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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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The Green Knight and Medieval Metatextuality: An Essay

Right, so. Finally watched it last night, and I’ve been thinking about it literally ever since, except for the part where I was asleep. As I said to fellow medievalist and admirer of Dev Patel @oldshrewsburyian, it’s possibly the most fascinating piece of medieval-inspired media that I’ve seen in ages, and how refreshing to have something in this genre that actually rewards critical thought and deep analysis, rather than me just fulminating fruitlessly about how popular media thinks that slapping blood, filth, and misogyny onto some swords and castles is “historically accurate.” I read a review of TGK somewhere that described it as the anti-Game of Thrones, and I’m inclined to think that’s accurate. I didn’t agree with all of the film’s tonal, thematic, or interpretative choices, but I found them consistently stylish, compelling, and subversive in ways both small and large, and I’m gonna have to write about it or I’ll go crazy. So. Brace yourselves.

(Note: My PhD is in medieval history, not medieval literature, and I haven’t worked on SGGK specifically, but I am familiar with it, its general cultural context, and the historical influences, images, and debates that both the poem and the film referenced and drew upon, so that’s where this meta is coming from.)

First, obviously, while the film is not a straight-up text-to-screen version of the poem (though it is by and large relatively faithful), it is a multi-layered meta-text that comments on the original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the archetypes of chivalric literature as a whole, modern expectations for medieval films, the hero’s journey, the requirements of being an “honorable knight,” and the nature of death, fate, magic, and religion, just to name a few. Given that the Arthurian legendarium, otherwise known as the Matter of Britain, was written and rewritten over several centuries by countless authors, drawing on and changing and hybridizing interpretations that sometimes challenged or outright contradicted earlier versions, it makes sense for the film to chart its own path and make its own adaptational decisions as part of this multivalent, multivocal literary canon. Sir Gawain himself is a canonically and textually inconsistent figure; in the movie, the characters merrily pronounce his name in several different ways, most notably as Sean Harris/King Arthur’s somewhat inexplicable “Garr-win.” He might be a man without a consistent identity, but that’s pointed out within the film itself. What has he done to define himself, aside from being the king’s nephew? Is his quixotic quest for the Green Knight actually going to resolve the question of his identity and his honor – and if so, is it even going to matter, given that successful completion of the “game” seemingly equates with death?

Likewise, as the anti-Game of Thrones, the film is deliberately and sometimes maddeningly non-commercial. For an adaptation coming from a studio known primarily for horror, it almost completely eschews the cliché that gory bloodshed equals authentic medievalism; the only graphic scene is the Green Knight’s original beheading. The violence is only hinted at, subtextual, suspenseful; it is kept out of sight, around the corner, never entirely played out or resolved. In other words, if anyone came in thinking that they were going to watch Dev Patel luridly swashbuckle his way through some CGI monsters like bad Beowulf adaptations of yore, they were swiftly disappointed. In fact, he seems to spend most of his time being wet, sad, and failing to meet the moment at hand (with a few important exceptions).

The film unhurriedly evokes a medieval setting that is both surreal and defiantly non-historical. We travel (in roughly chronological order) from Anglo-Saxon huts to Romanesque halls to high-Gothic cathedrals to Tudor villages and half-timbered houses, culminating in the eerie neo-Renaissance splendor of the Lord and Lady’s hall, before returning to the ancient trees of the Green Chapel and its immortal occupant: everything that has come before has now returned to dust. We have been removed even from imagined time and place and into a moment where it ceases to function altogether. We move forward, backward, and sideways, as Gawain experiences past, present, and future in unison. He is dislocated from his own sense of himself, just as we, the viewers, are dislocated from our sense of what is the “true” reality or filmic narrative; what we think is real turns out not to be the case at all. If, of course, such a thing even exists at all.

This visual evocation of the entire medieval era also creates a setting that, unlike GOT, takes pride in rejecting absolutely all political context or Machiavellian maneuvering. The film acknowledges its own cultural ubiquity and the question of whether we really need yet another King Arthur adaptation: none of the characters aside from Gawain himself are credited by name. We all know it’s Arthur, but he’s listed only as “king.” We know the spooky druid-like old man with the white beard is Merlin, but it’s never required to spell it out. The film gestures at our pre-existing understanding; it relies on us to fill in the gaps, cuing us to collaboratively produce the story with it, positioning us as listeners as if we were gathered to hear the original poem. Just like fanfiction, it knows that it doesn’t need to waste time introducing every single character or filling in ultimately unnecessary background knowledge, when the audience can be relied upon to bring their own.

As for that, the film explicitly frames itself as a “filmed adaptation of the chivalric romance” in its opening credits, and continues to play with textual referents and cues throughout: telling us where we are, what’s happening, or what’s coming next, rather like the rubrics or headings within a medieval manuscript. As noted, its historical/architectural references span the entire medieval European world, as does its costume design. I was particularly struck by the fact that Arthur and Guinevere’s crowns resemble those from illuminated monastic manuscripts or Eastern Orthodox iconography: they are both crown and halo, they confer an air of both secular kingship and religious sanctity. The question in the film’s imagined epilogue thus becomes one familiar to Shakespeare’s Henry V: heavy is the head that wears the crown. Does Gawain want to earn his uncle’s crown, take over his place as king, bear the fate of Camelot, become a great ruler, a husband and father in ways that even Arthur never did, only to see it all brought to dust by his cowardice, his reliance on unscrupulous sorcery, and his unfulfilled promise to the Green Knight? Is it better to have that entire life and then lose it, or to make the right choice now, even if it means death?

Likewise, Arthur’s kingly mantle is Byzantine in inspiration, as is the icon of the Virgin Mary-as-Theotokos painted on Gawain’s shield (which we see broken apart during the attack by the scavengers). The film only glances at its religious themes rather than harping on them explicitly; we do have the cliché scene of the male churchmen praying for Gawain’s safety, opposite Gawain’s mother and her female attendants working witchcraft to protect him. (When oh when will I get my film that treats medieval magic and medieval religion as the complementary and co-existing epistemological systems that they were, rather than portraying them as diametrically binary and disparagingly gendered opposites?) But despite the interim setbacks borne from the failure of Christian icons, the overall resolution of the film could serve as the culmination of a medieval Christian morality tale: Gawain can buy himself a great future in the short term if he relies on the protection of the enchanted green belt to avoid the Green Knight’s killing stroke, but then he will have to watch it all crumble until he is sitting alone in his own hall, his children dead and his kingdom destroyed, as a headless corpse who only now has been brave enough to accept his proper fate. By removing the belt from his person in the film’s Inception-like final scene, he relinquishes the taint of black magic and regains his religious honor, even at the likely cost of death. That, the medieval Christian morality tale would agree, is the correct course of action.

Gawain’s encounter with St. Winifred likewise presents a more subtle vision of medieval Christianity. Winifred was an eighth-century Welsh saint known for being beheaded, after which (by the power of another saint) her head was miraculously restored to her body and she went on to live a long and holy life. It doesn’t quite work that way in TGK. (St Winifred’s Well is mentioned in the original SGGK, but as far as I recall, Gawain doesn’t meet the saint in person.) In the film, Gawain encounters Winifred’s lifelike apparition, who begs him to dive into the mere and retrieve her head (despite appearances, she warns him, it is not attached to her body). This fits into the pattern of medieval ghost stories, where the dead often return to entreat the living to help them finish their business; they must be heeded, but when they are encountered in places they shouldn’t be, they must be put back into their proper physical space and reminded of their real fate. Gawain doesn’t follow William of Newburgh’s practical recommendation to just fetch some brawny young men with shovels to beat the wandering corpse back into its grave. Instead, in one of his few moments of unqualified heroism, he dives into the dark water and retrieves Winifred’s skull from the bottom of the lake. Then when he returns to the house, he finds the rest of her skeleton lying in the bed where he was earlier sleeping, and carefully reunites the skull with its body, finally allowing it to rest in peace.

However, Gawain’s involvement with Winifred doesn’t end there. The fox that he sees on the bank after emerging with her skull, who then accompanies him for the rest of the film, is strongly implied to be her spirit, or at least a companion that she has sent for him. Gawain has handled a saint’s holy bones; her relics, which were well known to grant protection in the medieval world. He has done the saint a service, and in return, she extends her favor to him. At the end of the film, the fox finally speaks in a human voice, warning him not to proceed to the fateful final encounter with the Green Knight; it will mean his death. The symbolism of having a beheaded saint serve as Gawain’s guide and protector is obvious, since it is the fate that may or may not lie in store for him. As I said, the ending is Inception-like in that it steadfastly refuses to tell you if the hero is alive (or will live) or dead (or will die). In the original SGGK, of course, the Green Knight and the Lord turn out to be the same person, Gawain survives, it was all just a test of chivalric will and honor, and a trap put together by Morgan Le Fay in an attempt to frighten Guinevere. It’s essentially able to be laughed off: a game, an adventure, not real. TGK takes this paradigm and flips it (to speak…) on its head.

Gawain’s rescue of Winifred’s head also rewards him in more immediate terms: his/the Green Knight’s axe, stolen by the scavengers, is miraculously restored to him in her cottage, immediately and concretely demonstrating the virtue of his actions. This is one of the points where the film most stubbornly resists modern storytelling conventions: it simply refuses to add in any kind of “rational” or “empirical” explanation of how else it got there, aside from the grace and intercession of the saint. This is indeed how it works in medieval hagiography: things simply reappear, are returned, reattached, repaired, made whole again, and Gawain’s lost weapon is thus restored, symbolizing that he has passed the test and is worthy to continue with the quest. The film’s narrative is not modernizing its underlying medieval logic here, and it doesn’t particularly care if a modern audience finds it “convincing” or not. As noted, the film never makes any attempt to temporalize or localize itself; it exists in a determinedly surrealist and ahistorical landscape, where naked female giants who look suspiciously like Tilda Swinton roam across the wild with no necessary explanation. While this might be frustrating for some people, I actually found it a huge relief that a clearly fantastic and fictional literary adaptation was not acting like it was qualified to teach “real history” to its audience. Nobody would come out of TGK thinking that they had seen the “actual” medieval world, and since we have enough of a problem with that sort of thing thanks to GOT, I for one welcome the creation of a medieval imaginative space that embraces its eccentric and unrealistic elements, rather than trying to fit them into the Real Life box.

This plays into the fact that the film, like a reused medieval manuscript containing more than one text, is a palimpsest: for one, it audaciously rewrites the entire Arthurian canon in the wordless vision of Gawain’s life after escaping the Green Knight (I could write another meta on that dream-epilogue alone). It moves fluidly through time and creates alternate universes in at least two major points: one, the scene where Gawain is tied up and abandoned by the scavengers and that long circling shot reveals his skeletal corpse rotting on the sward, only to return to our original universe as Gawain decides that he doesn’t want that fate, and two, Gawain as King. In this alternate ending, Arthur doesn’t die in battle with Mordred, but peaceably in bed, having anointed his worthy nephew as his heir. Gawain becomes king, has children, gets married, governs Camelot, becomes a ruler surpassing even Arthur, but then watches his son get killed in battle, his subjects turn on him, and his family vanish into the dust of his broken hall before he himself, in despair, pulls the enchanted scarf out of his clothing and succumbs to his fate.

In this version, Gawain takes on the responsibility for the fall of Camelot, not Arthur. This is the hero’s burden, but he’s obtained it dishonorably, by cheating. It is a vivid but mimetic future which Gawain (to all appearances) ultimately rejects, returning the film to the realm of traditional Arthurian canon – but not quite. After all, if Gawain does get beheaded after that final fade to black, it would represent a significant alteration from the poem and the character’s usual arc. Are we back in traditional canon or aren’t we? Did Gawain reject that future or didn’t he? Do all these alterities still exist within the visual medium of the meta-text, and have any of them been definitely foreclosed?

Furthermore, the film interrogates itself and its own tropes in explicit and overt ways. In Gawain’s conversation with the Lord, the Lord poses the question that many members of the audience might have: is Gawain going to carry out this potentially pointless and suicidal quest and then be an honorable hero, just like that? What is he actually getting by staggering through assorted Irish bogs and seeming to reject, rather than embrace, the paradigms of a proper quest and that of an honorable knight? He lies about being a knight to the scavengers, clearly out of fear, and ends up cravenly bound and robbed rather than fighting back. He denies knowing anything about love to the Lady (played by Alicia Vikander, who also plays his lover at the start of the film with a decidedly ropey Yorkshire accent, sorry to say). He seems to shrink from the responsibility thrust on him, rather than rise to meet it (his only honorable act, retrieving Winifred’s head, is discussed above) and yet here he still is, plugging away. Why is he doing this? What does he really stand to gain, other than accepting a choice and its consequences (somewhat?) The film raises these questions, but it has no plans to answer them. It’s going to leave you to think about them for yourself, and it isn’t going to spoon-feed you any ultimate moral or neat resolution. In this interchange, it’s easy to see both the echoes of a formal dialogue between two speakers (a favored medieval didactic tactic) and the broader purpose of chivalric literature: to interrogate what it actually means to be a knight, how personal honor is generated, acquired, and increased, and whether engaging in these pointless and bloody “war games” is actually any kind of real path to lasting glory.

The film’s treatment of race, gender, and queerness obviously also merits comment. By casting Dev Patel, an Indian-born actor, as an Arthurian hero, the film is… actually being quite accurate to the original legends, doubtless much to the disappointment of assorted internet racists. The thirteenth-century Arthurian romance Parzival (Percival) by the German poet Wolfram von Eschenbach notably features the character of Percival’s mixed-race half-brother, Feirefiz, son of their father by his first marriage to a Muslim princess. Feirefiz is just as heroic as Percival (Gawaine, for the record, also plays a major role in the story) and assists in the quest for the Holy Grail, though it takes his conversion to Christianity for him to properly behold it.

By introducing Patel (and Sarita Chowdhury as Morgause) to the visual representation of Arthuriana, the film quietly does away with the “white Middle Ages” cliché that I have complained about ad nauseam; we see background Asian and black members of Camelot, who just exist there without having to conjure up some complicated rationale to explain their presence. The Lady also uses a camera obscura to make Gawain’s portrait. Contrary to those who might howl about anachronism, this technique was known in China as early as the fourth century BCE and the tenth/eleventh century Islamic scholar Ibn al-Haytham was probably the best-known medieval authority to write on it extensively; Latin translations of his work inspired European scientists from Roger Bacon to Leonardo da Vinci. Aside from the symbolism of an upside-down Gawain (and when he sees the portrait again during the ‘fall of Camelot’, it is right-side-up, representing that Gawain himself is in an upside-down world), this presents a subtle challenge to the prevailing Eurocentric imagination of the medieval world, and draws on other global influences.

As for gender, we have briefly touched on it above; in the original SGGK, Gawain’s entire journey is revealed to be just a cruel trick of Morgan Le Fay, simply trying to destabilize Arthur’s court and upset his queen. (Morgan is the old blindfolded woman who appears in the Lord and Lady’s castle and briefly approaches Gawain, but her identity is never explicitly spelled out.) This is, obviously, an implicitly misogynistic setup: an evil woman plays a trick on honorable men for the purpose of upsetting another woman, the honorable men overcome it, the hero survives, and everyone presumably lives happily ever after (at least until Mordred arrives).

Instead, by plunging the outcome into doubt and the hero into a much darker and more fallible moral universe, TGK shifts the blame for Gawain’s adventure and ultimate fate from Morgan to Gawain himself. Likewise, Guinevere is not the passive recipient of an evil deception but in a way, the catalyst for the whole thing. She breaks the seal on the Green Knight’s message with a weighty snap; she becomes the oracle who reads it out, she is alarming rather than alarmed, she disrupts the complacency of the court and silently shows up all the other knights who refuse to step forward and answer the Green Knight’s challenge. Gawain is not given the ontological reassurance that it’s just a practical joke and he’s going to be fine (and thanks to the unresolved ending, neither are we). The film instead takes the concept at face value in order to push the envelope and ask the simple question: if a man was going to be actually-for-real beheaded in a year, why would he set out on a suicidal quest? Would you, in Gawain’s place, make the same decision to cast aside the enchanted belt and accept your fate? Has he made his name, will he be remembered well? What is his legacy?

Indeed, if there is any hint of feminine connivance and manipulation, it arrives in the form of the implication that Gawain’s mother has deliberately summoned the Green Knight to test her son, prove his worth, and position him as his childless uncle’s heir; she gives him the protective belt to make sure he won’t actually die, and her intention all along was for the future shown in the epilogue to truly play out (minus the collapse of Camelot). Only Gawain loses the belt thanks to his cowardice in the encounter with the scavengers, regains it in a somewhat underhanded and morally questionable way when the Lady is attempting to seduce him, and by ultimately rejecting it altogether and submitting to his uncertain fate, totally mucks up his mother’s painstaking dynastic plans for his future. In this reading, Gawain could be king, and his mother’s efforts are meant to achieve that goal, rather than thwart it. He is thus required to shoulder his own responsibility for this outcome, rather than conveniently pawning it off on an “evil woman,” and by extension, the film asks the question: What would the world be like if men, especially those who make war on others as a way of life, were actually forced to face the consequences of their reckless and violent actions? Is it actually a “game” in any sense of the word, especially when chivalric literature is constantly preoccupied with the question of how much glorious violence is too much glorious violence? If you structure social prestige for the king and the noble male elite entirely around winning battles and existing in a state of perpetual war, when does that begin to backfire and devour the knightly class – and the rest of society – instead?

This leads into the central theme of Gawain’s relationships with the Lord and Lady, and how they’re treated in the film. The poem has been repeatedly studied in terms of its latent (and sometimes… less than latent) queer subtext: when the Lord asks Gawain to pay back to him whatever he should receive from his wife, does he already know what this involves; i.e. a physical and romantic encounter? When the Lady gives kisses to Gawain, which he is then obliged to return to the Lord as a condition of the agreement, is this all part of a dastardly plot to seduce him into a kinky green-themed threesome with a probably-not-human married couple looking to spice up their sex life? Why do we read the Lady’s kisses to Gawain as romantic but Gawain’s kisses to the Lord as filial, fraternal, or the standard “kiss of peace” exchanged between a liege lord and his vassal? Is Gawain simply being a dutiful guest by honoring the bargain with his host, actually just kissing the Lady again via the proxy of her husband, or somewhat more into this whole thing with the Lord than he (or the poet) would like to admit? Is the homosocial turning homoerotic, and how is Gawain going to navigate this tension and temptation?

If the question is never resolved: well, welcome to one of the central medieval anxieties about chivalry, knighthood, and male bonds! As I have written about before, medieval society needed to simultaneously exalt this as the most honored and noble form of love, and make sure it didn’t accidentally turn sexual (once again: how much male love is too much male love?). Does the poem raise the possibility of serious disruption to the dominant heteronormative paradigm, only to solve the problem by interpreting the Gawain/Lady male/female kisses as romantic and sexual and the Gawain/Lord male/male kisses as chaste and formal? In other words, acknowledging the underlying anxiety of possible homoeroticism but ultimately reasserting the heterosexual norm? The answer: Probably?!?! Maybe?!?! Hell if we know??! To say the least, this has been argued over to no end, and if you locked a lot of medieval history/literature scholars into a room and told them that they couldn’t come out until they decided on one clear answer, they would be in there for a very long time. The poem seemingly invokes the possibility of a queer reading only to reject it – but once again, as in the question of which canon we end up in at the film’s end, does it?

In some lights, the film’s treatment of this potential queer reading comes off like a cop-out: there is only one kiss between Gawain and the Lord, and it is something that the Lord has to initiate after Gawain has already fled the hall. Gawain himself appears to reject it; he tells the Lord to let go of him and runs off into the wilderness, rather than deal with or accept whatever has been suggested to him. However, this fits with film!Gawain’s pattern of rejecting that which fundamentally makes him who he is; like Peter in the Bible, he has now denied the truth three times. With the scavengers he denies being a knight; with the Lady he denies knowing about courtly love; with the Lord he denies the central bond of brotherhood with his fellows, whether homosocial or homoerotic in nature. I would go so far as to argue that if Gawain does die at the end of the film, it is this rejected kiss which truly seals his fate. In the poem, the Lord and the Green Knight are revealed to be the same person; in the film, it’s not clear if that’s the case, or they are separate characters, even if thematically interrelated. If we assume, however, that the Lord is in fact still the human form of the Green Knight, then Gawain has rejected both his kiss of peace (the standard gesture of protection offered from lord to vassal) and any deeper emotional bond that it can be read to signify. The Green Knight could decide to spare Gawain in recognition of the courage he has shown in relinquishing the enchanted belt – or he could just as easily decide to kill him, which he is legally free to do since Gawain has symbolically rejected the offer of brotherhood, vassalage, or knight-bonding by his unwise denial of the Lord’s freely given kiss. Once again, the film raises the overall thematic and moral question and then doesn’t give one straight (ahem) answer. As with the medieval anxieties and chivalric texts that it is based on, it invokes the specter of queerness and then doesn’t neatly resolve it. As a modern audience, we find this unsatisfying, but once again, the film is refusing to conform to our expectations.

As has been said before, there is so much kissing between men in medieval contexts, both ceremonial and otherwise, that we’re left to wonder: “is it gay or is it feudalism?” Is there an overtly erotic element in Gawain and the Green Knight’s mutual “beheading” of each other (especially since in the original version, this frees the Lord from his curse, functioning like a true love’s kiss in a fairytale). While it is certainly possible to argue that the film has “straightwashed” its subject material by removing the entire sequence of kisses between Gawain and the Lord and the unresolved motives for their existence, it is a fairly accurate, if condensed, representation of the anxieties around medieval knightly bonds and whether, as Carolyn Dinshaw put it, a (male/male) “kiss is just a kiss.” After all, the kiss between Gawain and the Lady is uncomplicatedly read as sexual/romantic, and that context doesn’t go away when Gawain is kissing the Lord instead. Just as with its multiple futurities, the film leaves the question open-ended. Is it that third and final denial that seals Gawain’s fate, and if so, is it asking us to reflect on why, specifically, he does so?

The film could play with both this question and its overall tone quite a bit more: it sometimes comes off as a grim, wooden, over-directed Shakespearean tragedy, rather than incorporating the lively and irreverent tone that the poem often takes. It’s almost totally devoid of humor, which is unfortunate, and the Grim Middle Ages aesthetic is in definite evidence. Nonetheless, because of the comprehensive de-historicizing and the obvious lack of effort to claim the film as any sort of authentic representation of the medieval past, it works. We are not meant to understand this as a historical document, and so we have to treat it on its terms, by its own logic, and by its own frames of reference. In some ways, its consistent opacity and its refusal to abide by modern rules and common narrative conventions is deliberately meant to challenge us: as before, when we recognize Arthur, Merlin, the Round Table, and the other stock characters because we know them already and not because the film tells us so, we have to fill in the gaps ourselves. We are watching the film not because it tells us a simple adventure story – there is, as noted, shockingly little action overall – but because we have to piece together the metatext independently and ponder the philosophical questions that it leaves us with. What conclusion do we reach? What canon do we settle in? What future or resolution is ultimately made real? That, the film says, it can’t decide for us. As ever, it is up to future generations to carry on the story, and decide how, if at all, it is going to survive.

(And to close, I desperately want them to make my much-coveted Bisclavret adaptation now in more or less the same style, albeit with some tweaks. Please.)

Further Reading

Ailes, Marianne J. ‘The Medieval Male Couple and the Language of Homosociality’, in Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. by Dawn M. Hadley (Harlow: Longman, 1999), pp. 214–37.

Ashton, Gail. ‘The Perverse Dynamics of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 15 (2005), 51–74.

Boyd, David L. ‘Sodomy, Misogyny, and Displacement: Occluding Queer Desire in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 8 (1998), 77–113.

Busse, Peter. ‘The Poet as Spouse of his Patron: Homoerotic Love in Medieval Welsh and Irish Poetry?’, Studi Celtici 2 (2003), 175–92.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. ‘A Kiss Is Just a Kiss: Heterosexuality and Its Consolations in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Diacritics 24 (1994), 205–226.

Kocher, Suzanne. ‘Gay Knights in Medieval French Fiction: Constructs of Queerness and Non-Transgression’, Mediaevalia 29 (2008), 51–66.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 273–86.

Kuefler, Matthew. ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’, in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179–214.

McVitty, E. Amanda, ‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77.

Mieszkowski, Gretchen. ‘The Prose Lancelot's Galehot, Malory's Lavain, and the Queering of Late Medieval Literature’, Arthuriana 5 (1995), 21–51.

Moss, Rachel E. ‘ “And much more I am soryat for my good knyghts’ ”: Fainting, Homosociality, and Elite Male Culture in Middle English Romance’, Historical Reflections / Réflexions historiques 42 (2016), 101–13.

Zeikowitz, Richard E. ‘Befriending the Medieval Queer: A Pedagogy for Literature Classes’, College English 65 (2002), 67–80.

#the green knight #the green knight meta #sir gawain and the green knight #medieval literature #medieval history #this meta is goddamn 5.2k words #and has its own reading list #i uh #said i had a lot of thoughts?

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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Comte’s 4th Birthday Story Event: Before the Clock Strikes Midnight

REEEEEEEE Ik it was a long time ago but life has been a [redacted], so I figured better late than never HAHA

So without further ado, anybody who’s curious feel free to click for more--I’ll put it under a cut for spoilers as per usual~

So in this story it’s the usual, a few days before his birthday, and they’re discussing a bump in the road. Essentially, it appears a friend of Comte’s is going to be celebrating a wedding, and as such he’s going into the suburbs/affluent part of the region to be able to attend. It’s only a few hours away from the mansion, but he will be gone for a few days with the arrangements made for his stay.

While this wouldn’t typically be an issue, MC has some things to take care of and opts out of attending with him (preparing for his bday probably LMAO) and Comte is immediately big sad. My favorite dramatic fool is already pouting, though he fully accepts and respects her decision. Besides which, he fully intends to be back in time to celebrate his birthday as well. He notes that he’s always admired how driven and independent she is, and has no intention of getting in the way of that. He’s just going to miss her, is all.

He says as much, figuring there’s no point in hiding it: “I really wanted to bring you with me to attend…but I suppose it simply can’t be helped” … “That’s not it…I guess I’m just wondering if you’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss you while I’m away.”

And MC’s just like “Aw, it’s okay it’ll only be a few days.” While Comte’s response is a very mature, high-pitched whining sound at a frequency only King (Theo’s dog) and Theo himself can hear. When MC tries to reassure him once more, his Hamlet impression continues: “Even the prospect of a few days away from you feels unbearable.”

Naturally, as any man do that loves his wife, he draws her close and proceeds to bang the living daylights out of her. I would offer details, but I have no deets to give beyond: [Well MC, it appears I won’t be letting you get much sleep tonight.]

Brief intermission for the vague sounds of fangirl cardiac arrest.

The scene opens again to him doing his walk of shame (the slut) down the walkway and into the carriage that will take him to his friend’s house. His thoughts carry the regret of burdening her with his desire, though MC is pretty much on cloud nine and unable to stop thinking about the heady night they shared in a good way. Bruh and the sly look when he figures out why she looks like that--I’m boutta call the police, he is going to make women and men alike act up.

MC scrambles to cool his already returning desire by insisting he will be late if he indulges any further, and he laughs and agrees easily–albeit with the slightest hint of reluctance. My favorite part in this exchange is that he kisses her forehead, adding that it’s because she’s the most adorable person in the world to him (a moment of silence for our uwus).

Fast forward to Comte trying to get home after the festivities are over. Problem is, it’s been raining like a mOTHERBLEEPER, and as such carriages have no safe way to traverse the roads at the moment. He waited out the first day as patiently as possible, but after the second–and no sign of stopping–his Leeroy Jenkins instincts kick in. He notes to the coachman that he’s aware he’s asking a lot, but they fully intend to take the long way which invites the least risk–and the rain is ebbing, even if the progress is slow.

It’s interesting because there’s another echo of his main story in this moment. He essentially showcases a desperation to return before the day ends, though without context it’ll probably seem a little strange, so I’ll do my best to explain. Basically, in his main story, MC notes that she doesn’t really care how different they are. Different time, different species, different experiences, so on and so forth. She hammers home that what matters is that the present is something that they actively share. It’s theirs. And no amount of divisions he desperately tries to draw will change that fundamental reality.

And it’s a little moving to see how deeply he takes it to heart? I think it’s one of those wonderful phenomena, personally–the way a person can influence how you think and act with their sentiments. Sometimes someone says precisely what it is we need to hear, and it changes us–while it can be for the worse, it can also be for the better. He notes that he spent so many birthdays; among the people serving his house when he was little, raising hell with his friends in his younger days, so on and so forth. Not unlike Leonardo, he says that after so many “special” days the faces become a blur, the festivities lose their luster. It’s just another day, at this point.

Note, one interesting thing here that stands out to me is that I feel like this is a reflection of both of their larger struggles. Where Comte can’t stand the relentless flow of time rendering him the only constant (and something of a ghost, never fully present), Leonardo can’t bear birthdays because it means remembering people who still mean the world to him, but are long gone. People he can never see again, never laugh with again, never share his life with again. And I think that’s a very profound pain, an anguish that just keeps on settling its weight. (Oh, Sisyphus…)

Comte’s is similar, but different. He actively works to keep his distance-- unlike Leonardo, he approaches immortality in the pragmatic way. He knows getting close will hurt, so he opts out of that–keeps a step behind, an easy smile on his face. Betrays only fragments to anyone, always has his guard up. But the downside of being so guarded means you eventually feel hollowed out and alone; nobody truly knows or understands you. There is a distinct loneliness in that approach, where memories only become reminders of how nothing ever improves and how bereft you are of warmth.

Leonardo, at least, gets to have the joy of being known from time to time. But loss and estrangement from those people means double the pain in the long run, because he loved them fully. Comte chooses to live in the cold to protect himself, but ends up in a kind of catch-22; the cost of forgoing loss means a constant deadening of his own feelings. It means living in a kind of fog, where there is a distinct discomfort in the silent obscurity of your own heart.

There’s something I’ve come to believe in my short course of living, so I guess I still need time to determine how true it is. But…I feel like, when people live this way, where who they are is a lie or it’s at the very least carefully concealed, we in part start to become that lie. I think it’s fascinating because Comte seems to have so much personality to him. He’s dramatic, he’s thoughtful, he has a sense of mischief about him, he has strong ideals, and he has an even more ironclad moral grounding. And yet, when he talks about himself, he always uses descriptions that hinge on emptiness. Like he’s worth so little, worth nothing. And that’s what I mean–he’s been trying so hard to glide on the surface that he has come to believe he really is equivalent to something that ephemeral. Like there’s nothing more inside him, or if there is, that it will never be worthy of much. I think it really speaks to the ways behavior impacts the psyche, even though the opposite tends to be considered the only possible cause and effect relationship.

He’s so determined to live for and in the future while he’s in the present, that he forgets to enjoy himself and really live. And while that approach is certainly understandable, I do think he loses parts of himself along the way. Only to be rediscovered and placed back into his hands by MC: [Today–this moment–our now, I don’t want to miss it for anything.] And that's not even touching on how quick she is to make them a we; she's not letting him keep that distance. It’s not “you have the ability to share this day with me” it’s “we’re here and in this together.”

I feel like what I love about this is that it’s not only about how sweet he is on MC, but also about how much he’s truly living again for the first time. His defenses are slowly inching their way down, he’s letting himself hope and want things and look forward to things again. The thing about being a responsible person is that–while responsibility is all well and good–sometimes you become so mired in doing the right thing and planning the most optimal outcomes that you just aren’t thinking of yourself anymore. That is, if you ever were to begin with. He went from the careful cultivation of a life as an aristocrat, to a life that spoke of more freedom and fun beyond those iron wrought gates, before he returned to the structure of what he knew. Freedom speaks to him I’m sure–we all need it in some measure to survive. But I do think a good portion of that was unfulfilling for him after a point. It was only feeding the void that was beginning to form inside him. He was instinctively retreating into himself to avoid pain, and in doing that the only result was feeling like a coward and a fake. He wasn’t happy, he wasn’t able to be himself, and nothing was fulfilling–every single day just another forward march.

I think it comes as no surprise he took up Vlad’s initial invitation so willingly.

But then I digress, back to the story. There’s another timeskip and it finds him racing down the hall of the mansion. He’s hoping to make it in time but knows he’s racing against the clock, and fully expects MC to be asleep by this point in the night. Midway along his path he thinks he spots MC and falters in his step, blinking. He decides to hang back, watching the figure enter his room with a great deal of curiosity and resists every urge to burst in after her. He hears MC speak into his pillow, her voice muffled but clearly despondent: “I miss you, Comte. I hope you get back home soon…”

Comte pretty much dies right there. I literally have no better explanation for it. He freezes, his heart sputters and stops. He’s just completely taken aback.

And then, naturally, he goes about feral with desire as is his modus operandi: “Oho, I heard something incredibly cute just now. Were you also having a hard time spending so long apart?”

MC: “…!”

[Startled, she turns around and her eyes widen and widen.]

MC: “Comte, how...”

Comte: “Took a detour in areas with less rain.”

MC: “?? Wouldn’t that still be hard in weather like this?”

Comte: “I told the coachman I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Even if it was only for a second, I wanted to spend today with you…”

[Everything I was thinking while in the carriage spills out of me long before I can help it. I am reminded again of just how utterly irreplaceable an existence MC is in my life.]

Comte: “Even so, it seems interesting that I would find you in my bed”

MC: “...! A--Ah, I’m so sorry for entering without permission!”

[I quickly grab hold of her before she can scramble out of my bed, coaxing her to sink back into the sheets.]

In between a lot of intense making out and [redacted], the larger overtone is that her reciprocated ardor just destroys him inside:

MC: “It was...because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about wanting to see you…”

Comte: “!”

[You know just how to drive me mad with desire.]

Comte: “I’m the same...the first thing I did was look for you. Even though it was only a few days, your voice, your body, everything...I missed you”

[Because today, our ‘now’--I never want to lose a single moment with you as long as you’re by my side...]

Comte: “I’m so happy to be able to be with you, right here and right now.”

It gets funny too because Comte is trying to take it slow, but when she tells him “Happy birthday” and goes on to say she was so glad to greet the day he was brought into the world by his side, he just loses all control LMFAO. It ends with them getting more heated and [redacted], to the point where he doesn’t even hear the clock strike midnight.

And if him being the cutest and sexiest romantic wasn’t obvious enough, he spends the next morning just sighing blissfully with her in his arms:

[The next morning, when I wake up, MC is still fast asleep. I mean, given she only fell asleep a few hours ago. I’m still reveling in the afterglow of a sweet night filled with her cries, the way she looked at me and held me. MC...]

[I relax to the sound of her breathing steady with sleep, stroking gently at her hair as I hug her from behind.]

Comte: “I’ve had countless birthdays. In an endless life, I was convinced it was just a day that would come and go every time.”

Comte: “It was only after meeting you that I could understand there was no such thing as an overlapping or identical moment. I don’t want to miss a single second by your side...that’s what I think now.”

[I admit the truth of my heart, brushing a kiss against her cheek. Over and over and over again, showering her in my affection--]

But dun dun dun!!! MC was awake the whole time, so when she fidgets a little at how ticklish his kisses are, he 👁

[Oh, I see. Well then, two can play at that game...]

Comte: “Your punishment is to stay in my arms just as we are...how’s that?”

He gets his mischievous (and hilarious) revenge for being revealed (HORNY TIME), though it’s so suffused with love it’s hard to call it revenge hahaha. She reminds him to go easy on her because they have his birthday party to attend later, and he agrees~

Honestly after such killer hurt/comfort spice fluff, I can only tremble at the thought of what his 5th year bday story will be

It’s either going to be Some Angst^TM or even more killer fluff, and either way that means my days are numbered

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp jpn spoilers #ikevamp leonardo #the way this man makes me have So Many Thoughts #every time i remember this story i just go dreamy-eyed #hes an absolute romantic and i die head empty only love comte #not incorrect quotes #rambles #fangdad propaganda #comte propaganda

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magicallightcandy · 3 years

Text

“It sure is a good day today,” Naruto hums from a tree branch. He hadn’t exactly been silent while pursuing him but he hadn’t been that loud either. Sasuke doesn’t show any outward sign of acknowledgement. Maybe he was expecting him after all.

“Hn.”

“You know travelling after so long may be a little difficult,” he says, jumping down the branch and landing next to Sasuke. “I could talk to the council, maybe you can stay for a few more days- “

“That’s kind of you, Naruto.” Sasuke interrupts, still not looking at Naruto. “You’ve always gone above and beyond for me. But you don’t need to risk everything for our bond all the time.” His voice is soothing, Naruto doesn’t know how will he survive without listening to it on a daily basis.

“I mean, I kinda have to. You’re my best friend. Our bond- its indescribable. I mean, what I feel for you cannot be put in words. The way we mean to each other.” Naruto exhales softly, he could’ve stumbled through it but he’s been thinking about them for so long, and every single time, these are the only words that make sense to him. What they mean to each other transcends beyond their lifetime.

“Is it?” Sasuke asks, he turns to look at Naruto, his eyes piercing as if searching for an answer on his face. “You tell me our bond is strong but without a label. You care for me, you respect me, admire me, and I do you, too. So how is it that our bond is filled with so many feelings for each other yet it remains untitled?” He raises a brow, his voice loaded with emotions Naruto is scared to describe.

He’s done that before and the result wasn’t positive. “Well, I- uh- I”, he shakes his head of the fog, he needs to say this, need to tell Sasuke how hurt he is, how tired of trying. “You are my strongest bond, Sasuke, you know that. What I feel for you, what I could give to you had, no, is always rejected by you. I said you were my best friend, my brother, my family, and you don’t want it!” His voice getting higher as he keeps talking.

“You’re right,” Sasuke confirms, his voice calmer than it had been a moment ago, his eyes are back to scanning the view in front of them. “I’ve always wondered why you couldn’t be like a brother to me, but I had a brother and what I felt for him isn’t the same as I felt- as I feel for you.” His voice does not falter on Itachi. “Then again, you could’ve been my best friend, my one and only friend, and just thinking about it leaves me unfulfilled.”

His eyes are back on Naruto, “Maybe it’s because what you have to offer to me isn’t enough for me.” He breathes, a wistful smile on his face.

And Naruto is trying, he really is. But listening and understanding are two entirely different things. All the insight he receives is that he’s not enough and that is the tipping point for him. “Then what the hell do you want from me, you bastard!” He screams, all up in Sasuke’s personal space. Sasuke’s eyes don’t leave his. “After everything I’ve done for you! After I was ready to die for you. To die with you. I’m not enough! Is it not enough? Am I not enough?” he holds Sasuke by his collar, pulling him even closer. “Tell me!”

“I’ll show you,” Sasuke says, and that is the only warning he receives before Sasuke pulls him in by the lapels and-

And their lips crash. Naruto gasps and Sasuke shoves his tongue inside his mouth. The kiss is fierce. Sasuke pushes him until his back hits the bark of a tree. The push causing Sasuke to bite his lower lip and his tongue runs over it to relieve, Naruto lets out a moan. His hands travel from the collars to the back of Sasuke’s head, pulling at his hair. While Sasuke pulls him by his waist.

At the back of his mind a voice is screaming something but it sounds gibberish, as if from underwater. But for the life of him, Naruto cannot stop. Sasuke has all his attention.

Their tongues caught up in an intense battle, Sasuke mapping out his mouth hungrily and Naruto sucks on his tongue filthily. Naruto cannot imagine ever being kissed like this. This passionate and this wanton.

He thinks he realizes now what Jiraiya must’ve been searching for whenever he describes this fervent love. And-

Wait. Love.

Love.

This is what he was searching for. This is what Sasuke was trying to tell him. This isn’t what brothers feel for each other, or even friends.

This is what lovers feels. Oh, to be in love and to be loved is what he had always wanted. And Sasuke does.

Sasuke does.

The idea is enough to shock Naruto in the present reality. He pulls back for a breather. But Sasuke does not stop. He shifts his kisses to down his jawline to his neck, sucking and licking as if in search of something. He finds it when a well-placed bite on curve of Naruto’s neck draws a moan out of him. His hips jerking on reflex. Sasuke replies in kind.

“Sasuke, s-stop. Stop.” He gasps. Sasuke gives a grunt in defiance, his thigh rubbing against Naruto’s hard on. And really what is wrong with him. He is in love with someone who loves him back, just as fiercely and he wants to stop. What an idiot he is.

A righteous idiot. Just like Sasuke says. He pushes lightly on Sasuke’s shoulders, who glares at him in return. He gives him soft but sad smile. “Stop.” And just like that, the spell is broken. Sasuke stands straight but doesn’t create more space between them. His eyes searching Naruto’s in desperation.

Naruto nestles Sasuke’s face within the uninjured hand, feeling the warmth. “You love me.” He whispers. After a moment, Sasuke nods.

“You do, too.” He says, not asking for confirmation, just stating. As if they are going over old facts. Naruto nods. Sasuke’s eyes roam his face, and what looks like much deliberation his face smoothens into a cold façade. He steps back causing Naruto’s hand to drop.

“I must take my leave now.” He states, his voice back to its impassiveness. He turns to leave and Naruto does not know what to do. Alarmed, he pulls on Sasuke’s shoulder.

“Wait.”

“Don’t make this harder for both of us, Naruto.”

“Wha- but, but- “

“You know I can’t stay and I know you can’t leave.”

“No, what, no. Of course not. But- “

“Goodbye, usuratonkachi.” Sasuke walks away with one last smile.

Naruto is dumbstruck. This isn’t how he had imagined their parting would be. It wasn’t like that at all. And like hell would he allow it to be such open-ended. So, in true Naruto Uzumaki fashion, he takes a deep breath and screams. “I LOVE YOU! I WILL WRITE TO YOU.”

Sasuke throws a hand wave in response but does not turn. A few birds nearby, too, startle and fly away from him. Naruto feels his cheeks hurt from smiling and his hand from waving. After a while, when Sasuke is out of his sight, Naruto walks back to Konoha.

#Uchiha Sasuke #uzumaki naruto #SNS #sns weekend #Sasuke x Naruto #one shot #kissing #love confessions #sasunaru #narusasu #sasunarusasu

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morsking · 4 years

Note

i was told to come here for fate zero kotomine kirei questions? i was thinking about kirei in f/z and realized i don't think i actually completely understood his arc and specifically how it relates to his spirituality/belief in God? can you explain to me what happened to this strange knife-throwing man

i’d be VERY happy to, i love talking about kirei even if i don’t do it very often.

this is something that becomes a little more clear later on in heaven’s feel but the gist of it is that kirei has an inexplicably sadistic nature he does not understand where it comes from or why he has it. for the majority of fate/zero’s first part, he doesn’t even know it exists until gilgamesh slowly draws it out of him by making him deconstruct his own thought process and personal beliefs.

kirei was raised catholic and had a priest for a father, so kirei had catholic teachings of altruism and asceticism hammered into his young brain on top of risei’s, his father’s, expectations and desires for kirei to be “pure and beautiful”, just like kirei’s name suggests.

kirei, however, secretly felt repressed by those teachings and expectations since forsaking personal happiness and helping others never brought him any joy, and because he never felt any joy in helping others, he reasoned that joy and pleasure were sinful indulgences that a believer, much less a priest, should never partake in. he therefore internalized displeasure and complete emotional detachment as a natural and righteous state of life. this, coupled with the catholic belief that selflessness in life would mean salvation in death, resulted in kirei becoming far too guilty to ever chase after pleasure because doing so would mean betraying not just the faith in his Lord, but also all the hard work and love his father had put into raising him as a pure and beautiful person. kirei respected his father’s ideal and tried his best to live up to it, but fundamentally could not understand it, and he could not love the man it belonged to. in response to these emotions, kirei resorted to grievous and deadly methods of self-harm to keep himself walking the righteous path.

nevertheless, kirei could not contain his curiosity (and unbeknownst to him, his yearning) for pleasure and travelled the world attempting to find meaning and enjoyment in different activities. he graduated top of his class, skipped grades as an exceptional student, worked diligently as an executor, and even ate some of the most exquisite delicacies known to man... and found them all tasteless and unfulfilling. kirei was a truly hopeless individual with no direction or sense of self and personhood. he had failed to find meaning in basic, and even some luxurious, delights every human being desires to experience.

in a desperate, final gambit to connect with the inner humanity he lacked his entire life, kirei attempted to fall in love with a woman called claudia ortensia. claudia was terminally ill, and was not expected to live for much longer. while she did love him, he could not bring himself to reciprocate despite his best efforts. they were together for two years and had a child, caren, out of wedlock. throughout his time with claudia kirei could only find salvation in claudia’s suffering. but claudia, an incorregible saint, was willing to suffer if it meant bringing him joy and salvation. claudia slowly died, and soon enough her time was at hand. kirei believed that as her husband it was his duty to at least say his farewells on her deathbed. as claudia lay dying, kirei relayed the simple fact to claudia that after all their time together, he did not love her. to prove him wrong and save him, she disconnected her life support machine. kirei cried at the sight of wife selflessly dying to save him, and claudia, with her fading strength, told him that those tears were proof that he did love her, and that love is proof of his humanity.

unbeknownst to either of them, the true reason kirei cried was because he didn’t get to kill her himself.

kirei handed over his child to the church. if marriage did not save him, parenthood wouldn’t either. kirei contemplated suicide, but instead opted to return to his teachings and live as an executor, craving even the most artificial of purpose to justify his existence.

we then reach fate/zero. kirei is at his lowest emotional point, and sensing the pit in his soul yearning for purpose, the grail bestows him with command spells. kotomine risei contacts his ally tohsaka tokiomi, and takes kirei under his wing as an apprentice in magecraft.

kirei is a natural prodigy at magecraft, and is able to almost master every single discipline before abandoning it in frustration at his failure to find fulfillment and joy in it. (interestingly enough, he has a particularly high affinity for spiritual healing and surgery.) while kirei intends to follow tokiomi and risei’s orders to crown tokiomi as the victor of the grail war, he secretly begrudges being a bored pawn with no freedom and bears no actual loyalty to either of them.

in the world’s most bizarre boy-meets-girl scenario in the history of anime, kotomine kirei learns of emiya kiritsugu. kiritsugu is a mercenary employed by the einzberns to participate in the holy grail war. he has fought in countless battlefields, only joining the fight when combat is at its fiercest. he has killed scores upon scores of mages who deviate from the clocktower’s rules, and has been reported to have taken extreme measures in his assassinations such as bringing down an entire commercial airline just because his target was in it. kirei is mystified by kiritsugu’s lack of moral restraint, personhood, and regard for his own life. kirei immediately projects his own lack of self into kiritsugu and is desperate to understand him. he vows to meet kiritsugu in battle to finally grasp the answer to the question that is his existence.

as he attempts to meet kiritsugu throughout the story, kirei is approached by gilgamesh, the world’s most ancient hedonist. gilgamesh senses that kirei is repressing a fundamental part of himself, and that’s the true source of kirei’s unhappiness. gilgamesh attempts to make kirei realize that kirei has never lacked anything, he’s just tried to avert his gaze from the truth of his own nature. gilgamesh tells kirei that pleasure and joy aren’t things that are inherently sinful. human beings instinctively seek pleasure as and end in and of itself, and kirei is no different. because pleasure is a natural human drive, it can never be something unforgivable. to drive his point further, gilgamesh asks kirei that if he can’t see himself winning, then he should try to imagine a scenario where the war’s weakest combatant, matou kariya, does.

kirei does try, but before he can tell kirei what he envisions, gilgamesh stops him. gilgamesh reveals that there was no point to engaging in speculation when kirei asks if there was one, but the fact kirei did anyway shows he found a meaningless notion entertaining, and therefore, fulfilling. this comes to a head when kirei decides to heal kariya’s burn wounds after his confrontation with tokiomi. kirei experiences a rush he’s never felt before. he hasn’t just helped kariya stay in the race for the grail out of his own volition, he has done it against his master’s orders and best interests.

when risei is killed by kayneth, kirei finds his grief to be oddly forced and empty. surely, he must be devastated at the death of his father, the man who loved him, raised him, taught him, and made him who he is today. but strangely, his grief seems to be directed at something else. that’s when gilgamesh appears to him and tells him the reason why he’s sad isn’t that his father died, but that kirei didn’t get to kill him himself. this shocks kirei to his core, but he’s also forced to entertain that notion. once he realizes that gilgamesh IS right about what kirei really wanted out of his father, he’s ordered by tokiomi to leave japan and exit the war as demanded by irisviel if an alliance between the tohsakas and the einzberns against the matous is to take place. kirei secretly meets with gilgamesh, who is bored and frustrated with tokiomi, and they agree to partner up and kill tokiomi. kirei realizes that there was a satisfaction in killing tokiomi and having the last thing he ever saw be kirei betraying him and asserting his personal desire over his obligation to his teacher.

kirei, now fully committed to discovering what he yearns for the most, tells kariya he will allow him to duel tokiomi once more in exchange for bringing him the container of the holy grail and the person closest to kiritsugu: irisviel. unbeknownst to kariya, tokiomi’s wife aoi has been summoned to the church by kirei. kariya finds tokiomi already dead, and aoi walks into kariya holding tokiomi’s corpse. aoi believes kariya has killed tokiomi, and angrily accuses kariya of never having loved anyone. kariya reaches the breaking point of his rage and suffering after being rejected by aoi, the person he was enduring torture and humiliation for, and asphyxiates her in madness. realizing what he’s done, kariya runs away from the church wailing in grief and guilt. kirei and gilgamesh had watched the whole affair, and kirei realizes that what he finds meaning and pleasure in is inflicting suffering upon others and watch them collapse under the crosses struggles they carry. while he does not understand why he is this way, he nevertheless wants to find out to feel complete and intends to use the grail for that purpose.

kirei meets with irisviel, and demands answers for his questions about emiya kiritsugu. irisviel reveals kiritsugu is not the heartless killing machine kirei believed him to be, but fundamentally an altruist who wishes to shower the world in peace and blessings and seeks the grail for that purpose. she condescends kirei by telling him kiritsugu is not like him, he is far better and that’s why kiritsugu will not lose. finally understanding the man whose nature has eluded him and finding where kirei’s karma stands in relation to him, kirei kills irisviel and vows to destroy kiritsugu’s dream with his own hands.

when kiritsugu and kirei fight and the grail interferes by crowning kiritsugu the winner rather than reach a stalemate, kirei watches kiritsugu speaking with angra mainyu. he observes kiritsugu realizing that what he wanted all along was to live peacefully with his family even if it meant forsaking the world to a violent extinction. he is baffled at kiritsugu rejecting the cursed genocidal grail, and demands kiritsugu to hand it over if he doesn’t want it, because kirei has the need to find the defining principle of his own existence. after kiritsugu kills kirei and has saber destroy the grail, the curses that spill out of it engulf kirei’s corpse and resuscitate him. angra mainyu has declared kirei as the winner for the sake of using him as an anchor and a midwife for his eventual birth.

upon seeing angra mainyu’s catastrophe, kirei concludes that the calamity he is standing over is what his heart has yearned for all this time. he laughs in shock, irony, and glee that despite kotomine risei’s righteous nature and teachings, kirei is simply a monstrous and heretical cur who thrives in the agony of mankind. when gilgamesh asks if the sight of angra mainyu’s birth has satisfied him, kirei replies that it doesn’t, because kirei has been shown the end result of his desire rather than the actual philosophical principle and logical process that guides to the outcome. so for the next 10 years, kirei wrestles with the fact that he still cannot abandon his teachings and his obligation to be somewhat helpful as a priest for the desire to reject and challenge god and allow angra mainyu to fully manifest in this world and engulf it completely to finally give his existence meaning and validity because he knows his impulses to be wrong and yet needs to know why he has them and whether he is still worthy of living while having them. he is willing to manipulate and kill and betray and curse and deprive and destroy the world just for that chance at redeeming his existence because not understanding himself and having denied himself joy for so long has utterly broken him as a person and this is all he has left after a lifetime of denying himself happiness, empathy, and understanding to work through his feelings. to bless angra mainyu’s birth as a man of the cloth would reconcile his religious principles and belief in a merciful all-loving god with his yearning to accept and comprehend himself, because if angra mainyu can be allowed to live and prosper in this world while being the unforgivable culmination of all sin, then maybe he can too. (this is also a powerful and intimate parallel to both shirou and sakura that deserves its own post that i may or may not write later.)

that’s pretty much his development throughout zero and his defining character struggle in fate/stay night. this is something that spring song will delve into further and it’s actually quite interesting how such a bastard of a man suddenly becomes so sympathetic towards the end of the entire game.

grace if you ever have time for it i heavily encourage you to read through the heaven’s feel route whether through letsplayarchive or by playing realta nua yourself whilst we wait for a spring song release in the west because your perception of everyone will change drastically as you understand them at a much deeper level the movies could not show because of runtime constraints. i hope this explanation wasn’t too long or convoluted or raised more questions than delivered answers. three good friends of mine, thessaliah, kurozu501, and avicebro here on tumblr can probably elaborate further and offer more insight if you’re interested.

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those70scomics · 4 years

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I’ve never written a story where Jackie and Hyde have any children, and I still haven’t. But I have written partial outlines for a few. Today (as a gift to you on my birthday), I present what I have of a story called Fourteen Autumns.

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Summary: On the fourteenth autumn of her daughter’s life, Jackie is finally ready to be a mother to her -- and reconcile with Hyde. But after many years of disappointments, neither Hyde nor their daughter, Sparrow, are sure they’re ready to accept Jackie fully into their family. Or heart.

Fourteenth Autumn. October 25, 1993.

Jackie, Hyde, and thirteen-year-old Sparrow meet up at the Point Place Harvest Festival with Eric and Donna's family (they have two sons) and Red and Kitty. Jackie and Hyde need to have a serious talk. Eric and Donna take Sparrow away with them to facilitate this talk. Jackie's a soap opera actress in NYC. She pretends to be in love all the time on her show. Her character's been married five times. But her life is unfulfilling. She's emotionally cut-off. Acting in a soap opera means memorizing thirty pages on a good day. But she can be given up to eighty pages if production demands recording four episodes in one day. Soap opera acting is not where she imagined she'd still be by now. She'd hoped to transition to a prime-time show, comedy or drama. It just hasn't happened for her. She's switched soaps a few times and returned to her first one. Her agent keeps encouraging her to audition, but her career is not enough. She misses her connections to her friends and family. Hyde believes Jackie wants to fill her emotional void with Sparrow, and he won't let Jackie use her. Jackie says she still has feelings for Hyde, too. They've slept together on and off over the years. Jackie tried one-night stands and even dated a few people “seriously,” and the sex meant nothing. She needs the emotional connection. Hyde made Sparrow his focus once she was born. He slept around, but he never fell in love. He didn't want any relationship to pull his attention from raising Sparrow. Jackie wants to try dating Hyde again, and she wants to be in Sparrow's life. She'll quit acting. Hyde says she's too ambitious to give up on her passion / career. Jackie says unless she writes something herself, like an independent movie, and gets it funded, she won't be living her passion anyway. Hyde says Sparrow's turning fourteen soon. She'll enter high school next year. Jackie asks if that means Jackie can't be mom to her daughter if her daughter's a teenager. Hyde says Jackie hasn't been a mom to Sparrow for thirteen years. Jackie is hurt by this. Hyde understands why.

First Autumn. Late September, 1979.

Jackie is a month away from giving birth. She and Hyde are in the same park as in 1993. Leaf colors are just barely starting to change. Hyde tells Jackie, “I'm not so sure about this adoption thing.” Jackie tells Hyde that she has to give the baby up for adoption. He says its our baby, not the. Jackie says it won't be. She's already had to defer college a semester. She wants her future. Raising a baby isn't right. She has no parental support with her dad in prison and mom off in Mexico or wherever again. Jackie says keeping the child would be selfish. Hyde's thought about that a lot since learning Jackie was pregnant. And he's tried to convince himself that letting his child be raised by other people is the right thing to do. But he feels connected to their kid. He'll always wonder, “What if?”

He loves Jackie, and he thinks they can handle it. He knows that this all sounds weird coming from him. But they don't need Jackie's parents. Hyde's got two sets of his own: W.B. and the Formans. Money's not going to be a problem, and neither is daycare. Hyde's got Grooves. Jackie can still go to college. She'll just have to put it off for a year instead of months and transfer to one she can commute to. Jackie got into NYU's acting program. She can't—and won't—give that up.

Hyde says but she can give up their kid?

Jackie says, again, it won't be theirs. She's—they're—giving it up for adoption. She's been looking through the portfolios of potential parents, and she's come up with three choices. She wants Hyde to look at them with her. Hyde says he doesn't have to. He already knows who their kid's dad is. Jackie [desperate]: “Steven, please!” Hyde says, “I'm raising our kid, Jackie. With or without you. I want it to be with, but I won't force you, all right? I won't. But I got this--” he presents an engagement ring--“a month ago. That's when I realized I didn't want to give up our kid, but I had no clue how to talk to you about it.” Jackie says he can't use marriage as a trap, just like he used to tell her she couldn’t against him.

Hyde says he doesn't mean it as a trap but as a promise they'll be partners in this, in everything. Jackie: “I need you to be my partner in letting the—our child go.” Hyde: “I can't.” Jackie, devastated, knows she's lost. She can't deny Hyde the right to be their child's father. “Then you'll lose me.” Hyde: “Jackie—” Jackie: “Because I can't be in this child's life. I'm going to be in debt for half my life to pay for school. I don't … I'm not capable of raising a child right now. Maybe if I'd gotten pregnant ten years from now, but not today.” She says his mom always resented his birth, his existence, because it meant the end of all the hopes and dreams she had for her life. His mom was only nineteen. Jackie's only eighteen, and she doesn't want to resent her child.

If she could somehow freeze the baby and thaw it once Jackie was ready to be a mother … but that's not possible, and she's not ready. And no matter how much she might love their child, part of her will probably resent it. And it won't be their child's fault. Just like his mom's resentment wasn't Steven's fault. But she won't be able to help how she feels. She'd rather let two loving people, who are absolutely ready and willing and wanting to raise a baby have their child than risk making their child feel unloved in any way. Hyde is quite emotional over this comparison. He says, “I don't want our kid ever feeling the way I did, either. I'm not exactly ready to be a dad, okay? I get it. But I already...” Jackie takes his hand and places it on her stomach. She understands. Steven loves their child. Jackie: “You also already have a career you're happy with. Three parents who adore and support you. We were both afraid of the future for different reasons, and in different ways, but you're not anymore because your present is settled. You trust it. But without this baby, my future is full of possibilities. With it, my destiny is written, and it's not the one I want.” Hyde can't argue. Grief is written on his face. She sees it. Jackie: “I know I sound selfish, and maybe I am being selfish. But I truly believe giving this baby up for adoption is the kindest, least selfish option for all of us.” Hyde: “Not for me.”

First Autumn. October 25, 1979.

Hyde and Mrs. Forman are taking a walk on a leaf-strewn path. Hyde's been taking Kitty's baby-care class all month. He's read baby-care books the month before that and asked Kitty all kinds of questions. Kitty asks if Hyde's excited about becoming a father. Jackie's due date is so soon.

Hyde says he's scared but relieved Jackie agreed to let him raise the kid … and that the Formans agreed to help as much as they can. Kitty says this is her first grandchild. She's honored and so happy Hyde decided to raise the child. She's worried about Jackie, though. Kitty tried to convince Jackie to hold the baby after birth, just so she wouldn't have any questions. Just to have a moment of bonding. Jackie is adamant she has no contact with the baby.

This hurts Hyde's heart. Hyde says Jackie's got to do what she's got to do. Kitty questions him and asks if that statement represents how he actually feels.

Hyde: “It’s reality.”

Kitty: “I’m so terribly sorry -- and incredibly sad -- that your baby broke you and Jackie up.”

Hyde: “Me, too.” Kitty changes the subject (for herself and him). She asks if Hyde's thought of a name yet.

Hyde: “If it's a boy, Zeppelin. If it's a girl, Zeppelin.”

Kitty [horrified]: “You can't name your child after a blimp.”

Hyde says Led Zeppelin is his favorite band.

Kitty doesn't care. He has to think of a proper name for his child.

Hyde remembers when Jackie used to talk about boy and girl names she'd want to name their future kids. He used to get so uncomfortable with these conversations that he'd come up with the most ridiculous names to shut her up. But he doesn't want to pick one of the names Jackie wanted since their kid might resent Jackie for choosing not to be in her life. Kitty asks if he looked through the baby name book she gave him.

He says he has, but none of the names stuck out at him. He was named after his stepdad, who was named after his dad. A SPARROW lands near them on a fence. It draws Hyde's focus. In this moment, he emotionally connects to how his life is going to change completely in a few days. He won't be responsible only for himself but another life: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Kitty sees that Hyde is getting emotional. His face is flushing. Kitty hugs him, like she knows what he needs. He doesn't hug her back immediately.

She says, “You won't be doing this alone. I promise, Steven. Red and I consider you our son, and we won't let you do this alone.” Hyde's arms wrap around Kitty in this moment, and he says, “Thanks. ... I--” He takes a deep breath and laughs to release tension. “Fuck it. I love you.” Kitty hugs him tighter. That's the first time he's ever said the words aloud without her prompting him.

Kitty: “I love you, too—and watch your language. You're about to have a baby!” She lets go of Hyde, and they laugh. He wipes his wet eyes, and they continue walking.

First Autumn. October 28, 1979.

Hospital delivery room. Jackie gives one final push, and out comes her and Hyde’s daughter. Hyde has his shirt unbuttoned. He sits in a chair, and the doctor puts the baby in Hyde's arms, against his chest for warmth. The doctor and nurses dry off and clean up the baby while she's in Hyde's arms. They also evaluate baby. She's fine. They cut the umbilical cord. Hyde: “Jackie, you've got to see her—just see her. She's beautiful.” No answer. Nurse says low, “We've got a room all set up for you down the hall. It's probably best we go.” Hyde: “Jackie's still breathing?” Nurse, “Yes. She's all right, but we need to respect her wishes.” Hyde stands with the baby. The nurse guides Hyde toward the door, but Jackie says, “Wait!” Hyde does. He turns around. Jackie says, “Let me hold her.” Hyde brings the baby to Jackie and places her on Jackie's bare chest. Jackie, with tears in her eyes, has a moment of connection with her child. She kisses the top of the baby's head then lets her go. Hyde, holding the baby against his own bare chest, says, “Do you want to know her name?” Jackie [crying]: “Yes.” Hyde: “Sparrow Katherine.” Jackie doesn't remark on whether or not she likes the name. She just nods weakly, as if she's accepted the baby's not hers to name. She willingly gave up that right.

First Autumn. November 1, 1979.

Hyde's in what used to be Laurie's room. It's now Hyde's room and decorated like it, too. Inside is also Sparrow's crib -- which Red made -- a changing table, and a rocking chair that Mrs. Forman insisted on. Shelves are filled with parenting books as well as books to read to Sparrow. By the crib, on Hyde's nightstand, is a baby monitor; a gift from Angie. Hyde's sitting in the rocking chair. No sunglasses. Sparrow is five-days-old, and Hyde is bottle-feeding her while Eric and Donna visit from Madison college. They wanted to see their goddaughter. Eric and Donna couldn't be there during the week, or birth, because of school. They drove down Friday night, arriving too late to see the baby in the hospital. But now they're talking with Hyde and amazed at Sparrow. Hyde finishes the feeding and burps her. He hopes she keeps down the formula, but Mrs. Forman taught him how to feed her so she doesn't swallow too much air. Eric: “I can't believe you're a dad.” Donna: “I can't believe Sparrow is so quiet. Can I hold her … if she doesn't throw up?” Hyde: “Yeah, I think it's safe. But just in case...”

He indicates a soft towel on the changing station. Eric gets it. Donna places it over her shirt, and Hyde hands her the baby. Donna holds Sparrow properly. Hyde gets nervous when new people hold his kid, but he trusts Donna. Donna is totally enamored with Sparrow. She says, “Her eyes are so blue!” Hyde: “Mrs. Forman says that could change in six months. Maybe she's got Jackie's eyes.” Donna [smiling / close to nuzzling Sparrow's face]: “Well, she doesn't seem to have Jackie's temper.” Eric: “So, Hyde, how are you doing with all this?” Hyde: “Great, man. Red and Mrs. Forman are in love with the kid. Angie's in town, taking care of the store while I'm on paternity leave, but she's been over here every night to get Sparrow-time—and Mrs. Forman's cooking. W.B. was here when Sparrow was born and helped out the first few days, too. Hell, I'm lucky if I get to parent Sparrow at all.” Donna [laughing]: “Come on. That's not true.” It isn't, but his family has really taken to Sparrow. Hyde knows how fortunate he is. He's got all the support he told Jackie they would get. Eric: “What about Jackie? I mean, she's not starting college until next semester. Has she … will she ..?” Hyde gets uncomfortable, and Sparrow starts to fuss in Donna's arms, as if she senses Hyde's discomfort. Donna passes Sparrow back to Hyde, and Hyde feels better with Sparrow in his arms. He sits in the rocking chair again. Hyde: “Jackie held her in the hospital room. Then she let her go.” Let both of them go. “Not gonna say it doesn't kill me 'cause it does. But I didn't know I could feel like this...” He gazes at Sparrow, who grabs Hyde's finger. “It's freakin' unreal how much I love her.” Donna is touched. She lays her hand on Eric's knee and says, “You almost make me want to have kids.” Eric [nervous]: “You don't want kids?” Donna [who still has Sparrow's towel, which fell to her lap]: “I do. We've talked about that. Just not now.” Eric [relieved]: “Right. Right. Hey, Hyde, think I could hold her sometime?” Hyde: “After her nap, sure.” He begins to rock her in the chair. Donna: “Aw, you're such a softy.” “Should we tell Aunt Donna to get bent?” Hyde says to Sparrow -- with a voice he'd never heard come out of him until she was born. It should disturb him, how sickeningly sweet it is, but it doesn't. He looks up at Donna and says with his normal tone, “Sparrow says I should give you a break.” Donna: “Thanks, Sparrow.” Eric: “Speaking of Sparrow, how'd you come up with that name? I thought for sure you'd name her Clapton or Hendrix.” Hyde: “A sparrow showed up at the right time.”

So did Forman and his folks. And Donna. W.B. and Angie … and Jackie. All the people he's ever needed in his life showed up when he needed them, and Sparrow's the latest one in that list.

Sparrow yawns, and Hyde kisses Sparrow's forehead. He's going to be there for Sparrow no matter what happens in her life or where she chooses to go. She'll always have him to come back to.

Tenth Autumn. October 5, 1989.

SPARROW'S DIARY. October 5. Jackie sent Sparrow her first diary. It has a purple cover, her favorite, and Jackie glued a picture of a sparrow to the cover. SPARROW writes about this in her first diary entry. October 5, 1989. Hello, diary. How are you? I know you can't answer, but I'm happy Mom bought you for me. You're my favorite color, purple, and Mom glued a pretty picture of a sparrow on the front. She said in her note that you're one of her any-time presents. She sends those to me a lot. I wish she was here. I almost never see her—except on TV. Farmor lets me watch her on Nights of Our Days sometimes. Dad doesn't like it, but I want to know my mom. I mean, Dad's told me a lot about her. He answers all my questions, but it's not the same as talking to her. She doesn't love me. Dad says she does, but he also says presents don't mean love, and I think the same thing. But people who do love me give me presents a lot, too, like Dad and Farmor, Farfar, and Grandpa. But they also spend time with me and take me to places like the zoo and Funland and play games with me, and I know they love me, and I love them. I don't know if I love Mom. Dad says that's okay. He doesn't love his mom, either. His mom hurt him really bad, but he won't tell me how. He says she's like Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty, and that's scary. I've seen that movie about a hundred times. Farmor reminds me of Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. She's my grandma, and she's so funny. We laugh all the time, but she's also like my mom. Not Mom but an actual mom. I love her so much, and I love my dad more than anything. I wish he was happier. … I mean, he is happy. I'm happy, too, but sometimes we're both sad. He loves Mom, and maybe I should, too? Maybe I do. I'm just so MAD at her. Anyway, diary, I better go. Talk to you again soon!

That’s all I wrote. But had I finished this story, we would’ve gotten glimpses of Hyde, Sparrow, and Jackie's lives throughout autumns two through thirteen -- with Jackie and Hyde’s (and eventually Sparrow’s) conversation during the fourteenth autumn interspersed among the chapters.

The epilogue would’ve been the fifteenth autumn, a year after Jackie asks to be part of Sparrow and Hyde’s lives. We see that the family is together and happy, although still working through things. But everything is moving in the right direction.

#That 70s Show #That '70s Show #Jackie x Hyde #Jackie Burkhart #Steven Hyde #Fanfic #Fourteen Autumns #Jackie and Hyde #Jackie #Hyde #Fanfic that Never Was

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onlyhorn · 4 years

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@silverflcme

When it came to her platoon it was not much of a secret that Eira had become close with Sera. They were of similar age and both women with something to prove to the world. There was a bond early on, but to think it would come to reveal something like this. After Sera finished speaking, and quiet hung in the air leaving little more than silent tears and vulnerable emotion, Eira could do little else but embrace them. It was instinctual more than it was a cognizant choice. It had happened before she realized it, but she knew it was a good thing to do. It wasn’t something she would fluster or regret over. She didn’t like seeing the strong stoic Sera she knew like this.

Hearing that pain. Seeing that pain. Tears build in her eyes as she tries to even begin to empathize with that pain. Eira had so many brothers, she had her parents, and an extended family to fall back on. Sera had nobody left outside of the knights which she very rarely conversed with. Even if their relationships weren’t tense or toxic she still saw signs of loneliness that echoed back to her time as someone who thought themselves too strong to ask for or accept much help.

“Sera, I… I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She squeezes tighter, the warmth of her aura having been present for awhile now, a familiar flickering fire to ease and comfort the archer as she spilled and spilled of her past.

“Thank you. For telling me this, and trusting me to be someone you can talk to. It means a lot to me. But right now I want you to let those tears out, alright? And then, I want you to smile at me. You’re not alone anymore. We’ll be here to support you. I’ll be here to support you. I’m going to keep being someone you can rely on if you’ll let me. And not just as your captain, but as your friend and someone who cares about you.” She releases them from the hold, taking both of their hands in hers. “You’ll make them proud. I know you will. And I will help you do that.”

Once upon a time, there was a girl with a bow.

She was good at many things - but the bow was her namesake. The bow was something she had taken pride in. It was something the liked to think she was the best at doing; drawing the weapon, knocking an arrow, taking aim, and letting go. The arrow would fly from its release, and from there it would almost always strike her intended target, perhaps even landing a bullseye.

The girl was from a relatively small, quiet family. No brothers, no other sisters. A poor lifestyle, with not many funds to keep them aloft. Her mother was sickly, oftentimes being unable to work due to her conditions, so her Father had to take on many of the household duties himself while she had to rest, and occasionally help out when she was having a better day. The little girl knew that asking her father to spend a bit of his own hard-earned money, most of which went towards affording their home, their food, and the very small luxuries they had would have been too much. To the girl asked him for something else, instead. She asked him to help her find a job.

She was still far too young to find a steady job, and hadn’t even completed her studies yet... but seeing the determination on her face, he knew that saying no would disappoint her. If anything, he just wanted her to be happy and confident - so he asked an old friend of his is he could let her help out on his farm, taking care of the animals as well as dealing with some nasty pests. He agreed, and she eventually started working for him every day after her studies were finished. She eventually earned enough funds to afford a commission from a woodworker to craft her a bow that would last her a long time.

It was a shortbow of a unique make, a weapon that she used solely as a means of training practice. Every day after her studies, she would take to the open fields, set up some targets, and fire some practice arrows until she eventually lost the arrows in the woods or had felt satisfied with her progress throughout the day. Every day she’d set the targets further and further back, letting her arrow fly further and further to test her confidence with her progress.

She had dreams that one day she’ll be able to hit a bullseye from a mile away. But she knew that it was still a long time coming.

Around the time that she had finished her studies at her primary school, Sera had moved on to a far greater opportunity - education from a prestigious school which normally only taught gifted students, those who had put more than a hundred percent into their work ethic. She had hoped that, with this opportunity on her hands, she would be able to start earning more money to support her family, and perhaps, help find a cure for her mother’s ailments...

But unfortunately, that dream did not last long.

A few months after she left her home to attend this school, she had received a letter from her father telling her that her mother was incredibly sick. Worry impacted her studies, and by the grace of the dean, she was given an opportunity to return home to check on her mother -- but by the time she arrived back home, she found her father sobbing at her mother’s bedside - she had passed away in her sleep due to health complications. The sight alone devastated her, yet she could not bring herself to cry. Perhaps she knew this was a long time coming - this was an inevitable future. There was no way she would have been able to make enough money in time to support her mother. She had blinded herself with hope and, because of that, she had taken herself away from her mother before she even got the chance to properly say goodbye.

Her father had told her that it was okay - that she was at least happy that she could have gone to such a prestigious school, and that she was proud of her. But those words felt... empty, and unfulfilling. For when her father said this, his eyes were only full of sadness.

The girl was given a week to mourn, and the father’s own condition had not improved. He was often silent, often too reserved to do anything for himself- but in the presence of his daughter, he made a meek attempt to keep himself together to prevent her from worrying too much about him. ‘ Don’t worry about me, ‘ he would say, with a forced, fake smile. ‘ You need to return to school soon, after all. You have a bright future ahead of you. ‘ What a lie that was.

But eventually, she did go back to her college. She had since become much more reserved to herself. As outgoing as she once was (which already wasn’t much), she had now barely communicated with her peers past the occasional ‘hello’ and the more commonly uttered ‘sorry.’ She had been writing her father since that day, and had received a letter back at least once a month.

Halfway into her graduation year, however, she stopped receiving messages from him. She had wondered if they were going through at all - that maybe his messages were tucked away somewhere in the wrong inbox. Either way, she could not let that keep her from her studies. Between the busier days, she would distract herself from her studies and stress by performing archery again. The targets went further now. Over half a mile in distance, and she’s still able to hit her targets. She’s still pleased with herself, but help but feel like she was still missing something. Her mother used to be proud of her for striking so far, and her father often told her that with aim like that, the military would love to have her. But she never paid mind to it. She wanted a job that would secure them enough funds to give them a good life, after all.

Unfortunately, her mother passed away before she could fulfill that dream. A damn shame. But she didn’t let that stop her. In the end, she did graduate from her college - she was one of the top of her class, an honors student, one to be respected -- and yet, she still had barely been recognized by her peers, oftentimes for being so reserved. But that didn’t matter. She had her degree. She had proof of her merit. Now, she could return home and proclaim to her Father about her success, and surely, he would be proud of her.

When she arrived back home, she had called for her father, knocked on the door, but realized that there was no sound from inside, and that the door was locked. Luckily, she still had her own key, and used it to open the door. It wasn’t until she stepped inside and smelled a horrific stench that she knew something was awfully wrong.

She had to cover her nose and scour around the house for the source of the scent, but by the time she reached her mother and father’s bedroom, that’s when she saw it.

Her father, hung from the ceiling by a rope, with a chair kicked out from under him.

Most of what happened past that was a blur to her. All she could remember was screaming so loud that she felt her lungs metaphorically burst. She felt as though she had just been stabbed through the heart, and on the spot, she passed out.

When she woke up, she sobbed, she cried, she pleaded with whatever god was looking down at her and begged them to bring him back- but nothing answered. No one answered.

And she couldn’t just leave him like that. She had to bury him... with her mother.

So she did.

It was the most harrowing six hours of her life. She hates thinking back to it. She hates going back inside. She hates being here.

She wondered, briefly, if there was even any point at all to her success, if the reason for her success anyways were now six feet under.

She didn’t want her degree. She didn’t want the merit. She just wanted her family back. Frustration forced her out of her own house, and she took off for the city.

She wanted to die. She wanted to die so bad that she debated trailing off the path and jumping off of a cliff. But she remembered what her father told her, briefly before her mother passed away. That she would make a good soldier, if they would take her.

Yeah. Yeah, she would, she thought. She would absolutely make a good soldier. And if she died while working for them? That’d just be a bonus.

She was accepted almost immediately upon showing off her skills with a bow and arrow. The finalizing process of her position took some time, but she managed to make it work anyways - that did not mean that she was happy about it, though.

She was made to be a scout. Given her studies have taught her some minor forms of shadow magic, and her skills with a bow were near-incomparable to others, she was given the position such that she would be able to make the calls for her assigned party so that they would not face danger unaware.

Ironically, during most engagements, she had been instructed to serve in the backline. A position where she was, more often than not, the least likely to die.

Once upon a time, there was a girl with a bow. She dreamed that she could fire an arrow and strike a bullseye from a mile away.

And she did. That’s how she ended up with the knights of Lugnica.

Unfortunately, it was by no means what she wanted to become, when she was older.

... That is the story Sera confides into Eira now. And around the later half of the story, she is in tears, doing her damndest to control her own emotions because she can’t even remember the last time she cried. During no point while being around Bacchus, Trent, Arthur or even Raina did she ever speak about her past. Hell, it was considered a miracle to get her to speak at all. Perhaps it was her closed-off attitude that got Eira wanting to speak with her privately, and finally confiding to her what she had kept to herself for so, so long. She hadn’t realized it, but her fingers were clenching so hard into her own hand that her nails dug into her skin and made her bleed a bit. The thought of dying just to make her life seem worth it had made her start to shake, and it was likely around this point that Eira got close to her, and embraced her, and told her that she would be there to smile at her, and support her, and be there for her when she needed it most. As a captain. As a friend.

Hell, in a way... it almost felt like a second family.

She wanted her to smile - gods, how hard was it to force her lips into a smile? She couldn’t do it even if she wanted to fake it. No amount of smiling would make up for the pain she just released from its rusted old cage. Yet, despite that, she slowly turns her head to her Captain, closes her eyes, and bows her head down.

“ ... Thank you. “ It was the most quiet, sorrowful thanks that Sera had ever given. Were Eira not directly beside her, she likely would have missed it, herself. “ I can’t promise you I can let it all out. “ Even though she practically already was. “ That’s... just not me. I also can’t smile for you. My face hurts too much to do that. “ Her heart aches even more. “ But... I can promise you... I’ll do everything I can to protect you and the rest of our knights from harm. “

“ I don’t want to lose my family again. I’m sure you can.. understand that, right? “

She tucks her head down -- she feels tears drip from her cheeks and onto her lap, maybe even on Eira’s arms or shoulders. Either way - she felt like she had just unclipped a heavy anchor from her shoulders, tonight. It was a talk she desperately needed - a chance to let it all out after telling almost no one about it for the longest time.

Hell, growing up, she didn’t even have friends. She always kept to herself, always left conversations before they started. She liked it that way. It was better to avoid talking altogether if it meant she didn’t have to show people her pain.

But... showing someone for the first time felt incredibly therapeutic.

Maybe next time she goes out to practice her archery once more, instead of using her new knight-issued bow, she’ll take out ol’ reliable and see if she could shoot for two miles this time around.

She always seems to hit her target, after all.

#[🎕] Life finds a way to get better. | IC.#[🏹] The Knight-Archer. | MUSE : SERA.#suicide tw #suicide cw #ask to tag//#long post//#[🏹] She is my captain. I wouldn't be who I am now if not for her. | (EIRA) silverflcme #( anyways )#submission

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mypassionfortrash · 4 years

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Nothing Serious (Part Ten)

SUMMARY: Roger’s divorce comes through, but he can’t seem to figure out why he isn’t more happy about it. Until he realises exactly what his life’s been missing.

Roger Taylor x Reader; Modern AU; Strictly 18+

💫 CATCH UP HERE! 💫

TAGS: @jennyggggrrr; @sarahgurl09; @sunshine112; @biscuit-barrel; @sitonmyhot-seatoflove; @jhoemazzellhoe; @justgivemethekeys; @qweenly; @picturepowderinabottle

NOTES: One more part to go! Thank for reading, and if you’ve enjoyed this fic, please share!

Roger was a great mood.

The sun swam in the brilliant blue mid-morning sky. He had just left the love of his life in bed, still in a post-orgasmic mess. And today was the day he had been waiting for.

Today, Queen would head into their recording studio to record their twelfth album.

Nothing could get to him or throw him off kilter as he skipped down the stairs, taking three at a time like he was a man in his twenties. And then he got to the lobby.

Something caught his eye as he sauntered past the mailboxes. A flash of crimson.

Someone had mail. And he had a funny idea of who it was. Every other apartment in the building was leased out to holidaymakers and businessmen whenever they were in town. Every apartment except Roger’s. He owned his and when he visited Montreux, he always had his mail rerouted. With a pang of dread, he gave the mailboxes a double take. That little red flag stood loud and proud next to his apartment number.

Roger groaned and shuffled over, slipping his key into the lock. There was one letter; he grabbed it and instantly recognised the emblem on the envelope. His solicitor.

His heart raced as he slipped his fingers underneath the seal. He walked and read, eyes batting over the page at a rate of naughts. His whole body tensed with every word until he reached the one, all-important paragraph. The outcome.

‘Ms. Beyrand has agreed to settle the divorce at no further inconvenience to Mr Taylor and requires no alimony in return. Therefore, my client, Mr R. M. Taylor, and his former spouse, Ms Beyrand, should be considered legally divorced.’

‘Legally divorced,’ Roger mumbled with an awe-struck smile on his lips. He was – finally – legally divorced.

He felt a strange mix of optimism and relief as he walked along the promenade towards the casino-slash-recording studio. But those emotions collided with the realisation that he had wasted a whole decade of his life married to the wrong person.

Truth be told, it played all day.

“You’re looking awfully spaced out, Rog. You alright?” Brian fussed.

Roger didn’t take it in the kind and caring way Brian meant it. Instead, he just took offence. He squared off his shoulders and furrowed his brows. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“You just seem distracted. It’s not that girlfriend of yours is it?”

“Mate, just focus on your fucking solos alright? Maybe cut them down a bit,” Roger snarked.

“Oh, he’s just being menstrual, Brian!” Freddie exclaimed over the intercom; he was sitting behind the controls with their producer, Dave.

Dave grimaced at Freddie’s comment. He was a good friend of Roger’s, and knew how to talk him down in this kind of environment. “Why don’t we do one more take, Roger, and then you can head off for the day?” Or so Dave thought.

That only incensed Roger more, earning a barrage of drumsticks being lobbed at the plexiglass that divided the two rooms in the poky upstairs studio. “Fuck off,” Roger spat. “Get that on tape? Did you?”

Everyone in the studio, right down to the engineer’s assistant, rolled their eyes. It wasn’t uncommon for Roger to become hysterical in the studio, but this was completely out of the blue. There were no precursory arguments, or ‘constructive criticism’ to pre-warn everyone of Roger’s impending outburst. It just came.

“Roger?” Freddie implored.

“Oh fucking hell, what is it now, Fred?”

“I just want this album to be ok,” Freddie said solemnly.

Roger’s expression softened, picking up the sad nuance in Freddie’s tone. “And it will be. We’ve got good songs.”

“But I need us to be a family, Rog.”

“We are a family Fred.”

“This isn’t going to last forever and I just want us to have a good fucking time, do you understand? We won’t be doing this forever,” Freddie continued, seemingly trying to psyche himself up to deal with the next few weeks.

Freddie wasn’t exactly the leader in Queen; he wouldn’t accept that mantle. But when Freddie threw down the gauntlet like this, it was right and normal for everyone else in the band to fall in line.

Roger wandered around the live room, gathering up his projectile drumsticks, then settled back behind his kit. “Right. Understood, Fred. Let’s go for another take.”

“Go for it,” Dave said.

Try as he might, Roger just couldn’t shake the feelings that flooded his brain that morning. Every time he tried to make progress in the studio, or even in terms of shifting his thoughts away from the divorce, something seeped its way back into the forefront of his mind like a rapidly advancing disease. And so, unlike anything Roger had ever done before, he missed a beat. And then another. And soon enough, the entire song ran away from him in spectacular fashion, causing the volcano of emotions inside him to bubble over. Not in his usual fiery brand of blonde-haired, blue-eyed rage, but in a watery tirade of tears and expletives. Tears rolled thick and fast down Roger’s rosy cheeks. He was proud; he darted towards the bathroom and holed himself up in the grotty cubicle.

He threw his head down between his knees, letting the tears splatter on to the floor, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to make sense of why, after getting rid of the worst mistake of his life, he felt like his life was so uncertain and unfulfilled. Try as he might, the answer didn’t pop right out at him. And he just grew more and more annoyed with himself because of it.

Roger lost track of how much time he spent inside the filthy, shabby little cubicle with blood-red walls, until there was a gentle knock at the door.

“Go away!” he sulked.

“Roger,” Brian began, “I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but we’re here for you, ok?”

Roger groaned. The family talk was the last thing he needed right now. So he stayed quiet, hoping that his bandmates would soon lose interest and work on their album without him. But no. Another voice muffled through the layer of wood separating Roger from the rest of the studio. This time it was Deacy.

“Yeah, you might want to come out. We can’t really make an album if we don’t have a drummer.”

“I’m prepared to fill in though!” Freddie piped up.

In unison, for once in their careers, Brian and Deacy who were always at loggerheads with each other exclaimed a booming, “NO!”

This gleaned a hollow laugh from Roger as he realised how lucky he was to have friends and bandmates like them. He leaned forward and unbolted the door, opening it, to reveal his three bandmates sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the door. “I just need a minute,” Roger said, wiping his eyes.

“You can talk to us, you know,” Brian urged. “We’ll understand.”

“Fuck, we’ve been through everything together,” Freddie laughed. “What is it, dear?”

Roger sighed and wondered where to begin. How to describe what he was feeling. Everything he was feeling. “The divorce came through today.”

“You should be celebrating then!” Freddie said, bursting with impatience at the prospect of a party. The man could smell hilarity a mile out.

“That’s the thing,” Roger began, “I’m happy about it. But at the same time…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“You did spend ten years with Dom, though. That’s a long time,” Deacy said.

“Yeah, but I’m not even unhappy about that. It’s just that I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

Brian narrowed his eyes, clicking on to what Roger meant, before even Roger understood. “Kids? Rog, that’s not the be and end all.”

“But Dom didn’t want kids, and I did,” he mused in a small voice. “And now, my girlfriend’s… twenty-four. I don’t even know if that’s what she wants. What if when she’s ready, I’ll be an old man?” Roger’s eyes grew glassy again at the prospect. “What if I never have that?” he repeated, looking around at his bandmates.

“Have you told her this?” Freddie asked.

Deacy waved his hands to halt the conversation right there for him to interject. “You’ve known this girl how long now? And you’re just going to go back to the flat and be like, ‘hey do you want to have my babies, push me around in a wheelchair and eventually scatter my ashes?’ Are you being serious here?”

“Well, they need to have that conversation; it’s healthy. And it saves any misunderstanding in the long run,” Brian reasoned, but somehow condescended.

“It’s a good way to spook her right out of her skin, that’s what it bloody well is,” Freddie said.

Roger sat on the toilet and watched his bandmates bicker over how Roger should broach the subject with his girlfriend, his mouth hanging open in a way that made him resemble a dead fish. All while the plan in his head took shape. “That’s it,” he smiled. “I’ve got it.”

His bandmates hushed their bickering as soon as it started and looked at the drummer. “What have you got?” Deacy asked.

“I know how to tell her,” he said, getting to his feet. He power walked away from the trio, calling back, “Just finish the bloody song alright?! I’ve got work to do!”

Roger’s heart pounded twice as fast as his feet hit the pavement, walking at the speed of light down the promenade. Every so often, he’d break out into a run, but quickly slowed down as he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. He was going back to the flat.

From the street, he could look up and spy you, sitting out in the late afternoon sun, with a glass of wine in your hand. The sight made his insides flutter. He couldn’t wait for the lift. Not when the love of his life had been sighted and she was within touching distance. He could practically smell your perfume hanging in the winding stairwell up. He breathed deep. He broke a sweat. And then he finally arrived at the flat.

“Darling?” Roger called, announcing himself in the hallway. He waited nervously at the door, rubbing his hands together like it was a chilly winter’s day. This was anything but; the sweat beading down his forehead said that much.

“What are you doing back?” you asked from the balcony. “I thought you were at the studio?”

“I was,” Roger shrugged realising that you weren’t coming through to greet him. Instead, he followed your voice. “But I needed to see you.”

Your glass of chardonnay had barely touched your lips, but that sentence stopped you right in your tracks. You narrowed your eyes and glanced up at Roger who was lingering at the door frame. “Why? You could see me tonight. I could wait up.”

Roger sighed and sat down at the table, opposite you.

This filled you with dread; the stomach-dropping kind of dread that threaten to have you hunched over the toilet in seconds.

Then he flashed those baby blues of his at you. “My divorce came through today,” he said.

“That’s it?” you shrugged. “I thought something was wrong. Let me get you a glass and we can celebrate,” you rambled, rising to your feet. Less than a foot from the door, Roger seized your hand and pulled you back.

“We do need to talk, though,” Roger said.

Only now did you notice how glassy Roger’s eyes looked beneath his sunglasses. You turned to him and slipped them to the top of his head, exposing the sparkling, red eyes that gave away how he really felt about the situation. And it caught you off guard. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Roger admitted. “That’s the worst part.”

“You look like you need a drink for other reasons now,” you commented.

He nodded in response and twirled the bottle of chardonnay in his hand, studying the label; gauging how wrecked he’d get if he guzzled the remainder. “Something a bit stronger, too.”

“I’m on it.”

Safely out of Roger’s view, you braced yourself against the counter top.

It worried you – Roger being so cryptic. It also worried you how much you had given up to be here with him. Your job. Your friends. Your life. All just to be with him.

More fool you, though.

You had only just met the bloke and you were carrying on like he was the love of your life.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you bowed your head. This felt like a familiar theme in your relationship with Roger and you couldn’t be sure whether or not it was a bad thing. In any other relationship, this was bound to be a massive raging red flag; the amount of times one can drag the other to the brink of heartbreak, just with a few words and a little bit of miscommunication. All you wanted was to be happy. Your brain repeated that like a mantra that didn’t improve anything. It just made you shake as wave after wave of sorrow tugged at your body.

“You still with me, darling?” Roger called through.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t let him see the tears. But it was too late.

You took so long to respond that Roger appeared at the door. When he saw you, his entire figure sank. “Oh my darling,” he sighed, taking you in his arms. “What are these for?”

“Because you made me think we were done, there,” you whimpered into Roger’s shirt, letting your mascara fray outwards in dark, inky pools. “And I’ve given up so much to be with you and I didn’t know if this was because of me or something I’d done. You should be happy that it’s over – your marriage.” You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Why aren’t you happy?”

Roger rubbed his hands up and down your arms and spoke wistfully. “Because, darling, I’ve wasted an entire fucking decade of my life on someone who never ever loved me. And I’m not even sure I’ve grown as a person because it. I’ve almost certainly missed out on everything I wanted in terms of relationships and settling down. I’m old now. And I’m going to be even older when we finally decide to start a family or settle down. If we decide to do that.” By the time Roger had finished that portion of his monologue, his fingers had laced with yours. “I don’t want to be an old dad,” he laughed.

You swept Roger’s hair back, exposing his aged, furrowed brow. He looked completely serious, unlike his usual self. “Is that why you’re so unhappy?” you asked.

Roger nodded, tugging his lower lip between his teeth.

You rolled your eyes and wrapped your arms around his torso, drinking in his scent. You propped your chin on his chest and gazed at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. “I love you, Roger Taylor,” you reassured. “I’ve given up everything for you.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, gathering the rest of your thoughts. “Maybe not marriage though, because… that didn’t work the first time. But I’m in this for life, just so you know. Whatever you want.”

Roger softened. A look of pure love made him younger in an instant. “Do you mean that?”

“Always.”

“And you want kids?”

“Yeah. But don’t let me become one of those annoying yummy mummy Facebook cretins. I want them to have normal lives, ok? No weird names. No nannies. No private schools. Understand?”

The lines at the edges of Roger’s eyes extended outwards as he beamed: “Understood!”

“How soon can we do this?” you asked, snaking your hands up over Roger’s chest and draping them around his shoulders.

You and Roger had decided to go out for dinner to celebrate his divorce. Somewhere fancy by the lakeside, under a canopy of twinkling golden stars.

Just you and him and no one else.

You sat, not on opposite sides of the table, but beside each other so you could stare out at the lake as you planned your future.

“How long do you think Queen will go on for?” you asked, leaning your head on Roger’s shoulder.

“As long as we can darling,” he said. “Why?”

“Nothing. I’m just wondering when I get to go out on tour with you,” you said, trying to avoid the point you itched to make. “Must be nice to travel the world.”

Roger moved away from you, narrowing his eyes and draining his glass. “Well, you’ll be coming out next year, surely?”

“Where do you think we’ll be off to?”

“Fred’s completely against going to America for obvious reasons. I don’t think they’re as accepting over there as they used to be. So probably not America.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“We might have too, thought. That’s the thing. It’s a case of convincing Fred.”

You gave a quiet laugh; you didn’t know Freddie very well, but you had a feeling he could be just as stubborn as Roger. Meaning that no one and nothing could convince him of anything when his mind was made up about something.

“I reckon we’ll go all over Europe; that’s a dead cert,” Roger rambled. He looked beautiful, leaning back in his chair and scratching his neck, groaning like an exhausted lion. Just a sliver of his soft tummy peeked out from underneath his shirt and you couldn’t resist leaning into him to scratch it. Then he continued. “Ever been to Paris?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been to the usual. Spain,” you groaned. “Tenerife.”

“You’ve been to Ibiza, too,” he reminded, a warm smile on his lips.

“Oh yeah!” you giggled. “Tell me more about Paris, Roggie.”

Roger laughed to himself, closing his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

You whined. “Well, tell me where else we’re going then. So I know what to pack!”

“It’s a year away, darling.”

“Just give me a tiny clue,” you pressed, holding up your thumb and forefinger to illustrate the size of the clue you desired.

But then, interrupting the tranquil scene, a gaggle of loud voices burst into the pop-up restaurant. They were all too familiar, much to Roger’s disappointment. “Shit,” he spat. He shot you an apologetic look and stood up, stretching out his arms to welcome his bandmates and their partners.

Freddie and Jim, Brian and Anita, and Deacy and Veronica all dragged seats up around your table, and began chatting to Roger. They congratulated him on his divorce and asked him what was next. All the while, Roger looked utterly bashful as he grasped your hand and gave it a series of reassuring squeezes.

You wondered whether he was trying to communicate with you in morse code. You laughed to yourself at the thought. You didn’t know morse code; but Roger was smart, he probably did. You squeezed back.

Thankfully, the attention turned away from him. He was free to talk to you again; getting his undivided attention against the backdrop of mindless, half-drunk chatter. He turned to face you. “When are we heading home, Kitten?” Roger half-whispered, stroking your hair.

“Getting impatient or is it past your bedtime?” you quipped.

Roger smiled and shook his head. Then looked back at you with a lustful glint in his eye. “I can’t wait to get you out of that bloody dress,” he teased, his hand finding its way to your thigh underneath the tablecloth. “And this is boring.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” you whispered moving closer to his neck. “I think we should try and get home now, Daddy.”

“What’s our strategy, Kitten?” Roger asked mischievously.

“Well, I had the seafood. I could pretend to be sick. And then…” you trailed off, jerking your head in the direction of the flat.

“That might work,” Roger said, kissing your jaw.

Just as the moment escalated in heat, the sound of someone obnoxiously clearing their throat cut through your moment, forcing you and Roger to turn your heads towards the group that had so rudely decided to crash your date.

“What?” Roger asked, annoyance cutting through his tone.

Deacy piped up. “It’s Veronica and I’s anniversary tomorrow evening. We were hoping we could do some celebrating. But we need a babysitter.”

Roger narrowed his eyes, pointing vaguely around the table to his friends and their partners. “Why can’t any of you?”

“I don’t want little Robert keeping us up with his crying and everything,” Freddie said. “You know how scratchy my voice gets when I don’t get enough sleep.”

Brian was next to offer up an excuse. “Anita and I were going to go out to the vineyard over there for a couple of nights.”

Roger straightened up in his seat as he considered offering his babysitting services. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, you were quick to interrupt.

“What about tonight’s babysitter, Deacy?” you asked. “Can’t you get them to babysit tomorrow?”

“She says she can’t,” Veronica explained. “She has exams at uni and she needs to be at all her lectures on weekdays. We tried.”

You and Roger gave a simultaneous sigh and looked at each other. “Guess we’re gonna have to do it,” you shrugged.

“Guess we do,” Roger agreed.

“Alright, we’ll do it,” you conceded, driving daggers through Deacy and Veronica in your mind. You didn’t want to but they didn’t leave you with much of a choice.

“He can sleep in the spare room,” Roger continued.

“And we’ll be on our best behaviour,” you added.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to call everyone up and cancel the orgy we had planned. Shame, really. I was looking forward to it,” Roger remarked.

The joke didn’t land well. But it wasn’t far from the truth. Every night since you arrived in Montreux, you and Roger would spend your evenings in bed together, figuring out all the new and debauched tricks he could teach you. And figuring out what you liked and what he could do to please you. He loved to please.

But the night after your ruined dinner date, you and Roger flitted around the flat in a frantic attempt to baby proof the place. Barricading the doors to all the balconies, locking away your restraints and sex toys, and removing all alcohol from your lower cupboards in the kitchen. Roger looked out of breath, standing in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips, trying to find even the slightest thing that baby Robert might get hold of and hurt himself with. “Do you reckon we got everything?” he asked, squinting at you.

You shrugged. “I’m more concerned with how we keep him occupied all night.”

“Fuck. Do you know, I’ve never had to look after a baby before?” Roger said. “How do we do that?”

“I think you start by taking the word fuck out of your vocabulary, darling,” you said wandering through to the living room and wrapping your arms around him.

“And what do we feed them?”

“Something soft? I don’t know. Does he have teeth yet?” you asked. “When do they get teeth?”

“I’ll tell you, I don’t even know. I think he does. Last time I saw him he bit me.”

“Ah, right. Great. He’s a biter.”

“He’s weird. He looks like Deacy,” Roger said, flopping down on the couch.

You followed suit, straddling his lap. “Do you think we’ll be good at this?” you asked, running your hands up and down Roger’s chest. “Looking after a kid? I don’t even think either of us are grown up enough if I’m honest.”

“We probably aren’t, darling,” Roger sighed, giving your thighs a squeeze. “But we didn’t really have much choice did we?”

You laughed quietly. “I mean, for real, Roger. A baby of our own.”

Roger closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to run away with him, wondering what that might be like. He wasn’t going to lie, he loved the idea of being a dad. And if he was going to do it, it would have to be with you. “It’d be different if it was ours,” Roger sighed.

You let your own imagination delve into that thought, conjuring up images of Roger playing with a squad of blonde, feral kids that were undoubtedly his own. He’d be fantastic. Warm and wise, fun and fearless. You wanted that. But you couldn’t help but feel like your relationship was on shaky ground for the foreseeable. You’d have to see what next year’s tour meant for you.

“When do you reckon you’d want to…” Roger trailed off.

“When we’re ready. After the tour next year?”

Roger’s eyes flicked open. “That sounds good.”

“There’s a lot we need to figure out when you’re on tour.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

He nodded. He already knew the answer to that, but sometimes he needed to hear it for himself. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“You’re gonna do the hard part,” Roger laughed. “Can’t be easy pushing a watermelon out of a small hole.”

“Roger!” you squealed, whacking his chest. “That’s disgusting!”

“That’s exactly what it is!” Roger retorted.

Interrupting your argument, the buzzer on the intercom sounded, notifying you that your tiny guest had arrived. Roger sprang to his feet and turned to you. “I’ll get it! You just see if there’s anything else Robert might hurt himself on while he’s on his way up.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Roger,” you called as he left the room.

Out in the hall, Roger answered the intercom and buzzed Deacy and Veronica up to the flat.

You stayed put, wandering around the open space inside the living room, looking out at the early evening sunshine. You folded your arms and found yourself drawn to the window. The sun looked glorious. Deacy and Veronica had picked a fantastic night to celebrate their anniversary. You wondered where they planned on going. If you and Roger hadn’t been imposed upon, you knew you’d be sitting out on the street at Funky Claude’s – the pair of you quaffing overpriced cocktails and watching the people flit down the street in a midsummer daze. Bliss, you thought; far away from having to look after a pair of strangers’ child. Maybe you weren’t cut out for being a mother? You knew deep down that you wanted it, but you were still trying to figure out what was an acceptable age to stop giving your friends a bottle of whisky and a wire coat hanger as a congratulatory gift for getting themselves knocked up. You also balked at baby updates from them and couldn’t fathom why the vast majority of your friends ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over babies. Maybe you’d be a crap mother after all? That worried you. Especially after the weighty commitment you made to Roger.

So lost in your own woes, you hadn’t noticed Deacy, Veronica and their tiny terror entering your home. You had your back to the door, travelling away at a hundred miles an hour on the stress express.

“Darling?” Roger sang. “The Deacons are here.”

You glanced over your shoulder and, realising that the family had indeed arrived in all their finery, you turned to them.

They were a humble pair. You would never have known that Deacy was a millionaire. He looked like the stereotypical industrious tightwad, you thought as you hugged and kissed the couple politely on the cheek and wished them well on their life sentence together. And when the niceties were over, your eyes searched the room for little Robert. “Where is he?” you cooed in a fake tone. “Where is the little guy?” You did your best to plaster on a wide, manic smile, that didn’t exactly sit right with you, but clearly hit the spot with the anxious parents.

“Here I am!” the three-year-old called, blustering into the room, clutching a large dinosaur toy. “I’m here! I’m here!” He continued, finding his way to your leg and clinging to it for dear life.

You patted his head, and beamed down at him. “Well, we’re going to have lots of fun, aren’t we?”

“Yeah!”

Roger began to usher the couple from the flat, fearing that they might miss their dinner reservation. “He’s in good hands,” he reassured. “We’ll feed him at six and he’ll be in bed by seven.”

“And you’ll make sure you tire him out? He gets a bit restless in the hour leading up to bedtime. He sometimes won’t want to have his bath. Just make sure he’s tired when you do,” Veronica wittered.

Roger laughed, “He’ll be fine! You’ve left enough for him to be getting on with. Now, both of you, go, before you miss your reservation!”

“Fine, fine!” Veronica caved, pulling Deacy away by his arm. “We’ll pick him up in the morning. Hopefully we won’t be too hungover when we get him and we’ll try not to be late!”

The door finally closed leaving you and Roger solely in charge of Robert. In truth, you didn’t think he was going to be a problem. He sat on the sofa with his dinosaur and sent it zooming through their air while you and Roger watched him like he was a wild animal, and you were too afraid to spook him. Every now and then, you and Roger would lock eyes from opposite sides of the room. Soft looks that made you desperate to have each other. Suddenly all of those doubts about settling down together melted away.

“Robert, dear?” you began, sitting down beside the small boy. “Do you want a little drink of juice and a snack?”

Robert didn’t take his eyes off the dinosaur. Mumbling a quiet, “yeah.”

You looked up at Roger, exchanging confused looks; little Robert might prove to be hard work, still.

“How about we watch a film?” you suggested.

“Sounds nice,” he squeaked.

“What do you wanna watch, buddy?” Roger asked, giving the small boy his snacks and sitting down next to him. “Hm?”

“Don’t know.”

You and Roger looked at each other again, worried about how to keep him preoccupied.

“How about the Lion King?” you suggested.

“Yeah.”

Roger puffed out his cheeks and grabbed the remote, putting the film on. By his estimation, it would take you up to dinner time. And then bath time. And then bed. And you were free after that – an easy run at this parenting malarky, or so he thought.

You and Roger enjoyed the first hour of the film before Robert piped up. “I have to pee.”

Half-asleep, Roger propped himself up. “Right, pal, come on. I’ll show you where the toilet is.”

“I’ll get dinner on,” you suggested. “How about chicken nuggets and chips?”

“Pee first!” Robert squeaked, tugging at Roger’s jeans.

“Fair enough,” you sighed as Roger and Robert disappeared down the hall.

Getting to your feet, you wandered over to the freezer. This was a staple when you were a kid.

You dumped the chips and the chicken nuggets onto a tray and then stuck the oven on.

Robert was sure to like this; it had to be a winner to get the Deacon boy on side. But he was so like his dad that you could never tell if you were coming or going with him. Three years old and he already had that trait down to pat.

You bunged the tray into the oven and glanced towards the cupboard full of wine glasses.

Roger and Robert sauntered back into the room and threw themselves back on to the sofa. There was only half an hour left of the film. Enough time to cook dinner. An hour, tops, and he’d be in bed.

You could do this.

“Did you find the toilet, okay?” you asked Robert.

He nodded.

“I’ve just put the dinner on. Chicken nuggets and chips? I even got the dinosaur chicken nuggets. Your daddy told me you liked those the best.”

“They’re my favourite animal!” Robert said, perking up. “I love velociraptors.”

Roger pondered for a moment, playing along. “I think I like t-rexes better. They’re bigger and they have funny little arms.”

“I always feel bad for them. Think of all the things they can’t do,” you said.

“Have you ever seen Jurassic Park?” Roger asked Robert with a fun look in his eye. “I think you’d love it. There are lots and lots of dinosaurs in it.”

Robert smiled and shook his head. “Can we watch that?” he asked, turning around and deferring to you.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you began, wracking your brain for all of the non-child-friendly things in the film. You weren’t about to let a child in your care go to bed straight after having seen a film that gave you nightmares when you saw it as a child. “It’s a bit scary for you, Robert.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it,” Robert smiled, looking at Roger for back up.

“I mean, it’s not that bad is it, really?” Roger said. “He can eat his dinner and watch it. And then bath time should give him a little bit to calm down if it gets too scary.”

“Please!” Robert pleaded, clasping his hands together and begging you with his wide hazel eyes. “I won’t tell mummy and daddy, I swear.”

Sure, it scuppered your plans for wine, but maybe you could sneak some if he was so engrossed in the film. You’d have to look after him for longer before he went to bed. Then there was the possibility of nightmares while you were busy getting drunk and doing god knows what with Roger in the middle of the night. Is this what parenting entailed? If so, you could safely count yourself out of the game for the foreseeable future.

But the little boy looked adorable, presenting his dinosaur to Roger.

“Is there any of these in the film, uncle Roger?” he asked.

“Well, if Auntie Grump lets us watch it, we can find out for ourselves, can’t we, pal?” he said, taking the dinosaur and jumping it along the coffee table.

You dropped your arms down by your sides and gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, alright! But you need to eat all your dinner, and be in bed on time, ok? No excuses!” you said, wagging your finger at Robert and Roger. You shot Roger an especially stern look.

Roger put the film on while you kept an eye on dinner. He had no problem connecting with the boy; of course. He was Roger. Everyone and everything gravitated towards his warm and inviting nature.

They huddled together on the sofa, with Robert’s dinosaur, and watched in amazement at how real all the dinosaurs on screen seemed.

“Do you think they used real dinosaurs for this?” Robert asked in awe.

“I think getting real dinosaurs might have been a bit expensive,” Roger explained.

Truth be told, Roger was going to make a fantastic father and that, in itself drove you insane. You almost felt guilty for still having reservations about this, seeing how much Roger enjoyed looking after Robert. The soft look on his face as he carried Robert through to the spare room when he fell asleep during the film made you want to jump on Roger there and then.

But he looked exhausted as he wandered back into the living room. He hadn’t done anything except chat to the small boy for a few hours. But it was enough to make him collapse back on to the couch and breathe a sigh of relief as he closed his eyes.

“You’re really good with him,” you said, taking your place beside him.

“I tried as well as I could,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him.

You patted his chest, congratulating him for getting through the evening. “Kind of makes me think we should get some practice in,” you laughed.

“Yeah?” Roger asked, widening his eyes.

You nodded and sat up breaking away from his embrace. “But first, I think we need some wine.”

“Wine would be lovely.”

Roger watched you over the back of the sofa as you opened the fridge and plucked out a perfectly-chilled bottle of prosecco. Even though his lids hung heavy over his eyes, you knew he felt exactly the same way as you. He couldn’t focus on the bottle or the wine; his eyes were glued to you and the way that your body moved as you sashayed back over to him, swaying your hips as you carried two glasses of golden bubbly goodness back to the sofa.

He took his glass and held it up. “Well, cheers to baby making I guess,” he smiled.

“To baby making,” you agreed, clinking your glass against his and knocking it back. Your body relaxed in an instant.

“That dress looks nice on you, by the way,” Roger commented, thumbing at the material over your thighs. “Really shows off those lovely hips of yours. I love it.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks, feeling like he had you under a microscope. “Thanks. You look… like the perfect dad?” you responded, squinting one eye, unsure of the point or the tone you were trying to go for by giving him that compliment.

“That supposed to be a compliment?” Roger asked, swallowing the last of his wine.

“I like my men old and refined, so yes,” you smiled.

Roger grinned and glanced over to the fridge. “Why don’t we take the bottle to bed?”

You sat up straight; heart pounding, stomach fluttering. “Won’t Robert notice?”

“He’s out cold.”

“But what if he has nightmares and walks in?”

“We just tell him it’s a special grown up cuddle. My mum told me that all the time.”

“Yeah, so did mine but it didn’t stop it traumatising me,” you giggled. “We’ll need to be really quick.”

Roger drew his calloused fingertips underneath your jaw. “What’s the point in being quick, Kitten?” he purred. “It takes time to do things properly. Don’t you want to enjoy it?” He was dangerously close to your lips. So close you could practically taste the wine on his.

You froze feeling a surge of adrenaline course through your veins. Your voice shook. But you gave in. “Yes.”

Roger’s hand skirted underneath the hemline on your dress, caressing your thigh as he spoke to you. “So should we take the wine through to the bedroom and get started, Kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you sighed, leaning in to plant a firm, lingering kiss on Roger’s lips. “You get the wine.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, springing to his feet. But he had to play catch up with you. You were already in the centre of the bedroom, shrugging out of your dress, letting it pool around your feet. When he caught a glimpse of you standing there in just a set of skimpy lingerie, he stopped in his tracks, clutching the wine and glasses in a shaking grip. “Thought we were going slow, Kitten?”

You glanced over your shoulder, purring, “Is this too much for you, Daddy?”

This left Roger at a loss for words. All he could do was watch as you slunk over to the edge of the bed and sat down, patting the space beside you. Beckoning him over.

He complied, handing you a glass and filling it. Then filling his own. You could hear his breath wavering in his chest and he almost spilled some wine as his hands trembled.

“Drink up, Daddy,” you reassured.

Roger downed his glass and hastily sat it down on the floor.

“Do you need something to help you relax?” you asked, trailing your fingers down his chest. “Because I can help with that.”

“No, no, Kitten. Let me do all the work, please,” he gasped, slinking down on to the floor and settling on the carpet between your legs. His hands worked their way up your shins as he peppered quick, eager kisses along the insides of your thighs. “You just sit there, drink your wine and look pretty,” he instructed, before moving on to the opposite thigh to lavish it with the same care and attention. “Let Daddy take care of you…”

Roger’s mouth was something akin to a religious experience. You relished the opportunity to have him planted squarely between your legs any chance you could get. You loved how hungry – ravenous – he became. He could never resist. It didn’t take him long before his fingers looped underneath the waistband of your underwear and yanked them down.

Finishing the rest of your wine, the glass drooped out of your hands and dampened the sheets with the dregs as you eased back.

Roger’s tongue worked at your folds, lapping away at them and gathering all the sweet, heady wetness he could find, groaning enthusiastically as he savoured every drop. He tugged and nipped at them, pulling them between his lips, sucking at the sensitive pink flesh until it swelled and tingled. He knew how to amp up the need you felt. His hands gripped at your bottom, adding another layer of delicious sensation to the mix and forcing you further on to his mouth, getting as close as he possibly could to make you writhe against his tongue as he dipped it inside you.

You knew exactly what Roger was trying to do. He was trying to get you to cry out in pleasure, rippling his tongue inside you. Curling it in on itself. Fucking you. A precursor to the onslaught his cock was poised and ready to deliver when it came down to it.

But you were so aware of the sleeping child in the next room. You clamped your hand over your mouth in a desperate bid to avoid giving Roger the rapturous praise he desired for stringing you out to the point of orgasm in minutes flat. Instead, you quietly quivered.

Roger’s tongue was dangerously close to your clit.

If he couldn’t get you to scream his name, he had to try a different tactic.

Pursing his lips together and sucking on that little bundle of nerves, he flicked his tongue wildly over it at the same time.

This was electric.

That move had the intensity of a thousand wildfires being set ablaze all over your body, racing towards your cunt. It had you clawing at the sheets in no time.

But the kicker came when his fingers replaced his tongue, burying themselves inside you. One, two, three, four. Stretching you out close to your limit and pumping away in rapid, damp motions that would’ve completely given you away had you had adult company. Your body rocked in time to every single thrust, your cunt tightening around his hand more and more.

But you still couldn’t let go of your inhibitions.

It was too dangerous.

“Tell me how much you like it, Kitten,” Roger hummed.

“I fucking love it, Daddy,” you sighed in desperation. He just kept you in a mind numbing trance of being right at the very edge. And you wished with your entire being that you could just step off already. “I need to come so badly,” you whined.

“What’s wrong, Kitten?”

“I just can’t let go.”

Roger looked concerned as he shuffled up the bed towards you; so close that you caught your scent on him. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’m fine, I just can’t do this with the boy in the next room,” you sighed.

“That’s ok,” Roger whispered, nestling his face against your neck. “Slowly.”

“Slowly,” you agreed, wrapping your thighs around him and grabbing a fistful of his hair to kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

His hips stirred against yours as the moment grew in intensity, your tongues lapping away at each other’s. Arms tangled and fingers raking through each other’s hair. Two bodies glued together, and moving as one. “I want you so much,” he murmured as he broke the kiss.

“Have me,” you smiled, kissing his nose. You tugged at one of the belt loops on his jeans. “But you’re gonna need to lose the clothes first.”

“Right, yes,” he said, stumbling backwards on to his feet. “Good idea.”

For some reason, Roger seemed nervous too. You his hands still shook as he fought to undo the buttons on his shirt and tug down the fly on his jeans. There was something arousing about watching him shed his clothes for you; soon enough, your own hand returned to that spot between your legs to try and finish the job Roger started.

He settled between your thighs again and looked down. Your hand was still working overtime – he loved to watch but only for so long.

The tip of his cock pressed deliciously up against your entrance. So inviting, given how swollen Roger’s cock was, leaking precum over your already dripping slit. You manoeuvred your hips, trying to grasp it, to suck it in, to coax him, but Roger wasn’t playing ball.

Instead, he pumped his hand around his length, reminding you of just how much he could fill you.

Your pleasure-addled brain needed to have it.

But he wasn’t giving you it.

You let out a needy whine, coupled with a desperate, “Please.”

Roger laughed to himself, moving on to phase two of his teasing.

Your hips might have been trembling wildly, but he still managed to slide his cock up and down over the length of your cunt, making his cock slick and glistening with your juices.

You repeated another feeble plea. “Please, Roger fill me.”

“I will, Kitten, don’t worry,” he said softly, still teasing you in the most horrific and torturous way. “But first you need to tell me what exactly you want. What’s making you so desperate, Kitten?”

Your mind drew a blank and your hips clearly had no consideration for Roger’s line of questioning. All they wanted to do was seek his cock out and have him fuck you mercilessly, like an animal in heat.

“What’s got you all riled up?” He repeated. “Use your words, Kitten.”

Your fingers still circled your clit, by now making you a complete and utter mess.

He wasn’t going to get any sense out of you, that much was clear.

But it didn’t stop him from trying. He slapped your hand away. Then, when you recoiled, he slapped your cunt. “Use your words, Kitten. You’re not getting my cock if you don’t.”

“Oh but Daddy…” you protested, rolling your hips. “I just want…” you couldn’t verbalise it. The urge inside you. The reason you were so frantic.

“You want me to pump a baby into you, Kitten, don’t you?” he said, replacing your fingers with his own.

God those words sent a shiver right through you in the best way. A growl rumbled in your chest as you arched your back against his efforts. “Mmm, please knock me up!”

“That wasn’t so hard,” he soothed.

But nothing could prepare you for the savage way that his hips snapped into you, forcing a yelp from your lips.

“You want me to knock you up? Hm, Kitten?” he asked, pressing his lips on to your neck to mark it up and claim you.

“Oh god, yes.”

“Say it, for me, Kitten,” he scolded. “Tell me what you fucking want. I want you to beg for it,” he continued, pounding you into the mattress with his weight on top of you. “Just so I know you’re sure.”

Your brain was so fogged, but now that Roger had reminded you of why you were in this position, the words came more easily. “Knock me up, Daddy,” you whined. “I’m ready. I want it.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, kissing your jawline, a trail all the way up to your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good mummy. So fucking sexy too. I can’t wait to see you grow and for everyone to know what I did to you.”

The way he talked was exactly what you needed to send you over the edge and you didn’t care who heard. Clutching at the sheets, you thought your entire soul was shaking as you hurtled through powerful convulsions and contractions that milked every single drop of come Roger could muster right into you.

You and Roger collapsed in a sweaty breathless heap together, with him still on top of you. Your brain tried to fathom what had just happened.

It all became clear when Roger rolled off of you, and looked your way with the biggest, softest grin you had ever seen.

“Think that did the trick?” he asked, reaching sideways to pat your belly.

In between trying to catch your breath, you still had enough reserve to crack a joke. “You know, for someone who claims to have a biology degree, you have a shocking lack of understanding about human reproduction.”

Roger laughed, batting his hand through the air. “I’ve watched the Discovery Channel. It’ll be fine.”

“Better throw the rest of my pills out if we’re serious,” you said.

“Only if you really want to. I’m in no way wedded to the idea.”

“Yes you are.”

His rosy cheeks puffed out into a grin akin to a chubby cherub that you just couldn’t resist: “Maybe I am.”

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader

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thebirdohermes · 4 years

Note

💖 with you and alucard!!!

Send 💖 to my asks + an F/O and I’ll spew random headcanons about our relationship.

hell yes..,,,me and alucard time...cracks knuckles.. tySM FOR DA ASK ; w;

† i posted about this but i'm going to go into a little further detail here. alucard really loves the way that i draw him in my sketchbooks. there's something about the way i depict him that pleases him greatly. the first time he came across some drawings of him in one of my sketchbooks (way before we were even romantically involved) he laughed at first. i found the laugh menacing but when i watched his face and his laughing stopped he looked so calm and pleased!! something about the way i draw him and swoon over him and draw him so peacefully, despite him being quite a beast. i love drawing calm alucard and he appreciates them. he finds any drawings that i do of him of the more monstrous nature funny because of the facial expressions i add. there's definitely a soft spot for the more peaceful drawings of him, though.

† i'm SADLY very ticklish and the first time he drank some of my blood it was less hot and steamy and more "ahaha that tickles!" sometimes alucard will tease me by poking my sides, much to my giggling expense. i've tried to get him back but he just stared back at me with this fucking grin. clearly not ticklish enough!

† we rotate spending time with each other during either mine or his "natural" awake hours. i know he sometimes worries about my sleep, since i'm a human BUT i'm a powerful witch of a human (as far as im awareTM i am just a human witch!) so i recover well from sleep deprivation. besides, i can sleep in and get the hours back and then fix my sleeping schedule again. i like to sit with my back against his chest, you know popped between his legs, and read or play my switch. sometimes i will read aloud to him. the time we read bram stoker's dracula he had a lot to laugh about. he found the story fun but he pointed out inaccuracies constantly. i was just trying to enjoy the writing, alucard! after i finished reading that he teases me occasionally about having a fictional dracula or the real one. i always tug his collar and let him know i much prefer the real thing.

† speaking of tugging collars alucard is one tall motherfucker?? in his usual form he's around like 6'10" or something. that's tall as shit. tall gangly motherfucker. i am 5'6"! he towers over me. many a time have i been tempted to leap at and climb up his back. just the tree climbing weirdo in me. it's not that i think he couldn't hold me i just would feel WEIRD doing that to him. if i'm feeling particularly needy (or powery since i'm a power bottom kkjJKFJHSDALKDH) i will tug him down by his collar and demand a kiss from him. he likes to play around and feign surprise every now and then to my demands of kisses.

† i love cooking and baking, i'm an enby guy who likes working in the kitchen! feeding friends and family delicious meals, having a home full of well fed friends from my handiwork is THE BEST. and i am sad that alucard can't eat any of the food. he's told me that the vampire he turned a long while ago, seras victoria, tried to eat food before she drank any blood finally. she was sick from it. alucard says he would not get sick if he ate food (guess it comes with being the almighty powerful king of the draculas?) however it wouldn't really taste like anything for him. kind of ashy, unfulfilling kind of tastes. instead he accompanies me in the kitchen whenever i make food. to give him a taste of the food i encourage him to have a sip of my blood after i've eaten a delicious meal, my blood is "exemplary and delicious" according to him, and he obliges having a fine sip. >;3c

† FINE SIP sometimes I do fancy myself some alcohol! i don't get drunk, but i do enjoy getting tipsy! alucard fancies a sip then when i ask him if he wants to get tipsy with me....LOL. shots anyone lkajfhjssdhkdsfjlkJKSDSHASLJ

#alucard #f/o asks #f/o ask game #f/o x s/i #f/o headcanons

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arlingtonpark · 4 years

Text

SNK 127 Review

0/10 This chapter sucks. Continuity is dead.

In my last post I said if we got flashbacks, it’d be damage control for the last chapter. I was right.

The first couple of scenes in this chapter are clear attempts to clean up the last one’s mess. We never saw Jean and Mikasa make contact with Hange, and here, we do.

Honestly, I think this could’ve been handled better.

Jean had something of an arc in chapter 126, where it seemed like he genuinely had chosen to follow Floch, only it turns out he was working with Hange all along. So I get why these scenes are presented out of order. It’s an attempt at dramatic tension.

It fails, though, because not enough time was devoted to showing Jean working with Floch. Jean stood next to Floch in some scenes. That’s it.

Let this be a lesson to aspiring writers everywhere. If you want to do a story arc, or even just a mini-arc, make sure you have the time for it. If you can’t spare the time to do it justice, it’s better to just cut it completely.

Hange’s character is much better served this chapter. I forgot to mention this last time, but Hange’s character was screwed over pretty hard last time.

Her arc has been about growing into her new role as commander. She failed to constrain Eren, and Floch, and everything’s gone to shit in general, and she doubts her own leadership.

Then, after escaping the Yeagerists with Levi, Hange considers just walking away and living out in the woods.

They chose not to.

This is a major turning point for her character. She’s beaten down and has a chance to walk away, but she gets back up.

This major plot beat has maybe a few panels devoted to it. At most.

We don’t see the choice get made. In fact, it’s kind of implied that Hange didn’t consciously make that choice at all. Hange is building a cart to lug Levi around, and he notes that Hange’s doing that because they can’t stay on the sidelines.

Was Hange building the cart because they’d already decided they weren’t quitting?

Or were they going to use that cart to carry Levi to the eventual site of their woodland hut?

Was Levi just pointing out that Hange is doing what they’ve always done?

Or did what he say convince them in some way?

Who knows, because chapter 126 is still a rushed mess on every level.

Whatever Hange’s motivations or line of thinking, it should have been shown during the scene in the woods, when it happened, not in this flashback to a completely different scene.

Character development happens when characters make revealing choices. Showing the character’s motivation separately from the resultant action dilutes the poignancy of that character development.

It’s actually worse than that because not only was Hange’s thought process shown after the fact for no reason, the moment the choice itself was made is not shown at all.

The moment where Hange is surrounded by the ghosts of her fallen comrades would’ve been sooooo much better if it had been in the forest with Levi. It should have been in the forest with Levi.

Hange already chose what they were going to do, so there is no gravitas to this moment. It’s just exposition. This could have been a powerful moment. Instead, it’s just Hange monologuing about their motivation.

When the same happened with Erwin, we saw his struggle as it was happening. We were in the moment, so we felt the weight of Erwin’s struggle. He was bearing out his feelings, agonizing over having to throw his life away unfulfilled.

In 127, Hange is sitting in a chair, explaining her thinking, agonizing over nothing because she’s already decided to throw her life away, and is apparently already at peace with it.

This is what damage control looks like. Isayama fucked up and he’s trying to make up for it.

And even then, we still don’t have the explanations we badly need.

Why did Annie choose to help? She’s not doing this because it’s the right thing to do, she just wants to see her father again.

How did they convince her that they could deliver on that?

It’s the same with Pieck and Magath. They didn’t want to just do nothing, but what convinced them that this was better than doing nothing?

Mikasa asked Hange what the plan was, and their response was basically, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

So in other words, they have no plan!

Jean raises a good point about stopping Eren: it’s a death sentence for them. Hange’s only retort is that it’s the right thing to do, so they have to do it. This is great.

Genocide is inherently wrong, thus the answer to genocide is not more genocide. With this many lives involved, tit-for-tat is not acceptable.

In some cases, there may have to be retaliation, but there are always limits. These moral limits have a general applicability to them. Of course there are exceptions, but they apply in almost all cases.

I love how Hange explicitly rejects Eren’s dumbass egoist worldview.

“‘Just bringing freedom to this island is enough for me’ Do you think a single one of them would be so narrow-minded as to say that?”

Eren doesn’t just care about Paradis. He doesn’t care about the outside world.

He seemed torn about whether to rumble the world. And he did cry over having to potentially rumble the refuge camp.

Gather around, children, because I have some very mean things to say about Eren here: let me tell you something about crocodile tears.

Crocodile tears are when you feel sad for something, except it’s fake, because deep down, you don’t care. The expression comes from an ancient legend that crocodiles cry for their prey while eating them.

Eren agonized a lot in the lead up to making his decision.

-rolls eyes-

What a drama queen!

Rumble the world, or not? If you have to take time to decide which is right, you’ve already failed.

Eren never truly cared about the outside world. He’s just doing this to bring freedom to Paradis; the lives of everyone else is a nonfactor.

It’s great to see Eren finally getting the dragging he deserves. He is, in fact, a narrow-minded ass.

Jean’s point still stands, though. And even though Eren is obviously indefensible, people still keep making excuses for him.

Hange says their “cowardly idealism” is what pushed Eren to do this. Note that this is the second time they’ve said this.

Uh, what?

Was making reasonable overtures of peace to the outside world cowardly?

Obviously not.

Establishing relations with other countries? That sounds reasonable.

Making contact with pro-Eldian advocacy groups? That sounds reasonable.

What about this is cowardly?

And what’s so idealistic about hoping for peace when there are possible paths to it?

Hange did nothing wrong. Eren is the one who did everything wrong.

Eren’s friends were actually working on a solution. They were trying to make a lasting peace between the Eldians and the world.

Meanwhile Eren was just bumming around not doing anything!

Could there have been a peaceful solution?

Beats me, but I’m not going to spend any thought on coming up with one.

By now, I think it’s clear that the point is that there is no peaceful solution. We saw Paradis try and fail repeatedly. The story in general has not even entertained a possible, peaceful solution.

Creating a Wall Titan “nuclear umbrella” over Paradis won’t work. Eren will be dead in a few years, and they don’t want to continue the Reiss’s gruesome traditions.

Armin’s idea of a targeted rumbling won’t work either because it’ll only increase the world’s resentment towards Paradis.

The point is that sometimes peace isn’t possible, but also that excessive violence isn’t justified. I don’t know how the story will end, but I don’t think it’ll be a happy one.

It’s always uncomfortable whenever the series talks about history and playing the victim. It’s such an obvious commentary on Japanese politics, I cringe every time.

Past Japanese war crimes are a very big factor in Japan’s relations with its neighbors. China and the Koreas are still indignant over the crimes Japan committed, and they feel the Japanese haven’t been apologetic enough.

Paradis is obviously a mirror of Japan.

Island nation with a sordid past that leads to rocky international relations even today. That’s Paradis and Japan.

The series’ stance is that these past events should not be such an issue anymore.

That’s not wrong…but I have a reservation.

The biggest flaw with the Paradis-Japan connection is that the Eldian Empire ended thousands of years ago.

The Japanese Empire ended 75 years ago. That’s not much.

China does overplay the war crimes issue, but there are still real issues with how the Japanese have responded. Many Japanese people are still taught a cleaned up version of what happened.

If anything, China should be called out on abusing the issue of war crimes for political reasons. Their government uses it as propaganda to rally popular support and distract from domestic issues.

In Attack on Titan, the Marleyans are not called out for that. They’re called out for playing victim over something that happened 2000 years ago.

The Marleyans, used by the story as a clear parallel to Japan’s neighbors, are portrayed as in the wrong because “it was a long time ago.”

Let me tell ya, that’s not a good look. What we see in the story is just close enough to reality to draw comparisons, but just different enough to be arguably offensive.

I will say it’s nice to know what Isayama thinks on a given issue. Annie calls out Mikasa and Armin on not being prepared to kill Eren if they have to. She aks how they know he’ll even listen to them.

Armin: we won’t know until we try.

Brilliant.

You can tell who’s side Isayama is on whenever the characters argue because the side he’s against will be the one with the dumb platitudes.

Mikasa: How are you going to stop Eren?

Hange: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Annie: How do you know talking will work?

Armin: We won’t know until we try.

Then…stuff happens.

Annie claims Mikasa will fight her if Annie tries to kill Eren, even if Annie’s just trying to defend her homeland.

Then Mikasa draws her swords for no reason, and Annie looks like she’s about to titan shift for no reason, then…Annie backs off for no reason.

There were definitely some plot beats missing here. Annie instantly goes from getting ready to shift to backing off. What happened?

And why did she back off? Her point still stands. She said Mikasa would fight her if she tried to kill Eren and Mikasa did not deny it.

The only plans of attack discussed have been (1) talking Eren down, and (2) killing him. It looks like they’re going with plan (1) now, but Mikasa is clearly not going to let Annie go through with plan (2) if (1) fails.

That’s a pretty important issue. And Annie raised it herself, only to just drop it for no reason.

Why does Annie think her time is better spent here than on a boat heading to the mainland?

Getting to her father in time to die with him sounds a lot likelier than stopping Eren, especially when killing him isn’t an option.

And then we come to Yelena.

You know, actually, this chapter has a lot of the same problems the last one did. Lots and lots of rushed plot beats that should have been fleshed out more.

One of the dumbest tropes in fiction is when a character looks into another character’s past off screen, learns sordid things about them, then exposition dumps about it.

Oh, look, this chapter exists.

This is lazy, lazy writing. Instead of a flashback montage with narration, we get some word balloons.

Why is this happening? Anything would have been better than this. There could have been a few more pages devoted to this. He at least could have come up with a better way to deliver this information.

Is Isayama just that dead set on finishing this manga before 2021?

Then Yelena delivers a monologue of her own. I can only assume that it is stupid on purpose.

Speeches like this have been given before in Attack on Titan. Annie gave one in her arc.

“You think you’re better than me?! Well you’re not! You’re a shithead just like me!”

-Annie, basically.

Kenny gave a similar one too. He said that everyone is a slave to something, even mother’s to their children. Then he asked Levi if he really thinks he’s so virtuous and then he died.

I mean, I don’t know what you’d call someone who, all else being equal, fought for the sake of their children if not a “hero”.

Yelena’s speech is dumb and that’s the point. It’s drivel that sounds smart, but is really just edgelord crap.

“You give yourselves to the sublime excitement that is the idea of saving hundreds of millions of lives.”

Christ, not this again!

Claiming good deeds aren’t really good because people do them to feel better about themselves is very common on the internet. You see it all the time on Reddit.

In fact, Yelena even says it like she’s trying to sound smart.

“The sublime excitement.”

-SIGH-

The problem with this reasoning is that it’s moving the goalposts. Yelena is redefining altruism and selfishness to get the result she wants.

You could think of many examples of people doing things that are obviously selfless.

Take a soldier. Let’s say their platoon is on patrol, and then the enemy tosses a grenade at them. The soldier dives on top of the grenade and shields his platoon from the explosion. But obviously, he dies.

That was selfless.

-puts on crazy, blonde, mop-top-

HOWEVER!

WHAT IF SHE SACRIFICED HERSELF BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO BE REMEMBERED AS A HERO?

DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT!?

Shut up I know this actually did happen in this manga that’s not the point.

Yelena has redefined selfishness to cover everything people do, and at that point, the word becomes useless. She’s wrong because when you think about it, “selfish” is a meaningless word in her worldview.

Yelena then proceeds to list off all the bad things everyone’s done, as if they’re all to blame for it.

Annie did awful things, I won’t argue against that. And she doesn’t seem very apologetic about it, so Yelena actually has a point there.

She also has a good point with Armin. Destroying the port was excessive, especially since it never ended up helping in the end. The port was destroyed to delay a Marleyan attack. Too bad the Marleyans just attacked via airship instead.

Reiner broke the wall, but despite what the man himself says, he was still just a brainwashed kid at the time. I don’t think it’s entirely right to blame him. He’s very apologetic about it, either way.

The Battle of Liberio never should have happened, but the Survey Corps was forced into it by Eren and they did what they could to limit civilian casualties.

It’s the same with Jean and Falco. Jean almost killed Falco, but only because Falco got in the way. That’s on him. Not. Jean.

Gabi killed Sasha, but it was a battle! Wars are ultimately fought to the death. If you go into the military and don’t expect to die, you’re clueless. There was no foul play with how Gabi killed Sasha. She boarded their airship, and shot her. That’s war.

She wants to believe that these people are just as bad as she is. Because if everyone is a piece of shit, then she isn’t so bad in comparison. It’s a common tactic people use to rationalize their own shitty behavior.

But she’s wrong, and they all prove her wrong. Jean can’t forgive Reiner, but he doesn’t let that get in the way of stopping Eren.

And no matter what Yelena says, it’s selfless what the 104th and Hange are doing. Long term, stopping Eren is a death sentence for them. They don’t care.

Leave it to Reiner to give the most Reiner response to Jean possible.

“I felt really bad about it afterwards.”

“Don’t forgive me. I don’t deserve it.”

“I’m sorry.”

That was the cringiest thing in the whole chapter. Good on you, Jean, for beating him for it.

(Not really)

This chapter was about everyone coming to terms with working together, but I feel it was half-baked.

Magath and Jean’s fight wasn’t really resolved, just dropped.

Annie and Mikasa’s fight was also just dropped.

None of the bad things Yelena brought up was commented on or dealt with. They weren’t dropped; they weren’t even taken up!

Reiner and Jean’s fight was properly dealt with, but that was it.

Now we’re heading into a fight with Floch and……I guess the emotional processing is over?

You know, I take it back, this chapter was better than the last one, but it still had a lot of the same blatant issues.

Rushed plot beats, unwieldy dialogue, and undercooked plot developments.

So.

On to the next chapter?

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk 127 #snk chapter 127 #spoilers

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messinwitheddie · 5 years

Text

Skoodge *inhales "Woo! That cruiser is SOOO not safe to pilot."

Zim "As long as it gets me out of the solar system, that's all I care about. Good work, Skoodge."

Skoodge "You're welcome. Glad I could help... Hey, I gotta take off and fill my quota. Tell Gir I said good luck at the big cook off. Wish I could stick around to watch it."

Zim "Personally I could do without watching poor Gir get batted around by a crew of behemoth cooks."

"Maybe you'll get lucky and Soo-Garr with have you thrown out of the arena."

Zim "I hope she slips on the kitchen floor and impales herself on a hot skewer; that stupid shmoopquizz on legs--"

Skoodge *chuckes* "That's horrible. You shouldn't call a frylady lady that."

Zim "You should have heard what I called her the other day. Rrrr...I HATE her and her conventionally pretty face and hideous soft lips!"

Skoodge "Soft lips? What are you--? You're acting unusually odd...or the usual amount of odd. I can't tell anymore. What have you been DOING the past 2 hours anyways?"

Zim "I'm looking for someone...and...there...he is!! HA HAAAA!! I'm amazing!"

Skoodge "Who is that?"

Zim "Retired Invader Ziss. Finally! I have a lock on his pitiful biosigniture!"

Skoodge "Wait, that's the conquerer of Canceree! Ziss is a legend."

Zim "He's a loathsome prick with much to answer for! Now that I can track his location, I'm going to find him and MAKE him SUFFER."

Skoodge "What? No, Zim, don't do that. Why would you do that?"

Zim "There's no talking me out if it now, Skoodge. He's already made an enemy of me."

Skoodge "What did he do to you?"

Zim "Nothing; it's what he did to Poki."

Skoodge "Oh no. What did he do to Poki?"

Zim "I don't know! But I'll rip a confession out of him if it's the last thing I do!"

Skoodge "Or-- OR... You could just forget Ziss ever existed and resist the impulse to do something we both know you'll regret. Hu?"

Zim "Oh, I assure you, I won't regret a single moment of tormenting this guy."

Skoodge "Is tormenting an old veteran going to fix anything or change anything?"

Zim "It will make ME feel better! I'm imperially shunned; I have NOTHING left to lose. I'm tired of people like HIM getting away with abusing people like US!! And I'm SICK of no one else being SICK OF IT!"

Skoodge "Shhh!! Bleep it Zim! I'm...I'm gonna head back to work and pretend I never engaged in this conversation. Have fun landing yourself in Mooping 10 for life."

Zim "OK! Have fun with your sad, unfulfilled service drone existence."

Skoodge "Hey, I'm not ashamed of how I earn a living! I......." *sigh* "I'm sick of the abuse and exploitation too. EVERYONE is! But we don't know what to do about it, ok?... Could you please consider NOT going through with this revenge scheme, whatever it is? PLEASE, just think things over tonight while you watch the cook off?"

Zim "...Okay, I'll think it over a little longer."

Skoodge "Neat...See you around, Zim. Take care of yourself..."

...a bottle of cyder later...

Zim "Ok, Skoodge, I've thought about it quite enough. I'm gonna go devistate this squak's whole universe."

***shortly later still***

Zim "Bright Eyes, that you?! You busy?!"

Vroog "--"

Zim "Didn't think so! Hop in!"

(Zim is still dwelling on Poki's war story. Skoodge making one last effort to be a friend to Zim and talk him out of doing...whatever he plans to do. Poor trainee Vroog is about to get dragged into the misadventure.

I've pretty much have the first part of this 18-years-later AU mapped out. (Except for Zim/Vroog's vengeance misadventure)

Gonna set these ideas aside and most likely start converting this mess into actual comic pages after the holidays. Might be starting a second job soon. Fingers crossed for a phone call today or tomorrow.

Meanwhile, my other AUs have been neglected. Gonna clean for a few hours and then see what else I can accomplish at the drawing desk.

Promise to go through my inbox soon.

Questions/ suggestions welcome.)

#invader zim #zim #skoodge #18-years-later #au #ocs #Vroog #Ziss #The voot is fixed!

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thotful-alien · 5 years

Text

Comphet makes so much sense

I've had obsessive crushes on guys my whole life. I remember writing about my infatuations in my journals since I was a kid. I never seriously acted upon these crushes, though. They were usually unattainable. The few times a guy expressed interest in me first, I freaked out, I'd avoid them. Or if I indulged them and they went in for a kiss, I felt sick to my stomach. I found reasons for them to not be good enough for me. But I'd tell myself to give them a chance even when I wanted to run away screaming, and I ended up in unfulfilling uncomfortable scenarios.

What I wanted was validation and attention from my objects of desire. A relationship in which I was pursued was unsatisfactory. I tried hard to feel excited but something was missing. I was just along for the ride, trying to figure out if I was broken inside and incapable love.

My past infatuations included:

- Professors MUCH older than me

- boys older than me

- Taken guys who were dating my friends

- Gay guys

- an actual abusive Sociopath

- Tom Hiddleston as Loki

- guys who didn't acknowledge me outside of class

The first man I convinced myself I was in love with was dating an ex-friend of mine. He and I were good friends and I let my infatuation bloom, I even eventually told myself I was physically attracted to him, that he's the only guy I'd actually marry and have kids with. But fast forward 3 years, when he was finally single and hit me up, I didn't want to pursue him even though I was *so* in love with him throughout the years. I just felt powerful that he desired me. I lost all serious interest. He came over one evening 2 years ago and his car got towed so he slept on my couch. At one point he woke me up asking if he could cuddle me and I said yes, and that moment was like so satisfying because I finally got what I thought I wanted from him. I didn't actually physically feel butterflies. He later asked me to be his Valentine and I said yes, but he didn't see me that day and left for New Zealand a few weeks later. I was only a little sad tbh. I feel like I still love him but as a platonic friend.

A lot of taken guys that I'm close to develop crushes on me, it feels powerful for a while but then I'm just uncomfortable with it, I just wish I could be best friends with men without them feeling anything about me.

I find that's true in general. I just want to be left alone. If a cute guy seems to be interested in me, I find every flaw possible to justify not wanting to indulge him. I just want to be "bros" with boys. I get nervous if I feel them checking me out. Even objectively attractive men make me nervous, and I'm not physically attracted to them and I don't see myself in a relationship with them.

In fact I've set impossible standards in place and I don't even see a man in my future at all. When I envision my future I see me, a cat, some house plants, and being the "cool aunt" babysitter at family gatherings when my brothers have kids. I have zero desire to pursue men at all.

I was dumped last month by a guy I decided to trust even though the first time he kissed me I freaked out and wanted to vomit. I told myself it was PTSD from a past experience and to get over myself and give him a chance because he's a good friend of my brothers' and he was really charming and easy to talk to. As the relationship continued he turned out to be a fucking narcissist, so that's fun, but I had to force myself to find him attractive and overlook the fact that I felt nothing towards him physically and kinda just ignored his corporeal form. He treated me great at first so I ignored my gut feelings. I grew to like the idea of him and the idea of our future because it would be so convenient since he's close to my family already. But when I imagined us long-term, I grew incredibly sad. I knew that I didn't want to actually settle down with him yet, because I wanted to be with a woman. That thought never went away.

The relationship went to shit and I've been recovering for a month now but I feel freed in a sense because I want to finally be with a woman. That idea is so exciting to me. I've always been attracted to women and I only acknowledged it at age 19 and I told myself I was bi because of my past infatuations for men. But accepting that I like girls was such a huge moment for me, I'd been repressing those feelings my whole life. I wasn't doing a good job apparently because everyone around me thought I was gay before I even entertained the idea.

I was actually kinda bullied and made fun of because everyone thought I was gay. Thankfully in marching band there were HELLA queer folks and I ended up running with the crowd that grew up to be members of the LGBT+ community. They all thought I was gay, too. Not even bi, just straight up gay. But I was too defensive about it and kept ignoring my feelings. I only had one real boyfriend in highschool and that was my senior year, it lasted until after my first semester in college until I broke it off. I never felt excited about him, he stopped communicating, so I found reasons to decide I shouldn't be in a relationship with him. He didn't do anything wrong per se, I just knew I couldn't be with him anymore.

That was my first serious relationship, and the longest one I had. The last one I got out of was only 4 months. And the entire time I was wishing I could be with a woman instead.

In the past I've entertained the idea of being a lesbian instead of being bi, since the only times I've been excited about someone hitting on me have been when they were women. I always had a special soft spot for my friends growing up. I realized last year that I felt love for my straight best friend. Something about women is just so exciting, they make me feel warm and get the butterflies, I blush and look away when I see a beautiful girl on campus. My Instagram feed is full of beautiful models and makeup artists, as well as traditional artists that draw women, and I'm just so drawn to appreciating women's bodies and their beauty.

Even drawing a woman gets me all excited and tingly. I never feel like that with men, even picturesque guys that are objectively attractive. I seriously thought I was asexual until I acknowledged my very real attraction to women.

In video games where you can woo a woman, I get so fucking excited for the chance to do so. Growing up (and still now) I occasionally make lesbian couples on the Sims, and I always felt this guilty excitement when they would kiss.

The first fantasy that excited me as a teenager that wasn't some fucked up power scenario was me imagining I was playing 7 minutes in heaven and getting paired up with a girl.

I've felt over the past few years that I'm definitely more on the gay side of the bisexual spectrum. But now I'm feeling like I really am a lesbian. I looked up comphet when I was searching for answers online and the masterdoc I found just perfectly described my life, I felt like I was seen and understood for the first time. I think everyone around me was right that I'm actually gay as fuck. Throughout my shitty relationship I found myself looking longingly at beautiful women and feeling like something in my life was missing. After things ended I wrote in my journals that I wished I were a lesbian. And finding the masterdoc was so affirming for me! I want to shout it from the rooftops but I'm afraid people will think it's just because I broke up last month and I'm just "done" dealing with men. But I feel like this chance to reflect upon myself has brought me to acknowledge that I'm Gay as FUCK. And that my feelings for men were comphet.

I previously identified as bisexual, and this is in no way being biphobic or dismissive, I will fight to the teeth to defend the legitimacy of bisexual folks, fight their erasure, and that they belong in queer spaces and queer discourse. I just, I think I just took a really long time to unravel my feelings, and I feel like I'm realizing at age 25 that I am, indeed, a lesbian.

It's a difficult feeling because I feel finally that I've found a label that fits me, but I've been out as Bi for years now and even though my immediate family never pressured me to settle down with a man and pop out babies, I feel like it was a choice I HAD to make. Like I had to just hang up my Bi flag and become a housewife. But I don't want that. I don't see myself with a man in the future. And if I want kids I can find a sperm donor. I think I'm feeling the loss of "the option" of living a straight life. But I don't want that at all. So it's difficult unwrapping myself from that expectation.

But yeah I'm fairly certain that I'm a lesbian, I feel like I need to tell people but I don't know how to go about doing it and I'm afraid I won't be taken seriously even though my immediate family is 100% supportive and accepting. I don't know how or when to come out to people. I'm still dealing with self doubt. But I'm fucking GAY GOD DAMNIT and I feel like everyone has to know!

Fuck.

Anyway of you read this really, I really appreciate it. This is a huge transformative moment for me.

#lesbian #enby lesbian #comphet #coming out #how do i come out #self discovery #im gay #im super fucking gay #thanks for reading

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a-cai-jpg · 4 years

Text

you exist as a memo on my phone

I've been having fitful sleeps.

These days, I start--or plan to start--things, but I leave them unfinished or untouched. See: the Amazon package I have yet to open, the books I place either by my laptop or my bedside with the intention of re-reading, the abandoned watercolor set and scattered pieces of wood I collected to use as palettes, the scribbled notes in my notebook begging to be written into coherent thoughts.

(though, since first writing this, i have re-read about 80 pages of Norwegian Wood)

(i fell asleep 20 pages in)

(but i finally felt like i could breathe)

There's something difficult about releasing my mind from my body. I balk when I think of having to plunge back into the life of a college student in the 80s, or a love story across country borders, or anything that might jeopardize my routine of mindlessly waiting for 10 PM to roll around so that I can head to bed and scroll through Instagram.

It's terrible, asinine work, but I can't pull myself from it.

Everything leaves a bland, sawdust taste in my mouth, and I run away from committing myself to a Task.

It's like I'm even doing that with sleep.

Yesterday, I was roused around 2 AM by my neighbors' loud arguing. I pounded my fist against the wall dividing our houses a few times out of frustration, and by the time they responded with pounding of their own, I was already drifting back off into a distressingly mediocre slumber.

My neighbors quieted, but I woke up every few hours or so anyways, struggling to free myself from my blankets. Between the bouts of exasperated wake, I had a dream about an old friend.

I was back in my high school, angrily yelling at two students for blocking the walkway, when he appeared. He was wearing the same jacket he did back then, white with black stripes, and he was laughing at something sheepishly. Maybe we were both back in high school again, but it was like time and distance had somehow made its way into the dreamscape anyways, and I panicked and ran.

Which is definitely something I would do irl.

I haven't seen him in...4 years? In the beginning, we kept making plans to hang out, but school and life always managed to pull us away. Then, our correspondence distilled from a message per season to me sending him sporadic texts telling him something reminded me of him or happy birthday.

This year, his birthday came and went, and I didn't even notice.

The date isn't one I can forget, but it's lost its association with him, now simply a string of numbers that I frequently repeat in my mind.

(granted, recently, time has become ever more fluid, and i'm not even sure what day of the week it is sometimes. last saturday, i woke up in a panic thinking i was late to a team meeting.)

In my dream, I sent him a message afterwards, apologizing for fleeing. I said I was caught off guard and was actually really glad to see him after so long. Best wishes, and hope we meet again. Next time, I won't run.

Which is also something I'm likely to do irl.

The thing is, I think--very often--about when and where we would meet again. Would it be by our design? Or the world's? I think about it as I drive down the street where he used to live, trying to remember which house was his; or pass by the couches at the mall where we'd argued about dreams and the people who appeared in them; or, on the very rare occasions, walk towards the lockers in the A building by the culinary wing.

Sometimes, the scene is set in the mall. Sometimes, it's set in a restaurant I've never stepped foot in. Sometimes, it never comes.

See, I can plan these reunions all I want, but if and when they really rolls around, I know they'll probably look like how it did in my dream--vaguely unfulfilling and regretful, like we had missed something very important but didn’t notice until it was too late.

I know I'd never be able to express everything of everything. When you get to know someone and they entangle themselves into every vein of your existence, how do you even begin to tell them what you want to say?

I cycle between reaching out and just letting fate take its course.

In this day and age, there's really no excuse for missing someone so much you cover two pages with text about them and not messaging them with the phone literally sitting by your side..

But.

But there's always so much reckoning when you schedule an appointment with the past.

You have to be strong enough to hold onto the present and let go of the past, and be okay with that. And, sometimes, someone is too, too important to you during a certain period of your life, and you just want to leave them there--a vanguard protecting this memory of you and them.

There are so many memories I have of you, but they're slipping away. My breath catches in my lungs when I try to draw them out, and I'm afraid I’m not strong enough for the task. But, this is one I refuse to forget--

a long hallway, dim, yellowing lights, socked feet padding across carpet, the din of people bickering, you walking in front of me, and me--

Murakami writes, "The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too soon needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute--like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it: my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko used to stand--ever more distant from the spot where my old self used to stand."

So, I wrote this two(?) days ago? (again, i have lost all track of time, sos)

Since then, I have watched a movie that has somehow pushed a bit of Feeling back into my body.

Dear Ex on Netflix is pretty incredible, and although I didn't cry, I sat soullessly with my head on the table for a ridiculous amount of time after it ended.

It's been a very long time since I've felt that ache in my heart as I think back upon a piece of work.

daily song rec: 萨顶顶 - 当遇见你

(this is one of the best electro-pop arrangements i've heard in chinese music)

#and me #suddenly feeling like i had to catch up to you #and the relief i felt when i finally did

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youremypride · 5 years

Text

Child of Satan.

Title: Child of Satan

→ Inspired by: Case 39

Genre: Angst, Horror, Thriller

About: Strange occurrences arise when Y/N, a social worker takes in 10-year old Lilith Langdon under her care from her abusing grandmother who calls her the spawn of Satan.

Warnings: minor sexual content, mentions of killing, murder, character(s) death

Disclaimer: The plot of the story remains the same, with a few changes to fit the story I had in mind. Michael only appears near the ending of the story but he is still an importance to one of the characters. There are parts which I’ve added in from the movie, and parts I’ve changed or taken out.

A/N: This marks the start of the Witching Hour series! It took me a lot of time because I wasn’t sure how I wanted the story to be since I planned this on a whim while watching this movie. Please feel free to leave comments on your thoughts about this, feedback is much appreciated! Until then, enjoy the movie!

Reoccurring nightmares flooded your head in the late of night. Your body would be paralysed, refraining you from any movements from danger when something bad is about to happen. You were lying in bed, covered and secured over your comforter. Your hands were on your side but you couldn’t move them no matter how much you struggled.

Beside you stands the same man that would sit on the chair next to your bed. He would give you an endearing smile as he caresses your hair and brushes the stray hairs away from your pretty face. He places a small kiss on your temple before flipping open the book in his hands, reading off a part of the storybook, something he does to get you to fall asleep.

When he’s finished, he places the book on your side table and tucks you in one last time before wishing you goodnight and walking out of your room and closing the door. In the last seconds before you were consumed by the heavy feeling of fatigue and sleep welcoming you, you could hear your mother shouting from the lower floor, yelling at the person she was referring to not leave, until the front door slams with a loud bang and you awake from that nightmare.

Jolting up from your bed, beads of sweat trickled down your forehead. The back of your shirt felt damp from all the sweating and you felt your body heat increasing. You hated to relive that moment every time you went to sleep. The once bitter memory now forming into a nightmare that would continuously haunt you, taunting you and reminding you how your father had left you and your mother.

You once asked her why your father wasn’t in the picture when you got older and it made her agitated and distraught. She screeched at you, warning you never to question about him. You saw first hand what it did to her so you obeyed her, afraid something like that might happen again.

The absence of a man in the house, a husband and a father didn’t only affect your mother. It affected you too. In order to cope with your neglect and rejection, you started seeing older men that were way too old for you when you reached legal age. You would often go out to bars and solicit them, seeking solace in their presence as they are balls deep inside of you.

The pleasure and comfort these men had given you made you forget about reality and it only fuelled your need of having a cock inside you rather than drinking your problems away. Your sinful deeds would’ve made you feel guilty when your partner, Hayden is oblivious of your pussy slavering away to another man’s cock as you ride them off into the late of night, thinking you were working overtime.

Although those days are long over, you still get off from the memories, reliving them to bring you the feeling of satisfaction, one that Hayden had tried countless times but ended up giving you an unfulfilling orgasm as they always cums before you.

You had come to terms that you had issues. Daddy issues.

Another file plops down onto your desk, rounding a total of 39 case files that were assigned to you. Your manager, Wayne gave you an apologetic look and shrugs telling you that the others had their hands full just as you are. As he walks away, you scoffed and sighed at your misery.

You opened the file, greeted by a picture of the said victim. Reading through her file, you gathered that her name was Lilith Langdon, a 10-year old girl currently living with her grandmother. It states that she’s exhibited signs of apathetic, lack of interest in studying and often isolate herself with her peers. You mull over certain scenarios and why such an innocent girl could have been in such a situation.

Closing the front door behind you, you throw your keys on the console table, putting your coat and bag on the chair right beside it. Walking towards the living room, you plopped yourself onto your comfy brown couch and shuffled your hand through your front pocket to get your phone out.

As if on cue, a few messages appeared on the screen.

Hayden: hey baby, you home yet?

Hayden: miss you a lot, you still up for some thai food?

Hayden: if you’re tired, i could bring take out to yours, how ‘bout that?

You were kinda tired, and having to go out again a few hours just brings your body into a feeling of agony. Thankfully, Hayden was kind enough to know of your tiring schedule and you replied them in an instant.

You: yeap i’m home

You: yes please, thank you baby <3

Grabbing the remote of the coffee table, you turn the tv on and surfed through channels until you settled on some reruns of The Simpsons. The drowsy feeling in your eyes slowly starts creeping until your lids became heavier and heavier until your sight was nothing but obsidian.

Knocks on the door awoke you from your nap and brisk walk towards the front door. You were greeted by the sigh of Hayden, holding up the takeout of Thai food and greeting you with a grin from ear to ear. “Your delivery of Thai food is here!” They pipped, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on your lips before allowing themselves in.

They placed the takeout on the dining table as you get ready two glasses of water. They hand one of the Styrofoam boxes to you along with the utensils. You thanked them and said your prayers. “Ah, my favourite. You know me too well, baby.”

“I know my little girl enjoys chicken as much as I do.”

You love it when they call you their little girl. It brings up bubbles in your stomach and makes you feel giddy at the pet name they had given you. You insisted on them to continue calling you that when they decided to stop, saying it would made you uncomfortable due to your age.

It didn’t matter, you enjoyed it regardless. Even when Hayden was the same age as you. “So, any new updates with your recent case?” You nodded, swallowing down your food before you reply to them.

“Diego’s father missed his blood check the other day and a few other appointments he was suppose to come the last week. What bothers me is that Diego is denying everything of what he’s father is accounted for. His father has a history, and I’m afraid he’s being abused emotionally, that’s why he’s defending his father.”

Hayden nods in understanding, “He could be, but you could see how he’s trying to make it up to his son. Surely there’s a good reason why he’s been missing out lately. You did say he was working three jobs just to keep their family afloat, right?” You sighed, your eyebrows joined forming a crease in between.

“I hope you’re right about that.”

“Okay, enough talking about it. Let’s talk about what really matters right now.” They take your hand in theirs, soothing your upper hand in gentle strokes. “About us. Our relationship.”

You had wished they didn’t bring this up. It was difficult to say to them that you weren’t just ready to get married and settle down. Hayden had given you a month to think about it when they proposed to you after you gave them your answer. You had to admit but you didn’t see a future with Hayden at all. There was no point of being tied down to somebody whom you’ve lost interest since got knows when.

Finding the right words and the right reason to break it to them had your brain pulsing hard against your skull. You would’ve come out as a bitch, wasting away their time and years on you if you admit it now. Sooner or later, you have to tell them the truth.

You placed your free palm on top of theirs, mirroring the same action they did seconds ago. “I know you want an answer, but I just can’t give it to you. I’m sorry that I’m delaying it for so long and not giving you the answer you want. But I-I, I have so much to think about and I’m just too... too...” You stuttered.

“Too what, Y/N?” There was pain and sadness in their voice, but you could hear that little small hope voicing out.

“I’m afraid. I’m afraid of you losing me.” Lies. “That you’ll leave me and say that you’ve made the wrong decision in marrying me.” Lies. “That I never give you the time and affection you need and that I had distance myself from you.” Lies. That’s how you’ve managed to keep them wrapped around your finger all these years.

“No, no I would never think that baby.” They cupped your face in their palms, making you look at them. A concern expression washed over their face as they brush your cheeks with their thumb. “I’ll never leave you, what makes you think I would?”

“B-because, I’m not giving you what you want. You want a family. I don’t. Not right now, and I’m the obstacle that’s stopping you from getting what you want.” They pulled you into a hug as you wrap your arms around their neck. They sat you on top of their lap as your legs dangle over theirs. You feel their arms resting on your hips, soothing them by drawing circular patterns on your skin.

“You’re not an obstacle, baby. I’ll understand if you still need more time. Remember, I’ll always love you, okay? Don’t let those negative thoughts get to you. Come on, let’s clean up, wash up and get ready for bed, how’s that sound?” They pull you up so that your legs were wrapped on their hips before placing you on your feet and prepared to sleep.

Driving your black sedan up the roan, you read off the signs to find the right street before taking a right turn. The street was your typical suburban area. They were children playing on their lawns, some adults taking the time to mow them until you found the house you were looking for.

The roof of the house was tiled in red tiles, the wooden white planks had paint coming off from it, and streams of vines decorated the walls as they climbed up towards the roof. The windows were grimed and only the top floor had the windows opened. The lawn was unkempt, with weeds and bald patches popping up here and there. The house was surrounded with tall iron fencing that reached the height of your shoulders.

You caught movement coming from the corner of your eye and looked up to see a lady, her blonde hair in an updo bun as she takes a drag from the cigarettes she’s holding between her fingers. She only glances you for a second before disappearing into the darkness of the room as you make your way towards the front door.

Three knocks were all it took until you head heels clicking against the wooden floor on the other side. The door opens, a gap wide enough to see the person behind the door as it was secured by a safety chain to prevent it from being open any wider.

“Mrs. Langdon? I’m Y/N L/N. I’m here for your appointment.”

“It’s not the 17th yet.”

“Yes, it is, Mrs. Langdon. It’s the 17th today.”

“No, you’re wrong, sweetie.” Annoyed, you grab out the newspaper from your file bag and showed it right in front of her. “It’s the 17th. Today’s paper says so.”

She slams the door in your face, the sound of chains unlocking from behind and the door open, wider this time. She steps aside as she eyed you, gesturing you to enter. Once you’re in the foyer of the house, you take a good look at the place. It was cosy and homey, a different contrast as how she was dressed, elegance.

A little girl appears from the top of the staircase, looking down at you emotionlessly. Slowly, you call out to her, “Hey there. I wanna talk to you. Could you come down for a while?”

Light footsteps creaked the steps, as she descended down ‘til she was starting at you at eye level. “Hey there, sweetheart. My name’s Y/N. What’s your name?”

“Lily.” Her voice was soft, almost feathery. “Lily, what a beautiful name.” You turned to her grandmother, “Is there someplace we can talk?”

“Are we expecting Lily’s parents to be coming home soon?” You pipped.

Mrs. Langdon, or Constance as she preferred, only gave you a look, her dull eyes boring into yours before she takes another drag of her cigarette. “Lily’s parents are dead. I’m the only one she has left.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, “I’m so sorry. The file didn’t say anything about it.”

“What is it you want, darling? I haven’t got any time and you’re wasting precious hours. On with the questions.” She scoffed softly.

“Oh, right, sorry, um... I’m here because we received a call that Lilith has been showing serious signs of neglect. Now at this point we can only assume it’s the result of family problems.”

Constance chuckles, “I presume it must’ve been one of those nosy neighbours who called in? Family problems you say? It’s only darling Lilith and me in this house. We get along just fine. I’ve been taking care of Lilith since she was a baby. Her mother died from childbirth and her father is god knows where. We don’t have any family problems. Not that I know of.”

“Well, many families aren’t aware that they’re having family problems, not until they’re too late. And that’s where we come in. We help families communicate and learn healthier ways to resolving conflict.”

“I appreciate the kindness, but we don’t need your help. I think our time here is done. You can show yourself out.” She puffs thick white smoke as she gestures you to the front door.

A few days later, Constance was called in by your manager after you’ve given him many reasons as to why you might think Lily is in trouble.

You leaned against the wall inside of Wayne’s office, looking at the Constance and Lily who was sitting on the couch. “Well, I know I’m not the perfect grandmother for Lily, I know that but she knows I show my love and care for her in other ways. She knows how I feel about her.”

You could see Lily’s face churning and twisting in discomfort, “So, tell me, Mrs. Langdon, does it concern you that Lily’s grades have dropped from A’s to D’s in three months?”

“Of course, she’s my granddaughter.”

“So, you have no idea why your granddaughter falls asleep in class every day? Why she can’t sleep at home? No idea?” You turned to look at Wayne.

“And you’ve never slept in class before, Ms. L/N? I know I did.”

Staring out at the pair from inside your office, you turned towards Wayne with an annoyed expression, “Don’t tell me you felt for that?”

Wayne sighs, “Look, cut her some slack, she the only breadwinner of her family here. We can’t guarantee every kid here has a happy childhood. I wish we could.”

“Let me talk to her, alone just for five minutes.”

“We don’t have the case, Y/N.”

“Just five minutes. Talk to them about happy children and how much they love kids.”

You approached Lily who was standing beside the water cooler. A pair of girls had rushed right in front of you with their mother behind them, telling them to slow down. You smiled at the sight. “I’ve always wanted a sister growing up, don’t you? To play with and to talk to, things that you just can’t tell anybody else, you know? Did you ever wish that? That you had a sister?”

Lily remained silent, and you cursed yourself for forgetting that her mother had died ten years ago so the idea of having a sister wouldn’t have crossed her mind.

Sensing the awkward feeling between you too, you purposely lean over the water cooler and let the cold water hit your neck, prickling your skin at the sudden temperature. Lily giggled beside you, having caught her attention by the act you did.

“Well, that was a silly thing to do, wasn’t it?” You smiled at her. “What’s happening to you?”

You kneel down, so that you were at a child’s height. “You know I can help. Let me help you.” Lily starts to look distressed, looking around her and over her shoulder.

“What is it sweetheart?” You gently place a hand on her arms.

“She hates me.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

“She does. I hear her talking to herself in her bedroom.”

“What do they talk about?”

A few seconds of silence filled the air until she begins to talk again, whimpering and tears pooling in her eyes. “Sending me to hell. She calls me the spawn of Satan, and that I should’ve not been born.”

“You heard her say that?” She nods franticly.

It was a major bust to get Lily to say what she had told you. The recording evidence you need against Constance failed when Lily had said the opposite, allowing Wayne to close the case and told you to let it go.

Desperate, you seek help from an old friend.

“Y/N, what brings you here to my office?” Mike asked. You slide Lily’s case file across his desk.

“Well, well, well. It’s sitting right in front of me so I’m guessing our good friend Wayne has decided it fails to meet the criteria of child endangerment and has told you in no uncertain terms to leave it alone.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

He pushes the file back towards you, “Sorry, Y/N. I can’t.”

“Please Mike, I’m really desperate here.”

He tells you that the department doesn’t pay him enough to stake out potential child abusers and reminded you how it almost cost him his job the last time he helped. You chided in and told him how Lily’s grandmother wanted to send her to hell and called her the spawn of Satan. In the end he gave in and asked him to send him the evidence and files over, which you thanked him.

You laid across the brown couch, surfing through channels until your phone starts ringing. Thinking it was Hayden, whom you left voicemails minutes ago, you answered it in a cheery tone. “Too late, met someone else.”

“Y/N.”

“Lily?”

You could her the fear in her voice and the panic that was slowly increasing, her pants soft but sharp. She tells you that she’s scared and that Constance was waiting and ready to get her, her voice getting sleepier.

Quickly, you rushed out of your house and drove over her house, calling Mike for back up. Once you got there, the scene unfolding in front of you brought you to a shock. Constance had Lily locked in her oven, duct tape securing the handle to stop her front busting the door open. You struggled when you tried to rescue Lily out, having to fight against Constance as she pushes you away from the oven.

That is until Mike fends her off, knocking her down as you were quick to get Lily out from the oven before it could burn her.

As ordered by the judge, Constance had to undergo psychiatric evaluation until she is deemed fit for trial. On the other hand, Lily had been placed into a state home until they’re able to find her a new foster home. To help Lily fit in better in socialising and interacting with others, she would attend a group therapy in which children would voice out their opinions and share their problems with one another.

But something kept nagging at the back of your mind. You recall back to the day you met Lily at the hospital and how she wanted to stay with you instead. Also, when you had accompanied her to the state home, she brought it up again, giving you pleading eyes and a sad look that almost felt pitiful.

After going through documents and meetings, you got approval to become Lily’s temporary guardian before they find her a new foster home. When you reached your home, you showed her around, her eyes were twinkling like stars and her lips formed into a waxing crescent moon smile. She was happy, and you were happy too.

“What is this?” She asked, sipping the tea from her cup as you brushed her hair, detangling the strands to straighten them. “It’s chamomile. Helps me sleep.”

She takes a sip again before you spoke, “You know none of this should ever have happened. If I could make it go away, I would.”

“You did.”

You took away the cup from her and tucked her in bed.

You stared at the house from inside of your car. A dark ominous aura seeping out from the cracks of the walls. The longer you stared at it, the more it begins to bite back at you, shaking you to your bones with its soul-stirring presence.

The floorboards creaked against your shoes as you made your way up to the second floor. Turning to your left, you find Lily’s room, picking a soft teddy bear from the pile of toys placed near her window.

Adjacent to her room was Constance’s room. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to caught your attention. There were Christ signs placed over the bed, a bible laying on the top of the dresser. How religious, you thought. That is until you saw strange white marks on the wooden floor that were hidden under the rug.

You flipped it over, and the mark continues towards the door of the room. You notice a few marks on the door as well, finding it perplexing that heavy bolts and chains were screwed behind it. It made you repulsed, thinking she was locking herself from her granddaughter.

“Wayne’s looking for you.”

“Wayne wants to see you.”

Reaching your cubicle, you find Wayne sitting on your desk, Diego’s file opened in front of him.

“What’s up with Diego?”

“Oh hey, Y/N. Why don’t we talk inside my office?”

“No, tell me what’s going on?”

Wayne sighed, “Well, we don’t... We don’t know why yet but he killed his parents last night.”

The information made you shudder, almost twisting your stomach in ways you could never thought it could.

You rushed to the scene, wanting answers on why he would do something like that.

“How did this happen?”

“Gets a tire iron from the garage, heads back inside. Locks all the doors and windows, kills them in their sleep.”

The parents’ bedroom was painted in red all over. The walls were splattered in blood, the pillows were soiled deep with blood, the sheets that were once white had turned red. The crime scene almost looked like it came out of a slasher movie.

“You expect me to believe a 10-year old could do such a thing?”

“I was there when they brought him in. Took three guys to subdue him, and the kid was climbing the walls.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this. Things happen. It’s unfortunate what happened with Diego but you can’t let that haunt you. You’re only one person, Y/N. You can’t save the world. But I know one person you did save.” Hayden comforts you, both their eyes and yours directed towards Lily who was playing with sticks near the lake.

Lily knew Hayden from group therapy, Hayden being the therapist for her sessions. They had worked with kids longer than you did, and that’s how you met since your field of work worked hand in hand with each other.

She had sensed something troubling you, stating how your job was stressful and hard. You admitted how she was right, telling her how parents are just complicated.

“Is that what your parents did? You said you were alone?”

“Yeah, my dad left me when I was young, and my Mum... my Mum passed away a few years ago.”

“Your parents must’ve made you lonely.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You don’t talk about it.”

One morning you caught her with a picture of your parents, one that was taken before your father left you, when everything was fine. She said she wanted to know you better. You reprimanded her nicely, telling her not to go through your things anymore. The same day, Mike had told you how Diego received a call coming from your house. You denied, saying you didn’t call them. Lily was suspected to have called him since he was in the same group therapy as she is. You could’ve guessed she took his phone number from your back up files that you stored in your cabinet. She refuted again and again. Saying she was telling the truth and that she didn’t call him that night. Everything was leading to nowhere.

It got more confused when you visited Diego, saying that Lily did call him that night. Except that it was a man who had called him, which got you puzzled.

“So, I want you to tell me, what scares you?” Hayden asked.

“I’ll tell you want scares me if you tell me what scares you.”

“Fair enough.” Hayden pauses, trying to gather his thoughts before answering her. “When I was young, I hated using the microwave. Silly right? I would get really terrified when the light turns on and the plate of food keeps spinning around. I get paranoid when the timer doesn’t go off, thinking the microwave would explode.

My brother thought it would be funny to put popcorn in it and let me watch. I saw how it slowly swell up, the packet getting bigger and bigger. Hated them ever since.”

“You can’t be that afraid of popcorn too?”

“Sure, you can, the popping noises brings me anxiety sometimes. Now’s your turn. What scares you?”

“Me.” Lily says simply. “You scare yourself?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why? What about yourself scares you?” Hayden asked, baffled.

“I have bad thoughts.”

“About what?”

“People.”

“People in general or certain people?”

“Certain people.” Lily answered.

“Like who?”

“You.”

“You have bad thoughts about me? Why?”

She smiles at you, “I just do.”

It went on a couple of minutes before Lily and Hayden walked out of the room. You could see tiny beads of sweat forming on their forehead. “I’ve talked to many kids, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that before.”

“Like what?”

“Threatened.”

The news broke your heart. You couldn’t think straight the whole day. Mike had given you in detail everything that happened.

An explosion had occurred in Hayden’s house, the cause of it came from the microwave. It was said to be malfunctioning while they were using it and the sudden impact and radiation had caused Hayden’s skin to burn, killing him instantly.

You loved Hayden, you really did. Mixed feelings intoxicated you, it was hard to come into terms, accepting that your lover was dead. However, a part of you felt lightened yet eating you away with guilt.

You snooped around the office, finding a package that was labelled and had a USB in it. Locking yourself in a secluded office far from the others, you plugged the USB in, which contained a video recording of Constance being interviewed.

You clicked on it, waiting for the video to load.

A man hidden behind the camera was talking to Constance, who was shown in the video.

“Take me through the conversation, Constance, about the oven.”

Constance spoke, “I was sending her back where she’s supposed to belong, in hell in fiery flames.”

“Why did you say that it was God’s will that you should kill your granddaughter?” Constance laughed, scoffing when she heard the question.

“Why is that funny, Constance?”

“Cause she’s not my granddaughter.”

“You think your daughter is the devil? Evil incarnate?”

She glances away from the camera, “I don’ care what you call it.”

“But you have stated that she kills people?” The man questions her. “Not by her own hand, they just die.”

She starts sobbing, “I had five children, three sons and two daughters, and three beautiful grandchildren.” She covers her face with her hands, whimpering as she spoke. “My youngest son was expecting his firstborn at the time with his wife. Soon as she was born, they just started dying. I guess she couldn’t get rid of me until she found somebody else.”

She looks back into the camera, almost staring into your soul from the screen. Shivers ran down your spine. You needed more information. Something wasn’t right about Lily lately.

The two guards sat her down in her chair in front of you. She was strapped in a straight jacket with an emotionless expression.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but you’re the only one I could talk to.”

She looks up to meet your gaze, her eyes in slits, squinting at you. “Who died?”

“A friend.” You spoke. “You’re scared. You ought to be.”

“Is she... What is she?”

Constance smirks, before a vexed look washed over her. “I can tell you what she’s not. She’s not my granddaughter, that’s for sure. She’s not a 10-year old having trouble in school and she’s not some innocent victim whose door you busted down and life you saved. She’s not going anywhere soon, darling. Not till she’s good and done with you.”

“Done with me how?” You asked. “However she wants. You think it’s an accident her ending up with you? She saw you coming a mile away.”

“Why me? I don’t have anything.”

“You have that you’re good, kindness, decency. That’s what she feeds on. Bleeds you dry, moves on to the next. We were a big family, she went through us like a wrecking ball. It’s like she sees everything, and what she doesn’t see, she senses.

Like when you call a friend and they pick it up before it rings? They say when you’re born, you’re given your eternal soul. The part of you that lives on, lives again. Whatever evil she is, didn’t come from my daughter. It was already there.

From the moment she came into being, she brought something with her. Something older, destructive. Soul of a demon.”

It takes you a moment to suppress all the information to you head. “What does she want?”

“To know what your idea of hell is, and make you live there.”

“Y/N, you petitioned for custody, you got it. She’s your responsibility, make it work.”

You sigh, “How? How do I make it work if it’s not working?”

Nancy explains, “With the same coping skills you teach these Mums and Dads every week. Walk the talk, Y/N. Walk the talk.”

As you wait for Lily’s group therapy to end, you see her walking towards another kid, whispering something inaudible in her ear. She was doing it again, until she saw that you were staring at her. You grabbed her out of the room, walking towards the elevator. “You are not going back there.”

“Why Y/N?” She repeats continuously until the both of you got inside. The elevator starts to shake vigorously before coming to a halt.

“Can I go to group next week?” Lily asked, innocently. “You’re not going back there.”

“Are you sure?” You could hear the cable starting to break and soon enough your descending down at a high speed, the lights flickering and you begin to feel the strong force against your chest.

The bell chimes and the elevator turn normal like before.

The obsidian sky turns dark, flickers of thunders spark with the occasional roar of thunders. You locked yourself in your room, ignoring Lily as you returned home.

Knocks on the door startle you, “Y/N? Y/N? Please, I know you’re in there.”

You brought up the knife towards your chest, ready to attack if anything happens. The knocks turn to loud bangs. You could hear screams and Lily pleading you to open the door.

“Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.” The deadbolts on your door was the only thing securing you from her.

“GO AWAY!” You shout. It turned quiet, silent almost. A soft thump made you turned your head towards your closet beside you.

Bringing up the knife in your hand, you use your free hand to open the door in one swift movement. There was nothing, until a horrified deformed creature jumped at you. Its skin was burning off, exposing the red flash and arteries of the body. You scrambled away from it, quickly unlocking the bolts and running out from your house.

A bus with its light on was the first thing you charged for, seeing that the bus driver was still inside. You banged at the door, pleading for him to open it. The creature slowly catching up to you.

In the last second, he opens it and you yell at him to drive. He tells you there’s no one outside, and that only it was in your imagination. Leaving the bus, you head towards your car, grabbing the back up keys from under the boot of the car. Slowly you got in the driver’s seat.

“Leaving the child unattended is a jailable offence.” You screamed, shocked to see Lily in the backseat. She leans in closer, “You have to do what I say. If I say I want to go to group, you have to do it. If I say I want a new dress, you have to do it. If I say I want ice cream every day, after school, you have to do it, okay?”

You started sobbing, laughing almost at your unfortunate misery. “Don’t be sad. This is your new beginning.” She states, repeating the same word you once told her before. She caresses your hair in a loving manner, one that almost filled you in disgust.

“It they take her...”

“The whole thing starts all over again. You can’t let her go, you can’t let her stay. Leaves you one option.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Don’t tell me I don’t understand.” Constance argued. “You’ve had her, what, two months? I had her ten years. I had her for ten years. Think of it as a test of faith.”

“I don’t wanna have any faith.”

“How about anger? You got some of that?”

Silence past a few seconds.

“How? How do I...”

“Kill her?” Constance finishes for you. “In her sleep. That’s the only time you got the upper hand, is when she’s sleeping, but she almost never does. We checked on her room, every night for three months. First night she slept was the night that you busted in our front door.

I’ll tell you what I’d do different, count yourself dead at the outset. Accept that going in, use It to your advantage. If you’re not afraid, she can’t hurt you.”

You could hear the sound of Constance recording playing. You followed the sound to the living room, Lily was watching the recording from your laptop. “She did what I asked for a while and then she stopped, and started with the secrets. But they weren’t really secrets, I guess. Because I always knew what they were thinking. She stares back into the laptop screen, watching her grandmother with a look so indescribable.

Hours later, you received a call informing you that Constance was dead.

Panicked, you went to meet Mike, who said he wanted to show you something.

He had gone through you call logs, saying that Lily did call Hayden and that she was using your cell phone. He also believed that she called Diego too when he played you two recordings, one of Diego’s and Hayden’s.

“Her grandmother says I have to kill her.”

“I’ll help you.”

You’ve gotten prescription pills from the doctors, faking your insomnia and lack of sleep.

When you reached home, your entire place was a mess. You followed the trail of papers into Lily’s room where pictures of the children from her group therapy laid on the floor.

You found a cock board slipping out from underneath her bed. There were pictures pinned on them, with Diego and Hayden’s picture flipped, probably indicating of her recent kills. The next one in line was a picture of you and Mike. A dark heavy feeling sets on the pit of your stomach.

Vibrations came from underneath her mattress and you find your phone, ringing. You answered it, with Wayne telling you that Mike’s dead. You don’t know what to feel, pain, anger, frustration clashes inside you, Lily being the point of the reason, slow burning till you wish to rip her apart.

The sound of the flat screen playing startled you. Lily was sitting on the couch, eating popcorn. Irritated, you slammed the tv towards the floor, smashing it into pieces as glass flew all over the wooden floor. “Get out, get out of my house!” You yelled.

She brushed off the popcorn remains that you had slapped out of her hands, standing up and glaring at you. “Don’t yell at me!” Her face morphing into something sinister and her voice almost deep and inhuman.

You backed away from her, running towards your room to barricade yourself from Lily, or what was a manifestation of a little girl. You pushed every heavy furniture you had to the door.

“Emily, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Can I come in so we can talk and work it out?” Lily called out. At this moment, that little girl outside your room wasn’t human to you, not anymore. That little girl was nothing but a demonic creature disguise as an innocent being.

You picked it the screwdriver on the floor to protect yourself against the demon. The door suddenly starts bulging unusually, a strong force trying to break it down. The walls start cracking off the concrete, the bolts on the doors unhinging and coming loose.

The door starts to open and you used every single strength you had left to pushed it closed until the entire door is being sucked away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. You moved quickly, shifting under the bed to hide away Lily.

“Y/N. Y/N. We need to learn healthier ways of resolving conflict, Y/N.” She swats away the dresser in front of the bed effortlessly. “Most families don’t even know they have a problem, until it’s too late.”

She grabs on to the screwdriver that you left, walking around the bed till she stops by the side. In a blink of an eye, the screwdriver plunges into the wooden floor, the hand holding it was now bigger and veiny.

She crawls down to you, mocking you with her innocent bright smile as she tilts her head. “What are you doing, you silly pumpkinhead?” You could only stifle a choked laugh. “You don’t want me to come under there and get you, do you?”

“No.” You answered sharply. “I’m going to count to three. One, two...”

“No.” You shook your head, “Two and a half, two and three quarters, three. Here I come.” She teased. She crawls towards you. “No! What do you want?” You screamed.

“What you wanted from your father.” You blinked. “I want you to love me.”

“Okay,” You nodded. “I will.”

She backs away from the bed. “Come tuck me in.”

You smashed the sleeping pills into powdery form, mixing it together with the chamomile tea you just brewed. “Emily.” Lily calls you softly.

You smile at her as you enter her room, giving her the cup of tea for her to drink. Before she takes a sip, she stares at you, “Chamomile. Maybe you should have it, you look stressed.”

“I’ll have one later.” She gives you a look but it disappears after a second.

“I’m really sorry that I let things get like this.” You apologized. “We’ll do better from now on.”

“We have to.” Lily agrees. “Someone could get hurt.”

“What shall we do tomorrow?” You asked. “Surprise me.”

“I’m not so good at surprises.”

“You’re getting better.” She jibes at you playfully.

You made sure she was asleep, before you execute your plan. You locked her bedroom door, splashing crude oil all over the house and more on her door. You watched the matchstick as it starts to light up, trailing the entire house with flames. Walking out of the house, you see the flames start engulfing everything in its path, licking the exterior and burning them in seconds.

“Everybody got out okay?” A firefighter approached you. “Ma’am, anyone else inside? Yes or no?” You tuned him out as you saw Lily just a few metres away from you, unharmed and untouched. “That was mean.”

You followed the police from behind to go downtown you find you someplace to stay for a while. The ride was quiet until Lily spoke up, “Maybe we can find a hotel with a swimming pool.”

You swerved the car, exiting out of the freeway. “Where are we going?”

“You said I should surprise you.”

She smiles from the corner of your eye. Her legs tugged closely towards her chest. You could feel her staring at you.

“He hated your mother. He hated you too. Your mother lied about you, you were never his. You were just the product of one of your mother’s affairs. The day he left was the day he found out about the secrets, the lies. That’s why you kept delaying your answer for Hayden, refusing to marry him as you kept him chain to you.

But you weren’t any better than your mother, aren’t you? You let those men use you because you couldn’t cope over your father, isn’t that right, Y/N? You need a man to ground you down to fill that void inside you. That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Rejection.”

“What are you?” She smiles slyly at you as she turns to look out the window. You stepped on the gas, accelerating at high speed. “Slow down.” Lily demands.

“What the hell are you?”

“You’re upset, you shouldn’t be driving.” You increase the speed, cruising down the street and avoiding other cars.

Your vision begins to cloud, and a new image emerges, bringing you back to the same nightmare you were having.

“Sweetheart.” You looked up to see the same man hovering above you as he strokes your hair endearingly. “Dad?”

“That’s right, sweetie. Daddy’s here.” You rise up from your bed, startling him as you pulled him into a hug. You sobbed into his shoulder, “Please, don’t leave me.” You begged.

“Please don’t leave me. I know what Mum did was wrong. It wasn’t my fault. I never wanted this either. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me please.” You hugged him even tighter, afraid he would disappear. You begged and begged until you felt his arms around your waist.

“I know it isn’t sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I love you, so so much.”

It wasn’t your fault indeed. What Lily said was the truth but your father didn’t leave you because he found out you weren’t his biological daughter. He left because he was sick. He thought that by leaving, it would take the pain of losing him easier when he died if he stayed.

He was wrong, it traumatized you into thinking that he didn’t love you and only increased your fear of rejection from men. You didn’t know because you couldn’t keep in touch. But it was time to let go of the past and your fears with it. Setting free your inner demons and to be at peace with yourself. It was time.

You were no longer afraid. You let those bad thoughts get into your head that’s why you couldn’t think and see clearly. Now that you’ve overcome it, everything felt different. You could breath easily without having the ghosts of the past hung over your shoulders and weighing you down.

“Are you scared?” You asked Lily. “I’m not.”

You swerved the car, accelerating it towards a nearby port – nosediving the car into the water. The car sunk deeper and deeper until it reaches the bottom. Lily unbuckles her seat belt, trying to escape as you reached for her hand – restraining her. She smiles at you, a smug look appearing on her face. Her side of the door opened – revealing a man who’s trying to free her, dragging her up towards the surface.

The pressure of the water starts pressing against your skulls, your lungs compressing sharply as your heart starts to pump more blood through your lungs and entire body. When you regain consciousness, you were laying down on a stretcher, and oxygen mask around your nose and mouth. Your body temperature felt really cold despite the layers of blanket covering you.

As they lift you into the ambulance, you saw the demonic creature – dissimulating herself by painting a scared and terrified expression on her innocent face. I’ve failed, you thought. Now, all that’s left is the consequences that awaits you.

“Where is she?!” You slammed your cuffed hands against metal table. “WHERE IS SHE?! Is she with that family? I need to talk to them, I need to talk to them! Do you hear me?!” You pleaded with your lawyer. He could only sigh, frustrated over your uncooperativeness. The door behinds you open, “I’m afraid your time’s up.” The officer spoke. “You have a visitor, Ma'am.”

A visitor? You wondered. Could it be Wayne, you figured. The officer grabs you off your seat and escorts you down to the meeting room. There were a few families there, visiting the other inmates of the prison. “Over there.” He brings you towards a young man, wearing a suit all clad in black with a red tie. He had wavy curled blonde hair reaching till his nape. His eyes swirled of apatite.

Like he had sensed you coming, he shifts his bored gaze from the table to you. You take a seat opposite from him – studying his features and enigmatic demeanour.

“Hello, Ms. L/N.” He greets, his voice sultry with a tint of firmness in them.

“Do I know you, sir?” You questioned. He bids you a smile, one where his lips are pressed to form a thin line. “My name’s Michael. Michael Langdon.”

“Langdon?”

“I’m sure my mother has talked about me before. Of how all her children had died? Is that right?”

“How are you here? How are you still alive?” He chuckles. “I must say, I do applaud your bravery for trying to kill my precious daughter. However, I wasn’t very pleased with your doing. Not at all.”

You stared at him, baffled. “Daughter? You’re Lily’s father?”

He gestures his hand, “That’s right. I’m Lily’s biological father.” He leans further into the table. “I’m sure you’re keen to know how and why, aren’t you?”

“Well, my story is really heart-wrenching and painful to talk about.” He expresses sarcastically. “It’s almost on par as yours.”

“And why is that?”

“Because, sweetheart. You and I are much more alike than you think you are.”

“In what way?”

“We both have daddy issues.” He giggles. “Apart from my siblings, I’m the only one in the family that does not share the same father as they do. I was a bastard, you could call that. The product of one of my mother’s affairs. Little did she know that she had just let the devil himself fuck her before planting his seed to grow inside her.

Alas, I was born. I knew something was fairly off about me and when I realised who I truly was, I concealed it from my family. In time, they all started growing their own family. You could say I was getting a little jealous.

So, I breed the first virgin I laid my eyes on – casting a spell on her to act as my loving fiancée then wife. She died from childbirth, pushing Lily out took a toll on her body, and when I laid my eyes on the precious little bun in my arms, I knew she had it inside her all along, that darkness.”

“Why did you leave her then? Why you let your mother take care of her?”

“It was irresponsible for me, I know. Leaving my child under her supervision, faking my own death and not being there for her really wounded me. But I needed to do all this for what’s coming.”

“What is coming?”

“An uprising. A war shall arise in which we will rule over Earth and everyone – or what’s left of them. Together with Lily, we shall bring down everything into ashes.”

“You’re trying to make the end of the world happen?”

“I’m not trying, sweetheart. I’m making it happen.”

Your meeting with Michael ended and it was back into your prison cell. You pondered over what he had told you hours ago. The memory still fresh and lingering around you. Was he really going to do that? And what’s the use of Lily for his plan?

“Did you meet up with her?” Lily asked, looking up from her ice cream cone, licking at it.

“I did.” He takes her hands in his, the little one enclosed in his large ones. “Do you like her?”

“Hmm... almost. Maybe if she cooperates with me after a few more visits, she’ll come around to accept the offer I’m about to propose.”

“Really? What are you going to offer her?”

“To be your new mother. Would you like that, my angel?” Lily nods, laughing giddily in excitement over the news as she wounds her little arms around her father. “I’m sure you do.”

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