#oh how the fates remind us of our pride

[housederiva]

In veilguard’s main tags no less….

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Birthday - An Interlude - Halloween

"Mommy says when you get scared, you forget your potty training," a soft feminine voice whispered in my ear.

"Mommy says Halloween makes you a scaredy cat, ready to jump at the tiniest spooky or scary thing," the voice continued.

I moaned in my half-asleep state, wondering what was going on, and beginning to feel a deep anxiety form in the pit of my stomach.

"Mommy says that she is the only one who can console you when you get scared."

At the third strange command, I opened my eyes and the reality of what was happening hit me. I was greeted by my wife's grinning face.

"Mommy, please, no!" I said exasperated as Melody gave me a soft, motherly kiss to my forehead.

"Good morning, baby. Happy Halloween!" is all she said as she ignored my futile protest.

It had been nearly six months since the fateful weekend where my wife had discovered my AB/DL kink and treated me to a birthday weekend of both my dreams and nightmares.

Since that weekend, very little had actually changed in my life. Melody had lifted most of the hypnotic triggers she had implanted in me (although I was still forced to refer to her as Mommy, exclusively). She almost never used her 'Mommy says' trigger against me, only reminding me of it if I got "too big for my britches" as she liked to put it.

The only major change is that my little hobby as an AB/DL smut author had become a little more complicated. Melody still allowed me to write my 'little stories' as she liked to put it, but I was no longer the final arbiter of what got posted.

Mommy made me show her each and every story I wrote, and she decided whether it was good enough and 'appropriate' enough to get posted. She also made me make a post apologizing for the treatment of the female characters in my story and explain her newly assumed role of Mommy-editor-in-chief.

My reputation as a big and a dom took a drastic hit. But, over the course of a few months, things settled back down and we settled into comfortable dynamic and rhythm.

That was, until I woke up to my wife's new commands this morning.

"Mommy, please, what did I do? I've been a good boy! You can't do this to me!"

I hated how whiney and small I sounded pleading with my wife like this, but I had long since had my pride beaten out of me.

"Halloween is my favorite holiday! If I can't control myself when I'm scared, if I get scared easily, if I need you to calm me down, I'll… I'll… I'll…"

I couldn't finish my sentence as I realized that, in the early morning hour, the room was still dark. I noticed shadows dancing around the corners of the room and suddenly, a pang of terror, raced through me.

I felt my sheets grow warm and wet beneath me as I let out a panicked cry.

"Mommy!"

I dove for my wife's arms, horrified and desperate for her, the only person I could see as my protector, to help me.

She laughed softly as she pulled me into her arms, and I felt my rational mind retake control.

"Aw, is my little baby afraid of the dark? And," I feel her pat my wet butt, "did you have a little accident! Let Mommy help make it all better."

I whined as she got out of bed and turned on the light, subconsciously rebelling against the lose of the comfort being held by her provided.

As the light turned on, a feeling of relief washed over me as the phantoms in the corners of the room dematerialized. At the same time, I blushed as the light revealed the shameful puddle I had just made in the bed.

"Mommy, please, Halloween is my favorite, you can't make me, force me, let me… I can't be this," I pleaded as Melody walked over to inspect the damage to our bed.

She reached over and brushed her fingers lightly on my cheek as she responded to my pleas.

"Oh, my precious little pants-piddler, you and I both know that Mommy can and will make you be whatever I want," She bent over, making eye contact with me as she showed off her ample cleavage, "And today, I want you to be Mommy's perfect little scaredy-cat toddler."

I groaned, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to resist Melody's power over me.

"Ok, Mommy," I responded, defeated.

"Perfect, now, let's get you diapered up before some little ghoul or goblin scares you again, and you make another mess."

I just sighed and laid on my back as I waited for Melody to diaper me so the worst Halloween of my life could begin in earnest.

[hiatuswhore]

𝒪𝒻 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓈 — 𝒸.𝓈

♕ A/N: I have mixed feelings about the movie but I adore the book. My favorite character is Sejanus, ugh my heart bleeds for this character. Never stop I’d be writing a fanfiction for this story. Coriolanus Snow is an evil but interesting villain. I thought I’d dive into the dynamic of him essentially taking what should’ve been Sejanus’s life.

♕ SUMMARY: Poor Sejanus. Poor sensitive, foolish dead Sejanus. A good son, loving brother, and amazing friend.

♕ WORD COUNT: 1K

♕ WARNING: Death

previous — Masterlist — next

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Father had not left his study since word reached us. Every time Mother looked at me, I knew it was not me she saw. The tremble of her lip and mist of her eyes reminded me of my new reality. A reality where I drew breath as my twin did not.

I could not process it. Not at first. I would wait for a letter from him in the mail. His ramblings of doing good, of being better a constant any time he opened his mouth. Oh my good brother. Miles away. Hung in the districts for treason.

The first few weeks the house was silent. I could make out Mothers frequent sobs through the day. Other times the deep gait of Fathers boots from his room to his office. Rarely from his office to his room. Our home became much like a graveyard. Empty and cold.

This remained until the day Mother and I woke to every picture of Sejanus in the foyer gone. Mother sobbed for her baby, one would think Father was withholding her actual child. Still, my Father, the stern unforgiving statue of a man, refused to return all that remained of her son to her.

The first thing I began to forget was his voice. All the hours he spent in my room ranting angrily about our father. I’d lay on my bed watching him pace, his passion fueled and furious. I thought maybe he’d be president someday. Panem needed the likes of him.

“Well eventually Fathers time will come to pass and it’ll be you in the position of wealth and power. Be patient sweet brother. You’ll do great things, I just know it.”

He’ll hang in the poorest district branded a traitor. Some say he cried for Mother. Others say he cried for me. Oh how it was few and far between but make no mistake, I wept for my brother. My kind, sweet, sensitive dead brother.

As his voice faded over time so did the small details of his presence. How his curls always stayed so effortlessly in place unlike my own that would become frizzy in a moments notice. The way he his nose would scrunch when he laughed. His obnoxious snores he would deny whenever called out on it.

See, Father was happy to erase Sejanus from our home. His memory a reminder of everything our Father could never be. A compassionate soul. A loving brother and son. A good man.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐭 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

Then came Coriolanus Snow. His gaze distant as he stood in our foyer, my father greeting him like a son returning home from travels. Long gone the hand made shirts and boots a size too tight. The messy haired Snow appeared far different, he too have died back in twelve. I wondered if he hung too or perhaps his fate was far worse. A mystery to never be solved, especially not if Coriolanus Snow could help it.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” His gaze bounced between myself and Mother. My Father said nothing while Mother embraced Coriolanus as I stared at him.

