#im way past the point of even being capable of showing the agony it causes me now like its just a dull joke

[knightelf]

maybe i do need to go to therapy bc its probably not good that ive been living on autopilot and the last 7 years went by so fast but also bc i was deliberatly Wanting the time to go by to put as much space between me and the events of 2017-2020 as possible all while somewhat knowing my young adulthood was slipping me by and now both my teenage years and my early 20s are gone and i still feel like my 19th birthday was yesterday yeesh!!

[aintashes]

immediate disbelief is something he expected well before he spoke. the companionship they've built together is unique and special— a bond daryl cherishes deeply and that he doesn't want to lose, as he's proven in the past. despite his current state, he's not oblivious to the fact that parting ways would hurt not just him, but peter, too. being more capable now of surviving alone doesn't mean that he's going to have the desire to do so, but daryl feels like it's the only solution there is. peter can't stay here lest he risk the cult catching up to him, and daryl can't move on without trying to find rick. what else is there to do? it doesn't have to be forever. however much time it takes, it just needs to be enough.

the way peter responds, though, has daryl gazing up at him from his seat with his own look of shock. i'd only slow you down, he wants to say, if only to show that he's doing this because he still cares— that he wants peter to succeed in this fight, even if it means leaving daryl behind to do so. but the words don't come. his lips only part, weary expression betraying the physical and emotional exhaustion that has riddled his body for a week now.

what finally brings out a larger reaction in him is the rapid escalation that boils up and over peter's walls, expelling things that instantly shift daryl from despondency to white hot rage.

rick is gone, daryl.

it collides with him much like a train collides with a car stuck on the tracks, eviscerating his insides and reducing him to sharp edges and broken parts. an automatic eruption of raw fury bursts inside of him, only contained by the sheer bombshell effect that stills his body as he processes what peter is saying. asmodeum's electrified state barely even registers to him until the ichor-red quartz in its head lets out a horrible swell of power that knocks his seat out from beneath him and lands him on the ground instead.

perhaps he would acknowledge peter's sudden display of passionate magic more if this were any other situation, but as he looks around at the state it's left their camp in, daryl only gives an irate growl. they seem to switch places then: peter slumps down and resigns himself to the whims of the cult, and daryl rises from the dirt in quaking anger.

‘ you don' know! ’     he desperately shouts as a rage fueled finger points in peter's direction, face twisting in fresh agony.     ‘ s'that what you been wantin' t'say this whole time? huh? that he's gone? that i— that i should just forget it 'cause he ain't comin' back? no. i know he's out there. i'm gonna find 'im. ’

with a new wave of energy springing forth from his ire, daryl grabs his bow and leaves the campsite. hot-blooded footsteps lead him down to the water where he trudges into the gentle waves. daryl knows this river: it flows for miles and miles, emptying into the ocean on the east coast of the state. it's what happened to tara when she found oceanside. if rick was floating along days ago, he could very well be out there by now.

if daryl has to walk all day and all night searching every inch of the sand, he will. he'll go all the way out to the ocean if he has to. maybe oceanside will even aid in the search.

it's later in the day when daryl stops in his tracks, eyes spotting something bobbing slowly in the water. bloody white fabric. time halts. tossing his bow onto the shore he rushes in deeper, diving toward it, kicking hard and pulling himself to it with everything he has left in him. what he comes up with, though, dragging it into the shallows as he gasps for air, is not rick's body.

it's just a walker. a dead one, at that. daryl looks at it, panting, processing as the river's current begins to pull it back. his shoulders fall.

a quiet sob hiccups in daryl's throat as he hangs his head. every single fiber of his being aches with a kind of dismay that would be impossible for him to describe if anyone asked. his thoughts turn to michonne. to judith. he has to find him; not only for himself, but for them, and for all the people who count on rick to weave their communities together in the way only he could. what's going to happen to them all now? the pillar that is rick grimes is no more— or at least, it's missing. how will their communities cope?

how will he cope? daryl knows what he wants to do: he wants to set out on a mission that has no clear ending. to search for evidence until he either finds it or he dies, whichever comes first. but peter's words echo in his ears and he tumbles backwards onto the sand, caving into himself as devastation relentlessly tears through his body.

he can keep looking. he should. daryl's hands clutch at his bow, pulling it weakly to his side. his legs are jelly. his gut blossoms in pain with each cry he lets out. daryl tries to push himself up but crumbles down again each time.

his eyes search the trees for peter, this ugly moment of raw vulnerability drawing another agonized sound from him as he remembers that peter isn't here.

           ❛ yeah. so start getting your stuff together, o— ❜

           and just like that, the words die in his throat. his silence mimics that of a corpse with a bullet in its brain, stretching long and thick like oil across the ocean. the look on his face could only ever match somebody who's been struck. hard. by one they never thought they'd have to distrust.

