Post by mystifyingoracle on May 15, 2021 22:41:48 GMT -5
Daddy Issues
“There are many, many difficult times, God knows. If a person wants to stand on her own two feet, I recommend undertaking the care and feeding of something.”
― Banana Yoshimoto, Kitchen
I’m holding a baby. I am responsible for a tiny human. Oh, God, was this a mistake? What if I traumatize her? What if I look away for a minute and she’s carried off by a hawk? If she gets carried off by a hawk, I’m in so much trouble.
“Silvio, it’s a toddler, not a nuclear warhead. You’ll be fine.”
Blinking, Silvio looked up from the child cradled in his arms to her mother standing in front of him just outside the door to his apartment.
“Was my face saying out loud what I was thinking?”
“I’m going to say, yeah, it was.”
“This is why I do tarot and not poker.”
Grace King smiled at the Oracle, amusement dancing in her eyes. She and her husband were getting their affairs in order to move across the country, and going through all the rigamarole that entailed would be a good deal easier without also juggling the needs of their daughter. “Kane and I will be back by this evening. Thank you for looking after her.”
“Anything to help out,” Silvio replied with a smile. “I’m honestly still kind of stunned you two trusted me with this.”
“Really?” Grace said with a little laugh. “We can’t thank you enough for what you did for him when Kane first came here. You kept him safe and sane. If you hadn’t stepped in, who knows what might have happened?” Shrugging she continued. “Besides, you keep showing me what kind of person you are. I don’t think you could stop taking care of people if you tried. I’m not going to insult you by saying ‘we could do a lot worse.’ I don’t know if we could do any better.”
Smiling, she leaned over to kiss Luna’s forehead.
“Have fun with your godfather, baby moon.”
The word rang in Silvio’s head like a bell as Grace turned to join her husband waiting in the car.
Godfather.
He couldn’t name the feeling it conjured. On the one hand, he was humbled and honored that Grace and Kane would entrust him with their daughter. It made him want to rise to the occasion; be worthy of that trust. On the other, there was an overwhelming dread in him that he wouldn’t be. That whatever deficiencies his own parents had exhibited were infectious, either through some kind of genetic inheritance or conditioning. He knew it wasn’t rational, but he couldn’t help it.
As the car pulled away, leaving Silvio alone with Luna for the first time, he looked down at the little one he held. She was downright cherubic, blinking up at him with clear, sky-blue eyes, blonde wisps curling around her face.
“Hey, angel,” he said softly, shifting Luna in his arms and brushing a fingertip lightly across one of her pudgy cheeks. “Looks like it’s just you and me today.”
Lifting one hand, the baby curled all of her tiny fingers around Silvio’s, squeezing with a fluting little coo.
“You know, your daddy was teaching me how to do submission moves the other day,” he said with a sage nod. “But clearly he’s not the master. You got me, kiddo. I am yours to command. What’s on the agenda?”
Silvio’s query was met with an excited burst of babbling, Luna beaming and wiggling vigorously.
Nodding again, the wrestler gave a thoughtful hum.
“Right. This is nothing to be decided on an empty stomach. And doughnuts are always a good idea. Luckily, I picked up a box before you got here. You know, we got a lot in common, Luna,” he told her, heading back into the apartment. “We both like bright colors, sugar, and cartoons. I think we’re going to get along great!”
Dear Luna,
Hi! I’m your godfather, Silvio. I thought it might be good to keep a little journal for you. I don’t really have any photo albums of me or my family, so I want to make sure you have something you can look back on when you’re older. Today was a big day for both of us because it was the first day when it was just you and me hanging out. Of course, we had to figure out what we were going to do, so I deferred to your expertise.
“Alright. Here’s how this works. On the left is a cruller; crisp on the outside, moist on the inside, glazed to perfection. This one,” Silvio told Luna, setting down the pastry atop the highchair tray behind which she sat, “represents watching movies.”
Setting down another doughnut on the right, he continued.
“And on this side, we have a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut. Soft, sugar-coated, just the right balance of tart and sweet. It’s my personal fave, but don’t let that sway your decision. This one,” he said, “represents coloring. I have some flash art and crayons for you because you’re the coolest baby I’ve ever met and I didn’t want to disappoint you with some lame, mass-marketed coloring book. I didn’t publish zines in my youth to be bullied into conformity by Crayola in my adult life.”
