#like in this version of things he encounters arthur for the first time when hes a little boy

[pyreshe]

one day I will write out my lil arthuriana thing where m.erlin raises a.rthur and loves him like a son but he still loses him and is more or less doomed to an agonizingly long life where he is constantly reminded that he failed his boy and is looking for a reincarnation he can't even be sure will ever come,,

[strvberrydoll]

Rosemary

Summary: Arthur is smacked right in the face with the consequences of his actions as the fate of your relationship is hanging by a thin thread. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors :/

wc: little under 3k

A/n: before any of you come after me, blame the angst on the bad weather not on me !! (plus we both know you love it <3) anyways reader absolutely eats arthur alive in this chapter so grab your popcorns and tissues !! Next chapter is gonna be the last so it’s gonna take a bit of time to write sorry :(( as always let me know if you like this chapter thank you all for the amazing support you’ve showed for Rosemary <33 gif from pinterest.

The sight of Clemens Point camp emerging from the thick woods surrounding its path, felt strangely like the sight of heaven to Arthur, his muscles aching and screaming at him from the tiring day. Between his visit to Rhodes with Mary and all the manual work Uncle put him under in the morning, the only things he longed for were the softness of his bed and you engulfing him in one of your warm embrace. 

Spending three hours chopping wood and gathering whatever material Uncle needed for his mysterious project that supposedly ‘would help a great deal everyone in camp’, proved to be a tiring job even for the camp’s main enforcer, his strength dulled by the biting cold of October and the constant ache of his heart. Each swing of the axe in the air helped Arthur think, his mind consumed by you, trying to figure out what the hell happened for you to act so cold and distant towards him. The image of his darling’s sweet face contorted in an expression of hurt and disappointment at the sole sight of him from this morning hunting his mind, making each swing harsher than the other. 

When Uncle decided to call it a day, Arthur internally thanked the maker above as he felt his patience wearing thin every time he called Uncle out for not lifting a finger to help him while the older man comfortably sat under the shade of one of the tall trees near the outskirts of camp complaining about his ‘lumbago’. His relief, though, was short lived as the memory of Mary’s letter flashed in his mind.

Mary had been writing to him almost every two weeks, since her late husband died she had been writing to Arthur asking for help, him being the only male left she knew, after her abusive father went mad, gambling all their possessions away and his brother ran off. 

The first letter he received a few months prior left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was tempted to just throw it in the bin and forget about it. After years of nothing she found the guts to write to him again, asking to save her little brother from a strange cult that apparently worshiped turtles, as Arthur understood. That first letter woke inside him an anger he thought died down. He needed to confront her. So a few days after receiving the first letter, Arthur rode to Valentine, his mind fixed on refusing to help her, yet after hearing her story out he didn’t find it in him to tell her no.

It’ll be just a one time thing, after this he’ll never see her again. He reassured himself. 

But then another letter came and then another, and he felt like a fool for helping her every time. Worse yet, he felt like an absolute bastard lying to you each time he went to help Mary out, always finding an excuse as to why he was out late. His conscience shouting at him to tell you the truth each time he looked into your hypnotizing eyes as you both layed naked in the comfort of your tent, but how could he explain it all to you ?

Mary, on the other hand, knew about you, having heard of you once from Arthur when you first joined the gang, but now she knew about your relationship with him. He told her from their first encounter, quick to not let her think he had any other intentions.

He’d help, sure, but only for old time’s sake.

Although Arthur sensed she wasn’t particularly excited about his newfound love, she respected your relationship, often asking him for updates and lending him some advice. It felt strange talking about you to his ex fiancè but she’d ask and he’d talk, never shying away from an opportunity to talk about his darling girl. 

Finally free of Uncle’s relentless job, he jumped on his horse, riding into town to meet with Mary. 

The town of Rhodes was particularly busy when Arthur arrived, the usually calm town buzzing with life and chatter. Men and women dressed in all kinds of fancy dresses and tall hats adorned with feathers and ribbons, strolled around town. From what Arthur heard from a couple near the saloon, a famous singer from Saint Denis was doing a show in town.

Suddenly conscious about his rugged and worn out attire he quickly made his way toward the general store, where Mary told him to meet her. Something about buying some plumbing tools, she said. Their evening went smoothly, they chatted away as Arthur helped with her shopping advising her which tools to buy and which ones to avoid. As the moon came high in the sky he escorted her to her accommodation before finally riding back to camp.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

“Who goes there!” the shout of Bill’s voice followed by the cock of his shotgun thundering in the night from his usual lookout position.

“It’s Arthur, you moron.” 

As the faint chattering of camp filled Arthur’s ears, images of you began to cloud his mind. He needed to find out what was bothering you. He needed to make it right by you, whatever it’ll cost. He hitched his horse, patting his mane a few times whispering sweet praises that made the horse sway its tail before walking towards your shared tent. 

The camp was almost empty, being close to midnight the only people up were Javier who sat near the campfire, tuning the guitar in his lap as Reverend Swanson chatted animatedly about his past life experiences with a tired Mister Pearson who looked worse than one of his stews, and then there was Abigail who was chatting with you at the entrance of your shared tent. The both of you dressed in your best dresses, the sight of your body wrapped in the soft cotton and laces of your dress making Arthur’s heart race.

You were one of God’s angels, his sweetest and most beautiful creation, he was sure of it.

As you noticed his presence coming towards you, you hurriedly whispered something to Abigail, making the brunette widen her eyes, before entering your tent, leaving Abigail outside, her eyes finding Arthur’s as he came to an alt before the opening of your shared tent, her expression resembling the ones she had after a fight with John. Anger and care blended together.

After casting a quick confused glance at Abigail, Arthur ducked through the entrance, his broad stature making his action look quite awkward. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that shone from the oil lamp on the bedside table, he cautiously sat down his hat, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness as his eyes found your figure, sitting at the edge of your small cot. The skirt of your dress puffy around you making you look like a doll, your head bowed making it impossible to him to read your face and shoulders stiff, toying with something in your hands. You looked up at him, red eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill once again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was going to be a long night. 

"Darlin’," Arthur began, his voice soft as if not to scare a small deer away. 

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you slurred a little. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on your breath, a sign you’d been hanging out with your girl friends.

“Where were you tonight Arthur ?”

He felt his throat tighten at your question. “I jus’ came back from a job,” he unsteadily replied.

"Right, back from your ‘job’ mhh?" you echoed, your voice tight trying with all your might to keep yourself together. You stood up your wobbly legs almost letting you fall, stepping forward, holding out one of the letters as if it were a weapon. "Or back from meeting her?".

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His stomach dropped as he recognized what you were holding, the sight of you holding one of Mary’s letters felt like a punch to his face. 

"Darlin’, it ain’t what you think," he started, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then, please, tell me what the hell it is!" you raised your voice, making it crack under all the weight of your emotions. You didn’t care if you were yelling, if you were to wake everyone in camp. You were tired of all the bullshit.

"I found them, Arthur. A whole fucking drawer full of letters from Mary. I might not be the brightest at reading, but I know her damned name when I see it.” despite all your best efforts to remain strong your eyes betrayed you as fresh warm tears run down the path that your previous ones left.

Arthur moved closer trying to take one of your hands in his, you took a step back, shaking your head. "Don't," you whispered, voice breaking.

“I went to Rhodes today with the girls, ya’know to clear my mind a bit from all your bullshit, and guess who I found having the time of their lives together ? Laughing and what not.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air between the both of you. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to dry your tears and comfort you, to explain, but he knew you needed to hear the truth first. "Please darlin’, you’ve got to believe me. Mary’s just, she's just- I’m just helpin’ her out. Her husband died, and she’s got no one else,"

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh at his poor explanation. Did he really take you for this big of a fool ? Was this really what he thought of you ? Tears poured down even more from your eyes at the realization. "And you, what? You swoop in to save her like some kind of hero? What are you mh, tell me Arthur, are you her bitch ready to bark if she told you to ?”

The venom spilling from your words hit Arthur hard, making him physically flinch as your words hit him right into his face. His heart shattering at your sight, you were physically and mentally distraught. All because he didn’t have the courage to tell you everything from the start.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? Gosh, all this time, Arthur, all this damn time I’ve just been, what? A distraction? Something to pass the time until you could get her back? Poor silly me, thinking I mattered something to you !" Now you definitely woke someone up, your throat burned as you shouted your whole heart out at Arthur, you felt disgusted, dirty even. The alcohol you previously drowned your sorrows into making you nauseous.

You were ready to give your heart to Arthur, you gave him everything. If he asked you the moon you’d give it to him.

And here you were, the biggest fool in the West, thinking you could have a space in Arthur’s heart.

"What, no!" Arthur’s shout was raw, it definitely hurt his throat, you never heard him shout this way, you never heard him shout at you at all. His voice filled with a mix of frustration and fear. He took another step toward you, stretching his hands out in search of your trembling ones, but you stumbled back, almost tripping over the edge of the cot.

"Darlin’, you’ve got to believe me, I'm beggin’ ya” 

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks, Arthur. For weeks you’ve been kissing me, lying in bed with me, you’ve been telling me that you love me while lying to me, for god’s sake ! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?"

"Because I’m tellin’ you the truth!" Arthur pleaded, his voice thick, cracking with emotion. He could sense your heart getting further and further away from his. He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away seeing the way your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into one of his bear hugs you always loved and make you believe him, but the distance between the both of you felt like a chasm too wide to cross anymore. The only bridge between you deteriorating before his very own eyes.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I always loved you, you’re the only one I care about."

But you shook your head, circling away from him before hitting the cold canvas of the tent wall.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your sobs. "Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after everything you’ve done to me… after all these lies."

"Darlin’, please…" Arthur broke down, his voice saturated with panic as he saw you back towards the exit of your tent, his eyes desperate as he looked at you. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping this from you. I thought- I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would be over before you ever had to know. But I see now I see how big of a moron I was, how fucking wrong I was."

You looked at him, your face twisted in pain, your heart painfully torn between the love you still felt for him and the harsh betrayal you couldn’t shake away. "I can’t do this, Arthur," you meekly said, your voice trembling. "I can’t…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Who lies straight to my face as if nothing."

Arthur’s heart shattered at your words. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not again. He was not losing the love of his life again. But unfortunately he could see the resolve slowly hardening in your eyes, the way you were getting yourself ready to walk away. Every cell of his body was screaming at him to find a way to keep you.  "Don’t leave me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything… I’ll tell you everything, from now on. I’ll never see Mary again, just don’t go. Don’t leave me alone." he finished his sentence, his tone slowly going down to a mere whisper. His eyes filling with tears.

But you were already pulling away, turning your back on him as you moved toward the tent flap. Slightly hesitating with your hand on the thick canvas, your body trembling with the force of the decision you were about to make. If you did this there was no turning back. But this wasn’t your fault.

"I need to think," you said emotionless, your voice hollow as your sobs died down, leaving you with a hole in your heart, "I need…I need some time for myself."

"No, please don’t…" Arthur’s voice was choked with tears he wouldn’t let fall from his eyes. But it was too late.

You slipped out of the tent into the cold harsh night, leaving Arthur motionless at the center of the cold emptiness of your shared tent, feeling the walls closing in around him. The crushing realization that he might have just lost the one person who truly meant everything to him came down on him at once making his head spin.

Alone in the darkness, Arthur finally let the tears fall, each one a silent plea for a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You needed to get away from him, to get away from everything right now. You felt that if you were just a second more inside that tent you’d take him into your arms, begging him to never let you go. But you couldn’t.

He lied to you, you didn’t care about Mary, about his secret rendezvous with her. He lied to you. That’s all you could think of.

Realizing that Arthur could easily follow you in camp you decided to completely get out of camp. You needed space, from him, from everyone. You just wanted to be alone.

Venturing into the woods at night wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve made per se, but a small ounce of alcohol was running through your veins still and you decided to blame it for your poor choice.