           ❛ ...what? ❜ he asks, his voice unbelievably soft, his grip on am slackening until the sceptre risks rolling out of his grasp altogether. there's another beat of quiet before he laughs nervously. neurotically. the sound is disjointed and completely devoid of mirth.  ❛ it's funny, i thought you just... ❜

           he waits for daryl to crack; to tell him that he's being an idiot, that he'll get his shit together, that there's no way he could ever be serious about parting ways with him now, but he doesn't. he doesn't say anything about it, and peter feels a dramatic explosion of pain in his chest. it courses through him a lot like he thinks electricity would, pulse after painful pulse running tight loops around his heart. it makes him want to cry near-instantly, the thought of going off on his own now; it isn't even that he couldn't do it, it's that it takes so much to open himself up to someone and now daryl just wants to throw that away like it means nothing, because somebody else died.

           it surprises even peter— the way his face darkens, fingers curling so tight around am that he fears he may snap him clean in two.

           ❛ so what, you're just gonna leave me to die? if you were just gonna do that to me then why didn't you just kill me back when we met? why'd ya— ❜ peter pauses, sincerely trying to reel himself back in; tries to remind himself that daryl is grieving a loss so intense that it's all but killed his spirit. there is still empathy in him, even if he isn't privy to the majority of their bond, but this can't be how it ends. he's shown him just a little too much mercy.  ❛ why did you think it necessary to take the long way round? to make me believe in someone again? how could you— ❜

           he's grieving. this isn't him, master.            so what? i've been grieving all my life and i'd STILL never abandon him.

           ❛ rick is gone, daryl. ❜ it's unfair to say. it makes him feel rotten, especially as this past week has shown him just how much daryl loved him. it burns him up to know people still adore each other like that— and yet his love changes nothing about the truth.  ❛ he exploded! he set off an explosive RIGHT next to him. what do you think happened? he just got up and left? WALKED IT OFF? is that why we didn't find him? because he's somehow fine and he made his way somewhere safe and he's waiting for you? ❜ this is making him feel so terrible about himself. he wants to stop but he knows that he can't. cruel this soon afterwards or not, daryl needs to hear it.  ❛ he's not. he gave his life. for everyone. for you. and you're gonna thank him by rolling over? ❜

           what he's failed to notice this entire time is that something odd is happening to am. the staff's usually rosy centre glows a dim red, faint pulses of energy crackling from it every so often. they match the steep, erratic inclines of peter's emotion, the hue deepening with every ugly thrum.

           ❛ i'm sorry, daryl. i am. i can't— i— i know what you're going through. and it's awful. and i know you're in there, underneath all of that shitty feeling and you don't mean the shit you're saying— fuck, i hate to do this to you. but he's gone! he's gone and I'M NOT, and I NEED YOU. i— i can't DO THIS on my own! ❜

           before he can even think to stop it, an extremely powerful wave of magic leaves his sceptre. it rolls outwards like a deathly heatwave, ensnaring the obstacles in its path in the grip of a fierce, scalding wind. the fire blinks out. leaves are ripped from the trees above and sent scattering across the ground. the tin cans he spent time scavenging and tying up are ripped from their positions and lost somewhere in the faraway shrubbery. daryl's very seat is blown askew beneath him, sending him sideways; not enough to knock him over, but enough to disturb him. enough to burn.

           the look on peter's face says it all: he doesn't understand what just happened nor how he did it. the dull look that replaces it is the look of a drained man. there's no point trying to investigate it. daryl won't help him, and he won't be living for much longer for it to matter anyway. am hums tiredly in his grip as he straightens up, a look of similar despondency consuming his features.

           ❛ ...i know you're not like this. that you wouldn't just give up. i know this because you're everything i would wanna be, and i would. i'm not strong like you are. i'm not anything. i'm just a nothing-kid from utah. ❜ there's heartbreak in it, tired eyes looking so desperately like they want to leak but something inside is stopping it from happening. exhausted with the circumstances, so thoroughly tired of himself that he simply wants to sit and wait for joan and her people to take him away. heavily, he sits down in the place he's claimed as his own since they started camping here.  ❛ ...i'm sorry this happened. all of it. everything i just said. rick. running into you that day and turning everything upside-down for you. maybe if i... ❜ maybe if i wasn't here to distract you, you'd have been there to help rick. maybe i disrupted everything. he believes it fully in this moment, but he also knows better than to say it.  ❛ ...i guess this is it. ❜

[volganic]

Song of Tragedy

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] || [AO3]

im excited to post this bc ive had this sitting in my drafts for months now and its finally time to share it ps this chapter is a lot sadder if u listen to this on repeat bc man it killed me back then and still does now tw for blood and someone missing body parts...... >:^)

Bring my men home safely…

.

.

.

Volga’s head snapped upward with a vaguely familiar scent assaulting his nostrils. No, this wasn’t the smell of the impending storm headed toward the mountain. It permeated through the air like a dense cloud, filling his lungs to capacity and driving his instincts into overdrive.