“Are you?” My words earned a stern tone from Father and scoldings from Mother. I offered a forced apology my eyes never leaving the leech standing in my family home. Gaining the world from the misfortune that befell my dear Sejanus. My father’s new pride and joy. At dinner Father was thrilled to announce his replacement son would join my side at University come the new term.

I left the table without a word. My father yelled for me to return as Mother assured our unwelcome guest it was not personal. Yet it was. Sejanus was to be with me for my first day of University. Not Coriolanus Snow.

Perhaps it was unfair. My brother was dead and I had already spent a lifetime despising my father. So who better to bear the brunt of my anger than the man who gained it all as I suffered my deepest loss.

𝐈 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐈, 𝐈 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐨

The night before our first day I stayed in my room. A knock at my door was an unexpected and unwelcome one. Mother was never a night owl and never in all my years had Father come to my room. Opening my door I crossed my arms leaning on the jamb. He stands holding a white rose his blue eyes piercing into my blank stare.

“I know you aren’t thrilled about me being here. I uh—I just wanted to wish you a good first day tomorrow,” Coriolanus spoke slowly. The rose still lingered in the air between us. I did not grab it.

“What happened to my brother?” His eyebrows quirked at my question, his lips parted as though he wanted to speak but nothing could leave him. I tilted my head my eyes narrowed before I retreated into my room leaving the door agape. At my shelf I rifled through the few papers and momentos of my own before finding the crumple paper stained with faded ink. The smudge writing typical for my left handed counterpart. My eyes on the paper as I return to the jamb, “…Coriolanus is here too. It’s nice to not be alone. His songbird is here, he plays it cool when I mention her but you can tell he cares for her. We’re like brothers, after what he did for me during the games. I’m going to protect him—“

𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

“Are you accusing me of something?” His own eyes narrowed down at me. The glint in them something I could not put into words, at the time I had no knowledge of the nerve I struck.

“Did you know of his plans?” I asked crossing my arms, my tone lowered. Father was always a light sleeper, if he had even been sleeping.

Coriolanus sighed, his gaze locked on my own unblinking. I narrowed my eyes and stared up at him. He shouldn’t be here. In my family home, enjoying all the luxuries owed to my brother, not him.

“I did,” Coriolanus confessed. He wet his lips, as he shared his knowledge of treason so casually.

“Then why is my brother gone and you’re here?” The waver of my voice cracked my hardened resolve. My body trembled beneath the weight of too many emotions to sort. Confusion. Rage. Grief. Disbelief. I choked back a cry and allowed Coriolanus to pull me in his arms as I sobbed into his shoulder.

“Sejanus loved you more than anything. I promised I’d look after you,” Coriolanus touch was soothing as he poured honey in my ears. Capitalizing off my vulnerability. My brother’s true final words to me slipped from my grasp as I took comfort from the source of my grief.

“—I have already requested a leave of absence for your first day of University. Look at the bright side sister. You won’t have to fuss about my hair being better than yours on your big day. They have buzzed my curls from me. We’ll be together soon, sister. Give Mother my love. With love. Your brother, Sejanus.”

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞

[ladyvelvette]

What if.. Vox forgets our anniversary, reader tries to give him hints. Vox gets very angry and abandons Reader. Then he remembers, He tries looking for reader and take her back. Reader declines vox And leaves, Vox Gets a mental breakdown. The rest is yours to write.

(I need angst please.)

-🖥

TITLE: Forgotten.

Sypnosis: Vox forgot your guy's anniversary and you two get into an argument.

HELLO! This one took way too long to write because I wanted to test a more....mature writing style. I also had a lot of school stuff going on! There's little to no talking it this one because I can't be asked 😭.. SORRY!! I PROMISE ILL WORK HARDER ON THE NEXT ONE. this was typed on mobile btw, so no fancy decora.

In the vibrant tapestry of Hell, where souls sought redemption or fame amidst the chaos, Vox and you found yourselves entangled in a tumultuous dance of love and loss.

As the anniversary approached, anticipation tingled in your veins, each passing moment a silent reminder of the significance of the day. Hints were dropped like delicate petals, each one a whisper of longing, yet Vox, consumed by his own ambitions, remained blind to your silent pleas.

Frustration simmered beneath your surface, patience stretched thin as Vox's obliviousness persisted.

In a moment of heated confrontation, words were exchanged, wounds inflicted that would not easily heal.

"Vox! How could you forget our anniversary!?"

"OH! Calm it, (Name), it's no big deal. If anything, nothing important 's today anyways."

Vox's pride, wounded by your rebuke, erupted into a tempest of anger, and in a rash decision, he turned his back on you, his metallic heart shielded by a facade of indifference, Vox simply stormed out of the room in a fit of rage.

Yet, as time went on and the echoes of your argument faded, Vox's memory stirred, a belated realization dawning upon him like a bolt of lightning in the darkness. With determination born of regret, he set out to find you, intent on making amends and reclaiming what he had foolishly cast aside.

But fate, cruel in its irony, had other plans. Despite Vox's heartfelt pleas and promises of change, you, wounded and emotional, couldn't find it within yourself to forgive the man you once loved with your entire being, the man you would sell your soul to, the man you would do anything for.

With a heavy heart, you declined Vox's advances, choosing instead to turn away, leaving him to grapple with the consequences of his actions, ones that Vox had caused himself. You thought to yourself, "(Name)...He deserves it", yet you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt away.

Alone in the aftermath of your departure, Vox's facade crumbled, revealing the vulnerability he had long sought to conceal. With a primal scream of anguish, he unleashed the full force of his power, a torrent of energy cascading through the depths of Hell.

As the realm was plunged into darkness, Vox was left to confront the wreckage of his own making, the echoes of his regret reverberating through the void. And amidst the chaos he had unleashed, he was forced to reckon with the price of forgetting the one thing that truly mattered.

However, Luck was on the TV demon's side, months later, you couldn't take the overwhelming guilt of leaving the overlord, often missing your lavish lifestyle! That guilt and lack of luxury made you come running back to Vox. As soon as you came back, Vox used his hypnosis powers to keep you in place. He'd never be alone again.....

