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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Day 20, Story #2 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: Dittany Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Neville/Hannah Prompt: Bravery Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Discussion of maternal death, mentions of violence.

Hannah's mother had been a muggleborn, and that had been her death sentence.

Or rather, she had been a muggleborn with the audacity and bravery to be proud about it.

Most muggleborns ended up slipping entirely into wizarding society, and as much as they might say that they would keep in touch with their roots, the magic took over. Jeans became robes, electronics didn’t work in their homes so their pop culture references grew stale, the effort involved in keeping the statute of secrecy for extended family and old friends was too exhausting to sustain, so they saw them less and less and eventually…

This had not happened for Mum, even though the Abbotts were a very old family, well rooted in the magical community. She had agreed with Dad to live in Godric’s Hollow, because the Abbotts had lived there for many generations, but she had insisted on Hannah attending the local primary school, where she could make muggle friends. She was adamant that they make regular trips to Liverpool, to visit her side of the family, who believed that she worked in HR (which she did, but for a potion manufacturer, not for a haulage company as they believed) and that Hannah had received a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school, and that Dad owned a pub (which he did, but they neglected to mention that it was frequented by witches, wizards, goblins, the occasional hag and a half giant). And when the Stephens side of the family came to visit, they would have a flurry of activity where they would hide away anything magical-looking, and from the loft they would bring down the big television, and they would speed read some muggle newspapers so they could give their opinions on Tony Blair or Men Behaving Badly or Charles and Diana’s divorce or whatever else they thought might come up.

That was life as Hannah knew it, and it never felt complicated or brave or shocking or daring or any of the things she later found out it was.

She remembered certain details from the day very clearly. She’d been easing sneezewort plants out of their pots, the last repotting before winter, her fingers shaking at the long, pale roots, creating a rain of soil. The last of the cream coloured petals, curled and brown at the edges, fell onto the potting bench. There was a sudden shock of cold air, a breeze from the door opening that hit their faces and whipped through their hair.

‘Professor Dumbledore’s here,’ said Susan with surprise, and Hannah had glanced up to see him closing the door to the humid greenhouse, his long white beard tucked into his belt, Professor Sprout hurrying over to him.

Hannah looked back down at her plant. The roots were all tangled together. Professor Dumbledore was probably here for Harry Potter, there were all sorts of rumours flying around about secret meetings between the two of them.

The plant needed a much bigger pot, but the roots were strong, there was no rot there.

‘Hannah.’

There was no hiding the bewilderment on her face. She had never had a direct conversation with the Headmaster before, and here he was, speaking kindly, gently, softly, one hand touching her shoulder and the other, black looking, gesturing to the door.

‘I need to-’ she started saying, as he led her out. Everyone was staring.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Professor Sprout, and her voice sounded so strange, ‘I’ll finish up here for you.’

Perhaps part of her had known then. She knew it was something terrible. She was too afraid to ask. No one was ever pulled out of class for a good reason. She walked up to the castle alongside him as though in a dream, her heart beating up through her throat and into her mouth.

She was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was in the warmth of his office, staring at Professor Dumbledore’s grave face, his lips moving, without really hearing, except for that first, terrible, world destroying little phrase.

‘I’m so very sorry to tell you that your mother has been found dead.’

There would be no worse event, no greater loss, no stronger pain in her entire life.

There was still dirt under her nails and in the creases of her palms, she noticed, as she reached into the silver box of floo powder.

It had been so long since she had seen Godric’s Hollow like this, golden and red in its autumn. Fallen leaves tumbled and floated down the river that rushed through the village, or collected in the gutters along the cobbled roads, damp and heavy. The sun stayed a little lower each day, casting long shadows across the beer garden of The Lost Owl, and the wind ruffled the sign on the door which read ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’

During the days, she wondered what to do with herself, stuck between boredom and terrible, overwhelming grief. When she could cry no more, she wondered if there was something wrong with her for wanting to find something interesting or fun to do, but when she tried to read, she could not focus. When she tried to listen to the radio, she would fall asleep. She could not bring herself to ask her weeping father to play cards or chess or anything with her. She thought of going back into school, but how could she see other people? Now that the world had ended? She wanted to tell people about it, wanted to say the words enough until they made sense to her, or until someone found the right words to say back that would make it OK, but she did not want to do this to her friends.

At nights, she would cry herself to sleep, and her whispers, please come back please Mummy please come back, would grow and grow and grow into sobs, begging into her pillow as the agony of it tore at her, the desperation, the feverish thought that there had to be something, that this couldn’t be it, there had to be a way, a special way, just for them, just for her, because it was her mother and there was no way she could live without her. Mum wouldn’t leave her like this, there was no way Mum would allow it, she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that Hannah was happy, she had always said so, she had always promised…

But Death was something parents could not protect their children from, it seemed. The more Hannah thought on it, the more she became crushingly devastated, horrified to realise that each and every human on Earth had to endure this at some point. In different ways, at different times, with different feelings, but the mere act of bringing a child into the world was to condemn that child, one day, to the unbearable pain of loss. Every person she passed, she wondered, have you suffered as I have? Or is it yet to come for you? She wished she could spare them from it.

The aurors said she was probably targeted because she loudly and openly discussed her muggle heritage in the pub, and it must have been heard by the wrong people. That was what passed for bravery these days.

In the church of St Jerome, the stained glass window pattered with rain, and Hannah looked up at the colours of red and yellow and green rather than looking at the coffin with the splay of lilies, and she wondered when this nightmare would end, when Mum would come back, and tell her that everything would be all right.

***

Months passed in unbearable agony, worse than she could have imagined. But there were glimmers of light there too.

Here, at the school she thought she would never return to, in the place that was filled with unimaginable horror and oppression, she had purpose again. More purpose, in fact, than she had ever had in her life. And with it, new friendships that ran deeper than she had ever expected.

‘This way,’ Neville whispered, and they ran low across the lawn of the grounds. Some of the windows in the castle behind them blazed with light, so that she thought for a terrible moment that they must be visible from the Great Hall, but, of course, the windows would be black with night to anyone who looked out from them.

It was the summer term now, but the air was still cold as they panted, as though Dementors were close, which, she reasoned, they might be. She could feel the dew of the grass, left to grow long since Hagrid had left, soaking the bottoms of her jeans, seeping through her ratty trainers.

Following the dark shadow of Neville’s figure, she ran through the grounds until she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and, ahead, the slight shine of starlight reflecting off the greenhouses.

‘They’re in greenhouse three,’ Neville muttered, and her stomach dropped.

He did not notice, and continued to hurry along the garden path, past the raised beds for the hardier plants and herbs, and she followed, but at a walk now, dread gnawing at her.

He stopped at the door, holding his hands up to the glass to peer in. ‘OK…’ he said, still breathless from the run. ‘OK, looks clear… Now, while I talk to the venomous tentacula, you grab a tray, and fill it with perlite and only a few handfuls of compost, it’s a mountain plant so it likes it nice and rocky.’

‘OK,’ she said, and though she thought she sounded normal, he turned to her. She could barely make out his expression in the darkness.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I… I’m sorry, I just… I haven’t been in the greenhouses for a long time… especially not this one. I should have thought before I volunteered, I'm sorry.’

She felt immediately embarrassed for blurting it out, and she had no idea if Neville would even grasp what she was getting at. He had been in the class, yes, but did he even remember that day? What had been the worst day of her life had been a perfectly ordinary school day for the rest of her classmates, and so many terrible things had happened since then.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you out here.’

She thought he was telling her off, or saying that they had to go back, but before she had the time to feel hurt or ashamed, he was holding out his hand towards her.

She swallowed, and then placed her trembling hand in his. She was not unaccustomed to physical touch with him, or many others. Over the past year, she had tended wounds and comforted people as they cried, she had grasped hands and arms and knees under desks to soothe people or tell them to control themselves, she had passed secret notes and morsels of food and whatever else needed smuggling, slipping it nimbly from her fingers into their palms as they passed in the corridors.

But now his fingers pressed firm and reassuring against hers, and there was something very different about them holding hands.

She let him lead her into the greenhouse; the humid, warm air surrounded them at once, like an odd sort of hug that sat heavy on their lungs. Tall, leafy plants towered above them, brushing the domed glass high above their heads, which magically reflected the brilliant stars above them and lit the place in glorious silver.

Now that she was in here, she felt a little better. The dread that had stopped her ever returning here, that had caused her to drop herbology and pretend that this part of the castle no longer existed, had not come to pass. It was, after all, simply a greenhouse, and Mum could not die again.

‘Are you all right?’ he said gently.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’

He nodded, and reached for some gloves on a nearby bench. She missed his hand around hers. ‘Let’s move quickly, and get you out of here,’ he said, donning some goggles and a thick leather apron.

She went to the potting tables where Professor Sprout always stood, and seized a large seedling tray. As she took handfuls of compost and perlite, she could see Neville wrestling with the venomous tentacular, saying, ‘I’ll bring you doxy granules tomorrow - I’ll move you to a sunnier spot - I already checked with Professor Sprout - come on, you knew this was part of the deal, we agreed-’

Eventually, when he had tied enough of the writhing vines together with garden twine and stroked the shoots into calmness, he gave a nod to Hannah, and started to remove his protective gear as she hurried over and they squeezed behind the plant

There, on a table surrounded by blue lanterns to make up for the blocked light caused by the tentacula, were long, deep pots, stuffed with dittany. Their slender, arching stems were clustered with pleasant green leaves, with a dusty sort of whiteness, and they were dotted with pink flowers. She had never seen the plant as it was before; she had only ever remembered the little vials of dittany kept in their first aid kit, good for scraped knees and cuts from any broken glass in the pub. Mum had always said it was good to be prepared in an emergency, it had been one of her funny little things like that, along with being a bit of a hypochondriac, and so Hannah had had a vial in the bottom of her trunk when she returned to school. That, combined with her good potions knowledge, had helped her stumble into a kind of mothering role that she found had rather suited her.

‘I just need the flowers, the book says,’ she said, as Neville started gently pulling some up by the roots.

‘Yes, but I think it’d be good if I can grow another set somewhere, as a back up so we don’t have to keep sneaking out here. It’s just me and Seamus in the dorm, I don’t think he’d mind if I put them in the window between Harry and Ron’s beds. Here, take these, cut the flowers where the stem splits off - yeah, there - so it’ll grow back.’

‘It’s really pretty,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. It’s usually that the most useful plants are the ugliest.’

‘It is,’ said Neville absent-mindedly. ‘It’s from Crete. The healing properties were only discovered in the 17th century - people used to think it was an aphrodisiac, and it’s still used in some love potions.’

She looked at him, and though the light in the greenhouse was white starlight only, she could still see his cheeks burn red.

‘It’s… it’s not, though,’ he mumbled. ‘Well… a little bit, but I… I don’t know why I said that.’

‘Because it’s interesting,’ she said quickly, as he busied himself repotting the seedlings. He nodded rapidly, and cleared his throat a little, and she cast around for something to say. ‘You… you should be careful, growing these in the dorm. If you’re caught-’

‘There’s no rule against growing plants,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plants up there loads of times. Especially my mimbulus mimbletonia, that’s had pride of place for a while.’

‘You know they don’t need an explicit rule,’ she said quietly. ‘They do what they want. If they think you’re… doing anything good, anything kind. That’s enough.’

He nodded, looking down at the delicate, thin roots of the dittany. There was a reason that he and Professor Sprout were growing such an innocent plant in such secrecy. ‘I know… but… it’s worth the risk.’

‘That’s very brave.’

‘Is it? Just growing a plant? Is that what passes for bravery these days?’

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘Anything good does now. And it’s not just that.’ She paused, still cradling one of the delicate, rose pink flowers in her hand. ‘I mean… what were you thinking in muggle studies the other day? I hated seeing you screaming like that.’

‘Well I had to say something. It was repulsive, what she was saying about muggle children.’

‘No one believes her, no one really thinks-’

‘We don’t know that. Maybe some people might start believing her, because it’s easier. And anyway, it’s not just about that. Remember Umbridge?’

‘I try not to,’ she said dryly, and in the pale, washed out starlight she saw him grin.

‘I know it’s stupid, but as Ginny and Luna haven’t come back, and Harry and Ron aren’t here, or Dean, or loads of other people… I’ve been-’ he sighed, as though frustrated he couldn’t find the words, ‘I’ve been trying to think about what they would do. I can’t afford to be Neville Longbottom, I’ve got to be someone braver. And Harry used to just completely go off on her, used to tell her straight in lessons that You-Know-Who was back, and, yeah, it got him more trouble than it felt like it was worth at the time, but you know what? I always found it really inspiring.’

‘I did too,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember thinking… well… why would he stick to a lie through all that?’

‘Exactly. He had principles, and if he was here he wouldn’t stand for any of that rot. There’s a lot of times over the past few months where I’ve just tried to…’ he shrugged helplessly, ‘pretend that I’m Harry. That I’m brave.’

‘I don’t think you’re pretending at all,’ she said. ‘You are brave. You always have been. You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?’

‘Somehow.’

‘No somehow about it. You’re the bravest man I know, and that includes Harry.’

‘How on earth does it include Harry?’ he asked, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughter.

‘Because he’s had to be,’ she said. ‘I’ve grown up in Godric’s Hollow, you know, I’ve seen the ruined house that he lived in. He’s had to be brave all the way from when he was a baby. But I didn’t. You didn’t. You’ve chosen to be brave, you’ve chosen to channel him. You're a pureblood, you could choose, every day, to keep your head down and get on with things, but you don't. You stand up and call her a bigoted liar in class and get tortured and you never back down. I find that more inspiring than anything.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said quietly.

‘And you were brave lots of times even before. Don’t you remember winning those points all the way back in first year?’

He beamed, and looked at her directly, for the first time since he had blurted out that dittany was an aphrodisiac. ‘You remember that?’

‘Of course I do. Dumbledore pointing out about standing up to your friends - he was so right, that does take a lot of bravery. I tried to do it next year, when Ernie was telling me that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t as brave as you, but at least I tried, I suppose.’

‘I think you’re very brave too,’ he said. ‘Looking after everyone like this, handing out essence of dittany, running out here with me to get more… I’m sorry that you’ve had to come back in here. I didn’t think.’

‘I didn’t either,’ she said, and she started cutting more flowers. ‘I was just so focused on the idea of more, I didn’t really think about where I’d be getting it from… But, you know, I’m OK, actually. The thought of it was worse than the reality. It’s just a greenhouse.’ She looked around. The white starlight bleached the dark greenery into shades of silver, bounced off the watering cans, sparkled in the droplets of water from the sprinklers. ‘A very beautiful one.’

‘I like to think so,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘I always found this whole place beautiful, but now it… sometimes feels like only the greenhouses still are. They’re the only place I haven’t seen people being tortured.’

She paused. ‘I’m secretly thankful my mum isn’t alive to see this. Is that awful? I’m just glad she never had to worry about me being here. I feel bad enough for Dad.’

‘It’s not awful,’ said Neville. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Do you?’

‘My parents don’t know anything about what’s going on, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad,’ he said, and for some reason his words seemed to surprise him.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, and without thinking she put down the little secateurs and touched his arm. He breathed deeply, not quite meeting her eyes, pressing down one of the seedlings quite firmly into the tray, before finally turning to her.

‘I live with my gran, because… my…’ He took another deep breath, and suddenly there was a clanging from outside.

They froze, and heard a low voice swearing. 'Bloody wheelbarrow…'

Hearts thudding, they ducked down and stayed silent, Neville silently mouthing for Hannah to get onto the large empty shelf under the potting table, where bags of compost were usually kept. He reached up, fumbling for the secateurs, and then started crawling along on his belly.

'What are you doing?' she whispered, horrified. Alecto Carrow was opening the door to the greenhouse, still muttering and swearing about the wheelbarrow he had tripped over.

He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the venomous tentacula, which had begun to writhe against the twine. The snip snip snip of the secateurs seemed unreasonably loud, but from the other side of the greenhouse Carrow did not appear to hear them, rifling noisily through the plants and shrubs, sending terracotta pots crashing to the floor.

'Anyone in here?' he demanded. 'I saw your footprints in the gravel. Hello?'

The vines of the tentacula waved threateningly, and Hannah watched with trembling fear as one of them reached out to Neville, still prone on the ground, and started to wrap itself around his throat.

'Don't be cheeky,' she heard him mutter to it, and he calmly prodded it with the secateurs until it released him.

It kept one tendril around his ankle, but Neville seemed to allow it as a compromise, and instead watched through the vines as Carrow upturned a table, still shouting and swearing.

After several, agonisingly long minutes, Carrow came close to them. The venomous tentacula silently released Neville’s ankle, and raised it's spiked tendrils.

'OW! Son of a bludger-'

A long line of expletives followed, and the venomous tentacular shook noisily, whip-like noises echoing through the greenhouse as it reached after Carrow, now bolting from the room.

'Grab the tray,' Neville told Hannah. 'He'll be heading straight to the hospital wing, we should have a clear path back. Quickly, before the tentacula gets over-excited and turns on us-'

She did so at once and he held back the spiked vines as she squeezed past the plant, and hurried safely out of range.

She stood there, holding her tray of little dittany plants and the heads of the flowers. She watched as Neville easily unentangled himself from the tentacula, patted it, said, 'thanks mate,' and grabbed a clear cover for the tray. He came close to her as he fitted it over the dittany, protecting them from the cold night air they would have to hurry back through.

His face was inches from her own, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat a little as she looked up at him. There was a slight clunk as the lid of the tray found its place. For a moment, they were perfectly still, just their breathing in that humid place, and his eyes, shining light blue in the pale light, lifted from the tray of dittany to meet her own.

'Do you really think I'm brave?' he whispered.

She nodded, and he seemed to be steeling himself for something. Please, she thought, please make this place good for me again. Her hands gripped the edges of the tray.

Very gently, very slowly, he leaned closer over the tray. His hand moved as though to softly move her face to meet his, but he didn't need to, for she was already naturally tilting her head, and her heels were lifting a little off the ground without her bidding them to.

Their lips met, soft like the petals of the dittany between them, sweet like the fragrance. His fingertips were trembling slightly as they caressed against her cheek, but then they calmed as the kiss deepened.

The tray pressed into them as he tried to move closer, and it reminded them where they were. They broke apart, panting and gasping as though they had just finished the run down from the castle.

She had never kissed anyone before. She was glad, unbelievably, overwhelmingly, joyfully glad, that her first kiss had been with Neville, in this place where the warm air was scented with damp soil and sweet flowers.

'We… we should take these back,' he said, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Let - let me take them.’

He took the tray from her, and in her happy daze she allowed it, and let him lead the way out of the greenhouse. Joy had returned to her again, beneath the fogged glass, amongst the green plants, bursting with life.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #neville x hannah #tw: maternal death #tw: mentions of violence

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Time and Chance

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,028

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Confessions are tricky things. Sometimes it takes week, maybe months, maybe years of building up courage for one to happen. And sometimes life throws the oddest wrenches in our paths.

In which the reader confesses.

Author’s Note: I may or may not have decided to go full sappy this week, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you guys with my overbearing angst. Also I thought it was cute. Originally I wasn’t sure if I wanted the reader to be the one doing the confessing or whether it should be the character. I decided upon the reader on a whim essentially, with the idea that I could do the character later. We’ll see! The title today is reference to one of my favorite novels, written by Sharon Kay Penman. If anyone likes historical fiction I’d highly recommend it.

Today’s characters are Albedo, Childe, and Diluc. Tomorrow will be Kaeya, Xiao, and Zhongli. And maybe Keqing.

Like I said in my past post Happy Valentine’s Day! Although this time it’s Valentine’s Day proper.

Albedo

In your defense, who wouldn’t fall in love with Albedo?

The mysterious alchemist of Monstadt; sharp as a tack, insatiably curious, and blessed with an ethereal sort of beauty on top of it. Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a person?

And that was the problem. You’d sort of taken it for granted that everyone loved Albedo, and in that assumption you’d found a particularly distasteful discovery. That if everyone loved Albedo then you were hardly going to be the only one asking after his time. And, following that line of thought, you figured it’d be incredibly rude – not to mention supremely irritating for Albedo – for you to confess your feelings.

And it wasn’t as if you two were the closest in the world. Although you wouldn’t say you were total strangers either. You instead drifted in that odd in between; more than acquaintances, not quite friends. Or at least that’s how you interpreted it. Albedo didn’t seem to be the person with inclinations towards friendship in general, a not altogether untrue or wild assumption, so you remained content where you were, happy with the conversations you had, with the times he’d trust you with a piece of equipment or would explain to you in detail what he was working on. I mean, surely that was enough?

Absolutely not. Even in your state of perpetual irritation and fretting over your feelings, you knew that simply ignoring them was a ridiculous solution. When did that ever go well? Miscommunication was the relationship killer, no matter what type, and what could be more of a misunderstanding than this? You didn’t even know what he thought of you for Seven’s sake!

So you’d resolved yourself to telling him. Even if he’d be irritated surely he’d appreciate your honesty. And even if he didn’t you needed to tell him, for yourself if not for him.

It was with this in mind that you approached him one afternoon as he was working outside.

“Um, Albedo?” Your voice had taken on a slightly weak tone, as if you didn’t have enough air all of a sudden. It sounded weird, and you kind of wished you didn’t have to hear it. But that was par for the course when dealing something like this, although it didn’t make it any easier.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t notice you there.” Albedo turned around to look at you. You noticed that he’d swapped his regular tools for a paint set and an easel. Glancing at the painting you were struck by how he’d somehow managed to depict Cider Lake so accurately with so few brushstrokes. Never did you think about how the slight ripples that appeared in it could look a bit like circles. It was altogether impressive, and for a moment you forgot what you were doing, or perhaps you’d pushed it out of your mind.

“Was there something you wanted to ask?” Albedo’s voice pulled you out of your artistic musings. Evidently you weren’t going to be able to get out of it now. Come hell or high water, you were going to tell him.

“Well, so… you see, I… I really love you and your work!” The words came tumbling out, dropping like stones in the suddenly charged atmosphere. Almost immediately your nerves were replaced with a distinct sinking sense. “Uhm, rather. I mean –” you tried to begin again, but your voice had suddenly turned quite small, and you found yourself unable to continue.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Albedo’s voice was calm but not unkind, for a moment you felt your face grow warm. Was this actually going to happen? It’d be impressive considering how you’d botched it. “I’m so glad to hear there’s someone else interested in my work. I find that unfortunately a great many people take the world around them for granted. That you do not is commendable.”

You found you weren’t really sure what to say; admittedly the only thing going through your mind at the time was something along the lines of Holy shit. Holy shit I fucking blew it.

Okay, so maybe that was an absolute train wreck. Still, you’d gotten that far, and at this point you felt like it’d be harder to stop and deal with the memory of your botched pseudo-confession than to try again. So you steeled your courage and after a week or so you found yourself ready.

This time you tried for as he arrived at work. Originally you were going to wait for afterwards, but you found the anticipation was tearing you apart, and so decided for before. The anticipation, combined with your slight exhaustion, was nearly unbearable; and a not so small part of you kept telling yourself that this was a terrible idea, but you were too far gone.

“Fancy meeting you here at this time.” There was certainly surprise in Albedo’s voice, but he was smiling, and didn’t seem to mind at all when you stammered out that you wanted to ask him about something. He simply nodded, before unlocking his lab and gesturing for you to go in first.

You loved Albedo’s lab. Various pieces of equipment gleamed in the early morning light, everything properly labeled and put away; a stark contrast to the clutter of Albedo’s desk, filled with papers and the odd sample. The whole room was surprisingly nice in general, floors made of wood, painted over with a type of resin as to keep it from being properly damaged, multiple windows keeping the space surprisingly airy, and the smell of various herbs filling the air, though not so much as to be overpowering. You’d once mentioned to Albedo that the space seemed much to homey to be a proper lab. He’d merely laughed, replying that all homes should be comfortable, no matter how out of the ordinary.

Now you used said comfort and familiarity to ground yourself. This time you’d do it. This time for sure.

“So, um about my question?”

“Yes?” Albedo replied, dropping a few things on his desk. You took a breath, steadying yourself before pushing on ahead.

“Well… you know when I told you I liked you and your work?”

“Of course. I was very happy to hear it.” Albedo’s tone remained opaque, you had no idea how your words were registering.

“Well, you see, I wasn’t being completely clear. What I meant was more… well… well I like you, more than your work.” Seeing the look of confusion on his face you sped up slightly. “Not that I don’t like your work of course! It’s just, it’s just…” you were foundering again, feeling stupidly embarrassed. Becoming more and more frustrated with yourself you shook your head. “What I mean is I like you. Personally. And I like you a lot, more than just as acquaintances or as maybe friends. And I know that this is kind of out of the blue and kind of intrusive, and I’m sure there are a lot of people who like you. But I just wanted to tell you because, well I don’t know, just because.”

You took a deep breath, feeling as if you’d said altogether too many words. Glancing towards Albedo you saw a look of slight shock on his face. A feeling of dread was creeping up on you. Maybe it would’ve been better to say nothing.

“Well, I’m certainly flattered,” Albedo began, all your hopes beginning to sink. Urging yourself not to look away your nevertheless started picking at your fingernails, praying that at least the rejection would be over soon. “though I’m not really sure what you see in me. I’m hardly the ideal sort of person. And there certainly don’t seem to be many people who like me.” Albedo paused then; staring at him you found yourself in slight disbelief, sure that the sudden blush painting his cheeks was a figment of your imagination. “That being said, I cannot say that I don’t reciprocate your feelings. In truth I feel quite foolish now, only for assuming you were uninterested and refusing to try my hand at my own confession.”

“Really?” You didn’t mean for the tone of your voice to come out as so utterly disbelieving, but you couldn’t help yourself. Slightly light-headed you took a step forward, closing the space between you and the suddenly bashful alchemist in front of you. “You like me too?”

“Yes.” Albedo nodded slightly. “And, well, since you like me as well, might we…”

“Might we?”

“Might you do me the honor of becoming my partner?”

You found yourself giggling hysterically, half from the sudden release of nerves half from how ludicrous the situation had turned out to be. Seeing Albedo, looking for the first time uncertain and nervous, you stopped. Your face burst into a smile and you nodded.