Blood.

Was one of his kin wounded? Impossible. With a storm looming overhead he knew it would be unwise to send Lizalfos scouts out in search of food. So where was it coming from?

The dragon knew that his servants had also smelt it as the silent caves began to stir with a chorus of curious growling. A select few of the drakes tagged along with their master through the winding tunnels to find the source of the sickening smell outside of the entrance to the cavern.

The silhouette of a man stood at the mouth of the cave.

Volga waved the chieftains away to rush to the stranger’s side. The jeweled hilt of the Magical Sword — though bloodied — gave his identity away; Link looked so strange wearing anything else but his usual attire that appointed him as the legendary hero. The armor he wore — Hyrulean captain’s armor — made him look smaller than he actually was, but whatever mistook him for easy prey met a terrible demise with the amount of blood that splattered the silver steel red.

It was unlike the hero to quite literally be shaking in his boots. He didn’t move a muscle as the dragon removed the tarnished helmet. Link’s eyes were hollow and sunken in, and his face was white as if he had seen a ghost. Trails of tears shed not long ago stained his cheeks as Volga drew closer. 

“Link… What happened?”

It was dawn by the time the group continued on their journey to the forest. They had settled in a secluded clearing for the night; the promise of monsters lurking in the field after dusk was at an all-time high, and it was difficult to move one horse through the black of night, much less a group of four of them. Link donned traditional Hyrulean armor should they had the unfortunate meeting with any enemy captains on the way — better to not send the message that Hyrule was left defenseless without the hero at base. 

However, the hero noticed the air between him and his men changed. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t place a finger on it. His questions were waved off as nerves getting the better of him. They were fit enough to follow orders.

By mid-morning, the two soldiers were complaining of an excruciating headache. The other captain eventually admitted to experiencing it as well, but suffered in silence to not jeopardize their progress. Link hoped that the apples from the night before played no part in their ailment, seeing as he himself felt fine. His men continued to assure him that they were capable of marching onward without any more interruptions. Link, unconvinced, weighed his options: either he sends his men back to base and disobey Impa’s orders, or have them persist through it until the end. With the edge of the woods so close…

Epona came to an abrupt stop when Link tugged on her reins. The sound of one soldier collapsing off his horse forced him to stop and turn around to look. He clutched his head and screamed in agony as the other soldier held his stomach. The second captain refused to show any evidence of weakness, though his shoulders trembled violently.

What was going on?

Link dismounted from his saddle and sifted through one of his packs on Epona’s side to find a bottle — any bottle — of potion. Concern and panic etched across his face as he struggled to concentrate. Why were they hurting so suddenly? What was causing them pain? Why them? Why was he not experiencing their pain? 

What in Hylia’s name was going on?

He grabbed the small flask of red potion and hurried to the fallen soldier, turning him on his back. As he continued to scream, the soldier’s eyes opened and began to change color right before Link’s very own eyes, hazel irises washing away into an unnatural deep violet. Link remained in place, frozen in shock. His soldier’s cries of agony couldn’t drown out the sound of a sword being unsheathed, the sound of a horse’s hooves coming closer — the white gleam of his fellow captain’s blade reflecting off the sunlight drew his attention away. He looked up, the captain’s sword pointed at him —

“Link?”

The dragon placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder to urge him to focus. 

Link finally blinked, startled by the contact, and came out of his stupor. Frantically, he looked around and, having realized where he was, distress came across his face as he willed himself not to dissolve into tears again, especially in front of Volga. He had worked so hard to prove himself capable of being accepted into the dragon’s clan, to bear the burden of being the legendary hero — it would be an insult to cry in front of the only person who had built him up so far to this point. However, he couldn’t bring himself to speak with his throat tightening and his breath quickening. Link pulled away from Volga’s hand and pushed the helmet of his own fellow captain into his clawed hands.

Volga didn’t have much of a choice and accepted the helmet. He frowned. The first thing he noticed was how uncharacteristically silent his friend was being. Usually he had acted as if the caves were his own home, filling the air with a million words of utter nonsense — but this, he realized, was not the usual friendly visit. He didn’t like this at all.

The dragon examined the helmet. Something was beginning to seep through the claws of his gauntlets and painting them a dark red. Volga turned the helmet in his hands and noticed the “blood” along the rim was still fresh. It smelled just as metallic as blood, but it was anything but natural — it reeked of something he couldn’t describe.

Then, he noticed that the helmet had a good amount of weight to it. No, this was considerably heavier than Link’s helmet that he had taken off minutes prior. Volga’s frown deepened at the thought and assumed the worst. It couldn’t be…

Claws tentatively lifted the visor for a closer look. He immediately dropped it when his worst suspicions had come to light, proven to be true. He didn’t care to look to see where the decapitated head of a Hyrulean captain had rolled off to, instead looking to see where Link had gone. 