[your-mom-number5]

God Eric x Reader (House of Ashes)

As I sat across from Eric in our favorite small café that we met at just a few years ago, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about him. Or rather, something I was just now noticing. He had always been a mysterious man, but when he left for a “trip” a few months back, I got the sense that he was keeping something important from me. Something big. Now, with him just returning yesterday and insisting we meet up to catch up today, that feeling was stronger than ever. Now, I was noticing more things I hadn't noticed since first meeting him. It wasn't just his warm smile or the kindness in his eyes, though those traits were certainly there. No, it was something deeper, something almost ethereal that seemed to emanate from his very being.

When Eric had moved here a few years ago, he had become somewhat of a local legend. People whispered about him, speculating on his past and his purpose for being here. Some said he was a retired millionaire, while others claimed he was an undercover agent for the government. But no one could deny the aura of peace and serenity that seemed to follow him wherever he went. 

I had heard the rumors, of course, but I never paid them much mind until that fateful day in the café when we first met. They were in the back of my mind as we shared our first conversation, but then I quickly forgot about the rumors when we started our friendship. Now, with our reunion at the same café, I was reminded of those rumors. 

As we sat sipping our coffee, Eric began to speak in a soft, soothing voice. “How have you been, dear Y/N?” he said.

“Good, what about you?” I whispered. “Where was your trip?”

“Everywhere! I’ve been traveling the world, seeing all it has to offer and providing help where it was needed. Oh, I’m God, by the way.”

At first, I thought he was joking. But as he continued to speak, I realized that he was deadly serious. He spoke of creating the world, of shaping it with his own hands, and of watching over it with a mixture of pride and sadness. After a few hours of talking, I began to believe him.

It wasn't just the words he spoke, the conviction with which he spoke them, or the bright aura surrounding him that nearly blinded me, but it was the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to know things that no mortal could possibly know. It was the way he looked at me, as though he could see straight into my soul and understand every fear, every hope, every secret that I held, including my search history.

In that moment, I realized that Eric was more than just a man. He was something greater, something beyond comprehension. And as I looked into his eyes, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, knowing that no matter what trials and tribulations life may bring, there was someone out there watching over us, guiding us, and loving us unconditionally. That Eric was out there watching over us, guiding us, and loving us unconditionally.

And as I left the café that day, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the brief glimpse into the divine that Eric had given me. For in his presence, I had felt closer to something greater than myself, something infinite and eternal. And though I may never fully understand the mysteries of the universe, I knew that as long as Eric was around, everything would be okay.

[iameliseposts]

WAIT IF REQUESTS ARE OPEN CAN I REQUEST FOR LILIA X GN READER WITH THE PROMPT “I’ll remind everyone of our love” PLEASE? HSBSHSHE I LOVE THE PROMPTS YOU CHOSE FOR THE EVENT, ALSO HAPPY 200 FOLLOWERS IM SO PROUD IF YOU!

Take care of yourself hun! <3

Omg thank you so much!! I worked really hard creating these prompts! And tysm requesting!

If you want to request for my 200 followers event, look here

This is my first soft yandere fic here, so I hope it's good. I hope you enjoy!

“I’ll remind everyone of our love.” Lilia x MC 200 Followers Event

Lilia loves you. He’ll always love you. He has loved you from the day you stepped into Twisted Wonderland and will keep his adoration for you. 

He had first heard about you from Malleus. He couldn’t believe his ears when Malleus had told him that the magicless prefect was not only unafraid of the most powerful and feared fae Malleus was, but also befriended that fae. He was over the moon Malleus formed such a relationship with someone, so much that he too wished to meet you.

He first took notice of you during the winter break. Oh, he had seen you before and yet, this was the first time he got to speak with you one on one. …You were everything he could have ever imagined. Never during his long, long time in this world had he met a person like you. He couldn’t describe it. You weren’t particularly outstanding, especially compared to the unique characters in NRC. You were you and it enticed Lilia. 

He started visiting you regularly. Popping in Ramshackle without warning and scaring you and poor Grim half to death (fortunately Lilia can bring some premium tuna and Grim won’t complain). He visited more than your first year friends did. And you had grown quite attached to your fae. 

It was Lilia who confessed his love first. Years of life experience made it slightly easier for him to get his feelings off his chest. However, it didn’t dispel the butterflies of his passion that fluttered- no, that swarmed in his core. His devotion was met with yours in kind. From this moment forward, your fate became woven in the obsession Lilia spun with his spinning wheel and called the spindle his love.

The students in Night Raven College had… quite some character. With their temper, their pride, their greed and their strong magic. They must be terrifying for a precious magicless human such as you. Why go anything when the people here are prone to being so reckless. I mean, look at all these overblots. Such honey-coated words were all Lilia needed to keep you in Ramshackle. 

“Why go out when I can show you a kinder world. A world for the two of us.” Lilia had promised. And he fulfilled that promise. He’d give you anything you desired; the new limited edition drink that was running out, the latest gaming console that was way too costly for a regular student, any furniture with the fabric you could instantly doze off on like Silver. 

Oh, you wanted to see other people? Lilia brought Malleus over too. He had even introduced you to Silver and Sebek. Silver was happy you made his father so happy and Sebek… was Sebek, but you could tell he was growing fond of you. Isn’t this nice? You, your friends and your Lilia. His perfect family. A family he wasn’t going to let go of. Of course he wasn’t going to, it was your family as well. 

Alas, even though Lilia had tried his best to stop prying eyes from gazing on you, you still go to classes. You wanted to learn about this world and Lilia wasn’t going to stop that even though he would prefer to tutor you. And eyes pried upon your form. 

Some foolish freshman thought it best to confess his feelings to you. Ha! How absolutely ridiculous. This freshman wasn’t the brightest, but Lilia supposes none of the freshmen are. However, this first year has some nerve, asking you out. 

“Lilia-” You gasped as your fae nipped at your delicate neck. You were back in Ramshackle, where you were most, sitting on top of Lilia lap.

Lilia kept pressing his lips to your neck, making red marks on your skin. How precious. “Don’t fret my dear. That man won’t bother you anymore. No one will dare make such moves on you again. I’ll remind everyone of our love.”

And Lilia kept his promise. You knew by now Lilia always kept his promises. You never saw that freshman again. You knew you could keep demanding and he’d warmly oblige. He doted on you, spoiling you as much as you wanted. The tenderness in his heart was all you wanted, after all. He wished for you to stay in Ramshackle, so why not? He was there with you, so you could always be amused and loved. 

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

Step right up and get your horoscope!

(So, my friends and I used to just have fun by writing horoscopes for each other. Like, "Remember to thank the person you're cheating off the test for today. Who knows? Maybe they'll mark the wrong answer just to spite you." Or, my personal favorite. "Mercury is the fifth house. Compliment someone's outfit today. I know where you live, Sash.")