“This is quite dramatic. But of course, of course I will.”

“I’m glad. But, might I say something?”

“Yes?”

“I wish you’d told me after work. If only because I’ll never be able to concentrate now.”

Childe

If you had to describe your crush on Childe in one word it would be: idiotic. If you had to describe it in a sentence it’d be; incredibly irritating but also impossible to ignore.

You liked Childe, you liked him a lot. And you couldn’t blame yourself. Childe was the ideal sort of partner; charismatic, athletic, with eyes that could make your heart skip a beat and hair that was asking for you to run your hands through it. Childe was attentive too, full of words that would make anyone swoon a bit, and always ready to listen, agreeing with you on every point and reacting just as you wished.

But that was the problem. Childe was a façade, his personality had been honed to be as sharp and as deadly as a knife. Of course he was understanding and charismatic and a perfect person to hold a conversation with, what else could one expect of a member of the Fatui?

At first you’d desperately tried to ignore your feelings, as if they were somehow embarrassing. You felt vaguely guilty for carrying a flame for Childe, as if you’d managed to fall into a trap you’d seen a ways away. It was an unpleasant feeling to be sure, and you tried to bury it as much as possible, sure it’d go away.

But it didn’t go away, instead your feelings somehow seemed to become more and more stubborn, as if insisting on leading you down the path that many fools who interacted with the Fatui had fallen down before. Childe was at the forefront of your mind.

You noticed when he passed by you, shooting you a blinding smile which always turned into a self-confident sort of smirk, no doubt a result of your inevitable blush. You noticed the way he always seemed to ask after your interests, but never failed to avoid more personal topics that might make you uncomfortable. You noticed how he laughed at your odd half-jokes and the way that his hand brushed your once, causing you to withdraw your own as if burned, stammering out a “nothing” when he asked what was wrong.

But still you refused to tell him. Surely that was what he wanted, another person who could be called upon to give information to the Fatui, or perhaps assist in their dirty work. That wouldn’t be you, that would never be you.

It was snowing on your way home, blocking out the normal sounds and casting the world in an eerie sort of beauty. You wished that it wasn’t so late, cursing yourself for once more forgetting how early the sun set. It didn’t help that it was blindingly cold, and that you were dressed for weather that was at least ten degrees warmer. Hurrying along you were thinking about the meal that you were going to have, unaware of the slick patch of ice lying in front of you.

“Whoah, be careful!” You were yanked out of your thoughts with alarm. Glancing around you quickened your pace, shoes slipping immediately on the ice. However instead of a hard fall on the street you found a pair of arms wrapped under yours. Glancing up you found your face only centimeters away from Childe’s.

“Sorry for causing that.” Childe’s voice was clear as a bell, marking the contrast between the two of you in your mind. Lifting you up he chuckled slightly. “I should’ve realized that a random voice yelling at you would be alarming. Nothing bruised I hope?”

“N-no.” You managed, face burning. You’d never gotten this close to Childe before, not really, and the experience was going straight to your head, as if you’d suddenly gotten very, very drunk. Shaking your head you shifted your glanced towards the ground. “Thank you.” You managed, although your voice was soft enough to be inaudible. You were still trying to process what was happening. One question kept replaying itself in your mind, why had he called out, why had he noticed you?

“I’m glad!” Childe’s voice was a beautiful thing, and you found you couldn’t really think when listening to it. “I was a bit worried I wasn’t in time.”

“Yeah…” you replied. Suddenly the situation dawned on you completely, and you found yourself looking at him with no little suspicion. “Why do you pay so much attention to me?” You blurted out.

“What do you mean?” The expression on Childe’s face was one of perfect confusion, but you could tell that he’d been somehow caught. The tone of his voice was suddenly muddied, as if you were hearing his uncertainty for the first time. This gave you courage to press forward.

“I mean it. Why, why do I always see you? I mean, why do you even pay attention to me? I’m not the kind of person to forget who you are, the fact that you’re a member of the Fatui. I won’t be roped into your schemes, no matter how much I like you.” Shit. That last part was supposed to be only in your head. For a moment you weren’t sure if you hadn’t actually hit your head somehow.

Childe looked frozen, his expression blank, filled with disbelief as well as… bashfulness? If that’s what it was it certainly didn’t fit the normal vision of Childe, still you found yourself somehow compelled by it. This was a part of the real Childe.

“I… didn’t realize you’d notice. Now I feel found out!” He chuckled again, but this time it was distinctly nervous, and he turned to the side slightly. Suddenly he paused, and his eyes snapped towards yours. “Wait, rewind. You like me?”

“…Yeah.” I mean what were you supposed to say?

“I can’t believe this.” The widest grin spread across Childe’s face, and he started bouncing on his toes slightly, it was very cute you could give him that.

“You’re ignoring the rest of my words. Personal feelings or not I still hate the Fatui, and I still don’t know why you’d target me anyways.”

“It’s cause I like you, can’t you tell?” Childe’s words rammed into you, utterly unexpected; seeing you shake your head he once more closed the space between you two. “No, I mean it. I like you. I just can’t believe that you like me back.” He let out another huff of laughter. “I can’t believe I’m this lucky, I’ve never been this lucky. Well, I’m sorry that I came off like I was some Fatui creep, I promise my occupation doesn’t include systematic wooing of civilians.”

“How can I trust you?” You were trying to stand your ground, but in reality you’d already fallen. The situation was too much, and what little resistance you’d managed to hold on in the past weeks was tearing to shreds before your own eyes.

“Because I wouldn’t lie about this.” Childe was suddenly still, his expression deadly serious. “I promise I wouldn’t lie about something like this. The fact is I like you, I like you a lot. I know my job is… unconventional to say the least; I also know that it’s entirely fair if you don’t want to associate with me because of it. But at least trust in my feelings being real, okay?”

What could you do? You nodded, a short “I trust you” falling from your lips. The feeling of happiness was surprisingly sedate, mixed with nerves, yet also somehow filled with contentment. It felt so good, it felt so good just to let go and accept what had happened. You liked Childe, you liked him so much, and he like you too. What more was there to say?

“May I ask you something?” Childe asked, voice slightly husky. Your faces were once more barely apart, and you found that you could stay like this for ages and ages.

“Yes?”

“May I hold your hand?”

You let out a laugh, smiling brightly as you slid your hand into his.

Diluc

You weren’t even sure how this one happened.

It wasn’t that Diluc wasn’t the perfect kind of guy, I mean if he wasn’t you probably wouldn’t be falling madly into one sided love with him. It was just that you two didn’t actually have much of a chance to interact with one another, what with him being the manager and part time bartender of a surprisingly vast winery, and with you being an adventurer and someone not likely to get plastered any time soon.

But the few times that you had interacted with him, usually something to do with guarding the alcohol he was exporting, had been enough to cement an intense infatuation in your mind. There was just something about him; whether it was his voice, his polite yet intense form of speech; his mannerisms, always perfectly on time with what he needed, something which helped you and the Guild immensely; or his general charm, okay look he had great hair; you’d simply gone mad for him.

And mad indeed you were. Though you weren’t about to become a stalker – besides being incredibly creepy on principle since when did that land a person in anything but jail – you’d taken to trying to find out a least a little more about him. Because if you were going to be infatuated with someone it should at least be for more than his organizational skills and the fact his hair would look great in a high ponytail.

And what you’d found out only built upon your crush. The fact that he found the Knights of Favonius lacking, though perhaps a bit unconventional, was ultimately reasonable, or at least justifiable. You liked also that he refrained from drinking, and not just because the idea of ending the night sick in the bathroom was something that haunted you a bit. The more you learned the more you wished that you were in a situation where your feelings could be reciprocated, or at least where you could become friends of some degree. Really you just wanted him to notice your existence, sure he could pick you out in the endless sea of adventurers.

So you planned on introducing yourself at some point, at least as his almost designated wine protector. The only problem was when. Diluc seemed to be busier and busier these days, and when he was around he seemed muted, as if he was carrying something. You couldn’t bring yourself to add to his burden your own baggage. So you said nothing, and as your crush grew so did your dejection.

It was a lovely summer evening and, seeing as your apartment had becoming stifling in the daytime, you’d taken a walk, snaking through the streets of Monstadt before exiting via the back gate, glad to see there were no guards around. Walking down towards the banks of the lake you slipped off your shoes and dipped your feet into the water. Letting out a sigh you sat down and tilted your head back, enjoying the slightly breeze on your face, trying to take your mind off of the past months of agony. The world faded into background noise, and you found yourself in a state of pseudo peace, glad to have it, if only for a moment.

“Watch out!” A familiar voice broke through your reverie. Turning your head towards the source of your disruption you saw a masked figure as well as a cryo abyss mage. The mage, having correctly decided you were going to be easier to deal with than the actively armed person, suddenly appeared right in front of you. Acting on instinct you pushed your hand in front of you, letting electricity bloom from your fingertips.

As the abyss mage lay stunned your felt an arm wrap around your waist, dragging you a ways away. “Wait here.” The person carrying you said, before running back to fight. Finally getting a good look at your savior it was all you could do not to gasp. Despite being the cold hard truth you still found it hard to believe, and for a second you wondered if you hadn’t passed out somewhere and were having a particularly fantastic dream.

Finally the fighting was over, lifting yourself up you jogged over to the man who could only be the Darknight Hero.

“Master Diluc?” The words flew out of your mouth.

“Just Diluc please.” Diluc shook his head. “Forgive me for being a bit rough. Cryo abyss mages and electro users rarely work well together.”

“It’s perfectly fine!” You replied eagerly. “Really, thank you!”

Diluc offered a smile in reply, one that immediately made your heart seize up. Suddenly you remembered who the person in front of you was. Seized at first with something akin to embarrassment you also came to a sudden realization. This might be the only chance.

“Diluc?”

“Yes?”

“Well, can I say something?”

“Of course you may.” Diluc relaxed his stance, leaning slightly forward. Your face was burning, you really weren’t expecting something like this to happen, but it was now or never.

“I realize this will be quite sudden, but I… I like you.” You felt the urge to add on something, some explanation or apology, but unfortunately, or perhaps thankfully, you found you couldn’t say anything more. Running your fingers through your hair you lowered your head slightly, not wanting to see the expression on his face.

“Can I say something?” Diluc’s voice was gentle, and you couldn’t help but look up at him. Though you wouldn’t say his stance had changed very much, he somehow seemed more relaxed, something you weren’t expecting.

“Of course! I realize what I said must really be a shock, I’m really sorry.” You let out a pathetic sort of laugh.

“Don’t be sorry. I realize what I’m about to say must be equally as shocking. But, the fact of the matter is I like you as well.”

“I didn’t realize you knew I existed!” You replied, still not ready to drop your defense mechanisms. Diluc stared at you, a perplexed expression on his face.

“I’m quite surprised by that, I thought that my request for you to be the guild member in charge of the Winery would’ve been an indicator. Forgive me, I didn’t realize that you were unaware.”

“I thought that was a decision by the Guild to make things easier.” You admitted. “Although I guess I just didn’t want to admit that you might be aware of my existence.”

“Why?”

“Because that would’ve been scary! I mean, what if you didn’t like me, not in that way, just… in general.”

“Well I like you a lot.” Diluc’s voice was soft and warm.

“I like you two.” You replied, voice barely above a whisper.

As he escorted you back to your home the two of you spoke about a myriad of things, some important and some quite mundane. You found that having your feeling reciprocated had truly opened up something in you. Suddenly everything seemed so much realer, made manifest by Diluc’s presence. You couldn’t believe it really. What had failed with months of planning had succeeded in a matter of moments.

And all because of an unsuspecting abyss mage.

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

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Day 16: Tulips

With the possible exception of all of the eighth years getting along and actually becoming friends, regardless of their former rivalries, the first half of Draco's eighth year at Hogwarts was remarkably ordinary. Funny how it took a war to see that they were all just children and all being used as pawns in a bigger game.

There was also, for Draco, the realization that he had a bit of a crush on Potter. He found that he actually really enjoyed the other boy's company; he enjoyed his snarkiness and the way that Draco could see mischief in his eyes. He liked the way Potter listened, liked the way he always seemed to want to casually touch other people. He liked him, plain and simple.

But other than the unlikely truces turned friendships (and in the case of Potter, turned crush) nothing weird happened, no one tried to kill him (or other students), no prophecies were unveiled, there were no dementors, no psychopath teachers, nothing. It was almost enough to make Draco bored.

Almost.

There was nothing strange until one unassuming morning in March, when they were all sitting in the great Hall, eating breakfast, and quizzing each other for the upcoming test in Transfiguration.

Potter interrupted the heated debate that Draco was having with Granger with a blurted, "What the fuck?"

Everyone looked over at him, including Hermione and Draco, to see what had happened.

"There's a tulip in my coffee cup!" the other boy said.

"So there is," Draco replied in amusement.

Everyone chuckled and Potter tried to figure out who had put the bright yellow tulip there but Draco really didn't have time to think about that because he and Hermione were back to arguing about Transfiguration theory.

He probably wouldn't have thought about it again but that evening as they got ready for bed, Draco felt a strange twinge in his magical core, like you got when you were preparing to cast a strong spell.

Before he could really dig into what had happened, Potter's bed curtains flew open, "Alright, you lot," he said, a laugh ruining the stern look he was attempting. "Who put this here?" he asked, holding out a red tulip that he'd apparently found on his pillow.

(Read more below the cut)

Each of them denied having any knowledge of how the tulip could have found its way into Potter's bed, but a bit of unease settled in Draco's stomach. Potter put the second tulip in with the first in the vase on the windowsill and laughed it off.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was a story he'd been told as a child. A story that he couldn't quite grasp but filled him with a bit of apprehension none the less.

Still, this was nothing like the sort of anxiety that Draco had been accustomed to forcing himself to sleep through for the past few years, so he put it from his mind and went to sleep.

And again, he might have been able to forget about it, if it weren't for the fact that the next morning he felt a tug at his magical core and then a few minutes later, Potter appeared with another tulip. White this time and he'd found it in the pocket of his robes. "Seriously, what the hell you guys?" he laughed.

Everyone else laughed too, but Draco frowned, the memory of the story niggling at the back of his mind once more, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He continued to try to remember throughout the rest of the week and Potter continued to get tulips. They showed up in his book bag, the showed up in place of his quills, they showed up on his plate at meals, they showed up everywhere and anywhere. One even replaced his loofa in the shower.

By the end of the week, Potter was getting a bit irritated and he'd had to enlarge the vase multiple times to fit all of the tulips. Draco wasn't sure why Potter hadn't just thrown them out, but it wasn't his place to say anything, certainly.

On Saturday, when everyone had gone off to Hogsmeade for the morning, Draco fire called his mother.

"Draco, darling," she said, smiling at him, "I'm so pleased to hear from you. How are you?"

He endured the predictable pleasantries before he said, "Listen, mother, the reason I called," he paused there because this was all a bit ridiculous. "Well, it sounds silly really, but there was a story you told me when I was little," he said. "Something about a wizard who had flowers appear out of nowhere? I can't remember it."

"Why?" she asked, her face serious. "Draco, why are you asking me about that story?"

"No reason," he said quickly. "It's just something that came into my head," he lied.

"Who's receiving tulips, Draco?"

"It's nothing!" he repeated. "And I never said there were any tulips."

"If I tell you the story, will you tell me the truth?"

Draco sighed but nodded.

"The story," she began, "was about your great, great, great uncle Silas. Silas was a difficult man, everyone always said so. He was haughty and rude; he was quite clever but not terribly gracious about it."

"Mother," he interrupted, his knees were growing cold and sore from kneeling on the common room floor, "could we just skip to the meat of the story."

"Yes, alright," she sighed. "Long story short, Silas fell in love with a muggleborn. His family obviously refused to let him get married, assuming that the love would fade eventually. There was an arranged marriage in there as well, but that's not really important. What is important, is that the person he fell in love with began to find tulips everywhere. Every time she went to pick up something, it turned into a tulip; at her home, her work, everywhere she went, tulips."

Draco felt something in the pit of his stomach drop. This couldn't be happening.

"He was pining for her, heartbroken that he couldn't be with her," she said. "Now, magic can't create something from nothing, so in each of the tulips was a little bit of Silas' magic."

"Like a horocrux?" he asked in horror.

"No, darling, nothing so sinister as that. But the flowers were slowly draining his magical core and he was growing steadily weaker." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "So, as the story goes, when he was so weak he could barely summon the strength to stand, he went to her to confess his love. What did it matter if he was going to die? When he told her of his love, she kissed him and his magic was restored. The family was convinced that it was true love and that the love that bound the two of them together was obviously stronger magic than that of blood status."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face, "So, this was a true story?"

"Yes, it's all rather well documented as it would have to be in the case of something like this." She gave him her most commanding look, "Now, I've held up my end of the bargain, so it's your turn. Tell me who's receiving tulips, Draco."

"Harry Potter," he whispered.

Her eyebrows rose, "You have to tell him, Draco."

"I can't!" he said, shaking his head, "You know I can't. He couldn't possibly feel the same way, he couldn't possibly love me, too-"

Something shattered behind him and he yanked his head back to see the boy in question standing there, bouquet of tulips in his hands. The vase had dropped and been smashed, water was soaking into Potter's socks but he didn't seem to notice.

Draco promptly ended the fire call with his mother and wondered if it would be possible to transfer to Beauxbatons to complete the year. It was either that or he should just go off to die.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Most of it," Potter confessed with a little wince. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but then I heard her talking about how everything in that girl's life became tulips and I knew you were talking about me. I didn't realize how the story would end," he hastened to add. "I just thought that she might know something about a curse or spell that had been cast on me."

Draco rubbed his forehead, "Look, could you just forget about the whole thing?"

"Forget about it?" Potter asked, sounding a little hysterical at this point. "Draco, it turned six quills into tulips in the past three days. Six!" he shook his head. "No, I can't forget about it and I certainly can't let you die."

Draco stood up and balled his hands into fists, "Always ready to play the hero aren't you?"

"What?" the other boy asked, obviously taken aback.

"Ready to play the martyr," he sneered. "Well I won't have it. I won't have you tying yourself to me just because you're afraid that I'll die if you don't return the sentiment."

"But I already do return the sentiment," Harry said, sounding bewildered. "Sorry, maybe I should have said so, but I thought that was obvious from the story."

"What?"

"Well, your mum said that it was true love's kiss that restored his magic, true love that made it possible for the flowers to appear in the first place. I just assumed it was obvious that I was in love with you, too."

"You are?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe that this was possible.

"Yeah," Harry replied with a little shrug. "I mean, I thought maybe it would have been good to start with a date or something," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's why I'm still here, I wanted to invite you to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"You did?"

Harry nodded again. "But I'm glad to kiss you, for the unselfish reason that it will restore your magic," he said, glancing down at the flowers in his hands before looking back up, "And for the selfish reason that I would really just like to kiss you."

"You would?" he asked.

Harry huffed at him, "Are you going to stop sounding like you doubt every word out of my mouth?"

"Sorry, it's just-" Draco started but then Potter was across the room, dropping the tulips as he cupped Draco's face in his hands and leaned in until they were a mere inch apart.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering between Draco's.

"Yes," Draco breathed.

Harry gave him a little grin and leaned in to kiss him, his soft, full lips, gently caressing Draco's, and Draco felt like his heart stopped beating for a moment before a surge of magic, and joy, and love came rushing in and filled him to bursting.

He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and pulled him in closer and Harry hummed, molding his lips to Draco's for a moment before pulling back and resting their foreheads together.

"That was-" Draco started.

"Fantastic," Harry agreed. "Do you feel better? Not going to die on me or anything?"

Draco laughed and pinched his side, "I think we were a long way off from that."

"I don't know," Harry replied, tilting his head to press a kiss to the tip of Draco's nose. "There were an awful lot of tulips."

"Yes," Draco replied, pulling back to look at the tulips strewn about the floor, "And you've dropped them all on the ground. That's quite rude, you know."

Harry huffed at him, "Prat," he said fondly before drawing away to swish his wand and collect all of the tulips and put them back into the repaired vase. "So," Harry said, "I think tulips may be my new favorite flower."

"Mine, too," Draco replied with a smile.

And when they got married, two years later, there were tulips everywhere.

Day 15: Wings | Day 17: Salt

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #boys in love #true love conquers all #drarry #day 16 #thanks so much for the prompt anon #enjoy

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savagenutella46 · 3 years

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Standing Here With You

A valentine’s day gift for @thecaptainhelm lm. (By the way, I love you so much and you’re amazing) I hope YOU have an awesome eventful day filled with lots of love because you’re such an amazing writer and I love you!!!!!!

Also, @eat0crow , who is moderating the gift exchange! Thank you for all you’ve done!

Everyone has a soulmate.

It's not a notable deal. Though it's something many people cherish and look forward to, it's just as much an ordinary fact as primary color mixing: that's just how the world works.

Blue and yellow mix correspond with each other to produce green; soulmate A and soulmate B each have tattoos to correspond with one another, completing either tattoo on the skin of their other half.

Marinette will be damned if she finds anyone to match her tattoo. She'd loved it as a child, sitting through boring classes with a pout and jittery knees so she could rush home and admire the strange tattoo that covered the length of her inner forearm.

But now, she couldn't find a single thing to be more ashamed about.

Even as she moves halfway across the world from taunting bullies and mind-controlling sociopaths, the damage is done.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not want a soulmate.

She does not want to disappoint, to never live up to her soulmates expectations, because, "Your soulmate wouldn't like those pigtails, Marinette." and, "How could someone want a bully like you?"

Marinette does not want to relive her lycée experience, covering her mark every chance she could get so that Lila Rossi wouldn't antagonize whoever was on the other end of her soul line.

She’d watch as other people’s—normal—soul marks started to glow, indicating the one thing soulmarks are responsible for. Marinette witnessed on the sidelines as everyone she knew and had learned to love and lose found their other half, and left her in the dark. Watching, seeing, but never to experience what it was like. To find your soulmate.

Her mark. A white rose hanging upside down at the epiphysis of her radius, petals spread wide against each other, some looked as though they were flowing freely in the air, and some looked as though they were stuck to one another.

A deep red liquid spurting out of the center, running down the limp rose and glazing its petals as it oozes from the center bottom and down the sides of her arm, creating for a unique, yet concerning mosaic upon her forearm.

"Is that blood?" They'd asked, some looking curious, and some looking downright disgusted at the mere sight of her mark. Something that was supposed to be naturally celebrated, not hated and sneered upon. They were convinced she'd be a menace to her soulmate, like soulmates were anything other than fate.

Marinette did not know if it was blood, obviously. There was no superior entity whispering to her at night, informing her of every single petal's weight in grams. Instead, it was easier to have a friend pick apart the dubious meaning of such a cryptic mark, unlike so many others, hers was not so simple.

Kagami, especially, had a great eye for these things. The meticulous thought that girl compartmentalizes for the sole topic is unbelievable at first glance. It's only when you see much more of her, do you understand why she even bothers with soulmarks.

"You wouldn't believe the meaning behind such marks, Marinette. It's only when you start to break the first barrier, do you know." Okay, so, Marinette had no such way with words as the world-class fencer, but she was pretty sure the girl was saying that marks represent people the way names represent their spices.

Salt, for example. You can just tell the flavor of salt by it’s damn name.

“You’re the epitome of innocence, Marinette,—“ Marinette begs to differ, she’s read fanfiction. “But it seems you’ve been hurt, aged more than what a white rose will represent for you. That’s where the blood paints over you, like a parasite.” Marinette furrows her eyebrows at Kagami, a reoccurring gesture that will give her wrinkles by the end of the year, she knows, but it’s Kagami.

They’re sitting in their apartment, high above the Gotham smog and litter they’ve learned to acquaint themselves with, and looking out over the city from their ratty second-hand couch.

—Because Marinette wants to live with someone who will break her finger and then call her stupid and put a cast on it for whatever reason, you feel?

Another twig, green leaves still growing out of it—though, probably not since the severance—blows by their window, spurred on by a lone gust and back down to the ground, plummeting to an unfortunately placed puddle on the pavement.

“Stop moping.” Marinette makes a face.

“I was not moping.”

“You were making that sad face you make when you see a puppy walking by itself on the street. You’re moping. Why?” Marinette huffs in annoyance, and turns to look at her friend, who’s already staring with an exasperated quirked eyebrow.

She flounders for words, making exuberant gestures with her hands as she tries not to look Kagami in the eye.

An audible exhale from the woman. “You’re worried about, what, your soulmate, for whatever reason?”

Marinette looks down at her mark, it’s entrancing rose petals glowing brightly against her skin, almost alike to the glittery sheen of highlighter she so often brushes onto her cheekbones.

“It started glowing last night, Kagami.” Marinette worries her lip and continues to stare at the now pulsing, almost obnoxious glow of her rose, the red liquid that spurts from its center taking on a glamorous shine.

“That’s wonderful. Right?” Kagami adds, when she fails to find a response.

It should be. She knows that. She should be joyous right now, jumping ecstatically and rejoicing at the fact that she might find her soulmate sooner than later, but the ever-impending doom of, ‘what if’ continuously pops up in her brain, muddling any chance of happiness she might’ve had.

Marinette’s psyche is aged. She’s been through things. A lot of things that most people haven’t been through. Deaths, loss of loved ones, reoccurring terrorist attacks, and so much more that puts a haunted look in her eye and a deep hunch in her shoulders. She couldn’t bear to see the look on her soulmate’s face.

Kagami seems to read her mind and makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “Let’s go to the zoo.” So spontaneous, it almost makes Marinette do a double take.

“You? Want to go to the zoo?” She stares at Kagami, the latter unwavering with a borderline determined look on her face that says, ‘Nope. No fighting me on this one.’

“Distraction.” Is all she says, and for once, Marinette agrees that, yes, maybe a distraction is in order.

The Gotham City Zoo proves to be a great distraction, in between the hippo exhibit and the jungle-themed building just for showcasing snakes, Marinette finds a rather warmth in her heart.

Marinette grins widely at the crocodiles lounging across various rocks, seemingly not a care in the world is thrown around in between her and the fenced crocodiles, and she harbors a sort of piece standing alone. (Kagami had ditched her at the zebras for the lions.)