The Hylian’s armor creaked as he bolted away from the entrance of the caves to vomit. Volga stood by and watched, cautiously approaching, but was met with an arm out to wordless tell him to keep away. The hero didn’t need any more of his dignity being taken away from being coddled as he emptied what was left in his stomach. Volga complied and stayed an arm’s length away.

It felt like an eternity passed before a clap of thunder rumbled over their heads. The storm was beginning to draw even closer and Link was in no condition to be thrown back out into the wilderness. Link scrubbed bile off the corner of his mouth as he looked to the dark clouds above, then at Volga curiously. The dragon nodded once and signaled for the boy to follow, unable to keep his eyes on the pitiful expression. He wouldn’t survive the trek down the mountain with the torrential rain on its way.

Once they were back inside, Link brushed past the dragon and collapsed onto the nearest boulder with a heavy thud. Volga followed suit and took to kneeling in front of his friend, his expression softening as he looked at him. Link was strong, but not unmovable by the wreckage of war. The dragon said nothing, giving Link the freedom to say what he needed at his own pace.

“I— I-It was…” his voice cracked with every syllable, his throat still aching from the abuse earlier. “It wasn’t—”

“Take as long as you need.”

Link couldn’t hold Volga’s gaze any longer, dipping his sight to the rocks underneath his feet. His armored shoulders began to shake as he processed what had transpired. It was supposed to be a simple scouting mission. Impa had trusted him. It wasn’t supposed to end in failure, much less…

Weakly, Link brought his head back up and held his hands up to sign. He couldn’t speak through his voice, and tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as he realized he couldn’t bring himself to formulate words with his hands as he had done for so many years before. Sensing his frustration, Volga took one of Link’s hands in his own, rubbing gentle circles into the back of his hand. Link’s walls threatened to crumble at that point, but with a shuddering breath, he took to spelling it out instead.

T-r-a-i-t-o-r-s.

[megalony]

Before the lies- Part 4

Another part of my newest Roger Taylor series which is a prequel to Liar which gained some lovely feedback and comments.

Permanent taglist: @marshmallowmae @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly

Series taglist: @caborhapch @im-just-a-musical-prostitute @scarsout @luckytrashgooprebel

Warning: Mentions of rape and assault

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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The rush of emotions and contorting feelings that swelled in Roger's body made his head spin worse than if he had been hit over the head with a hammer. He wanted to move his hand, to press his palm to his temple to try and stop the radiating pain that was swelling there but he felt immobile.

For the past however long he had been laid there, he hadn't moved one single inch.

When he'd finally managed to crawl out of the shower he sat in for over half an hour, Roger barely managed to put on a shirt and boxers before he crawled into bed and curled beneath the duvet. His head fell between both pillows and he didn't care to move, the drummer would have felt better if the pillows had suffocated him during the night. At least he wouldn't have woken up to the feelings he had right now. That way he wouldn't have had to wake up at all and remember the events of the previous night that sent shivers running up and down his spine like her nails scratching against his skin.

Roger knew he had missed his morning classes but he couldn't care less, he was debating never going back again. Right now, all Roger wanted to do was lay here for eternity or die. Nothing more, nothing less.

The pillows were soaked with the cascading saltwater that continuously left his eyes, even when he finally managed to get some sleep. It had been well past midnight when Roger's brain finally decided to let him have a break from screaming and sobbing and let him shut down. He had woken in a drowse one or two times, his head had bolted up from the pillows when he suddenly thought he was being pinned down again before he collapsed back to the soft pillows again. The moment he finally woke up properly, Roger felt like he was dying and for minutes that never seemed to end, he thought he was.

There was a low burning pain in his jaw on the left-hand side, his hips were twitching and shifting uncomfortably beneath his skin from the bruises to the sensitive bones. His chest was the worst. It had scratch marks that Roger made worse when he itched at them as if his life depended on it, there were horrible bruises to the middle of his chest against his sternum that was burning with each breath he took. Little bruises to his ribs here and there made his chest quake as his lungs felt like they needed to pack up. His head was pounding like someone persistently knocking his temple. Roger was desperate to pull his knees up to his stomach and curl up into a ball but he couldn't, the bruises to his hips and the pain in his groin made that impossible.

The drummer doubled over when his slender frame managed to sit up, his head resting on his knees as he groaned in agony. A hangover had nothing on the pain he was going through now, he would welcome the after-effects of alcohol to this.

It took a while for Roger to actually move from his crippled position on the bed that felt too comfy for him to move, an appeal he had never really felt or thought of before until now. It wasn't as if he had anywhere he needed to be, he had missed classes now and he was not going to the gig tonight. He wasn't going anywhere for the foreseeable future.