I wanna keep that tradition alive—because I'm nostalgic after going back through our text threads, so here you are.

♈︎ Aries: Today, your impulsive nature will lead you to buy something completely unnecessary—again. But my therapist-goldfish has told me to think positive, so: at least you’ll have a new conversation starter when your friends ask why you’ve suddenly got a collection of inflatable unicorns. You go, man! Embrace the thrill of instant regret.

♉︎ Taurus: Your love of comfort will backfire today when you refuse to leave your bed. The universe supports your decision to stay wrapped in a blanket burrito, but your boss might have other thoughts. Perhaps consider inventing a "National Stay in Bed Day."

♊︎ Gemini: Your dual personality shines today as you argue with yourself about whether to be productive or binge-watch another season of that show you don’t even like. Spoiler: you’ll do both, but poorly. Perhaps it best to invest in a famous book called Multitasking for Dummies.

♋︎ Cancer: Your emotional rollercoaster takes a nosedive today when you realize that eating your feelings only leads to a belly full of regrets and empty ice cream cartons. It’s okay to cry over spilled milk, but maybe not the entire dairy aisle.

♌︎ Leo: Today, your legendary procrastination skills will hit a new high, or should I say low? You’ll spend hours convincing yourself that starting tomorrow is a better idea, maybe even clean your house while you're at it—because, according to the very legit dictionary you have "in control" means putting off tasks until they become someone else’s problem. After all, why conquer the world today when you can nap and pretend you’re recharging your creative energy instead? Seriously, get off this website and do something. Productive procrastination is still procrastination.

♍︎ Virgo: Your obsession with perfection will reach new heights today when you alphabetize your spice rack for the third time this week. Come on, we both know you could be doing something more productive, like teaching your cat how to play the piano. Don't let your poor kitty down! (Also, your missing sock is under the couch.)

♎︎ Libra: You pride yourself on your ability to see both sides of any situation. Well, I'm here to tell you, WAKE UP, this isn't Dhar Mann; indecision isn't a superpower—it's just a way to avoid responsibility. As you debate whether to eat cereal or toast for breakfast, remember: even a coin flip is more decisive than you.

♏︎ Scorpio: You often believe you’re in control, but today the universe will remind you that you’re not the puppet master—you’re the puppet. And guess what? The strings are tangled. Try to survive the day without tripping over your own feet. But don't worry, another three weeks, and you'll be able to beat Fate at poker. Just don't piss off any black cats.

♐︎ Sagittarius: No amount of plane tickets or hiking trails can outrun your own mind. No horoscope can save you from the existential dread of realizing you’ve been running in circles. Maybe it's best to stay at home today.

♑︎ Capricorn: Don't think about it and don't stay in the house. They know where you live. Hide in the nearest Starbucks and ignore anybody who has a blue briefcase. This is for your own good. Oh, and also, pet a golden retriever and get some ice cream. Just ignore Cancer crying in the dairy aisle.

♒︎ Aquarius: Okay, I'm going to give it to you straight, you’re less of a trailblazer and more of a guy yelling at clouds. The good news? No one takes you seriously enough to care. The bad news? No one takes you seriously enough to care.

 ♓︎ Pisces: I love you, man, but you need to come up with better excuses. Your escapist tendencies will come crashing down today when reality hits you with the force of a sledgehammer. You can try to swim away, but the current of responsibility is stronger than your denial. This is the real world, and you're staring down the barrel of a looming deadline, my friend.

[elizakai]

RADIANCE REPUDIATION

A Dreamtale Poem (word dump?)

from an entity who believes their an angel, fallen. 🌙

to an entity they believe to pose as one. ☀️

(aka written from Nightmares pov towards Dream, somewhat)

⬇️⬇️ UNDER THE CUT ⬇️⬇️

isn’t it funny? How Time changes Or rather, refuses to

Time doesn't change, in actuality Such is only perception on the part of lower beings Mortals The acute minds of smaller entities

Time Continues steadily Time knows only one loyalty Yes, Time is faithful

For you, the same cannot be said.

It's funny.

You spawn of Regret Regret, a curse that can be escaped Or, alas, could have been, had hindsight not hidden her naked body from your youthful eyes

Irony, too, plays with it's food But, of all this you are aware.

Or…are you? Do you regret? Do you grieve?

…of course not What am I thinking Of course not.

…It's funny

Nurturing such questions

It's…funny

Fate has laid her pieces out And you have made your moves Woe to you, it seems, one who is set in their ways

One who is set in stone.

Hardened is your soul, your essence Why is it we were placed wrongly on this scale? Alas, it seems your longing for mercy goes unanswered Alas, we've fallen from what little grace we'd attained

That is the nature of things This world rewards those who reap misfortune

A bittersweet misfortune, it is

It's funny.

What pride have you, to rebel Fate and her peons?

What arrogance do you cling to? That you may set things right?

Though, I suppose… That, we shall share always. Eternity till Entropy Until one or the other crumbles

Remember, chimera, stone is brittle. The blood of a companion is thicker than the waters of birth. Of this I am relieved… For you've long since tainted the streams of our youth. No tree can grow in a parasitic wasteland.

That is, none that will last.

No, long gone is the person I once thought to know Long dead, are they, and no requiem shall I hold.

Loathe am I to the sowers of our misfortune

Loathe am I to the mother of our wakefulness. It would have been better to have never existed.

To have never known you To have never held you To have never loved you To have never lost you

But Solace is my lover, for she reminds me that it is not I, nor myself, nor him to blame, but you.

Her and them and you and you and you and-

It's funny.

Scramble up the hill A hill of graves Tombstones upon tombstones, add as many as you will. Will it ever be enough for you? Their downfall will not be your upbringing The ladder is unstable Your goal is unattainable.

Claw, fight, scream

Not an ear will turn to you in pity

Humorous, Karma and the bubbling brooks of her laughter

Where is your control?

When did you pass it to me, pray tell?

…unfortunate fool. Not an ear will turn to you in compassion

Forever out of reach, as long as free will remains mine

Time changes not But every person does, will, must! Oh the pained naivety! Does rock abstain one from growth? Silly me! Silly you!

w h y a r e n ' t y o u l a u g h I n g ?

…I can't hear her laughing anymore.

I can't hear her at all.

The laughter is him. Always him. Us? us.

You were never needed, were you, oh iridescent zephyr?

Acceptance.

A weapon I've obtained A defense you've yet to claim

Illusion of the unconscious mind, feeder of false hope, luminous liar of the night. Dearest delusion of grandeur.

Rest now, in what grief you can muster

Rest now, in the act of sorrow you play

You're 500 years behind.

It’s 500 years too late.

[touchmycoat]

pride and prejudice AU, WIP that I WILL finish for ficwip5k

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” Wei Wuxian lectured, “that a single man in possession of good cultivation must be in want of a cultivation partner. And have you heard, my three ridiculous children? Qiong Ding Manor has let at last.”

“Oh my,” Shen Jiu, the second oldest of the lot (also the second youngest for that matter), intoned flatly as he scrubbed the dirt from an enormous radish in a washing basin. “You must want to tell us who’s taken it.”

“I want someone to ask me first,” Wei Wuxian sighed, throwing a hand over his forehead and himself over a hard wooden bench. “But of course my cruel, demonic sons are beyond pity for their poor parent. Except A-Yuan. A-Yuan ah, you’re not one of the cruel, demonic ones, are you?”

Shen Yuan cleared his throat, set down the cabbage he was peeling apart, and put on an angelic smile just a beat too late.

“Certainly not. Do tell, dearest father, who has let Qiong—uh, Qiong…?”

“Qiong Ding.”

“Qiong Ding Manor?”

Look beatific, was Shen Yuan’s self-reminder, but again it was too late, even with Shen Jiu’s murmured assist. Wei Wuxian had dropped to his knees in the dirt and begun shaking his fists at the sky.

“Oh this unfair world, oh wretched fate! At my darkest hour you drop three brilliant young souls into my path to light my way across the lone-log bridge, and in return I have taken on your mission to nourish them into adulthood. All I wish is to ensure they have cultivation partners capable of keeping them comfortable for the rest of their lives but look here, what are these pieces you’ve dealt me? My eldest, who would be disingenuous to placate his crazy old father! My second, who brandishes his cutting comments without a filial care in the world! And my third!”

The sixteen-year-old, as stretched out and delicate as the vine on a beanpole at his age, smiled a lazy little smile before gutting the rabbit in his hands.

“Always just sitting there like a pretty little flower, head empty. Hua-hua ah,” Wei Wuxian said miserably. “Don’t you know you have the worst lot here, being the youngest? You ought to be encouraging your brothers to go to more functions, meet more potential partners.”

“And why should we be so eager to sell ourselves off as spiritual energy storage tanks to some rich Young Master or Mistress?” Hua Cheng asked idly. The meat he shaved off the hunted game hit the hot wok in loud sizzling chunks, and Shen Yuan readied a bucket of water to make it into stew. “Is father anticipating death sometime soon?”

Wei Wuxian and Shen Yuan both froze. An unintentional jerk splashed water from Shen Yuan’s bucket into the wok, and oil exploded into the air like the aftermath of a bomb. Meanwhile, Shen Jiu walloped the head off the daikon he’d polished as white as mutton fat jade and jabbed the blade in Hua Cheng’s direction.

“This is why nobody will ever want to cultivate with you.”

“But I learned it all from you and your line of suitors out the door, Er-ge”

“Boys,” Shen Yuan interrupted, “enough. Our father is not dying. Is he?”

Wei Wuxian waved both hands carelessly.

“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous, the evil, all-powerful Yiling Patriarch cannot die—no matter how much his youngest son curses him. Hua-hua, how could you bear saying such a thing?”

Without a word, Hua Cheng bent down, picked up the radish head Shen Jiu had thrown his way, and lobbed it at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian caught it without thought, and the moment it touched his bare hands, the leftover greens at the top wilted—and then the whole thing promptly dissipated to dust that fell through Wei Wuxian’s fingers before anybody could react.

Shen Yuan set the bucket down and started forward, energy coating his fingertips.

“Let me—”

“Don’t—” The red flickered out of Wei Wuxian’s eyes as swiftly as it flickered in. He was grinning again, a toothsome expression that was every bit as disingenuous as Shen Yuan’s smile had been moments ago. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to touch your elders without ceremony? Let your father have a little dignity here! In fact, you ought to treat your father like the legendary Patriarch he is!”

“Then the legendary Patriarch,” Shen Jiu said, expression neutral though tilting on the side of concern, visible only to the family who knew him best, “ought to get out of this filthy kitchen. Heavens know you’re too lazy to help with the prep.”

“A-Jiu’s right,” Shen Yuan said, hand retracted and smiling with a touch of apology. “Won’t our esteemed father please make his way to the dining hall, where the meal will be brought to him with proper ceremony?”

Wei Wuxian looked like he wanted to pat them both on the head. Shen Yuan had a distant memory of him doing that long, long ago, but not for years now.

“Finally, a display of the proper teachings I’ve given you. Yes, this father shall be waiting then. I’ll even bring out the good china.”

By which he meant the set of four bowls without chips on the rim, only cracks along the body. It’s poetic, Wei Wuxian liked to say, swishing soup in his bowl like a wise old philosopher pondering tea. Scars and damage, such and such, you know? If you know you know. (To which Shen Jiu had replied, you’re dripping soup everywhere.)

Once Wei Wuxian had gone, the three brothers proceeded with the stew in silence: Hua Cheng expressionless, Shen Jiu scowling, and Shen Yuan eyeing them both. After a while, Shen Jiu finally threw down his cutting board.

“Wei Wuxian’s not dying,” he declared. “And even if he is, we’ve got enough demonic cultivation between the three of us to bring him back. Why did you have to bring it up you insensitive little jerk?”

“Merely to encourage my brothers,” Hua Cheng replied, speaking coolly over Shen Yuan’s admonishment for calling his brother names, “to go to more functions and meet more potential partners.”

//

So the thing was, Shen Yuan was a transmigrator.

No, that was neither a misspelling nor a misunderstanding. Shen Yuan was a transmigrator, a bright young modern mind (read: an internet-obsessed shut-in) who died and got placed into the universe of a classic novel—one of his favorites that he’d been rereading just before dying, in fact. He was lucky, he supposed, that he was placed in the actual novel and not its zombie apocalypse, sorta-tongue-in-cheek sorta-taking-itself-too-seriously spinoff, which he’d also been (spite-)reading on-and-off. Though there had been some zombies in sight when he first got to this world, Wei Wuxian took care of them with such ease that Shen Yuan knew these were only the zombies in the classical Chinese sense, not the scary movie sense.

As for misfortunes, Shen Yuan supposed he would say the worst he’d suffered was first transmigrating into the body of a nine-year-old. That put him now, at twenty-four all over again, fifteen years in Wei Wuxian’s not-so-tender care, which was absolutely batshit to think about. So Shen Yuan didn’t think about it.

[jieanette]

Since you guys voted for the last poll I made, here's some stuff I've written for Cecil/Bartz :)

warning: Some of these might be a little ooc, sorry about that.

...

[Cecil takes Bartz to see the night sky (they're on the airship)]

"Come, I want to show you something."

"You know I don't like being up there."

"Just hold onto my hand. You'll be alright, I promise."

"Okay..."

"Why are we here?"

"Look up."

"Geez-oh-pete! Look at that beauty!"

"I've never seen the stars so up close before."

"One of the things I did when I was part of the Red Wings, was to look at the sky during nightfall. I would just lay here and appreciate the stars."

"There's something about the stars that felt... a little different to me. It always gives me comfort whenever I lost my way."

"In some ways... it felt like home to me."

"Is that so?"

"Yes... Sorry if I sound weird-"

"No, I get you. We feel melancholy when we're away from our home, and nature reminds us of it. Just like how the wind made me feel homesick about Lix. How it made me miss my folks, too."

"Hah... if my dad was here, seeing me looking up the stars... He'll say, "Bartz! It's past your bedtime, go to bed already!"

Cecil laughs with Bartz.

"I miss him... and my mom too."

"I wish I had met my parents."

"But you have your brother."

"I do... But he really never tells me anything. Everytime we meet, he's..."

"Why do families have to be so complicated sometimes?"

"Beats me."

[silence]

"Hey, just so you know... Even if your own brother can't be there for you. I'll stick by your side, no matter what."

"Are you sure? I don't think I'm much to be around..."

"I think you do. Everyone should have someone on their side, even you."

"You really think so?"

"Of course!"

"Thank you... You're much too kind."

"Don't sweat it, I'm only doing what a friend should do!"

...

[Based on the ending of Dissidia 012]

"Cecil, wait!"

Cecil turned to see Bartz running towards him, a crystal in hand. Before he knew it, his lips touched Bartz's, receiving a small but bittersweet kiss. It was the first time he was kissed, and the feeling of Bartz's body against his, intertwining only with their lips gave him the warm feeling he longed for. He kissed back, knowing it will be the last time they'll get to see each other again.

They let go after a while, feeling hot breaths against their faces. Cecil watched as Bartz slowly disappear.

"I love you."

That was his final words to him.

"I love you too."

That was the last Bartz heard from Cecil, as he travels back home.

...

"Here!"

Bartz handed a rather thick scarf to Cecil.

"Where did you get this?"

"Made it myself," He beamed with pride as he said it.

"I noticed you were always so cold, so I thought having scarf would help!"

"That was quite sweet of you, Bartz," Cecil was quite touched at his care and sentiment.

"Wear it, I wanna see how it looks on you," he asked eagerly.

Cecil warpped around the scarf on his neck and shoulders. It was soft to touch, making it rather comfortable to wear. The cold feeling that Cecil always gets was diminished quickly, and he could feel the warmth all around his upper body.

"You look really cute on that."

The compliment made Cecil blushed in embarrassment. The red tint glowed against his pale skin. He tried to hide it with his newly made scarf.

...

[Fair warning, I haven't got to Gilgamesh in FFV yet, I used a video from Dissidia. Again, sorry for some inaccuracies and ooc]

"Seriously? Now?" Bartz sighed in irritation.

"Where else? It is a perfect place for our fated rematch!" Gilgamesh hawked.

"We're in a middle of something here. Like, you know, a date?"

"Ah, Bartz, you would let something so trivial hold you back? Surely your date isn't more important than our match!"

"It kinda is."

Normally Bartz is entertained by Gilgamesh's antics, however, this was one of the only times he could have alone time with Cecil, and he's frustrated that he had to deal with him now. He looked to Cecil, he had a neutral face, and somehow he could tell he was slightly amused by his odd rival. He glanced back at him, giving a small smile.

"I don't think he'll stop if you resist. You should fight him."

"See? Your lover wants the match too! Would you protest in his demands?"

"Are you sure, Cecil?"

"Yes, the faster you deal with him, the sooner we can continue," he nodded.

"If it's a match he wants, he will have it!" Bartz pumped his fist, bracing himself for Gilgamesh.

"I expected no less from my chosen rival! Steel yourself!"

"It's one-on-one!"

Cecil took a step back, watching as Bartz fought with Gilgamesh. He had always heard of their matches from Bartz, and often times it ended with him winning. So he wasn't so worried when they fought, knowing and trusting his lover to fight well in their match. It was also his first time meeting him, and it seemed like what Bartz said about him was true, he was quite overdramatic and silly, that Cecil couldn't help but to chuckle. It was an interesting date, suffice to say.

As expected, Bartz got an upper hand and won. Gilgamesh was a respectable rival, acknowledging his strengths even when defeated. He was about to go on a long speech, until he faded away.

[lil-gingerbread-queen]

Today is Bastille Day!

I must admit, I'm patriotic.

Being a patriot and a nationalist isn't the same thing, don't believe these racists pos who started to call themselves "patriots" instead of "nationalists" to look better. Being a patriot means you love your country and you find pride in it. Being a nationalist means you think your country is the best and if you must share it, it's by being in power over others.

Fascists love to call themselves patriots when they are just nationalists. They say they love this country, but they know nothing of its history or its values. They insult its morals and they refuse to work for a better future. Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité, they respect none of that.

I love my country, that's why I want it to be better. I know my people can be better. On the 14th of July 1789, all of Paris, except the disabled and the children, gathered around the Bastille. It was not the start of the Révolution, it actually started on the 23rd of April, with the Réveillon debacle. But this was the first victory of the people. The Revolution ideology was not nationalist, it was utopian, dreaming of equality between ALL humans on Earth, of people moving freely between countries, of the end of oppression. And if people from a country felt under a dictator, all the world would unite to save them. Liberty for all, equality for all, we are all siblings. And we will fight for each other. That's why I say I'm a revolutionary. I believe in this ideology, I believe in changing the system completely to serve human rights.

