and hopeful, “Aye, Swan. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she feels the warmth bubble inside of her as the light surrounds her once again and takes her back. In no time at all she’s sitting again on the dingy tile floor of a gas station in Phoenix. She holds the book close once more before putting it back in her bag. She sighs, remembering Killian’s faith in her, as she grabs the pregnancy test and goes to break the news to Neal.

As she leaves the bathroom, she’s startled by two officers with their guns drawn. As she’s told to raise her hands up, the lifted watch Neal gave her for her birthday catches the harsh fluorescent light and the positive test falls from her hand clattering against the linoleum at her feet.

Phoenix, AZ; August, 2001

“Emma, are you sure?” The doctor questions her as he wraps her crying son in a towel.

She refuses to look, the tears and sweat stinging her eyes. Emma knows if she holds the small boy, she won’t be able to give him up. The doctor turns away, placing the small boy into a bassinet behind him and Emma feels a weight lifted from her. Being given up herself, Emma swore she’d never put a child in that position, but she also never thought she’d be giving birth in prison.

The recollection of her own upbringing sparks something inside of her, “Wait!” The doctor turns around, something like hope in his eyes. Emma knows he thinks she’s changed her mind, but in reality, her decision has only been further solidified by her choice not to send him off alone. “There’s a book. In my personal belongings. It’s leatherbound and full of fairy tales– please, send it with him.”

The doctor looks at the guard who nods before sending their partner to retrieve the storybook. She’ll feel safer knowing even a piece of her— and a larger piece of Killian– will be with her son no matter where he ends up. The book made her feel like her parents at least cared enough not to send her off alone, and she hopes it provides the same comfort for her son.

It can be his something to hold onto.

Slight melancholy aches through her at the realization she’s given up her right to visit Killian ever again. She thinks he’d understand– support her even. Still, Emma smiles softly as the book is placed next to the hospital crib before drifting off where memories of distant lands keep her fast asleep.

Boston, MA; October, 2011

“Another banner year.” Emma blows out the blue star candle, and makes the simplest of birthday wishes. As she begins to unwrap the cupcake there’s a knock at the door. Startled, but curious, she opens it to a young boy looking at her like she’s standing on her head.

“Can I help you?” Emma’s had a long night, and while she could really go for some girl scout cookies, she doubts the small boy outside her door at 8pm is here to sell her any.

“Are you Emma Swan?” He tilts his head as he asks, a simple movement that Emma almost finds endearing.

“Yeah. Who are you?” She’s trying not to be impatient, but she really needs to take a shower and wash off the scum from her skip earlier that evening.

“My name is Henry. I’m your son.”

Well she wasn’t expecting that .

Storybrook, ME; 2011

Henry’s adoptive mother is– something. Regina Mills is not who Emma expected when she spent late nights picturing Henry with a family, but he has a roof over his head and everything he could ever want. And the town, Storybrook, is quaint and safe. Henry seems healthy.

What more could she have wanted for her son?

Maybe to not have the gut feeling that something— no everything — is off in this town.

Regina (aggressively) asked her to leave after dropping Henry off, but she can’t find it in herself to head back to Boston just yet. She wanders into a small diner that touts an attached inn, and the warm atmosphere is beyond inviting. Against all previous plans, she settles herself onto a stool at the bar and orders herself some hot chocolate. As she sips her drink, she takes in the rest of the diner only to realize almost everyone is looking at her. Almost. There’s a dark haired man with his back to her sitting in one of the booths. Emma finds herself fixated on him, and the fact that, unlike everyone else in the diner, he couldn’t seem to care less that she’s here.

A waitress in a short red skirt drops off soup at his table before making her way back towards Emma. “Hey, new girl. You want some food?” Startled by her forwardness, Emma responds with a stutter, “I– uh– no– I’m not– uh.. Why is everyone staring at me?”

The girl– Ruby if her name tag is anything to go by– belly laughs before answering, “Girl, we haven’t had visitors to this town in ages .” Emma isn’t sure how to take that but Ruby doesn’t seem to mind as she keeps talking, “I mean, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a visitor in this diner. Strictly regulars. That’s why they’re staring, hun. Not to mention, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.” She shrugs her shoulder in Emma’s direction and winks with a wolf’s smile.

She’s spunky and Emma likes her, “Well, I’m happy to be your first. Do you have any rooms?”

Ruby scoffs again, “All of them– no visitors remember? Except room 9, Sailor Boy over there has taken up permanent residence in that one.” The waitress motions towards the man in the back booth before flagging down an older woman asking for a room key.

Emma glances again at the dark haired stranger, wanting to know more, but having no real reason to strike up a conversation. Before she can approach him, she’s being handed a key and ushered up the stairs to her room by a pushy old lady that everyone seems to affectionately call Granny. She settles in for the night, her curiosity about the town and its residents only growing the longer she stays.

When she wakes up, it’s to Henry knocking on her door again. She opens to find him practically vibrating, “You stayed?!”

She can’t help but smile at his excitement, finding it hard to tamper her own, “Yeah, kid, I did. Don’t you have school or something?”

Henry smiles, “Not for another hour, wanna grab some breakfast?”

Emma nods and follows her son– not sure she’ll ever get used to that– down the stairs to grab some breakfast from the diner. They order from the counter when all the booths are full, but decide to move when one opens as their food is ready. Emma thanks Ruby, grabbing their plates of waffles, before turning towards the booth just as someone walks behind her. The plates crash to the ground, both her and the man she bumped into bending down to help with clean up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault, lass. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Emma knows that voice– would know it anywhere.

When she doesn’t answer, he looks up at her, concern etched across the animated eyebrows she’s known for almost her entire life. If she wasn’t positive before, she is now, the blue eyes that haunted her dreams for years after giving up the book are staring directly back at her. “Killian?”

He looks stunned, but there’s no recognition in his eyes— eerily similar to their first night so many years ago on the docks. The warmth of his gaze, the excitement at meeting once again, and the hint of infatuation Emma always stopped herself from hoping for are gone without a trace. The unsettled feeling that’s sat in Emma’s stomach since the moment she and Henry crossed the town line the night before seems to boil over. All the air feels as though it’s escaped her lungs, suffocating her as she realizes the only person she’s ever come close to calling her best friend has no idea who she is. Her fear is solidified when he speaks again, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms​