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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

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football hysteria x damon albarn

I LOVED THIS SM LMAO !!!!!!!! football obsessed damon is so cute

Pairing: 90s damon albarn x reader

Warnings: noneeee

Word count: 2.281

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

"Who you supporting?" Graham asked me, handing me a beer as he sat himself beside me on the couch next to me in the middle, Damon sat on the opposing side. Damon had dragged me over to Graham's house to watch the Man City and Chelsea game tonight, and knowing just how competitive Damon came to football, I knew it was better that I simply went along with things rather than moan about how much I really didn't want to spend two hours watching two teams pass around a ball for entertainment.

"Erm, Man City." I replied, quickly flicking the can open to taste the bittersweet barley flavouring of the heineken beer as it embellished the walls of my mouth.

"You don't support Chelsea?" Damon questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

A small chuckle left my mouth. “Of course I don't, they're shit." I sneered, aware of the havoc that my statement was going to cause. Immediately, Damon's mouth fell agape; stunned by my malevolence, as well as partial shock from the new-found information surrounding my opinions on football.

Graham's laughter rang through the room and my ears as my eyes continued to burn into Damon's piercing gaze, him just as amused as I was. Nobody was as big a football fan as Damon had become. "They're anything but shit," he continued, eyebrows now raised as he scoffed. "You're telling me that you support Man City? Gallagher-brother-Man-City?"

"Okay I'm going to sit between you both,'' Graham announced, swiftly standing up, shoving my body to the side he had just accompanied, placing his body between me and Damon, a blockade to prevent either of us going at each other's throats. "Just so we can all be alive by the end of it."

“Well I wouldn't have fucking invited her over if I knew she supported those manic twats, Graham."

"Piss right off Damon, we're in Graham's flat, not yours." I bit back, completely unphased by his childlike behaviour. It had been made quite apparent to the media that Chelsea were indeed the band dominated by the south, as well as Blur, and Man City were celebrated in the north by Oasis. However, it was quite comical noticing the immediate flush of anger that filled Damon's face after my sly comment. Leaning back into the loveseat, my back adorned the soft feel of the cushion behind me. "Graham, who do you support?" I asked, curiosity laced in my words as the football pitch came into view on the television screen - initiating the beginning of the match.

My eyes were focused on Graham as I watched him toss his glasses onto the coffee table in front of us, which had been cascading with countless bags of crisps and other treats to keep us stuffed as the ninety-minute match played through. "In all honesty, I'm not that phased with football," he began, reaching over to open a bag of crisps. "It's Damon here who's completely obsessed with it."

As the match began, tensions were already built to a high degree between the three of us. Small but meaningless comments had been thrown into the atmosphere of the apartment, merely portraying our silliness and how neither of us had seemingly outgrown the competitive side of our personalities, something that would be more apparent during teenage years. Unfortunately however, very early into the game, Damon's supporting team had decided to skillfully snatch the ball from one of the players, eventually managing to get it into the goal - portraying the first goal scored subsequent to the game's start.

Damon instantaneously rose at the goal, shouting loud enough for the neighbours to hear every single word that rumbled out of his throat. "Told you we were bett-" he said, smugness intertwined between his words so effortlessly, though shamefully his words had been cut off by the sound of the cushion, once placed behind me, now hitting his face. I couldn't help but allow a tiny smirk to illustrate itself on my facial features as I admired his face dripping in absolute bewilderment towards my actions. “What the fuck was that for?” he scoffed, falling back into his side of the sofa, as I sustained the grin on my face, watching him. The atmosphere that was once overflowing with hostility was now completely serenaded with Damon's egocentric giggles, forcing my body to hunch into a sulk at how quickly my team had been warranting for a loss so early into the match.

Mid-way through the game, Graham had decided to go to the corner shop by his apartment to get more beers for us to share, due to us having run out to share between the three of us. I dreaded being alone in the room with the game ongoing with Damon present, full-well knowing that his upbeat jolliness would attempt to torment me upon the fact that he was winning, which, to my demise, was exactly what had occured. The air fell still in the room once the sound of the door slamming etched through the flat walls, my gaze focused entirely on the match following on the screen, attempting to focus my mind on anything but the room that I was currently occupied in - though my peripheral noticed Damon's head almost instantly turned to look in my direction once it was made evident that Graham wasn’t inside the flat anymore. As if reading my mind, he decided to shift his body weight, which was once adorned to the other armrest of the burgundy couch, right next to me, where he attempted to wrap his arm around my shoulders, warming me into an embrace. In spite of this, I could feel his intense stare on my features. Using all my strength to avoid connecting eyes with him, I wasn’t going to admit defeat so easily, my stubbornness proving a point.

Once Damon realised, he carried on watching the game, however his body had continued it's embrace with mine. At one point, I was thinking that the match was going to be a lost cause from the performance shown by Chelsea, However, things began to turn around, and Man City managed to score a goal, to Damon's consternation. The sudden win resulted in me lunging from my seat, swiftly detaching myself from Damon, my whole body cheering towards the goal as it replayed on the screen. What was amusing was that, after I had finished my applause, I noticed that Damon had moved back into his seat by the side of the couch, distancing himself from me. "Aw, you don't want to sit with me anymore?" I sarcastically questioned, not waiting for an answer as a small smile crept on my lips. It was very amusing, pissing Damon off. I must say, watching his ego deflate into nothing but a simple sulk at the corner of a room was really the sight.

"What did I miss?" The sound of graham's voice sounded through the room, paired with the clank of multiple beer bottles as he reached into the plastic carrier bag to place them on the table. Each and every one had an individual water-streak pattern, indicating that they had just been chilled - when they taste best.

"Man City scored!" I exclaimed, reaching out for one of the glass bottles as I got the bottle opener to unfasten it from its metal clasp, promptly taking a swig from the beverage. The intent was, of course, to provide Graham with the extra knowledge upon the events that occurred during the match whilst he was absent, however knowing myself, I had also wanted to remind Damon of said occurrences, to surge him to the edge of his frustration. Exclaiming it at the top of my lungs held just enough power to do just that.

A chuckle immediately left Graham's mouth from my enthusiasm. "Need me to sit between you both again?" He jokingly asked, yet an element of seriousness was laced between his words.

“Depends if Damon's gonna stop sulking or not.” I replied, focusing my view on the game playing on the screen.

"You're the one who was fucking throwing the cushions!" Damon shouted, reaching over to grab himself a beer.

"Because you were pissing me off!" I answered, shifting my gaze onto Damon, who was, to my surprise, staring directly at me. There was a certain look of annoyance glazed on his features, though the agitation seemed to subside as soon as we locked stares, as if he was longing for my eyes to bear their sight toward him, as if it was an examination, an analysation to confirm whether we were still on good terms or not; of course we were, while conflicting preferences drew evident tears between us during that moment in particular. After a few seconds had passed, Damon leaned back into the cushion, carrying on watching the game unfold, satisfied with his response from my eyes. Switching my gaze over to Graham, I took notice of a look of question illustrated on his features, to which I decided to mime that it was alright, in order to move myself next to Damon once again. It would've been a lie, and a mere understatement, to say that I hadn't missed his arms around me.

Bunching up next to him, enough space was made to allow graham to sit himself down next to me, though that thought was the last passing my mind; my body was shivering from nervousness, the close proximity between us, regardless of our romantic acquaintance, never failed to bloom butterflies at the pit of my stomach. Due to my body's weight pressing down onto the cushion next to him, it was obvious that he was aware that I moved to sit next to him - but at a cause of his stubbornness, him averting all his attention onto me, admiring me as if I was the only living being in the apartment, a home that hadn't even belonged to me, would never happen - it would take much more to result in his feign of irritation to melt away. Placing my arm around his shoulder, I granted my hand to reach up to his beautiful head of hair, my fingers caressing his strands gently as I brushed any parts that were sticking out on the sides of his head. His arms were wrapped around one another, like a child encompassed in an angry stupor at their parent due to them not allowing them a packet of sweets from the grocery store, though I was playing at his heartstrings, aware of just how much he adored me playing with his dirty blonde locks.

For a short sum of time, we both sat there, my hands never halting their actions. The next few minutes of the game played out of continuous dribbling and passing to other teammates, oftentimes resulting in the other team taking hold of the ball and running around with it for a while until their attempt to score. Randomly, Damon's arm had released itself from its shared embrace with the other, engulfing my body with his as he encased his left arm around my shoulders. We were in a sense of comfort with one another, though from Damon's avoidance of my stare it was made obvious that he was still in the least carrying a small element of annoyance, nevertheless, as I allowed my eyes to linger onto his delicate, paradisiacal features, holding back a grin was seen much easier said than done, a small curvature sneaking itself on his lips.

"Look who's won." Graham mumbled, his voice detaching me out of my trance that I was enamoured in.

A laugh rang itself out of my throat as I admired the lengthy team cheering as they enveloped one another in a massive embrace. "Told you they were better!" I grinned as I diverted my gaze onto Damon, the same look of frustration painted on his demeanour, still avoiding his eyes on me. "You want a kiss?" I asked, tilting my head in order to make sure I was the main thing in his sight, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up his facade so easily. "Kiss kiss?"

I continued until his eyes met mine. It was as if, for a short segment of time we were frozen in place, momentary seconds passing of us merely marvelling at the view illustrated forth one another, my hands snaking their way around his neck as I leaned in slightly, noticing his blue orbs fall onto my lips, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his mind wandered through fields of appraisal. It was then where I couldn’t hold resistance for any longer, and I doubted that Damon could, bringing my head forward as I let my lips latch onto his, allowing time to flow as they lingered still before he kissed me back with gentle force, enough to notify me of his desire that encompassed him just as much as me. The kiss held innocence, portrayed adoration in its true beauty, nevertheless, also embodying eagerness, a yearning of lust.

"I'm going to be honest," I mumbled, removing my lips away from his, panting as I attempted to recollect my breath. "I don't actually support Man City."

"Of course you fucking don't." Damon laughed, our lips connecting once again as he perched his head forward, intoxicating me with the very thing that I desired most in that significant moment.

"If you're gonna shag, please go home." Graham groaned, causing our bodies to jolt at the sudden awareness that we weren’t alone together. Pulling away instantly, a wave of embarrassment covered my cheeks as we looked at one another, infatuation the single thing flowing out of our eyes.

“Sorry Graham.”

#i loved this so much please #damon albarn x reader #damon albarn #90s #blur band #britpop #graham coxon #imagines #band imagines

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junko-and-riri-domain · 3 years

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five hearts on the line | pjs

i know that i said last chapter that this one wouldn’t be as angsty but then i started writing and it sorta just happened? so there’s some angst in this one (forgive me again my loves 🥺)

Hope was never a plan, only a direction. After all, you could hope for money and with that hope make a plan to get it. Or you could hope for your parent’s approval but actually getting it was a different process for everyone. Jay had hoped for a future with you and Ni-ki, he really did. It was the direction he saw the rest of his life going towards, you and him as the parents of three boys. He knew it was foolish of him to hope of such things when so much chaos had happened and it was still too early since you never actually put a label on the relationship, hence, why he was going to ask the “what are we?” question that night.

17 days, 20 hours, and 30 minutes was how long it had been since you last saw each other face to face. But who was counting? At this point, he was entering himself into self-given heartbreak and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The scent of your shampoo still lingered on the fibers of his pillowcase but he couldn’t bring himself to wash it away. When he closed his eyes he could still feel your head resting on his chest and your fingers trailing random patterns on his arms. Some days it seemed like he could still hear Ni-ki’s giggles mixed in with Sunoo and Jungwon’s. The boys were doing ok, they still talked to each other at school, and Jay would bring them to the bakery if they wanted something. But he no longer went inside. He’d tell his boys that he needed to take a call or send a quick email and instead would wait for them in the car but really, he was just too scared to see you because he knew that the second he saw you he’d fall back in love all over again. Or maybe that love never left and he’d instead be forced to acknowledge its existence. The door to his office opening brings Jay out of his thoughts, sounds of excitement from his sons greeting his ears.

“Thanks, man,�� he said to Jake with a small smile. This situation felt familiar to him and it didn’t take long for him to realize that it was because the first time he heard about you was when Jake brought the boys to his office and you defended him against Minjoo’s grandmother.

“Can we sleepover at Ni-ki dongsaeng’s place tomorrow?” Jungwon asked. Tomorrow was Saturday meaning that he’d drop off the boys Saturday morning, see you, leave, pick up the boys Sunday morning, see you, and leave again.

“I’ll text his mom tonight.”

Later that night after the boys were put to bed and he was laying in his, he found himself constantly typing and deleting what he had initially written out. To his surprise, you had texted him first with a simple “hey” to which he responded the same. While sorting out the details of tomorrow, Jay couldn’t help the slight happiness filling him now having a reason to talk to you again.

You couldn’t really place a name on the feelings coursing through your veins when you woke up on Saturday morning. Nerves, slight anxiousness, maybe even fear? While you were glad to be able to spend time with Sunoo and Jungwon, seeing Jay was a different story. The thought of seeing him again left you restless which led to constantly tossing and turning in bed, ultimately resulting in a sleepless night. When the morning came, you heard a knock on your door and upon opening it the boys greeted you before quickly rushing to Ni-ki’s room, leaving you alone with Jay. He looked like a mess, hair slightly messy, eyes somewhat bloodshot red, and lips chapped dry. You probably didn’t look any better either.

“Are you ok?” Upon saying it you realized what a dumb question it was. Only a little over two weeks had passed and two weeks wasn’t nearly enough to get over what happened. But if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get over it.

“Still processing, you?” Jay replied.

“Yeah, same here.” There was a sort of longing look in Jay’s eyes. That kind that told you he felt as if he wanted to say something but chose not to.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” was all his reply before leaving.

Spending the day with three boys like Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki meant that they were eager to do whatever it was that you had planned for them. You had decided to try out new cake recipes and in the process using them as your little helpers and taste testers. While it did result in the boys getting cake mix all over their clothes and a little on their faces, their smiles of happiness and giggles of joy were well worth the cleanup after. When night came and you were tucking the boys into bed, you felt a hand grab yours. Seeing that it was Sunoo’s, you smiled,

“What’s up, bubs?”

“I don’t want Appa to pick us up tomorrow, I wanna stay with Eomma.”

“Eomma?” you asked. He nodded with a pout,

“Minjoo said that living together makes you a family and we lived together which makes you our Eomma, not our Noona! But because you and Ni-ki left he said you and Appa got divorced and you chose Ni-ki instead of me and Jungwon.” Tears started to fall from Sunoo’s eyes as he continued, “Wae, Eomma? Can’t you keep me and Jungwon-ah too?”

“Sunoo, I…” what were you even supposed to tell him? This was a conversation you shouldn’t be having with just the boys alone, after all, Jay needed to be here since they were his boys. Jungwon ended up waking up and crying too at the sight of his hyung crying which led to a confused Ni-ki. As you hugged the boys and rubbed their backs, your ears were met with blubbers of “Eomma” and “Eomma stay.” You didn’t know how long it took for them to calm down and finally head to sleep but once they did, you knew that you needed to talk to Jay now. Your hand trembled a little when holding your phone but as you heard Jay’s voice, you felt somewhat calmed.

“Everything ok?” he asked, sounding like he had just woken up. Letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding,

“Can you come over?” Hearing some shuffling from his side of the line,

“I’m on my way.”

When Jay got to your apartment it was nearing midnight. Without thinking, your hand took his and you led him to your room so that the boys wouldn’t wake up. Looking up at him,

“We need to talk.” He brought a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck nervously,

“I figured.”

“Sunoo and Jungwon called me eomma.” Jay’s eyes went wide,

“They what?”

“Minjoo, remember the kid with the nosey grandma?” you looked at him and saw him nod then continued, “He told the boys that living together makes you a family. Since me and Ni-ki lived with you guys that led them to the conclusion that I shouldn’t be called Noona, I’m their Eomma. Because Ni-ki and I don’t live with you anymore they thought we got divorced and that I chose Ni-ki over them. Jay, what do we do?” Silence washed over the room as Jay furrowed his eyebrows until finally,

“I lied,” Jay said. Looking at him confused you wanted to ask what had he lied about but he continued, “the night that your mom called. I lied and I’ve been regretting it ever since,” he finished. You racked your mind trying to remember what went on before your mom called and then you remembered. It was the conversation you two had about “like-liking” each other. He had lied then?

“W-what?” you can’t stop the stutter that escapes you as your mind tries to process that Jay lied to you.

“I lied.”

“That night, you asked me if I like-like you and I said yes. But I didn’t because what is this, high school?”

“Oh.” It came out just barely above a whisper out of millions of words to exist in the world, “oh” was the only thing you could bring yourself to say.

Was it a lie every time he called you love?

Was it a lie whenever he’d hold your hand and give it a reassuring squeeze?

Was it a lie the nights he’d run his hands through your hair and talk about how happy he was you were with him?

Had you been led on this entire time?

Then you couldn’t but think that maybe it was karma.

You didn’t think about how Sunoo and Jungwon would be affected with your presence there only for it to be gone after a few weeks.

You didn’t think about how to explain to Ni-ki the whole situation with K and instead downplayed it.

You didn’t think at all because you were too damn caught up in feeling.

Maybe it was your fault for hoping.

Jay’s next words are enough to get you out of your thoughts and back to reality. As they make themselves known to your ears, your eyes are near to tears.

“I lied because how the hell was I supposed to tell you that I love you?”

“Jay, you can’t be serious? Y-you can’t just love me!”

“I didn’t,” he sighed and brought his hand up to rub his forehead, “I didn’t say it just to hear it back from you. But we both know there’s no damn way we’ll ever go back to being normal or just friends because we never were in the first place.” Jay was right and you knew it. If anything you wanted to laugh a little at how foolish it was for the two of you to just somehow develop feelings so early on after meeting each other. Though neither of you had actually said the l-word out loud until Jay did just now, you had felt it in so many ways. It was exchanged in all the stolen glances and late-night cuddles. It was there the mornings you and Jay rushed to get the boys to school and the nights they’d plead for “just one more” bedtime story. It lingered on through the hopes you had for what one day could be your future like surprise visiting Jay’s office during lunchtime and bringing food using the excuse of, “I tried some new recipes and wanted you to taste it before I sold it,” or even one day having the privilege of being called Sunoo and Jungwon’s mom. But those were fleeting moments and hope wasn’t a plan, it was merely a direction.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you muttered.

“Give us a chance.”

“What happens if we break up, Jay? What happens if Won and Sunoo want to stop by the bakery for some cupcakes but they can’t because you and I can no longer face each other? What happens when it’s not just you and I heartbroken, it’s the kids too? There are five hearts on the line here.”

“And I’ll do everything in my power to protect each and every one of them.”

“What happens if you can’t?” You felt Jay hold your hand and after missing his touch for so long, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“What happens when I can? What happens when this lasts just like I believe it will? What happens when,” you feel his thumb rub your ring finger and hear him take in a deep breath as he continues, “I put a ring on this hand and the two of us are facing each other at the altar? What happens when the five of us are taking trips to Brunei and Japan in the summer and all the other places we wanna explore together?” You wanted to believe Jay, wanted to one day fulfill all of the things that he talked about. But you couldn’t put this want into words and instead chose to answer him through action. Bringing a hand up to his shirt collar you pulled him closer to you and met his lips with yours. Unlike your first kiss with Jay or the brief ones you exchanged from time to time that were filled with passion, this one was filled with possessiveness. You could feel it in how his arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his chest as if he were scared that you’d fall into a black hole if he let go. You displayed it in how one hand of yours clung onto his shirt while the other cupped his face in hopes of keeping him here. Hope was never a plan, only a direction. But as you close your eyes breathing in Jay’s scent and reveling in the taste of him, you were desperately wishing this would be the right direction.

↬ a/n (2/2):

the end. JKJK this chapter isn’t the finale it’s the next one & i have no clue how i’m gonna wrap this story up-

❦ written by riri ( @enhykkul ) | next | series masterlist

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soundsfaebutokay · 3 years

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youtube

So I've recc'd this video before, but it deserves its own post because it's one of my favorite things on youtube. It's a Tedx Talk by comics writer, editor, and journalist Jay Edidin, and I really think that it will connect with a lot of people here.

If you live and breathe stories of all kinds, you might like this.

If you care about media representation, you might like this.

If you're neurodivergent, you might like this.

If you're interested in a gender transition story that veers from the norm, you might like this.

If you love the original Leverage and especially Parker, and understand how important it is that a character like her exists, you will definitely like this.

Transcript below the cut:

You Are Here: The Cartography of Stories

by Jay Edidin

I am autistic. And what this means in practice is that there are some things that are easier for me than they are for most people, and a great many things that are somewhat harder, and these affect my life in more or less overt ways. As it goes, I'm pretty lucky. I've been able to build a career around special interests and granular obsession. My main gig at the moment is explaining superhero comics continuity and publishing history for which work I am somehow paid in actual legal currency—which is both a triumph of the frivolous in an era of the frantically pragmatic, and a job that's really singularly suited to my strengths and also to my idiosyncrasies.

I like comics. I like stories in general, because they make sense to me in ways that the rest of the world and my own mind often don't. Self-knowledge is not an intuitive thing for me. What sense of self I have, I've built gradually and laboriously and mostly through long-term pattern recognition. For decades, I didn't even really have a self-image. If you'd asked me to draw myself, I would eventually have given you a pair of glasses and maybe a very messy scribble of hair, and that would've been about it. But what I do know—backwards, forwards, and in pretty much every way that matters—are stories. I know how they work. I understand their language, their complex inner clockwork, and I can use those things to extrapolate a sort of external compass that picks up where my internal one falls short. Stories—their forms, their structure, the sense of order inherent to them—give me the means to navigate what otherwise, at least for me, would be an impassable storm of unparsable data. Or stories are a periscope, angled to access the parts of myself I can't intuitively see. Or stories are a series of mirrors by which I can assemble a composite sketch of an identity I rarely recognize whole...which is how I worked out that I was transgender, in my early thirties, by way of a television show.

This is my story. And it's about narrative cartography, and representation, and why those things matter. It's about autism and it's about gender and it's about how they intersect. And it's about the kinds of people we know how to see, and the kinds of people we don't. It's not the kind of story that gets told a lot, you might hear a lot, because the narrative around gender transition and dysphoria in our culture is really, really prescriptive. It's basically the story of the kid who has known for their whole life that they're this and not that, and that story demands the kind of intuitive self-knowledge that I can't really do, and a kind of relationship to gender that I don't really have—which is part of why it took me so long to figure my own stuff out.

So, to what extent this story, my story has a beginning, it begins early in 2014 when I published an essay titled, "I See Your Value Now: Asperger's and the Art of Allegory." And it explored, among other things, the ways that I use narrative and narrative structures to navigate real life. And it got picked up in a number of fairly prominent places that got linked, and I casually followed the ensuing discussion. And I was surprised to discover that readers were fairly consistently assuming I was a man. Now, that in itself wasn't a new experience for me, even though at the time I was writing under a very unambiguously female byline. It had happened in the letter columns of comics I'd edited. It had happened when a parody Twitter account I'd created went viral. When I was on staff at Wired, I budgeted for fancy scotch by putting a dollar in a box every time a reader responded in a way that made it clear they were assuming I was a man in response to an article where my name was clearly visible, and then I had to stop doing that because it happened so often I couldn't afford to keep it up. But in all of those cases, the context, you know, the reasons were pretty obvious. The fields I'd worked in, the beats I covered, they were places where women had had to fight disproportionally hard for visibility and recognition. We live in a culture that assumes a male default, so given a neutral voice and a character limit, most readers will assume a male author.

But this was different, because this wasn't just a book I'd edited, it wasn't a story I'd reported—it was me, it was my story. And it made me uncomfortable, got under my skin in ways that the other stuff really hadn't. And so I did what I do when that happens, and I tried to sort of reverse-engineer it to look at the conclusions and peel them back to see the narratives behind them and the stories that made them tick. And I started this, I started this by going back to the text of the essay, and you know, examining it every way I could think of: looking at craft, looking at content. And in doing so, I was surprised to realize that while I had written about a number of characters with whom I identified closely, that every single one of those characters I'd written about was male. And that surprised me even more than the responses to the essay had, because I've spent my career writing and talking and thinking about gender and representation in popular media. In 2014, I'd been the feminist gadfly of an editorial department and multiple mastheads. I'd been a founding board member of an organization that existed to advocate for more and better representation of women and girls in comics characters and creators. And most of my favorite characters, the ones I'd actively seek out and follow, were women. Just not, apparently, the characters I saw myself in.

Now I still didn't realize it was me at this point. Remember: self-knowledge, not very intuitive for me. And while I had spent a lot of time thinking about gender, I'd never really bothered to think much about my own. I knew academically that the way other people read and interpreted my gender affected and had influenced a lifetime of social and professional interactions, and that those in turn had informed the person I'd grown up into during that time. But I really believed, like I just sort of had in the back of my head, that if you peeled away all of that social conditioning, you'd basically end up with what I got when I tried to draw a self-portrait. So: a pair of glasses, messy scribble of hair, and in this case, maybe also some very strong opinions about the X-Men. I mean, I knew something was off. I'd always known something was off, that my relationship to gender was messy and uncomfortable, but gender itself struck me as messy and uncomfortable, and it had never been a large enough part of how I defined myself to really feel like something that merited further study, and I had deadlines, and...so it was always on the back burner. So, I looked, I looked at what I had, at this improbable group of exclusively male characters. And I looked and I figured that if this wasn't me, then it had to be a result of the stories I had access to, to choose from, and the entertainment landscape I was looking at. And the funny thing is, I wasn't wrong, exactly. I just wasn't right either.

See, the characters I'd written about had one other significant trait in common aside from their gender, which is that they were all more or less explicitly, more or less heavily coded as autistic. And I thought, "Ah, yes. This explains it. This is under representation in fiction echoing under representation in life and vice versa." Because the characteristics that I'd honed in on, that I particularly identified with in these guys, were things like emotional unavailability and social awkwardness and granular obsession, and all of those are characteristics that are seen as unsympathetic and therefore unmarketable in female characters. Which is also why readers were assuming that I was a man.

Because, you see, here's the thing. I'm not the only one who uses stories to navigate the world. I'm just a little more deliberate about it. For humans, stories formed the bridge between data and understanding. They're where we look when we need to contextualize something new, or to recognize something we're pretty sure we've seen before. They're how we identify ourselves; they're how we locate ourselves and each other in the larger world. There were no fictional women like me; there weren't representations of women like me in media, and so readers were primed not to recognize women like me in real life either.

Now by this point, I had started writing a follow-up essay, and this one was also about autism and narratives, but specifically focused on how they intersected with gender and representation in media. And in context of this essay, I went about looking to see if I could find even one female character who had that cluster of traits I'd been looking for, and I was asking around in autistic communities. And I got a few more or less useful one-off suggestions, and some really, really splendid arguments about semantics and standards, and um...then I got one answer over and over and over in community after community after community. "Leverage," people told me. "You have to watch Leverage."

So I watched Leverage. Leverage is five seasons of ensemble heist drama. It's about a team of very skilled con artists who take down corrupt and powerful plutocrats and the like, and it's a lot of fun, and it's very clever, and it's clever enough that it doesn't really matter that it's pretty formulaic, and I enjoyed it a lot. But what's most important, what Leverage has is Parker.

Parker is a master thief, and she is the best of the best of the best in ways that all of Leverage's characters are the best of the best. And superficially, she looks like the kind of woman you see on TV. So she's young, and she's slender, and she's blonde, and she's attractive but in a sort of approachable way. And all of that familiarity is brilliant misdirection, because the thing is, there are no other women like Parker on TV. Because Parker—even if it's never explicitly stated in the show—Parker is coded incredibly clearly as autistic. Parker is socially awkward. Her speech tends to have limited inflection; what inflection it does have is repetitive and sounds rehearsed a lot of the time. She's not emotionally literate; she struggles with it, and the social skills she develops over the series, she learns by rote, like they're just another grift. When she's not scaling skyscrapers or cartwheeling through laser grids, she wears her body like an ill-fitting suit. Parker moves like me. And Parker, Parker was a revelation—she was a revolution unto herself. In a media landscape where unempathetic women usually exist to either be punished or "loved whole," Parker got to play the crabby savant. And she wasn't emotionally intuitive but it was never ever played as the product of abuse or trauma even though she had survived both of those—it was just part of her, as much as were her hands or her eyes. And she had a genuine character arc. My god, she had a genuine romantic arc, even. And none of that required her to turn into anything other than what she was. And in Parker I recognized a thousand tics and details of my life and my personality...but. I didn't recognize myself.

Why? What difference was there in Parker, you know, between Parker and the other characters I'd written about? Those characters, they'd spanned ethnicities and backgrounds and different media and appearances and the only other characteristic they all had in common was their gender. So that was where I started to look next, and I thought, "Well, okay, maybe, maybe it's masculinity. Maybe if Parker were less feminine, she'd click with me the way those other characters had." So then I tried to imagine a Parker with short hair, who's explicitly butch, and...nothing. So okay, I extended it in what seems like the only logical direction to extend it. I said, "Well, if it's not masculinity, what if it's actual maleness? What if Parker were a man?" Ah. Yeah.

In the end, everything changed, and nothing changed, which is often the way that it goes for me. Add a landmark, no matter how slight, and the map is irrevocably altered. Add a landmark, and paths that were invisible before open wide. Add a landmark, and you may not have moved, but suddenly you know where you are and where you can go.

I wasn't going to tell this story when I started planning this talk. I was gonna tell a similar story, it was about stories, like this is, about narratives and the ways that they influence our culture and vice versa. And it centered around a group of women at NASA who had basically rewritten the narrative around space exploration, and it was a lot more fun, and I still think it was more interesting. But it's also a story you can probably work out for yourselves. In fact it's a story some of you probably have, if you follow that kind of thing, which you probably do given that you're here. And this is a story, my story is not a story that I like to tell. It's not a fun story to talk about because it's very personal and I am a very private person. And it's not universal. And it's not always relatable, and it's definitely not aspirational. And it's not the kind of story that you tend to encounter unless you're already part of it...which is why I'm telling it now. Because the thing is, I'm not the only person who uses stories to parse the world and navigate it. I'm just a little more deliberate. Because I'm tired of having to rely on composite sketches.

Open your maps. Add a landmark. Reroute accordingly.

#Jay Edidin #LGBTQ #autism #mind and body #gender norms #why humans need stories #Leverage #Parker #Abby posts Leverage #my faves #Youtube #I did my best with the transcript #sorry for any mistakes

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Tell Me It’s Not Too Late

(Sequel to Switchblade)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: When is it considered ‘too late’ when it comes to expressing feelings? Is there even a time limit? Is the chance only momentary - is it a second that passes you by with no possibility of returning? All Corpse can do is hope that’s not the case. Cause if it is.....he’d rather not think about that.

Requested - sort of, but not in a typical way. Thank you to all the readers of ‘Switchblade’ that wanted to see the story have an ending that’d lead to a new start. Here it is, guys! Hope it lives up to what you expected. Love you all to the moon and back. 💖💖💖

I end my stream after almost three hours of constant scares. I sigh, slipping the headset off my ears so it’s hanging around my neck. I don’t feel that fulfilling feeling that I’m always met with upon ending a stream. I look at the countless scratches and little holes on the surface of my desk - evidence of the fear and frustration I experience while playing certain games. Not all of them are caused by that, however - Coming home after possibly the most humiliating night of my life, that desk and a few other pieces of furniture suffered my wrath and are now decorated with stab wounds that were a result of uncontrollable rage, hurt, self-hatred and self-pity. It took me a while to put an end to my hazardous, switchblade wielding rampage throughout my house, but the tears didn’t stop until the early morning hours.

I didn’t care that my feelings weren’t reciprocated. That was and is the least of my troubles. The most amount of hurt comes from the fact that I ruined something wonderful for myself. Corpse is the only person I’ve felt this close to all my life and now, due to my own poor decision making, I no longer have him. He no longer wants to be a part of the shit-show that is my life. Especially not now that he knows how messy things get when I show my forever-hidden feelings. I can’t blame him. I know I’d be running for the hills if I were him. He deserves a person who knows what’s going on in their life. Who has themselves and their surroundings figured out. Not someone who has an irregular streaming schedule and catches feelings for her best friend, ruining the friendship altogether in the process.

As I stand up from my chair, accidentally hitting the handle of the switchblade on the edge of my desk. I look down at it and how tightly I’m holding it. I seem to not be able to let go of it. Almost like I see it as my last bit of link to Corpse. The remnants of the connection I felt between us.

Maybe I should return it.

No, that’d be weird. I’d either have to go over there and give it back or send it via mail which is worse. It just feels like a harsh gesture - mailing something so meaningful as though it’s as worthless as the bills people get in the mail. I can’t send it through others, I don’t want anyone else getting involved. The more people know, the more real it is.

I’m aware I’m being both overdramatic and irrational, but you have to understand how much pain I’m in. I can’t guarantee the pain will go away or even lessen if I let this switchblade go, but it’s the only thing I haven’t tried.

Only problem is - I can’t let it go. I can’t find it in me to destroy it or throw it away. A part of me is willing to take the suffering of keeping it just cause it wants to hold on to that little connection it resembles. It’s evidence it existed to begin with. I believe it’s worth the pain. The hurt will go away eventually, but the memories are forever. I’ll look back at the time I had an amazing person such as Corpse to call ‘best friend’ and I’ll have something to prove to myself that it wasn’t a fever dream.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.“ I mumble as I finally uncurl my fingers from around the damn thing and put in down on my desk.

I take the headset off and proceed to head out onto the balcony to light what I call a ‘stress cigarette’. I’m not a regular smoker, but when everything just caves, I prefer to resort to a quick puff rather than grabbing a drink. I can say no to a second cigarette but not to a second drink. That second will then turn into a third and so on. And I don’t trust myself when drunk. I don’t personally know, but I’ve been told I’m rather unpredictable.

For the first few seconds while I’m standing there I don’t notice the pouring rain by some strange miracle. I can only focus on the chill of the breeze and the fresh breath that’s finally entering my lungs. I take a moment to breathe in the cool air before I start mixing it with the cigarette smoke.

With my eyes closed, I hear more than I feel the rain on me. Storm noises always distract me from the actual storm, they calm me down. However, the sudden loud thunder causes me to open my eyes in a matter of milliseconds. I frown, slightly upset that I didn’t catch glimpse of the lightning that the thunder probably followed.

I’m not upset for too long, though. A lightning flashes right opposite me, creating the most mesmerizing of pattern you can see in the night sky during a storm. It’s so bright, it allows me to see my whole, usually unlit garden perfectly in that second or two it graces the sky.

Wait

My balcony has a clear view of my entire front yard and all it takes a glance to the left to be able to see the front doorstep.

Don’t freak yourself out, it’s just a trick of the light

I stay quiet and as still as a statue as I await another flash of lightning, my heart speeding past the point of a healthy pulse and into the realm of a near heart attack. The storm seems to be on my side because maybe a minute later another lightning bolt cuts through the black of the night.

Sure enough, there’s a person standing outside my front door.

Fuck, what do I do?!

The person doesn’t appear to be moving. They are standing just as still as I am, facing towards the house.

I thank the universe the lights inside the house are off. I turned them off cause I wanted the ultimate scary experience playing that game. The only light is the faint glow of my computer screen which is, thankfully, barely visible. I slowly start backing up towards the sliding glass door, never taking my eyes off the figure that I can just barely make out now that my surroundings have fallen into darkness again. If it weren’t for the lightning I would’ve never been able to see them.

I manage to get back inside, soaked as though I just got out of a pool, without making a single sound. Just to be safe, I shut my monitor off. I grab my phone to use as a flashlight in one hand and the switchblade just finds its way into the other, my fingers curling around it tightly, more on instinct than to use as a weapon. I know I probably won’t be able to stab whoever’s out there.

I tiptoe my way down the stairs where all the lights are also off. I flick the blade out as I hesitantly and shakily make my way to the door to look through the peephole. I let out an unsteady exhale as I look at the the figure who is now standing further away and seems to have one arm in the air, curled at the elbow.

Just as I’m about to pull away from the door to dial 911 another flash of lightning illuminates the yard, the figure along with it.

Can we go back to it being an intruder?

It’s no intruder, surprisingly - to my dismay.

I turn my phone’s flash off and reach for the switch next to the door, flicking the light on before opening the door and walking out.

“I NEARLY STABBED YOU WITH YOUR OWN BLADE!“ I yell in a desperate attempt to be heard over the waterfall of rain.

I can finally see him properly thanks to the light in my hallway. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. He has his hood up but his black locks are sticking out in every direction from under the soaked material, not being protected from the droplets whatsoever. I read the shock in his eyes, almost like he didn’t know I lived there. He doesn’t make an attempt to approach or walk away from me so we just stand there, in the rain, staring at each other as though it’s the first time we’ve seen one another.

I snap out of the trance he has put me in, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the situation as I step towards him, grabbing onto his wrist, “Come on, we look like drowned rats.” I don’t give him time to react as I drag him inside, closing the door once we enter. “OK, from the top now: Why were you embracing your inner serial killer on my front porch?” I keep blabbering, diverting my gaze to anything but him. “Fucking hell, I could’ve stabbed you! You could’ve gotten really badly hurt! I -...”

“You know, I wish you stabbed me.“ He finally puts an end to my sorry excuse for frustration, I’m aware I look and sound miserable. His voice drags my eyes straight to his, fixing them there. “I know you can’t kill a cockroach on your own, and I know you most definitely wouldn’t even scratch a person, but I wish you had hurt me. Inflict fifty stab wounds on me and you still won’t hurt me as much as I hurt you.“ His hand swiftly pushes the hood off his head, grabbing onto his drenched locks as an expression of pain paints itself on his face. He’s the one diverting his gaze now, “I know what you mistook my silence for and I want you to get that out of your head.“

I wince at the pang in my chest, barely restraining my hand from flying up to rest over my heart, “Don’t humor me, Corpse! I’m not a child and this is not a game!”

“I’m not humoring you. I’m telling you...“ he makes a step towards me, grabbing hold of my ice cold hands, “I’m telling you I’m an asshole that freezes up when it’s least acceptable. I’m telling you I’m the worst at expressing how I feel. I’m telling you I can’t open foil. But you already knew all that. And you still liked me.“ He breaths in, refilling his lungs before continuing his rant, “I know you can be very chaotic. A real handful. A fucking tornado. But I love you. I love you as every natural disaster you represent. And if you could humor me...“ One of his hands releases mine, coming up to push a strand of hair away from my face, resting his hand on my cheek. “...by giving me one more chance. You always let me try multiple times when I stumble over what I’m trying to say. Can you do that, for me? For us?“

I let out a dramatic sigh, rolling my eyes. “If I say yes will you stop showing up like that on my doorstep?“ Of course, my primal instinct is to act tough and cool when my heart rate is once again going at the speed from back at the balcony. The skin of face and neck is red and burning hot. My eyes are rimmed with tears, I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Yeah. I’ll start coming in through the chimney instead.“ He visibly relaxes, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips. He lifts the hand that’s still holding the switchblade, prying it out of my grasp. “No sharp objects, please.”

He drops it in the pocket of his hoodie, finally leaning down to erase any last bit of doubt I have left. This kiss teaches me a lot of things.

Love isn’t linear - nothing about it is linear. Not falling in nor falling out of it. Feelings aren’t digital or binary - it’s not always as black and white as we might want to believe. Feelings don’t just come and go. They are always present, but it depends on us weather they’re suppressed or expressed. We fear the latter cause we fear vulnerability and change. But we also crave the positive outcome we have a 50% chance of getting. It’s a fifty-fifty game, but here’s the thing: if you never express your feelings it’s a zero-a hundred chance that you won’t receive the outcome you’d like.

I took the fifty over the zero chance and regretted it for a day or two. It gave me closure if nothing more. It let me stand under the spotlight and carry my pride on my shoulders despite the tears in my eyes.

My feelings being reciprocated is just another benefit. But no longer being able to call Corpse ‘best friend’ cause he’s now got a bigger and better title is the positive outcome I have been dreaming of.

He makes it all worth it. He is worth all of it.

And if I had to go through all that again, you can bet your ass I would.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

#testing the waters... figuring out their voices...#chenford #the rookie fanfiction #the rookie x pablo neruda overlap is the funniest thing about this whole thing #the rookie

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thatmultifandomhoe · 3 years

Text

Loving the Sun

Pairing: Sun God (Apollo) San and Reader

Group: Ateez

Word Count: 1,451

Genre/Rating: Greek God AU - Established Relationship AU - Forbidden Relationship - Fluff - Angst - Teeny tiny implications of smut - PG-13

Overview: He may have been immortal, but with you, there was just never enough time in the world.

Warning: Faintly implied mentions of losing a baby

A/N: Shout out to my sweetest @ezralia-writes for putting up with my constant dumbass and helping me out when I need it, whether it’s to be a beta-reader, or me messaging her at 11 at night on how to describe men’s hair, or simply having a good simp session. You’re the best sweet pea and I hope you enjoy this - again - hun! *sending you all the flying smooches*

Tagging: @skyys-universe @kunrengui

Main Master List:

©thatmultifandomhoe 2021. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The blankets were warm as you shifted on the bed, lazily blinking your eyes open only to close them immediately afterwards, the sunlight streaming in through the window was much too bright this early in the morning. Rolling back over, you tried to open your eyes again, the sight of San’s bare chest coaxing you back to him as his body heat and faint remnants of his cologne from the night before made your mind foggy. With him lying next to you, and the silver chain of his sun necklace that reflected in the light, - that matched the one you wore - made it easy to forget about the outside world. At least, for right now.

Responsibilities? Gone the second his lips curled into his infamous smirk.

Deadlines? They vanished the moment his hands slipped into your back pockets; fingers always eager to grip what was forbidden to everyone but him.

Your name? Easily forgotten about when he kissed you. He’d settle his arms around your hips and carefully bring you closer until your bodies pressed together. Only then would he slide his hands up to your waist for a hug, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your shoulder because it had been so long since he last got to see you.

In the early morning light of dawn, the room looked like it was on fire, but a glance at his face had you thinking that he was being bathed in golden fairy dust. While awake he was beautiful. Asleep, he was ethereal. With cheek bones that the Gods and Goddesses were envious of, you gently reached a hand up to lightly trace its path, following the curve to his lips that even in his sleep, formed the slightest pout.

He suddenly inhaled, eyes blinking open just in time to see the tired smile that grew on your face.

“It’s early,” San murmured, his voice husky as he took your hand, his grip loose so that he was able to drop your arm around his waist. When he was satisfied, he slipped his left arm underneath his head and wrapped the other around your waist to drag you back to him, eliminating the space once more. San liked to feel you against him at all times, especially since he risked everything to take these chances to sneak his way back into your embrace.

You softly chuckled, feeling his fingers lazily stroke through the locks of your hair. “I know,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to lose any more time.”

There was a tired hum coming from him, lips tenderly pressing against your forehead before he laid his head back down on the pillow. The slightest shift from either of you and your heads would be bumping into the others, but done carefully, it was reminiscent of cats rubbing against each other.

“Don’t worry about time.”

“All I do is worry about time since we have so little of it,” you softly countered.

His black hair fell into his brown eyes and you reached up, brushing them away for him. He captured your hand then, bringing it closer for him to kiss your palm. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“The sun will rise whether or not I am there to guide it,” he promised.

Heat from his body appeared to transfer to you, spreading from every single spot where your bare bodies touched underneath the blankets that sat on your hips.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you whispered. “And you know it.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Briefly, his gaze flicked towards the window behind you, the gauzy curtains doing nothing to stop the sunlight from filtering through the blinds that were opened at an angle. At most, he had maybe a few hours before the others woke and noticed his absence. He couldn’t let them find out that he was visiting you once more.

“I love you,” San murmured, setting his arm down to tap the back of your spine in a rhythmic pattern.

Your lips trembled despite pressing them together. Sliding a leg over his, you shook your head. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re apologizing.”

He was quiet. The room silent with the exception of the bed creaking with every shift made in order to get comfortable and closer. No matter how hard the two of you tried, there was always space and time trying to get in between you.

“Because for as long as I live, I will always be sorry for what they did.”

A chill blew across your face, and not surprisingly, the tears fell off your chin and onto the blankets. “You can’t apologize for your entire life for something you didn’t do.”

“Yes, I can. Our little one was meant to be here by now, I should have been here to protect the two of you but I wasn’t, and they took that away from us.” The corner of his mouth twitched. In the sunlight, you watched a stream of tears slide down his cheeks. “All because I fell in love with a human and as punishment, they took away what we both treasured.”

Out of instinct you lifted a hand to cup his cheek as you both leaned your foreheads together; the memory of a night not so long ago was still raw, the sting not yet having gone away. It was punishment for a crime that all the Gods committed, but yet, San was the only one to live with the consequences of his actions. That had been the first day in eons that the sun – having only been bright and full of warmth minutes prior – turned black as night and painful to gaze upon with the naked eye in mere seconds. There wasn’t much from that day that you recalled, the majority of it had faded away as a result of the events, but you remembered a looming figure with lightning flashing in his eyes, and the piercing screams. Whether they were yours, San’s, or a combination of both, you weren’t entirely sure.

What you were certain of, was that the man you loved had been taken away from you, and the child you carried, who had called its home inside of you for the last six months and you fondly teased for making it impossible to fit into your old jeans. It was that little one who had San crouching in front of your belly to sing the sweetest lullabies, who was suddenly gone, like they had never been there to begin with.

You had thought it was all a dream. Months had passed and you were starting to believe that it had been all a figment of your imagination. That you weren’t possibly pregnant or had met a man who wasn’t supposed to exist, but when you had been sitting at the park bench and the sun kissed the earth goodnight, he appeared. Kneeling in front of you with a cut on his cheek that hadn’t been there before, his clothes dirty with soot and the edges singed as if he had been reckless and gotten too close to a fire.

Kissing him, you slipped your hand through his hair as the tears mingled together. He rolled you over on your back, his body blocking out the sunlight as he slapped a hand on the blinds to close them. You could taste his please forgive me in his kisses, knowing that he would never be able to forgive himself for what happened that day. As you kissed him back, beads of sweat began to build up along your temple when he sat down on the bed and brought you onto his lap, his arms tightening around you even though you were already clinging to his shoulders.

Even as he loved you, his arms held you in a tight embrace, his breath and tears intermingling with yours with every desperate, but loving kiss. San was afraid. Fearful that like the little one, you too, would be ripped away from him.

It had never been easy, and it certainly wouldn’t be in the future. There were lonely nights when he couldn’t sneak away, whispers from jealous Goddesses trying to dissuade you from his advances, to having to keep the love you shared a secret. Even the heartache of losing him and the little one. But you’d go through it all over again. You had known that to love a God – a sun God nonetheless – was going to hurt.

As much as it hurt, loving him was worth the pain and even more. To live without the sun after all, was to die a cold and painful death.

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mystic-fvlls · 3 years

Text

For the quiet days in the Quarter

Summary: There was no such thing as a quiet day in the French Quarter, actually, but if there ever was an exception, you and Kol made sure to keep the rest of the family on their toes.

Warnings: none

Prompt: “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in.”

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x platonic!Reader

Word count: 1000-ish

A/N: This is my submission for @hellotvshowtrash #march2021promoptchallenge. This started off as an imagine but it was too messy, so I made it into a headcanon type thing, but I’ve never done it before, so it’s sort of trashy but I had fun, so it's okay, lol! <3 I’m also very nervous about posting it akjakjflad but I wanted to challenge myself to do it so yay :’)

It was a well known fact that quiet days in the supernatural community weren't a common occurrence.

Especially in the French Quarter of New Orleans, where trouble lurked around every corner.

And amongst trouble seeking Original vampires.

Who also happened to be your adoptive family.

It wasn’t a secret that the Mikaelsons were masters at stirring and attracting all kinds of trouble, never having a moment of peace in their lives.

You had been proven of that repeatedly over the years.

And gotten in danger a couple of times, because of it.

But there was also a flip side.

They were incredibly loyal to their loved ones and you had somehow edned up as one.

They all adored you like family and welcomed you into their home when you reunited in New Orleans.

Growing closer with them also meant that they had allowed you, albeit rarely, to see their lighter sides.

The little moments when they shared a laugh over something mundane.

But there was one Mikaelson in particular who's sense of mischief you'd instantly clicked with.

"Thinking of me, darling?" Kol stood in the doorway.

You smirked at the Original fondly, "Always, baby."

The flirty comments and playful glances were the brand of your friendship, but it was all platonic since day one.

as you were very much gay

Because like any sane person you had no interest to get involved with an emotionally unstable Original vampire.

But you had to admit that the two of you were a great team.

Whenever there was a suspiciously quiet day in the French Quarter, you took the task to change that to heart.

But in a whole different way than the usual turmoil that echoed throughout the Abattoir.

"I have an idea." Kol walked further into the room.

Usually that's how it started. A silly joke, a random thought, and before you knew it you were being chased out of the compound by one of the other siblings.

It was always in an attempt to entertain yourselves while everyone else was busy destroying saving the city.

By the way his smirk grew wider, you knew it was a good bad one this time.

But you knew how much you could get away with.

Especially after a particular incident involving a bucket of paint in Klaus' studio, resulting in a daggered Kol.

But as he told you about this idea of his, carefully explaining what he had in mind,you weren't sure either of you were going to survive it.

But he needed a partner in crime

"No." You mumbled, shaking your head.

"Oh, come on, Y/N, I'm bored! Aren't you?" He whined sluggishly in a british accent, the previously sly glance he held over you turning into a pleading expression. The puppy dog eyes he tried to give you did little to hide the glimmer of mischief underneath.

He was dying to do this and you couldn’t blame him.

And the crime in question this time... was a prank.

A prank!

A great one, at that.

BUT

One he wanted to pull off on the worst possible person to pull a prank on. A man that had a stick up his ass zero tolerance for your childish schemes.

Who would most definitely not find Kol’s idea even remotly amusing.

Who would hunt you down and kill you, which considering the fact that you shared a living quarters, wouldn't be too difficult for him.

"So, what do you say, darling? Wanna go shopping?” Kol's crooked grin spread across his face.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips at the thought, "This plan of yours is going to get us killed.”

How could you pass the opportunity to see the look on his face, though, once the prank was complete.

Your eyes trailed over the room before a smirk graced your lips, “Of course I’m in."

You both set out to complete your respectative tasks for the plan to work.

Just like the nature of the recepient, the success of the prank laid in its meticulous execution.

Luckily, the compoud was big enough, so that you could distract the Original you needed to, while your partner in crime finished the final step of the plan.

You coaxed the man in the suit in the kitchen, offering him a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

Mustering your best acitng skills, you faked a clumsy coffee spill which was very uncharacteristic for a vampire such as yourself but oh well and before you knew it, he was headed up the stairs to his room.

Unbeknownst to him, Kol was already hiding there and you followed suit.

“What the-?”

His perplexed mutter brought you and Kol together, coming into view further inside the room.

You had to put a hand over your mouth as you stood next to Kol, both of you focused on the Original who had his back to you, facing his wardrobe.

“What in the name of God have you two done?” He turned back around, holidng up two hangers.

Before you stood Elijah Mikaelson, in his thousand dollar suit, with a floral hawaiian short sleeved shirt in each hand.

The colorful patterns and light fabric a stark contrast to the dark shadow looming over his face, and the thretaning glare settled deeply on his face.

You had really outdone yourselves this time.

You hadn't left a single item of his clothes.

It was all replaced with swim trunks, flip flops, short sleeved button downs, all of which covered in various patterns and colors, that you would usually find in the wardrobe of someoe who lived on a tropical island, maybe.

But not in Elijah Mikaelson’s wardrobe.

Despite his displeased expression, both you and Kol burst out laughing instantly at the sight.

As you had imagined, it was absolutely worth it to see Elijah's face, frowned in aggravation.

He looked as if he’d never been this annoyed in his whole life and that was definitely an accomplishment.

Turning sideways to Kol, he looked just as proud as you felt.

You shared a high five for a job well done.

Once your laughter had died down, you noticed that Elijah was still stood there, but when he caught your eyes, his face slowly began changing.

The faintest of smirks tugged at the corner of his lips as a little spark danced behind his dark eyes.

You gulped down, the room suddenly becoming frighteningly still.

“I suggest you run.” He remarked flatly, but his eyes had turned even darker and his lips had outstretched into a haunting smirk.

....

You didn’t return to the compound for a month.

Once you did, you and Kol had a lot of catching up to do for the lost month.

But unsirprisingly you’d had plenty of quiet time, to come up with new ideas, while you were away from the compound.

#march2021promptchallenge #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson headcanons #the originals headcanons #the originals x reader #tvd headcanons #my summary sucks so bad ajdhlad #might change it later #i hope you enjoy and thanks for reading <3

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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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gracelessfighters · 4 years

Text

don’t feel

JJ Maybank x female reader

Masterlist

-- // part two // part three // part four

Summary: soulmate au with JJ where they can feel each other’s pain when in close proximity, but with both of them feeling a lot of pain, that connection seems to go almost unnoticed

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: angsty, abuse, mentions of abuse and injuries, swearing (i think thats it?)

——- I am in no way romanticising abuse if you have any issues with my writing pls message me

A/N: I decided to make this into a mini series as this was already getting pretty wordy and so this is basically the intro?? (not much JJ in it yet) Hope you enjoy and there’s probably some grammar errors so ignore them pls

(gif by @siriusscratch )

The kook life wasn’t all luxury all the time - your family had never been one of the richest and you didn’t exactly have the best home life either. Your parents had basically hated each other for as long as you could remember, always in some sort of argument or another, screaming across the house and shouting at all hours of the day and night.

This was something you had learnt to deal with though, what you still weren’t used to was them being violent - it had started off as a vase or plate thrown across the room around a year ago, but this had soon become fists being thrown instead, not only at each other, but they had turned on you and your younger sister as well.

Normally your escape was going to school, just being away from that toxic atmosphere did you a world of good, and after school you would take Grace, your younger sister, out for ice cream or to the beach. Anything to stay out of the house for a little bit longer.

Unfortunately, the school year was now over and the summer holidays had begun and even if the summer season was your favourite, you had been hating every second of it so far.

You had managed to stay in your bedroom for most of today, but were now beginning to get hungry so you knew you’d soon have to venture downstairs and hope that your parents were in an alright mood.

Your sister heard you begin to move down the stairs, popping her head out of her room she said, “Hey Y/N,”

“Hi Grace, you good?”

“Yeah I’m fine, are you getting some food?”

“I’m going to try to yes, I’m assuming you want some of the spoils?” You raised your eyebrow at her in question.

“Yes please,” she looked towards the floor, “I’m sorry I don’t want to go down there tonight, they were arguing when I got in from Carley’s and-“

You cut her off, stepping toward her and putting a strand of hair behind her ears, “hey don’t be sorry, you know I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, I’ll get you some water as well, okay?”

“Thank you, and Y/N, I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

You stepped away, ready to go back downstairs, “I know but I’m the older one and I will always protect you bub.”

With that you took a deep breath in, and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Luckily it was empty, so you quickly grabbed some bread and began making some sandwiches for you and your sister. Sandwiches were about as complex as you got when it came to making food but it would do.

You were about to head upstairs when your dad walked in, “Why haven’t I seen you all day?”

“Uh I’ve been busy,” you picked up the plates and tried to move past him, only for him to block your path, “excuse me please.”

“Your mother and I want to see you around the house more, you’re either out or in your room, is spending time with us so bad?”

“I don’t spend time with you because I’m busy Dad, don’t get offended.” As soon as the words were out of your mouth you regretted them, your dad’s face morphed into one of anger.

Before you could even react he brought his fist into your stomach, causing you to double over in pain, dropping the plates you were holding in the process.

“Now look what you’ve done!” He shouted at you, waving his hands at the mess on the floor.

Not wanting to upset him anymore you quickly grab a dustpan and brush and bent down to begin clearing it up when he delivers a vicious kick into your chest, you fall to the floor completely, struggling to breath. He kicks you again, this time the strength in his leg slams you into the cabinets behind you, you wince in pain, too winded to even breath properly, you refused to let the tears behind your eyes fall, from past experience you knew that crying in front of your dad was a bad idea as he viewed it as ’weak’ and it only made him angrier.

He stepped away, giving you room to stand back up, you tried not to grab your front in pain, even if it felt like your insides had been ripped apart and you knew the bruises were already forming and by this time tomorrow your stomach would be a pattern of purple and green bruises.

“I’m sorry honey, I don’t know what came over me.” He tried to reach out to you, but you only flinched away, not looking at him.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll clean this up, you go and have a lie down and I’ll see you later.”

You just nodded, still not wanting to make eye contact with him, and shuffled past him, your body shaking more and more with each step, and once you’d reached the first step, the tears slowly began falling down your face.

Your sister was stood at the top of the stairs, a single tear mark on her cheek as she took in your state, she held out her hand for you, leading you towards your room where you sat on your bed, drained and in pain and not wanting to speak.

Your sister had come back into your room with some cream for your side, but you still didn’t move.

“Y/N,” she moved to grab your hand, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve gone down with you.”

This shook the vacant look out of your eyes, squeezing her hand you said, “Absolutely not, I meant what I said earlier and it is more painful seeing you in pain than what I’m experiencing now.”

You lifted your shirt, revealing the swollen marks that would soon become bruises. Grace’s breath hitched in her throat, “Oh God, this is worse than I thought it was, do you think anything is broken?”

“No, it’s just bruises and anyway he only kicked me a few times today and kind of apologised which is better than most of the time.”

Grace went to say something but you held up your hand to stop her, “I’m not excusing his behaviour don’t worry, I’m just saying it could have been worse.”

“But it shouldn’t have to happen at all!” She had finished applying the cream and began pacing, “I know it happens more to you because you protect me but it disgusts me and I hate how it effects you, you almost become a shell of who you whenever this happens. You’re the best person I know and our fucking parents are destroying you every day!”

“Not so loud Grace.” You try to calm her down, but it only seems to make her angrier, even though she was only thirteen, she had already grown up so much due to what you’d both endured, and it honestly broke your heart.

“I want us to leave this place Y/N.” She turned to you, angry tears now rolling down her face.

You held out your arms for her and she moved over to you, snuggling into your embrace, careful not to hurt you.

“I promise one day we will get out of here but right now we can’t and we’re just going to have to live with it for a little while.”

You could feel her nod against your chest, she moved out of the hug slightly so she could look at you, “Do you want me to stay in here tonight?”

“Maybe, I haven’t decided yet, but first,” you stood up, wincing slightly at the movement, “We still need food, so do you want to sneak out to The Wreck?”

“Only if you’re up for it.”

“Of course I am, any chance to eat those fries I’m taking to be honest.” You smiled at her and luckily she let out a huff of laughter, lightening the mood between you.

“Okay then, which escape are we doing? 1 or 2?” She asked, reaching for a jumper in your wardrobe. Throughout the years, you had both created different codes for around your parents or ways to get out of the house, and at this point it was almost perfected.

You hold you chin in contemplation, “I was thinking one.”

“Interesting,” she clapped her hands together and headed towards your door to go to her room, “Okay I’ll see you at the car in 5 minutes.”

You nodded at her, and turned to the mirror quickly wiping away the mascara stains around your eyes and pulled a jumper on before heading over to your window and pulling it open.

You and Grace both had ways to get out of your bedrooms from your windows - yours was a wooden trellis for the roses and plants to climb up the side of the house, which you had perfected moving up and down on; hers was a small terrace over the outdoor seating area that she could jump to and then jump to the floor on. You never went on each other’s way out as neither of you wanted to risk it not holding both weights and your parents catch you, as this would probably result in at least one of you being sent to the hospital.

You struggled a little today due to your new injuries but still managed and once you had finished climbing down, you wiped your hands on your jeans, and headed to your car on the drive where your sister was already leaning against the passenger door.

You sat behind the wheel, started the engine and slowly pulled out of the drive.

Neither you or your sister spoke for a few minutes, enjoying the fact that you were out of the house and on your way to one of your favourite places on the island. The Wreck was mainly a touron and pogue institution, but you had always enjoyed going there, especially because you and Kiara got along well enough that it wasn’t the normal Kook vs Pogue fight whenever you went.

Grace reached to turn down the radio before looking at you, “Y/N.”

You glanced at her and raised your eyebrows, “Grace.”

“Do you know your soulmate yet?”

You cleared your throat, this topic always made you uncomfortable as the idea there was someone who, if they were near enough to you, could feel the pain you were in, not only made you sad but also anxious because by the time they work out who you are, they could resent you for the pain you had caused them even though it wasn’t your fault.

“No, I’m yet to see someone near me double over in pain when Mum or Dad have used me as a punching bag that day, so I’m starting to think they might not be on this fucking island.” `You didn’t mean for it to come out as bitchy as that and probably should have apologised but it was how you felt.

Your sister had pity in her eyes but didn’t say anything, instead just hummed to the song coming through the car speakers.

You stayed like that, listening to the music and not uttering any other words until you pulled up to the small car park outside the Wreck.

“Right, let’s go and get some food.” You said, opening the door to your car and heading into the restaurant.

Kie smiled at you in greeting before leading you and Grace over to a table at the back, away from most people.

You hit your hip on the table next to yours by accident, causing pain to flare up over your body, making the injuries you already had somehow feel even worse.

Grace had heard your intake of breath, and as you both sat down she looked at you, “Are you okay?”

“Yes I’m fine don’t worry, just being my clumsy self.”

She nodded and looked down at the menu in front of her, you didn’t need to look, you ordered the exact same thing every time, so instead you looked at the people who were sat in the restaurant.

It was past the peak dinnertime service so only a few tourons were in here, and there was Kiara’s little pogue group sat on a table in the opposite corner, all talking in hushed whispers. As you looked at them your head began to pound, like you’d been hit with a baseball bat repeatedly, you couldn’t help but grimace slightly.

You must have hit your head earlier when your dad sent you flying into the cabinets, and this was just a delayed reaction. You kept reassuring yourself this, especially when the blond boy, who you knew was called JJ, turned around, making eye contact with you through his swollen and bruised eyes. He raised his eyebrows quizzically, holding his side slightly, as if in pain.

It was all just a coincidence you thought, you dad had hurt you more than you realised earlier, and you hadn’t taken any painkillers.

You looked down at your menu, trying to escape the gaze of the blond boy, who you could feel was still looking at you.

Yeah it was just a coincidence.

Part two

Tags: @jiaraendgame ( @teamnick i said i’d tag you in my next series hope you dont mind)

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #pope heyward #kiara carrera #john b routledge #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks #outerbanks fic #obx #obx fic #outrebanx #jj maybank angst #jj x reader #outrebanx - don't feel

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xhanisai · 3 years

Text

What if you had it all, But nobody to call?

AO3 / FFN

Summary: "...Am I dreaming?"

Marinette almost leapt to her feet and turned around, only for common sense and the hammered identity rule to slap her in the face and keep her rooted on the spot.

Her Chaton was crying...crying. His entire body shook and shuddered as the sound of his quiet gasps filled the tense air, his touch now a raging inferno coursing through her veins.

And she couldn't even bring him into her arms and brush his tears away with her pinpricked fingers.

~(x)~

Ladybug and Chat Noir's abilities were capable of many, many things. Things that were miraculously incredible to say at the very least and beyond scientific comprehension- for goodness sake, how many times have Ladybug brought the dead back to life after the umpteenth distraught puppet villain razed them to the ground? And how many times have Chat Noir managed to take down La Tour Eiffel with one singular touch, rendering it to nothing but ashes and dust in the wind? However, as magnificent and majestic as their powers were, not even they were able to prevent the dreaded pandemic that took over the world by a storm and put everyone completely at its mercy. This time, the heroes that the world needed were those with medical training, scrubs and a vow to the Hippocratic oath. Mon Dieu, were they such brilliant, resilient heroes indeed. . Despite the United Nations worldwide urging all civilians to stay indoors at all times (unless necessary outings were needed) and countries locking down dozens at a time, Le Papillon let it all flow through one ear and out the other. It's as if he has an addiction to sending out akumas left, right and centre as severe as a chain-smoker and the fact that there's an airborne virus that could completely destroy even the most healthiest person was just a muted buzz in the background.

Then again, what does one expect from the tunnel-visioned, single-minded, 'father of the year', Gabriel fucking Agreste?

"There are people literally dying out here and this crusty old man can't even take a hint!?"

"My Lady, what do we expect from the same man who regularly akumatises M. Ramier?"

Of course, the teenaged vigilantes had no choice but to risk their safeties as well as their loved ones by sneaking out of their abodes and battling the millionth akuma on the streets.

"Chaton...my parents are starting to think I'm constipated. CONSTIPATED."

"I told you, just use the shower excuse rather than the toilet excuse."

"But then they'll think I have some sweaty teenaged puberty problem!"

"Either way it's a bit shit, isn't it?"

"Oh fuck off..."

Thankfully, Tikki and Plagg were able to upgrade their traditional superhero suits, extending the masks downwards so that they covered the heroes' lower faces and filtered out the air, keeping them safe as they battled. However, social distancing was a whole new different obstacle that made these very fights thousands of times harder to win. The numerous events that Chat Noir had to be verbally restrained from going absolutely apeshit on akumas that gave Ladybug a beating that went too far when he could have pushed her away in ordinary circumstances was just insane. The heroine never realised how dangerous her infamous clumsiness could be at times, concluding her completely vulnerable and at the akuma's mercy whilst Chat Noir has no choice but to scream her name in agony a good distance away. And vice versa. Oh mon Dieu. She has had witnessed her poor partner get skewered and burnt alive by the more unforgiving victims too many times, her shaking arms aching to bring his body against hers so that she can feel his heart beating under her touch and lay kisses upon his tousled locks just to ensure her barely sane mind that he was still alive. That he won't leave her forever. The pandemic was such a vile curse... And it made everyone feel so, so alone. Finally, after months of these life-threatening fights, both physical and internal, both Ladybug and Chat Noir against le Papillon and the doctors and nurses and essential workers against the virus, a new testing system was introduced.

"I finally got my results! I got negative. What about you, Bug?"

"I got negative too! Dieu merci...looks like those sniffles I had really was hayfever after all,"

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Ladybug. I...I couldn't help but think the worst when you mentioned about the sniffles last week...and I even yelled at you for coming out to battle the other day..."

"Chat, you only had my best interests in mind...and I would have had done the same. But you can make it up to me, now that we can share a social bubble,"

"How?"

"Follow me!"

"-And now, we can freely grab each other whenever we want and we will be back in sync during akuma battles in no time. Isn't that great? Neither of us has to wallow in guilt or cry because we weren't able to push the other one out of harm's way." Marinette sighed happily, her bare hands squeezing her Chaton's as they both rested their backs against the pillar in between them. The noir-haired girl couldn't help but let her fingers and thumbs map out every nook, every crevice and every feature of her partner's hands like a desperate lover. The way that his longer, thicker fingers flexed under her touch and curled warmly against hers, the rough callouses on the palms that indicated years of hard work to whatever sport he's dedicated himself to, the glossy smoothness of his detransform miraculous on his right hand and its ridges poking into her skin and the sweet body heat that emanated from his caresses and sent her entire body aflame. She missed this. Dieu, she missed her partner's physical touch so much.

"...Am I dreaming?"

Marinette almost leapt to her feet and turned around, only for common sense and the hammered identity rule to slap her in the face and keep her rooted on the spot. Her Chaton was crying...crying. His entire body shook and shuddered as the sound of his quiet gasps filled the tense air, his touch now a raging inferno coursing through her veins. And she couldn't even bring him into her arms and brush his tears away with her pinpricked fingers. "Chat Noir?? What's wrong?" She asked, her heart skipping multiple beats when she attempted to move her hands away from his, only for Noir to grip them tightly and entwine their fingers firmly. A perfect fit. . "S-Sorry...heh-I'm not upset," He reassured her, tightening his clasp on her hands lovingly, his lips aching to press against her sweet, bare-knuckles in a sound kiss. "It's just...it's just been a while since I've had proper human contact, My Lady...so I've almost forgotten what it's like to be touched...or touch another..." Adrien felt her move, rather than saw, his Lady's breath hitching in her throat as she in return sent a squeeze back to him. It was as if his entire being was surrounded by a pool of warmth, lighting up his crushed soul and cleansing his shattered heart. The urge to just turn around and envelope her in his greedy arms was exorbitantly unbearable. She was right there, just behind him, tempting him with that oh-so-familiar bakery scent of cinnamon and vanilla that he could taste it. Alas, his unwavering sense of loyalty to her rules and his primal feelings to keep her safe kept him chained down. . But sometimes, even the most beaten down, the most saddest and the most broken of people can receive a glimpse of hope.

"Well, now you can have all the human contact you want, Chat. C-Close your eyes and I'll come to you- mine are closed too."

She didn't give him a chance to answer, using her hands to manoeuvre her way towards him until finally, she found his lap and settled down before bringing him in for a well-needed embrace and burying his head into the crook of her neck. Adrien didn't hesitate in crushing her body against his chest, his arms locked around her waist, one hand digging into her smooth tendrils whilst the other one clenching the fabric of her shirt on the small of her back. He selfishly inhaled in her scent, his tears saturating her neck whilst she in turn let her fingers tangle with his blonde strands, lips puckered against his nape as she memorised the pattern of his heartbeat in tandem to hers.

"How long can w-we stay like this?"

"As long as you would like, mon Minou..."

They stayed like that in the same position, all night.

~(x)~

#my writing #my fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #Adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #pandemic #prompt: covid-19

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

blossoms and blood II — jjk

Plot: Two lovers are ripped apart in the name of duty.

Pairing(s): Prince/King!Jungkook x Princess/Queen!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Royal | Angst | Smut

Tags & Warnings: violence, angst, explicit smut, blood

Authors Note: I know a couple of you wanted this so I hope you like!

Seven years later.

The fourteenth white cloth covering a limp body left King Jungkook in a slump on his throne. Disease in the form of a violent king cursed their kingdom three years ago spreading slowly and painfully, creating two golden coffins in his own home leaving the heavy crown on his head without warning.

After a while he understood more than he ever did during that time, how much it hurt to lose both parents at once. An event one could never expect to happen or could control.

He had only been hearing news about Queen Belle through the years. Her name etched and engraved into everyone’s conversations.

The Queen conquered five neighbor kingdoms and rebuilt her council from full scratch with six strong diplomats including Prince Yoongi who bent the knee freely. The prince was always known not to be attached to the hip with his power and Belle built a good reputation for being loyal in her word. All neighboring kingdoms now flourished with good food in their bellies, warm homes and a strong law system lessening crimes by half. Her territorial power and societal influence now stood in dangerously close competition with the new Sun King Hoseok.

The double doors opened with a thud breaking his tumble of thoughts. Eyes flickered up to see one of his guards glistening with sweat and expression twisted in distress much like most of his council and citizens nowadays. “Any survivors?” Jungkook sighed scratching at the dark wood of his armrest.

The solider gave a quick bow before standing at attention. “Twenty, sir. Excluding our few surviving soldiers.”

Twenty. He remembered a time when his kingdom used to be impenetrable. After the secret attacks on the outlying village, the funds thinned out significantly as well as the population. A lot of citizens fled to the inner city which meant overcrowding and many trying to live on the streets with scarce food and shelter.

Having an alliance with Belle’s kingdom allowed their funds to be conjoined and keep the Sun King at bay from attacking but now Jungkook’s land was vulnerable.

The man would have conquered the neighboring kingdoms but the Queen had been a lot better at diplomacy than he ever was. Jungkook fought in wars more than spoke in councils. King Hoseok had likely grown cautious of angering Belle thus leaving Jungkooks’ territory a better target to somehow surpass his current biggest competitor.

“Sire…permission to speak freely?” The soldier spoke with utmost care, feeling a little jolt of anxiety now that his question lingered in the air.

Jungkook waved his hand gesturing him to continue except his gaze focused more on the window to the side.

“Our army is deteriorating after every attack…” He gulped. “Queen Belle has the strongest military power to date.” Immediately the words caught in his throat.

The Kings’ eyes now burned right through the slightly quaking soldier, nails raking down the sides of the throne at the mention of her name. A deadly mixture of frustration and his chest clenching tightly. “You know that’s not an option.” His voice turned dark.

“Your Majesty, at this rate…” He let out a little shaky sigh. “…we might need to make it an option.”

“Are you suggesting the soldiers are turning back on me?”

“I’m suggesting the soldiers want to see their children live another day.” He quickly bit down his tongue, hanging his head.

The traditional urge to punish the solider for speaking out of turn grew strong but Jungkook knew the results were never fruitful. His peoples’ trust slowly deteriorated by the day after every defeat. If he punished someone on his own accord then the respect for him as King will die with him. Letting out a heavy breath, Jungkook closed his eyes for a moment, angry at how he could so clearly see Belle smiling right in front of him when he did. Gulping he took a breath to speak. “Even if I did ask for her help…” He shook his head. “The chances of her agreeing are slim...”

The solider cleared his throat gently, hands clasped behind his back. “Slim chances are all we have. The low lying villages are now determined as the Sun Kings’ territory. He’s trying to conquer the kingdom piece by piece and it won’t be long until he’s standing in this very throne room.” He swallowed down hard again with a silent prayer in his mind that his freedom of speech didn’t fizzle out. “If there’s a more powerful voice to match King Hoseok, it’s Queen Belle.”

Jungkook predicted Belles’ success as a ruler surpassing his own. Except at that time, they hoped to be married after their parents’ passing so the tradition between their families could be broken. Now they were on different sides and his inability to make orders rather than follow them became overwhelmingly clear. With a sigh and deflated figure, he spoke again to break the silence. “Alright. We’ll ride out for an audience with her.”

Under the pale morning sky, the Queen and her general carefully stepped on either side of the training courtyard. Private area just close enough to the throne room, large pillars bordering it all with a large weapons table on the end. On a better day the whole room would glow a deep orange but right now it looked dull and dreary save for the striking velvet red lining her suit.

Thin strand of hair hovered over Belle’s face, posture straightened and sword held with such a steadiness it looked like an extension of her arm. The kindness usually spread across her features made Namjoon forget his queen currently stood as one of the most biggest conquerors of their generation. But at these moments, how she wielded her weapon with pride reminded him clearly.

The General gave the first swing, metal clanged against each other in a static pattern. He worked off his strength with large strikes while the queen moved quick on her feet, evading the move to conserve her energy before swinging against his sword with an expected might. As they pushed away, the swords created a screeching sound. Arms ached at this point despite having training with such a heavy weapon since childhood. After some time, even strong holds gave in but at that stage persistence took control.

Long braid swung over her shoulder as she turned to the other side of training ground, taking a deep breath without showing it. Belle tried to make the world around her slow down to calculate her movements.

Few more swings of their swords, the metal screeched again.

She pushed his back causing him to lose control of his weapon and she pointed her own right at his neck.

“You went easy.” Belle replied, pulling the steel blade away.

“Asking a general to hurt his queen is easier said than done.” Namjoon smirked, breathing a little heavy.

“The hardest lesson for a soldier to learn is hurting the ones they love most.” Belle advised sheathing her sword. “There might be a day where you’ll have to.”

Namjoon stared down at his sword before sheathing it as well. “Let’s hope that day never comes.”

Belle hummed in agreement before a rush of armor clanging grew louder. Both their heads turned to the foyer of the training yard where a young guard paused to heave out a few indistinct words.

“What’s wrong, Jongin?” The Queen asked.

“Your Majesty! An unexpected visitor.” Was all he could muster as he rested against one of the pillars.

Pulling off her leather gloves and placing it on the weapons table, Belle walked past the guard with asking another question while Namjoon followed along intently.

In the throne room, Belle placed her braid behind her. Cool breeze from the hallways allowed the sweat to stop sticking to her clothing while all ragged breathing calmed down. The line of guards standing to the entrance of throne room bowed down to her immediately. She got visits every single day considering problems from each kingdom addressed to her. Except they were always planned.

Double doors opened and she stepped through. Prince Seokjin already standing next to her throne while Yoongi gazed towards her as he rested back on a pillar. The entire room had been designed with a deep mahogany adorned in red and gold tapestry, contrasting against all the colours worn by the court members.

Eyes moved from Seokjin to the figure standing in the center in front of her empty throne. Her heart dropped to the pit and lips parted watching the small pout, hair just over his eyes and a firm gaze. It only took a second for that dreaded sense of recognition to spread through her. Belle despised the fact she couldn’t figure out whether the feeling in her belly swirled due to anger or yearning.

Standing just in front of her thrones, fingers quickly intertwined together as she tried her best to keep a composed face. Matching to the same one she usually had when witnessing an execution. “King Jeon.”

Jungkook felt a tug at his chest hearing her address him in such a formal way. Even in court proceeding or public events, she would call him by his first name or at least have a sweet, loving tone that made him forget about all his problems. Except he knew he lost the right to relish in that now. “Queen Belle.” He bowed slightly.

“What do I owe this visit?” She asked trying to get straight to the point before her knees started shaking.

Jungkook glanced around the court, watching some of their faces contort into disgust, disappointment or curiosity in the younger looking members. A lot of the older ones knew who he was and what he did to the former rulers of this kingdom. Only some of them had seen his face. Honestly Belle was the only one he could recognize in a heartbeat. “I’m afraid I have a favor to ask.”

“A favor?” Belle seethed a little. “What kind of favor?”

He hesitated for a moment, for the hundred time wondering if it were wiser to just turn back and find another solution. But his people deserved more than a half-hearted attempt. “The Sun King aims to take over my kingdom through violent and tyrannous means.”

“Says the slayer himself.” Yoongi retorted earning nothing but a silent side-glance from both Jungkook and Belle. Though Belle knew the older male didn’t need validation.

Jungkook took a deep breath. “My soldiers…innocent civilians are being caught in this rampage. People murdered on the streets, women raped, children taken as slaves, I—I can’t hold them down for much longer.”

Belle pursed her lips together, eyes twitching a little. “We had an alliance, King Jeon.” She emphasized the ‘had’. “It was to protect both of us from this very future.” She purposely let the words linger in the thick silence to remind Jungkook just what his parents got them into.

“But you and your parents broke that contract in the same way the Sun King is breaking your kingdom.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I won’t save you from the undoing you caused in the first place.”

With that announcement, the Queen turned on her heel to exit the throne room leaving Jungkook stammering a little on the spot.

“What’d you expect, Your Highness?” Yoongi seethed.

Jungkook gave the council member a sharp glare but the other merely smirked.

“For a kingdom to help you, one needs loyalty. You not only let that ship sail, you burnt it down and sunk it.”

As much as every inch of his pride had the urge to fight back, Jungkook knew the man spoke the harsh truth. Maybe if he fought with his parents a little more instead of adhering to their orders immediately, his kingdom would not be falling right now. So the king kept quiet with his head hung.

The Queens’ bedroom usually had the most the serene atmosphere. Birds chirping just the perfect tune outside the windows where one could watch the trees whistle against the gentle breeze of coming autumn. The maids fixed all the flower bouquets into a red rose theme while two were preparing the golden lined tub for her bath after training.

Belle barged into the room making the maids jump, her chest rising and falling to calm the rising anxiety down somehow. “Ladies, please excuse us.” She tried to keep a composed voice but it came out breathy. No one was ever allowed to see her in this manner ever. Except Namjoon generally made himself an exception and Belle never saw a problem with it.

The maids scurried past the Queen and General to the exit before Namjoon closed it behind him.

“Who does he think he is?” She muttered, fingers tightly woven with one another. Eyes growing glossier by the second while her heart rattled against her ribcages. “Seven years.” She let out a trembling sigh. “Seven years and he just waltzes in here like nothing happened.” Belle grabbed onto the edge of the dining table centering the entire chambers.

“It’s odd…” Namjoon nodded. “I suppose being almost destroyed by the Sun King jolted something in him.”

Belle rubbed her exhausted face gently. “Everyone wants to take over that kingdom, they have the most impenetrable walls.” She raised her a brows a little. “At least they did. Jungkook never loses a battle.”

“The circumstances are different now though.” Namjoon walked to the table, caressing the surface. The Queen had his back to him to prevent any sight of her clear distress to see an old lover and friend.

“How so?” Belle turned her head a little.

“I think we’ve learnt in our journeys that impenetrable walls don’t always equate a strong kingdom.” He raised one shoulder. “And we can’t blame civilians by the actions of royals.”

“He killed my parents, Namjoon.” Belle swallowed the small lump in her throat. “He didn’t even hesitate.”

The General had to stay silent for a moment as the events of that day replayed in his mind. He saw the blank look in Jungkooks’ features when he finally gave the swings that took out the two royals. Then he could also recognize the same look on his troops before charging in conquests. “You told me this today.” He took a tiny step closer.

“The hardest lesson a solider has to learn is to hurt the ones he loves most.” He tilted his head a little but couldn’t really catch her expression. “I think you know…somewhere what he did wasn’t completely his fault. Soldiers don’t work on their own accord. Queens do.”

Belle hung her head and let another deep sigh, eyes still burning but her tears seemed to be dried up today. “Can you guarantee safe travel for his people?” She turned around to meet the generals’ gaze.

Namjoon nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“Make sure to fly our banners. The Sun King and I have no active quarrels, it may prevent any attacks.” Their little territorial competition was silent for the most part and never truly led to any battle between the kingdoms. Except Belle worried helping Jungkooks’ kingdom may end that somewhat peaceful streak.

Three single files of people walked at a tired pace while small children and seniors were carried in wagons by her guards. Namjoon made a good job to keep everyone safe but it tugged at Belle’s chest ever so slightly to see the small size of the group.

The Queen and King stood at a main balcony of the palace watching as the people were led into through the majestic doors. “Is this all?” Belle asked.

“Yes.” Jungkook replied simply, resting his arms on the railing.

Belle stood a significant distance from the male. She now adorned a white and gold dress with her hair in a jewelled bun, a few hair strands framing her face. “My father used to tell me that murder solves the smaller problems but only fuelled something worse.” She side glanced at the male. “You always did hate those lectures. Found them useless.”

Jungkook hated to admit he wasn’t a fan of learning intricacies of the mind or morality because his own father thought it best if he were immune from it. Too much thought meant reluctance. “Fighting wins wars.” He quoted his father.

The Queen scoffed lightly. “Really? Then why am I taking in your entire kingdom as refugees? For a banquet?” Belle retorted. “Fighting wins battles. Diplomacy wins wars.”

“Nevertheless…thank you…for reconsidering.” Jungkook sighed.

“My general was kind enough to remind me civilians should not be blamed for royal blunders.” Belle turned a little to face him. “We have a meeting in the throne room for conditions.” She spoke in a solemn tone before walking away from him.

Shoes tapped and echoed through the private throne room despite the crowd of people waiting in anticipation. White and gold train followed behind the Queen as she gave a quick glance to Namjoon standing next to her throne before turning to face Jungkook. Chin held high, small gold crown shining contrasting against her dark hair and painted red lips making her exude the most elegant yet potent power.

“Earlier you asked for me to revive our past alliance.” Belle began speaking and the entire throne room hushed down to such a silence, it could almost seem like it was empty. “I refuse.”

The couple of members from the council began murmuring to one another but the King himself continued to stare at the regal figure. “Why not?”

She stayed quiet for a moment to wait until the council members behind Jungkook stopped to realise the attention was on them and quickly quietened down, hanging their heads. Then Belles’ gaze flickered over to King Jeon again. “Alliances are made between two kingdoms who want to come in peace after war or kingdoms who have something to offer one another. Meaning they are meant for equal parties.” She spoke with the utmost eloquence. “Your kingdom has lost all their funds, military lessened by half, scarce resources and you have a notorious past of breaking alliances.”

Jungkook tightened his jaw. “What would you have me do?”

“I will call for the Sun Kings’ audience.” Her eyes trailed from left to right to address the entire court. “If we are to protect your kingdom from any more attacks…you need to bend the knee and reclaim your previous title of Prince.”

The court stayed quiet already knowing they heard this exact rule passed onto a once King Seokjin.

“So you won’t help my people unless I bow down to you.” He almost seethed.

“I will help your people till the end.” She emphasized. “I have an abundance of land where they can grow crops and live peacefully. The children can attend the schools built in the inner city.” Belle nodded towards the window again gesturing to her vast territories. “Your people can stay here as long as they wish. Now that they’re within our walls, they are eternally under my protection and will not be the subject of harm due to political matters.”

Jungkook pursed his lips together. “But?”

“But we can’t be two unmarried Royals in one kingdom. It confuses the balance of power.”

“Then marry me.” The King knew he poked a sleeping bear with that statement but it wasn’t like he could take it back now either.

Belle gave him a sharp glare as the court murmured in slight shock. How he could so casually bring the topic up like it was nothing made her burn with fury. Maybe it was nothing to him anymore. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “Bend the knee and relinquish your title as King…or surrender to King Hoseok. Either way, your people will not be harmed unless they want to ride out with you.”

“Is this supposed to be your revenge?” Jungkooks’ brows furrowed.

“What you did to my parents was an act of a soldier, Jeon. Not of a crown prince” She spoked through gritted teeth. “It’s not revenge. It’s placing you back to what you do best. Taking orders blindly.”

The male swallowed down a thick lump in his throat, seeing the love of his life announce his pride to be stripped away from him. Deep down of course Jungkook knew he didn’t have all the qualities of a King. He never thought Belle would be the one to end up reminding him.

“You have till morning for your decision.”

<< prev chap | next chap >>

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts royal au #jungkook royal au #tw: angst

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themurphyzone · 3 years

Text

PatB Oneshot: Crystal Clear

AN: Part of an art trade with @plutonis in honor of her upcoming wedding. She tasked me with writing an introspective piece for a Brinky wedding. The art piece I requested is for the next chapter of Nova, so you’ll see the finished product there.

Prompt given by Pluto: I was wondering if you could do a little fic in which Brain is walking down the aisle on his wedding day, and we hear the thoughts going on in his head. What is he thinking? How is he feeling?

AO3 Link

If Brain had his way, he would’ve taped himself to the table leg with extra strong industrial strength duct tape and remained there for the rest of his life.

But Romy wouldn’t let him attach himself to said table leg, and Wakko already ate the duct tape to prevent him from getting it. All other binding materials, including the shoe strings and gluesticks, had been placed on a shelf mockingly out of his reach.

And since he was already in his wedding dress, he couldn’t even climb the shelf to retrieve the necessary materials.

“Dad, you’re killing the glarb,” Romy complained as he pried Brain from the table leg.

“Unhand me at once or so help me, Roman Numeral One!” Brain shouted, trying to break free from Romy’s grip, but it seemed their son had inherited Pinky’s unusual strength.

Wakko wasn’t any help either. He just watched the spectacle from his perch on the dresser, chomping on a platter of garlic prawns swiped from the catering company. Thankfully, Brain had the foresight to order plenty of garlic prawns for their celebratory dinner.

As soon as Romy’s grip loosened, Brain broke free and reattached himself to the table leg.

Funny, how he wanted this for so long. Yearned for it. And when the time came, even after all the progress he’d made, he was still afraid for reasons he didn’t understand.

It was illogical, he knew. He trusted Pinky more than anyone else, even himself.

But even that wasn’t enough to get him moving again.

“Guess someone’s gotta tell Ma you’re not coming,” Romy sighed.

Brain’s fingers dug into the wooden grooves.

“He’s definitely gonna cry. Probably gonna curl up on the couch and watch daytime soap operas with buckets of triple fudge ice cream or something,” Romy continued.

Sweet, innocent Pinky being heartbroken at his own wedding. Running off and doing who-knows-what, because he could be very unpredictable when he was truly distraught. His simple mind eroding away because of the unhealthy combination of trashy soap operas and ice cream diet.

Brain’s heart clenched uncomfortably at that mental image. With great reluctance, Brain let go of the table leg and marched over to the mirror to smooth out the wrinkles in his wedding dress to keep his hands occupied as he quelled that troublesome idea.

“You’re gonna tell him that Brain’s in here, right?” Wakko asked.

“Sure,” Romy replied.

Wait...everyone knew of his intentions to see this wedding through to the end. And he'd never let the hard work and efforts of their wedding plans go to waste.

It was just a ploy.

Brain took a deep breath. To lose his temper before the ceremony would surely spell catastrophe. He wanted to keep this an emotionally satisfying occasion, for Pinky’s sake.

“Romy, I won’t deny that your tactic was effective. But you will refrain from using my fondness for Pinky against me in the future,” Brain said.

Perhaps Roman Numeral One took after him more than he thought. It was impressive and aggravating at the same time.

"Sorry, Dad." Romy's head dropped as he handed the bouquet to Brain.

Like with Pinky, Brain just didn't have it in him to remain angry once an apology was issued. He transferred the bouquet to one hand and lifted Romy's chin from its downcast position.

"Look alive, Romy. This is a celebration," Brain ordered as he turned back to the mirror. "And Wakko, you're not touching our wedding rings with prawn-stained hands."

Wakko pulled out a kitchen sink from his hammerspace and started washing his hands without removing his gloves. With the soft hum of Happy Birthday in the background, Brain turned back to the mirror and examined himself one more time. They didn’t have long before the ceremony began.

His dress towed the line between simple and extravagant. Ruffles in the right places, but not so many that it would hinder movement. A small hole had been cut to fit his tail, carefully sized so that it was easy to thread the stiff appendage through. His sleeves cut off at the elbow, white fabric giving way to a delicate flower pattern, lending an elegant and dignified quality to the outfit.

It hadn’t been easy obtaining this dress. He’d lost track of how many toy aisles Pinky had dragged him down, and he didn’t want his outfit to come from the toy section of Walmart. Pinky had eventually called Dot for help, and with her connections, she arranged for a fashion designer who specialized in making clothes for dolls to help them out.

And while they eventually put the issue of clothes behind them, they had a fair number of arguments when Brain found a reason to reject all the dresses Pinky suggested. Especially with that gaudy puffed sleeve dress Pinky loved but Brain hated.

“I realize we must’ve been insufferable for the past few months,” Brain said. Planning for a wedding wasn’t anything like planning for world domination, as he learned the hard way. But it was Pinky’s wedding as much as it was his, and after one vehement disagreement, Brain had realized he was pushing out Pinky’s contributions to impose his own.

It wasn’t easy, but he did try to turn over some aspects to Pinky, just to see how he did with them. And Brain didn’t regret that choice, because the results were absolutely wonderful.

“Yeah, you and Ma were ruining my vibes,” Romy gave a lazy smile as Brain nudged him in retaliation.

Romy had said something similar when he’d first run away from home, but mischief had long replaced the anger. Though Brain still didn’t think ventriloquism was a lucrative career, he’d made his peace with Romy’s lifestyle while repairing their relationship. And Romy wasn’t the only one who derived happiness from working with dummies.

“Regardless, we’re grateful that you came,” Brain said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Romy shrugged. “Better save your sap for the ceremony though.”

“I’m not being sappy,” Brain muttered out of principle rather than true irritation.

It was 2:55 pm. Five minutes until the ceremony began. He was running out of time.

He quickly fixed his leaf crown and attached veil so that it was less crooked. In years past, he never would’ve been satisfied until a golden crown with embedded jewels rested atop his head. But now he found the leaf crown was worth so much more than gold.

Then he made sure the transparent veil covered his face. The thin fabric didn’t hinder his vision, but he felt like he was looking through a lens.

Everyone would be watching him. He wanted that thin wall of privacy between himself and the onlookers. Seeing outside, but concealing his feelings within.

He didn’t have to. He knew he didn’t. But old habits die hard, it seemed.

The clock chimed three. It was time.

What could go wrong?

“Don’t worry!” Wakko exclaimed as he picked up the purple velvet cushion with their wedding rings. “I didn’t mistake these for tiny Ring Pops this time!”

Brain was a fool. A sentimental, lovestruck, starcrossed, and twitterpated fool.

Wakko brought up the lead as they marched through the twisting hallways of the enormous property they’d rented for their Hawaiian wedding. Surprisingly, coming up with a location for their wedding hadn’t been difficult. After a stressful day of making other arrangements, they’d chosen a scenic, relaxing travel documentary to unwind.

As soon as the documentary showed a beautiful Hawaiian beach at sunset, they both agreed on making Hawaii the destination of choice for both wedding and honeymoon. Brain gripped the flower bouquet tightly, careful not to crush the petals between his fingers. Romy’s hand was on his elbow, light enough to not be intrusive but quick to react so Brain didn’t run into a wall.

He’d assigned Pinky to the task of flower selection, and Pinky had researched the meaning of flowers extensively with an unusual amount of focus. If Pinky had his way, he would’ve gathered one specimen of every flower in the world and brought them to the wedding, though Brain eventually convinced him to narrow his list down to a single digit range.

Brain was only familiar with the rose as a symbol of love, and he recalled the meaning of only two other flowers within their wedding. The rest were completely lost on him. The first was the magnolia, which represented perseverance. As such, a white magnolia stood proudly in his bouquet, nestled among the red roses of passionate love. Pinky had chosen the magnolia for Brain, and insisted Brain choose at least one flower too.

Though Brain didn’t place much stock in what the websites claimed, he just went along with it to humor Pinky. But he’d settled on the colorful freesia, just to thank Pinky for his friendship, faith, and trust for all the years they’d known each other.

Their miniature procession stopped at a glass sliding door that separated them from the rest of the proceedings.

Brain gulped and clutched the bouquet to his chest.

Beyond those doors, the wedding guests mingled with each other on the grass. A gorgeous, azure beach formed the perfect backdrop to the ceremony. White, fluffy clouds dotted the sunny skies, and the beauty was rather foreign to him. He’d spent far too much of his life hiding away in the darkness of a sterile lab.

It seemed the entirety of their Animaniacs coworkers had shown up for the wedding. He was surprised by the turnout, but it seemed that everyone had been clamoring for him and Pinky to tie the knot for years.

And while the usual toon antics were prevalent among the guests, Brain’s attention was drawn to the very front, where Pinky was arranging flowers on Pharfignewton, who’d jumped at the offer of being Pinky’s best mare.

Back then, the sight would’ve incited a feeling he’d come to realize was jealousy. Now he was just grateful that Pinky received some physical affection from someone when Brain couldn’t give it to him.

Wakko opened the screen door, causing a stir among the guests in the back, which caused a ripple effect that spread to the front and prompted everyone to take their seats. Pinky slid off Pharfignewton’s back, bouncing on his toes and craning his neck to see Brain.

Even from this far away, Brain saw Pinky’s bright, goofy smile. It made him regret keeping the veil over his face, cloaking his happiness even from his partner.

“Testing, testing!” Yakko said into the microphone. When he’d been ordained to officiate a wedding, nobody knew for sure. He shuffled through the cards for his opening speech. “Alright, everyone. We’ve all been very impatient for this moment, so no more delays, capiche? Dot, start the music!”

A hush fell across the audience, and even the most rambunctious members of the Animaniacs crew fell silent as a soft piano arrangement of A Whole New World began to play.

Wakko proudly held the cushion with the wedding rings over his head and marched to the front. From the aisle, Mindy reached into her basket and threw pink flower petals into the air, and Buttons held onto her so she didn’t fall out of her seat.

Romy released Brain and followed Wakko. Pinky greeted their son with an enthusiastic hug, and Bunny flashed them a thumbs-up from her seat.

All the attention was on Brain now.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it.

He wanted to flee inside the house. Tell everyone to go home and they’ll get refunded the costs at a later date. Take Pinky to city hall and sign a document to make their marriage official instead.

The audience whispered.

He saw the worry in Pinky’s eyes, a stunning shade of blue that popped out from the beautiful Hawaiian beach. They were too far from each other to speak normally, but Pinky laid his hand on top of the colorful freesia pinned to his white dress shirt, just over his heart.

Trust me, he was saying.

And Pinky had proven himself worthy of his trust long ago.

Slowly, Brain laid his hand on the magnolia, the centerpiece of his bouquet.

I won’t give up.

Pinky smiled that soft, knowing smile of his. Emboldened by his encouragement, Brain stepped out of the house and onto the white, silky path that had been laid out for him.

He took slow, methodical steps to steel his nerves. This was his reward, and he was allowed to have it.

No more electricity, no more fear of rejection.

The happiness of having someone by his side. The sorrow when they were separated either by force or by choice. The surprise of receiving gifts from Pinky when he’d done nothing to deserve them. The guilt that came from upsetting Pinky with morally questionable schemes.

Emotions he’d once derided as frivolous were now precious and dear to him.

All the good, all the bad, and everything in between. And this occasion marked a brand new beginning, a new chapter of their lives that would bring new happiness and surprises. Though they’d be sad, angry, or terrified sometimes, they’d always be together.

That’s what counted most.

The melody of A Whole New World floated gently through the air. An airy tune filled with wonder at a world previously unknown to them.

He and Pinky dueted this song so many times that the lyrics and background instrumentals were permanently etched into his mind.

Only now did he understand what the song was truly about. Leaving behind their defined roles, into a freedom-filled sky. Just the two of them, exploring a huge world together. The burdens of the past and worries of the future left on the ground, and all that mattered was the present.

Being themselves, and experiencing things they’ve never experienced before.

It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He could hardly wait.

Pinky waited for him, taking Brain’s hand in his own. He was absolutely breathtaking up close.

“Narf,” Pinky whispered, and Brain would never tire of that endearingly stupid word. “You did it, Brain.”

“All thanks to you, Pinky,” Brain replied, and Pinky’s tail wagged at the praise.

Together, they walked to that beautiful wedding arch with intertwining pink and blue flowers, stopping in front of Yakko’s podium. Brain gave his bouquet to Romy so he could properly hold Pinky’s hands. Romy gave them a lazy grin, and Pharfignewton lowered her head so Romy could have a good perch. Wakko proudly balanced the cushion on his head, and Dot stood beside her brother, giving him a friendly shove without knocking the wedding rings off.

And Brain realized he was still seeing the world through veiled eyes. Though his vision was unimpeded, he’d barely noticed there was a filter among all his doubts and fears.

He’d kept the veil for a transparent amount of privacy when he walked down the aisle, but now that he was with Pinky…

Well, it just wasn’t necessary anymore.

He brought Pinky’s hands to the veil. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them.

Then Pinky threw back the veil, and the filter he’d been looking through was completely gone. And Brain saw the...no, he saw his world through fresh eyes.

A bright, happy, silly mouse stood before him, a colorful burst of freesia on his chest, and beautiful sky-blue eyes filled with endless love, promising hope and warmth and companionship forever more.

“You’re so pretty, Brain,” Pinky giggled.

It was the most wonderful sound for his compass, his heart, and his world.

No more tolerating. He fully accepted the undeniable fact of how much he loved Pinky, and Pinky loving him back from this point forward.

Never before had he felt so much happiness, and he was ready for everyone to see it.

Unable to contain himself, Brain leapt into Pinky’s arms and kissed him. Though he heard their audience reacting with shock, it was all just background noise to him. And he’d never been a patient mouse.

Pinky was surprised at first, but his strong arms wrapped around Brain to support him, and he kissed back wonderfully.

Fireworks exploded in Brain’s mind, or maybe the Warners set some off, he didn’t know. But he had to come up for air, and he released the kiss, though it seemed Pinky could keep going for quite some time.

“Technically, you’re supposed to wait until I say ‘you may now kiss the Brain’, but who am I to stop true love?” Yakko grinned.

“Sorry,” the mice chorused, though neither of them regretted the little break in protocol.

The audience burst into cheers, and Yakko led them in a standing ovation for a good five minutes before they all settled down enough for him to start his opening speech.

“Love you, Brain,” Pinky whispered as he put Brain down and took his hands again.

“Love you too, Pinky,” Brain replied, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Everything was laid out before them, clear as crystal and bright as day.

End AN: This is cheesy but I don’t care I love it and they’re married now.

The Hawaiian setting is not a reference to the PatB fic Trouble in Paradise, it’s just that the last wedding I went to was in Hawaii and it was so romantic.

3rd time I’ve referenced A Whole New World in these fics. This song is just too perfect for them.

#pinky and the brain #brinky #patb fanfiction #cheesy in a good fluffy way

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rushingheadlong · 3 years

Photo

POP IN THE SUPERMARKET

Conveyer rock - is it all a hype? Colin Irwin looks at pre-packed pop and talks to the men behind new bands Queen (left) and Merlin

Hype. An ugly, unpleasant word frequently recurring in rock circles.

Up in the boardroom of a vast record company the fat cigar brigade are scratching heads. Binn and Batman have come up with another surefire hit and they want somebody fresh to market it. They ponder a few names and finally decide on one with slight but clear sexual connotations - suggestively camp.

Name settled, they work on the people who will be in this new band. They might be able to find a ready-made group to fit the bill but better to mould their own. There's a singer who has been around for a few years.

He's not great but he knows how to throw himself around a stage, has a hairy chest and can hit the high notes. Give him a new name and he'll do. Somebody knows a lead guitarist who can play a bit and looks good. They can advertise for the others.

They'll work out a sensational stage act, rig them up in some flash gear, buy them the best equipment and arrange a string of appearances in some influential venues. Plunge a few thousand quid in launching them with advertising and posters and "They'll be the biggest thing since sliced bread," chief fat cigar tells his underlings.

Session musicians are employed to record the single and being a Binn and Batman special the radio stations label it "chart bound" and play it twenty five times a day. Seeing the glossy photos in the bop mags the kids gather up their pennies and buy it.

VOILA, stars are born - or manufactured. An extreme form of hype.

There's also a cliché commonly used in the business about people who have been around for many years and finally make it. It's called talent-will-out. An idealist phrase but there is still a popular belief that if a band is truly talented enough it will win through in the end.

Yet even the greatest band in the world need a bit of pushing in the first place. When a record becomes a hit it's not always that easy to distinguish between hype and talent-will-out.

If a record company spends astronomical sums of money promoting a band, is it hype? Or is it a legitimate and necessary weapon in the music business? The argument is that the BBC's ever-tightening playlist and the effects on the industry of the three-day week have made it harder than ever for a new group to make it - talent or no. Without a big money machine behind it there isn't a hope.

The situation is illustrated by two energetic new bands, who both look like breaking.

Big money has been spent on Queen and Merlin, who have had new singles released during the last month.

Queen's record, "Seven Seas Of Rhye," is already moving swiftly up the chart, while Merlin's "Let Me Put My Spell On You," is doing well enough to suggest it might follow suit.

There is no suggestion that either band is a manufactured or manipulated product in the sense of the Monkees. They play the music on their own records entirely themselves and they are both hard at work on the road.

Yet the question arises as to whether they would be doing quite so well without the resources of big companies behind them.

In the case of Queen it's Trident Audio Productions and EMI and for Merlin it's Cookaway Productions and CBS.

The one common factor is that money and backing has been provided because the companies have a solid, unshakeable belief in the artists they are promoting. They are indignant about any suggestion of a put-on or that there has been any attempt to con the public.

Listen to Merlin's producer Roger Greenaway for half-an-hour and there is no doubting his faith in their ability. "They are going to break, I know they are. I'm convinced the record will be a hit."

Nobody's saying exactly how much it has cost to launch either band. "Over a period of months between £5,000 and £10,000" has been spent on marketing Queen by EMI while the figure for Merlin is even vaguer. "A bit, but not a vast amount. Not a fortune by any means."

"Seven Seas Of Rhye" is Queen's second single and was recorded as part of the album "Queen 2" which has just been released. Things started to move for them about a year ago when they recorded their first album for Trident, who have a distribution contract with EMI.

An advance was paid to them to help with the immediate costs of putting them on the road.

Review copies of the album - about 400 of them - were sent out to everyone who might conceivably have any influence on the record buying public, from discos to the national press. Copies were personally distributed to radio and TV producers and extensive advertising space was bought in the trade papers.

The launch for Queen was more concentrated than most artist are entitled to expect.

Trident were completely behind them from the start and found them their American producer Jack Nelson. EMI promotions men Ronnie Fowler and John Bagnall decided they had a product with an exceptional chance of success and they went all out to exploit it to the full.

Says Fowler: "Every record we release we work to a pattern of promotion. When I went round with the album it was normal procedure. It becomes un-normal when people start phoning you - that's when you put more effort into it."

Bagnall adds: "It became obvious after a week or so that it wasn't standard promotion that was necessary. We did a more complete promotion job than usual on Queen because we thought they were going to make it.

"They're all good-looking guys and I did a round of teeny papers and all the girls in the office swooned over them. Brian, the lead guitarist, had made his own guitar and a couple of the nationals picked up on that. It was good, gossipy stuff."

Queen's publicity machine was working from all angles because they were also getting external promotion from Tony Brainsby's promotion office.

He had been involved with them from the time they had been trying to get record producers interested. The intensity of it all paid off when they were invited to do a spot on the Old Grey Whistle Test. Radio Luxembourg latched upon the single "Keep Yourself Alive" and played it regularly.

Their first tour, supporting Mott the Hoople, got the full works. Local press was saturated with releases about this new band which was shortly coming to their town, elaborate displays were arranged at the front of the house on the night of the concert, local disc-jockeys were informed, and window displays were made in about 200 local record shops.

"Trident and EMI committed themselves right from the start to this band, to make sure they had a PA which was better than other bands had and to make sure they had the right clothes. Some of their outfits cost £150 each," said Bagnall. "Spending money on a band isn't hype. It wasn't being flash or extravagant for the sake of building an image. It was making sure that everything else was as good as their music."

Not so far removed from the attitude towards Merlin, although it has been on a smaller scale in this case.

The first Merlin tour, still underway, is rigorous. They are playing ballrooms and colleges all over the country on a lengthy round.

An ambitious project for a new, unknown band, but it has already been successful in that it has launched them as a name people now know. A full-page advertisement was bought in the MM. That's the sort of treatment you might get if you're Bowie, or Ferry, or even Mick Ronson. But Merlin?

They have only been in existence in their present form since last May.

They emerged as a result of discussions between Alan Love and Derek Chick about the possibility of forming a band with definite commercial appeal and a glamorous stage act. The idea reached fruition via a band called Madrigal, who had for some time been working the same circuit as Mud before "Crazy" broke for them.

Madrigal disbanded but reformed with the same drummer and bass player, and Love as singer and Chick as manager. A couple more young musicians were found to join them and Chick started the usual hustling to get them going.

In due course they came to the attention of Cookaway, and Roger Greenaway was hastily summoned to take a look at them. He had already seen Madrigal and when he saw the new model he immediately saw a big future for them.

Greenaway says: "I'd been looking for a group of this type for three years - a young under-20s group who can present a good act. There's a lot more showmanship attached to bands now. I wanted an act with a slightly different approach. I was in New York producing the Drifters and I came back especially to hear them."

He quickly took them into a studio to see how they reacted there and among the tracks they recorded was "Let Me Put My Spell On You" which had been written by Greenaway in collaboration with Tony Macaulay. Like Queen, the best equipment and some fancy costumes were bought for them and the launching process was put into operation.

My own experience of the Merlin project was a couple of weeks ago at Reading Top Rank - a bizarre mixture of precocious boppers, ageing teds, and stern-looking heavies.

Posters and pictures of the group were plastered all over the place and by the time they eventually appeared late in the evening you had been informed quite thoroughly that Merlin had made a record called "Let Me Put My Spell On You."

Greenaway says of Love: "He's got star quality and he's a great charmer. The guitar player Jamie Moses has got a terrific potential too. I've worked with Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones but for me this guy at 18 is a better player than Jimmy Page was at the same age. He's the sort of player guys can follow - like Jet Harris - he had an incredible following with the guys."

He likens the Merlin launch to a military operation. The career of the group has been minutely planned since October. Accepting that it is almost impossible to get airplay for a new band on the BBC they decided the best way to break them was through a solid mass of live dates.

The dates were booked, once again the best equipment, including a light show, was bought for them, and distinctive stage costumes especially designed.

"By the time the tour has ended they will be a really tight band. We are getting support in the regions and you can break a record if you can get regional radio stations and disco plays. I believe this record is a hit and the signs are there. This is a ten-year job as far as I'm concerned."

Not that big money backing is any guarantee of success.

One of the biggest projects of this type was the launching of young Darren Burn as Britain's answer to Donny Osmond. To their eternal credit the record-buying public didn't apparently want an answer to Mr Osmond and the campaign failed.

The pop supermarket is not a new trend. The attractively packaged mass-produced record has been a part of the industry for a long time. The early releases of Love Affair, White Plains and Edison Lighthouse for example spring to mind.

The whole thing is justified for the makers by the fact that they still become hits, thus proving there is a demand for made-to-order records. If the public is willing - or gullible enough - to pay 50p for music created in the boardroom. Well it must be OK.

The Merlin single is blatantly, unashamedly aimed at being a big hit - that seems to have been the one criterion in making it. It has all the ingredients and as the whole thing has been done with concentrated professionalism it will probably be a hit.

Back to Roger Greenaway: "I don't want to present this as a Monkees type of image. It's not a manufactured group in any way - these guys have all been in other bands.

"What Merlin are about is success - reaching people. It's so wrong for opposing people to criticise. If Chinn and Chapman go out to reach a particular market at the thing they do best, and they reach them, then they're doing their job. They've filled a gap.

"When this record happens it'll be called hype but we haven't hyped anybody. Not a vast amount of money has been spent on them. It would be silly to have a tour like this without some sort of advertising. All the money that has been spent on them so far has been towards getting them on the road.

"It's expensive but it's minimal if you think of it as a along term thing."

It may be unfair to associate Queen with the pop supermarket. The group themselves were apprehensive about appearing on Top Of The Pops and the prospect of a hit record.

They have always regarded themselves as an album band and were concerned about being connected with the chart groups. The fact remains that they have been on the receiving end of a giant campaign to create a best-selling single and album.

The first album had sold far better than they had anticipated and there was great excitement around Trident and EMI as the second one was being made. Manager Jack Nelson came in virtually every day to play new tracks as they were completed and many discussions followed on which one should be released as a single.

A special meeting was held between Bagnall, Fowler, marketing manager Paul Watts and a few others to discuss the approach to the release of "Queen 2."

"We talked about the possibility of boxing the album, and other various publicity and posters needed to produce an album we were convinced was going to be one of the biggest of the year. We set a high target for it. 'Seven Seas' isn't a housewives' record so with the daily shows like Edmonds, Blackburn and Hamilton, there's no chance of getting it played, we knew that from the start. But the weekend shows - Rosko, Henry, and D.L.T. - they all flipped over it. I took the records round personally because I felt so strongly about it."

The prime plug, however, is Top Of The Pops. If a record gets exposure on that there is a more than even chance that it will become a hit. He played it to the show's Robin Nash and a couple of days later Nash phoned him and asked him where Queen were. Later he rang back and invited Queen to do a session.

The band weren't too sure whether they wanted to do it but eventually agreed although even then they didn't know until the last minute whether it would be used because they were half expecting a David Bowie film to arrive and take it's place. But in the end Queen were shown and "Seven Seas Of Rhye" moved dramatically from there.

"A lot of people have invested an awful lot of time and money in this band but not as a hype," says Bagnall. "The only truth in the music business is that if a band isn't good, no amount of money will get them to make it."

Greenaway may be right that Merlin are one of the most exciting bands to merge since the Beatles. Fowler might be right that Queen are one of the best since the Who. But big business still remains one of the sadder aspects of the music industry today.

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Huge thanks to the anon who brought this to my attention, since I’ve been looking for a copy of this article for ages now!

Credit for the original scans goes to @Chrised90751298 over on twitter, though I stitched it back together into a single image for ease of posting over there. Open the image in a new tab to see the full-size version!

#queen band #queen #queenband #merlin band #long post //#text

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