Today, they love to paint the Révolution as a violent mess, and to condone the violence of the people, while holding its symbols. It's insulting, really, how they use these symbols but deny their meanings, their history. "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité" was first pronounced by Robespierre, that they paint as a dictator or a terrorist (looking at you, USA), in a speech condoning "police" brutality, where he called for the authorities to not have the right to brandish their guns at unharmed people. A speech between his call to end slavery, to end xenophobia and calling black and jews folks our siblings, to end the death penalty, to put human rights above the laws. The Marseillaise is a reminder of the fate oppressors will face if they try to take our human rights away. It is very violent because it's the image of the rage the people felt after centuries of abuse, and condoning this justified rage is unacceptable. Marianne is in every city hall, Marianne is the allegory of freedom, guiding the people to fight the government who oppressed them, walking on the dead corpses of the traitors to the human race, the soldiers killing the people. They tell us that protesting, rioting, fighting the police forces is unacceptable, and yet, we celebrate Bastille Day, when the people took a prison and stole the weapons of the government to fight it. "Oh no, it's not the Bastille we are celebrating, it's the Federation Day." Why are you ashamed of the Bastille Day? Because it is too violent for you? The people finally getting power is too violent for you? They hate the people getting violent, because they know it's against them. They condone it, but it's the result of their own behavior, their own violence. They say we can throw rocks at cops while being on strike because we are getting paid nothing, but that's what the people did when they struck against Réveillon. Starving the people is violence, you are just reaping what you sow.

I love my country, I love its history, its symbols. I will fight for my country and for the human rights, and that means fighting against my own government. It's our history, it's our morals, and there's nothing they can do about it.

Vive la Révolution, et vive la France !

[casspurrjoybell-32]

Taken - Blue Moon Series - Chapter 23b

*Warning Adult Content*

Elder Cyrus

There was a pause between both my group and the attackers.

One moment we were all having a fun time, Gale and I bantering back and forth when there was a sudden breeze.

Lakota was in front of us holding a serrated knife in his bare hand all of a sudden.

It was only for a few seconds but we were all taken back by Lakota's quick bold reflexes in his act to protect us.

In astonishment, my eyes trailed up from my mate's hand to his eyes and saw something I had never wanted to see again.

They were glowing a dangerous yellow, more intense than his normal soft gold.

There was a look of calm rage.

It sent chills down my spine... that was a new feeling for me.

Not much scared me these days but my usually soft mate's expression was no joke and I knew this wasn't going to end well.

The sound of Lakota's blood splashing on the concrete broke the tension and everything moved rather quickly.

Gale took his arm away from me and ran into the fray.

I was only a second behind him.

There were about five guys against our three, easy.

Lakota turned his body inwards and used his elbow to jab it into his attacker's gut making him let go of his knife and he took it.

Flipping it in the air and catching the handle smoothly in his already wounded hand, he jabbed it into the assailant's neck.

The man gargled through his now useless throat and dropped hard.

I know I taught Lakota how to fight but I didn't think he would be so ruthless with it.

It both filled me with pride and frightened me at the same time.

His killing someone, without an inch of hesitation, was a sad sight to see and honestly, he didn't deserve it.

Why couldn't he just have it easy?

Fate was cruel to my mates and I was about done with it.

One of the hooded attackers came after me and as all the shock quickly passed.

I was finally able to process the scent of wolves.

So they weren't random people attacking us.

I grabbed his arm as he tried to punch me and turned my body into him, using his weight as I flipped him over my back on to his.

He hit the ground loudly.

His breath was knocked out of him and I brought my knee down on his sternum, crushing it inward and moved to go onto the next guy but there were none left.

It was then I recognized the musky scent that had been teasing my nose this whole time.

It reminded me of Leo Bateman, Lakota's father.

These were the Rogues from his pack.

How the hell did they find us?

The last man to drop was only moments after I was done with my one guy as Nicholas unlatched his teeth from the wolf's neck and let him fall, completely drained.

Wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and presented me with a rather sinister and bloody smile.

"You're slow, Cyrus."

"Oh no. We have another smart-ass Gale in our midst," I sighed as the previous excitement died down.

There was an uneasy laugh amongst us all.

I looked over at Lakota as he stood silently with a small smile like nothing had happened but I could see his eyes were telling a different story.

"Lakota are you okay?" I asked as I moved towards him.

"I'm fine."

His hand was still bleeding and it accrued to me that since his wolf was gone he wouldn't be able to heal like he used to.

He was practically human.

"Shit," I exclaimed

We needed to get his hand healed up quickly.

Gale glanced towards his bleeding hand too and understood exactly what had me worried.

Moving with his crazy speed he took Lakota's hand and brought it up to his mouth.

His eyes caught mine and I knew that this was a dangerous thing for him to do but he wasn't going to let his mate bleed one more second longer.

I could tell the moment Lakota's blood touched his lips.

His eyes turned from their warm brown to the sultry hungry black color that completely took over the whites of his eyes.

When I heard the moan leave Gale's lips I knew we had to get out of here fast.

Nicholas was on it in moments, as he ran to his brother in a blur and practically tore him from Lakota, taking him away from his mate and the fair.

As he was taken away there was a chilling growl that was definitely not a happy sound.

I was right behind them, as I grabbed Lakota in my arms and got out of here before we were caught by the humans.

And as we fled, there was one thing on my mind.

'Leo Bateman had a lot of explaining to do.'

[awfulwordmonger]

When Three Turned Out To Be Five

I was just reminded of an incident that happened about 35 years ago. There’s a moral at the end for all you Thai food neophytes out there.

It was an era in Seattle when there was a new Thai restaurant opening every week or two. My partner and I took great pleasure in trying out the newcomer and reporting back to all our friends about what we found. Although it may seem obvious, different Thai restaurants sometimes have different systems of telling the customers what to expect in the way of spiciness. Generally, you find a system of one to five stars, with five star being eye-watering, mouth-blistering, gut-wrenching spice. We took that for granted on this particular night.

We, being connoisseurs of Thai cuisine (or so we thought), blithely ordered our meal at the 3-star level. We prided ourselves at having reached that exalted level by climbing that ladder slowly, sometimes painfully, but always trying to “expand the envelope” like test pilots reaching for the ultimate experience in a new aircraft. Oh, how pride goes before a fall!

Our meal smelled wonderful, tasted great and…. Holy Shit, was it HOT! 🔥🔥🔥 Forget the five-star scale, this place thought 3-stars should be competing with fission!

It took us a while, but with the help of a few Singha beers, we made it all the way through dinner! We congratulated ourselves not only for reaching new heights of flavorful agony, but also on the fact that our apartment was a short, wobbly walk away from the restaurant. We fell into a blissful sleep that night. We earned it!

My honey worked at one of the big banks in downtown Seattle. Somewhere up around the 30th floor she spent her days keeping an executive with Third-grade writing skills from being exposed as a fraud every time he needed to write a letter. Some days she rode the bus to work, but on this day I decided to treat her to a ride to work.