Distantly, she hears what sounds like two people fighting—or, bickering.

“—over here, got bit by a crocodile.” An erupt of laughter from two different voices, one distinct with a low raspy laugh, and the other, who starts hacking nastily in the middle of it.

“Those cigarettes do not benefit you, Todd. This is not a laughable event.” A third voice juts in, and she has to turn her head, locate the source of whoever said that.

Three men, one looking younger than the other two, stand slightly to the right of her in front of the crocodile exhibit, the two older men seem to be laughing at the younger’s expense—how do you even get bitten by a crocodile? She decides to not judge. This is Gotham, after all.

And, oh.

The guy they seem to be laughing at has the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen. Ink black hair frames his face beautifully, as he sneers down at the other two. The stranger doesn’t seem to notice her stare, but it’s cut short anyway by the sudden immense throbbing of her forearm.

Marinette winces, and slowly pulls down her sleeve to see her soul mark is—

Finished. It’s glowing, glowing far more than it had been over the course of the past two days, glowing so much she can barely squint to see that buried deep in the middle of her rose, a pristine dagger.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but make an incoherent sound that fights its way up her throat.

A tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see the boy she was shamelessly staring at is right in front of her, and, woah, he’s tall. Marinette cranes her head up to look at the boy who so quickly grabbed her attention.

He also has the prettiest blush on his face, his eyes darting in between her and his companions, who seem to be laughing even harder, and in the distance, she hears a crude nickname being thrown at him.

“Holy shit, Demon Brat actually has a soulmate—“ a sentence cut off by more wheezing laughter, so she turns her gaze back to the boy in front of her.

“I’m Damian, you’re...soulmate.” The last word comes out wonky, like he couldn’t believe his own words, but she understands. He’s staring at Marinette now, bright green gaze fixed so intently on her, and she can’t help but blush, herself.

“Marinette. I figured, actually, when my arm started to sting like a bitch.” She says, once her mouth finally aligns with her brain and she gets the courage to say something relevant to smart.

Damian cracks a small smile, and she finds herself following the gesture with her eyes. It’s a beautiful movement, one she can tell is foreign to him, a shame.

And she doesn’t feel jittery. More at peace, looking at the equally aged look deep in his eyes, and the mark right in the middle of her forearm, she can guess he’s been through a hell of a lot, maybe more than she has.

Marinette will spend a lifetime learning what lies behind his exterior, looking at him now.

She supposes this soulmate thing won’t be too hard, after all, even as the two men behind them keep bickering and laughing at their predicament in front of the crocodile exhibit.

#maribatdrabbleexchange #maribat #daminette #mlb x dc #damian x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #damian

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astriefer · 3 years

Note

If you want to, how about prompt 36 with thomastair?? 🤍

Prompt 36 - "Don't move. it'll be okay."

Thank you for this ask!! This is so terribly late but I hope it's enough for you. This is really bad because I had inspiration and then it died and then assignments and family and I'm running late. But... just in time for holiday! So have this piece please 🙏 Didn't check it too much so sorry for type errors and such thank you

TW throwing up and illness.

When the Merry Thieves had gotten the message Thomas wouldn't join them that day, they were suspicious.

"It's not Thomas's handwriting," Matthew said thoughtfully to James and Christopher.

Christopher fixed his spectacles on his nose and took a glance at the parchment. "But who wrote it if not Thomas?"

As always, the group of Thieves (lacking Thomas) was hanging around the Herondale manor. Cordelia and Lucie had gone to train together, and Effie was busy preparing titbits and coffee for them. They waited for Thomas to approach in all his giant glory, half-predicted him to come with Christopher, but he did not arrive. After half an hour, and just as Matthew complained, "Had Thomas gotten himself kidnapped in the course of the night?" a runner came at the front door. The message he carried was what they had been looking at for the past few minutes.

James shrugged. "Alastair, I assume," his golden eyes scanned the carefully written words. "They do live together."

"It claims him to be feeling unwell," Matthew said. "Do you think it's because he finally realized what a nuisance Alastair is?"

James gave him a look. "Matthew."

"It's in good spirits!" Matthew defended, raising his hands. When James still looked at him pointedly, he lowered his hands and murmured. "To some extent."

James sighed. As long as he didn't say it in front of Thomas, Cordelia, or Alastair himself, he concluded it wasn't the worst thing. They were civil with each other's presence, which was progress. He couldn't be mad at Matthew anyhow. He placed the paper down, regarded his friend with a shrug.

"What ho," Christopher said. "Your definitions for good spirits may cross the traditional ones."

"Well, it's not my fault the ordinary interpretations are substantially dull," Matthew retorted.

Christopher hummed and stopped paying attention, seemingly engrossed in a new idea of an invention that must have captured his mind. Matthew gave him a fond smile and then cut his gaze back to James. "So, are we going?"

"Where?" James asked as Matthew stood up. His parabatai straightened his double-breasted waistcoat, which had decorations of an exotic animal on it.

He must have looked dumbfounded because Matthew added kindly, "Oh, Jamie bach," Matthew clicked his tongue at him. "Can you truly believe Thomas is sick?"

"That's what written here," he tapped on the papyrus. Matthew clicked his tongue again. His eyes were shining dangerously. "I know that look. What ill thing your mind hallucinated this time?"

"Everything I think of is a masterpiece, mind you. And clearly," Matthew said, leaning forward in his seat, "He scribbled some poor excuse to spend time with Alastair. But he said he would come. And if he won't come to us, we will come to him. So we shall step up to their flat and demand our Thomas."

"It doesn't sound like Thomas to fake such a thing." James's eye deterred away to the clock on the wall. He had the idea if it was something else, not a possibility of Thomas favoring Alastair's company over theirs, it would die silently.

"It sounds a bit petty," Christopher noted. His hands tapped on the floor, fingers twisting as if he desired to be in Henry's lab and write down his findings.

"It's not," Matthew promised. "We needn't have a reason to see Thomas. Besides, don't you want to tell him about your latest experiment?"

Christopher's eyes lit up at that. He shoved his spectacles up his nose, nodding. "Yes, it would be good. I made some progress he should be filled in about."

"Great!" Matthew commented. "Let's go."

"Poor Kit," James teased as he got up. "You use science to tempt him?"

"I have no clue what you are talking about," Matthew graced him with a brilliant smile."I merely harness the power of science for my good deeds."

~~~~

As it turned out, unwell was an underestimate.

"What are you doing here?" Alastair asked when he opened the door of the flat. James was a bit stunned to see how disheveled and bedraggled he looked, a stark contrast to his usual display. His clothes were rumpled and crumpled and he looked awfully gassed.

The three soon cut free of their astonishment, and Christopher talked first. "Hullo, Alastair. We have come to see Thomas."

Alastair blinked but otherwise remained still. "I delivered you a message. He isn't feeling well."

"We had an essential piece of enlightenment to share with him," Matthew supplied. Alastair gave him an indifferent look.

"He isn't feeling well," Alastair repeated. James started to think it was a bad idea to come - Alastair clearly wasn't fancy to usher them inside. From inside the flat, a smell of soup traveled in the air.

Matthew's green eyes faced Alastair's unabashedly. "Why, let us see him, then. There's nothing our engaging presence can't aid. Tom will be feeling much better if he sees us."

"He needs to rest, not play games with his friends-"

A broad-shouldered figure came behind him, towering over him. " 'm fine."

Matthew wasn't the only one with a twisted interpretation of rudimentary words, apparently. James was fairly sure 'fine' shouldn't mean being so pale or to have big bruises-like black shadows under your eyes; nor did he think someone feeling fine should be looking so lightheaded and sick. Thomas's moss of light brown hair was mussed and tousled. He looked, frankly, even worse than Alastair - sweaty and tapped up.

"Thomas?" James asked.

The tall man shifted his gaze to James rather slowly. Instantaneously he realized Thomas was leaning his hand against the wall for support, and not for the sake of doing it. He was unsteady. "Greetings. I was going to get ready and come by your house, James."

"You should be in bed," Alastair protested.

Thoams's stance was defensive. "I am plenty fine, thank you, I don't need any rest in bed."

A muted sigh escaped Alastair's lips. He glanced at the three of them. "May you put some reason into him? You could at least do that after turning up here."

"I am standing right here," Thomas pointed out. He sounded almost too drained-out to resist. Alastair seemed unimpressed.

Christopher hesitated. "You do look a bit green around the gills, Tom."

"You look liverish, and not in a neat way," Matthew added.

"You have no need to dot on me," Thomas insisted. Annoyance took over his features. "I have rested enough. I shall-"

He cut off abruptly, gagging. He turned over back into the apartment, a hand over his stomach, and ran inside. With a last skeptical glance thrown toward them, Alastair charged after Thomas.

James stood in front of the front door, bewildered, till Matthew passed him and flung the door open for them to enter.

Christopher followed with no protest. "What?" Matthew asked when James shot him a dark look. "They left the door open, thus I regard it as an invitation to permit ourselves inside."

With that philosophy in mind, they passed the corridor into the parlor. Accompany to the horrible sound of vomiting - James guessed it was Thomas's part - they could catch a low, soothing murmur of calming words. Alastair.

"You were wrong," Christopher said as he turned to Matthew. His voice was not self-righteous whatsoever, just matter-of-factly and troubled. "He is feeling ill."

Matthew seemed abashed, just slightly. "I wouldn't have been aghast if told he wanted to spend time with his lover."

They settled themselves nervously on the Aegean-blue sofa. As a few minutes passed - slow, confused, and worried - the sound of retching had finally petered out. They heard the noise of the water goes down the toilet.

"You think we should check whether they are fine?" Christopher asked.

"He honked up all he ate for breakfast. He must need to collect himself, and we should let him - unless you think he can somehow drown himself in the seek of the toilet." Matthew pondered over the last part amusingly.

Christopher seemed satisfied with the answer, and he cut his gaze back to the corridor through Thomas and Alastair had disappeared.

When he finally came back into the parlor, he limply made his way to the sofa, bearly holding himself straight. He hung his head low, sweat pooled on his neck and forehead and glimmered on his cheeks. His face reminded James of a red balloon, shiny and oddly red.

"Are you all right?" James inquired when he finally sat. Thomas made no sudden movements as he decisively faced them. It was clear as day Thomas, by all means, was not all right.

"Yes," he said. Matthew, James, and Christopher exchanged concerned looks between them. Alastair had not returned yet. "I must have eaten something spoiled."

"Are you sure?" Matthew pressed. "You still look dreadful."

"Surely I couldn't guess it," Thomas quipped.

"We can entertain you, though," Matthew pondered, giving him a smirk. "You stay in bed, and we will keep you a worthy company."

Thomas moved in his place, uncomfortable. Christopher, on the other way, smiled at Thomas. "Mam and Aunt Charlotte said I could use the lab tomorrow morning if there will be someone with me. The enclave has an important meeting early that day, and even Henry attends."

Thomas seemed grateful for the change of topic. Mattew said, "We might go and eavesdrop in case something interesting will come up."

"I will be there first thing tomorrow," Thomas avowed, although none of them asked him to. Thomas succumbs to a brutal coughing fit, and It was at that moment Alastair approached from the corridor.

"You need to rest," Alastair chided.

Thomas commnented hastily. "You are over-worried. I am fine."

"You're behaving frivolously," he proclaimed. "You ought to relax and rest, not to run around with your friend as if you are not sick."

"I'm just tired."

Alastair gave him an incredulous stare. "Really, you," he scolded wearily. "Utter madness, what that mouth of you blurts out." The dark-haired man turned over to the kitchen. Then he turned again. Alastair's dark gaze moved to the rest of the Merry Thieves. "You could at least bring a soup or medicine," he countered.

Matthew lifted his arms mockingly as if to surrender. "I am sorry, O great lord, that I didn't know how sick Thomas was. From your message, he could also have a slight headache."

Alastair scoffed and went into the kitchen. Mattew shot a look at Christopher and James, who nodded. he returned his eyes on Thomas.

"Hark, I, for once, agree with Carstairs. An advent I thought I would ever do. But I do think you should stay in bed."

"Shan't." Thomas regarded the idea of being treated by others with disdain. he rubbed his eyes, mumbling under his breath. "I am fine," he insisted. "I can hang out with you."

Alastair came back into the room, placing himself next to the sofa Thomas was resting on. He put down a large bowl. Haze of steams rose from the Broth. "Eat this. Then you go to bed."

Thomas's glare snitched up at him. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "I am fine," he repeated. "I am already feeling better."

The look Alastair gave him made it clear he wasn't buying it. "Bed." Alastair crossed his hands on the chance and his gaze determined. "I am not supposed to teach you how to take care of yourself. So eat the soup and go to bed.

Thomas's grumpy mood seemed to worsen. He would've thrown hands if he hadn't felt so indisposed. "I can take care of myself."

"So don't be so stubborn and do as I say."

"It doesn't sound like taking care of oneself," Thomas grumbled. He coughed again into his forearm."And you're not my mother."

"A very fine observation. No, I'm your partner," he gave Thomas a meaningful look. "So either you eat the soup or expect to get it shoved down your throat."

"That you very better not do."

Christopher looked at Thomas with concern. "You do not look good, Tom. You should rest."

Thomas sighed inconspicuously. It was tenuous confidence he held against them. "You too, kit?"

"As he should," Alastair sneered. He was losing patience. "Stop playing around, and drink your bloody soup."

Thomas grunted, his back straightening. He seemed dizzy and ready to tell Alastair off once again, before he gaped loudly. He must have felt queasy for he scrambled to his feet, fighting his nausea to make it to the bathroom. He almost knocked into a wall.

James glanced at Alastair, who had been mumbling grumpily under his breath, for a moment just watching his swaying partner with distaste. His dark hair flew as he followed him, for the second time since James and the other Marry Thieves arrived, to the bathroom. They followed their ailing friend and the scaling man dashing after him, then looked at each other.

Christopher looked baffled, "Why would Tom resist so much to rest in bed?"

Matthew shrugged, furrowing his brows. "I can't fathom a reason for him to be that way," He cringed as the sounds of retching reverberated from the other room."He's supposed to be the reasonable one between us lot."

"Poor Tom," James said. "Maybe because he is so terribly ill he can't get hold of reality."

In the meantime, James investigated the furnishing of the drawing-room, which was unadorned. He drifted over to a colossal bookcase at the corner of the room, full of books in English, Persian, and Spanish (and some other languages he could not tell). He traced the spines of the books and glanced at his friends. Matthew was animatedly talking with Christopher, who tried to listen, even though it was clear to James that it was only half-hearted. He mused over browsing briefly at a shabby, worn copy of Hamlet when the noises from the other room finally stopped.

After a few minutes with no noises at all coming from the corridor, James stood up. "I will check on them," he told his friend, "Maybe Thomas passed out, or he is in distress."

Matthew and Christopher were up on their feet in the bare minimum of time. "We shall come as well."

"We won't fit there, all of us," James mentioned. Thomas would've felt better if they all would come and help take care of him, he was sure, but facts were facts. "Just let me see if he needs anything from us."

The other thrives reluctantly sat back on the sofa. In quiet, stealthy steps, he headed into the candle-lit corridor. He moved past some doors - their bedrooms, he assumed, or a library, perhaps. He stopped when he reached an open door, meaning to knock first to announce his presence, but it flew his mind when he poked his hand into the bathroom. He absentmindedly noted the porcelain clawfoot tub, the decorated primrose tiles, and the wallpaper - intricate floral trace and lines in moderate colors, which he pondered over who of the two men chose. There was also a high-level cistern toilet, Thomas leaning on its ream seat. A washbasin stood nearby, and Alastair was taking a flannel and dipping it in water before he handed it to Thomas. The unpleasant smell of vomit still stung the air.

Thomas's laid with his half-lidded eyes cracked a bit more open, still regaining his breath, and took the flannel. He managed to wash his face as Alastair took care to clean any mess created. Then he knelt in front of Thomas. Thomas pulled Alastair close weakly, buried his face in Alastair's chest. James could hear he was breathing deep and long, trying to control his upset stomach. He moved very little, very carefully, trying to shield his eyes from the light that shone in the room.

"Tom," Alastair said, surprisingly gently, unlike before. Suddenly James felt he was invading their privacy. "Hold on and cease for once in your life. You need to rest."

Thomas did not move nor talked, and James had the idea he fought back another gagging.

"Hamsar-am," Alastair tried again after Thomas seemed to curb the urge to regurgitate. "Why won't you rest?"

His friend talked tentatively and out of breath, his voice dry and hoarse and quivering. "I don't want everyone to chip around me like I'm some sickly fledgling. If my parents knew, they might even make a silent brother come. Being like this - reminds me of times I was sickly and small and weak. But I am a shadow hunter. I am an adult. I am sick of people thinking I'm incapable of taking care of myself."

James studied Alastair's face. To his grand surprise, he saw his face softens. Tenderly, he pressed their forehead together. "I am more than confidant you can take care of yourself, Thomas. I just try to assist and make you more comfortable, but we go nowhere if you fight me on every single decision. Drinking soup and resting in bed is something all people do. It helps you to get better."

Thomas's eyes were unfocused. "Sorry."

James wasn't certain to what of it all Thomas was sorry for, but Alastair seemed to accept it. He sighed breathly, backing away from Thomas. "It's fine. Just let yourself rest, shall you? I still have a desire to -" he cut off when his eyes captured James, who leaned on the doorframe. "James."

James bolted straight and made sure his countenance revealed nothing as if he did not hear the conversation between the couple. "We will take out leave, see as you go and rest, Tom. We will come to check on you tomorrow."

Someone came behind him, and he found Christopher and Matthew looking into the bathroom. "We will tell Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon you are sick," Matthew intervened. "They can bring you some food and take care of you. Lucie will be glad to tell of the last mischiefs of The Beautiful Cordelia. Speaking of which, Lucie will tell her parents, and they will rush to make Brother Zachariah come to visit them-"

"We can also keep quiet," James offered. Thomas's words echoed in his head. He looked at Alastair. "I suppose Alastair can be enough of caretaker. But do tell us if you need anything. Alright, Tom?"

Alastair gave him an odd look, almost appreciation - but not precisely - on Thomas's behalf. The latter had only nodded his thanks and seemed relieved by James's offer.

"Recover quickly," Christopher said, his spectacles reflecting the light. Behind of them was a pair of caring eyes."There is just so much we Thieves can do without our heart."

~~~~

The Merry Thieves bid their goodbye and Alastair went to accompany them out, while Thomas made his way to their bedroom.

They had two bedrooms, one for each of them, despite they spent the nights together. He chose to go to Alastair's room, where his smell was strong and comforting. His steps were fatigue, his mind racing and hammering. The sunlight felt like a blow to his face, making his stomach perilously twist and turn. He wasn't sure he had left any contents to honk up. He was iffy and aching, couldn't find the power to shut the curtains close. Alastair's bed - wide enough for the both of them - was too compelling to resist. He grunted loudly, resting his head on the soft pillows. He felt cold. So cold.

What fought the place of the ill-feeling that settled in every bone of his body was his great dismay from being ill in the first place. Every time he got cold, his parents would worry themselves out as if he still was the sickly child from his childhood days. His friends will all dot on him, Alastair would lay him out for days, everyone will tell him he must rest to heal. And he despised it. He despised it with all his might. Like a rope tightening around his neck, like an invisible cage surrounding him. A cage made of love and care was still a cage, in his mind. Thomas did not like to be incarcerated. This creeping feeling of losing your independence frightened him, reminded him of times he was bedridden, out of necessity for his frequent ill-health.

Thomas didn't notice his eyes were shut until he tilted his head toward a noise - Alastair coming into the room. Thomas heard the door creak quietly, heralding Alastair's presence, and again as he closed it quietly. He felt rather than saw the quilt placed over him, hugging his body, giving a little warmth to the cool world he was in. Not warm enough, however.

"You're lucky you're my favorite," The well-known voice of Alastair mumbled.

They've butted heads around this the whole morning. Thomas refused to stick to bid despite Alastair's stubborn protests. Now, he felt his body turn to halves and his head throbbed as if the Angels gathered and made a party there. He hated Alastair to see him this weak, yet he hated it more to see the pain in his eyes because of his refusals. Thomas stirred in his place, every movement of his head making a new wave of headache hit him. "Stay." He reached his hand and tugged weakly at the fabric of the sleeveshirt of, not truly commending as asking.

"I will. Wait a moment." Thomas's grip went loose and with that, the half-Persian man disappeared again. He shifted, despite his throbbing head, so he could leave some place for Alastair to lay next to him. He moved slowly and painfully, fighting on every inch he could force himself to move. He hearkened Alastair marching back into their bedroom.

He tried to leave some space for Alastair. "Don't move," Alastair's tender voice cut through the void. "It'll be okay." Then a wet cloth softly landing against his forehead.

Cold.

He shivered. He tried to whisper "cold" but he felt no energy left in his body to protest. His eyes were heavy, his tongue even more so. "This is chiefly for your own good," Alastair comforted apologetically. "You are burning." He climbed to bed from the other side of the bed, slipping under the beddings and placing himself close to Thomas. It slipped from Thomas's mind beds had two sides.

Thomas's jumble of thoughts wandered freely anywhere and nowhere - he couldn't put enough effort into imagining, it just made the constant thumping in his head worse. A warm hand was tentatively wrapped around his chest. Alastair put effort into hugging him lightly as possible, offering the warmth Thomas was seeking. He tucked himself a bit closer to Thomas, pressed a soft kiss to his head, then sunk into the bed. The heat Alastair radiated was drugging, and the arm which rested on his chest felt more comforting than any other thing the world could offer. He tried to breathe but the feeling of bile rising in his throat made him stop.

Alastair must have noticed because he backed away from him. "I put a bucket down your side, in case you have any food to get rid of," he acknowledged. His presence was calming and needed. Thomas wanted to apologize for being so stubborn, to tell him he appreciated him and what he did for him. When he tried, he could not force himself to speak up, his vocal cords exhausted, and he wanted nothing but to let his mind slip into nothingness. He could not. Thomas felt drowsy, the strings of sleep dragging him into a feverish slumber.

Alastair removed his arm and his weight abruptly shifted, and the cloth had been taken away from Thomas's forehead. He startled, fighting to open his eyes, and then it was back, cold and piercing, and Alastair returned his hand to hug him. He felt a soft graze against his cheek - Alastair's lips - that ignited fire where it touched, just like his arm, making it a little less freezing. They kept resting in an awful silence for a few more minutes. Thomas had no problem with silence - he even liked it. Yet, knowing Alastair was watching him, concerned, putting everything aside to take care of him, was unbearable for him. He was supposed to see his mother and sibling today. He was excited to see them. Thomas desperately wanted the stillness to evanesce.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

Thomas couldn't quite realize how Alastair knew, but he hummed lowly in agreement. The weight beside him lifted, missed instantly before it came back with a small thump.

Alastair began to read. He desired to look at this chiseled face. When he tried to open his eyes, he found he couldn't. A blazing headache stroke him the moment he cracked them the tiniest bit. "Sorry for ruining today," Thomas sputtered. He didn't think he could force any other words to come up his throat.

"I'm here with you, my day can't be ruined. Even if you have a fever and acts like a stubborn fool." Alastair continued to read, Thomas felt himself being carried away to Lady Sleep, a cruel mistress, sometimes, and also a gentle one, if you approach her the right way. He felt himself falling into her arms, the voice of Alastair guiding him to a safe place in the realm of dreams.

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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

Be Mine Again

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst (With a happy ending)

Word Count: 10.6K

Summary: Mark practically lived on airplanes; being a KPOP idol meant he was constantly traveling. Waking up early to head over to the airport was something he was used to. However, these last few months for Mark have been an actual living hell. He was exhausted beyond belief, having only three hours of sleep and so he decided to grab some coffee. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary; the Seoul airport was busy as always, yet that doesn’t stop him from noticing that the customer that was currently being rung reminded him of you. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, but Mark knew you like the back of his hand. When he comes to the realization that it is you, he comes to accept the fact that the two of you at the same place at the same time wasn’t just merely coincidence and he wasn’t going to take this chance for granted.

A/N: Hey guys, I have two papers due in less than two hours, but I wanted to post this by tonight (PRIORITIES) hahahahahaha if I don’t graduate in May, we all know why. I actually wrote this last year but I never had the motivation to finish it. However, the words just kept flowing out and here we are. I’m still trying to get my motivation back to continue other stories, but until then, please enjoy this one! This is based on the song “Wake me up” by Ed Sheeran.

I should ink my skin With your name And take my passport out again And just replace it

See I could do without a tan on my left hand Where my fourth finger meets my knuckle And I should run you a hot bath And fill it up with bubbles

'Cause maybe you're lovable Maybe you're my snowflake And your eyes turn from green to gray In the winter I'll hold you in a cold place And you should never cut your hair 'Cause I love the way you flick it off your shoulder

And you will never know Just how beautiful you are to me But maybe I'm just in love When you wake me up

Mark was never a morning person but it was quite understandable. He’d always have to wake up at the crack of dawn and head to dance practice or to the studio for a recording session. Luckily today was his first legitimate day off in months and he wanted nothing more than to sleep in till noon and spend the rest of his day doing nothing with you.

To his dismay, he found himself waking up a bit too early for his liking because he noticed the bed seemed more spacious and you weren’t there when he reached out to pull you closer to his body. Your boyfriend knew you weren’t a morning person either and with the way your job was overworking you to the bone these days, Mark knew you were just as tired as he was and needed a well deserved break; so where exactly could you have gone?

His questions were soon answered when the scent of bacon and blueberry pancakes filled your bedroom and he couldn’t help but grin at the idea of you making breakfast. It’s been a while since the two of you really got to spend time together. He’s been on tour with Got7 for the last six months and you were only able to visit him three times during the entire tour because your schedule was just as hectic as his was.

He couldn’t wait to spend time with his favorite girl and hopefully you had the same ideas of how the day was going to play out. Once he put on some boxers and a t-shirt to look more decent, he made his way in to the living room and toward the kitchen but stopped once his eyes landed on your curvaceous figure.

You were currently wearing his t-shirt from the night before and a cute little thong that left little to the imagination and his mind began to wander to your little love making session a few hours prior. He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from groaning at how sexy you looked and making his presence known but he didn’t care.

Mark loved making it aware just how much of an effect you had on him. Your boyfriend wasn’t all that secretive in trying to hide that he had just joined you and you could hear his footsteps as he made his way toward you, so you weren’t as surprised when you felt his arms wrap lazily around your waist as he placed his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning baby. Smells good, and I’m not talking about the food.” You playfully rolled your eyes at his comment and although you couldn’t see him, you knew by the intonation in his voice that he was smiling.

“How are you feeling this morning? I didn’t go too rough on you did I?” You decided to turn around and stole a chaste kiss from the corner of his mouth before playfully pinching his cheek.

“You give yourself too much credit Tuan. I’m walking around just fine aren’t I?”

The adorable pout he gave you after your cheeky response sent warmth to your cheeks but you know it was all just an act. Mark knew you were just messing with him because as the two of you were having sex, you wouldn’t stop screaming his name in pleasure and begging him to go faster. Normally your love making sessions were always so passionate and tender; full of love confessions and sensual touches. However, last night was a little more on the dominant and rough side not that you were complaining.

Got7’s world tour ended just three days ago and as soon as Mark landed back in Korea yesterday afternoon, he made a beeline straight to your shared apartment and both showed you and told you just how much he’s missed you since he’s been away the entire day. You had a couple of bruises on your hips, thighs and around your neck but you didn’t care. As much as you loved how soft and extremely caring Mark could be whenever it came to you, you loved his kinky and animalistic side just a little bit more.

“Hmm, I guess I’m just going to have to change your mind by fucking your brains out the entire day then huh? Oh, by the way, you look so fucking sexy in my shirt y/n. God, I don’t know how I can go so long without seeing you and kissing you, it’s fucking torture. I missed you so much baby.”

You smiled widely in to the kiss when he practically smashed his lips against yours and you automatically wrapped your arms around his neck; wanting to be as close to him as possible. He only deepened the kiss and turned off the stove before hoisting you on top of the kitchen counter and finding his way in between your legs. Being in a long distance relationship was extremely tough and it was even harder knowing that your boyfriend was one of the biggest international celebrities in the entire world.

Sometimes, you’d forget you were dating a Kpop idol because Mark seemed like such a normal guy. To the world, he was Got7’s main rapper Mark Tuan but to you, he was your cheesy and extremely corny boyfriend who cried at Disney movies, didn’t know how to multiply numbers once they went in to the double digits and always left the toilet seat up no matter how many times you’d remind him to put it down.

You never viewed him to be anyone other than the man you were in a relationship with and he never did or said anything to make you feel uncomfortable in your relationship. He did his best to keep in touch with you as much as he could and he used every minute of his free time to check up on you and make sure you were doing okay. Your happiness was Mark’s number one priority and he did anything in his power to make sure you were happy and got whatever you wanted.

“I missed you too. I actually took the rest of the week off because a little birdie told me you guys don’t have any schedule until Tuesday so I want to spend as much time with you as possible. I’m all yours Mark. Do whatever you want with me.”

You regretted those words the minute they fell from your lips because of the mischievous grin that quickly rose on his face. Mark was a very playful and cheeky guy. From previous experience, you learned that your boyfriend had many tricks up his sleeve. Making love to you was his favorite past time and he would take advantage of any time he physically had with you.

“Anything?” You nodded in agreement; you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see what Mark had planned for the two of you but knowing him, it had to deal with him being the dominant one and maybe even getting to accomplish one of his kinks.

“Yes, but to an extent. No anal—don’t look at me like that I told you it’s a big no babe. Oh and no bondage. You know how I get when I’m tied up. But I do want to try that one position I sent to you.” His grip on your waist tightened and he sneakily hid his face in the crook of your neck only to leave a couple of sloppy love bites there.

“Mmm, I’ll do anything you ask of me baby. Why don’t we skip breakfast and I can eat you out instead—ow! I hope you’re this rough with me in bed later on.”

The airport was extremely busy today and Mark cursed his manager for scheduling a couple of photo shoots for him during one of the busiest seasons of the year; winter. Everyone was either going on a trip or returning home for one and with him being the former, he was frustrated with how long the lines at security were and how many paparazzi showed up at his gate just to take photos of him.

It wasn’t that Mark didn’t love being an idol. He loved performing and entertaining all of his fans alongside of his six best friends. He loved writing songs, loved traveling the world and experiencing so many different cultures, food and adventures while they were on tour. However, he was willing to give it all up if it meant getting you back in his life. You were everything Mark could ever want and need in his life.

The two of you were together for almost four years and if soulmates existed, you were Mark’s as he was yours. You meant the world to him and he loved you more than he could ever put in to words. Which is why he was completely devastated when you told him you were breaking up with him. The break up wasn’t completely unexpected; that is why Mark wasn’t too shocked when you told him you could no longer handle the long distance and that you felt like you weren’t too important to him.

Mark knew that wasn’t the truth and he could only hope that you didn’t ultimately think so either, but after five months of being away from you, it gave Mark time to think where he went wrong and what caused you to finally give up on your relationship with him. Being an idol wasn’t all that easy, but dating one must’ve been ten times more difficult.

Not only was he gone most of the time, but the time difference really did interfere with your communication schedule. If he was waking up, you were getting ready for bed and if he was right about to go to sleep, you were clocking in to work. You only really ever got to talk to him on the weekends if you were lucky and even if Mark did his best to contact you and to check up on you, it wasn’t the same as spending time with him and talking with him face to face rather than through a phone screen.

Then came your insecurities. Mark knew how insecure you could get when it came to dating him. If he was in your shoes, he’d be pretty insecure too, so it was understandable. But he never failed to reassure you that you were the only girl he genuinely ever loved and planned on loving for the rest of his life. He told you on a daily basis that he planned on marrying you and settling down with you one day once his idol life were to simmer down.

You tried your best to be patient and understanding when it came to dating him because not only was he in a relationship with you, but he was in a relationship with his career and as much as Mark tried to prioritize you and your relationship, deep down you knew you’d always come second to his job. When you confessed your feelings and thoughts to him, to say he was upset that you were breaking up with him was an understatement.

Did you fall out of love with him? Was there someone else? Did you finally come to the realization that you deserved better? There were so many thoughts that ran through his head and all he could do was sink to his knees and cry while pathetically wrapping his arms around your legs and begging you to stay. In your four years of dating, Mark grew to know what an independent and determined person you were and how you had such a great head on your shoulders.

He knew that when you set your heart to something, you always accomplished it; a breakup was no different and no matter how many times he’d beg and pleaded for you to stay, your mind was already made up and there was nothing he could do to stop you. Mark knew it was selfish to want you to stay. Your relationship wasn’t the healthiest; the two of you had your fair share of arguments and disagreements. But your love was always enough to defeat any negative thought or idea you had.

This time was different though and you were extremely tired of not being as important to Mark as he was to you. You put him on a pedestal; you gave him the world on a silver platter and he could barely give you a couple minutes of his time because he was always so busy. For months, you’ve been debating on breaking up with him, especially because you were so in love with him and just like Mark, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him and only him.

However, the longer you continued your relationship, the more unhappy you became and sometimes it felt as if you weren’t even in a relationship. Breaking up with Mark was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your entire life and as soon as he sank on to the floor, sobbing and heaving; begging you to change your mind, you knew you made a mistake. Mark has never been the same since you’ve left.

Although it’s been over five months since the night you broke his heart and took whatever was left of it with you, things only got worse for him as the days went on. He missed you more and more every day and even if the guys did their best in cheering him up and attempting to help him move on by setting him up with other girls, there was just no getting over you.

As soon as Mark and his manager got settle down at their gate, they took their seats and Mark decided to stay away from his phone for a while. Sometimes, all the comments, posts, direct messages and tweets on social media could be so toxic and he couldn’t help but overthink at all the negativity. It was in those moments where he would run to you.

Other than Got7 and his family, you were the only person he trusted and he trusted you with his entire life. That says a lot. Mark was an extremely private person. He had a hard time trusting and opening up to people. The only reason why he portrayed himself as such a shy and introverted person was because he didn’t want people taking advantage of him and his kindness.

After meeting you, getting to know you and dating you for so long, Mark learned that his happiness, health and success was your main priority. You always stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to talk to him and to listen to him vent about his worries and all of his problems and not once did you complain about how tired you probably were or how repetitive he was sounding but that’s because you loved him so much and wanted to be there for him no matter what time it was, who you were with or what you were doing.

You’d drop anything and everyone for Mark and he was forever grateful. You were so selfless and never expected anything in return for your patience and generosity. Mark always felt so safe with you. You were his home and God, he was homesick. He took a look at his passport in disgust. This was one of the main reasons why you could no longer handle being in a relationship with him.

Almost every single page was filled out with many difference countries and cities all around the world. China, Japan, Australia, New York, Russia, Italy, Brazil, Philippines. He only had a couple of pages left to fill up and he knew he’d need a new passport by the end of the month. What bothered him even more was knowing that he had just gotten this passport less than five months ago.

Right after he returned back home to your upsetting decision, his management gave him a new passport and informed him that he had a schedule in Thailand just three days later. It wasn’t that he hated traveling; no. Mark loved seeing all these different places, trying their food, meeting their people and learning about their cultures.

It was being away from you that he hated the most. No matter how many times you told him you were excited for him to explore and live his best life, he knew you wanted to be there alongside of him experiencing it all too because that’s all he wanted. Every high that went on in his life, he wanted you right there by his side basking in his excitement with him.

Learning how to live without you was a painful experience and he became so unhappy to the point where he took a few days off from the tour in order to see a therapist for his depression. Mark knew how much you meant to him the minute he told Jaebeom he wanted to leave Got7 in order to be with you.

The leader thought it was an extremely abrupt and stupid decision on Mark’s part but he understood where his older friend was coming from. He witnessed the way you and Mark looked at one another. If he had to describe what love was, it was in your gazes alone that could explain what the four letter word meant.

Everyone and their mothers knew just how much you and Mark loved and cared for one another. When Mark told the six of them that you broke up with him, they were in disbelief. Sure, the six of them had girlfriends and even a couple of flings and one night stands every now and then but you were the only constant girlfriend amongst their group and they all felt that you both would get married to each other once their careers were to settle down.

Jinyoung and Jackson were the closest with Mark; so they saw just how much the breakup had wrecked him and no matter how much they tried to tell him that you were going to come back and that you just needed some time without him, he didn’t believe anything anyone had to say. If you still loved him, you’d still be with him no matter how hard your relationship was. The passport began to taunt him the longer he stared at it.

“This is all your fucking fault.” He began to flick at the pages earning himself a look of confusion from his manager.

“Hey, everything okay?” Mark shook his head in disagreement.

“I’m just tired. I’ll go get some coffee or something. Be right back.”

He didn’t care what his manager’s response was and he couldn’t care less if he were to get followed. Mark wasn’t even much of a coffee person. You were taking up the entirety of his thinking process and he just needed some time to think. Something to distract him. When he walked up to the coffee shop, there were two people in front of him but he paid none of them any mind and went on his phone.

The guys were wishing him safe travels and hoped that the photo shoot and filming for a reality tv show he was going to be on went well. A small smile rose on his face at the idea of how much they all loved and cared about him. He really didn’t know what he were to do or how he would cope without them.

“I’ll have a venti iced matcha latte. Thank you.”

It was in that moment that time froze. He knew that voice anywhere. It was etched in to the back of his head and imprinted on his heart. Your laugh along with your sweet, soft voice was one of Mark’s favorite sounds and he would listen to you talk all day if he could. He looked at the person currently at the cash register and shook his head in disbelief. Mark had to be hallucinating. It must’ve been the lack of sleep. There was no way that could’ve been you.

The girl had extremely short hair, up to her shoulders compared to the long, silky waves you’ve had for the last few years that Mark loved so much. She was also wearing something completely different than what you had in your wardrobe. The older boy knew you like the back of his hand. He knew each and every curve on your body; on top of every birth and beauty mark scattered throughout your skin. Surely he would’ve known if it was you. It was possible for someone to have the same exact voice as you—wasn’t it?

Sure, the girl ordered your favorite drink, but everyone seemed to be in to matcha these days. It didn’t mean anything. Bringing his attention back to his phone, he tried his best to take his mind off of comparing you and the girl in front of him. However, once the cashier asked for the girl’s name, his entire world came crashing down on him.

“Y/n.”

It was you. But so much has changed about you in the last few months. Once you got out of line and made your way off to the side, it was in that moment Mark confirmed that yes, it was you. So many questions began running through his mind. What were you doing there at the airport? Why did you cut your hair and change your style? Was it an effect of the breakup? Did you know he was there? You had to—or least have heard that some kind of celebrity was there with the way that the paparazzi and fans were filling up the gateway.

A part of him wanted to turn around and pretend as if he didn’t see you, but another part of him, one he understood was his heart was begging for him to go and talk to you. It would be alright wouldn’t it? It’s been months and the two of you started off as friends in the first place. It was only normal for him to say hi. Matter of a fact, it would’ve been rude if he didn’t. Once he made his way up to the cashier, he was quick to see the way a grin quickly rose on her face.

“Hi, what can I get for you to—today.” He gave her a polite smile before looking up at the menu board.

“Just a grande iced caramel macchiato with two shots of espresso please—oh and one cream cheese scone. Thank you.” He reached out to take out his wallet but she shook her head.

“It’s on the house Mark. I’m a huge fan. Have a nice rest of your day.”

He thanked her politely and wished her a nice day before making his way toward where you were standing. You were currently on your phone and he began to have an internal argument with himself on whether or not he should go up and talk to you. What could go wrong?

Well, you could pretend as if you didn’t know who he was and just leave him looking like an idiot, or you could start a conversation with him like you normally did. Right as he was about to open his mouth and say something to you, his order was being called. He looked over to where you were standing to see if hearing his name had any effect on you, but you continued to stand there and scrolled through your phone.

Just go you idiot. She’s obviously moved on, let her be.

Listening to his conscience would’ve been the smart thing to do, but Mark was never all that bright and he bought that scone specifically for you. Taking in a deep breath, he walked over to you and before he could say anything, you looked up to see the new presence that joined you in the corner and practically jumped as if you saw a ghost. Although you looked completely different, you still looked breathtakingly beautiful.

You lost some weight which was expected from how hard you’ve been working, you weren’t wearing any makeup other than what Mark knew was tinted moisturizer and when he noticed you were wearing the necklace he bought for you on your third anniversary, his heart rate increased.

“Hey.”

You continued to look up at him in shock and he couldn’t help the giggle that fell from his lips at how adorable you looked. Your eyes were widened in shock and it was as though you saw a ghost. Technically, he was considerably a ghost of your past—so seeing your blank expression did tug on his heartstrings. He might have thought that approaching you was a good idea once he first laid his eyes on you and confirmed that it was indeed you, but now he was regretting it. When he realized you weren’t going to say anything, he handed you the scone.

“I uh—I got this for you. I know how much you love your cream cheese scones.”

After taking in a couple of deep breaths, you finally allowed yourself to process what was going on and that’s when you felt a tear fall down your cheek.

“Thank you. Um—hi—sorry, I—hi. How have you been?”

Although it was you who initiated the break up, you found yourself following and keeping up with everything Got7 was doing. Specifically the man standing in front of you. Seeing him again after your last night together made you feel a whole bunch of emotions. You were excited but your heart felt as if it was about to burst out of your chest. You had no right to crave his presence, you broke his heart and decided you no longer wanted to be the lucky girl who got to love him and be loved by him.

It wasn’t that you wanted to break up with him. Breaking up with Mark was the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. He was your person. Your soulmate. Your safe haven. The man standing in front of you was all you wanted for the rest of your life. But it was all getting too much for you at one point. The long distance was getting too much for you to handle.

Then came the rumors; no matter how quick he was to shut down any rumor, it was only natural for you to grow insecure and feel as if there was something going on with him and the idols he was included in rumors with. Your mental health was worsening the longer he was away and it was affecting your job and your education. You knew that breaking up with him was a permanent decision and that there was no going back once it happened. However, all you knew and have ever known was Mark.

You always lived for him; always put him first. You needed to live without him. You needed to grow and learn to love yourself before you could continue loving him. The feeling of his finger wiping away the tear that fell made butterflies erupt in your tummy. His touch felt all too familiar yet so foreign and you wanted nothing more than for him to continue.

“I’m uh—I’m alright. What are you doing here? You look extremely beautiful by the way. Although, I always preferred your long hair, short hair looks really good on you.”

You didn’t have to see yourself to know your cheeks were probably red from his sweet words. Mark always knew exactly what to say to make you blush. Plus, it’s been a while since someone complimented you and the last time someone did, it just so happened to be the beautiful boy standing in front of you. Mark complimented you on a daily basis as if his life depended on it. He was very vocal about wanting you to know just how beautiful you are and how he thinks the entire world of you.

“Thank you. I wanted to try something new I guess. It was getting too hard to manage and Korea is extremely hot during the summer. You look great! Your hair is really long now, but I like it. I’m actually going to Vietnam for a conference. What about you?”

He gave you a knowing look as he shrugged indifferently. He didn’t want to bring it up, he was afraid of what would happen once he brought up work. The last thing he wanted was to ruin things before they could even begin to bloom.

“I have a couple of photo shoots in China and then I’m meeting BamBam in Thailand for a reality show. What time is your flight?”

There was nothing more that Mark wanted than to pull you in to his embrace but he was afraid of your reaction. It’s been so long since he last held you in his arms and he still had yet to really understand why you left, but he wanted you to come back home. He wanted you to come back to him.

No matter how many wonderful things happened to him on a daily basis, nothing else mattered to him the way you and your presence did. He couldn’t fathom in to words just how much you were a literal ray of sunshine on his many cloudy days. He was nothing without you; and he didn’t realize just how much of a positive impact you had on him until you were no longer his. You were his reason; the meaning behind his entire existence.

A life without you was one he no longer wanted to continue living. You were at the same airport at the exact same time—it had to mean something. Mark knew you like the back of his hand; being with someone for such a long time would do that to you. He could tell what you were thinking or how you were feeling just by looking at you and your mannerisms, yet looking at you right now, he had no idea what was on your mind and it worried him.

Were you also thinking that the two of you meeting in the same area after months of being apart was a sign that the two of you were meant to do so? You were a firm believer in fate, soulmates and anything that had to deal with supernatural powers. Did that mean you too felt the same way Mark was currently feeling? You had to. You lived in Los Angeles and you only ever visited Korea when you were still dating Mark.

There wasn’t a reason he could think of for you to come back. His flight could have been the day before and yours could have been set for the next week but no. You were both there; both deciding to stop by for coffee before your flights. This was no coincidence and even if it was, Mark was currently thanking whatever higher power brought the two of you to the airport that day.

He was determined to bring you back in to his life, even if it was just to be a friend. Since the break up, you practically dropped off the face of the earth. You deleted every single social media account, changed your number and you even had your mom come up with excuses as to why you no longer wanted anything to do with him. There was no way he could keep up with you, so he had no idea if you already had someone else in your life.

He wasn’t going to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable, but he was going to do whatever he possibly could to return things back to what they were. He missed his old self; the Mark he was back when he had a purpose. Back when he had something—someone worth fighting for. Someone worth surviving for.

You. It’s always been you from the time you walked in to his life all those years ago and it’s always going to be you.

There was really no getting over you. You were the owner of his heart and he was afraid that he would be alone for the rest of his life because he was confident you were it for him. He’s been thinking about you every single day since you told him you no longer wanted to be with him anymore. How were you doing? How long have you been wanting a breakup for? When did you realize Mark wasn’t the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with? If you were suffering and missing him the way he was with you?

The two of you could have worked things out; he knew there was a lot more meaning behind your words. Deep down, Mark knew a huge part of your decision to break up with him was because of his career. The idol life was extremely rough; the guys received so much hate on a daily basis, their company treated them like shit and they didn’t get the recognition they obviously deserved.

They promised Mark many different photo shoots, deals with top fashion houses like Hermès, Chanel and Tiffany co. They also told him that he could return back to California to spend time with his family. Unfortunately, every single thing the company promised to him turned out to be a lie. Some of the other members got to experiment with acting, dancing and putting out solo albums.

However, every time Mark would bring up wanting to try out any of these activities, his company was quick to shut him down every single time. He had a gut feeling that a lot of the employees under the division that made the decisions all had it out for him and he never understood why. The older boy was one of the kindest, generous, soft spoken and gentle people not only in the company but just in general.

In fact, it was Mark’s polite personality that caught the attention of the people who scouted him over a decade ago. Honestly, the mistreatment was getting too much for him to handle. He knew he and the rest of Got7 deserved so much better. They all had so much potential to be one of the greatest groups in KPOP, but their company continued to hold them back for no reason at all. All the mistreatment they were receiving on top of losing you—it got too much for Mark to handle and at one point, he even thought about leaving Got7. He didn’t have the courage to talk to any of the members about his feelings or anyone for that matter.

Although he didn’t know the entire reasoning behind your sudden disappearance, it didn’t take a genius to know that you were fed up dating a KPOP idol. Hell, even if Mark knew you were the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he wasn’t wholeheartedly sure that you felt that way too. For all he knew, every time you talked about your future with him, you could have said it in the moment.

Nobody knows what the future holds but God—Mark wanted nothing more than for you to end up in his. If he could, he would go back in to the past and change everything negative that went on in your relationship. The two of you hardly ever got in to arguments; there wasn’t anything for the two of you to fight about. Sure, there were a couple disagreements every now and then, but it was only ever about food or chores. If and when the two of you did argue, It was about the distance.

Got7 had gone on tour every single year since the beginning of your relationship. Their tours normally lasted for six months and unfortunately, being a full time college student with a full time job prevented you from getting to travel along with him. This meant that you only ever saw him when he was in Korea and even then, he would be at practice or in the studio.

It had to be hard on you; you were still so young and quite the romantic. It was only natural for you to want to be around your boyfriend as much as you could. Mark hated any time spent away from you. As much as he loved hanging out with Got7, if he had the choice, he’d spend all of his time with you. If only he tried harder for you—if only he fought harder to get you to stay, he’d still be coming home to you and finding solace in your arms after a long day. He wouldn’t be so torn—so broken and so depressed. You brought out the best in him; you might have been standing right in front of him, but you were so far away.

“I’m actually supposed to be heading to my gate here pretty soon. My flight is in an hour but we’ll be boarding in less than half an hour—“

“Order for y/n!”

You gave him a small smile and walked over to the counter, quickly taking your beverage and making your way back over to him. Mark could feel his heart rate rapidly beating against his chest. Did he really spend almost five years of his life with you? It felt like a fever dream? He felt like a school boy watching you—his gaze not leaving your frame once.

“Oh—cool.”

“What about you?”

“My flight isn’t for another two hours. My manager just wanted to get here early so that we wouldn’t have to worry about checking in.”

The truth was, Mark and his manager weren’t actually supposed to be there so early. In most of his trips, they would show up to the airport with only minutes to make it to their gate. Since they would always fly first class, there wasn’t too much of a wait. That’s why he knew seeing you there was more than just a mere coincidence.

You hummed in understanding and averted your gaze to the ground. Seeing your sudden change in emotion on top of your now awkward demeanor made his stomach sore. Being an idol was a once in a lifetime experience which he was extremely grateful for. He loved performing, he loved meeting fans and traveling the world with his six other best friends. But he would give everything up just to be the man you called your husband.

That’s all he ever wanted. Being an idol would never allow him that freedom whatsoever and that was one of the cons he hated the most about his career. If people were to know that he was in a relationship with you, then maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had so many arguments about the dating rumors that surrounded him.

KPOP fans could be so delusional sometimes. Whenever two idols would interact with each other or simply glance at one another, people would call them out and say that they were dating. Mark being the friendly person he was would always do things for the female idols he would work alongside. He knew that no matter how many times he would reassure you that there was nothing going on with him and a female idol, it was only human of you to grow insecure and feel as though something was up. He was very jealous and insecure whenever it came to you.

One time, you went out with a few of your friends to a bar and got plastered to the point where one of your guy friends had to take you home. Since nobody other than the members of Got7 and both his and your family members knew about your relationship, this meant that Mark had yet to meet your group of friends but he was familiar with a few of them because you would talk to him about them.

This friend however, wasn’t one that he was aware of, nor did he want to be. When he heard a buzz on his door and opened it to see your friend carrying you bridal style with your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your face was smashed against his chest, he could feel is blood boiling and it wasn’t a good feeling.

You weren’t purposely trying to make him jealous and because you didn’t think too highly of yourself in the first place, you didn’t think Mark had any reason to be jealous. He wanted to rip you from out of your friend’s arms and hide you away—it wasn’t that he was jealous of your friend’s looks although Mark could see that he was pretty good looking. Mark wasn’t cocky, he was very humble but he was well aware he was extremely handsome. Yet, he knew that your friend could give you what Mark couldn’t.

Your friend could provide for you in ways that Mark couldn’t. Your friend could spend all of his time with you—call you and text you on an hourly basis. There were so many men that could do things for you that Mark wasn’t physically able to and it bothered him. Come to think of it, although he had no right to worry about what you did anymore, he was curious if you were in a relationship—and if you were dating that friend.

He never said anything about it once you sobered you the next day in fear of a fight breaking out, but he’s been very cautious about who you hung out with while he was away. Mark was confident in the love that you held for him. You would confess your love for him physically and verbally every single day, so cheating wasn’t even a thought on his mind. However, he was afraid of you coming to the realization that you didn’t want to continue staying in a relationship with someone you hardly ever saw.

“Nice! Oh, congratulations by the way! You finally released a solo song. I’m so proud of you! It’s amazing by the way. I had to look up the English translation since I don’t speak a word of Chinese, but it was beautiful.”

I wrote it about you.

From the day you walked out on him up until now, every single song he wrote was about you. Missing you—wishing you were still his, wanting to give up the game and fortune to be with you. The misery he was suffering; every word he wrote came straight from his heart. You actually kept up with him? You actually listened to his music? It didn’t come as a shocker; you were the definition of supportive.