When Roger finally moved, he only managed to move to the end of the bed where he perched himself for the time being. At least it was a start. When his eyes glanced back to the bedside clock his lips twitched as his neck cracked like a noose had just broken it. It was five in the afternoon. Roger had been in bed for over twelve hours now. He didn't remember the last time he had eaten but the thought of food made his stomach churn as his throat tighten to the point he almost gagged. He needed a drink, one specifically containing alcohol to make this feeling go away.

Letting his eyes wander the room, they landed on the old grime-covered mirror leaning against the wall at the end of the bed. It showed the drummer's reflection staring back at him. He saw a skinny, rather small teenager with matted brown hair clinging to his bruised neck. Roger saw eyes made of glass that held visible cracks in them, he saw no life in those broken eyes but he could see the tears welling in the corners.

Roger was surprised at the bruise tainting his jaw, for a mark that made a rather dull throbbing it looked more extensive than it felt. The colours were already mixing between red and purple when it didn't seem very bad, there was swelling too which didn't work with his slender features.

When his eyes trailed down further Roger decided to take his shirt off to see the full extent of his injuries. It burned the muscles in his arms to take off the plain grey shirt but the cool air felt much better against his skin that was beginning to burn and sweat again. Roger choked on the air entering his lungs, his mouth going dry and making the situation worse as he could see his ribcage stuttering, unsure of what to do when his eyes locked on the damage. He had circular bruises to the sides of his ribcage where he had been punched, there were long vertical slash marks down his chest from nails scraping against the skin harsh enough to draw blood. The scratches looked worse as if they were causing a rash from how Roger had rubbed at them in agony.

That wasn't the sight that scared him.

What scared the flesh from his bones was the awful damage done to the very centre of his chest. With him being rather skinny, if Roger pushed his chest out in certain ways, his sternum could be seen. The protruding bone right down the centre of his chest was battered. Just above where his abs would start and below his underarm section, smack bang in the middle of his chest were marks that could clearly show fists. The bruises were in a peculiar shape from where Sarah had held his wrists and forced his fists into his chest. His skin was not pearly white or cream coloured, it was churned into mixes of deep blue, berry purple and raspberry red all mushed together like squashed fruit. There was swelling around his chest which made Roger realise the reason he felt so awful lying the way he had. He had unknowingly been applying pressure to his bruises and making them worse.

Raising his arms as slowly as possible, Roger clenched his hands into fists before hovering them just over his chest, his lower lip quivering when he noticed how his hands fit perfectly over the bruises on his chest. This image allowed him to see the finger marks left around his wrists where Sarah had successfully stopped him from fighting back.

Roger would wager a bet that Sarah held no bruises at all.

Forcing himself to stand, Roger slowly shuffled his feet so he was standing sideways in the mirror. His eyes trailing down his battered chest to look at his hips. His fingers hooking around the rim of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to see his hips that protruded against the skin. His brows raising at the same kind of tainting, dark colours that looked like the night sky on a colourful night. Roger did the same to look at his other hip before pulling his boxers back up to a level where he felt safe that they would not fall down or be dragged down against his will again.

He used his hands to propel him from the bedroom, his body half leaning over as he slowly stooped from the bedroom, down the poxy hallway into the kitchen. His eyes snapping closed at the light difference as he leaned half his weight onto the walls to make it easier to move about.

The first bottle of alcohol Roger came across in the rather untidy kitchen was a very cheap and rather old, half-filled bottle of whiskey he had discarded to go down to the pub for the real deal. It would certainly do to get rid of the awful churning in his system and the pain and thoughts running through his head that he held no control over.

Roger couldn't stop the rapid-fire thoughts that were fueled by his raging emotions that were running up and down in his system to the point he was going to short circuit at any moment. He couldn't stop wondering why Sarah had done that last night. She had never, ever done anything to Roger like that before, nor had she given him the impression that she was capable. He knew she was controlling but it had not gone to that extent before. Roger was so sure he hadn't led her on or given her some sort of sign that he wanted last night to happen.

But what really got to him was how she had carried on when he screamed. If a girl had screamed in his ear like he did to her Roger would have been scarred for life. He would have scrambled away from her and bolted faster than lightning. He would never be able to look himself in the eye again if someone had screamed like that because of him, because he had gone too far when they had told him not to. Roger couldn't help but let out a sob at the fact that Sarah had clearly heard his cries but had done nothing about it, she had pinned him down and had her way with him despite how he tried to get away from her and tried to hurt her in return but failed.

The bottle of whiskey in his hand was suddenly uncapped, the rather light orange liquid pouring down Roger's throat though he couldn't feel the usual burning against his throat. Nor could he feel himself grimace at the taste that he didn't care for, he wanted its effects, not its flavour.

Roger's knees bent as he almost crawled to get back to his bed that was calling his name. He downed more of the whiskey when he finally got to bed, carefully lying down on his side as he tried not to aggravate his damaged body that was close to falling apart.

Time was lost in Roger's apartment.