Stepping back, he gestured with both hands to the pastries.
“I leave the choice to you.”
Squeaking happily, Luna promptly seized both doughnuts.
“Huh. Well, that’s definitely a power move. I respect that,” Silvio acknowledged as his goddaughter began cramming fried dough and jelly into her mouth with gusto. “So! Guess that means we split the difference. Coloring while watching movies. Excellent idea. See? This is why I let you make the decisions.”
So, we watched Fury Road while you created these masterpieces:
Your color choices? Inspired. Disregarding the lines, not allowing them to create borders for your creativity? Bold. The shapes you created, guided by your own initiative? Visionary. If it’s okay with your mom and dad, I think I’m going to get one of these tattooed on me. I don’t have a lot of real estate left to work with, but I can’t say no to your artistry.
Also, your favorite of the wives was Capable; every time she was on screen you got excited. Honestly, your taste in all things is superb. Your folks and I could learn so much from you. Please be patient when you are old enough to realize how very lame we are in comparison.
After the rigors of creating works of art, indulging in a cinematic masterpiece, and crashing big time from a sugar rush, we were both pretty tired, so we settled down and had a nap. Well, we tried, anyway. You were very insistent on a story, so obviously I obliged.
Crayons and paper scattered about the floor of his living room, Silvio was laying on his back on the sofa, Luna resting on his chest. She had a new tooth coming in, and Grace had left a frozen teether which the baby was chewing on in spitty bliss.
Maybe he should bring the sofa along with him; it was exceptionally comfortable and there were definitely some fond memories attached to it. But it was more likely that it’d just be less expensive to buy a new one than haul this one all the way back to Washington.
He hated moving. Nothing quite cast the pall that packing up all your possessions did. Watching the space you’d occupied and made your home lose its comforting identity was jarring. You became a stranger to the place you’d considered your sanctuary. The white walls were the worst part for Silvio. It reminded him of when gloriously muraled buildings were bought by new owners who painted over the artwork. Lordy, and when they did, it was almost inevitably a tragic shade of beige.
But there wasn’t really anything for him here without Carnage, and he didn’t want to sever his connection to King and his family. Especially not now.
Godfather.
There was that word, ricocheting around his skull again.
You actually think you’re good enough for that? You think you’re worthy of the trust that comes in looking after an impressionable human life?
With your history?
With the blood in your veins coming from where it did?
You’ve never even had a positive, paternal figure in your life. What makes you think you can be one yourself?
It was true. Over and over again, the only fathers he’d ever really known were people Silvio wouldn’t trust to hold his drink, let alone a baby. Could he hope to live up to Kane and Grace’s trust?
God, he wanted to. Lifting a hand, he brushed his fingertips through Luna’s wispy blonde curls. Seemingly intent on creating a lake of drool on the Oracle’s shirt, the baby gurgled around her teether, blinking at him with eyes as clear and blue as a frozen Winter sky. The thought of anyone hurting her in any way - including himself - made his heart ache. The idea of her experiencing even a sliver of what he’d endured growing up roused a protective instinct whose ferocity gave even Silvio a jolt of surprise. He wanted so badly to be for Luna what she needed so that she could have a safe, happy, and healthy life. He wanted to be for her the adult he had so desperately needed when he was growing up.
More than anything. More than any possession he could imagine. More than any craving his sweet tooth could demand. More than winning titles or acclaim. More than…
Silvio blinked, brow furrowing as he stared at the ceiling, realization washing over him.
The high.
He hadn’t even been thinking about it.
The whole time he was with Luna, that craving to be in the ring, that itch to experience an other-worldly euphoria, was gone.
That miserable ache that walked beside him wherever he went? That feeling of emptiness nothing else could fill? The sharp, bright dagger of his need that dug deeper into his heart the longer he denied himself until he felt he would go mad with it?
There wasn’t even an echo of it in him. Not a vestige.
It had been such an integral aspect of his life lately, it felt as if it was physically a part of him like a limb or a vital organ.
But right now? Right here?
He was himself again.
Silvio felt some bunched up, tensed part of him finally, at long last, relax.