If you were able to, you’d attend their concerts, you’d constantly listen to their music and you’d wear and even purchase some merchandise. Everything you did never failed to put a smile on his face. Why did he take you for granted? Whoever said the famous line you never know what you have until it’s gone was right and he hated that they were.

“Thanks. I’m glad that you enjoyed it.”

That had to be the understatement of the year. He was over the moon that you listened to it. Right as he released the song, you were the first person he wanted to hear it. You were who the song was written about, so of course he wanted you to listen to it. It made him wonder though, how did you stumble across of it? Were you just scrolling on social media and it popped up, or did you search his name—curious as to how he was doing?

What did you think about the lyrics? Did you think he wrote it about you? You had to know; you were the only girl in his life, a lot of the songs he’s written for Got7 were about you and you were aware of it. This time was no different. He had no intentions of telling you, well, at least not right now. But he was hoping you already knew without him having to confess it to you. Silence surrounded the both of you and he mentally cursed himself for not knowing what to say. Mark felt like an idiot. There were so many questions he had and so many things he wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t the time and he didn’t want to scare you away.

“I should get going. I can’t afford to miss my flight. It was nice seeing you again Mark. I hope you have a wonderful day and a safe trip. Take care.”

You gently waved at him and thanked him once more for the scone. His heart began to beg him to at least go in for a hug or to ask you to maybe start all over. It’s been so long since he last held you in his arms and it just felt so tempting. Only then did he realize where he was and there was no way he could get caught hugging someone—even more so his ex-girlfriend. Korean reporters would have a field day.

“You too. Have fun in Vietnam!”

With one last smile, you were gone and it all felt like deja vu to him. Seeing you walk away with your luggage brought back painful memories of him crying on the kitchen floor, wrapping himself around your leg—begging you to rethink your decision. He felt like such a child then, not allowing you to leave because he could tell that once you were to finally leave the apartment, that was it. This time though, it hurt him so much more.

You were back in his life even if it were only for a couple of minutes. He had hope—he prayed that seeing him again would make you realize that you missed him and that maybe at the time, the break up was something you thought would be a good idea but now you were regretting it. He dragged himself slowly back to his gate and slumped in to the chair next to his manager. If the older man thought something was wrong, he didn’t say anything and Mark was glad.

This manager was one of his favorites. He was very nice to Mark and took good care of him. However, he knew it was protocol for him to report any funny business back to the higher ups in the company. The image of you began to haunt him; he couldn’t think straight knowing you were less than a mile away from him. He started to weigh out his options; there was no way he’d allow this chance to go to waste.

It’s only been a few months; but heartbreak really does change a person. He didn’t want to suffer anymore. That’s why he found himself standing up and apologizing to his manager, stating that he’d be right back. Knowing that you were just minutes away from boarding, he practically sprinted throughout the gates—doing his best to find the flight to Vietnam. It wasn’t as if there were many gates. All Asian countries were in the same area and both China and Japan were next to his gate, so he had a hunch your gate wasn’t too far away.

“Flight 0904 to Vietnam will start boarding passengers in ten minutes. Please begin making your way to the gate.”

He swore under his breath as he was running around looking like a madman. Only you had this effect on him. At this point, he didn’t even care if someone recognized him and either took photos of him or recorded him. He needed to find you and tell you how he felt.

There was a possibility that you’d either freeze or tell him that you didn’t feel anything for him any more. In that case, there was nothing he could do about it. He’d just have to accept the truth as it was. Once he saw the word Vietnam in bold letters, he took a sharp turn and looked throughout the passengers—wanting nothing more than to finally find you. Actually, it didn’t take too long for his vision to land on you.

Mark could point you out in a crowded room. In concerts with thousands of fans in attendance, he would always find you without trouble. That’s just how love worked. He wasted no time walking towards you and immediately sank down on his knees. There were so many red flags going off in his mind, telling him to turn around and that it was too late but he refused to listen.

It took you a couple of seconds to register what was happening and you brought your gaze up to the other passengers who were waiting to board. Their expressions of shock and interest made it clear to you that no—you weren’t hallucinating. Seeing him in the coffee shop was already a lot to take in. It almost felt like you were asleep and you dreamt this entire thing but no; he was kneeling right in front of you.

“Mark, what are you—“

“I shouldn’t have let you go. Not ten minutes ago. Not five months ago. Fuck—I couldn’t just sit and pretend that it’s a coincidence that we’re both here. You know me better than anyone else y/n, I never used to believe in that fate bullshit. But that was before you became my life. I could have flew out yesterday and you could have flown out later on this evening but here we are. At the exact same airport at the exact same time. You never told me why you left—I’ve been trying to come up with reasons for myself just so I could get closure but nothing makes sense. Look—I know I was a shit boyfriend and I know you deserve someone so much better than me, but I’m selfish. All I’ve ever wanted in my life was someone who could love me the way you do—the way you did so passionately. I know I took you for granted and there aren’t enough words in the English dictionary for me to explain just how sorry I am for all that I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for not being there for you as much as I should have, I’m sorry for not giving you the love and support you’ve never failed to give me, I’m sorry for not giving you the time and attention you deserved. There’s no excuse for my actions, there really isn’t. But I just need you to know, these past few months have been an actual living hell for me. I didn’t realize how blessed I was to have you in my life until you were no longer mine. I don’t expect you to come back to me. I’m sure you were suffering in our relationship, so this is my karma. I just want you to know that I still love you, I never stopped and I don’t think I ever will. That’s what scares me the most. Damnit, I don’t even know if you’re in a relationship or not. I shouldn’t have assumed—ahhh, forget I said anything. Have a safe flight.”

You felt the need to throw up. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was one of those situations where you were extremely lightheaded and on the verge of passing out. Why did he think that confessing all of that was the right thing to do? Especially in the middle of an airport with dozens of eyes now staring at the both of you. It’s as though he knew exactly what he was doing putting you on the spot like that. He knew you’d give in to him seeing as though you brought attention to a growing crowd.

People enjoy watching couple’s drama and the thing was, Mark wasn’t exactly quiet while pouring out his heart to you. Then again, you knew Mark wasn’t the type to do that. He was extremely soft spoken, so with the way he was practically raising his voice at you, it was obvious he meant business.

You were hoping that nobody would recognize him—fearing that he would get in a lot of trouble if word were to get out about the two of you. His reaction amazed you though; he didn’t seem the least bit phased at the idea of both his and your photo being plastered all over newspapers.

You could see the headlines now; KPOP idol Mark Tuan causes a scene with unknown female at airport. Is this his current girlfriend? Or a former flame?

The gentle tug on your shirt is what broke you out of your thoughts. His pained expression felt like a slap to your face. He was right; you never gave him an actual reasoning for breaking up with him, but who could blame you? You were a coward. If you were to tell him of your insecurities and the fact that you were genuinely unhappy because you couldn’t even consider your relationship a legitimate one, he would have made promises on changing and making things better and you would probably have listened to him and these last couple of months would never had happened. But you were confident that nothing would change.

You weren’t stupid; Mark was both a man of words and actions and it was a trait of his that you appreciated. Yet, sometimes he made promises only to break them not too long after. A lot of the time though, it wasn’t his fault. His schedule kept him from many dates, vacations, trips to visit your family and just spending time together back at your shared apartment. You’d always feel like the odd one out; being the only person without a significant other.

Things like that never really bothered you until one of your friends pulled you to the side after dinner and asked you if you could really see yourself putting up with the current situation you were in with Mark for however long more he’d be an idol for. You should have been honest with him; he deserved to know the truth but then again, you were very good at running away from your problems.

Although her words weren’t the only reason why you ended things, they did open your eyes to the fact that if you did continue to stay with Mark, you’d lose yourself completely. Mark was your main priority. You would always put him first no matter how busy or tired you were. It was when you realize he never did the same for you that you accepted the idea of leaving him for good. Hearing him confess that he was still in love with you though, and that he was genuinely nothing without you made you feel something you haven’t quite felt since you left.

Even if you were the one who decided that you didn’t want to continue having him as your person for the time being, your romantic feelings for Mark never stopped nor did they ever waver. There were days where you missed him dearly; even if he was gone all the time, he was still your boyfriend and they two of you stayed in contact enough for you to forget about the distance even if it were just for a little while.

Sometimes, you’d find yourself typing in his number and writing a message to him, but then you’d stop yourself mid sentence, only then remembering the breakup and that you were the one who initiated it. You constantly reminded yourself that the breakup was the best decision you could make not only for you but for Mark too.

Your relationship probably held him back from so much and although he never once complained about having a significant other, you could visibly see that he was exhausted from all of his scheduled activities—having to come home, entertain you and show you affection had to add on more weight to his shoulders. You couldn’t blame him for being so tired; Got7 practiced for ten to twelve hours a day then they’d go straight in to the studio to write and record songs.

They’d also film reality tv shows and other kinds of segments, so when he’d come home—his body language would speak for him since he never seemed to have the courage to tell you that he was worn out from a long day. The idea of wanting him back was stupid since you were the one who walked away. But you missed him just as much as he claimed to miss you. You wished things could be different so that you could actually enjoy the experience of an actual relationship—yet, you would rather go months without seeing Mark, kissing him, holding him and being held by him, running to him whenever life could get too tough and being the girl that all his fans and the people who adored him could only wish to be in the place of.

You were confident that there would be no one else for you and being without him for such a long time made you accept that you no longer wanted to continue doing so anymore. You continued to sit there; not knowing what to say or do really. Your mind was drawing a complete blank. Slowly, Mark got up from off the floor and softly bowed in your direction, taking the silence as your answer. As he began to walk away, the tight grip on his wrist made him smile like an idiot to himself.

“When do you get back?” He turned around and looked at you in curiosity, but quickly grabbed his phone from out of his back pocket and flipped through his calendar faster than you’ve ever seen anyone do before.

“Two weeks. How come?”

“Can you wait for me?”

Wait, did this mean what he could only hope and dream that it meant? Were you—were you going to give him another chance? Sure, he would have preferred an explanation as to why you broke up with him and what went on in your mind for the last couple of months. But he understood that there was a time and place for such a serious topic.

He wasn’t thinking when he literally poured out his heart out to you. When the two of you were together, the entire world would disappear. Maybe that’s why he pushed away the thought of causing a scene in the middle of an airport, surrounded by at least fifty strangers. He lost all his sanity whenever it came to you and he was just so focused on trying to bring you back in to his life to even care about the consequences that would come with the news of his relationship with you.

“Of course I can—I’ll wait however long I need to for you. But, um—what am I going to be waiting for?” To his surprise yet excitement, you brought one of your hands up to his face and gently grazed his cheek. He wasted no time leaning his face in to your palm and left a soft kiss against your wrist.

“I’m yours, if you’ll have me again. I’ve missed you, more than I’m willing to admit. I won’t lie and say I made a mistake in breaking up with you. We needed this—well, I needed this. I gave my entire being; my mind, heart, body and soul to you. I did everything for you. To make you happy and by doing so, I became so depressed. I wasn’t myself anymore and I wanted to fall back in love with myself before I could continue loving you. You’re right, there’s no way us meeting up is mere coincidence. As soon as you walked up to me, I knew God brought us together. I love you Mark. I’m sorry, I know I have a lot of explaining to do but it’s going to have to wait. I love you, so much. I’ve missed you so much.”

Without hesitance or scanning the area to see whether or not the eyes were still on you, he threw himself at you and connected your lips with his. Although it’s been a while since you’ve last kissed him, your lips melded perfectly together as if the break never happened. His lips were soft and tasted like cherry chapstick and coffee.

God, how did you go so long without kissing the beautiful man in front of you? As much as you wanted to continue your little make out session, only then did it occur to you that you and Mark weren’t alone and that there was a chance someone recognized him. He whined adorably when you pulled your mouth away from his but with the knowing look you sent his way, he understood why you did so.

“Wow, I just—wow. Kissing you was always one of my favorite past times with you. Well, other than cuddling, taking naps, making love and—ow! What? I’m being honest baby. I’ve missed every single thing about you. I’m so fucking happy. This time will be different, I promise. I know how it is to live without you and let me tell you, it was actual hell on earth. Every single day felt like a month. Not hearing that contagious laugh of yours, not seeing that breathtaking smile and not having your arms around me—it fucking sucked. I should’ve fought harder to prevent you from leaving, but none of that matters anymore. You’re here now. You’re back in my life and I have no intention on ever letting you go again. I love you so much y/n, more than you’ll ever be able to fathom with that pretty head of yours.”

He pulled you in for a tight hug; placing his chin on your head and rubbing your back soothingly. The two of you stood there for a couple of minutes, it didn’t even hit you that he was there and that he was going to be yours again. Honestly, you wanted to just say fuck it and reach out to your supervisor, stating that you were unable to make it to Vietnam. Now that the two of you were rekindling your relationship, you wanted to be around him as much as you could. You trusted that he was going to keep his word and take care of you this time. He left soft kisses in your hair and began running his hands along your sides.

“Mmm—I’ve missed this.”

“Me too.” He was about to lean in for another kiss but you playfully leaned away.

“Babeeeee—“

“Mark, if anyone recognizes you—“

“I don’t give a shit. Let them. If people find out that I’m in love, then good. I want everyone to know about you. My heart has been yours for years now and it’s going to stay that way for the rest of our lives. I’d give up being an idol if it meant finally getting to settle down and start living the life we’ve always wanted. If I can’t wait too long, maybe I’ll just fly to Vietnam and we can—“

“Flight 0904 to Vietnam is now boarding. Please take out your tickets and start heading to the gate.” A soft groan fell from Mark’s lips and you took this time to steal a few kisses from him. He smiled against your lips and cheekily squeezed your waist. “Do you still have the same number?”

“Mhm, you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I never deleted it, but just like everything else about you, your number is tattooed on my heart. Have a safe flight. Text me as soon as you land. Have a great trip baby. I’ll try to call and text you as much as possible. I love you y/n. Thank you for coming back to me. See you soon.”

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #got7 #got7 mark

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girl-in-the-tower · 3 years

Text

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/

--------------

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.

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songtoyou · 3 years

Text

Tempting Fate - Part Two

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Nothing major, but there is lots of smoking.

Word Count: 2,080

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

Chapter Summary: As you continue to live in Small Heath, you develop a strong camaraderie amongst its residents. The only one who continues to give you the cold shoulder is Mr. Tommy Shelby. Polly has a conversation with you and her nephew. She seems to know more than she may be letting on about the connection you and Tommy may have.

A/N: For this story, Esme uses her maiden name and married name, so she goes by Esme Lee-Shelby. This story takes place during season two of the show. May Carleton is mentioned in this chapter and might be making an appearance in later chapters. I like May; she has never bothered me, and I like her “relationship” with Tommy. I did include a Romani phrase in this chapter, which translates to, “Go with God and in good health.” I found the phrase online and hope it is correct. If it isn’t, then I am profoundly sorry and do not wish to offend anyone. That is never my intent. Remember, there is no Grace or Greta in this fic. They do not exist in the realm of this alternate universe.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag List: @owenniasstars

You settled into Small Heath nicely, even making some friends along the way. Esme Lee-Shelby was one of those friends. When the two of you met, there was an instant connection. Both reminded the other of home, which helped with the homesickness both women tended to feel now and then. Being friends with Esme meant you were around the other Shelby’s, particularly at the family’s company headquarters. You most hung around the betting shop when it was not too busy and when Tommy was not around. You were not naïve to see that the man was not too fond of you for some reason.

Arthur and John would tell you not to pay too much mind to Tommy and explain that he was under a lot of stress.

“Tommy means well, love. He will come around eventually,” John reassured you one day while visiting Esme.

“It is because he likes you, and that probably scares him,” Esme would say, but you merely scoffed at the idea.

“I can admit that Tommy is cute, but he is not my type. He is too frigid. The guy is always so serious. Plus, I can tell he cannot stand the sight of me,” you replied, but Esme waved off your concerns.

“Trust me, Tommy will eventually come around to the point where he will seek out your presence because he will crave it. I have a feeling about it, and I’m never wrong,” assured Esme.

On another day at the betting shop, you stopped by; however, no one was around except for Aunt Polly. At first, the woman intimidated the hell out of you but soon saw the wonderfulness she possessed. She did not take shit from anyone, particularly the men who stopped by the betting shop. She kept everyone in line, including her nephews. You saw how Tommy would confide in Polly on specific business matters whenever the two murmured amongst each other.

“Where is everyone?” you asked, looking around the empty betting shop.

“Slow day,” Polly said, taking a sip of tea and reading a book with her feet up on one of the desks. “John and Esme are currently preoccupied with activities involving the expansion of their family if you know what I mean.”

“Well, that is…wonderful,” you stated sarcastically. “Will you tell Esme I stopped by and that I will see her tonight at The Garrison?”

Before you could leave, Polly called out to you to stay for a little while.

“Come sit with me, let’s talk,” Polly commanded and pointed to a seat for you to take.

You followed her orders and took a seat across from the older woman. She passed you one of her black cigarettes, and you happily accepted. The nicotine of the black cigarette had a pleasant taste to it, you noted.

“So, Tommy informs me that you are part of the Young clan in Cambridgeshire. I’ve met the Youngs; they are good people. Very dependable when one needs help. However, my nephew also shared that you aren’t a Young by blood, is that right?” Polly questioned the other woman.

“That is correct. My mother and father found me when I was a baby, so I am very much a Young,” you replied earnestly.

“Oh, that I can see. Especially in how you have taken it upon yourself to help out most of the Small Heath residents. From menial tasks such as making sure Ms. Wallace gets her weekly groceries, to assisting Old Man Pete and his family in finding their lost dog, and even going so far as to help out at the Yard with Charlie and Curly.”

“I only help with horses. I don’t do any of the moving of equipment or anything if that is what you or Tommy are worried about,” you reassured Polly.

“I wasn’t worried, but of course, Tommy was. You put him on edge,” said Polly with a smirk.

You took another drag of the cigarette, “That is not my fault that your nephew has his qualms about my mere presence in this place. All I am doing is trying to make a living, like everyone else. He has no reasons to doubt my intentions. I am not here to bewitch anyone or partake in any criminal activity that would undermine the Peaky Blinders. I may not have a proper education, but I am not stupid. I don’t have a death wish.”

“No, you don’t have a death wish. You have good intentions that Tommy will see that eventually. He always comes around. Someday, he will come to you because he will need your help,” shared Polly. “I can see things, my dear. I have the gift. I know why you are here. You are looking for your soulmate. Is that correct?”

You let out a sigh, “It is one of the reasons why I am here, yes. I only want to know who this man is; I don’t expect to fall for him. The idea of soulmates doesn’t ring true for me. It is a fabled concept.”

Polly let out a laugh, “Do not be so pessimistic, my girl. You have already met him, but I will let you figure out who it is; that is the fun part.”

As you were about to ask Polly for clarification on what she was talking about, in walked Tommy and stopped when he saw the two of you sitting together.

“Speaking of the devil, here he is, the man of the hour,” teased Polly, at least that is what you thought she was doing. She gave you a wink and put out her cigarette.

“Miss Young,” Tommy stiffly greeted you.

“Mr. Shelby, nice to see you.” While you may tend to put Tommy on edge, he did the same to you, but you were determined to make friends with the man.

When Tommy didn’t reply to your polite phrase, you knew it was your time to leave the premises. “Thank you for the cigarette and the chat, Polly.”

“Any time, dear,” Polly smiled and waved as you exited the betting shop. She saw that you did not say goodbye to Tommy, which she could not blame you.

While Tommy took off his cap and coat, Polly got up from the table and lightly smacked the back of the head. The move completely caught Tommy by surprise as he turned to face his aunt.

“What the hell, Pol!” yelled Tommy, perplexed.

Polly merely shook her head. “Do not have any manners, Thomas?”

“What are you on about?”

With a shake of her head, Polly grabbed her teacup and took a sip. The tea was long since cold. “She is a nice girl, Tommy. Why can’t you see that when everyone else can? What is it about his girl that has you so afraid?”

Lighting his cigarette, Tommy let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Everywhere he turned, he saw you. Not only at The Garrison, Uncle Charlie’s Yard, or the streets of Small Heath, he saw you in his dreams. The dreams where you were present brought him peace. He felt protected, which unnerved him since he was not used to the feeling of being safe, not after France.

“She’s me, Pol,” answered Tommy.

“What do you mean she is you, Tom?”

“Before the war. She was exactly how I was before everything changed,” Tommy replied honestly.

“Well, that should be viewed as a good thing. You two match. Why so cold towards this girl?” Polly asked again.

Tommy turned towards his aunt to bluntly say, “Because if I get close to her, then I will ruin her. I don’t think I could live with myself with that thought. I’m damaged goods, Pol. Nothing can save me. No one can save me.”

“Tommy, that is not true,” remarked Polly. “I still see the good in you.”

Tommy got up and headed towards his office, “Then you are wasting your time.”

Later that night at The Garrison, you were filling up drinks and talking to your regular patrons.

Noting was too out of the ordinary, except for the absence of the Shelby brothers. Typically, they would make an appearance, but not tonight.

“Harry, since it is rather slow tonight, do you mind if I head out early?” you asked.

“Sure, no problem, but do you mind coming in early?” Harry asked, which you agreed to do.

You waved goodbye to Harry and left the premises. You bundled your coat higher to offset the cold air and walked towards Charlie’s Yard. Curly mentioned they were getting a new horse for the races, and you wanted to see it. You loved horses, always have since you were a kid.

As you walked down the street, you saw the Shelby brothers exiting the betting shop.

Arthur called out your name, and you turned around to greet him. He asked where you were headed to and answered the Yard. When all three gave you a look, you told them that you wanted to see the new horse Curly kept boasting on about and, therefore, needed to see for yourself.

“I have to see for myself,” you commented.

Before John and Arthur were about to wave goodbye, Tommy spoke up, “I’ll walk you.”

His announcement took his brothers and you by surprise. “Come again?” you asked. You wanted to make sure you heard him correctly.

“I said I’d walk you to Charlie’s.”

Before you could as Tommy ‘why’ he told his brothers, he would see them later and motioned for you to follow him. The walk to the Yard was quiet, with neither knowing if they should saying anything. Both opted that awkward quietness was probably the best outcome.

You bit the bullet as the quietness was beginning to drive you mad and spoke up. “Where did you find this horse? Curly mentioned you were going to train him for the races.”

“I got him at an auction, and I won’t be training him. I enlisted someone else to do the training to get him the horse ready for Epsom,” explained Tommy, lighting a cigarette. He offered you one as well, but you declined.

Finally arriving at the Yard, you continued to follow Tommy towards where the horse was residing. When you caught sight of the dapple-gray horse, you immediately picked up your speed to get a better look.

“He is beautiful, Curly,” you professed while rubbing your hand across its muzzle. The horse responded positively to you as it licked your hand. “Does he have a name?”

“No name, as of yet,” it was Tommy who spoke up to answer you. While you continued to pet the horse, Tommy quietly stood next to you. He reached over and began stroking the horse’s mane.

“May Carleton is expecting us to bring the horse for her to train in the coming days ahead, we need to get him ready for transport, Charlie,” declared Tommy while continuing to pet the horse. He then walked over to his uncle as the two men began to talk about how to transport the horse.

“It is a shame this horse has to leave,” you said to Curly, who quickly agreed.

When Charlie called Curly over to him, it left you alone with the horse. As you continued to pet the horse’s muzzle, slowly and softly, you placed your head against his, with no objection. The horse remained calm in your presence.

“Zhan le Devlesa tai sastimasa,” you whispered to the horse.

“Go with God and in good health,” translated Tommy as he stood next to the horse once again. “He’ll be fine, Ms. Young. This horse is going to be taken care of; I will make sure of that, I promise.”

You looked over at Tommy and smiled at him, “Oh, I know, Mr. Shelby. Pyramus knows you will make sure he is in good hands.”

“Pyramus?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s his name. Pyramus. It is a mythological name meaning ‘fire.’ It fits him perfectly, don’t you think?”

At that moment, Tommy was taken back by your attentiveness of his horse. He was impressed by how you showed so much care for the creature. He saw how your smile brightened your face and appeared to stir something inside of himself. Something he thought was long gone, his heart.

“Yes, it is. Perfect,” Tommy expressed, but he was no longer talking about the horse.

It was at that moment, where Tommy knew he wanted you.

#tommy shleby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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purplesauris · 3 years

Text

A World In Monochrome

My brain is firing on like, almost all cylinders to pump out all of the sweet sweet ideas I obsess over. This one stemmed from playing the game and realizing that Cat causes total loss of color from Geralt’s sight until the potion wears off

Enjoy it on AO3 here!

Geralt hated fiends. Well, he can’t say that with any honesty- for as brutal and base as they appeared, there was an elegance to them. They left people alone for the most part, content to wander their forests, caves or swamps, and only attacked if necessary. They were huge yet moved with incredible speed, and if necessary, their third eye opened, stunning and allowing them a chance to escape. To be compared to a fiend among friends was almost a compliment.

What he hated most about them was how often they took him into caves; the dank, musty smell of old corpses and fiend dung clung to him for days after he’d finished the hunt, and he couldn’t carry a torch with him to light the cave. Not that he hadn’t tried when he was young and just set out on the Path. After too many times plunging into darkness without anything to light, Geralt prepared himself more carefully. Relict oil for his blade, Thunderbolt and Swallow on his belt, and Cat, choked down at the last minute to give himself all the time he needed.

He hasn’t fought anything cave dwelling in a while, and isn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary when he takes his latest contract. Jaskier had wanted to bargain for a higher price, since this was Skellige and the fare back to Velen was expensive, but Geralt couldn’t. Mutation’s took all Witcher’s feelings people claimed, but his heart had gone out to Ohden, worried over his son, and he gave Jaskier a glance to keep him quiet. Jaskier hadn’t pushed, just hummed thoughtfully and thanked the man for his account of where to start.

That was another thing that Geralt hadn’t expected. When Geralt told Jaskier he was headed to Skellige for the summer he fully expected Jaskier to disappear wherever he goes for the winter. Instead, he was met by Jaskier waiting on the docks, bag slung over his shoulder and lute clutched against his front. He’d only complained of seasickness in the first two days, and spent the rest of their trek across the sea singing bawdy sea shanties and learning new ones from the crew to delight whatever crowd he could find in Skellige. Geralt had spent his time making potions and sharpening his blade, sat atop a barrel to keep a sharp eye on the bard under his care. He tried to look casual, but half the crew gave him a wide berth and the others stared in open hostility. The only thing keeping them somewhat friendly was Jaskier and that magnetic charisma he seemed to exude.

“Stay here.” Jaskier perked up at the sound of Geralt’s voice, then rolled his eyes.

“Geralt, how am I supposed to tell of your exploits if I never get to go?”

“How are you going to if you follow me and die?” Geralt’s throat tightens at the thought, and his voice sounds particularly grating when he talks through it. “You’re staying here.”

“At least let me see you track. I’ve never seen that even!”

“No.” Jaskier gave him a look, blue eyes glancing up just so through his lashes, and Geralt’s heart gives a wild leap at that. He sighs wearily, rolling out his shoulders. “Fine.”

“Yes!”

“But-” Geralt silences him, eyes narrowing a bit. He hears Jaskier breathe in sharply, but finds him staring with that same eager intensity. “If I let you come, you have to promise you’ll run if I tell you.”

Jaskier grins, eyes sparkling, and bows low at the waist. “As you command, White Wolf.”

Geralt finds someone to care for Roach while they’re away, and only has to narrow his eyes to ensure she’ll be taken care of and their stuff won’t be plundered. Skelligers are hardy, but even they know not to mess with a witcher, let alone Geralt. Geralt heads southeast, toward where Ohden had gestured to, and it isn’t long until he finds footprints. They’re from a male, that much he can tell, and that puts him on the right track.

They hike in relative silence for a while, Geralt occasionally pointing out a footprint that Jaskier would be able to see and explaining when Jaskier seems lost on how Geralt is leading them. The dirt road becomes pebbly a couple of miles later, and it’s then that Geralt spots the crumbling castle ahead of them and smells blood.

“Quiet.” Geralt hisses, Jaskier trying his best to stay as quiet as he can. Geralt’s silver sword slides free from his sheathe with nary a whisper, and he rolls his wrist, careful not to hit the bard behind him. He can hear breathing, heavy and bovine, and he creeps forward, Jaskier at his back. Geralt slips through a gap in a broken wall, nostrils flaring as the scent of decay and musk hits him. He holds out a hand, telling Jaskier to stop, and moves a bit further into the clearing of what used to be a courtyard. The ground near the south wall is saturated in blood, and flies buzz around it, grating to his ears.

He straightens up a bit, casting a glance around; whatever caused the gore doesn’t seem to be here, and this is the best lead he’s gotten so far. Gravel crunches behind him and he whips around, Jaskier freezing as the sight of Geralt, pupils mere slits and nostrils flared. “Nothing then?”

“I told you to wait.”

“Right, except I couldn’t see anything and I-” Jaskier’s eyes are pinned on the background behind him, and the hairs on the back of Geralt’s neck raise. His medallion hums angrily against his chest, and the sharp, eye watering scent of a fiend hits him hard.

“GO!” Is all he can say before throwing up Quen, grunting as the barrier around him crystallizes and shatters, having effectively warded off the fiend’s first charge. He won’t have time for a second, and all he can hope is that Jaskier heeded his command as he dives out of the way of a second charge. It’s a narrow window at best, and Geralt rolls to his knees, throwing a plume of fire in front of him. He almost chokes on the scent of burnt fur, the fiend roaring and hopping back a couple of steps. Geralt downs a dose of thunderbolt while he has a chance, throwing the glass away. He can come back and hope it isn’t broken later.

He falls into the fighting as easily as breathing, spinning on his toes and grunting at the twinge that goes through his knee and up his thigh. So it’s going to be like that. He can ignore it for now, and a dose of Blizzard has his blood singing and muscles working double time as he whirls and dodges the blows that the fiend throws. The fiend seems slow as Geralt hacks at the black and white patterned hide, tiring with the effort of trying to hit a target that won’t stop moving. This fiend is old, Geralt can tell just by the scarred hide and brutal efficiency in which he goes after his target.

Geralt can tell that the fiend is almost done for, blood oozing out of multiple cuts that regenerate before his eyes. He finds his opening when a well placed shot of Igni has the monster stumbling back, Geralt lunging to drive his sword through the beast’s skull. A flash of red catches Geralt’s attention, and he watches with a helpless kind of fury as the fiends third eye flares open, stopping his blow in its tracks. The fiend swings a meaty paw and sends him flying back into the wall of the abandoned keep, Geralt wheezing as the air is knocked out of him. His scabbards dig roughly into his back, sure to leave bruises later, but they might have just saved his spine.

In the time it takes Geralt to stumble to his feet, gasping for air, the fiend has fled the field, out of the ruins. He’s off like a shot, following the scent of blood and decay and singed fur through the rest of the ruins and down the bank of the river. It’s there he finds a cave, reeking of gore and pitch black.

“Fuck.” Of course he’s going to have to use Cat. He downs the potion as quickly as he can, not wanting to give the fiend more time to recover than is necessary. He skids down the rocky entrance as color leeches from his sight, every inch of the cave lit up in a murky haze. The fiend is crouched in the corner, tearing away at the entrails of some poor soul. This time the fiend won’t surprise him, and Geralt leaps onto the offensive, slashing a gaping wound through the beast’s left flank. It should slow the beast down enough, and Geralt is already leaping away when the beast roars and swings wildly behind itself.

Geralt dispatches it with another quick blow to the throat, silver blade digging in so deep that he lodges against bone for a moment. Geralt isn’t a fan of denting his blades, but the fiend has fought long enough, and Geralt just wants a quick end to the fight. He pants as the fiend twitches, crashing to the ground and eyes rolling sightlessly. One last blow ends the fiends suffering and severs the rest of the head- he’ll need it if he’s going to prove he killed the beast. A quick glance around the cave shows that this was definitely what was killing all of the travelers on the road, and though he can’t see it, he highly suspects that the lighter tone of the tunic he spies has to be yellow. He cuts a swatch to bring back with him, and drags the beast’s head up and out of the cave.

-*-

Jaskier had scrambled to climb the ladder when Geralt had yelled for him to run. He’d noticed it earlier when they first came in, and figured height would be a good advantage against whatever had charged at Geralt. Watching the fight was better than anything Geralt could have described, and Jaskier takes it in with reckless abandon. The way that Geralt’s hair had flown about him as he spun, the sun glinting off his blade. The way that his shield, brilliant orange in the light had shattered after the first charge.

He’s going to have the best ballad to write when they get back to town, and already a melody builds in his throat. He hums it while he watches, nervous to see Geralt go up against such an impossibly large foe. He trusts that the witcher knows what he’s doing, and he winces, gripping the craggy wall as Geralt crashes into it just below his hiding place. A normal man would have snapped his spine from the impact alone, but Geralt struggles to his feet and runs off, following the fiend wherever it fled to.

Well, he can’t miss this, can he? Jaskier creeps down the ladder, stooping to pick up the vial Geralt had tossed aside earlier before plodding after where the two disappeared. He isn’t able to leap off ledges like Geralt can, so he has to pick his way down the side of the ruin and hope he doesn’t trip and fall. By the time he makes it down to the bank and follows Geralt’s footprints he can hear the dying bray and gurgle of a large animal. It comes from a cave in the hillside, and Jaskier is loath to go inside. Especially if it smells as bad as he thinks it will.

“Right, uh, I guess I should get a bit closer…” The bard says, not moving an inch from where he’s standing, staring down into the pitch black of the cave.

“No, you shouldn’t.” The voice has no owner for a moment, ragged and deep, and it takes Jaskier longer than he’d like to admit to recognize it.

“Geralt? Are you alright? I’m coming in, let me just-”

“No.” Geralt’s voice is sharp enough to stop Jaskier in his tracks, and he wrings his hands together in a nervous habit. “Go back to town.”

“I can’t just leave you here, what if a-a bandit or something were to come?” There’s a rough chuckle, and Jaskier thinks he spies a lock of white hair, dyed pink at the ends by blood. “Geralt, come out? Please?”

-*-

Of course the bard had followed. Geralt had asked one thing, one thing of him, and wasn’t even granted that. He had hidden at least, because Geralt had no clue where he’d gone in the rush of the fight. He doesn’t want to step out into the sun, not while everything is too much, too bright, but the longer he stays down here the worse it’ll be to adjust. And the more likely it will be that Jaskier comes in anyway, despite the stench he knows keeps the man away for now.

“Move.” Is all the warning the bard gets before Geralt tosses the head out of the cave, listening to the dull thud of its landing and the sharp yelp Jaskier lets out at the sight. He limps from the cave as his knee gives another sharp twinge of discomfort, hissing at the brightness of the sun filling his eyes. It blinds him- leaves everything in washed out shades of white and grey and he hates it. The wildflowers bunched around the rocky ground sway in the wind, but Geralt can’t see their true colors. He knows the stems should be green, the flowers a pale blue or white, given the local flora, but all he sees is three different shades of black and white.

He hears a sharp intake of breath near where he tossed the head, and his body goes taut, attention snapping to the source of the noise. Jaskier stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown wide within what Geralt knows should be blue irises. But they aren’t. They’re so pale they almost blend with the whites of his eyes, and Geralt’s heart drops into his stomach. Jaskier’s heart pounds a frantic, steady rhythm in Geralt’s ears, and his scent, usually so dominated by lavender, has taken on an edge of what Geralt can only describe as cloying spice. He isn’t sure what it means, at least for Jaskier, and he draws in another breath, trying to sniff discreetly, or as discreetly as a witcher hopped up on potions can.

Jaskier reaches out for him then, to lend him a hand or- he doesn't know what- and Geralt flinches. He can see the hurt in Jaskier’s eyes, can smell the scent of dying roses on him, and he struggles to push words from a throat more ready to strangle him than talk.

“Potions.” He looks at Jaskier again, eyes searching every inch of him for any sign of blood or injury, and grinds his teeth in frustration when he can’t differentiate the difference between what’s the stitching of his doublet and what’s the silky chemise underneath. They’re all the same color.

“Oh.” Jaskier sighs out, breathy and soft, and that confuses Geralt more than his lack of color or his racing heart. “Do you need anything right now? Water, stitches?”

“Stitches?” He manages to mumble, taking a step back into the cave where it isn’t so damn bright.

Jaskier’s lips quirk in a soft smile, and he shrugs. “I can’t see if you’re hurt. So, stitches?”

“No. White honey?” Jaskier winces, shooting Geralt a sympathetic look.

“Back in the packs, I think. Should I go fetch it?”

The offer is tempting; Geralt’s heart is still racing and every nerve in him screams that Jaskier is an enemy and he can’t fucking see color, but he doesn’t want Jaskier to leave. Not with his humanity still crumbling within him as he tries desperately to hold himself together enough to talk. He closes his eyes, hoping that taking away one sense will help with the noise in his head, but he’s not sure anything will help right now.

“No. Gotta meditate.”

“Well, come out of the cave then, I’m sure you’d rather not smell whatever it is that’s in there.”

“Bright.” He hears Jaskier chuckle, and the soft shuffle of fabric and leather creaking as Jaskier moves toward him. The thought makes him want to run deeper into the cave, where he can’t do anything that might scare the bard off, but something warm and reeking of lavender is being draped over his head. The light burning through his eyelids lessens immediately, and he gasps as Jaskier gently takes his hands. His grip is iron on Jaskier’s poor hands, but the bard doesn’t protest or pull away, just talks soft and low.

“Do you trust me?”

Does he? He tries to think of all the reasons he shouldn’t trust the bard, but fails to come up with anything meaningful. “Yes.”

“How long till this wears off?”

“Couple hours, maybe more.”

“Okay. Let’s head back for the keep, it’s a bit safer I think. Can you carry the uh, head?”

Geralt nods, and Jaskier leads him over. Geralt can navigate by the scent alone, but he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier if he can help it, and uses one hand to lug the head along by the horns. Jaskier leads him up the path he must have taken to get down, and settles him in the shade underneath a small ledge. He only lets go of Jaskier’s hand once he knows they aren’t going to move again for a while.

“Okay, go ahead and meditate, I’ll keep watch and let you know if I see or hear something.” Jaskier goes to move a few steps away, but Geralt’s hand shoots out, gripping his wrist.

“Stay here.” Jaskier’s heart gives a little stutter, but he laughs softly and settles down next to Geralt. It’s nice, Geralt decides, and though he doesn’t actually feel it much, he figures he has a right to complain. Blizzard has an apt name, both for making everything seem to go in slow motion, and for shooting ice through his veins. “S’cold.”

“Fire?”

“Too noisy.” Jaskier hums for a second more before suddenly leaning against Geralt’s side. It’s near impossible to notice through the leather armor he wears, and must be wildly uncomfortable, but he can feel the heat seeping into him and his heart beats just a bit faster at their closeness. Jaskier being so close also drowns out any other scents around him, and slipping into his meditation is easier when he has one thing to focus on. It's also the closest that Jaskier has gotten to him in days, and he finds he misses the contact. He tries to shut out the noises around him, bouncing through his skull, but where Jaskier has settled them has created some kind of echo around him, and he grits his teeth. It might not be so easy after all.

Jaskier reaches for something, dragging it across the ground before the distinct sound of two metal clasps pops close by. A note is hummed, a string strummed, before Jaskier begins picking away in earnest. The song is new, one he's never heard before- or maybe he has? The melody picks at the edges of his brain, and he finds himself slipping into that trancelike state he was looking for.

When he comes to a couple of hours later, dusk has fallen behind his lids, and he cracks an eye open experimentally. His heart and brain have calmed, and he doesn't feel nearly as cold as he did before. The potions have mostly worn off, except for the Cat, which should be gone in another half hour or so. He hopes.

For now, he'll just have to be content with the watery color bleeding slowly across his vision. Jaskier has stopped playing, lute tucked away, and has his jacket back on to ward himself from the cold. Now he scribbles in his notebook, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he concentrates on whatever he's writing.

"A new one?" His voice is rusty, and he clears his throat while Jaskier jumps, sitting up and clutching his book, cheeks red.

"You should warn a man you know, I could have done something drastic."

"Like what?" Geralt's lips quirk in a small smile, and he's glad he can somewhat recognize the teal of Jaskier's doublet again. Jaskier doesn't seem as amused, and pins him with a withering glance. "New song?"

He tries it again, hoping that showing interest will soften Jaskier's apparent anger. Jaskier regards him with suspicion for a moment more before sighing, nodding while also shrugging.

"I have a lovely new ballad coming, yes, but I was… drawing." Geralt hums low in his throat, nudging his companion and dipping his head toward the journal still clutched to Jaskier's chest. A silent question of can I see it? Jaskier hesitates, holding on a bit tighter before he sighs, holding it out for Geralt to take. "Don't laugh. Poetry was more my strong suit."

Geralt says nothing as he pulls off his gauntlets- they're covered in dried blood, and he doesn't want to ruin the page. Upon taking the journal and seeing what Jaskier has drawn, he almost wishes he had. It's a sketch of him, he can tell by the line of his jaw and the straightness of his nose, but he hates what else he sees. His eyes have been filled in with black, a spiderweb of inky veins creeping over his face and down his neck. His hands shake as he stares at himself immortalized in a state he never wanted Jaskier to see. He was too hopped up on potions to care at the time, but looking now, he feels his heart constrict. How could Jaskier touch him, sit beside him while he looked like this?

"Do you like it?"

"No." Shit, that's not what he meant to say. He glances up, can smell and see the hurt on Jaskier's face, and his throat tightens, strangling his words.

"Give it then, so you don't have to see it." Jaskier takes the book back quickly, closing it with a snap and standing up. He grabs his lute case, slinging it across his back and pacing a few steps away. Ready to go back to town. Geralt struggles to his feet, his damn knee cracking painfully as he rises from his kneeling position. He has to take a second for it to settle before he can bear any weight.

"Jaskier-"

"Let's go, Geralt. I'm tired of being outside." He finds that hard to believe, seeing as they've only been out half the day, but Geralt doesn't know what to say and Jaskier doesn't want to hear it. Geralt follows him in stony silence, hoisting the fiends head away from the ground and wincing at the congealed blood that saturates the ground under it. It reeks. He's not sure how Jaskier could tolerate the smell, let alone sit by it for hours.

Geralt collects his reward from the grieving father and hands over the scrap of what he can now see is mostly yellow fabric. The man laments his son's fate, and Geralt can't do more than stand there and promise he was avenged. The man waves them off, wanting to be alone, and Jaskier heads off with a brisk comment about finding an inn for the night. Geralt goes to check on Roach and gather their things, wanting to give the bard time to cool off. He's brushing Roach down, sneaking her a couple sugar cubes when Jaskier comes to fetch him, leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe. Geralt follows without complaint, refusing to let Jaskier carry his own pack despite the hand held out for it.

The room in the inn is sparsely decorated, and there's only one bed, but a steaming tub of water waits for him, and his heart gives a strange leap. Jaskier’s doublet is off, tossed carelessly on a chair with his boots sitting nearby, and Geralt has to force himself not to stare at the dip of Jaskier’s chemise. "Bathe."

The command is rough, but Geralt complies easily, stripping himself out of his armor and the soggy clothes beneath before sinking into the water. Heat prickles uncomfortably at his skin, but he lets out a small groan and sinks a bit deeper. Jaskier perches wordlessly behind him, tugging the tie from his hair and working any blood out with whatever soap he'd managed to get from the innkeeper. It smells a bit stronger than Geralt would like, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe now he can try again, while he's relatively safe.

"It was nice." Well, that's a start at least. Jaskier's hands pause in his hair, nails digging in a bit too hard, but Geralt groans and leans up into the touch. Jaskier scratches along his scalp, nails digging in, and Geralt relishes the sensation. His vision is almost back to full color, and he stares at Jaskier's doublet, discarded on the chair. "The drawing."

Jaskier scoffs. "You don't have to lie."

"M'not. Just don't like seeing it. The monster." Geralt adds on the end, not wanting to fuck things up twice. Just saying what he feels makes his skin crawl, but Jaskier gives a soft oh, continuing to scratch at Geralt's scalp.

"So you weren't insulting me then?" Geralt shakes his head, going still when Jaskier clicks his tongue. He begins scrubbing at the blood under his nails while Jaskier talks, needing something to pay attention to. "I thought you looked… Gorgeous, ethereal, effervescent- I could wax poetry about it endlessly.”

Geralt snorts, shaking his head, causing Jaskier to press his fingers in harder to keep him from moving. “Don’t. Don’t pretend.”

Jaskier scoffs this time, fingers tightening in Geralt’s hair and pulling until Geralt is straining to look back at him or risk his scalp. A hot wave of arousal washes over Geralt at the sensation, but all he does is grunt, looking back at the bard with a mixture of annoyance and hopefully- suppressed lust. Geralt notices, faintly, that his color is back completely as the two of them lock eyes, glaring at one another.

“I’m tired of you telling me what to do and how to feel, Witcher.”

“What am I telling you to feel?” Heat creeps along Geralt’s spine, and oh he’s playing a dangerous game. Maybe those potions aren’t as worn off as he might have thought.

Jaskier looks at him, brow furrowed, and Geralt feels Jaskier’s grip in his hair loosen. He misses the sensation for an instant before Jaskier leans forward, pressing his lips to Geralt’s in an awkward, upside down kiss. It’s almost painful- Jaskier’s chin and nose dig into him at an odd angle, but his hands come up and out of the water instinctively to grip Jaskier’s hair, keeping him from moving away. Jaskier takes that as a good sign it seems, because he nips at Geralt’s lower lip before pulling back. Geralt doesn’t want to hurt him, ever, and he lets Jaskier go, breathing hard and pupils contracting to mere slits. He tracks Jaskier’s every moment, listens to the way his heart is hammering, that same cloying lavender scent oozing through the room.

Geralt leans forward as Jaskier moves around the side of the tub, a pale hand smoothing over his shoulder. He wants to know what’s going on, wants to ask Jaskier what he thinks he’s doing, but nothing escapes him other than a low growl. Jaskier laughs softly, almost mockingly, and leans forward to kiss the corner of Geralt’s mouth. The witcher moves faster than might be necessary, but just barely catches Jaskier before he leans back again.

“Bard.” Geralt warns, voice vibrating with the steady growl that’s built up. Jaskier glances at him, eyes darting down to Geralt’s lips for an instant as a smug, self satisfied smile lights up his face.

“Witcher.”

“Say you want this.” Geralt’s mind moves slow, so slow that for a moment he fears he’s drunk off of the scent of Jaskier, so incredibly close yet just out of reach. He can’t think with Jaskier so close, grinning at him like he’s a cat who’s just gotten a delightfully fat mouse, and his fingers twitch on the edge of the tub.

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” That’s all that Geralt needs, and he reaches out, snagging Jaskier by the hips and bodily hoisting him forward. Jaskier laughs as he slips against the edge of the tub, a hand splaying against Geralt’s chest.

“You’ll ruin my clothes and the floor.” Geralt grunts, not caring, but Jaskier is undeterred. “Out.”

Oh, this is dangerous indeed. He groans, impatient, but Jaskier is already stepping away and tugging at the ties on his chemise. A moment of hesitation slices through the haze in Geralt’s mind, and he pauses in the water. Jaskier has seen him naked more times than he can count, but it’s different this time. This time, he’s allowed to look, and Geralt isn’t sure what to do with that thought. He’s waking up slowly from the raging of his heart, but Jaskier reaches out, fingers brushing under his chin and tipping his head up. He kisses Geralt slowly, luxuriating in the action and nipping gently at his lower lip. The small bit of pressure from Jaskier's teeth has Geralt gasping, and he stands up blindly, stumbling out of the tub as Jaskier continues kissing him.

That one point of contact, their lips sliding against each other, is the anchor that Geralt clings to. His hands come up, fingers shaking before finding purchase on Jaskier’s shirt and gripping it tight enough that he can hear the fibers straining not to rip. Jaskier hums against his lips, hands sliding over Geralt’s chest and pushing him back and away from the tub. Geralt walks blindly, and every time he breathes, opens his eyes, the world is skewed with vibrant contrasts of color. Geralt’s calves hit the edge of the bed, and he tips back, dragging Jaskier with him and wheezing out a laugh as the bard lands on top of him. It feels good to have Jaskier’s weight on top of him, and he hardly lets him get far. He can feel Jaskier’s cock pressing against his hip, and he groans, glad it isn’t just him affected. Jaskier kisses him harder for that, and Geralt whines against his lips.

“The potions.” Geralt hums, glancing up at Jaskier with half lidded eyes. His hair is a mess, lips red and cheeks redder, and the sight steals his breath. He props himself up on his arms, sighing when Jaskier settles astride his hips. “Are they still affecting you?”

“I don’t know.” He admits softly, humming when Jaskier leans to lay kisses along his jaw. He arches his neck, giving the man atop him more room to work and huffing when Jaskier drags his teeth lightly down his neck. “Why?”

“I don’t want to do anything if you aren’t in full control of yourself. Not unless we’d agreed upon it before, of course.”

“It’s not like being drugged.”

“No, but how do I know this is because of sober thought?” Jaskier grinds down suddenly, and the friction of cloth against his bare skin has him hissing, hips snapping up of their own accord. Geralt chokes on a breath before glaring at the very smug bard atop him.

“Don’t-” Jaskier laughs, kissing him in apology and lifting himself up a bit. Geralt is both grateful and infuriated, hands clenching into fists. He’s definitely more affected than he thought. “What did you mean, agreed upon?”

Jaskier looks at him, humming softly and shifting to sit back on Geralt’s thighs. It sends a shimmer of pain through his knee, but the sensation grounds him further, and he sits up fully. “Geralt, if I can be frank-”

“When aren’t you?” the bard pins him with a look and Geralt raises his hands, gesturing for him to continue.

“I find you in all your witchery, black eyed glory incredibly attractive. I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it on me by now.”

“I don’t like to pry.” He can’t help himself now though, leaning a bit closer and taking a deep breath. He smells sweat, the lavender oil Jaskier uses, and most powerful, the sickly sweet, almost spicy scent of Jaskier’s arousal. “Really?”

“Really.” Jaskier shifts off his lap now, padding over to their packs and digging out clothes for Geralt. “So, get dressed before I decide to ravage you fully.”

Geralt catches the clothes as they’re tossed at him, flexing his thighs and steadying his breathing to calm himself down. He dresses slowly, skin hypersensitive and every sense trained on where Jaskier tidies up across the room. Now that the other man isn’t kissing him senseless Geralt takes a moment to think, and to admire him in full color. Jaskier catches him looking, but merely smiles and nods toward the bed. Geralt crawls under the covers at the silent request, and lays back, watching as Jaskier strips down to his small clothes and blows out the candles, leaving just the hearth for faint light and warmth. He crawls into bed and into the waiting arms of his witcher, pressing their legs together and grinning when Geralt loops an arm over his hips.

“Have I told you why I hate fiends?” Jaskier shakes his head before tucking under Geralt’s chin, cheek pressed to Geralt’s collarbone to feel the vibrations.

“Does it have to do with caves?” Geralt grunts, squeezing a bit tighter and reveling in the pleasant squeeze Jaskier gives back.

“Yes.”

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #minor sluttiness #high toxicity geralt

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salt-warrior · 3 years

Text

RISE FROM THE ASHES

A When Earth Turns to Ashes sequel

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen: The Strength to Stay Away

Cinder ran, legs pumping, hands grasping the walls when she stumbled. She raced down the stairs of her apartment building and out into the frozen air. Her feet carried her all the way to her car before she collapsed, tears streaming down her face, ice filling her lungs as she gasped.

She sat upon the icy ground, unable to feel the moisture seeping into her skin or the cold numbing her body. The sky had faded to a bleak purple, with a burning horizon of orange and red and gold. It was night, and it was cold. But the cold came not from the atmosphere nor the sky— no, it was the soul-crushing feeling that resided within her. The ache that spoke words she didn’t want to hear. The knowledge that her brief happiness had come to an end. From this point on, she would be on her own. She couldn’t allow herself to find new friends, a new love, if that were possible. And she sure as hell wouldn’t seek out Cress or Iko or even Thorne.

And Kai— she would try to bury him in the depths of her mind. He wouldn’t be the first to enter her mental graveyard, tucked away forever. But hopefully he would be the last. Perhaps she could live out the rest of her days thinking of no one, living as if she were the only soul upon the planet. It would be lonely, but it would hurt less than the agony of losing another loved one.

With shaking fingers, Cinder slid her car key into the lock, twisting until she heard a faint click. On hands and knees, she climbed into the car, ignoring the ache in her bones and the tears upon her face. She started the engine and, without another thought, drove away.

Her headlights were the only light in the dark, like a distant star, wandering in search of companionship, but finding none. She didn’t know where she was going, only that it had to be away from Kai— as far as she could possibly go. Her gut twisted.

Cinder started to cry— to really cry. Not just the tears that had already been tracing down her cheeks, but full-on sobs. She wailed into the night to release all the sorrow of her soul. But her despair was a hydra; the more she fought it, the harder she tried to kill it, the more powerful it grew.

She pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and turned off the car. She could no longer see the dark and the blackening sunset. The road was a concept her brain could not manage to grasp as her mind replayed the horror she’d undergone but minutes ago.

There was fire, and there was Kai. She could see it— and it was that she could see. The flames as they cascaded down, as if from heaven itself. The way they backlit Kai, turning his hair to amber and eyes to gold. And then there were his screams.

She couldn’t stop hearing them. They echoed in her head, trapped there forever. His screams, though not prolonged, would be her eternity. If there was a Hell or an Underworld or some eternal damnation after this life, his screams would be her punishment. They would destroy her.

His words to her after the fire had been put out were mere whispers of the wind by comparison to the roaring river of his screams. His pleas for her to stay had hardly registered in her brain above the horror in her heart. His hands reaching out, trying to touch her, to comfort her, were mere wisps of smoke to the fire raging within her mind.

She had pleaded with him. She’d begged him to let her go, just as he had begged her to stay. And behind the smoke and swirling flames, she could see his face when she’d put in her final request— her final words to him.

“You have to let me go.”

“I can’t.”

She knew he meant it, but it didn’t stop her from hoping. Because he had to let her go— he just had to.

“Kai,” Cinder cried, his name her only comfort now that he was gone from her. She swiped at the tears on her face and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Kai’s sweatshirt. The gray one that he loved so much. For a moment, she felt sad that she had taken it from him, and then the slightest bit comforted that she had something of his. Almost as if he were hugging her.

She pulled the collar of the hoodie up to her nose and tried to breathe in his scent. It was hard to latch onto, but there all the same. Soft and sweet and familiar.

Cinder thought back to just weeks before when she had feared that she was losing Kai. Back when his days of melancholy and grief had been the most terrifying thing in her life. When the idea of leaving him had cut her to her core. She had feared him leaving more than anything else, and now here she was, abandoning him.

“Is that why you leave everyone? Because that’s the only way you know how to love?”

His words should have hurt more than they did. He’d meant them to. He’d tried to get a rise out of her— attempted to get her to stay. He’d given it his all, but she’d known it would come down to this. She only regretted not leaving sooner. If she’d run away at the library, Kai wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

No, if she’d left then, she would have come back. Kai’s screams would haunt her forever, but at least they would give her the strength to stay away.

A calm came over her then, causing her tears to cease and the turmoil within her to quiet. It was a calm born not out of peace, but of reflection. Throughout the entirety of her life, her mother had protected her. In a way that caused more harm than good, yes. But she’d protected her in her own sick way. She’d taken love from Cinder’s life. But perhaps it had been for a reason.

Maybe Cinder’s mother hadn’t been the problem after all. Maybe it was Cinder. Her mother had killed the people she loved before Cinder could grow properly attached. It had hurt, but it had not ached as it did now. It had torn at Cinder’s heart to know that her mother had killed Ran and Peony, but the idea of her own flames killing Kai— that was worse.

Her mother had sworn to protect her; but was she protecting Cinder from others, or herself? Was it possible that Cinder was the demon?

Cinder stared down at her hands, one marred by burn scars, both tinted blue with cold. She remembered the way in which the flames had come as she left Kai— almost as if by command. She’d wanted to be left alone; she’d wanted for him to let her go. And then there was that flash of light.

“No,” Cinder whispered, rubbing her hands into her eyes. It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t a world in which people had powers of fire. Her world may have been encapsulated with ghosts, but supernatural abilities of the living was not an element of that world. She was just an ordinary girl.

Well, not ordinary, but she wasn’t the supernatural being here. It had to be her mother. Her mother, the ghost, who was tied to Cinder’s own life.

But then why hadn’t she come in the last year? When Cinder had loved more than ever before and been loved in return? At least three people should have been dead if Cinder’s mother were still around.

And Cinder’s mother had always been a distinct being. She had a form, a face. She was almost a living thing. But this thing— this ball of fire— it wasn’t her mother.

It was like her mother.

Cinder let out a gasp as everything fell into place. The fear. The fire. The stories. Kai. It all made sense. They’d been wrong all along. They’d been wrong about everything.

A ball of fire wisped to life next to the driver’s side window, and Cinder jumped into the passenger’s seat, fear coursing through her veins. A string of expletives escaped her mouth in the most horrendous way she could muster.

She watched as the ball of conflagration drifted past her, as if it had somewhere to be. Someone to meet. It moved with ease, even as snow began to tumble from the darkened sky. She didn't know where it was going, but she knew what it was trying to tell her.

So with shaking hands and a trembling heart, Cinder slid back into the driver's seat, turned on her car, and followed the flames that led her toward certain doom.

***

Kai stared at the closed door, the fear coursing through his veins more powerful than the logic trying to leak through his brain. He knew he should have been doing something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. All he could see were the flames cascading before his eyes. Even in their absence, he could still feel their flickering breath, almost as if they were laughing at him.

The door stood before him as it always had. The wood was dark, showing beneath a chipping layer of evergreen paint. He’d been planning on repainting it a bright red— his favorite color— as soon as he found the time. Now he wondered where all the time had gone.

His life had always been a broken clock, one that was too fast, leaving him always scrambling behind. He hadn’t had enough time with his mother. No, she had left him while he was still a child. And his father, well, he had abandoned Kai with a suddenness that to this day still caused his chest to ache. Time had never been in Kai’s favor, at least not where love was concerned.

As he sat on the floor, time ticked on, counting off the seconds from which Kai had watched his love disappear. The love of his life, his Angel of Hell, the girl who had been so much more than a girl. She was gone.

And Kai couldn’t bring her back.

He got to his feet and opened the door with the wrong-colored paint. He glanced behind the door, as if his lover would be there, waiting for him. As if she hadn’t actually forsaken him, but was rather beckoning for him to follow.

She wasn’t there.

And when Kai walked down the stairs and into the parking lot, she wasn’t there either. She was gone. A girl never to be seen again.

It was then that Kai began to panic. He felt it first in his chest, that tightening that restricted the beating of his heart and the breaths allowed to escape his being. It felt like the world was caving in. He sunk down on the steps, head in his hands as tears began to stream down his face. The sun was just going down, lighting the purple sky with streaks of orange and gold, as if it too were crying.

Cars passed on the road, all going somewhere. Perhaps home to people who loved them, and would wrap their arms around them when they walked through the door. The thought made Kai’s melancholy heart droop with a wave of agony.

He pulled out his phone to call the only person who he knew could help him— the only one who would always be there.

Tags: @shellyseashell @cinderswrench @healing-winston-pratt @just2bubbly @silverstars21 @gingerale2017 @greasicookies @the-wee-woo-rita @zephyr-thedragon @bookpapaya @cindersassasin @the-jewel-of-ketterdam

#when earth turns to ashes #rise from the ashes #marissa meyer #tlc #the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #kaider #kaider fanfiction #tlc fanfiction #linh cinder #selene blackburn #prince kai #emperor kai #carswell thorne #cress darnel #emperor rikan #channary blackburn #a burning world #salt warrior stories

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mylittlemystery · 3 years

Text

Tongue Tied

Summary: for someone who usually had such a way with words, it was a rare occurrence for Gundham to find himself at a loss for them.

A/N: I have a total of three brain cells remaining, and all of them have been starving for some ‘lee Gundham content.

Sonia glanced up from her book when she felt the mattress dip beside her, and a warm smile graced her lips once she recognized it was none other than her boyfriend. “Gundham!” she chirped as she marked her place and set the book aside on her nightstand. Reading could wait until later - spending time with her lover was much more important. “How can I help you?”

Surprisingly enough, Gundham was rather quiet. He wasn’t usually one to actively seek out physical affection, so this situation was already strange enough as it is. He rubbed his forearm rhythmically, multicolored eyes taking up a striking interest in the wrinkled bed sheets beneath them, and his typically pale skin almost looked like it had been airbrushed with a baby pink hue. “U-um,” he muttered under his breath, already quiet words muffled even further by the large scarf covering his mouth.

Sonia’s previously cheerful expression melted into one of careful concern, and she scooted her body closer to the other’s after a moment’s hesitation. “Gundham? Is something the matter?” she inquired softly before resting a palm atop his bandaged hand. “If there’s something bothering you, you can always tell me…”

“N-no!” Gundham exclaimed with a sudden ferocity as he snatched his hand away. Immediately realizing that he had raised his voice a little too much, he recoiled back into himself like a wounded puppy. “It’s nothing like that,” he elaborated in a much gentler tone than before. “It’s just...I...I just…”

Sonia found herself at a loss for words for a moment as well - she had never seen the ordinarily prideful man in such a state. She knew that it was impolite to pry, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the other like this. “Just what?” she echoed softly, raising a hand to cup one of those flushed cheeks.

Gundham flinched ever so slightly at the unannounced physical contact, but he made no move to stop his lover’s advancements. “W-would you…” It wasn’t that he had wanted to pause - rather, it was as if his very voice had been abruptly ripped away from him. Damn it...he was feared by countless beings, both mortal and supernatural alike! He shouldn’t be so easily overcome by such a harmless request! “...Would you perform that mortal ac-activity with me again?” he finally managed to choke out.

Sonia blinked obliviously, taking a minute to recall the events the two had participated in during the past week. “Do...do you mean tickling…?”

Judging by how red the other’s face grew at the mere mention of the word, it appeared that her shot in the dark had landed. “If...if that’s what you call it, yes,” Gundham murmured, seemingly trying to bury his head in the protective cocoon his scarf provided.

It was safe to say that Sonia’s heart melted at this downright adorable reaction, and a tender grin spread across her mouth. “Aw, of course I can!” she gushed without truly meaning to - seeing her boyfriend like this was just too cute for her to handle. “There’s no need for you to be so embarrassed over something like that.”

“F-foolish girl! An Overlord such as myself does not fall prey to such trivial enchantments!” Gundham insisted in an attempt to recover some of his lost ego, but it wasn’t very convincing when he still couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with the other.

Clearly, Sonia didn’t buy the act (if her bubbly giggle was anything to go off of, that is). “Alright then! Lie down so we can do this properly!” she instructed merrily as she gave his chest a delicate prod.

Gundham did as he was told, face practically turning into a radiator with how much heat was pouring off it, laying on his back with his arms crossed like a little beetle stuck on its shell. His legs began fidgeting ever so slightly, feet toying with the top sheet beneath them anxiously. It was clear he was nervous, but not in the typical manner one might expect; this was a giddy sort of nervousness, one a child might experience when playing tag with their friends.

Sonia definitely wasn’t going to take this opportunity for granted, and she took some time to relish in the sight presented before her. The Forbidden One was as red as a tomato, his gaze focusing anywhere but on her own, and his normally carefully guarded body was being offered to her like the greatest gift she ever could have imagined. It made a sense of immense humility blossom within her heart; she felt absolutely honored to be trusted by the other to this extent. Finally, figuring she had kept him waiting long enough, she slipped her hands underneath his shirt and began skittering her well kept nails along the seldom touched flesh.

It didn’t take long at all for Gundham to burst into a flurry of tiny titters, his hands instinctively lowering themselves to push at those of his lover. “Nnnnnh! G-guhuhuhahahaaa!” His smile was much softer than his ordinary sneer, closed eyelids wrinkling at the corners with forced mirth, and his laugh sounded much lighter as well.

“You have such a wonderful laugh, Gundham,” Sonia gushed without really realizing it. “I’m so happy you’ll let me see you like this...all giggly and flustered!” A few giggles of her own mingled with those of her lover’s as she watched his plethora of reactions, her fingers continuing their devious dance along the expanse of quivering flesh.

Gundham didn’t think it was possible for his face to grow any redder than it already was, but this line of complimenting proved him sorely mistaken. He turned to bury his head into one of the many pillows beneath him, hoping that this would succeed in hiding his atypical demeanor, but all this did was result in the earlier scratches turning to gentle kneading. He barked out a laugh as he instinctually brought his knees to his chest, or, rather, into his beloved’s lower back.

Sonia clicked her tongue in mock chastise at this, shaking her head solemnly as if the other was nothing more than a particularly naughty pet. “Trying to hide yourself away from my claws?” she hummed as her formerly adoring smile morphed into one of a much more devious nature. She couldn’t help herself - she took a great fondness in teasing her brooding boyfriend to smithereens. “Silly dear...you know they’ll just find a way to keep on tickling~”

Gundham couldn’t hold back his yelp of surprise when he felt one of those dangerously long nails twirl inside his navel, and he fell into a bundle of chest shaking chortles. Words certainly seemed to hold an immense amount of power over him, what with his frantic clambering to hide his face behind his forearms, so it was no wonder that these sultry laden quips were making him feel weak in the knees. Still, he had to keep his composure. He wouldn’t dare surrender to something so light hearted!

“That’s right, love. Giggle all day!” Sonia cooed as she gradually let up on the area, her fingers idly tapping against the still quaking abdomen. “My goodness, you’re all aflush! I suppose not even the Supreme Overlord of Ice is a match for the Tickle Monster…”

...On second thought, he was surely going to die here. Swallowing down the antsy lump in his throat, Gundham affixed the best glare he could manage given the circumstances against those icy blue eyes. “You...you truly are a wicked enchantress…”

An unusually dark titter slipped from Sonia’s lips as she batted her lashes down at her captive innocently. “But of course~! And now that I’ve got you in my clutches, I have to wonder just what I’ll do with you…” She raised her hands so they were now at her sides, fingers wiggling in anticipation, looking the other up and down like he was the tastiest meal she’d ever laid eyes upon. “I could keep playing with this ticklish tummy for a while…”

More deep chuckles escaped from Gundham as the scribbling on his stomach resumed.

“Maybe I could play piano on your ribs…”

Delicate tapping soon followed, earning the princess a trifle of squirming.

“Maybe I could burrow under your arms…”

Said action won an outright snort.

“I could even play This Little Piggy with your toes~!”

Though she made no actual followthrough to these words, Gundham couldn’t help but bury his feet into the mattress protectively.

“Or maybe…”

The Dark Lord’s heart skipped a beat at the sudden silence that overpowered the room, his gaze trained on the surely rising claws of his demise. He felt so utterly meek in this position, so inconsequential and powerless, and it made an unfamiliar feeling brew in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps this was what humans meant when they referred to another as being bashful…?

“I’ll get at that cute little neck of yours!”

Gundham was rudely tugged away from his inner thoughts by the horrid sensation of...well, he didn’t quite know exactly what it was, but it was enough to make him explode with powerful belly laughter. “AHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” His lower half thrashed to and fro violently as if his very existence itself was determined to escape this predicament. “WH-WHAHAT IS THAHAHAHAHAT?!”

“What, you’ve never had a raspberry before?” Sonia asked dumbfoundedly, momentarily dropping her sadistic creature act. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at things), she recovered just as quickly. “Well then, I’ll guess we’ll just have to make up for it now~!” Preparing herself with a dramatically loud inhalation of breath, she blew against the other’s typically concealed neck once again.

To say that Gundham was hysterical would’ve been a major understatement; his throaty cackles were reverberating off the walls with the intensity of a clap of thunder. “NOHOHOHOHOHOOO!” he wailed desperately as yet another raspberry was delivered, creeping up to the edge of his sanity, clutching the other’s long strands of hair weakly. “IHI YIEHEHEHEHELD!” he cried out at last. “M-MEHEERCEEEHEHEHEE!”

With this dire call for reprieve, Sonia ceased her consensual torment immediately. Her smile melted back into the warm one others were more accustomed to seeing, and she delicately rubbed her thumb underneath the edge of his jawline. “Oh, love...I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I do hope I didn’t go too far...did I?”

Taking some time to steady his breathing to a level he was satisfied with, Gundham gently shook his head. “I...I found that to be quite...entertaining,” he admitted in a hushed whisper, as though he was uttering a forgotten secret, his eyes shifting around the room awkwardly. “Th-thank you, my bunny…”

Sonia felt her own face grow hot at the sound of the beloved nickname, not hesitating to plant a kiss of appreciation on the tip of the other’s nose. “Of course!”

Gundham sighed as he wrapped his arms around her slender frame. She was a devious little minx, that much was for certain, and he’d managed to get tightly coiled around her little finger...

#writing #fanfiction #danganronpa #gundham tanaka #sonia nevermind #sondam #tickle #tickling #tickles #tickled #ticklish #my stuff #lmao this is the most self indulgent shit ive ever made

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yumeyooa · 3 years

Text

under the full moon | k.nj

—in which only the moon is a witness to the forbidden love you and namjoon share

➢ pairing: kim namjoon x gender neutral! reader

➢ word count: 2.8k+

➢ warnings: use of they/them pronouns | discrimination | mentions of blood

➢ love letter: i FORGOT i had this in my drafts BHSWBJDHD but anyways enjoy this self indulgent namjoon fic i made weeks ago when i was binging white blood <33

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The full moon was ablaze tonight, high up in the dark sky, looming over the vast land as if it were waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Its light shone down eerily on the earth, and any sane person would know that being out this late at night would only get themselves killed.

It was the night where the supernatural creatures that hid amongst the dark came out to play, after all.

With the moonlight feeding their magical energy, the night where it shone brightest was always a day they looked forward to. A day, where for once in their lives, they could relive those moments before humanity became a threat to their existence. Where they could roam around like the proud, majestic beings they once were or at least are.

Except in these times, freedom was very much far from reality.

The council of wolves was bustling with energy that same night, gathered in a club owned by the Kim Pack. On the night of the full moon, where their power was incredibly potent, they could only gather together, waiting for the perfect moment to attack or defend themselves from the vampires.

Ah yes, the very reason why the supernatural realm was abuzz and chaotic. After the surprising death of the vampire king, they had appointed a new leader. Frankly, no one aside from the vampires themselves understood their succession process. From what they could gather, though, it was a gruesome and rigorous battle where only the most powerful can claim the throne.

Yet, the new monarch of the vampires was in all ways unpredictable, holding no care for the centuries-old treaties that were in place to maintain the peace within the supernatural order. Instead, they did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, causing copious amounts of stress for the other tribes and species.

And that new monarch was you, (L/N) (Y/N), the tyrant.

"Alpha," A voice calls, snapping Namjoon, who had been thinking to himself this entire time, out of his trance. The said wolf looks up, only to come face to face with his best friend and right-hand man since time eternal, a beta from his pack, Seokjin. "The packs are getting restless. The vampires have gone too far. We need to do something about it."

"Indeed!" A voice exclaims, shooting up from his seat while he viciously snarls. Jungkook, Namjoon thinks to himself. Soon to be the alpha of the Jeon Pack. "Those damned wenches have done enough! They've already stolen our food supply and trespassed our territory on multiple occasions. We cannot let this pass by. We must act now!"

Choruses of agreement echo throughout the hall as Namjoon rubs his temples in frustration, the noise ringing in his ears. But just before he could get his disappointment across, the door opens, and Yoongi, a rogue and Namjoon's most trusted spy from the ancient pack of Min, storms in, bruised and panicked.

"The vampires have attacked the borders," he says, panting as he leans on Hoseok, his best friend. "There were no casualties, but multiple packs have been robbed." Gasps echo throughout the room, and all the more do the council of wolves cause an uproar, demanding their alpha to go to war.

"We shouldn't be accepting this treachery! It is a shame to our kind!"

"We must fight back, show those vampires what we wolves are capable of."

"How long must our kind suffer before we finally take action, alpha? When will enough be en—"

"Enough!" Namjoon exclaims, using his inner voice to silence the room. He stands up, towering over the dozens of wolves inside with him, who back down at his presence, overwhelmed.

"I shall handle this, myself," is all he says as he makes his way to the entrance, much to the surprise and shock of everyone in the room. "What?" Seokjin exclaims, eyes wide in shock. "Namjoon, are you serious right now? It's too reckless to go there all alone. What if something happens to you?" Shortly after, small echoes of protest begin to circulate, each member presenting their concerns for the alpha.

But it only takes one harsh look from him for them to settle back down, looking at anywhere they possibly could but his eyes. He was the alpha of all alphas, after all. He wasn't someone to be easily overpowered.

"Do not make me repeat myself," he says, stern, eyes glaring into the souls of the other wolves in the room. "I will handle it. Do I make myself clear?"

No one goes against him this time, watching with worried eyes as he takes his leave, heading straight to the vampire lair, where you lay, waiting.

When he arrived at vampire territory, however, without a doubt, Namjoon was met with hostility. Dozens, no, maybe even hundreds of vampires bared their fangs at him, ready to attack and rip him to shreds.

The anger and hatred they held for his kind reflected in their blood-red eyes, staring at his every move the more he headed deeper into their territory. It was expected, of course. If any unwanted species were to enter his territory as if they owned the place, he would be angry as well.

But unbeknownst to the vampires that sneered and glared at him and his fellow packmates back at home who trusted him to annihilate said vampires, he had other plans in mind.

A vampire approached him, clad in a suit that resembled those of the olden times as if time had barely passed for the man. He looked at him with disdain yet chose not to say anything about it.

"The monarch wishes to see you," is all he says, turning to let Namjoon follow him. "I suggest you… transform if you wish to keep up." The way he refers to him with such spite and anger makes Namjoon want to tear his limbs apart one by one, but that would be too reckless on his part, especially as the head alpha, no matter how much his inner voice was telling him that his packmates would absolutely love to see him go berserk, especially when his rage was to be directed at those despicable blood-suckers.

It was a good thing Namjoon's rationality was more substantial than his instincts.

The moment Namjoon transformed, the man who had been talking to him immediately led the way, running in inhuman speed to which Namjoon, based on instinct alone, followed suit, surprisingly keeping up with the speedy vampire. The man scoffed at that, appalled at the thought that a mere werewolf could keep up with him.

But Namjoon was no ordinary werewolf. He was the alpha. And there was only one person who could genuinely stand at par with him.

"Your majesty," the vampire says, knocking at the door. "The werewolf has arrived."

Namjoon wants to growl at the hostility in the vampire's voice. The burning desire that flowed through his veins made him want to teach that low life a lesson for insulting him, but he thought better with it. It would only cause complications, after all.

"Let him in," a voice calls, enchanting and majestic, immediately bringing Namjoon out of his trance of rage. "Alone."

"P-pardon?" The vampire exclaims, surprised at his master's command. "Y-your majesty, it is inadvisable to be alone with a lowly werewo—"

"—Seungri." The monarch says voice laced with malice, even to the point of sending shivers down Namjoon's skin. "Do not make me repeat myself."

The silence that follows is deafening as Namjoon takes in the defeated look on the vampire's face, inwardly smirking to himself. Serves him right for treating him as an inferior when he was in all ways superior to him.

He gives the said vampire a smug look, while in turn the other glares at him, before opening the door for him to enter, a warning in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed to Namjoon, who merely brushes it off, stepping into the dark room, and hearing the door close behind him.

Finally, Namjoon thinks to himself, his shoulders relaxing almost immediately as he sighs.

Finally, he can breathe.

"Well, isn't someone getting all cozy over there?" A teasing voice calls out from the darkness, the moonlight illuminating their figure while their bloody red eyes shine in the dark.

They stand up, slowly walking towards him, and Namjoon can feel the anticipation within him rise the more they come closer. "You're finally here," they say, smiling at Namjoon, fingers placed on his chin as they stare admirably at his neck. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you, darling?"

At their words of endearment, Namjoon sighs in bliss, completely relaxing in the monarch's hold, nuzzling into their neck and taking in the comforting scent alluding from them.

"I apologize, my love," Namjoon says, finally showing his true colors, a happy and content smile on his face as his lover, you, leads him to the bed, allowing him to lay his head on your lap running your fingers through his hair. "You know how my kind is. Without me, they're practically a bunch of lost puppies."

Your soft laughter rings throughout the room, and Namjoon sighs once more, blissfully enjoying this moment of serenity with you. "Well, they better get their act together, or else I'll truly go down there and cause a ruckus."

"Haven't you already?" Namjoon pries, opening one eye to look at you. "Your kind's attacks have put mine on edge, you know?"

"Well, how else was I supposed to get you to come here?" You pout as if you were a child. "I can't just stroll into your territory without those clan members of yours attacking me with each step! At least my clan has some self-restraint!"

Namjoon chuckles, admiring the seemingly innocent look on your face, lips in a pout, as your eyes squinted at him childishly. If any of his clan members were to find out that he, the head alpha, had fallen for the ruler of their enemy, they would throw a fit; probably cause a rebellion.

But frankly, at the moment, Namjoon didn't care because with the way you were acting so comfortable around him and the way he felt like being with you was a breath of fresh air, nothing else mattered.

"Well," Namjoon admits, smiling softly, "I suppose you have a point. But still," he says, looking up at you with a faux stern gaze. "Did you really have to rob my people?"

Flustered, you look away, not knowing what to say. "W-well, I couldn't just hurt them, so I figured making them steal was the better… Was I wrong?"

"Well, morally, I suppose you were," Namjoon says, taking your hand into his. "You could have looked for a better reason to get us together…."

There's a distraught expression on your face at the sound of his faux disappointment, and Namjoon smiles at how precious it is, knowing that you wouldn't show it to anyone else but him. Your reputation and image as a tyrant was important after all.