The clock made no difference because Roger couldn't keep track, he felt like minutes were mere seconds but the hours seemed to dwindle from one moment to the next. The first hour took longer than it should have to pass but the next went by in the blink of an eye. Time faded as Roger let out a sob that wracked straight from his gut and shook his frame. How could Sarah have done that to him? Had Roger done something to her that meant he deserved that kind of treatment and disrespect? Was that karma for something bad Roger had done in his life or very recently?

Whatever reason, nothing in the world could make Roger deserve that treatment. He would never wish that upon his worst enemy, so what had he done to deserve it?

To stop his cries, Roger poured whiskey down his throat as soon as a sudden knocking sounded on his door that he could faintly hear over the pulsing of his heartbeat in his ears. The whiskey bubbled in his throat when he choked on the liquid that was indecisive of whether it should go down his windpipe or the way it was meant to go when Brian's voice sounded throughout the apartment. Roger couldn't hear what the guitarist was saying but he knew it was something to do with the gig.

They had a routine, Roger would pack his drums into his van and meet the boys at Brian's place and then head on from there. He had never been late or not been there before and he guessed he must have been cutting it fine for them to turn up here. The drummer pressed his face into his pillow to smother the chokes of the whiskey and the sobs wracking from his frame. A groan of utter agony leaving his muffled lips at the twinges in his chest from the movement.

Why couldn't last night have been a nightmare?

It couldn't have really happened because Sarah was Brian's big sister. She had been brought up in the same environment as Brian who was one of Roger's closest friends now. Did that mean that there was part of Brian that could be capable of such a thing? If Roger had misjudged Sarah so badly, then what were the chances that he had misjudged Brian too? What if Roger got on the guitarist's bad side, what would Brian do to him- if anything at all?

Maybe Roger had misread everyone. Maybe Freddie and John were capable of such malice and vile behaviours too. Maybe any girl Roger tried to chat up or who tried to chat him up in the future would do the same to him.

There were too many thoughts swirling around in Roger's head as he tried to stay quiet enough for Brian to think that he was out. He needed the guitarist to leave so he could sob his heart out in peace. So he could wallow in his pain and stay cooped up for however long it took for Roger to feel able to go back out into society. Or maybe until he faded away in the apartment.

It didn't take long for Brian to disappear from the front door, either thinking that Roger had stood him up or had already started making his way to the gig without the boys. Nor did it take long for Roger to start pouring the whiskey back down his throat when he knew he had no risk of choking. If Sarah had done that to him, would she tell Brian? Would she make up some concoction of a story about Roger being the rapist and doing that to her instead? But surely, Roger had the bruises to correlate that he was the victim not Sarah so she couldn't.

If Sarah had done that to him, what were the chances that Roger couldn't trust Brian?

[coalitiongirl]

ive been watching your scenes to rewatch and ive been crying at literally all of them. out of curoisity, what are your favourite ouat scenes? either sq or general? also side note, i love your latest fic, such an interesting premise. i get so scared every time someone says an order and emmas forced to comply, that scene with the trolls had me on edge. and the fact that cora must suspect something about emma now - im so scared but excited ahah :D have a nice day :)

OH I super dropped the ball on those omg, i have so many others!! but i haven’t been able to rewatch in a long time, it hard 😩

of course i LOVE almost every swan queen scene!! it’s hard for me to pick favorites because nearly every one pings something else inside me omfg. I don’t think there’s a single sq scene I couldn’t write an essay about WHOOPS. so lemme try to answer this with just some of my favorite non-sq scenes 😅

Emma in True North: hoo boy, this is probably in my scenes to rewatch but that scene on the road, MAN. there’s so much careful buildup with emma’s abandonment issues and how much she sees herself in nick and ava. and they have a chance she never does and dammit, she fights for them!! she fights for two kids just like her and they get their moment and jmo turns that realization into agony with sheer artistry in emma’s FACE in their final moment. god.

Regina in We Are Both: this was the episode that sold me on Regina! tbh i’d marathoned s1 as soon as they announced mulan was going to be in s2 so i hadn’t been focusing much on thinking before that?? and then suddenly there’s Regina, in all her rich and layered stories, and i fell hARD. the whole narrative of the episode- Regina resisting parental abuse until she becomes what she’s always feared to be free!! and that translating into her saying ‘no, this isn’t going to continue to the next generation. even if i lose the only thing that matters to me.’ do u ever stan!!! I DONT KNOW HOW TO LOVE VERY WELL. END ME.

Emma in Firebird: listen. never follow ur idols to ur next fandom or you’ll suddenly realize they actually hate women and then get ‘’’muted’’’ for ‘’’yelling at her too much’’’ but jane espenson did a GOOD with the flashbacks in this one (present day still literal and figurative hell tho!!). The concept of Emma’s jacket as armor isn’t an original one, but the execution was honestly stellar. Emma forging this connection with an older hardened woman who can’t let go of the past either!! emma destroyed and remade into the lady we met on her twenty-eighth birthday. GOD. SHE FINDS HER DAUGHTER. and i gotta say, the vulnerable-tearful-young thing jmo was doing w emma in s5 didn’t work for me in terms of what present day was trying to convey, but it’s a perfect fit for that flashback, i WEPT.