There has to be a restroom in the entry floor of a building where a couple thousand people work, right? RIGHT?! Oh, help! Where in the heck is it?!

Success! The Men's Room… and it’s locked! ⚡️💥💣😱

No options! The Women’s Room door was NOT locked! I entered, hoping it was empty… and it was! Relief (total understatement) was immediate. I was able to breathe more normally, and was thanking everyone and everything that let me escape a fate worse than death.

Morning rush hour in Seattle can be trying. We were trapped in the midst of the thousands of cars negotiating the construction, the hills and each other. Somewhere along the way, my guts started announcing, in no uncertain terms that it was time for a bathroom break. O gods of Spice, please let your unwary victim survive this! The farther we went into the concrete canyons, the worse it got. By the time we pulled up in front of the bank building, I had no choice: abandon ship or destroy the interior of an otherwise perfectly good car. I double parked and beat my lady to the doors of the bank.

And the door opened. I heard the clicking of the high heels coming across the floor. I slowly raised my hiking shoe-clad feet and ancient-blue-Jean lad legs, and stopped breathing. The intruder parked herself in the next stall! As quietly as I could, I pulled my pants up, flushed… and fled!

Epilogue: when I told my lady this story, later that day, I thought she might have a heart attack from laughing so hard. Moral of the story: a) never trust the spice ratings of a Thai restaurant, and b) never go downtown until you’ve used the bathroom at home!

[qqueenofhades]

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.

[jarofstyles]

Wings 4

Here’s part 4!

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——

Waking up dazed and confused in a bed she had no idea who it belonged to wasn’t on her list of things to do this week. The shower was running in the other room, and when she buried her head back in the pillow it immediately began to come back to her.

The smell was cool and pine. Like a forest. A hint of cinnamon. It was the demon. The one she had been thinking about all week long, the one that had her feeling utterly conflicted. It went against everything she was as an angel to be romanticizing the creature so much, thinking about him in sinful ways. But she couldn’t help it.

It had to be fate that they’d met again last night. The night came back to her in flashes, wincing as she buried her face back into the pillow with a quiet groan. She wouldn’t ever live down the embarrassment she was feeling right now. It was just confusing.

Why did he help her? It wasn’t in a demon’s nature to be helpful, least nothing to an angel. That was the curious bit. Why would he feel inclined to help her out… unless he was perhaps feeling similarly to her?

No.

That was ridiculous, her mind was romanticizing a man who she didn’t know, who was a gosh darn demon! Why, she hadn’t a clue. But she knew that it would be better to have a Swift and simple goodbye after she thanked him for his deed.

She laid face down in his bed with her mind running rampant until she realized the shower had shut off, and she could feel a presence in the room. It had her skin prickling, feeling the eyes on her as she slowly turned around.

The air was nearly stolen from her lungs when she saw the being standing at the end of the bed. Dripping wet hair, towel loosely and very much too low. Pale skin covered in dark black swirls of ink from his collar bones and disappearing down to his hips. Both arms had designs, though the left was much more covered. He was built in a beautiful way, with broad vest and shoulders that dipped into a narrower waist. Larger biceps.

And his face?

His face.

She hadn’t seen it in daylight before, and there were sheer black curtains blocking out the clear lights but it was bright enough that she could see that she hadn’t been making up his beauty from arousal or inebriation. He truly was stunning.

Sharp cheekbones and jaw, strong nose and slightly wild brows. He had a hoop going through his lip and his mouth was a whole other topic. A dark pink that reminded her of wilting peonies in the best way. She didn’t even realize she was staring until she met his dark green eyes.

There was something about them. They weren’t expressing any clear emotion, but she felt them strongly. She wanted to squirm, but she also wanted to melt back into the mattress and spread her lush thighs. Let him crawl up the bed and shower her in a taste of that mouth and do dirty things, dark things that utterly terrified and aroused her to think about.

“H-Hi.” She squeaked, sitting up in the bed.

Harry stared at the disheveled angel, torn on what to do. After having slept (kind of) next to her all night- which realistically meant staring as her nose scrunched like a bunny when she had her dream or she kicked out her leg or pouted, he was a bit unsure how to feel.

Especially because she didn’t have a nightmare.

A common side effect of a sleepover with a demon, sexual or not was an intense nightmare. Demons made people face their biggest fears. He knew angels did get them too, so the face she looked so peaceful and serene all night and walking in to see her looking genuinely rested was a bit spooky.

Her wide eyed gaze made him want to take off the towel and drag her over by her hair, use her throat to make himself cum again. The shower hadn’t been enough. She was beautiful, deliciously sweet smelling and he wanted a bite. But that wasn’t an option.

Whatever this thing was of them doing the awkward song and dance was going to end.

“Are you going to go?” He asked bluntly, looking bored even though he was anything but. He could tell the cold tone had hit her when her tiny smile had dropped along with her whole face, eyes dripping to the blanket as her shoulders dropped.

And fuck if it didn’t feel like he had been kicked in the stomach.

That was something that wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel guilt when speaking or hurting the feelings of any angel. Even despite their charming ways, it wasn’t meant to bother him. So why did the sad look in her eye when she looked back up at him make him want to feed himself to the hellhounds?

“Y-yeah. I am. I just wanted to say thank you.” She said softly, standing up and slipping on the shoes Harry had gotten off of her. She had one of his tee shirts on top of her thin white dress, a dark black contrast to the angelic outfit she had been wearing.

“You didn’t have to help me. But I’m thankful you did.” She tried again, swallowing her pride… only to be shot down again.

“Yeah, well it won’t happen again. I shouldn’t have done that. If someone had seen me, my reputation would be squashed. No more coming to my club. Do you understand?” His tone biting and a bit like he was speaking to a naughty child.

Oh, he wanted to gouge his own eyes out when she hugged her arms around herself, physically seeing her confidence in front of him depleting.

Y/N didn’t get why it hurt. He was a demon and they always were mean. This Harry’s dismissed and rude words felt so much more personal though. So much more…. Biting. Aching. She felt like a kicked puppy and honestly? Looked like one.

When he heard the little sniffle again his stomach rolled like he was going to be sick, and his mouth dropped open to do something. Apologize maybe? He didn’t know. It was cut off with a nod and a fizz as she opened the door magically.

“Kay. I won’t bother you again, Harry.” She said quietly, heels clicking as she rushed out of the penthouse, dark hardwood he focus until she used her power to open the door again.

Then she was gone.

Why did they both feel empty??

[thefanficmonster]

Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing. 

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him.  One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“