#what if the daughter did nothing but lie and the son did nothing but absolve her of it!

[loumandivorce]

prodigal son showed you a story about a boy and the father he cannot cleanse himself of and then they show you a mother and the daughter she holds too tightly on to and then they said what if the son was too much like the mother and the daughter too much like her father. insane

[clansayeed]

Hey Jack! I wanted to know what your thoughts are on Rheya. Was she really a villain to you? Were her motives justifiable? Was she a good villain? Did you think she deserved to have a redemption arc in chapter 16? What could have been written to make her have a better character story? Any thoughts at all about Rheya!

FOREWARNING: Anon... I accidentally wrote you a 2500 word essay. I shit you not this thing is 2,528 words long. So... I don’t know whether to say you’re welcome or I’m sorry. Just letting you know in advance.

ADD-ON POST-POSTING: I’m fully aware this is an app game. A three book series written with sexying vampires in mind. Where the medium is limited both size and content-wise, where you can’t go into much detail because they can only have so many panels in a chapter, etc. Still thinking what I think though. And if you get paid to create content professionally the least you can do for your own paycheck is go back and double-check your work.

Actually this ask came at a good time since I have to work on some character motivations for her for my series... and I always break down the in-canon versions before working on my own. So anon, let’s talk... are you a mind reader?

Kidding! mostly

So. Rheya.

I actually just finished my first replay of book 2 and at the moment I’ve only ever played book 3 the once. I played it as it was releasing so there were some memory gaps in some places and needed-refreshers in others. But on a whole I have similar thoughts about Rheya as I do Xenocrates, and you can find those thoughts here.

Overall she was a solid setup, good design and potential, and PB pretty much wasted her execution.

I wanna start with a genuine question to the fandom since I’ve never actually been able to ask this... but y’all like... totally saw the Bloodkeeper being related to her coming, right? Like I was so convinced of it that when it was revealed in some big dramatic point at the end I was like “yeah... they told us this...?” and it turns out they fuckin didn’t??? Like I could not understand the people who were like super into her sprite like yes she looks good but here I was thinking she was our ancestor from the get-go so I was... confused to say the least.

Not gonna lie when they started pushing in snippets of Rheya’s past trauma in book 2 (things like her yelling “you know what they did to me/took from me” which is paraphrased but you know what I mean) I really hoped they weren’t gonna do what they did. So of course they did it.

But I wish they’d like... just given her the kid. Just give her Iola and leave the weird suddenly random husband out of it. At this point we know Gaius has an unhealthy idolatry for her, we know Xenocrates adored her in his own way in his youth... but we know fuckall about Demetrius up to and including his existence until literally book 3. Sloppy, IMO. They took something not being mentioned and used it to put in a plot device when the omission should have been strategical.

TBH I thought the whole “you know what they did to me” was gonna get hella dark RE: Rheya and King Kaelisus’ obsession with her. That’s as far as I’ll go there.

But you have a Priestess, a known Priestess, who was definitely faithful enough not to stray even when she thought she was walking to her own death. It’s pretty easy to assume (as I did ngl) that she would be completely devoted to Phampira, including romantically/sexually. It would have been a good setup to explain why she never gave Gaius the goods if anything.

And there’s nothing wrong with having said Priestess have her own family while still being devoted. I just wish PB would have used some fucking forethought and hinted at that earlier on than they did. Because they didn’t hint. They dropped this random fisherman-something husband on us and told us she cared enough about his opinion to make him part of her advisory board but not... to like... mention him in any of her conversations in any of the flashbacks... including those in which he would have been alive.

On that note the whole timeline there is really messy, they obviously threw him and Iola in later on after some things were established/couldn’t be taken back. I’ve studied this shit extensively and it’s really muddled exactly how long Rheya ruled, when shit went down with her family, how much time had passed when Xenocrates staked her, etc.

I would have loved for Iola’s father not to have been there. Give me a strong woman, a strong single mother, who would burn the world for the loss of her daughter. Doesn’t matter who did the deed, Iola was hers and the Sons/Order took that from her and the world would have to pay the price.

If I had been given that I would end all of my complaints right here. I would, genuinely. Because then her descent into madness, her paranoia, her megalomania would all have been explained. And they still technically are but -- maybe it’s just me -- there’s something about her having to factor in Demetrius that just... takes me out of it. IDK.

I didn’t mind the guy... though him being a talking tree of doom was a little much for me... though by that point I had accepted the plot was off the goddamn rails and just kept nodding and going with it. But his presence made the story okay when his absence could have made the story impactful and powerful and emotional. That’s just my thoughts. Which you asked for. You did this.

No takesies-backsies.

Was she a villain? Hells to the yes.

It’s a classic case of obtaining ultimate power and abusing it; of crossing the line between justice and vengeance. Not that she wasn’t justified in her freak-out over the death of her family. But everything after up to and including her fatal feeding schedule was totally unnecessary. For a villain, yes necessary. 

For a vampire goddess who could have easily used Gaius’ influence over the vampires of the modern world to form a cult following around herself with an open dialogue about her big ass appetite and probably would have ended up with swaths of willing adorers ready to lend their blood to her cause thus eliminating the need for secrecy and subsequent feeling of betrayal...

You tell me.

I feel like she was definitely more than a little hyped up though. Not even going into my whole-ass issue with the entire Unchained plot and thus the first like 4-5 chapters of book 3, she was hyped up in myth and kind of a let down in person. She could FLY. Walk in the SUN. Heal the DYING. She’s vampire JESUS.

*ADDED IN LATER: She took out THE ENTIRE ORDER OF THE DAWN, WHO HAVE RAVAGED THE VAMPIRE POPULATION FOR LITERALLY 3000 YEARS since they were around in her time after all IN LIKE A THREE-MOVE COMBO BREAK. ALL THIS SHIT THEY HYPED WITH THE ORDER and their entire ERADICATION isn’t even an ON-SCREEN THING. Unless you pay.

Dude if they had kept Xenocrates and the Order and used the two of them against each other; the Order’s long-standing influence on the modern world versus the new world Rheya wanted to create with the human populations not knowing the history behind their hatred, where like the first half of the book is Rheya and MC and gang taking out the Order and Xenocrates only to find out in the middle point that she’s been doing it for selfish reasons and they were on the wrong team the whole time and THEN Rheya becomes the big bad... I would have enjoyed the shit out of that.

Anyway. “She’s vampire JESUS...” and her big evil plan is to... suck face on national television? IDK. It didn’t play the mood right for me. I can see from a writer’s perspective how they kind of played out all of their options and went with a quick and easy solution... but it didn’t work for me. That’s a no from me dawg.

Do I think she deserved a redemption arc? I don’t think anybody deserved a god damn redemption arc, unless they are done with extreme care and attention to detail before/during/after said arc they go horribly, and overall tend to be the plot device pick of lazy writers.

And I take nothing back. No like I think I might have gone into how much I fucking hated Gaius’ “reDEmPtiON aRc” before or at least I have somewhere and to someone. Probably Sofia... no most definitely Sofia. But anyway. They spend TWO GOD DAMN BOOKS hyping Gaius as this ultimately irredeemable bad guy. 

OMG I was literally playing the book 2 finale and got a quote hold on... HERE. Adrian literally says about Gaius in 2.16 “It’s like there’s no humanity left.” And that’s just one actual example of the tons of times they make him out to be devoted to Rheya of his own volition, the ultimate example of the line between believing in something and being blinded to everything by it, etc. Like a huge chunk of Kamilah’s and Adrian’s arcs RE: Gaius are about how he was definitely a monster, he turns the people around him into monsters, and while they have worked their asses off to be good and right their wrongs he has not, will not, and would not ever do such a thing.

Then suddenly he’s brainwashed, tried to turn Rheya down and was made into a loony toon because of it, and everything he made MC’s loved ones do that they blamed themselves for but needed to blame him for is suddenly Rheya’s fault and now we should blame her for.

Mmmmmkay sweetie. I’m good, thanks.