Regina in Quite A Common Fairy: Lana OWNS the cave scene with Tink, god. The depth and breadth of emoTION. The episode and the narrative itself builds it up from episode one! because this regina on the road to redemption but finally giving us a glimpse into the emotional and mental state she was in as the young queen- she has all this rage and she’s SUSTAINED by it, it’s her only real truth and constant and she’s terrified of what might happen if she lets it go for even an instant and chooses hope instead. (Lana’s voice when Regina says she’s afraid that without rage she might just ‘—float away’ is something that has stayed with me for a long, long time.) REGINA PULLING OUT HER HEART TO MAKE A POINT. far from the last time she will, but how affecting!! god!!

Emma and Snow in S1: There are a few moments i’m thinking of (and i’m literally writing this on the treadmill so pls forgive the lack of episode names) and all of them are so stellar, god. The moment when Snow finds Emma living out of her car early on. Snow and Emma sitting at the table at the loft holding hands. Emma lying down next to a crying Snow. Snow yelling at Emma for being so selfish when she tries running off with Henry?? EMMA SHOWING UP AT MARY MARGARET’S DOOR SEARCHING FOR A ~PERSON~ AND MARY MARGARET SILENTLY LETTING HER IN. Snow and Emma work best in S1 in the silences and the fights, where they’re allowed to just care and be family, and I treasure each of those moments as much as they do.

Regina and Zelena in the Kansas: There’s a lot of effort put into this dynamic right near what seemed like the end, playing with how exactly Zelena perceives her happy ending to go- and then Regina strikes it all down by being different, by changing, by being someone Zelena hadn’t believed either of them capable of. And then Regina goes to Zelena’s cell and offers her!! sisterhood!! my god. i instantly fell in love with the dynamic in that moment and i’m forever pressed that the ‘it’s nice to have family in town’ line was cut. because you can tell that regina craves family and craves unmaking this second monster of her mother’s and zelena was going to TAKE that second chance and hey! this seems the perfect time to go off-message and

Belle in Family Business and Heroes and Villains: imma be honest, i like belle just fine in the early seasons but i have zero interest in rumbelle, which means a lot of fast-forwarding through her scenes. But these two scenes were ENCHANTING. Mirror Belle preying on Belle with the truth that she’s afraid to face! Emilie does such a fantastic job conveying so much cruelty in that scene, I was gaping and enthralled and hoping shattered sight was going to work exactly like that (and tbh props to ginny for doing a hella creepy snow at the start of Shattered Sight). And that town line scene!!! What a stunning, evocative scene. Belle reclaiming agency and taking action in such a 100% cold-blooded but necessary way!! that’s my ravenclaw babe!!!

Mulan and Aurora: I was young, and I Believed, and I Believed for a very long time. I am appalled at my naïveté too, don’t worry.

Regina in Enter the Dragon: LOOK it’s not about the leather but it’s a lil about the leather!!! I really appreciate both Regina in the past and present in this one and also how gay it is, and I’m most charmed by lil evil pep talking nugget Regina who just wants you to be the very best villain you can be! It’s such an artful melding of the exuberance of young!Regina and the delight in chaos of eq!Regina and i, for one, am a fan.

Emma (and Henry) in The Stranger/An Apple Red as Blood: my gOD. Okay I think one of the first times I cried while watching this show was in Emma’s desperate, hysterical denial to August about the curse. She’s so clearly hit rock bottom and she’s TERRIFIED of believing and it’s breaking her. SHE DIDNT ASK TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYONES HAPPINESS. SHE DOESNT WANT IT. THAT IS CRAP!!!! i love her!! i love emma swan!!! i do!!!!! and then moving into the end of the next episode when she tells henry she’s leaving and just!! ‘henry! life isn’t a story!’ man this show had some incredible early work. sigh. emma kneeling in front of henry begging him to listen! my god.

Regina in the Cricket Game: so i’m leaving out all my fave sq moments which severely limits the number of regina and emma scenes i can talk about here but the flashbacks in this one SURE ARE SOMETHING. regina has hit rock bottom in this set and you feel it in every moment, in her REGRET THAT I HAVE NOT CAUSED MORE PAIN and frickin stABBING snow and that dark scene with the candle oh god. this is a regina who doesn’t think about looking back anymore but who doesn’t think about looking forward, either, and she’s terrifying. it reminds me a lot of the scene later this season in Welcome to Storybrooke where she takes out snow’s heart and ‘see? i can have everything’ but there are tears sliding down her face. regina in enraged despair is something to behold!!