He remembers the day he first met you, long ago, back when you were still fighting for the throne. He had been on patrol that night when usually he wasn't. Clan leaders weren't supposed to go on patrol, but as if he were lured by fate, he had decided to go out that night. Partly to satiate the growing instinct burning within him and get away from the tedious work Seokjin had prepared for him prior.

It was then that he discovered you, dreadfully injured after a fight with the eldest son of another family. As per tradition, all twelve of the eldest children of each vampire family would compete in a battle to the death against each other. The winner would take the throne. It was a bloody, brutal development that had Namjoon appalled when he found out.

Especially after seeing your sorry state, wounded and bruised, hanging on the edge of life and death, Namjoon was terrified, to say the least.

Sure, the growing conflict between the vampires and werewolves had clouded his judgment on certain occasions, but how could he leave someone who was literally about to die in his territory alone? It would go against everything he ever stood for. And Kim Namjoon was anything but a hypocrite.

When you came to, you were, without a doubt, wary of him. Who wouldn't be? You were enemies by nature, and based on your current disposition, you were at a disadvantage should a fight break out. It made sense for you to keep your guard up.

But Namjoon approached you with all the kindness and compassion he could muster, cleaning up your wounds even though your regenerative abilities would take care of them as time passed by, feeding you with the meals his mother used to whip up for him whenever he got into a brawl with another alpha.

As the two of you spent more time together, you gradually got closer. Namjoon was able to find out that you were a late bloomer, a vampire who, despite being of age, hadn't awakened their true powers and abilities. Thus, you were an immediate target for the other candidates for the throne and had fallen victim to a vicious attack led by none other than the man you called your best friend.

A heartbreaking and infuriating betrayal, if Namjoon were to say so himself.

In turn, you had found out that Namjoon, the proclaimed head-alpha once the previous passed away, had been carrying the burden of the pack for as long as he remembered. Unlike vampires, werewolves chose their head alpha based on a ritual, honoring the full moon. The moon had chosen Namjoon that night, and while he knew that it brought great honor to his family, he was pressured to no end, knowing that the expectations for his rule were high.

Frankly, if he had a choice, he would refuse. But as both of you were to realize, you were in no position to refuse the chains that tradition had set to bind you from your freedom.

Cruel, truly.

But fate was a mysterious thing that worked in enigmatic ways. It wove the chains that tied the two of you down together, bringing two enemies meant to battle each other to the death and showing them that sometimes the answers they so desperately longed for could be found in the most unusual of places; cradled deep within the arms of forbidden love.

"However," Namjoon continues, breaking from his train of thought as he caresses your face in the palm of his hand, smiling softly at the sight of you leaning in, stroking his own hand with yours lovingly. "As your lover who so desperately wished to see you as well, I suppose I can let it slide…."

It's funny to Namjoon how much you act like a child behind closed doors, but that was who you were. An innocent child forced to act like a tyrant to stay alive. But if it was for the sake of your survival, then anything goes. Namjoon had taught you how to fight back, had taught you how to rule, even if he himself disagreed with how you did it. And he cared too much about you for you to fall victim to the brutal battle of succession.

"Of course!" You say, giddy with excitement. "You simply cannot refuse me, my love!" There's a cheeky tone in your voice as Namjoon sits up and pins you down to the bed, circling his arms around your waist and laying his head on your chest, sighing in bliss as you ran your fingers through his hair once more.

"I suppose that is the truth," Namjoon says, nuzzling deep into you. "You are simply too irresistible, darling. But don't think I'm going to let the robbery slide. You must return what you stole."

Even with his closed eyes, Namjoon can already see the way the loveable pout overcomes your lips and presses a kiss to your collarbone in response. "As you wish," you sigh, bringing him tighter into your embrace.

The night continues, with the two of you basking in each other's presence, cherishing the little moments you have together. It was frightful to think that your love had to be hidden when all the two of you wanted was to show it freely, but alas, the world was too cruel to be kind to lovers of enemy races.

For now, all the two of you could do was continue the act of hating each other till the day you died, all the while falling in love under the watchful eye of the full moon, who would one day open the doors for your devotion to fly free, shining just as bright as it did once before.

#bts x reader #bangtan x reader #rm x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #bts rm x reader

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

Of All the Places

Chapter 14

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: Loki and the Avengers arrive in Oklahoma City, but he still has to get to your farm before it’s too late. He figures out a way to get the Chitauri off of Midgard once and for all. Chapter Warnings: brief, slightly descriptive blood and violence; some language I think A/N: Last chapter is here! The epilogue posts in a few minutes, and then this series will be done! I hope you enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @marvelousdaydreams @andromedasstarship @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs @sourpatchspinster @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

When the Quinjet finally landed just outside Oklahoma City, Loki was quick to duck down to the best hiding spot he could find. Behind a few crates, he watched and listened as the Avengers moved around him, waiting for the all clear.

“Ok, listen,” Captain America said, squatting down in front of him. “We let you come along, now you have to follow our plan.”

“With all due respect, Captain, I cannot do that. Unless, of course, you plan to let me get to the farm I was staying at, but I highly doubt that is the case.”

“It’s not. Why would we do that?”

“Because the Chitauri are after me, and they are not going to stop at the city.”

“And you know this how?”

“I do not, but I feel it. That family, those innocent civilians, they are in danger because of me. After all that they did for me, I must save them. Certainly you can understand that.”

Captain Rogers just sighed and stood up to deliberate with his teammates. The whole conversation was merely just a formality, though, because Loki planned on teleporting himself home—or, well, to the farm which he may never have the privilege of a calling home again—even if they wanted to keep him here. While he appreciated Thor’s trust in him, it was rather naïve of them all to keep him unrestrained.

With everyone else distracted, Loki took the opportunity to peek out the window. There were at least fifteen other jets and planes on the ground, and more agents than the god could count. At least the city would be covered while he saved his friends. Beyond that, everything was chaos. While SHIELD’s defenses got into position, the Chitauri continued rampaging in the streets, most of them still well equipped from the last attack. Looking at the damage, Loki felt indescribable grief and sadness. How many more people were going to have to suffer because of his actions? The guilt was getting to be too much to bear. He stifled a cry as he turned back to the Avengers.

“Ok, fine,” Captain finally said once they were finished debating. “You can go, but only if they’re actually in danger. If not, come right back.”

“You have my word. I shall teleport myself there and report back once they are safe.”

“Not so fast, Reindeer Games,” Tony cut in, the mask of his suit shutting closed. “We’re not quite at that level of trust yet.”

“It is true,” Thor added. “I will be coming along, just to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Loki was a little offended, but all in all, it was understandable. And backup wasn’t the worst thing to have, he supposed. Knowing that anything he said would end up sounding rude, he just nodded his head in agreement.

“It is settled then. Good luck, my friends,” Thor said before turning to Loki, who was conjuring his armor onto himself. “This shall be great fun, brother. Think, the two of us, fighting side by side once more.”

“Yes, you always did enjoy a good battle,” Loki reminisced, laughing a little. “But right now, my main focus is on my beloved. I know you will cover me, brother, but our first priority must be getting them and their family to safety.”

“Indeed. Let us go then.”

Not wanting to waste another second, Loki quickly teleported them to your farm. A wave of sadness washed over him as he saw the house, a million memories he’d already been trying to forget flooding back. Stealthily, they moved as close as they could. Everything was quiet, except for the chickens clucking in the distance. Though nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary, Loki still knew something was wrong.

Thor looked around and then back at Loki. “It seems that there is nothing happening-”

His statement was cut off by a Chitauri appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Loki wondered why, now that he was fighting against them, they suddenly became so skilled. Thor quickly flipped the alien off his back as more appeared. Including the first one, there were six outside plus at least one inside judging by the scream that suddenly came from the house.

“Can you handle these ones, Thor?” Loki questioned as he stabbed one in the eye, blasting another with magic.

“Easily,” Thor responded, swinging Mjolnir down on one of their heads. “Go inside and help there. And be safe, brother!”

“You too.”

Without another word, Loki was taking off and smashing through the front door. He looked around frantically, but saw no signs of a struggle. He feared that he might be too late, that they took you by surprise and wiped you all out in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, a large crash came from the kitchen, followed by another scream. He ran in to find a pitcher shattered near the door, and Mama backed into a corner by two Chitauri.

Loki’s old, vengeful self decided to make an appearance now, of course. This was the woman who turned him in, who time after time prevented him from being with his beloved. Of all the members in this household, she was the one who never accepted him. Hell, the cat was more friendly than she was. But even after everything, she was just doing what she thought best for her family. He couldn’t leave her to die for something like that. And, really, didn’t he understand her, too? To know such pain that it changes your perception of the world to be so cynical of everything, everyone. Yes, he most certainly was familiar with that.

“Stay back, you foul beasts!” he screamed at his former allies before taking a swing with his trusty dagger.

Loki found himself missing his scepter as he fought his opponents, leading them away from Mama.

She screamed again, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at the Chitauri, him, or the generally gory scene of him running one through. Most likely the last one, but he’d have to worry about any trauma after the battle was done. Even with a fatal wound like that, it kept fighting. They dealt a few good blows to Loki, too, including a particularly painful gash across his cheek, right above the part his helmet covered. He tasted blood in his mouth as they started getting the upper hand. He made clones of himself, confusing the simple-minded creatures. With the distraction, he was able to finish them off, completely decapitating one and smashing in the head of the other against the banister of the stairs.

That same unsettling quiet settled over the house again. Loki wanted to believe he’d finished them all off, because, really, how many could there be? But he felt it in his gut: something still wasn’t right.

Taking off towards the kitchen again, Loki decided the best thing was to just get Mama out of there and figure out where the rest of you were. Still on edge, he kept looking around, but found nothing.

“Listen,” he said to Mama, who was still cowering in a corner. “I know how you feel about me, but you have to get out of here. And I need you to tell me where everyone else is so I can keep them safe.”

“I... I-Behind you!” she screamed.

Loki whipped around just in time to see a Chitauri about to bash his head in. Before he could move any further, the alien fell to the ground. Looking back up, he saw you standing with a baseball bat still raised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fallen enemy begin to stir again, and quickly finished it off with his dagger. When he was sure it was dead, he looked back up at you. The second your eyes locked, you dropped the weapon. A silence followed the clatter of wood on wood, no one quite sure what to say.

“I gotta stop going out in the morning,” you nervously laughed after clearing your throat. “I keep missing all the excitement.”

You and Loki looked at each other for another beat before rushing forward at the same time, lips colliding. With his daggers back in their dimensional pocket, the trickster’s hands were free to cup your cheeks. You wrapped your arms behind his neck, getting lost in the kiss. All too soon, you had to break away, but you kept your foreheads pressed together, not yet willing to lose contact. He noticed you were wearing the hoodie he’d given you back on that first day at the creek. It only occurred to him now that you’d never actually returned it. You gently brushed away some of the hair that was clinging to his face, poking out from his helmet. It seemed to you that this might just be a dream, that he might not be real.

“My brave little Midgardian,” Loki whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Are you alright? Are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” you choked out in a tone heavy with emotion. “But... But you, are you ok? They just dragged you out. Loki, I was so worried.”

“I am ok. I have much to tell you. But, I saw you with Denzel. I thought you were with him again.”

“Oh, Loki. I was just upset, and he happened to be there. I want to be with you.”

He didn’t know what else to say, so he kissed you again, hoping it was expressing everything words couldn’t. Loki wished you could stay like that forever, but he knew there was still so much to do.

“My darling, I am so sorry. For everything,” he said. “You deserve a proper explanation, and I promise you will get one if it is the last thing I do.”

“That wouldn’t be the first promise you’ve broken,” Mama scoffed, getting up from her corner, but her heart wasn’t really in the snide remark.

“Excuse me, but he just saved your life,” you shot back before Loki could, surprising both him and your mother. “I think you owe him, at very least, a thank you.”

“Fine, you’re right. I’m sorry. And thank you. For saving me. Us.”

“You are quite welcome. I would do anything for this family,” Loki confessed for the umpteenth time. “It is like I told you, it was never my intention to hurt it.”

“I know.”

“Loki,” Thor bellowed from the front door. “Are you in here? Are you injured?”

“Brother! I am in here and unharmed. Relatively.”

Your mother’s jaw dropped as a relieved Thor walked in, Mjolnir still in his hand. You barely even paid him any mind, now fussing over Loki who had taken his helmet off, fully displaying the cuts on his face. He hissed a little as your fingers brushed along the skin under the worst one, but he was quick to reassure you that you hadn’t hurt him. Instead of letting your fingers continue to wander his bloodied face, he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. Then he pressed your body to his, holding you close, safe and protected with his arm circling your waist. You were quick to wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his shoulder, a little shaken up from the events that had just transpired.

“Wait,” Loki said as a thought occurred to him. “Where is the rest of the family?”

“They’re in the city,” you replied, growing panicked as Loki paled. “Why? Loki, the attack was just here, right? They’re safe, right?”

“Do not worry,” Thor declared. “The Avengers and noble agents of SHIELD are there as we speak.”

“And my brother and I will go, too. Nothing will happen to them, I will make sure of it,” Loki added, kissing your temple.

How he wished there was time for proper introductions, but there simply was not. He would have to settle for waiting until the battle was over. If he and his brother both survived, that is. It was a chilling thought, and one that had come unbidden into his mind, but now it would loom over him the whole fight.

Loki tried to pull away from you, but you just grabbed his hand and pulled him right back. He looked at you in confusion, then worry as he noticed the determined look in your eyes. It was obvious what you were thinking, and he felt an odd mix of pride and nauseating fear.

“Absolutely not,” he sternly said. “Do not even think about it.”

“Oh, come on, Loki. Like I’m not coming, too,” you replied, stamping your foot. “I already lost you once, I’m not about to again.”

“And I lost you, my darling. If you come, your life will be in danger. I simply will not allow it. I cannot.”

“Listen, we’re stronger together, aren’t we? So we’ll face this together. Please.”

“Brother?” Thor asked, anxious to get back and help his friends. “Are you ready?”

“Alright, fine. You win, my darling,” the God of Mischief conceded. “On one condition. You must follow my orders. I will not have you getting yourself harmed out there.”

“Ok, deal. As long as I get to come make sure you’re safe,” you agreed.

“Honey, please. Don’t go,” Mama begged, beginning to cry. “You heard him, it’s going to be dangerous. You could get hurt. I-I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m sorry Mama, but I’m going.” You gave her a hug, letting here blubber into your shoulder. “Loki’s going to keep me safe. And you’re just going to have to trust me.”

You said goodbye as she managed to pull away from you, somewhat calmer. She tried to put on a brave face with some success, but Loki could see it wouldn’t last for long. At least she was finally putting some of her trust in you. It was about time. Tucking you under his arm and back against his side, Loki gave the woman a quick nod, a promise that he would let no misfortune befall you. Walking over to Thor, Loki began to work his seiðr. With one last look around the house, he teleported the three of you back to the city.

Landing behind a Quinjet, Loki heard you let out the most adorable little gasp. He smiled down at you before taking in the scene around him. It seemed like SHIELD’s top priority was to evacuate the city. Everything was still in a state of chaos, and he immediately regretted letting you talk him into allowing you to tag along.

The first order of business for him and Thor was obvious: Find the rest of the Avengers and help them take out the Chitauri. But you he had no idea what to do with. In a way, he felt better knowing that you were here, with him. That no other aliens could randomly appear at your house and hurt you. Then again, now that you’re here, you’re in just as much danger, if not more. You were too precious to him for him to be able to think clearly about the situation. Plus, the longer he stood there debating his options, the less time he had to find the rest of your family. His heart stuttered in his chest as he realized they might already be hurt. Or worse. The thought spurred him to action.

“We must get into the city and help with the evacuation. You know we stand the best chance against these monsters,” he said to Thor, who nodded along. He turned to you and softened his voice so you wouldn’t be any more scared than you currently were. “And you need to stick by me. Keep an eye out for your family. Remember, they might not all be together, so eyes peeled for all of them. Do not worry, everything will be ok.”

“Ok, let’s go,” was all you managed to say before the three of you moved towards the pandemonium in the streets.

“There you are, Point Break,” Tony shouted from overhead. “We could use some help here.”

“At your service, Man of Iron.”

“Ok, great. Quick question, why are you bringing a civilian into the city. You do know what an evacuation is, right?”

“This is my beloved,” Loki replied. “They insisted they come along and look for their family. And to, uh, be with me.”

“Aww how cute. They’re just as stubborn as you, Reindeer Games. Keep them out of the action please.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but pulled you closer still. It was his intention to keep you out of the battle, but he also planned on fighting. He couldn’t feasibly do both at the same time if he also wanted to keep you at his side.

“My darling, take this,” he said, equipping you with a dagger. “If you are attacked, aim for the eyes.”

“Thank you. I- Loki look! It’s John,” you shouted over the noise of a helicopter flying overhead, spotting your brother-in-law.

The raven haired god led you over to the man, who was bleeding out of a scrape on his arm. Loki had enough experience with wounds to know it looked a lot worse than it actually was. As you got closer, he saw that John was helping direct people out of the city, along with a few other civilians. The god nearly scoffed at the idea that SHIELD hadn’t even brought enough people to properly conduct an evacuation. When would they stop underestimating threats? Or maybe he’d just done some damage to their numbers. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he refocused on the task at hand. He was beyond relieved to see his friend, but unfortunately didn’t have much time for a reunion.

“John!” you said, taking the last few steps to him.

He looked over his shoulder at you and shouted your name. His face quickly went from a look of excitement to worry. Then he spotted the god, and it took on one of shock.

“Loki?” he gasped. “Are you alright, man? What’s going on?”

“I am just fine,” Loki told him, grasping hands in a firm shake. “As for what is happening here, the Chitauri are an alien race, regrettably brought here by me when I did not have full control of my faculties. Now they are searching me out, but I intend to stop them.”

“Where is everyone else?” you questioned, frantically searching for the rest of your family. “Ana and Matt and Papa? Have you seen them?”

“They’re already out of here,” John answered as you and Loki let out a sigh of relief. “They should be safe by now. But why are you here?”

“I’m helping Loki and the Avengers save the city. Speaking of, we should probably be meeting up with them now.”

Loki looked at you, then at the crumbling buildings in the distance and knew he’d let you come as far as possible. The situation was looking rather hopeless as it was right now, and he had to get into battle if he had any chance of making up for his past wrongdoings. But you, for as brave and determined as you were, had no training in combat. If he were to keep you, his beautiful, courageous Midgardian safe, then he’d have to give you some other task with which to distract yourself.

“No,” Loki replied. “I need you to stay here, help direct everyone else out of the city. It is of the utmost importance.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?” you pouted.

“For your safety and the safety of others, I need you to do this. Please.”

You looked into his eyes, having a battle within yourself. The desperate, pleading look on his face helped you reach a decision. “Ok, fine. I understand. But you have to promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I will. You too.”

It seemed as if he was going to leave then, but he couldn’t resist capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The rest of the world melted away as you held on to each other, wishing things didn’t have to be this way. Alas, they were, and it was his fault. But no, it was really that damned Titan and his obsession with the Tesseract that had caused all this madness. Remembering that blasted relic did give him an idea, though. Loki would stop at nothing to set things right, and he had just figured out how.

“My darling, I must go now,” Loki said, breaking away from your lips only to place a kiss to your forehead. There was still one last thing he wanted to say, though, and as far as he could tell, it was now or never. “I love you.”

He broke off in a sprint away from you, not waiting for a reply, for he feared you would not feel the same. Your voice did shout after him, but he dared not look back. If he did, he knew he may never be able to leave you again, and he needed all his strength for what he had to do next. He would just have to trust that John would hold you back, that you would follow his directions as you promised you would.

Running through the streets, battling these wretched aliens he once commanded, Loki assessed the situation. He had his plan, but the city would have to be completely clear for it to work. That included the agents and Avengers. He’d need his brother’s help with that for sure.

“Thor,” he called out in a panic. “Brother, I need you!”

“Loki! Loki, what is it?” Thor asked, appearing quickly. He gripped Loki’s shoulders and began inspecting for injuries. “Are you ok? Is your beloved?”

“Yes, we are fine. I know what we must do to stop the Chitauri.”

“What is it?”

“There is no time to explain.” Well, that was actually a lie, but he knew Thor wouldn’t like the plan. Better not to tell him. “You are just going to have to trust me. I need you to get everyone out of here. And I mean everyone, yourself included.”

“It is a very odd request, Loki,” Thor said, mulling it over. “But I will do it. And what of you?”

“I must get to the center of the city. But do not worry about that, I will manage. I just need some kind of sign when it is clear.”

“It shall be done, but promise me one thing. You will stay safe.”

“You have my word.”

As they shook hands, Loki felt a twinge of guilt. His last statement to his brother, possibly ever, had been a falsehood. But he was the God of Lies, so he supposed it should not affect him. And yet, it did. At least this time it was a necessary one to tell.

Loki continued to weave his way through the streets. It was a great feat to dodge SHIELD agents, help civilians, and fight his foes all at the same time. Not to mention keeping his eyes open for you in case you were trying to make your way back to him. Tears stung at the back of his eyes as he thought of you. He was regretting not waiting around to hear how you felt about him. Now he’d always wonder about it. Well, for however long “always” was for him, anyway. If this all went down as planned, it wouldn’t be much longer.

The center of the city was the most densely populated with enemies. It would be difficult to hold them off while he waited for the signal, but he would manage. He had to manage. For the sake of you, your family, and the whole of Midgard. Just as things were starting to look bleak for the trickster god, the sky was lit up with a brilliant bolt of lightning and a resounding clap of thunder. He knew that was it, what he was looking for.

Loki struck the ground with a blast of magic, pushing the Chitauri away. He needed a second to get ready. Calling out to the Tesseract, he pulled it out of its dimensional pocket and into his waiting hand. It was a good thing he had not handed it over to his brother, after all.

The thought of Thor nearly made him cry out. He’d just gotten his brother back, but now he would never see him again. And what of his mother, Frigga? Would she mourn him when he was gone? Or would she be like Odin and scorn him forever? He believed it would be the former, but he could never know for sure.

And then there was your family, who was practically his family, too. He’d felt that way for a while now, but this time the thought filled him with only sadness. He was going to lose them, but he had no one to blame but himself. Well, and maybe Thanos, but Loki wasn’t one for giving himself a break. Regardless, they’d probably never even hear that part of the story. He hadn’t even seen half of them again. Loki hated that their last memory of him would be SHIELD agents dragging him away like some common criminal. It was strange how much things had changed, he mused, that he’d have such strong feelings about a group of mortals.

No matter how sad leaving behind everyone else made him, leaving you hurt the most. You were everything kind and good in his life. A beautiful, brilliant angel. You’d seen his scars and showed him he wasn’t broken, just healing. You made him realize that he was whole, and you were his match. The one the Norns has destined for him to be with. And now you were being separated by that same fate. It was a cruel punishment for what he’d done. He could only hope that this would redeem him in the eyes of the world. But he didn’t need it for his own view of himself; your love had done that already.

“Alright, you sons of bitches,” he said, taking a breath and gripping the glowing cube. “Time to send you back to the hellhole you crawled out of.”

In a flash of light, the city was encompassed with a blue, cloudy smoke. You looked on in a panic as it moved back into the center where Thor had told you Loki was. Once the fog had disappeared, you broke through the line of agents and ran into the city. It should have made you happy that all the Chitauri were gone, but it only filled you with dread. If they were gone, then what happened to the man you loved? Was he...? No, that thought was too terrible to entertain. You wouldn’t even consider the possibility until you’d exhausted all other options. You rushed to the spot where he should have been and let out a sob into the empty air.

Loki had disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Loki.”

His eyes opened and looked around. What was that noise? Where was he? What was happening?

Everything was blue.

“Loki.”

He knew that voice, so kind, so perfect. But who? His beloved.

You.

“Loki!”

You were crying out. Searching. For what? For who? For Loki.

For him.

A rainbow, sparkling lights. A void. It would be so easy to let go. He’d done it once before. It didn’t end well. But this time it was different, warm and inviting. Not cold. Not vengeful. Not full of hate. It was peace. But there was something else out there. A whisper.

“Loki, please.”

He was falling again, but he wasn’t scared this time. Deep in his heart, he knew where he was going. He knew he was safe. It was no decision, really.

It had always been you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki landed on the ground with a dull thud. His head was throbbing a little, but he’d been through worse. His eyes shot open, and he noted the familiar surroundings. A wheat field, similar to the last time the Tesseract had deposited him. In fact, exactly like it. He was back on your farm.

All that was ringing in his ears was your voice, calling out to him. It took a minute for him to remember anything else, then it all came flooding back. The city, the battle, his brother, his plan. That gave him a bit of a pause. He’d meant to send the Chitauri back where they came from. And then it hit him. He’d told the Tesseract to send them home. It had done the same for him. Of course! He was home.

The sound of a car in the distance made him snap back to his senses. He heard the slamming of a door, followed by shouting. There were a great number of voices that he could recognize, but only one really mattered right now. Yours.

Calling your name, Loki started running. You responded with his name, sounding confused and hopeful at the same time. Then you did it again louder and started running, too. Somewhere near the middle of the field, both of you stopped, just standing there staring at each other. Neither of you could believe it. It was like a dream, an outlandish fantasy. Then, at the same time, you ran the last little distance between each other, and met in an embrace.

You pulled away and Loki held you at arm’s length, examining your body for any serious injuries. After doing the same to him, you cupped his cheeks, caressing them with your thumbs. He covered your hands with his, trying to find the right words to say. You smiled through teary eyes, and Loki didn’t realize he was crying too until you wiped away a tear making a track down his face.

Loki couldn’t wait a second longer, he moved in and kissed you. It was like professing his love all over again, just without his words this time. He held you as close as possible and let your tongue slip into his mouth, taking control of the kiss. It was an odd thing to feel so tired, yet so alive at the same time. Your lips, they were electrifying. Addictive. If only he could live by breathing in you, not air. But he couldn’t, so he had to break away. Still, he didn’t know what to say. But that look in your eyes, it reflected back everything he was trying to tell you.

“Loki?”

“Yes, my darling.”

“I love you, too.”

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