But really -- that was the last straw for me when it came to both Gaius and Rheya. There’s a difference between giving the villain something they see as a just cause (ex. Rheya avenging her family) and giving the villain a cop-out that absolves them of guilt (ex. Gaius and... everything about him). Like yes I know MC didn’t have to forgive him, I know Kamilah didn’t really forgive him, but it’s pretty fuckin obvious from how it was put out into the world story that the writers were trying to lean you towards blaming Rheya and letting Gaius off the hook.

I mean... making him save Lula for real when Rheya saved her for fake earlier on in the book, using Lula as a stand-in metaphor for her own child daughter that she finds out she was the cause of her death for, etc? That symbolism is so transparent I could put it in the asset database.

And I’ll only briefly touch on this since I could write a whole other essay on the matter RE: PB and their fucking constant repetition of this, but “let’s give both bad guys similar moral quandaries but suddenly reveal it was a consent issue and the woman is wholly to blame and now gets the man’s crimes piled on with her own” is super common in fiction and hella. fucking. sexist.

But that isn’t to say all of this is necessarily bad.

When done right, everything I’ve complained about above can be a part of a really good story. What “done right” means is different for everyone, everyone has a different example and different thoughts on it. These are mine. I think the better term would be done well. It was not done WELL.

But given things like PB’s weird obsession with redeeming the attractive (apparently) bad guy, PB’s history with narrowing a woman down to one trait or part of her (ex. Rheya’s power corruption centered around her role as a wife and mother and not... a super all powerful vampire goddess...), their obvious lack of attention to detail and overall lack of vision when it comes to the big picture* and more, I personally don’t think they knew what the fuck they wanted by book 3 and were already well into transitioning into whatever adultery-obsessed lingerie shenanery they’re fixated on now; so much so that it’s almost a disservice to the writing done in earlier book 1 and a decent chunk of book 2 when calling it a whole series.

*I keep bringing this up only because it means I can back up stuff like this with real examples of theirs: these guys did not write the plot of this series as a cohesive story. I get that, as a writer writing a big series myself I get the fuck out of that. But you have to solidify some things early on in the development process in order to avoid writing yourself into a hole or, like with this, having to result in trope-y plot devices that work in theory but on paper don’t give the story the full-circle fulfillment it deserves. 

Their timelines are out of whack, they contradict themselves in quite a few places, constantly wishy-washy their own lore, and definitely didn’t go back and double check if they’d said something already... and that’s not including where they focused on the details of one unimportant thing and left another more important thing to just be “and this is the way it is moving on.”

I literally have no way/idea how to summarize any of this bullshittery going on in this ask. Did I like Rheya? The character personality, design, and overall idea as this big ass badass power/hungry goddess demanding fealty was pretty cool. Did I like Rheya when they narrowed her story down to her grief over her family (which, again, is valid, but just seemed really disjointed and rushed when compared to everything else they had given about her/shown of her by the beginning of book 3)? Not... as much.

I think they wanted her to seem like she could be redeemed. I mean FFS in the “big battle” she literally just stands there and lets you do the thing. 3000 years imprisoned and however many centuries before that spent taking the power that she was denied all because some bad dudes in masks killed the mortal husband and daughter you would have eventually lost to old age anyway...? And she just stands there??? 

Even knowing she was really behind Iola’s death they could have stuck with the “madness consumed” plotline and had her be like well... what’s done is done back to taking over now thank you.

But sometimes a bad guy just has to be a bad guy. Rourke from ES, mister capitalism -- can’t remember them trying to redeem him. If they had I don’t think I would have liked it so much. Who else... UGH. Thomas in NB. Crazy zombie man wants all monsters dead because one killed his family (can we stop using dead families for grief porn please and thanks...) another example of a useless villain. Hence why I removed him from my NB rewrite don’t even get me going...

What’s his face in TCATF! Luther! You join up with him and he still tries to kill you in the end! Now that was fucking classic. Hex, who suddenly is forgiven for the literal enslavement of a race of people and the thoughtless murder of a civilization that didn’t agree with her.. and all because she was ‘like a mother’ to the kid genius? Not so much.

I could go on and on and go search out tons of examples but in the end the one thing you can say PB does well is that they stay consistent in their ideas of redemption, of who deserves it and who isn’t, and just how far they’re willing to stretch the fucking story to forgive a character if 1. the sprite is hot or 2. the sprite had a little sprite family somewhere in there.

legit just talk to me about bb/nb

[elliemarchetti]

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 6)

@lilyharvord as you've obviously noticed by now, I moved the famous hand flex scene after the dance while in the movie it was when Jane and Lizzy come back home. I hope you don’t mind.

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Words: 3267

The next day Mare told Wren what she and Mr. Maven had said to each other, leaving her friend incredulous, astonished and upset, but at the same time unable to question the sincerity of such an amiable-looking young man: the possibility that he had really been the victim of such cruelty was enough to affect all her more tender feelings and therefore there was nothing to do but think well of both, defend the conduct of both, and attribute to a misunderstanding all that couldn’t be explained otherwise.

"I really believe that both of them have been deceived in a way we can’t imagine,” she said. “Maybe someone interested have made them look bad in each other’s eyes, so, in short, it’s impossible for us to speculate on the causes or circumstances that may have driven them away.”

"Very true, sure; and now, my dear Wren, what do you have to say in regard to the people concerned who were probably involved in the matter? You must absolve them too, otherwise we would be forced to think ill of someone,” Mare teased her, but the other didn’t take the bait and seemed truly immovable in her theory. Mare, however, wasn’t convinced, and it was easier for her to believe that Mr. Maven had been deceived, rather than that he had managed to invent a story of that kind and tell it with such fluency. And if it had been a lie, sooner or later the General would’ve contradicted him, probably at the ball, for which they both had received an invitation that very morning, event that would take place the following Tuesday, a prospect extremely welcome for all the women in the Stilts: Mrs. Skonos decided to consider it a tribute to her daughter, who was particularly flattered to have received the invitation from Mr. Samos himself rather than with a ceremonial ticket as it had happened for the Barrows, and Mare already had a foretaste for the pleasure to dance for a long time with Mr. Maven, moment that would’ve served as a testing ground to ascertain whether or not what was said about the General was a lie. Gisa and Diana, who this time had been invited too, were also happy, but not so much for a particular event, since, although both, like Mare, intended to dance for half of the evening with the newcomer, who was rumoured to be an excellent dancer, Mr. Maven wasn’t the only knight who could satisfy them, and a dance was always a dance. On this occasion, Mare's mood was so excited that, although she didn’t often speak to Mr. Jesper unnecessarily, she couldn’t help but ask him if he intended to accept Mr. Samos' invitation, and if so, if he didn’t consider inappropriate to join an evening dedicated to fun, but she was rather surprised to find out how not the slightest scruple had come to his mind, and how far was him from fearing a reproach; on the contrary, he reassured her that his benefactor often gave parties dedicated to respectable and reputable people too. Fortunately, the dance also kept the minds of Ruth and Daniel Barrow’s sons busy, otherwise the poor boys would’ve been really plagued by the weather, so rainy that for four days straight it had been impossible to get to the Farley’s house. If only they had succeeded, they could certainly have dampened Mare’s enthusiasm, as the Colonel knew very well that Mr. Maven would never be invited to the ball, but since this didn’t happen, Mare had to see it herself as soon as she arrived at the Hall of the Sun, when she met Mr. Thomas, who informed her that the day before his friend had been forced to leave urgently for Archeon.

“A business trip,” he said, but it was evident from that there was more he couldn’t say here, which made her even more determined to avoid any conversation with the source of so much disappointment, to the point that she decided to seclude herself with Diana, whom she hadn't seen for a week, to tell her about her pains. Evidently, her friend too had thoughts that weighed down her heart, and so they ended up talking about the oddities of Mr. Jesper, with whom she was forced to share the first two rounds of dance by her mother. Mr. Jesper hadn't thought, when he accepted the invitation, that the ball might require him to dance too, and so, clumsy and solemn as he was, he continued to apologize to his cousin before he could reach the person he actually wanted to spend his time with, Miss Farley, who was dancing with extreme enthusiasm with his younger male cousin. It was evident that the two were in confidence, and he had managed to understand, from the time spent at both the Farley and Barrow homes, that the two families often visited, making his interest in her even more difficult to express. He was so taken by these thoughts that he hardly noticed that General Calore had approached and asked Mare to dance with him and that she, taken aback, had accepted.  He was certain that she wouldn’t act silly and wouldn’t let her whim for Mr. Maven, which certainly hadn’t escaped him, made her seem unpleasant to a man all the more important, and if he had doubted, he would’ve suggested to stay silent if she hadn’t been asked any question, or at most to make some empty consideration on the event. If he hadn't been so busy worrying about the beautiful smile Miss Farley was giving to Shade Barrow, he would’ve told her to please the wishes of her interlocutor, and to highlight their similarities and put aside their differences, but he did none of this, and Mare found herself maliciously teasing the one she wanted so much to detest, as in her habit.

"Do you frequent the village very often?" he asked, at the end of the first dance.

She replied affirmatively, and unable to resist the temptation, she added that when they met, they were just doing a new acquaintance, something that cast a shadow of lethargy on the beautiful features of the General, who replied that surely Mr. Maven was good at making new friends, as for keeping them, however, it was different topic.

"He was unfortunate enough to lose your friendship," she replied with emphasis, "and in a way that will probably make him suffer for a lifetime."

The General didn’t answer and seemed eager to change subject, a chance given to him by Colonel Farley’s arrival; the brief interruption, in fact, gave him the opportunity to pretend that he had forgotten what the topic they were previously dealing with was, but Mare had no desire to converse in other respects, and didn’t care about his attempts, reminding him instead of when he said to be a man with little inclination for forgiveness, whose resentment once born is relentless.

"You are very careful, I suppose, even in giving it birth."

"I am," he said in a firm voice.

"And you never let yourselves be blinded by prejudice?" she asked, peremptorily.

"I hope not," he replied, evidently annoyed by the aims those questions might have. She said nothing more, and once finished the second round they separated in silence, both dissatisfied, though not alike, as there was a rather strong feeling in Cal's heart towards her, which soon led him to forgiveness and directed all his anger towards someone else. They hadn’t long been separated when Miss Samos walked towards her with an expression of polite contempt on her face: “And so, Miss Mare, I heard that you are enthusiastic about Mr. Maven! Your sister told me about it, asking me countless questions. However I recommend you not to believe all his claims, as the fact that Tiberias has treated him badly is completely false and, on the contrary, he always had been extraordinarily nice to him, although Mr. Maven behaved so infamously that my dearest childhood friend decided not to share such detail with me or my brother. Anyway, I don't blame him for not even bearing his mention, but I guess you found it out for yourself as I doubt you had the foresight to avoid such a sensitive subject during your two rounds of dancing. I am sorry that you have discovered the faults of your favourite, but in reality, considering his origins, we couldn't expect much better," she said, and before Mare could ask for further explanation, she turned away, distracted by Lady Haven. How much insolence! Mare thought to herself, full of anger. Did Miss Samos really think she was influencing her with a petty attack like that, full of her stubborn ignorance and the General's malice? With a sigh she composed himself, and began to look for Wren, who had undertaken to gather information from Mr. Samos regarding the same subject. When she reached her, however, her friend greeted her with a smile so sweetly satisfied, illuminated by such a happy expression, that it made clear enough how happy she was with the events of the evening. Mare caught her feelings immediately, and in that moment every concern for Maven, every resentment of her enemies and whatever else was put aside, facing the hope that Wren would achieve happiness in the best of ways.

"I would like to know," she said, her face no less smiling, "what have you learned, busy as you should’ve been with your pleasant company."

"I wasn't as busy as you think, but unfortunately, I have nothing satisfying to tell you: Mr. Samos doesn’t know the whole story and completely ignores the events that have particularly offended the General, but guarantees the irreproachable conduct, the righteousness and sense of honour of his friend, and is absolutely convinced that Mr. Maven deserved far less attention than received. I'm sorry to say that, but from what he and his sister said, your new acquaintance is by no means a respectable young man, in fact, I'm afraid he was very imprudent, and that he deserved to lose the General's respect."

Mare was still perplexed by those statements: certainly it was a skilled defence, but everyone seemed not to know part of the story and what little they knew had been learned by the General himself, all points that allowed her not to change her opinion on the two gentlemen in question, so she decided to change the subject in favour of more pleasant arguments, on which they couldn’t have conflicting opinions, and listened with joy to the happy, albeit modest, hopes that Wren cherished about Mr. Samos, and said all was in her power to bolster her friend's confidence, until he caught up with them, and Mare went back in search of Diana, who tried to convince her that although Mr. Jesper was a bad dancer, he was excellent company, when at ease, until the subject of their argument, as if feeling called into question, reached them. Since she no longer had any personal interest to pursue for the evening, she turned her attention almost entirely to her friends and the series of pleasant reflections aroused from the remarks about Wren, who she saw already settled in that same house with all the happiness that can come from a love match, was only slightly overshadowed by the idea that Diana could finally choose to give in to her cousin's attention not so much because she preferred him to her brother, but because Shade hadn’t given her a way to guess that their relationship wasn’t just one of dated friendship. She saw clearly that her mother's thoughts were pointing in the same direction, and decided to not dare to go near her, for fear of hearing too much. What she couldn’t know, however, was that her desires weren’t so disinterested and dictated by her displeasure with her son’s possible sadness, as by her interest in a union between her and her cousin, something she was able to discover during dinner: when they sat down Mare considered it an evil fate to find herself separated from her only by one person, and was deeply irritated in seeing her speak freely and openly just with that person, Lady Skonos, of nothing but her expectation that Wren would soon marry Mr. Samos, as, although the prospect was exciting, the two seemed unable to tire of enumerating the benefits of that union. The fact that he was a charming young man, and so rich, who lived just three miles from them were their main reasons for satisfaction but it was a consolation too to think of how his sister was fond of Wren.

"It's a promising thing for Gisa too,” said Mrs Barrow,  “Wren's excellent marriage will give her the opportunity to make acquaintance with other wealthy men and her dear friend will introduce her properly, not forcing on me any more social life than the one I desire to have.”

"These are occasions that you have to like, but nobody loves staying at home at any time more than me. I just hope that Mare will soon have similar luck," replied the other, but Mrs. Barrow told her to extend her wishes to poor Miss Farley, because her daughter would soon be engaged, and concluded by casting an eloquent glance at Mr. Jesper, who indeed was speaking exactly to Diana. Mare tried in vain to stop her mother's rapid flow of words, as she had no intention of accepting any kind of proposal made by Mr. Jesper, or at least get her to describe her happiness for Wren with a less audible tone of voice, since, with inexpressible irritation, she had noticed that much of the conversation had been heard by General Calore, who sat on the opposite side from them, but Mrs. Barrow just scolded her for saying such nonsense since she really seemed unable to understand who that man was for them and why they should owe him the courtesy of not saying anything that could displease him, and she went on talking about her points of view in the same audible tone, making her blush several times with shame and irritation. Mare couldn’t help but throw frequent glances at the General, even if every one of them confirmed what she feared, since, although he didn’t look constantly at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably focused on her. The expression on his face gradually changed from indignant contempt to composed and steadfast seriousness, until Mrs. Barrow had nothing more to say and Lady Skonos was left to cold ham and chicken. The quiet interval didn’t last long, however, for, once dinner was over, there was talk of singing and Gisa, following very limited prayers, prepared herself to entertain the company. With many meaningful looks and mute prayers, Mare tried to prevent such a courtesy, but in vain: her sister seemed to not want to understand, and such an opportunity to perform was a delight for her, so she began to sing, arousing the most painful sensations. Mare followed her progress with an impatience that was very poorly rewarded by the conclusion, seen Gisa had received, among the thanks from the table, a hint of hope that she might be persuaded to concede her favour again, and after not even half a minute, she started again.  Her sister's abilities were absolutely unsuitable for such a performance, given her weak voice and affected manner, and Mare's torture was only lightened by the fact that Wren was chatting amiably with Mr. Samos and neither of them could see any signs of derision that his sister and Lady Haven exchanged. Although Mare would’ve expected the General to take part in the mockery too, he had remained impenetrable serious, even when Mr. Barrow told his daughter she had been very good, but now it was better to leave room for the other ladies. Mare couldn’t understand whether the General's silent contempt or the insolent smiles of his friends were more intolerable, so she turned to Diana, and had a brilliant conversation with her and Mr. Jesper, which seemed to further annoy the man. Mr. Barrow, equally silent, enjoyed the scene: he was old, compared to all those young people, and since he had a finer mind than his wife, it wasn’t at all difficult for him to see what dynamics had been established in the group, and while they waited for the carriage that would take them home, he analyzed them one by one, but without sharing his thoughts with anyone, as he used to do if he wasn’t asked about it. And so he watched Mr. Samos and Miss Skonos, whose carriage, which was supposed to take her and her mother home, was miraculously late just like their own, stand a little apart from the others, just like Miss Samos and Lady Haven, although the former casted worried glances from time to time towards General Calore, who was talking, if it could be considered a dialogue and not a monologue, with Lucas Samos, his gaze fixed on Mare, whose back was turned to him as she chatted with Mr. Jesper. He would almost have liked to laugh, if everything couldn’t end so tragically: it would’ve been enough for all of them to speak honestly, even at that moment, just before taking their leave, and every problem would’ve been solved. But it would never happen, it never did, and so Mr. Barrow kept on observing, and saw his wife being urgently courteous to the Samos, saying she hoped to see them soon at their home, although she knew perfectly well it would never happen, as no one there, with the exception of the General, who would’ve never admitted it so publicly, felt particular affection of their daughters, and he actually didn’t mind: he didn’t like Miss Samos’ feigned gratitude nor the tacit assent that her friend gave to everything she said, and didn’t want his daughters to surround themselves with friends of that kind, much less that one of his sons would bring one of those harpies under his roof. When the carriages finally arrived, Mr. Barrow took his seat and watched Mr. Samos escort Miss Skonos to her vehicle and greet her with one of his rare smiles. His wife and sons  also took their places, and finally came the girls' time. Despite the embarrassment, the Barrow were accompanied by the General, who, despite not having paid the same attention to Gisa, instinctively reached out a hand to take Mare's and help her to climb the high step. Immediately Mare turned to throw him an amazed look, and taken aback by his gesture and by those dark eyes full of questions, he let her go and turned without a word, ready to reach his friend and the safety of home. He just couldn’t understand what was wrong with him, and such was the confusion in his heart that he ended up flexing his fingers until he felts the nails against his palm. It was something he often did as a child, when everything became too much, when he had to remember to maintain a certain demeanour, but for years he hadn't felt the need anymore, since nothing moved his soul up to that point. Slowly he straightened them again, and in that moment he decided his attentions for Miss Barrow were definitely bad and had to be nipped in the bud, and perhaps it was time to remind his dear friend that he too had a part in their plan.

[delia-pavorum]

𝑹𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑩𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

𝒂𝒌𝒂 canonverse hair-braiding

[originally posted on Twitter: here.]

###

She is awake before he is. She has remained awake while he sleeps. She always does.

It used to be he who could not find solace in rest.

He who was plagued by nightmares.

These days, however, he finds himself hardly able to keep his eyes open; as though all the years of sleepless nights have finally caught up to him.

By the time the night cycle arrives, it’s all he can do to stay upright, waiting for the moment when he can finally retire to bed.

‪It helps, he knows, that he never goes alone. ‬

It feels like an unspoken pact; a treaty formed by knowing glances. Never far apart from one another, they always seem to sense when the other is ready to depart from a room. To take their leave of the company they hold and go somewhere else, together

It is a fragile peace, his presence among them, but a peace nonetheless. Still, at times it feels oppressive - the noise, the expectations, the camaraderie.

He knows she feels the same.

So when they remove themselves from the crowd, when they leave a place and are alone walking down a hall, their gaits syncing, their bodies swaying closer to one another, when their hands find each other and link together, he gradually feels the tightness leave his chest.

They go back to their shared quarters and begin a nighttime routine. He revels in the monotony - bumping elbows over the sonic sink in the fresher. Smirks and shy glances darted over toothbrushes. Sometimes they would kiss and he would taste the mint on her breath.

Sometimes they would undress, hands stroking and bodies pressed together, and he would taste more and everywhere.

‪And then they would lie together in the sleeper, bodies skimming one another and also the edges on either side - luxuries were few within the confines of the Resistance - and they would fall deeply into a dreamless slumber, breathing evenly and peacefully, at rest.

It takes him weeks to realize that he has been the only one sleeping deeply.

And dreamlessly.

And peacefully.

In hindsight, the signs had been there.

She would shift restlessly in his embrace right when he was on the cusp of semi-consciousness. He would loosen the arm that was slung over her, knowing how she hated to be confined.

Then he would allow himself to be taken back into sleep, beyond awareness, assuming that she was still right there, inches away.

The odd time, he would awaken suddenly. Feel the cold side of the bed. Search for her within the bond and encounter the shuttered window of her mind.

He would panic, breath caught in his throat as he sat up too fast.

It would take less than seconds for her to open to him again, warmth flooding through him - sunlight even in a dark room - and her whispered words:

"Shh, shh. I'm still here."

A reassurance and an excuse for her absence would lull him back to peacefulness, back to sated rest.

"Lie with me?" he would murmur. 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

"Alright," she would concede, a smile in her voice. 𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.

And before he'd know it, it would be morning.

That particular night - perhaps because his body was familiar now with her comings and goings, his mind subconsciously having adapted to the fact that she never stayed for long - he awakens quietly, a bit disoriented and sensing her absence, but not panicked. ‪Merely wondering where she’d gone to now. ‬

He barely shifts, using only his eyes to track through the room. There was a small porthole window, moonlight or starlight or the light of a nearby planetary body bathing the room in an ethereal glow.‬

She sits directly in its wake, knees to her chin, arms crossed over her legs, holding herself together tightly. (Tighter than she ever lets him hold her.) Her face glitters in the pale light.

She is crying.

Silent tears track down her cheeks. Her body barely shudders as they course from her eyelids to the crooks of her elbows, bent over her legs like binders.

Stunned, he reaches out to her with the Force, probing lightly with his thoughts.

He finds himself encountering a gossamer resistance; not enough of a barricade to sound off any alarms in his head, but enough to muffle the worst of her emotions, her thoughts.

Her fears.

“Rey?”

His voice, quiet as it was, still resonates like a blaster shot in the silent room. She visibly startles, her arms unbuckling as her knees drop.

He is already up and out of the sleeper, crouching on the floor at her feet.

“Nothing,” she responds to his unspoken question. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He looks her up and down, at a loss.

“This is what you’ve been doing,” he realizes aloud, the words surprising him even as he speaks them. “Every night.”

“I—“ She begins to deny it, then her face crumples as she shrugs dejectedly.

“It’s too hard,” she says finally.

“What?” His voice drops an octave, a hushed timbre in the quiet room. “What is?” Lifting his hand, he strokes her wet cheek with his thumb.

“Every time I close my eyes,” she whispers back, “I see you—in the moments before... and after—“

Her voice cracks and her glittering eyes meet his, helpless and tearful.

He knows what she is saying without her having to say it.

Knows that she continues to relive the final moments of the last battle they fought together.

For him, at the time, it had been a catharsis.

The emotional weight of all he had wrought against those he’d loved - lifted. Absolved, in a way.

He'd been prepared to go. ‪She, however, hadn’t been prepared to let him. ‬

It had taken enough out of her - too much - but he is here now because of it. And so is she.

He’d thought it was over; the battle won. A new beginning.

Evidently, he’d been wrong.

He draws her close, hand cupping the back of her head, fingers unconsciously twining in her hair. She brings her head to his shoulder and lets loose a choked sob and then another.

He soothes her as best he knows how, the words clunky and awkward-sounding to his own ears.

Eventually, her sniffles and shudders subside. She has brought her hands up to his hair, her fingers curling in the loose tendrils at the nape of his neck.

“What do you need?” he asks. “What can I do?”

She is silent for a long while.

Eventually, she speaks: “I can’t sleep without dreaming. Without reliving it.” She falters, swallowing hard. “I need to know...” She pauses again, lips trembling.

He grazes her cheek with the tips of his fingers, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, while he waits for her to speak. His actions are gentle; understanding. Words that would not have suited him up until recently.

But now, for her, he can be anything.

She puffs out a breath. “I need to know you’re there, even when I’m sleeping. But I can’t—“ She shakes her head.

A feeling comes over him. It’s suffocating, almost claustrophobic, causing his heart to pump faster. He looks at her, alarmed.

She is returning his look, though hers is chagrined. He realizes what he is seeing; what she is showing him.

Without words, she is conveying to him how it feels to be enclosed in his arms at night.

For him it’s a comfort. For her, after so many years of being alone, of only having herself, it feels stifling, overwhelming.

She needs time. He can do that.

Still, he implicitly understands, she wants to know that he’s there. Needs to feel him near.

He thinks of her hands, constantly moving, fixing, toying.

Strong, the fingers lithe with callused tips, nails blunted at the top.

They rarely cease to fiddle during the day.

An idea forms in his mind. He clears his throat.

“My mother, her home country,” he begins.

“Alderaan?” she interjects. She knows; of course she would.

He nods once in confirmation. “Traditionally, it was a culture that placed emphasis on...certain artistic traditions.”

She looks at him quizzically.

“Hair braiding,” he explains. “There were...reasons for each knot, each coil. An explanation for every—“ He gestures vaguely, making a haphazard circle around his head. “And all would have been passed on from mother to daughter.”

He pauses thoughtfully, weighing his next words.

(The familiar pang of bitterness isn’t going to accompany them this time, he realizes. He finds that interesting.)

“Or,” he forges on, “from a mother to a son, desperate for any excuse for her time and her attention.”

“She taught you how to braid her hair?” Rey breathes incredulously. “In those beautiful—“ Her gesture mirrors the one he'd just made, a quick circle around her head.

He huffs out something resembling a laugh. “Well, sort of. I mostly just held certain sections in place.”

He shakes his head, again surprised at the pang of bittersweet fondness he feels at the memory.

“But she did teach me a bit,” he admits quietly, after a beat. “She taught me what she could.”

He isn’t sure if he’s still even talking about braids anymore as he feels a sharpness in his chest; grief anew. A wound that hasn’t healed.

She places her hand over the spot where the pain is the worst; she knows.

“I could teach you,” he continues, persevering now with his purpose at hand. (If the words sound familiar to both of them, neither let on.) “I could teach you the ways to do it. The—the basic steps. Do it while we lie here. Before we sleep.”

Her eyes slowly inch up to meet his, realization dawning.

To occupy herself with braiding, to keep her hands busy, it would help focus her mind on a task.

It showed how he inherently understood her nature. How the need to be engaged, to be active, was all she knew.

‪Giving her something to 𝘥𝘰. It was the most effective - the kindest - solution. ‬

“Yes,” she blurts out, “yes, I’d like that.”

She tentatively raises her hand to his hair, pushing the onyx strands back from his face. He wears it brushed back more often than not these days, as though he no longer requires any type of mask. As though he has nothing to hide.

Her fingers sift through the locks, her other hand coming up, twisting two pieces together, then allowing them to fall with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"We're a long way from Alderaan," she murmurs, and he feels the heft of those words, their significance, down to his bones.

"It's alright," he soothes. He rises from his crouched position, knees popping, and he emits a mild groan.

Her grin feels truer now; she dimples and he experiences its warmth.

"Getting old, huh?" she jibes as she accepts his hand, standing up as well.

"Thanks to you," he returns quietly, leading her back to the bed.

Her smiles softens into something poignant and she nods.

They lie down together, him shifting slightly lower than her, so her head is resting on their pillow and his lays close to her solar plexus.

"Ready?" he says, throwing the blanket over her legs as he speaks.

She shifts her fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp, rubbing the silky strands.

"Ready," she confirms, the word cracking on a large yawn.

He quietly instructs her as best he can, as best he remembers, and truly the technique doesn't even matter as much as the soft ebb and flow of her hands in his hair, working in rhythmic tugs, pulling and releasing.

The motions lull them both into a quiet, restful peace.

She perserveres, even as she emits several more lusty yawns. He feels her tying the ends with something and looks up to see her own hair has been taken down, falling loosely around her shoulders. The silvery light of the moon frames her head in an opaline halo as she works.

He feels gratitude as he's never known it before, strong enough to spear his heart, split him in two.

He feels the spirit of his mother, of the Force, of all that which has brought them to this moment, and he is grateful for it all.

She works on his hair, one determined tug after another, until finally her hands slow and then, eventually, stop.

He hears her breathing, evenly and deeply. Her body is soft and pliant; her mind a diaphanous cloud, prismatic yet unproblematic.

Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, she rests - peacefully, dreamlessly, deeply.

He can fall asleep beside her now, bodies skimming one another and the edges of the sleeper, knowing she is no longer troubled.

He is grateful for that, too.

[ziracona]

The tendency in fandom to take every white girl with short hair, regardless of the status of their canonical interest or lack of interest in women and explicit interest and/or sexual history with everything but, proclaim them a lesbian queen, and then ignore or absolve them of every single horrific act they take in fiction because of this. Is not doing feminism. Women. Lesbians. Or anyone. Any favors. It’s just bad.

Somehow. Some people really do apparently need to hear that...being any specific sexuality...is not a personality trait.

And also. Women aren’t inherantly less vile than men (or anyone non-binary, agender, fluid, etc, else), and whatever bad deeds they do should be judged based on just that—on the deeds, and their context. Not their sexuality, imagined sexuality, or their gender. Becuase none of those things effect whether committing murder is bad. At all. Not even a little. And none of them. Is even a personality trait. Affecting the character’s value as a person.

It’s cool, and good, to see characters with minority identities. And it’s real nice. When it’s whatever you are. But them being whatever. Is not a personality trait. Just a fact. And sometimes. People of any type. Are not good. Pretending any minority status—gender, sexuality, race, disability, neurotype, etc—is a get out of jail free card? Is not. Doing them. Or anyone. Any favors. Personality disorder. Doesn’t make you bad. Also doesn’t make you good. Your actions do. Acting like Amy from Gone Girl did nothing wrong when she date rapes her boyfriend & then frames him for doing that to her & ruins his life, then blackmails her husband who is terrified of being murdered by her into staying with her for the sake of the child she made at a fertility clinic with his sperm without his consent, bc she’s a woman. Isn’t good. Men aren’t more deserving of violence than women. Neither is anyone else. Jane. Left an infant child in an unheated car in subzero weather in a snow storm with zombies around that easily would hear it cry and go eat it. So she could lie and say she already let zombies eat it to bait a man with easily triggerable PTSD who had just lost his family to zombies for the second time into starting a fight. Because he was injured, unarmed, weak, down an eye, and 50, while she was fit, mid 20s, healthy, and armed with a hunting knife. Because she wanted an excuse to kill him without looking bad, because she wanted the 11 year old girl she was co-parenting with him, all to herself. And her immediately responding to the dude throwing a punch by stabbing him in the stomach to escalate the fight from brawl to life or death, then losing her knife, and instead of telling him the baby was alive & she’d made it up to start a fight which could have at any point ended the fight, begging the 11 year old child to gun down her oldest surviving friend with her own hands in cold blood so that she’d get what she wanted? Is evil. As is crying on the 11 year old and using pity as a weapon to get her to stay with her if she gets mad and wants to leave when she realizes Jane staged the whole thing for an excuse to murder, and so is after realizing like a month later that she is pregnant, committing suicide, and leaving the 11 year old that she just manipulated into killing her oldest surviving friend/completely isolated on purpose so she could have her to herself, totally alone in the apocalypse to care for an infant. Jennifer’s Body? Is a fantastic film. And Jennifer didn’t deserve any of what happened to her. But not one single boy she kills during the course of that film deserved it—and explicitly so. Even the guy who could easily have been a meathead jock bully is outside alone crying becuase his best friend just died and he loved him before she decides to lure him off and eat him alive. And acting like it’s totally fine & Needy should have just let her keep eating boys instead of killing her? Is fucked up. None of them deserved to die. And no one deserves death innately more because they are or are not something that is just a factual designator of their makeup as a human. The exchange student was scared and alone and nice, the catholic kid was sweet and Needy’s friend, Chip is a bad boyfriend but he meant well and being stupid doesn’t mean you deserve to die. And this girl ate them alive. That’s not funny. Or cool. Or fine becuase they were dudes. Gertrude Robinson? Chose again and again to betray people who loved her, or trusted her—sold out victims of awful trauma to their worst nightmares. Killed friends in the worst possible ways, like it was nothing. Michael loved her, and trusted her, and tried to care for her, and she without faltering fed him to his worst nightmare and forced him to become it. There is nothing excusable about that action.

Jude Perry? Has 0 redeeming features. Didn’t even stay faithful to her poor gf & was creepy obsessed w Agnes. Literally murdered her co-worker friend just because he was happy, and she wanted to destroy things: that’s it. She didn’t even dislike him. Murdered him because he had a wife and kid and house and it seemed fun, then burned down his house, took his wife’s money, and now checks in on his kid every so often in case he ever recovers from the trauma she inflicted enough to be fun to kill. There is literally nothing good about this woman. Yes. I mean that. Because being a lesbian? Is just a thing. There is no g/b tag, there is no tag at all. Amanda Young? Got kidnapped and tortured and forced to choose between killing a man who couldn’t resist but was conscious to watch her, and letting herself die, and she killed him. Then, instead of responding to that trauma with guilt or responsibility or anger at her captor, joined up with him and started helping him kidnap people just like her. She was not forced, she was not lied to. It does not matter if John was manipulative; she is a grown ass woman and like all grown ass adults, responsible for her own actions and choices. She did not get manipulated pitifully into this—she did not go unwillingly. She volunteered, with a happy vengeance, became obsessed with John and in love with him, despite his complete lack of interest. And she did not even just do what he did. She decided on her own that no one deserved redemption, & she killed them for fun in traps that wouldn’t let them go even if they did whatever awful thing the trap demanded as a price for life, just for the fun and power trip of watching them die helpless & in agony. That was all her, & her alone. She sat in a house full of people slowly dying from organ decomposition over the course of a few hours, for no crime worse than drug addiction—the thing she of all people should have been most sympathetic to—knowing full well at any time she could have saved them and stopped the game, and did nothing. She held a woman in her arms and stroked her head lovingly while she let her die in one of the most inhumane ways possible for the crime of having not been able to break an addition. She got saved by a 16 year old child multiple times, who had done nothing more than shoplift, and stood by while he had to watch a man get his brains blown out, another burn to death in an oven. As his organs slowly dissolved too. Watched the kid kill another human being & massively traumatize himself to save her life. And responded to that by attacking & knocking him out, tying him up, locking him up for days in a tiny safe bound and gagged with an oxygen supply to keep him alive, to be a piece in another game. Left his father, who had shown up to try & save him, to starve to death in chains in a horrible abandoned rotting room, & never even told him his son was alive. Let every other addict die horribly, let that kid sustain permanent damage to his organs that will kill him young, antidote taken or not, took his dad from him, & went back to torturing without a second thought. Kidnapped a woman whose worst crime was being a doctor & dating someone while maybe separated instead of divorced from her husband, put her in a trap that would take her head off with shotgun blasts, threatened her for fun, & then killed her even after she did everything she was asked, because it was more important to her that the old man she was obsessed with think she was special and great, than for the other woman to get to stay alive another day & go home to her daughter. There is nothing sympathetic about Amanda. She’s just not only evil, but too spineless to take responsibility for her own choices & actions, & tries to hide behind a “UwU I am sad & lonely & damaged & having trauma means I can literally torture people to death to feel special & it’s really tragic and sympathetic about me, not evil. Uhm. Some people??? Commit torture-murders?? To cope??” And acting like she’s somehow a victim in this becuase she is a pretty white girl with short hair? Is fucked. Up.

But every. God damn. Time. I see this. Please. It needs. To stop. People go: “UwU pretty girl short hair want” & I go “Ok. I see where u. Come from. Indeed.” But then. They go. “Girl pretty I like. So she was blameless. For this atrocity.” Those words...

Every day. I wake up. Thinking of Janic saying. Iconically. “At least me and Regina George know we’re mean,” and I weep inside. Because I cannot fathom. Or stomach. The lack of responsibility. I will kill. Characters who cannot admit they are bad. Myself. But somehow. They become. Flames. To moths. Of the “UwU pretty white girl short hair. We stan. Victim. Queen. Love her. Never done wrong.” Boy. We all done wrong. Even all my faves. At least once. I think. ...not if we count dogs probably, but people, yes. Ok. Anyway. All this is to say. Characters. Should be judged. Based on what they did. And why. And the aftermath. Not a grouping tag. I don’t mean any of these. Make bad characters. At all. Amy is a great character. So is Jennifer. So are most of them. I have quite affection even. For Jeneffer specifically. But you can like. Character. Without proclaiming. Them perfect humans. Who never did a thing wrong. Or their acts somehow. Justifiable. And ok. And you better stop saying. Ok. Because done. To men. Men do not. Deserve violence. Any more. Than anyone else. No one deserves violence defacto for factors. Outside their control. Wtf. Really people. It’s ok too. For character. To do much bad stuff. And still like character. Villains. And often just complex characters. Sometimes just characters. Do stuff. That is bad. It’s not supposed to be not their fault. Or ok. Also. Women are not a sisterhood. Of flawless beings. Who never hurt anyone or do any bad stuff. They can. And are. Often purpotrators. Of awful acts. And when they are. It is still. Very bad. Still. An awful act. Same level. Even. Of awful. Wild.

In conclusion.

Having short hair. While a girl. Doesn’t make her a butch queen. Who is absolved of all responsibility for that murder she committed. It just makes her a girl with short hair. That did a murder. I’m gonna. Kill someone. Too. And if I chop my hair off. I guess I can get away with it.

[tempthornton]

Confession:

Being inside the Church Temperance felt peace, this is what she missed at any other moment in the day. She desperately wanted the stillness of her own mind, not having Son’Ispa coiling around whispering and reminding her of how things could go horribly wrong.

Closing the door of the confessional booth she nervously clasped and unclasped her hands in thought. How long had it been? The Light was still something she wanted to avoid, but the person she would speak to was the whole source of what had happened. 

“B-Bless me, Father, I have sinned.” She winced knowing the next part was going to be telling. “It’s been three years since my last confession.”

The other side, behind the screen she couldn’t look through a softer lower voice spoke back. His accent reminded her of people from Westfall. “That’s a good little chunk of time, tell me about your sins.”

Where did she start?

“There’s.. a lot to this Father.” She closed her eyes to savor the silence before speaking. “I lied to someone I care about. One of my only friends. After I lied he grew distant and didn’t want to be around me. I... I think it’s my fault and I don’t know what to do. He’s been, everything this last month.”

Getting to the end of her statement, she didn’t feel better. Wasn’t confession supposed to help? Her heart was twisting in her chest and she wished she hadn’t come to the Church for guidance.

The voice on the other side of the screen remained calm and spoke slowly for her. “Now, Miss, I think your gonna have t’give me more information than that. What did you lie about?”

And there she knew everything had to come out.

“You’re not allowed to tell anyone, or do anything about what I say? Right?” She asked, having to be sure.

“That is right.” The priest said but now she could hear a light curiosity grow. “Why you askin’?”

“I have a void entity in my head. We share a body because of a botched ritual my family tried to do... The entity has cared for me like a mother after everyone else I knew died. I decided I wanted to go to Pandaria to learn some of the cooking styles that are there. But... she sensed the other void entities that were fighting and called them. Summoned them to get me. She, she sees me as her daughter and I was introduced to entity after entity with names that would drive people insane.”

Temperance then shivered. “They noticed I was immune to the madness. And they wanted to see how much they could test me.” She could feel it even at that moment. “They told me to go into the Vision of N’Zoth. With... nothing, just myself.”

“You sound quite sane.” The voice said.

“I am. As sane as you can be when you realize the one person who’s been there for you really has no idea on how you can be happy. She, she didn’t get it. That I didn’t belong in the void with her and her Master. I found one of the champions of Azeroth and I got us out of there. But... I still feel it. I feel the cold. I feel the pain.” Temperance hugged herself shivering again. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The silence from the other room was almost too heavy. Was the man signaling others to pull her out fo the booth? Were they going to rip Son from her, like any other priest might? 

“That’s an awful amount of shit to happen to you.” His voice didn’t carry the judgment she was waiting for. “You had to lie to your friend then?”

“He asked me if I was alright... and, I said I was fine.” She shook her head. “Then he got quiet, so, so quiet. He’s not the kind to go quite like that. He’s not serious and I love that about him. But he bottled up, he got this look, like someone insulted his dog. As soon as I was back in Stormwind he left, just... marched off without talking to me.”

Temperance’s voice cracked and she was shocked how much it hurt. It hurt to know someone she trusted had wanted nothing to do with her. Much of her thoughts spun around that moment and she had already cried once in fear she had hurt her friend.

“It’s my fault. I’m able to stand against the void but I let her trick me. I let her push me to go into the Visions. If I had more control he wouldn’t have come, I would have been the strong friend he didn’t have to worry about. Instead, I’m like every other girl he’s met.” Her throat was getting tighter and she covered her face as she started to cry.

“I’ve lost everyone in my life except for the entity in my head. If he goes... If he thinks I’m not worth dealing with. Who could put up with me?”

She broke into a sob, a wet unattractive sob that made her wish her face could split open so she could let all the pain and sadness out without the prolonged release of tears.

The sound of wood sliding on woodcut through her sobs and she looked to see the Priest. He was younger than she thought he was. He sounded so much older behind the screen Dark hair, bright eyes, with an expression of empathy that she didn’t get often.

“Missy, why did you lie to him?”

“If I told him what happened he would have taken Son from me, maybe even killed my other guardian because he’s also a void entity. I’ve never lived without Son before. I only get moments of rest when I’m in a church. But... I don’t know how I’ll survive without her. She’s protected me since I was an infant.”

The Priest nodded but he had no judgment on his face, it was such a relief to see someone who wasn’t angry outright about this. “Sounds like she might have once protected you, but she’s also a bad influence on you as well. Not saying because she’s of the void. Everything has its own path to the Light. Sometimes the best way to bring the Light the most grace is to stand in the shadows. But she made you do something against your will. She tricked you into doing something that is hurting you. You’re shivering. Your mind made it out safe, but the rest of you didn’t.”

He continued to speak, his voice soft but not bullshitting her. “It wasn’t right what she did. If she wanted to protect you she wouldn’t have sent you into a vision of an old god. You’re allowed to be in pain, to be angry with her. It wasn’t right.”

But Temperance hugged herself. “She’s not able to take over my body anymore, but I don’t know how to fix what happened with my friend. I’m scared he hates me now, that he could tell I was lying and is writing me off.”

She noticed the sympathy in the priest’s eyes. “There’s not much you can do for that right now. The lie was told unless you go to him to confess you’re not alright, there’s no real way of changing what happened. He might be angry that you didn’t tell him the truth. He might get rid of your.. guardian.”

“It’s my fault. I should have known Son was going to do something. Once she was quiet in Pandaria I should have known she was planning something. I should have left.” She said the words pulling out the pain she had been suffering for the last few days.

“No.” The Priest’s voice was firmer. “It an’t your fault. You’re keeping the peace between a creature of the void and your friend. If you want to not do that anymore, you need to understand your Guardian is going to be removed from you one day. You need to be ready for it.”

“I can’t get away from her.” She shook her head touching her head. “She’s always here.”

“She’s not there when you’re in the church.” He said and then offered a smile. “You want absolution? You’re going to come to the church whenever you have a day off. You come here. You ask for me. Father Shields. While you’re here you can be by yourself or near me and explore what it’s like to be alone. If you learn you can do it, when your friend gets angry and asks for your guardian to be removed, you’ll be able to do it without fear.”

Temperance didn’t think that being around the church might make some of her issues harder, instead, she saw what the Priest was offering. Quiet and time before one-day Son’Ispa would be gone from her for good. Alexander had already stated that he was looking for a replacement home for Son, as soon as he was able to find one he would lunch his plan and make sure his mate was somewhere that she could do less harm.

“I’ll do it.” She met the man’s hazel gaze, finding a moment of peace. “I’ll get comfortable with being alone, as soon as I know she can leave, I’ll tell him what happened. That way fewer people get hurt.”

Father Shields nodded with a half-smile. “That’s a right good idea.” He let out a breath and held a hand out to her.

“I have rough hands.” Temperance muttered.

“I don’t right care, I’m from Westfall. Woman with soft hands means she’s never lived.” He nodded to his outstretched hand and this time she took it. “By the Grace of the Light, I absolve you of your guilt and of your sin. You’re free. Go with peace and I’ll be seein’ you when you come here for your penance. Ya hear?”

Temperance felt a small rush of the light and it was so utterly foreign to her. The Light always chased Son away but it did no harm the rest of her. One day soon she would be free of the entity, and she just might be able to stand beside her friends with the Light. If she still had a friend at the end of all of this.

“Yes Father.” She said bowing her head. “Thank you, for not judging me.”

“You are actually torn up about this, it’s what you need at the moment.” He bowed his head and closed the screen between them. “Go with the Light and your Shadows.”

(( Mentions: @ezekielshields​))

[eliyah-de-dark]

((So this has been something on my mind all day and I said screw it it's my birthday I'll write what I want so behold))

Miraculous Counte of Monte Cristo conception: Hawkmoth

Abbé Clarke terrified Gabriel. He had not yet been told the day of his death and yet a English hot-dog priest had been called for him. The condemned man sat on his cot as the guards of his prison ushered the short crippled man into the cell.

Gabriel's mouth dried as he said the familiar phrase. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

The abbé waved his small, surprisingly delicate hand towards the guards. They shot a dirty look at their prisoner before slamming the door shut. Abbé Clarke waited silently, motionless, until the tap of the guards feet faded from hearing.

"Tell me of your crimes, my son."

The abbey's voice was strange. Gravelly by force, not by nature, and higher than a typical man's voice. Perhaps for the English, this was normal. Or he was trying to evoke an older presence than he had. The good of his robes were pulled down so far that Gabriel couldnt see his face.

Regardless, Gabriel said the lines he had repeated to himself since he arrived in this hell hole. "I didn't m...m...murdered," the word evoked a sob from him, "my wife." Abbé Clarke straightened up at the words.

"Oh?"

"How could I?" He asked, his hands gripping his knees. "I love her more than life itself. I would never hurt Emilie." Two years ago, tears would be pouring down his sunken cheeks. He had cried too much. Nothing would come out.

The abbé did not speak.