Henry (and Emma and Regina) in Operation Mongoose: Henry doesn’t often get lengthy times to shine that aren’t about other characters, but he was literally a YA hero in the author’s universe! man! what a kid! and his scenes with bandit Regina are some of my all-time favorites, as is that heartstopping moment when he reaches the top of that tower and flings the door open and Emma KNOWS him. reader, i wept. i wept hard. talk about your earned moments!!!

Emma as Dark Swan: posture! clothing! positioning! voice work! dark swan was a revelation i’m still rightfully bitter about, because she was EVERYTHING in those early episodes. the way she caressed snow’s face in first episode of 5a. the faux-innocent with the calculating eyes on the ship with whats-his-name. every interaction with henry where she was trying to be a PERSON. the way she moved! the way she felt more reptilian than human! i wanted to know everything about her!! (then i did and quit the show lol) honestly some of jmo’s best acting to date, i’m forever in awe.

That Still Small Voice: look, this is an episode about a cricket and it remains one of my favorite quality ouat episodes. Archie sells it best as an adult influenced by his past without quite knowing it, and Archie and Henry make for a really engaging dynamic in here. There is nothing about Archie’s professional behavior that doesn’t make me want to scream but this remains a very, very good episode.

Emma in Sympathy for the De Vil/Lily: okay this is cheating a little because so much of this is also Regina but!! Emma individually shines in this narrative and throughout 4b. From the moment she finds out about what her parents had done, you can watch it slowly draining a part of her?? yes her eyes got redder but there was also this kind of apathy about EVERYTHING. And tbh the Cruella episode is pretty awesome on its own (I love the slow revelation that Cru is the villain, what a stellar execution of a fave trope) but WHEN EMMA KILLS HER. In the exact moment that Cruella says ‘heroes don’t kill’. that’s what pushes emma over the edge!! and then emma ready to kill again the next episode because she feels like she’s sliding into an abyss, i couldn’t BREATHE. emma is incredible when the narrative lets her be angry, and i wanted So Much More. Speaking of which, Emma getting angrier and angrier and almost losing it in The Snow Queen was more of that anger!! i am HUNGRY for it.

Regina and Snow in The Evil Queen: This episode is messy af but damn did my heart skip a beat when a hooded hero saves Regina and tears off her hood and it’s SNOW. This episode does so much of what makes Snow/Regina so fascinating and frustrating, both in the present and the past. Their interactions in the woods moved me! changed me! and Regina had already crossed the point of no return but oh man, oh man, the way they’d almost gotten somewhere for a minute there.

Regina and Henry in Save Henry: A classic, a work of art, and I’ve said so much about it in the past that I’m exhausted just thinking about expressing it all again now. But what a STORY of an evil queen who falls in love with a little boy. What a narrative!! The promo pictures from this episode came out when I was sitting in the hospital for a checkup while I was expecting my daughter, and I was tearing up and the nurses thought it was about the ultrasound. I’M NOT PROUD. This is a love story!!! And it culminates again in A Curious Thing, by the way, which put another ten years on my life, an Epic !

Emma and Henry in New York City Serenade: boy was this a journey, but I was absolutely spellbound omg. This was a love song to a fantasy but it’s a fantasy that never unmakes Emma– she’s afraid of commitment and happiness and everything permanent in her life that isn’t Henry, but she’s still going to take that leap despite herself. It’s a wonderful character study that captures Emma’s essence in a new world, with a new past.

Snow in The Miller’s Daughter: Snow is at her best when the show isn’t painting her with rose-colored glasses and we get to see her darker side, and I don’t think she ever gets quite as dark in the first three seasons as she is when she’s standing there, smiling earnestly at Regina as she tells her that the key to Cora loving Regina is in the poisoned heart she holds. My god. It’s so incredibly cold-blooded and vile, and it’s absolutely the kind of manipulative pragmatism that suits Snow best. I am enthralled and horrified.

Neal and Emma and Henry and Gold in Manhattan: This is one of those really cool scenes where even though I don’t particularly care for half the characters within it, everyone acted the hell out of it and it’s so GOOD. There’s so much tension and you’re holding your breath through the squabbling, and then Henry shows up and you KNOW. You know what’s going to happen and you’re terrified for Emma and it’s so visceral, right up until the instant when Neal demands Henry’s age and Henry shouts ELEVEN and my god, my god. What a reveal. What a scene.

There are more!! so many scenes and moments i’ve loved over the years. Emma and young!Lily! Snowing in Snow Falls! Anna of Arendale!! Snow and Emma in Lost Girl!! Ruby in Red Handed! The David/Emma dragon fight in A Land Without Magic! Regina tearing out that heart in The Doctor and meeting Daniel again?? Regina and her father in hell. all of Hat Trick. i think twenty is a good place to stop, but hoo boy, when this show was good, it was GOOD. alas.