It was at this moment that Luna began fussing, rubbing belligerently at eyelids that had, in spite of her most valiant efforts, begun to droop.
“Got a case of FOMO, huh?” Silvio said with a smile, sitting up with her. “Don’t wanna fall asleep and miss out on all the cool stuff? Trust me, kiddo, when you’re older, you’re going to learn that sleep is extremely cool.”
This elicited a frustrated howl from Luna, who clutched Silvio’s now spit-dampened shirt with tiny, determined fists.
“Alright, alright,” he conceded. Hesitating a moment, he felt a pang overcome him, but smiled at the little one in spite of it. “...You know, there was somebody else I used to tell stories to when they couldn’t sleep,” he told her. “How about...I tell you one now? How about I tell you why you never have to be afraid?”
Don’t believe what anyone else tells you, little one.
This is the truth.
There are monsters under your bed. There are demons that hide in your closet and devils that make their homes in the shadow spaces of your house you never think about. Your attic is host to fiends with claws and horns and eyes that glow. Who do you think is walking around at night, making the bones of your house creak under their weight? Houses do not settle. It’s just the shadow folk doing their rounds.
And they are all of them there for you.
I can understand why this might frighten you. I don’t blame you at all for that; it’s only natural to fear what you don’t understand. And for what they must do, your monsters - for they are indeed yours - often require a measure of fear to work with. Fear is a potent ally, but it’s one to be used with caution. Feed it too often and it becomes too strong to control; too wild to be useful. That can be a problem, especially with the monsters who are new to the job or have poor communication skills. Many do, but it isn’t entirely their fault.
But I don’t want you to be afraid of us. I’m a different sort of monster. An affable devil. A gentleman demon. I’ve no desire to strike fear into the heart of a little girl to meet my goals when a conversation would do the job just as well.
I am going to tell you the secret of the creatures living in your house that only you seem able to see; that only you are menaced by. The others may become upset with me, but I’m your monster, and I will fulfill the duties of my occupation as I see fit.
Listen carefully; this is also the truth. Don’t believe what anyone else tells you, parent or poltergeist.
The monsters that keep you quaking beneath your covers? The demons that make the darkness dance upon the wall? The shadows that pass by your cracked-open hallway door when you know that everyone else is snug and dreaming in their beds?
We are here to keep you safe.
I know it may seem a strange thing to hear, but it’s true.
Because we understand another truth that we learned through difficult lessons we never want you to have to experience.
Because the monsters, fiends, devils, demons, gargoyles, ghosts, and ghouls who haunt your home? We were once just like you. Children shivering in the dark.
I know it’s difficult to believe. We are terrifying to behold; talons, wings, and eyes like blazing gemstones. But the truth is, real evil - actual fiendishness - is rarely so plain in its presentation. The real creatures to be afraid of often speak horrors disguised in pleasant language. They tell you they know best for you even while they grind your dreams beneath their heels. They raise hands against you and tell you it’s in the name of love. They use envy like scissors to clip your wings, resenting you for your ability to touch the sky as they were never able to and denying you the wild freedom that calls your name.
We were indeed once children just like you. But there was one vital difference that set us on different paths.
We never had monsters to keep us safe.
We were alone, without demons and devils to gnash their teeth and flash their claws at those who were truly out to hurt us.
All we knew was the bitter taste of harm doled out to us by those who were supposed to be our most stalwart guardians.
Some of us drift into the world and become like those who dealt us this harm.
Others try to forget and move on; find ways to take care of themselves.
But us? The monsters?
We remember.
We remember what it was to be small, afraid, and alone.
We remember and we don’t want anyone else to have to go through the same.
So, we choose our scars. We grow fangs and horns. We take our cloaks of night and fire and wrap them around ourselves. We trade our voices full of color for lightless whispers to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. We forsake warm fingertips for claws that send shivers down your spine.
But never fear.
When we nip at your toes, it’s only that we want to keep you in your bed where you are safe. When we whisper nightmares into your ear, it’s only to wake you so you won’t be caught unaware by something that’s really out to hurt you. When we menace you from the shadows, it’s only to make you turn on your light so that you can see the real danger approaching. When we assume our monstrous miens, it’s to ensure that when you describe us to others who might harm you, they laugh at your fears and don’t take you seriously; don’t try to drive us away.
Who except a child would believe in monsters under the bed, after all?
Every new monster that joins us is our failure; a child we couldn’t protect. And we work that much harder to make up for it. Our work will continue for as long as need be. We will endure until we are no longer needed.
We live for a world where children don’t need to save other children.
That’s why you never have to be afraid, little moon. You have your monsters to keep you safe. So sleep tight and don’t be afraid, ever.
Except…
...perhaps…
…for the fools who would try to do you harm.
Because it’s like I told you before.
We remember.
“Daddy issues.
“Why is that something bandied about as an insult - usually to women - who had shitty, abusive fathers in their lives and are figuring out how to recover from the shitty, abusive things those fathers did to them?”
Silvio stands in what appears to be a nursery, leaning against the side of a dark wooden crib over which dangles a mobile hung with planets, moons, and rocket ships. There are toys on the floor and posters with friendly cartoon animals in pastel tones festoon the walls. His hair is slicked back and he wears a navy business suit, holding a pipe in one hand; the very picture of, ‘Father Knows Best.’ Drumming his fingers against the rail of the crib with his free hand, Silvio quirks a brow.
“Heard that accusation leveled at you recently, Kyra, and I’ve got some serious issues with that.”
Standing up straight, he shrugs.
“Why is it that the children are expected to bear up the sins of the father? I’ve never understood that. Why is it the kids that have ‘daddy issues’? Seems to me, it’s the guys failing at being fathers that have ‘daddy issues.’ But I digress.
“Kyra Johnson. The Hardcore Goddess. The woman who made a man out of a god. The Queen of Wands.”
He flicks a card seemingly from nowhere into his hand. It shows an illustration of a woman in flowing yellow robes seated on a throne carved with lions. The desert stretches out behind her, a flowering staff in one hand, a sunflower in the other, a black cat at her feet.
“She represents a woman of great courage, determination, and confidence. But she isn’t just that.
“This is a woman who is in touch with her dark side. The element for the Wands suit is fire, but the Queen of Wands knows what it is to be both light and shadow. She is the inferno buried alive. She is a fire in a coal mine, seething bright in the dark forever.”
He grins.
“Sounds like a woman after my own heart.
“You and I are carved from the same stone. We both made our way up out of the Underworld into the light. We are Inanna and Persephone. We are Odin and Osiris.”
He gives the camera a wink.
“Or maybe just the monsters under the bed coming out for a stroll in the light. Either way, we each carry a piece of that shadow and flame with us wherever we go. Even when there are those who would try to snuff it out.
“I remember people accusing you of being lost in the shadows of the men in your lives; outshone by storms made of fire. But when all was said and done, who’s left here still burning? It seems to me the ones meant to overshadow and outshine you were just matches; bright, intense, and brief. All extinguished as your own flame endures. But I’m willing to bet this is all old hat to you. After all…”
He has a seat in an armchair beside the crib and takes a pull off his pipe, exhaling a smoke ring.
“...you had to become the kind of monster you needed to be, find that unkind divinity within yourself, in order to keep yourself safe from the ones who should have been doing that for you.”
He looks at the camera directly.
“Didn’t you? And you’ve relied on it ever since to keep your fire burning. I know because I’m that kind, too. And if that means we have, ‘daddy issues,’ then at the very least it also means we know how to get back up after receiving one of the worst kinds of betrayals and still being brave enough to make ourselves vulnerable again. I see that in you and Ken now, and the kind of strength you exude together is something that can only come from people who have had to find the courage to put themselves back together again after being shattered to pieces.
“We’re all that kind, Kyra. There is no part of us that has not been broken and healed wrong. There is no part of us that isn’t stronger for having been broken.”
He grins wickedly, a glint in his eye.
“So how about you and I get in that ring and break the motherfucker in half? I say you and I deal the pristine faces of all those naysayers a big, nasty crack they won’t know how to put back together.
“When you and I finish burning up this match? Show them what it means when the ghouls and beasties from the fires lit underground flex their claws topside?
He lifts his hand.
“There won’t even be ashes left.”
With a snap, the scene goes black.
“Bring some tissues for your issues, Legion. See you at Chaos.”