The moonlight shone brightly, illuminating faintly your surroundings, the harsh chill of the midnight weather biting your exposed hands as you once again forgot your gloves.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as more tears threatened to spill from your tired eyes, you were near the clearing you and Arthur found out a few weeks ago, in need of some privacy when your mouths were chasing each other and his hands, warm and calloused, explored your exposed back, your touches burning with raw desire.

The memory of that night burned in your heart when suddenly you heard a twig snap. You turned towards the direction of the sound fear taking over you, shaking every cell in your body. You were physically and emotionally drained, you didn't have a gun with you, not even a knife. The only thing left to do was pray it was just a fox wandering around.

And then you felt it, a sharp burning pain in the back of your head, kicking the air out of your lungs.

The last thing you saw was the forest floor.

Before darkness took over you.

[tyrantisterror]

What are some examples of benevolent (or at least benign) dragons in classical western folklore? I recall you mentioning that they did indeed exist, but I don’t recall you ever mentioning any specific examples.

Well, firstly, most of the dragons from Greek mythology. Like, the dragon that Cadmus slew was Ares's pet, and Cadmus had to build an army to fight war in Ares's name as penance. The dragon of Colchis was beloved by Medea and viewed as a protector by her people, and in some versions of the Argonauts myth was put to sleep peacefully instead of slain. Ladon, the dragon who guards the Hesperides, was specifically beloved by the nymphs who lived alongside him, and in the versions of the myth where Heracles slays him, Ladon is explicitly mourned by those same nymphs. Dragons were agents of the divine in Greek myth as often is not more so than they were enemies of it, which makes sense given that so many of them were, like, first cousins with the Olympians. It's really funny that people will cite the Greek myths as examples of dragons as "agents of evil" in the same way it's funny when people cite Greek heroes as moral paragons, when any actual look at Greek mythology shows its morality was always very murky shades of gray rather than the black and white view we like to pretend all European mythology shares.

I think this inflicting of Christian black and white thinking on a morally gray mythology also occurs with Norse myth, though sadly we don't have a lot of pre-Christian Norse literature to serve as concrete evidence for this opinion the way we do with Greek dragons. Like, outside of Ragnorok (which some have argued is not a REAL Norse myth, but something concocted during the Christian-ization of Europe as a way to placate Christianity into not destroying all of Norse culture), Jormungandr doesn't do a single malevolent thing in any Norse story. The most he ever antagonizes anyone is when he lets Utgard Loki (no relation to normal Loki) make him look like a cat to teach Thor a lesson in humility that the god of thunder never fully learns. All subsequent encounters are a result of Thor fucking with Jormungandr out of spite for the cat prank. The corpse chewer dragons in Niflheim are terrifying, but the souls they're gnawing on are the dishonored dead, and they don't cause problems for the living until - well, until Ragnorok, which again, may not be a real Norse myth. Fafnir's a piece of shit, sure, but he's not a dragon by birth - he's a dwarf who turned into one out of greed for gold.

Then you have a myriad of stories about dragons who were tamed by saints or heroes only to be killed by townsfolk who thought they were still vicious, and promptly mourned afterwards - the Tarasque is probably the most prominent of these, but there are other stories that are variations on the formula. I'd also include Maud and the Wyvern/Dragon of Mordiford in this category, as while the dragon is never fully tamed by Maud's affection, it's nonetheless kind to her, and the story ends with her mourning its death rather than the townsfolk celebrating it. You are clearly supposed to feel sympathy for these dragons, even if the stories present their deaths as necessary or inevitable.

There are even examples of good dragons in explicitly Christian Medieval stories, despite them usually opting to treat dragons as purely evil. You have Y Ddraig Goch, the red dragon of Wales, whose defeat of a white dragon is an explicit omen of how the wicked Saxons will be overthrown and driven out by a good (or at least better) king in time, and who becomes the heraldry of King Arthur, a paragon of virtue by the standards of the times each of his stories are told in. There's one saint - I think Carantoc? - who found a dragon sleeping in a well and convinced it to move without much complaint, and another, St. Simeon, who removed a thorn from a dragon's eye to the amazement of all and was shown gratitude by the dragon in turn.

Benign/benevolent/not-explicitly-evil dragons may not make up the majority of European dragons, but they're not as rare as modern generalizations of it would have you believe.

[animesmolbean]

A World of Pure Imagination

Author's Note: This is my first story. It's a Wonka 2023 x Male!Reader. Let me know if you want a female version of this story, too! Just message me! Also, I'll refer to the reader as Yin instead of Y/N. It'll still mean your name; it's just a different way of writing it. This might change later. Let me know if you like the 'Yin' idea or not.

Enjoy the first chapter!

Summary: Yin is a runaway after his parents died before he turned 18. He meets Noodle, and when he needs a place to stay, she sneaks him into Scrubbit's and Bleacher's. Yin wishes for change. His wish seems to come true when an eccentric and very cute chocolatier comes to town, ready to sell his chocolate.

Chapter 1: A Chance Encounter

Yin walked around the Gallery Gourmet, his (hair color) (straight/curly/wavy) slightly messy from the wind. He looked around at all the shops and restaurants for what felt like the hundredth time. It's the same old thing over and over again.

As he got closer to the center of the Gallery Gourmet, he saw where the three titans of chocolate resided. Arthur Slugworth, Felix Fickelgruber, and Gerald Prodnose. The sight of the three buildings made him tense, and he looked away.

But just before he could turn and walk away, he heard a voice. But not just a speaking voice. The voice was singing.

🎵At last, the Gallery Gourmet

I knew that we'd see it one day

It's everything you said, Mama

And, oh, so much more🎵

The voice was tenor like and sounded very optimistic. It drew Yin in, and he followed the voice. He weaved through people, excusing himself as he followed the voice.

🎵Each way that you turn, another famous chocolate store

Here's my destiny, I just need to unlock it

Will I crash and burn or go up like a rocket?

I got nothing to offer but my chocolate

And a hatful of dreams🎵

The voice got louder and more clear, signaling he was getter closer. Now, he was in the center of the Gallery Gourmet, and what he saw surprised him.

It was a man, a man around his age; maybe a little older.

He was dressed in a magenta coat with faded gold embroidery, a fuzzy vest over a striped button-up shirt. He also saw a bluish gray scarf around his neck. Beige striped pants that looked like mailman pants, tall worn brown boots, and a brown lumpy top hat. He also had a cane with him. From physical features, Yin could tell he was lithe and pale but not in a sickly sense. He couldn't see his face too well where he was, but he could tell he had dark brown curly hair underneath the top hat.

It was an unusual attire to see, but Yin quite liked it, even feeling envious because he was dressed similarly to the man; minus the coat, hat, cane, and scarf. But the unusual outfit wasn't what took him him off guard. It was the fact he was dancing in the middle of the square.

He looked ridiculous, but Yin couldn't help but find it endearing. He let out a couple of giggles before covering his mouth, a blush blossoming onto his cheeks. Since when did he giggle like a girl with a crush?

Then, he saw Officer Affable tap on the mysterious man's shoulder, reaching his hand out. Yin could only sigh in annoyance. He hated the 'no daydreaming' rule. It was stupid. Not to mention, you have to give three sovereigns for it?! He rolled his eyes. Whoever made the rules needs a good smack on the head.

The man reluctantly gave the officer the money before he left. Officer Affable made eye contact with Yin before giving the boy a nod. Yin nodded back respectfully. Officer Affable was a decent guy; better than some of the other officers.

Yin went to leave, but as he turned, he accidentally made eye contact with the top hat wearing man. He let out a soft gasp. He saw that the man had some sharp facial features but still managed to look childlike.

He quickly recovered and gave the man an apologetic look with a nod before quickly running the opposite way before the man could respond. Once he was behind a building, he inhaled and exhaled softly, his cheeks warm with embarrassment.

'I can't believe I embarrassed myself in front of him. God, I'm an idiot. But.... he didn't judge me when I was blatantly watching him. He actually looked friendly and really cute.' He thought to himself.

Yin bit his bottom lip shyly. He couldn't wait to tell Noodle this later.

(Time Skip to nighttime)

Yin sat in the room in the back of the lobby of Scrubbit and Bleacher's, leaning against the wall. Next to him was Noodle, his one and only best friend. She was reading a book as he read silently next to her. He would occasionally point at a word, silently asking Noodle what it meant. He was intelligent, but Noodle reads more than he does.

The scratching at the entrance to the wash house caught their attention. He heard Mrs. Scrubbit scolding Tiddles, the wild guard dog. They heard Bleacher talking to Ms. Scrubbit. Then, they heard they had another guest.

'Oh no. Not another guest.' Yin thought to himself.

They listened to the two talk, along with the voice of the new guest, a voice Yin swore he recognized.

Mrs. Scrubbit then called for Noodle to pour glasses of gin, which she reluctantly did. Yin took the opportunity to take a peek out into the main lobby. He saw the two pigs known as Mrs. Scrubbit and Bleacher, but when he saw the new guest, he had to hold back a gasp in worry.

'Oh no. It's the cute man from earlier!' He thought to himself.

Yin took Noodle's hand and dragged her into the backroom again.

"Yin? What's wrong?" Noodle whispered.

"It's him." He whispered back.

"You mean..."

Yin nodded. "The man from the Gallery Gourmet."

The pair watched the three converse.

"You see, I'm something of a magician. Inventor and chocolate maker. And first thing tomorrow at the Gallery Gourmet, I plan to unveil my most astonishing creation yet!"

Yin felt his body tense up again. He planned to sell chocolate?! Here?! He's up against the Chocolate Cartel, the only ones who sell chocolate in this town. He can't compete with them.

Yin watched the man remove his top hat. He got a better look at the curly haired man. Sharp jawline, tall nose, his eyes were big and wide, paired with a set of bushy but straight eyebrows that matched perfectly. However, he couldn't see what color his eyes were.

He wondered what color they were.

He watched as the man reached into the hat to seemingly pull out his creation. Instead, he pulled out a teapot.

"A teapot."

"No. That's just for making tea. One second."

He put the teapot back into the hat and went for a second time. This time, he pulled out a bunch of carrots.

"That's for my stew."

Noodle and Yin giggled as the curly haired magician got flustered and tried a third time, but instead continuously pulled out an assortment of scarves. Yin placed his hand over his mouth to prevent a particularly loud giggle that was about to escape his mouth; also, to hide the soft blush that was starting to bloom onto his cheeks.

After Yin calmed down, he saw the man, which he learned was named Mr. Wonka, revert back what Yin assumed was his usual demeanor as he thanked Mrs. Scrubbit. Then, Yin saw Scrubbit take out the thing that he and Noodle dreaded. A contract.

"I have to stop him from signing that. Yin. Go to my room and hide before Mrs. Scrubbit and Bleacher find you." Noodle instructed in a whisper. She pointed up the stairs from her hiding spot in the backroom. "You know where it is."

Yin, knowing the drill, nodded and quickly but quietly jogged upstairs to where the workers sleep. He got to Noodle's room and slipped in, closing the door. He sighed and sat on Noodle's bed. The room was dark, with only a few beams of soft blue moonlight shining through the window, bars on the outside of said window.

'I hope Noodle managed to convince Mr. Wonka into not signing that contract.' His thoughts then wandered to the very adorable magician. 'He seemed so optimistic and driven about his creation. I hope it’s as astonishing as he says it is.' He thought to himself with a soft smile.

Yin removed his boots and laid on the bed. He pulled the threadbare blanket over him. As he drifted off, he thought more about the optimistic and aspiring chocolatier. He was very excited to see what would happen tomorrow.

[hildred-rex]

Hello, I love Hildred Castaigne! He’s such a fucked up unreliable narrator and he also reminds me so much of myself in middle school and I love him for it. What do you like about him?

First off, apologies for taking absolutely ages to answer this! Life happened and I promptly forgot tumblr existed for almost a month. Yay.

Anyhow, I think my love of Hildred is a combination of the factors you mentioned and the absolute state I got into shortly after I found The King in Yellow -- aaand here comes an essay. The last version of this got deleted, and apparently I've taken it upon myself to make its replacement even lengthier.

Hildred is a fascinating character to read and to write, and his opinions on things are (or would be) so different from mine that it's fun to try to puzzle them out. I keep a bevy of fictional characters that I can simulate reasonably well as a way to make myself consider how people get to opinions that differ from mine, and naturally he's among them.

Beyond that, I'm an absolute sucker for hints at a greater world, but only narrow viewpoints from which to try to figure out what's going on in that world.

The weird bits of The King in Yellow as a whole are superb at tantalizing you with smug allusions and tiny scraps of information about what, exactly, it is that the book is named for.

Is it a play? Is it an entity? What happened to the author? ...was the author Boris? (I don't think the author was Boris, but I won't lie that I've considered writing a fic where he was.)

I got hooked on Lovecraft for the same reason, and it's actually what put me on to Arthur Machen (favorite author) and The King in Yellow (favorite book).

Even with all that, I think my King in Yellow interest would have been a passing thing that returned occasionally, if it hadn't been the last thing I got into before my first set of high school final exams kicked my ass.

The tl;dr of freshman year is that I picked the wrong math class and it spent the semester wrecking my self-confidence (and my sleep schedule) before I finally managed to transfer to a better one. (Then I spent second semester picking myself back up.)

Hildred, notably, is self-confident to the point of it backfiring catastrophically on him. He absolutely should not have gloated to Louis, tactically speaking; in this essay I will-

Anyway. Stress is weird, so during finals season and its leadup I had quite a lot of unmarshalled energy that refused to work on what I actually needed it to do and that instead directed itself at my idle pokings at Hildred and his world.

Probably better than worrying about how my abysmal math grade was going to ruin my life.

It didn't, and I came out of the crucible with rather extensive additional worldbuilding. Since I essentially speedran getting invested in the project, I came away wanting to do more of it and... it just kind of stuck?

I mean, here we are several years later and my first impulse is still to name my tumblr blog for him. I've got a rough idea of his extended family back three generations. I have a design for that spring suit Hawberk had that was mentioned exactly once. I am the embodiment of

when it comes to this lol

_____

I couldn't find a good place to fit this in above, but Hildred was also the first time I encountered a story with an obviously intentional unreliable narrator after I'd encountered the term. Not sure how I missed it that long, lol. I spent probably half a decade looking askance at various authors and going "...do you know what you're writing there???"

I also couldn't integrate it anywhere, but I absolutely adore "The Mask." I have Thoughts on Chambers's ability to write romance more generally, the short version being that he writes Lovers™ and not characters and they're thus so wooden they're hard to read, but that he must have been in a position like the beginning of "The Mask" because holy god that is exactly how it feels.

[call-sign-shark]

Hey friend come, sit by the cozy fireplace inside of my cabin mansion and listen to my red talk(I call it red talk instead of Ted talk to avoid copyright infringement but don’t tell the communists that 😉)

Anyways, it’s currently 4:37 am in the morning so if i don’t answer back then I’m probably asleep. As I was saying, I wanted to ask that as you will someday soon produce future chapters of the heaven x auther series since you said that your series would go all the way up to season 5 would you add one significant moment where tommy is trading with the Chinese and has Polly and auther take a vote to keep the opium in small heath temporarily for the Chinese to find another way to sell it. I feel like if you were to add it, it would play a huge part in heaven and auther’s challenge as wife and husband however I can understand why you would not want to add it in would be because it would be overused and would get old but hey I’m a masochist so don’t be afraid to hold back.

Another thing I wanted to say is that I can’t wait for you to have Linda and heaven meet because it would be so good and it would be really fun to see because a part of me wants to see a cat fight but a part of me knows that both have their strengths and weaknesses. Linda has a nack for manipulating people that are vulnerable like auther was and having him under her hand by using Christianity as a veil to cover up for her narcissistic tendencies. She also is (I think masterful in economics and how to rally up women to fight for a cause for I believe is for the fun of it. Her weakness is when she hates when people are way smarter than her (I think) and also despises when people use violence to get what they want. I also think she likes diminishing peoples trauma and using their past against them to her advantage so to feel some kind of moral ground. Now as for heaven, her strength comes with a nack for violence when the people she cares about her hurt or are in danger. She also has a huge advantage by having powers as a witch to kill them. She also knows when to read the room and listens to people’s passions as well as being able to bring people back to life and loving children. She also understands how ptsd has a really big impact on people and how it can bleed into their lives she supports people’s aspirations and Dreams. She also has white hair which is a bonus 😌

She would make a great mother as well and she even acknowledges that her past really effected her and how she tries not to grieve to much as it can take a toll on one’s psychological development. I would really like to see how Linda reacts when she sees auther genuinely happy and healthy without her and how he doesn’t really need to go to heaven when he has her in his arms. And I can’t wait for heaven to put her in her place and I would love to see how smart they really are against each other.

Thanks for coming to my red talk

Jovin, thank you for your Red Talk. Please keep them going because they give me life I swear! 😬 Sorry for taking so long to reply but it’s a dense topic to address. Fasten your seat belts because it’s going to be a wild ride.

• First let me answer to your question about Heaven in Your Eyes’ plot: The Chinese and opium plot are obviously going to be addressed. Now the more time passes, the more I think about adding one Act to the series to cover season 6. But I will obviously completely rewrite the plot, such as Arthur’s role since he wouldn’t be a useless junkie in this version. Moreover you’re definitely right about the whole opium trade being a challenge for Heaven and Arthur’s marriage.

• Now about Linda. The women are definitely going to encounter each other at one point in the story. Something I didn’t mention is that they already met a few times prior to the divorce since she attend the masses in the same church in which Heaven sometimes went. As you justly said, they both have strengths and weaknesses… Even if I have to mention that readers sometimes might portray Heaven a bit too nicer than what she actually is. While not being particularly hostile and having a kind side, she can be a bratty, mean and sassy bitch. Moreover, I am delighted you mention her nack for violence ‘cause that’s definitely one of the things that distinguish her from Linda. While she’s more manipulative, Heaven rather use physical violence and threats to reach her goals. And I agree with your, white hair is a bonus teehee. 🖤 But yeah, Linda and Heaven facing each other is going to be super interesting, especially since Linda isn’t stupid, quite the contrary she’s smart as fuck… But no spoil! What I can say though is that Heaven won’t physically harm her if she doesn’t threaten Arthur or becomes an obstacle. Simply because she knows that seeing Arthur genuinely happy will hurt more than any physical wound.

Surprisingly enough, as a spectator of the show, I don’t particularly despise her character. I even think she has some great scenes. Especially when she mimics Tommy and says “Arthur, can’t you control your wife?” That line is definitely Heaven-coded.

Anyway! You can’t count on mommy bear Heaven to put her in her place if she needs to! 🤭 But Linda isn’t going to be easy to defeat. (+ look at her adorable face! How can she lose the fight?)

Heaven is Reader in Heaven in Your Eyes here, an Arthur Shelby x You story.

[fang-and-feather]

Ikemen Vampire - Isaac/Arthur/OC

for Be my Valentine 2.0 Prompt 10: Slurring out a love confession in the heat of the moment by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767

Isaac never bothered with Valentine's day, and now the woman he liked already had a date, but a late night encounter might bring him unexpected surprises.

First time trying to make a fic's banner. Still don't know if I should keep making them or if they're a waste but I was in a random mood and did it anyway

AO3 Version / IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

Everyone was already sleeping when Isaac went to the kitchen for a last bottle of rouge.

He had been working earlier and didn’t want to be interrupted when Amy had offered him food earlier, promising to pick some himself when he was done.

At least everyone ‘should’ be sleeping, but when he approached the dining room, he heard voices and laughter.

Peeking inside, he saw Arthur, with Reina sitting on his lap, sharing drinks and snacks.

Recently, Isaac felt strange whenever he saw the two of them together. It was like a mix of happiness and dissatisfaction that, at first, he couldn’t comprehend. But recently, with the approaching Valentine’s Day, Isaac had slowly realized the truth about the dissatisfaction. He liked Reina, but she was dating Arthur.

Unfortunately, there was no chance for Isaac to turn around and lock himself back in his room. Not when they had already noticed him.

“Newt, old boy! Come join us.”

Arthur practically slurred the words. Isaac wanted to just turn and leave, but Reina stood up, smiling at him, and Isaac got a little distracted while she and Arthur approached before he could react.

“Join?” Isaac finally diverted his eyes. Having both so close was bad for his heart, but he tried to act normal. “What are you even doing here in the middle of the night?” And drunk, of all things.

“I couldn’t sleep, so we’re having a little Valentine’s celebration a little earlier.” Reina giggled. “You can eat with us.”

Anyone else would find it easier to say no. Vampires didn’t need food. Isaac had to be the only one who couldn’t take his blood without food.

Valentine’s day was for couples. Did that mean that they… No. It was obvious Reina was also drunk and didn’t know what she was talking about. He had no right to join them.

“I do-don’t want to intrude.”

“But we want you to, Newt.” Arthur wrapped an arm around Isaac’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “You came looking for food, didn’t you? Won’t it be more fun to eat with us?”

“Maybe if you stopped calling me that.” Isaac tried to sound mad, but Reina had also gotten closer and he was practically sandwiched between the two of them.

If vampires could spontaneously combust, Isaac was sure he would have.

“It would be more fun for ‘us’ to spend some time with you, Isaac.” Reina put a hand lightly on his arm. “Arthur means no harm.”

“No harm? Arthur is always going out of his way to annoy me!” Isaac couldn’t help but protest.

“You’re just too cute. I can’t resist.” Arthur called him cute?! And he was snuggling up to him?! “I actually love you a lot.”

“Both of us do.” Reina added, her arm now hooking around his waist.

Isaac stiffened, both at the slurred out words and at Arthur nosing at his neck. All of that was only happening because they were drunk, right? There was no way they meant any of it.

Isaac was getting quite overwhelmed by the two of them, so close and the intimate way they were touching him.

Arthur pulled his head away, and Isaac caught his eyes. He had such a soft smile that Isaac had only seen discretely directed at Reina before. But the eye contact was brief as Isaac quickly looked away.

The beating of his heart was deafening, and Isaac’s senses were being overtaken by the familiar hunger but, at the same time, different from anything he’d experienced. He didn’t just want blood, he wanted ‘their’ blood.

Isaac knew why that was. Vampires had a very specific desire for the blood of someone they loved. That was the reason he’d been spending less time with Reina, under the guise of working on a new theory - which wasn’t a lie, but he usually would at least take some breaks with her.

But didn’t that mean he liked Arthur too?! That couldn’t be true!

No matter if it was true or not, though, Isaac needed to get away from them before he lost the remnants of his self-control, especially considering Arthur and Reina were drunk and especially affectionate.

“Y-you shouldn’t say things like that while you are this drunk?”

“Do you think we don’t mean it?”

“I’m not that drunk.”

Both of them laughed.

“But we’ll give you some time to think, okay?” Reina kissed his cheek, then both said goodnight and left, to Isaac’s relief.

He hurried into the kitchen for some Rouge. It wasn’t what he was craving, but it would sate him.

Then Isaac returned to his room and tried to sleep, but his mind kept returning to the scene in the dining room, and he could feel his body warm wherever Arthur and Reina touched him.

His mind wished the couple would forget all of it happened in the morning, but his heart wished they meant what they said. But why would they?

‘They’. Isaac couldn’t believe he was including Arthur in that. Most people would expect him to hate the guy. Isaac thought he did. He wished he could. But as annoyed at Arthur’s teasing as Isaac always was, he never did.

Isaac felt heat in his cheeks again when he remembered how Arthur had called him cute. Not many guys would like being called cute, but it made Isaac feel strangely warm.

Trying to escape these wild thoughts and weird feelings, Isaac tried to go back to work, but he couldn’t concentrate for long. Isaac was tired, but the image of soft smiles, the sensation of warm touches and the memory of sweet words still haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

Going back and forth between trying to sleep and trying to work, Isaac barely noticed when morning came, until someone knocked on his door.

“Isaac, breakfast. Can I come in?”

Amy. Not the person Isaac wanted to see the most at a moment like that. He had no doubt she would pick up that he hadn’t slept and make a fuss.

On the other hand, she could help solve his dilemma about last night. She knew Reina since they were kids and was very good at reading people. If Amy could tell him Arthur and Reina were just drunk and didn’t mean any of that, and that Isaac himself was mistaking his pleasure at hearing their words for actual love, at last towards Arthur, he could simply forget it happened and go on with his life like he always did.

But what if she said they didn’t mean it, but that he was really in love with them? Or if she said they actually meant it?

“Isaac?”

He nearly jumped when a hand touched his shoulder.

Since he hadn’t answered and the door was unlocked, Amy had let herself in and set a tray with Rouge and a couple of sandwiches on the table before he ever noticed.

“You don’t look like you slept much. Were you working that late last night?” Isaac wished he was working rather than dealing with the confusion that was the last night. “Or did something else happen? You’re blushing and very distracted.”

“Sorry. Thank you for bringing breakfast. I didn’t feel like going down to eat.”

“Avoiding Arthur?”

Sometimes Isaac hated how perceptive Amy was, almost as much as Arthur - she easily but not happily admitted that, if there was a competition, Arthur would win.

“How do you…”

“He and Rei are a little hungover, so they likely stayed up late drinking. In fact, Rei told me he made a careless comment about her drinking abilities and she challenged him.” Amy shook her head and sighed. “You were also working late, so you told me you would eat something before going to bed. Considering how you’re acting, I think Arthur said something to you that went a little over his usual teasing. Do you want to talk about it?”

Isaac still felt torn if he wanted to ask her or not. He knew if he didn’t want to, she would leave him alone, but that wouldn’t solve his problem.

Still, he was afraid to know the truth. And the chances of Amy being right in whatever she told him were between ninety-two and ninety-eight percent - mostly because, according to Amy’s sisters, she never told people anything she wasn’t at least ninety-eight percent convinced of.

Isaac sighed. Better get it over with already or he would puzzle over it for a long time yet.

“So they didn’t tell you anything about last night?”

“I doubt they remember much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That was a little of a relief. If he wanted, it would be easier to pretend nothing happened.

A little nervous, Isaac told Amy what had happened last night.

“... and none of this makes sense.” He said after. “How can I be in love with two people? With a man? With Arthur?!”

“That is the problem, isn’t it? Arthur. But love isn’t supposed to make sense, Isaac. You cannot find patterns or anything in it. In fact, the same applies to people in general, and any kind of relationship.”

And that was why Isaac had never seen any need for personal relationships in his life before and the ones he had now had been sudden and he didn’t have an explanation for yet. What Amy was saying was that he wouldn’t find one, no matter how much he tried.

“So you don’t find it strange?”

“Life is strange. Strange doesn’t mean bad or out of place, just unexplainable. Novelty. Usually interesting. And you shouldn’t be afraid of taking a risk and exploring these things, Isaac.”

“But…”

“That’s a suggestion, of course. I know it’s hard to change.”

Isaac nodded. That kind of encouragement was expected from Amy.

“Do you think they meant it, then? That they could love me too?”

“About Arthur, I can only guess, but I think that’s likely. As for Rei, I know she loves you. I see the way she keeps to her best behavior around you. That, and she is a very honest drunk.”

“Why me? And when they already have each other. Is that one of these things that doesn’t make sense?” Because he saw no other explanation as to why they would be interested in someone like him.

To his surprise, Amy pulled him into a hug, chuckling.

“Don’t be silly. Love doesn’t have to make sense, but most of the time, there is a reason people fall in love. It just isn’t always apparent. And you are very lovable, Isaac. I love you like a brother, and I’m sure the others like you as a brother or friend, too. And if they don’t, it’s mostly because you haven’t given them the chance. Rei and Arthur just love you differently.”

Although blushing at the contact and compliments, Isaac leaned into her embrace. The idea that she saw him as family made him feel all warm inside, too. In fact, he felt like crying. Since when he was so starved for affection?

“I think I am going to ask Reina about yesterday.” Isaac finally made his resolve.

“That’s the spirit.” Amy let go of him and mused his hair. “Love always takes a little courage to take the first step. Running away never helps. I learned it the hard way.”

“Thank you, Amy. I feel better talking to you.”

“That’s what step siblings are for.” She laughed. “Good luck.” And she left, giving him a playful wink before closing the door.

At first, Isaac thought of waiting until the next day. To let Reina and Arthur have their Valentine’s date in peace. But if he did, he might lose the little courage the conversation with Amy had given him.

That’s how he found himself, after having breakfast, knocking on the door to Reina’s bedroom. She was inside, but her voice, inviting him in, sounded like she’d been sleeping.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

At least she was dressed, so Isaac closed the door behind him.

“No. I was getting up already. My head is a little better, and I was going to check on Arthur.”

“Oh. You can go if you want to. We can talk later.” He started walking away, but Reina spoke before he could.

“Don’t worry about it. What do you want to talk about?”

Isaac blushed as he thought about the previous night and didn’t dare look her in the eyes as he spoke.

“Do you remember last night?”

“Not much.” Reina gestured for him to sit by her side on the bed, which he did, but kept a little distance. “I ended up challenging Arthur to a drinking contest, even though it was supposed to be an extra celebration for Valentine’s. Pretty stupid, I know. Did I do more stupid things?”

“Well… not stupid. But I saw you and Arthur… you wanted me to join you two and you didn’t seem to mind it was Valentine’s.”

He cast a side glance at the woman, while searching for the right words to broach the subject, only to see she was blushing too, but looked him in the eyes with a nervous smile.

“Did I…” She gulped. “Did I tell you why I wouldn’t mind?”

Isaac wasn’t the only one nervous about this. The thought made him feel a little better, but he still couldn’t look in her eyes for long.

“You said it was because you loved me.” His voice came out weaker than he expected.

For a while they stayed in silence, then Reina started laughing.

“What a way to confess.” She took a few deep breaths to calm down. “Sorry. It’s just… that’s not how I expected you to find out. Arthur and I have been trying to decide how to approach you about it, only for us to… wait! What did Arthur say about it? No. You can tell me later.” Reina startled Isaac when she suddenly held his hand. “I should say it properly.” In her eyes, there was the same tenderness of the night before. This time Isaac didn’t look away. “I love you, Isaac. Love you as much as I love Arthur. And I would like you to be my boyfriend, too.”

“So I turn my back for a moment and you’re already asking another guy out?”

None of them had seen Arthur walk in. Despite his words, his voice sounded playful. And was Arthur blushing?

Was that how Isaac looked to Arthur when he was embarrassed? Because he also found Arthur looked quite cute like that.

“Don’t give me that, mister!” Reina also pretended to be mad. “Like you weren’t planning to do it either.”

Arthur stepped closer to the bed, a small smirk on his lips this time.

“Hey! You didn’t have to tell him?”

“Really? Because I was about to ask Isaac, but I think you told him yourself yesterday.”

Arthur took a step back and looked at Isaac with wide eyes. Diverting his gaze, Isaac only gave him a quick nod in confirmation.

“Oh, what a shame I don’t remember the look on your face.” Arthur laughed and sat on the other side of Isaac. “So, what will you do with that information, Newt? Because Rei and I would love to have you as ‘our’ boyfriend, but that’s up to you.”

Isaac couldn’t believe how Arthur was being so gentle with him and realized he’d always wanted a little of that tenderness.

“If you only want one of us or none, we’ll respect your decision.” Reina’s grip on his hand tightened a little, but not enough that he couldn’t pull away if he wanted. “But we thought a lot about it, and we think we would be even happier with you. What do you want?”

What did Isaac want? His only reason to go see her was to know the truth. Of course, he knew what his heart wanted. Would it be okay for him to ask for it?

His heart was practically screaming for him, too. He’d come this far, and there was no way he could look at any of them and reject the love they were offering him.

“I love you both, too.” Isaac whispered, blushing, but looking one, then the other in the eyes with strengthened resolve. “Sometimes I don’t know why I do, or why any of you would love me, but I want to try figuring it out.”

Isaac stiffened when Reina, smiling softly, pulled him closer for a hug and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and even more when Arthur warped his arms around both of them.

“We’ll make sure you won’t regret it, Newt.” Arthur placed a soft kiss on Isaac’s temple.

“So you’ll stop calling me that?”

“For today, okay?” Arthur laughed. “But I’ll make it up to you.”

Isaac sighed, not wanting to really ask how Arthur planned to ‘make it up’, but relaxed in his new lovers’ embrace. It was surprising, but he really enjoyed their warmth.

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[aspiringsophrosyne]

Episode 2: Trials of Vasselheim

There is a lot of ground to cover here, so the good and bad are going to be split into two separate posts. This'll be the first, and the good stuff.

Make sure you're in the right theater and you've got your contraband snacks safely in your pocket. Lights are going down, so get comfortable. Show's about to start.

The Good.

The City

God, Vasselheim. Vasselheim!! It's such a lynchpin in the history of Matt's word. It survived the Calamity...there must be so many stories you could tell in a place like this. It's regrettable we haven't seen a Campaign set here or on this continent yet, or more characters who came from there.

And it all looks so...complete. So alive and real. I should've mentioned Arthur Loftis by name before now, but this dude is killing the art better than Grog kills...a lot of things. There isn't anything more to say than that the art is always beautiful, and the art team always does an incredibly meticulous job. Hearing Matt recall seeing Arthur's preliminary sketches of the city ("You mother fucker!!") sums it up nicely. The dude's a gift, and I just wanted to take a moment here to point it out. This city, Emon, Whitestone....they've been so grand, so detailed, and with so much thought put into them if you listen to them talk about it in the Q&As. The show is so lucky to have this dude and all of the art team.

It's so much fun to see nods to the gods and goddesses who are coming to prominence further down the road. (Hi, Cad!) Nice to hear the bidet joke come up since we're not getting it in its original context.

Ooh, look who's still early. Hello again, Matron.

The Take

I'll be sincere with you; I was hoping for some version of the Slayer's Take, even when I had little hope. There's so much fun stuff in the arcs that feature it, and we needed to get Zahra and Kash in there somehow. So not only was I ecstatic to see it included, I ended up being very satisfied with how it was included....at least in this episode.

In the stream, the Take was encountered before the Briarwood Arc. Vox Machina accidentally killed a hydra they weren't supposed to, and they went on missions with members of the Take to pay the debt. Having it just be younger punk-ass versions of the twins swiping the monster out from under Zahra fits well with their characters and folds elements from the stream into this new context rather neatly.

Kash and Zahra

KASH and ZAHRA KASH and ZAHRA KASH and ZAHRA!!!

Sorry, I was just overjoyed to see them. The team's getting back together again!

Will Friedle is still hilarious as deadpan, long dead-inside Kashaw Vesh. I was not surprised to learn from the watch-along and the Q&A that he improvised some great lines for this and the next episode. 

And Zahra's just...hot. They both are, but he's a ten out of ten, and she's around twelve. It helps when you're voiced by Mary Elizabeth McGlynn. Both of them look fantastic, and I know you can give their players credit for that, as they most likely gave Phil Bourassa notes.

On that note, I can easily picture Laura and Mary hovering threateningly over the animators' shoulders, giving them only one directive to adhere to or fall to their collective wrath:

"Make sure everyone knows these versions of our characters fucked."

Because the pissy exes vibe is so strong with these two, and I am one hundred percent here for it.

Also, now is a good time to point out that not only does Mary provide the voice of Zahra, but she is also the most excellent voice director for this show. She's been doing great...and I almost want footage of her directing herself as a gag.

Nice to see some of the easter eggs at the Take as well.

(Side note, based on Zahra, who had solid white eyes in the stream, I'm going to guess that other Tieflings in the C2 stream who had similar eyes are not going to in the animated adaptation. Probably way easier on the animators that way. Just something neat to think about.)

The Trials

I approve of the spooky and subtle build-up to Osysa's introduction. She stalks around in the dark like a lioness on the hunt long before we see her face. Not only does that not overuse CGI, it feels tenser and more mysterious. Her design is beautiful, otherworldly, and just fun to look at; she looks like a statue that's come to life. Following her reveal, her wrecking Vox Machina so completely without visible direct effort makes her feel that much more beyond them. Alanna Ubach gives a pitch perfect performance. She has just the right amount of weariness and contempt in her voice that you believe her when shes says she's heard many pleas from adventurers over the years that couldn't back up their talk.

The Crucible fight is...Mm! I love getting allusions to the Storm Lord here, and Groon is an absolute monster. Dope monk shit!! Iké Amadi has a chasmic, commanding voice, and with it comes the quality of a teacher; one who's waiting for his student to stop dicking around and start applying himself. His fight with Grog is brutal; it elucidates the difference between mindless brute force and strategic swiftness and strength. Plus, Groon catching Craven Edge's blade and not flinching as it drinks his blood...damn.

The fight also does a fine job of setting up Grog's arc for the season, where he'll figure out what's really important and what his strength is really for.

Also, I appreciate that Grog, of all people, recognized that the situation was weird but still went along.

To say Osysa's story of the Calamity is visually enchanting is just one toothpick worth of a great redwood tree. The style choice, even if it hadn't been so stunning, is excellent. Beyond how pretty it is, it is vague, mythic, and epic, as if to say the finer details of it are lost to or can't be described by even a creature of the Knowing Mistress as ancient as Osysa. This lets us viewers imagine for ourselves just how big an event it was in this world's history; plus, it leaves the CRew room to elaborate on it later. Like, for example, in the next episode. 

Well, intermission's starting. If you need a pee break, now's the time. Just make sure you're back before the show starts up again.

[very-grownup]

I watched a movie made in this century and everyone is very impressed

On Friday I watched 2021's THE GREEN KNIGHT. I really liked it! I had a good time! I am not a person who knows or understands movies, particularly contemporary movies (whereas when I'm having attacks of confidence, I can usually acknowledge I have Some book knowledge)!

I did, however, do a seminar in medieval literature and so I've studied the actual text of "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" and similar poems.

The thing I really liked about THE GREEN KNIGHT is that it FEELS like an adaptation of the 14th century poem, instead of an adaptation of a modern text based on a telephone game version of an Arthurian legend hodgepodge. It's dirty and unglamorous and sexual, instead of pristine chivalric. None of these things mean it's drab, though. I'm used to people approaching the Arthurian legend with a heavy chivalric fantasy lens, with genre fiction writers especially leaning into the fantasy element, or armed with the HISTORICAL FIGURE OF KING ARTHUR mindset which for some reason translates as drab still historically inaccurate stabbing with horses.

(There is a third popular approach, which is weirdass time travel reincarnation but I think that's mostly in books and comics.)

When I say THE GREEN KNIGHT is dirty, I mean it in a textured way, rough and crumbling stone, scrubby moss, sticky blood, lived in and rotting in a natural way. Because the thing about THE GREEN KNIGHT is that it hits the strange space medieval literature was created in by acknowledging and embracing the clash between the pre-literate paganism and the literacy brought with Christianity (moreso than the centuries after the fact recordings of stories from Norway and Iceland). David Lowery clearly favours the natural pre-Christian state and a return to same, which may be the most modern aspect of the adaptation, with the King and Queen heavily adorned with holy imagery while being sickly and faded even when compared to the Mother, and the first thing Gawain encounters leaving the city being the rotting remains of a massive battlefield being pecked over by scavengers. Things become more vibrant and alive the further Gawain gets from this core of Christian civilization, even though it becomes increasingly dangerous.

In a lot of medieval literature, we encountered a tendency where the non-Christian elements were TOTALLY RAD while we also had to acknowledge the order and rules and hierarchy of Christianity was Good, even if it wasn't nearly as TOTALLY RAD as a half-demon baby biting off the nipples of many, many wet nurses.

Even though Lowery's take on the inevitable return to nature is contrary to the righteous Christian goals of the original text (although not so much in "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" as it is in other works), the result is much the same in the nature of Gawain's quest. The strangeness and danger and beauty of the natural world, the conflict of chivalric codes and the rules of folklore, the fact that the plot stems from Gawain's flaws as a person. Strange things happen and they're accepted with minimal question. A part of the world that is frightening but still known to exist.

Portrayed by Dev Patel, Gawain's flaws are less character flaws than they are the correctable flaws of youth. He's impulsive, quick to act and slow to think, and naïve in both halves of the world. It lets the character journey become one of maturation through the quest, rather than being an archetype going through the steps of a quest.

It was just a good time. Beautiful and sometimes hypnotic and ambiguous in a way I appreciate both because of the inherently ambiguous, 'lost' nature of these source texts, and also because it makes the real goal of the quest an inner question of self without tying it to outside validation for Gawain.

[ofauroradreams]

where Liana grew up...

Liana doesn’t tell people she’s from a Vault.  As far as anyone’s concerned, she grew up in a small settlement in the Capital Wasteland in the middle of nowhere and left when she was old enough.

For a few years she kept the Pip-Boy on her wrist; until it occurred to her that it had once belonged to someone else; and that meant there was a way to remove it.  Now she usually carries it in her backpack.  She still uses it, she records audio-logs and listens to music and the radio and breaks into vaults; but she doesn’t wear it on her wrist as much.

A few years ago, when she started heading back East and encountered some of the updated versions of the Pip-Boy, she took the time to strip the parts and upgrade her own one.  This means she has also been able to add her own upgrades and programming as she’s learned it; helpful for spying on or accessing things she wouldn’t be able to, otherwise.

When people ask she tells them she stole her Pip-Boy; because she could.  When they ask about her collection of vault suits, she shrugs and says they’re mementoes of her travels.  She has her original Vault 101 suit hanging separately from the rest; she says it’s the first vault she ever visited (not technically a lie, but most of them don’t know the Vault itself so she emphasizes visited).  Why is she so fascinated by vaults?  Well, why not?

There are a lot of reasons she doesn’t talk about it.  Anger, mostly, she doesn’t like to remember how it ended; but also knowing she grew up in a vault, compared to how many people were forced to grow up in the harshness of the wasteland.  there’s a privilege (that she’s no doubt lost due to her time in the wasteland since) of having a safe childhood, instead of being forced into combat as soon as she was old enough to hold a gun.

Only Mac, really, would know the truth, assuming he even remembers her.  Arthur Maxson definitely doesn’t; but then, he only met her once.

honestly, they probably don’t even know about her parents; and they definitely don’t know about Project Purity.  it’s just easier not to talk about it, really.

[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.

[ineffablebookgirl]

psychoanalyzing Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages instead of doing my research project that's due next week. pt. 5: Knights of the Round Table / Wessex

This interaction is kind of a drawn-out mirror of their very first interaction on the wall. Aziraphale has done something under his own volition, which he knows goes against what he's supposed to do. And then he backpedals to try to course-correct.

In Eden, he was grappling with giving away the sword. Here, in a damp field in Wessex, 500 years after hitting on Crowley in a pub in Rome, he is trying to stay on the straight and narrow (haha straight lol). He wanted to hang out with Crowley, and he sure as heck made that happen under his own volition and it definitely was not a Heaven-approved activity.

Now, when they meet, there's a familiarity. This is the first glimmer of their "old married couple" vibes. Who knows what happened at Petronius's place, or if they've had other dinners together since then (my guess would be yes) (except maybe not -- more on that later). But they clearly have some kind of stock of each other.

This is when Crowley first suggests the Arrangement to Aziraphale. Crowley is no longer just teasing Az about being a questionable angel, he's trying to get something out of Aziraphale -- something that benefits him, yes, but also a step forward in their relationship. A more explicit acknowledgement of the reality of their roles, not just the company line.

Crowley isn't the grumpy emo teenager we found in the pub in Rome, but he's also not the carefree old-testament imp with the flowing locks anymore. He's settling into the personality we see in the modern day, the "Eh, fuck 'em, let's do it our way and just do the bare minimum to not get noticed," the forced casualness that he wraps himself in to protect himself from the sharp bitterness of the pain he sees God cause.

And Aziraphale is also settling into his modern personality as well. His guard is up. He's keeping his head down and doing his job, tromping around in the mud to foment peace for King Arthur because that's part of the Ineffable Plan, I guess, don't worry about it just get it done so I can go home to a jug of red and a nice illuminated manuscript in front of the fire.

He also has adopted his patented Aziraphale Radiant Smile, the Kill Them With My Polite Englishness Smile, and maybe that's part of his armor too. He knows he's harming humans, he knows he's working for Amazon Corporate, but he has bills to pay. But dammit if he isn't going to bring a little bit of sunshine and joy to the day of every last human he encounters along the way. Whether they like it or not.

But... back to the question of whether they've hung out between Rome and now. The thing that trips me up is that Aziraphale deadnames Crowley. In Rome, he accidentally starts with Crawley, but he corrects himself immediately. Here, he just addresses him as Crawley, and Crowley has to correct him. So maybe they haven't run into each other since Rome. 500 years is a long time. It's feasible Az forgot. Or, he does it deliberately, to try and redraw the lines, go back to a version of their relationship before all this familiarity built up, a version of Aziraphale who knew his place and got on with it, and a version of Crowley who knew Aziraphale's place and teased him for it. Not this Crowley who suggests working together, who insinuates they have more in common with each other than with their head offices. Not this Crowley who knows him. Knows that the best way to get Aziraphale's cogs turning is to point out how uncomfortable the work is, how much more quickly he could get back to the fire and the wine and the book if he worked together with Crowley ...

Everything was different in Rome, and this meeting is Aziraphale going oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit and running in the opposite direction, for the first time, but not the last.

(I think they both have their own versions of this pattern, of getting a little closer, a little more vulnerable, and then overcorrecting to reinforce their defenses against that vulnerability. More posts to come!)

Final note: this is the only time they meet by accident. I'm not sure what that signifies, but Douglas MacKinnon said, "Everything is meant," so it must mean something. 🤔

[kiseiakhun]

Ask Meme: GARTH

GARTH

First impression - I encountered him first in the rb Titans book so I thought he was the muscle of the team 💀 Like he was one of those STRONG BURLY MEN ready to FIGHT EVERYTHING. But I also fell in love with his design and paid a disproportionate amount of attention to him; he was the most visually interesting character in the book for me.

Impression now - I want Garth to [censored] me and [censored] and then [censored] and

All joking aside, Garth is such an interesting character to me. He has such an air of mystery about him probably because he never appears in any books and there's just. So much potential in his character? Like, if you go down a list and tick off his traits... he's one of the more tragic characters in the dcu and he has such a complicated relationship with his mentor. He's strong enough to stand next to the likes of Superman and Wonder Woman. It's been stated on-page that Garth is one of the most competent magic users in the DCU. He should be a powerhouse. He should be in every major event, standing next to the headliners, and it's so tragic that he suffered from the Aquafam irreverency syndrome that struck everyone close to Arthur. Garth feels like a character in limbo; Arthur himself is just stepping back into the spotlight, and now that we have Jackson he can't really fill the role of Aqualad. It's clear that the writers don't really know what to do with him and that's so sad :/

I looove him. I love the concept of his character. When he's written right (re: the way I prefer), he works as such a great counter-balance to the more hotheaded personalities he's usually stuck with. He gives breathing space on a team full of aggressively emotional people. He's like a rock to rest on among a stormy sea. There's so much to explore when it comes to just him, too - I mean, Garth is the LOST PRINCE of an UNDERWATER KINGDOM born with STRONG INNATE MAGIC POWERS who was ABANDONED BY HIS PARENTS FROM BIRTH in order to SAVE HIM. He has purple eyes!! He has cool tattoos! HE HAS SEXY EYE SCARS. He's the subject of an ancient prophecy! His relationship with Arthur jumps all over the place from love to hate to love to hate. He has SO MANY PARENTAL ISSUES you can fill up a whole book with them. He has SO MANY ISSUES. Garth is literally an anime pretty boy. I can't believe more people don't love him, except I can believe it because he rarely ever shows up ;_; Wasted potential, thy name is Garth

Favorite moment

Remember when he had to rehydrate himself every two hours? That sure was a choice.

In all seriousness though, probably the time he led the mission to save Lilith (Omen). Let him be smart and competent... let his friends see and acknowledge it...

Idea for a story - ONE DAY I'm going to write that Roygarth fantasy epic where they have to journey through Treacherous Lands to save someone (Wally). Currently I have just vibes. But once I find a plot it's over for you hoes.

Unpopular opinion - Imagine if Garth was popular enough for people to have opinions. Umm. I like his rebirth look better 😔 that's the version I was introduced to and unfortunately I imprinted.

Favorite relationship - I looove his relationship with the Titans, to the surprise of absolutely no one. I do wish his and Wally's friendship would get explored more - he and Roy have this vitriolic thing going on, and he occasionally pops up in Nightwing books to give Dick supportive words of advice, and he and Donna have similarish personalities (at least outwardly, Donna seems a lot less chill on the inside than the image she tries to project) so they have this tendency to just snark about the others from the side and it's great lmao. In comparison, his and Wally's relationship seems less prominent which is a shame imo. They're friends too!

Favorite headcanon - After Koryak died Garth plundered his clothes and stole his fashion sense. I realized a couple days ago that Rebirth Garth resembles Koryak far more than he does pre-Flashpoint Garth and I'm still recovering from it.

Also he's so chill because he smokes a metric fuckton of weed. (Garth ran out of weed at the start of rebirth and that's why he was Like That)

[ask meme]

[booknerdinglasses]

Okay so I just finished watching Cursed on Netflix and I know season 2 was canceled but there were TOO DANG MANY cliffhangers so here’s what I want to see happen:

Season 2 should get picked up by Netflix or literally any platform

Then, in season 2...

1. Need to know what the hell happened to Nimue after she fell into the lake. It was teased since the first episode. Is she alive?? Is she the lady of the lake?? If so, is she be able to leave the lake and fight for her people?? SO MANY QUESTIONS

2. I love that Nimue and Arthur both had good romantic experiences with each other but they really didn’t have much chemistry. Pym had a crapton more chemistry with Dof and they had like a minute of screen time together. So I hate to say it but.. I think Lancelot should meet Nimue. All those near misses? ✨🔥 ✨ and Arthur and the red spear/Guinevere were definitely vibing. Maybe while Lancelot is riding with Percival they can come across Nimue? Because I can’t wait to see that encounter. Nimue will definitely go into mama bear mode and I think Lancelot would secretly love it even though it’s directed at him. Although he might also hate himself more for it. It’s a coin flip. Then when Nimue and Arthur run into each other, since Arthur is coming for her, they can peacefully end things.

3. I need to know what the hell Nimue did to Gawain’s body. Is he coming back? Is he part of the earth now? Does that mean it’s a sacred place??

4. I really really really want to see lancelot, Arthur, Nimue and the fey, and the red spear just totally rage attack the rest of the red paladins and uther’s armies.

5. Iris should die. Painfully. But not immediately because she’s one of the best villains I’ve seen in a while. Doubtful she would surrender.

6. Where the hell did Merlin and widowMorgana go??

7. Also is Merlin going to be a total bloodthirsty monster now that he has his magic back or will he be okay or will he proceed to destroy the sword? I vote destroy it.

8. Arthur and the red spear had some serious sparks. They should hook up.

9. Kaze is definitely going to get lost in the mix. Kaze deserves happiness.

10. Squirrel/percival better have Nimue and Lancelot raising him

11. Pym deserves happiness too. Not sure who she’s gonna connect with though. Maybe if Gawain does come back to life they can be a thing? If not someone else.

12. This should really be higher on my list. What the hell does it mean that MORGANA is a widow now? Does that mean she is fulfilling the cailleach’s destiny? Especially since merlin took her with him? I really don’t want this to be a version where morgana kills everyone

13. Can we also see a little bit of merlin’s history and how he survived when he left Lenore because obviously he was heartbroken.

14. Sooo just remembering this. Did Lenore tell Jonah that nimue wasn’t his? Is that what he was talking about when he said she was cursed, or was it something else??

15. More of Merlin and nimue and merlin being a badass dad who loves her so much

[thenarcolepticone]

You Won’t Believe What’s In Your Local Swamp! (Part 3)

(AO3)

(Part 2) (Part 3 - Here) (Part 4 - TBD)

“Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“Your pH strip is soggy.”

Arthur blinked out of his stupor, shaking his head to compose himself as he pulled out the strip out of the beaker. The poor thing was completely sopping wet, quite practically just a darker version of itself before Arthur had put it in. Frowning, he set the paper down and looked in the direction of his partner, who gave him a humored expression in response.

“So,” João teased, leaning over the lab table with a grin so annoying that Arthur debated about actually punching him.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your… performance lately.”

Arthur gave him a half hearted eye roll before attempting to examine the color of the paper slip in question. There was no color that could be discerned now that it was drenched, so he tossed it and pulled out another strip from the container.

“You’re not my boss,” Arthur argued, eyes still fixed on the task at hand. “But if it counts, I apologize for the time that I ate your Bifana. Now can you leave me alone? I can’t concentrate with you around.”

João snorted, rolling his eyes. “You haven’t been able to concentrate already, Arthur. Don’t push me away because I’m right. You’re distracted about something. We should talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Jo,” Arthur insisted, checking the color of the new strip before immediately going to grab the Pyrex vial from the other side of the room. When Arthur returned, he grabbed the beaker with the lake water, eyeballing the amount to pour into the smaller container.

He made the mistake of absently looking at João, who met his gaze half way and witnessed the whole process of Arthur very much attempting to ignore him. He smiled and Arthur’s frown deepened.

“It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not, ” Arthur countered sternly, voice straining to withhold an ungodly amount of irritation from spilling out. He set the glass device down before he could break it, leaning on the counter with his forearms on the table. Arthur shot him a glare. “And what’s gotten you so curious today? You must be jealous of something I’ve done, surely.”

The Portuguese man laughed, waving a hand in dismissal as he simply just leaned on the opposing counter, hands in his pockets as he relaxed his posture. He wasn’t doing work either, which Arthur observed. It was nothing unusual; João and his cousin Antonio were always the types to bother everyone before returning to their own business, and even then, they often didn’t usually get a lot done until the day before the lab results were due.

“Maybe,” João hummed. “Francis was the one who wanted to ask you initially what was wrong. He said you dropped the reptile assignment offer, which is not like you at all.”

What’s it to you? Arthur thought bitterly.

“The entire team’s been trying and keeping an eye on what you’re up to. You’re not very good at keeping secrets.”

“And you’re not very good at being subtle,” Arthur groaned, nearly slamming a second beaker on the table when he put it down. Typical. “But alright. I’ll humor your questions. Though if I do, you have to do the rest of these labs and let me leave early. I’m starting to develop a migraine just smelling this filthy swamp water.”

“Deal.”

With a start, Arthur tried to relax his brow and took a deep breath to ease his mind. It was the first time he had directly even attempted to think about it since the strange encounter a week ago, but all of it was as clear as if it had only happened a few hours prior.

The scene was as if it were something out of a science fiction movie, complete with bad acting from Arthur’s part. Arthur did not really consider himself a movie person (not really), but he definitely thought he had seen something of similar anatomy in a film, or at least a book. An image began in his head of a creature on all fours crawling out of the swamp near his house, drenched in mud and moss. It was not any animal that Arthur would have expected to come out of such a small swamp in the middle of Florida, and even if he could see the clean version of the creature, he guessed he still wouldn’t be able to understand what it was.

Its bottom half was most definitely an alligator, Arthur asserted, and that was already obvious. Arthur had come across one too many to not recognize what it looked like. But the top half? It was a human. It certainly had to be.

In consideration for the other part, Arthur knew enough human anatomy to perhaps guess that too. The fundamentals of learning reptilian anatomy often stemmed from the knowledge of what a normal human inner body would look like, what with the basics of the skeletal system and perhaps some muscular, artery or venous processes.

This was, quite frankly, chimera levels of anatomy. Arthur couldn’t even shake the thought of it; he even had dreams in the evening of trying to capture that thing’s skeleton! It’s vertebrae were likely human near the top, fusing somewhere along the line to become some alligators at the bottom. How did the thing breath under the water if it had a nose? How could the creature see? Did it have three eyelids or just one? Could it speak?

“Arthur, you’re staring again.”

“Shut the bloody hell up, João,” Arthur snapped, heart beat rising. The realization of himself deep within his own thoughts caught onto him only then, and he fought to keep his mind in the present. Arthur exhaled to prevent the second outburst from coming. His therapist had already warned him about his habit of temper, but he wouldn’t lose it today. At least not on João, who was probably the most tolerable on the team secondary to Ludwig.

“Sorry, sorry. I apologize,” Arthur sighed. “I’m … stressed. Which you may already know. It’s nothing, though. I just saw something at home the other day, in the bayou. I think it’s just my imagination.”

“Oh,” João’s tone sounded less teasing now and Arthur tried to appreciate it despite how clear that it was that João was not going to comprehend it at all. “Encountered your first wild and dangerous animal then?”

“Not my first,” Arthur grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just complicated. It nearly attacked me and I’d rather not talk about it. I haven’t been able to sleep well for the last few days.”

Arthur didn’t want to admit it to the others, but he had also booked a nearby motel to stay at while he was still trying to process what the hell was in his backyard. He wanted to stay the hell away from that thing as much as possible and this solution had worked somewhat. At some point, however, Arthur knew he would have to return to the home, if not to just rid his fridge of the perishables or take out the trash before it stunk up the place. But how could he? Arthur barely could compose himself thinking about the creature; he was practically unable to bring himself to return back into those marshes with that thing still there.

“Sure, Arthur sure. I’ll take it from here,” João smiled warmly, hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he went to retrieve the container of lake water from the table. “Just get some rest. Whatever it is that you saw out there, you can always call the exterminator. Like it or not, they might be able to find someone who can deal with whatever problem you have. Or just deal with it yourself, of course. Within reason.”

“Thanks,” Arthur practically breathed in relief, wasting no time in already heading for the door, already removing his lab goggles and coat.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“You owe me a week of Bifanda.”

“Fine.”

+++

He was going to catch the thing in his backyard.

Arthur could not tell if it was the caffeine in the tea he had received from the cafe that spurred his thoughts, nor was he sure if it was spontaneously of his own accord. However, as his new plan evolved into sure certainty, it left the herpetologist free reign to visit every part of town to prepare for what was, quite frankly, a war.

A quick visit to Cabella’s yielded him a rope, a large crate and a snare pole, but also a new pair of shoes and a pith helmet that was long overdue for a purchase as well. The intention was to at least figure out a way to restrain it, but after browsing the aisles for a while, he pondered about the other possible circumstances.

Wrestling gators was not necessarily a strong option for Arthur; he had done football in his youth of course, but it could hardly be called any form of previous experience. The most he could perhaps do was to restrain the bottom half of the alligator by pinning it between his legs and sitting upon its back lightly, forcing it to have less of a chance to move or wriggle out of his grasp. That was the first part of the solution.

However, there was another human element he had to consider as well; the upper torso.

The thing didn’t have the iconic maw that was so feared by so many. But in a weird way of considering it, Arthur could handle this without much worry for any bites that could take out a limb or two. Though, as it turned out, that also eliminated the option of duct taping the mouth, as there was no longer a snout to hold close but instead just a normal face to keep from biting him.

A sense of embarrassment flooded into Arthur upon realizing that there would need to be instead, God forbid, a muzzle to keep the thing at bay. Belling the cat, so to speak. It was also not going to be easy either if accounting for the human arms that could very much also prevent Arthur from getting close to it, if at all.

So, after a relatively silent trip to the adult sex store (Arthur was not too keen on the cashier’s small talk and promptly left before anything could be said about his ‘crocodile hunter outfit’), Arthur eventually found himself on his backyard porch.

He was dressed in his khaki top and shorts; high socks peeking above his work boots. The rope was slung over Arthur’s shoulder loosely, held in place with one hand while the other grasped his snare pole. Arthur glared at the water itself, almost as if daring the other creature to come out of it.

Time to see what you’re really about.

The herpetologist took a long minute to observe his surroundings. The grassy patch of land was exactly how Arthur left it, which included the bucket that had the plethora of dead goldfish still in the middle of it. It reeked heavily of rotting flesh now, and after a moment of holding his breath, he went to retrieve it so he could toss it into the trash bin. He rinsed the bucket soon after, ridding the smell once and for all before returning to the task at hand.

With the remainder of the backyard still empty, Arthur placed the raw chicken that he had retrieved from the store into the newly cleaned bucket, leaving it tilted in the direction of the (still) orange waters. The crate was carefully propped just above it, held only in place by a stick. The rope was then, intuitively, tied to the stick and ready to be pulled anytime from Arthur’s hiding spot from behind a tree a few feet away.

There was no sound coming from the water by the time he had settled behind the Cyprus tree, but Arthur was not fooled. As a precautionary measure, the snare pole ended up in Arthur’s other hand, just in case the creature was smart enough to wrestle his way out of the trap before he could get there in time to restrain it. If he had to. Arthur tried not to imagine the worst case scenario.

But, as this was all said and done, Arthur eventually found himself eventually staring at the ground, energy zapped in a single moment when the preparation was already complete. The morning burst of excitement was gone when the reality of it finally set in. No longer was he a soldier in the middle of trying to assault the enemy but instead, a single man trying to catch a monster in the middle of a 90 degree afternoon.

God. What am I even doing?

The churring of water was enough of a reply, and Arthur’s stomach churned with it. He wasn’t tempted to look, at least not at first. Human or not, the thing behind the tree was likely intelligent enough to look at his surroundings before anything else, and Arthur spent no time trying to overthink it. He felt his hands clam up with sweat, shaking again just as he did the first time he had encountered the beast. The master plan that he initially concocted was now showing its holes and Arthur swore there wasn’t that many until now. The gator-human would likely rip off the crate before he knew it, and would find a new way to haunt Arthur; more so than it was already.

Before he could even think, the immediate wiggling of the rope was enough of an instinct for Arthur to yank it. The sound of the crate clunking, followed by a hiss, made Arthur’s heart race as he immediately went to drop the snare pole to find priority in grabbing the handcuffs and muzzle.

Arthur rounded the tree, finding the tip of its tail sticking out from under the crate. Jackpot.

Without hesitation, Arthur put his weight on the top of the box, torso leaning against the wood of the crate on top of the creature. The thrashing from underneath did not relent, however, and Arthur fought to keep his feet on the ground, the soles of his feet digging into the muddy floor as he tried to find some way of finding purchase so he could hold it still. Bending his knees to shift the weight, Arthur found that it was the only solution that he could manage at the moment, and one quickly turned into a nightmare as he discovered his body growing increasingly tired from the effort.

“Alright, alright!” Arthur practically yelled at the animal, teeth gritted. “Quit your squirming. Be glad I didn’t shoot you or anything.”

The animal made no indication of understanding. The crate took a moment to pause as well, as if it, too, were also tired of the fight. Though suddenly, the crate lurched, and Arthur lost his grip as he stumbled and fell forward. The crate fell away with it, launching off as the beast whipped its head to shake the offending object off.

It was only when Arthur had pushed himself off the ground, that he realized he was met with an even more horrifying realization. The being in front of him was not the chimera he had expected to have seen, but instead, an actual crocodile. And one that, as it spun around to meet Arthur’s fallen form, was about to launch its open maw at Arthur’s head.

Arthur screamed , not finding enough time to scramble away as it began to heave its massive form toward him at a blinding speed.

Arthur, you absolute fool. You’re dead. You’ve done it now!

Arthur raised his arms protectively but uselessly, and he nearly shut his eyes in silent acceptance. But before he could, a blur of color entered his vision at some point and the predator in front of him was launched sideways, body smacking against the side of his house like a rag doll.

“What--?”

Green eyes darted to the new opponent, and his heart began to sink.

There it was; the gator human in all its heroic glory. Arthur could clearly see him now, as the thing was only now coated in dried mud and dust instead of its swamp-monster appearance from weeks ago.

The thing was blond and had eyes that held a color somewhere in between a blue and a strange yellow. It had webbed feet on the “gator side”, but Arthur soon discovered that the thing’s front palms also contained a few scales as well, likely padding it to allow it movement in the murky environment. It had sharp claws, which nearly matched its teeth and Arthur couldn’t find himself able to tear his eyes away when his gaze found interest in the canines.

The whole bloody mouth of the thing was like a shark’s, but somehow even more so frightening when considering that the canines of the “human side” were longer than the rest of its rows of teeth.

The gator-man snarled something that somehow mimicked a voice and an actual guttural growl. It was soon identified to not be toward Arthur himself, but to the other alligator that had been smacked against the wall. The poor thing looked as if the attack had knocked its final breath and it lethargically began to march its way back toward the water like a punished child.  Arthur didn’t dare move, just in case the crocodile would change its mind and turn around. But as it began to descend into the swampy waters, Arthur’s gaze returned back to the--

The gator-man was staring right at him, expression blank as it lifted its front extremity to grasp at Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and backed away instinctively.

“You’re,” Arthur breathed, unable to blink. “It’s... you.”

The creature simply blinked back at him in curiosity. Three eyelids, it seemed. And it gave the sharpest toothed grin he had ever seen in his life.

“S’ss you!”

Arthur’s jaw dropped.

It. It could speak.

Arthur really fought the urge to not faint right now. He found himself relaxing his posture only slightly, and the animal crawled right into his lap as if it were an opening, and that itself nearly caused Arthur an episode of hyperventilation.

The dirty hand-paws reached up to hold Arthur’s face in his, and Arthur rapidly realized that he himself had not only developed jelly legs, but that he was at the mercy of whatever this thing decided to do.

“Okaay?” It asked, tone concerned. Arthur found his words for only a moment.

“I-I’m... okay. Yes. I’m alright.”

But was he really? Arthur couldn’t tell. His eyes lids were already closing and the last thing he heard was a soft gasp of worry.

(Part 2) (Part 3 - Here) (Part 4 - TBD)

[emily-the-fae]

Every Day is a Lullaby

A oneshot. This honestly came to my mind yesterday night, I do not know how well the idea turned out to be.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x OC

Warnings:probably language, blood, injury, background character death, brief mentions of sex, angst mith mix of fluff

Rated: T

Mr Ketch has many sides, likable and repulsing - but which one of his faces is truly his is sometimes an uncertainty even for him.

Harper reflects on the changes on their relationship as they get out of a hunt gone wrong. While Ketch reconsiders some of his past choices... And reasons why he is still alive.

If he's a serial killer

Then what's the worst

That can happen to a girl

Who's already hurt

I'm already hurt

The first time Harper met him was a coincidence. It was long before the whole nephilim thing, long before she found out what kind of man he was, what kind of hunter he was. Yet even back then in the span of their first couple of meetings  she felt he was no good.

A stupid hunting coincidence.

Harper was not used to hunting alone. She did that to herself - separated herself from the Winchesters. However much she loved Sam and Dean, she could not bear continuously being around them, not after everything that happened. Not after Charlie. Because no matter what Dean said or how Sam reassured her - it was her fault. Charlie was a great friend. Charlie had the brightest soul. Harper was late to help her and now Charlie was no more. It was all Harper's fault.

Driving away and going head first into hunting was the outmost Winchester way of dealing with the guilt and grief. Hunting alone while slowly coming out of her lowest phase - those were the circumstances under which Harper met Arthur Ketch.

The first time it happened it was a coincidence - two hunters choosing the same target is not uncommon. Harper was already on spot and all in the fight when he arrived. "Are you insane going into a whole vampire nest alone?" - those were the first words she ever heard from him. She might have been slightly insane, but he sure was a damn psycho. To be honest if not for him she would have probably ended up dead or turned in that vampire nest that night. Harper hates being honest about it.

The second coincidence happened just a few days after the first one - she would later on doubt if it was a coincidence at all. Perhaps it was. Harper would never really know - what she did know though was that he still had a small scar left above his left eyebrow - a mark of where she hit him with the grip of her gun, thinking it was the witch that was creeping up to her and absolutely not expecting to hear a male voice swearing after her blow. Arthur had not known her for 24 hours in sum and they were already making a scene after a hunt - Harper almost pitied she had not knocked him out straight away.

What happened on the next day? He caught her in the town and suggested to team up to avoid "future confusions". Rule number one how to become friends with Arthur Ketch: hit him in the face. Harper wasn't going to become friends with him - with any hunters for that matter - but fate seldom cared what Harper was going to do anyways.

Harper definitely lied to herself when she said that they were going to be only friends or that she was going to hate him after all the British Men of Letters invasion story. She didn't. Not with the way they met in the first place: him ripping her out of the claws of the angry remnants of the vampire pack - slightly concerned greyish blue eyes and a British accent was what greeted her at dawn that day, even though mid in fight she had accepted she would not see the sun again. It seemed symbolic how he saved her from giving up, from herself. And certainly not after the way their relationship went from mutual curiosity to blind semi-professional trust. Harper did not need a "friend" to console her: if she had wanted that she would have stayed around Sam - she needed someone unfeeling but understanding enough to see through her and consciously let it be.

She remembered it clearly - three hunts into their relationship - a month after their first encounter - they were sharing a hotel room. Two beds, late night after a hunt, she lied on her side and quietly cried. It was a demon hunt. The memories were too much. Arthur came into view and stared at her for a couple of moments before walking to his own bed.

- I'd say you can talk about it when you want to, but I doubt you will ever feel the necessity, - a brief caress of his hand against her shoulder. He did not try to relieve her, he allowed her to get to her own way of coping. For that Harper was grateful more than ever. - We all have skeletons in our closets, it's the downturn of the job.

Oh, dear Arthur, we are both now  aware you knew far too well what you were talking about. Harper doubted any hunter had a closet cemetery as large as Ketch's.

Yet... Even after that - the awkward reuniting with the Winchesters, being pulled away from him as she came back to her old friends and witnessing, luckily from a safe distance, how the man she grew to trust without actually knowing him, uncovered darker and darker sides of his personality. What was worst - after she refused to join the BMoL, he would continue to sometimes keep her hunting company, going on like nothing happened. Like nothing changed. Why worst? It let the image of the heartless killer that she should have seen before her now connect and combine with the image of the man who would patch her up on her darkest nights and put a firm hand on her shoulder when Harper was too deep in memory to restrain herself. His presence around her became a reassurance in itself - because he did not have to know to understand. And because he simply had not been there - looking into his eyes Harper wouldn't get reminded of the times when everything was still right, wouldn't get reminded of that one time everything went very wrong. Probably those were the main qualities that helped him win a spot in her heart. Those and his unending casual flirting.

And now? After everything was over, after his very dark side was revealed, the confessions were made and the redemption was played, what did she think of him? The hunter, turned out just a very well trained assassin - he had served the British Men of Letters, he had served Asmodeus - now here he was separated from any commanding he ever had, living a hunting life of his own and sometimes collaborating with the Winchesters. Therewere many dark moments forgotten for the sake of peace. Many more had yet to come up - judging by how Ketch treated his own history and interests of others.

" - I wonder where Mick went, he was always so nice... Nicer than you, anyways. Pity he went away all of a sudden, - Harper mentioned once after a hunt.

- He did not go anywhere. I shot him in the head just like Hess ordered, - Ketch seemed calm and cold as steel. " Sometimes Harper thought that leaving BMoL would change him, but moments like that she realized how slowly the changes - if any - would have to occur. That night she simply walked away, not saying another word.

If anyone ever asked Harper how Arthur's spot in her heart had shifted after all the mess he had caused? She would say that he never even had one... And think that truth to be told there was no flame hot enough to burn him out of her chest - his name carved on her ribs would have been easier to get rid of than the bittersweet affection she harboured for the moral wreck of a man named Arthur Ketch.

If he's as bad as they say

Then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes

I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

Despite that Harper never dared pursue a relationship. Why? She was very sure with people like Ketch the only right strategy was not to expect them to be capable of attachment. The flirting, the sweet promising looks he would give her after a well-accomplished hunt... Harper would dream of believing them to be genuine. She was very well aware thinking him in any way genuine was a risk she was not ready to take. She knew Ketch would not mind letting that affair happen - he made that quite clear. She also knew it would mean absolutely nothing to him apart from some company and a warm body in his bed. Arthur Ketch was cold, unemotional and taught himself well not to get attached to anyone - and even if that was not true, he tried his damn best to make it seem so.

Harper sometimes hoped she saw it in his eyes: a silent "please keep safe" when they would part after a hunt, a sparking "I missed you" when they would meet once again. Arthur sometimes hoped she would see it too - very deep in his soul, deeper than he would ever be able to admit even to himself.

In other words, the outcome of the new hunt would have presented itself sooner or later anyways. They were actually quite lucky to have it present itself the way it did.

The werewolf did not seem such a hard target - away from bigger packs, alone terrorizing the neighborhood - just because he could. Problem and solution crystal clear - a hunt where one clearly sees the root of evil is a blessing for a hunter that's used to all the versions of heartbreaking stories. What Harper did not so clearly see was the gun in their opponent's hands. To be more precise: she did see it, but a little too late.

Two gunshots rang at the same time: her silver bullet hitting right into the monster's heart and his normal one - ... Ketch fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor: his left shoulder bled, the bulletproof vest, even though being pierced in the thinner area, had preserved him from being too deeply injured - but not kept completely safe from wounding.

Several seconds of silence - making sure the werewolf is not a threat anymore - realisation and fear finally hitting Harper.

- Ketch?... Ketch?!... Arthur! - the hunter was too disoriented to answer and his silence was taken as a bad sign. - Oh Lord, Arthur, no! - gone are the self-restraint and professional coldness: the moment she sees blood on his chest, she rushes to his side, forgetting about everything else in the world. She needs to make sure he will be fine. He has to be. - Arthur, please, don't die on me! Arthur! - she calls for his attention, the hunter slowly regaining his senses.

For a moment there he believes he hears Tony. This reminds him of some of his unlucky hunts from the years before, though back then he had certainly had it worse. Besides this definitely was not Tony.

Tony would have said "Ketch's down" and carry on with the hunt, eyes on the target, and when the deed was done she would pass him with a short "How is it?" - more out of politeness than genuine caring. That was exactly what she did the only two times he had been seriously injured infront of her.

- Ketch, answer me right this instant, don't you dare fading out! - panic in her voice, genuine. The idea of someone caring as much as to panic at the thought of his death seems too good to be true - for him at least. Arthur feels hands investigating his chest, checking for the wound: cold thin fingers running over his blood-covered skin. Not Tony - Harper.

- I'll live, darling, it's nothing too serious, - attempting to sound confident, but his voice is rasp. It's nothing serious, but it hurt nonetheless: the blow on the shoulder was much harder than anticipated and the bleeding needed to be stopped.

Harper looks into the light blue, borderline grey eyes - he is staring up at her, his gaze unguarded only for a moment that lets her see the uncommon softness and hope in his expression - just for a moment - she believes the things she guessed about him were true, she believes the pain visible in his eyes is true, only by accident revealed to her. The state lasts only a couple of moments - but even that is more than enough for his visible emotions to imprint into her mind.

Arthur Ketch was able to feel. Arthur Ketch could be in pain. Arthur Ketch was capable of needing help.

I said "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat ooh-ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue ooh

I just wanna dance with you

It was a wonder that the hotel clerk did not stop them on their way - Ketch looked positively dying - Harper was quite sure there was no legal thing that could have happened to him that would have explained this appearance. This was the reason normal hunters chose motels: less suspicion. Harper briefly wondered where he got the money to maintain his former lifestyle, since he was stripped of the BMoL funding, but she guessed there were other sources on his side and he was just too stubborn to change his ways.

When they stumbled into his hotel room, Arthur made a move to drop himself on the bed, but Harper grabbed him by the collar swiftly, dragging him away in the other direction.

- Ketch don't you dare stain the sheets, they'll report us, - she mumbled, pushing him to enter the bathroom and dropping him to sit on the edge of the tub.

He would have laughed if the sudden movement had not caused sharp pain to shoot through his damaged shoulder, making him wince. Alexandra. He had wondered for so long whom Harper reminded him of and out of all moments they shared it was this that made him realise. The memory reappeared in his mind so vividly now.

"Artie, no! Don't go to your room, you'll stain your carpet! Mum will kill us!" - and the older girl held him under his arms, guiding him to the kitchen.

He still remembered it: the years before school, before Kendricks, him and his sister mostly alone in the house with parents constantly away. Alexandra had brought him up before Kendricks had. Alexandra had a lovely voice, she would read him bedtime stories, she would sing to him, she was kind and caring - probably the only human being in his life that ever seemed to care. When he went to Kendricks was the last time he had ever seen her... Well, alive. Alexandra was kind and caring - and that was probably the reason why she had not made it through the training. In fact her death might have been the only reason why he survived and made it to the top - having no one care about you has a benefit: you don't have to care about anyone too.

After his sister's funeral life had never felt the same and Arthur had been quite certain before that it was for the better. Now, watching Harper rush about, trying to find the medical kit to help him, he thought that he had been terribly wrong all the damn time.

How long has she known him? A couple of years, not more, but the relationship between them reached beyond the borders of friendship or companionship. That little american hunter - the first time he saw her he thought she was suicidal, the second one - bold and full of sass. The following months proved her well capable of combining both while turning out to be so much more, one of which being: to be able to love Arthur Ketch. Of course he knew she loved him - this was among those traits in her that he openly treated with polite contempt and deep down envied more than anything.

He watched Harper come to his side, sliding his hunting gear off his shoulders - her movements so gentle, her eyes filled with worry and guilt.

- I'm so sorry Arthur, I should have... - you're always sorry. You always think it is your fault and none else's. This was most probably the main reason why it was so easy for him to openly reject her feeling: they both knew she loved him, they both knew he saw it, he toyed with her so many times, being suggestive, flirting. "As long as I enjoy the physical aspects of having an affair, the emotional attachment that other people believe necessary to form is rather pathetic" - he told her once. He actually said that, those were his words. I would like to fuck you as long as you shut your disgustingly human little heart. She stared at him for a moment, her beautiful face almost successfully hiding the hurt - then turned away silently, shrugging her shoulders. He was being a jerk. Harper never stopped him from that, Harper seemed to take it all in and believe he was right, believe that her feeling for him was utterly pathetic. That it was her fault.

- It was no one's mistake, love, it was an unlucky accident. Besides it didn't turn out that awful, - he trailed off. She was cleaning his skin over the wound now, preparing to apply stitches. Arthur could sense a little shudder in her at the word "love". He was so used to saying it that he forgot about all the connotations it held. Lord, was he bad at this.

Harper continued her work silently. She felt him studying her face and prayed to be finished as quick as possible - she did not need another heartbreaking hope and she had already made the mistake of looking into his eyes that night. When the last stitch was done, she turned away to put the materials aside and sensed him straighten up behind her back - Harper felt he wanted to say something else, but she could not give him that opportunity. She almost thought he would die that night - seeing him on the floor made her blood run cold - she did not need any more pain to add to the aftermath of the shock.

- I'm going to my room, but please call me if you feel worse during the night, - she spoke, not turning to face him, ready to walk out of the bathroom. Harper felt his hand grab her wrist in a rushed movement and turned abruptly only to see him staring back at her with unguarded softness in his eyes. The only time she remembered Arthur look at her like that was when she twisted an ankle during the hunt all due to his mistake. It scared her a little to see that expression on him.

- Why won't you just stay to keep an eye on me? - his voice low, with an undertone she so often heard when he flirted with her.

- You're a big boy, Ketch, we both know that even stitching you up was superfluous, you can perfectly well tend to yourself, - a smile. Harper tried to brush it off jokingly, ready to make her leave, but his grasp on her wrist only grew stronger.

- Stay.  At least for this night. Please, - the smile disappeared from her face. He sounded wounded, he sounded like he really pleaded. Harper broke away from his grasp, taking a step back.

- You don't need a... - she shook her head.

- But I do, - he stood up, taking a step towards her, not letting her increase the distance between them. His fingers came up to caress her cheek gently. - Harper, stay, - she shut her eyes, standing still and quiet for a couple of seconds, seemingly fighting back emotions.

- You don't mean this, - she said, looking up at him sharply and confidently, but in a moment, failing to restrain herself, she continues more quietly and softly. - Why do you have to be so cruel to me? - he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

They stood frozen in front of each other, her face so close to his, her eyes watering - not because of this particular evening, but because of all those times before he had behaved in similar nature. It was the first time she had so directly addressed the issue of her feelings for him. "Why do you have to be so cruel to me?" She seemed to be waiting for an actual answer. Why was she always so kind to him? Like he was normal, like he didn't hurt her? Arthur leaned down, his hand still cupping her cheek, his lips touching hers gently and firmly.

Harper closed her eyes - not as a girl would do in a pretty romantic movie - she shut her eyes, pressing her eyelids together, holding her breath, shuddering. A single tear ran down her cheek.

When they parted, though his face still stayed just a few centimeters away from hers, Harper opened her eyes again, her breath shaking.

- Arthur...

His free hand circled her waist, pulling her closer to him, as his fingers slid away from her cheek,  moving behind her head, running through her hair. Arthur leaned close to her ear, his breath ghosting over her neck.

- Because I hate how you make me feel like I can still have a life, like not everything is lost. I hate how you make me feel worth being cared about and able to care. I hate how you make me feel, - he said that rushed and quiet. Pressing his front to the side of her head, breathing deeply.

- And what if you are lying? What if this all is for the sake of one night? I'm tired of guessing if you have a soul or not, Arthur, I'm too worn out, - she wispered after some time, leaning her forehead into his uninjured shoulder.

- Then trust me this one time. I promise. Please.

- Why?

- Because I need you. I need you to feel alive.

Arthur felt her let out a deep breath, her petite form pressing itself to his, her arms sliding behind his back to hold him close. She raised her head, freezing for a moment before their eyes met, then leaning up - their lips meeting now less gingerly than the first time.

- Does that mean you'll stay?

- You're such an asshole, Ketch...

- I know.

Harper hid her face in his chest, sobbing quietly, her form shacking, worn out both physically and emotionally. Arthur kissed her temple softly, caressing her back, for once feeling like he did everything right. For once feeling like they had a chance.

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It's escaping from me into moonlight