Gabriel pressed on. "She was poisoned, yes. But not by me. Not to death." A conviction entered his voice now. One that he had built up from years of staring into the stone walls of his cell.

"Who would have done it?" The abbé asked softly.

Gabriel hesitated to answer. He stared at the priest, who kept his head bowed to the floor in a somber prayer. "My son's wife." He said. His tone held no room for questioning, no waver of uncertainty, only the firmness of fact and truth.

Abbé Clarke folded his hands - small and rough like they'd worked too hard and calloused over - in a position in front of him as though his prayer had become more fervent. "Why?"

Why? A question Gabriel had asked all too often. "I don't know," he confessed. "She had enough reason. I disliked her for my son, told him such on the day of their announcement. Emilie agreed with me, though she did not speak of it publicly." His eyes drifted back to the horrid look of rage on the Italian girl's face when she stood before him. A look that meant to move his soul to feelings of damnation.

Had he known this would be where his defiance lead him, he would have relented. Now he stared at the little priest who tucked his hands into the opposing sleeves, making a sort of sling with his brown robes.

"If you are innocent, as you claim, how did she get you arrested?"

He told the scene plainly. How he found his beautiful wife lying in the garden, still and cold as though death had taken her. How his daughter-in-law, so she had been for little more than a year, had sobbed over the body while the gendarmes arrested him. How Judge Damocles - the priest flinched at the name - pronounced him guilty without a second thought. That daughter's wicked smile as he passed her in chains.

The Abbé Clarke withdrew a hand and rubbed his chin. "If this ungrateful child were to visit you here, weeping over her crime and praying that you would absolve her of the pain shes caused, would you forgive her?"

"No." That answer came too fast. He warily eyed the priest whose tiny frame shivered. "I mean, yes, but-"

A raised hand cut him off. "You don't have to lie to me, Monsieur Agreste." The hand returned to its sleeve. "You are not alone in this feeling."

Gabriel's brows furrowed.

The abbé spoke more, voice quiet and still like ge thought the guards had returned. "It is not by chance that I found you here, Counte of Marseilles," the old title made him shiver with cold fear, "God sent me first to a mutual friend of ours, and then to you."

"Mutual friend?" The tremors in Gabriel's fingers worsened as the abbé's terrible words filled him.

"Yes. She too was imprisoned for crimes she didn't commit. She lost her husband, her family, everything behind the walls of the Chateau d'If."

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he desperately grasped his arms to stop the trembling of his fingers.

"I see you remember her."

How could he forget her? His son had loved her to the point of madness. Threatening to disown him did nothing but strengthen the boy's resolve to marry the sailor. How he wished Adrien had married that girl instead of the lying serpent he'd taken to wife.

"She has powerful friends. Very powerful indeed." Abbé Clarke chuckled. It was a more feminine sound, lighter and airier. Had his voice always had this sweet soprano-like lilt? "Take this." He stretched out his hand.

In it was a black octagonal box larger than his palm. Gabriel stared at it, at the intricate Asian design on the top. His hand koved on it's own, creeping towards the box until he snatched it, moving like a striking snake.

Inside it was a single gem. Oval, purple in its tone, with a shine that came from a light he couldn't see. He stared at it, a curiosity blooming in his chest. His weathered eyes trailed back up to the abbé.

The priest spoke again. "Once you leave this place, go to the Palazzo Coccinella in Milan. Ask for her ladyship the Countess de Monte Cristo." Now his voice was definitely that of a woman. He - she rose, rapping her knuckles thrice on the door.

The sound of approaching guards made Gabriel stuff the box and its jewel into the hay stuffing of his bed.

As the door opened, the Abbé Clarke said their final words in that gravelly voice. "Go thy way, for thy faith hath made thee whole." The sign of the cross was made and the strange being walked out.

The door slammed.

The fairy appeared.

"It is good to meet you, Master. I am Nooroo, the kwami of transmissions."

((TAG LIST: @screwthisshit111 @rudy-ruby @lady-charinette @nerdy-scifi-birdy since y'all was interested in the main idea, have a taste of it))

((Now imma go pass out. I love you all, good night, sleep well, dont do school, stay in homework, and do your drugs))

[mrneighbourlove]

Burnt Heart: Ch 4. Boiling Point

Zizi nudged Grievous. She kept waiting for the girl to return and finally found her asleep in the barn with Slyvain and the other dragons. So, she covered her up with a blanket for the night and returned in the morning. She held a small tray of food, including her signature blueberry pancakes. "Grivy, wake up, it's time for breakfast."

“Ravatal Gel- oh.” Grievous froze, looking embarrassed at her alarmed swearing. “I did not realize it was you.”

"You have eggs, bacon, and blueberry pancakes." Zizi petted back Grivy's wild hair. "I figured you'd be hungry since you just poked at your food yesterday."

“You are all so touchy.” Grievous gripped her blanket close. “Good protein. Except these ‘pancakes’. Cakes are not good for health. If only berries were separate.”

"You'll eat it." Zizi poked her nose. "Carbs are good for you too. Gives you energy." She sat down beside of the girl. "Go ahead. Eat. I'm not leaving until you finish your plate. Then, you can come and meet the rest of my children."

"Ah, so you like the pancakes. I'll remember that and make more for you at some point." Zizi then raised an eyebrow. "Duel? My son?"

Grievous gave Zizi one of her trade mark serious stares, suddenly rushing to consume her food. It was like she never ate before. At the very least, Zizi could tell how excited she was by the movement of her tail. “Tastes good. Will give me energy for duel with Manaco today.”

"... you do realize this is not Dal culture, Grivy?" Zizi reminded the girl. "Manaco doesn't respond nicely to challenges. If you wish to 'fight' him, then a friendly spar is more than enough. Not a... pecking order."

“He said only an idiot would challenge him. Doesn’t seem too tough. And I despise people who name call someone’s intelligence. Only fitting I sweep him off his feet.”

"Well, he does have a point, my son is a very good fighter like his..." Zizi started to say 'father' but trailed off for a moment. "Instead of dueling him, how about just spar? See how he fights first?"

“No weapons? Fists and fire? Or just fists?”

"There's different kinds of sparring," Zizi told Grivy, counting them on her fingers. "Weapons, magic, hand-to-hand, and inter species combat. For example, if you want to learn the best way to fight against a Zora, you'd request a Zoran sparring partner."

“Your fish species yes?” Grievous seemed to know what a Zora was without skipping a beat, although never stepping in Hyrule until just yesterday. “Zizi. Why are you here? Why are you trying to daughter me?”

"Because I am a mother. And I am a Zemlja. We care for all." Zizi explained to Grivy. "And it seems like you don't have anyone to care for you right now. You're still a kid, and you need someone. So, I'll make sure you're okay."

“I’m a teenager, not a kid. And I suppose I don’t belong here with you. Don’t you know that?”

"You're a kid." Zizi ruffled her hair. "So? Lorleidians didn't belong here either. We belonged on Lorleidi, but our home was dying. Thanks to my sister's marriage to the king, we live here now. It doesn't matter where you think you belong, Grivy. It's about who you're with that cares for you."

“No. I don’t. I came here to conduct matters of business. I’ve clearly helped cutting a dagger within your family dynamic. Besides, I’d only bring you potential danger staying for long.” Grievous stood up, walking to bucket full of water to act as a mirror.

"Do you really think that we can't defend ourselves?" Zizi reminded her with a touch of teasing to her voice. "Recall who sucked you into the earth."

“Because perhaps I am a child... and I didn’t want to hurt you. Yet I have with my actions. So, I should leave before all your nonsense of family unity gets to me.” Carefully, the Waku applied her war paint to both sides of her face.

"It's not nonsense, sweetheart," Zizi gently halted the application of paint by holding Grivy's hand. "It's just... love. That's all."

Grievous sighed, clearly not getting anywhere. “What would be the point of your family meeting one of hundreds of half-siblings. Tell me that?”

"Fun. Food. Sparring. Laughing. Talking. Everyday life." Zizi shrugged. "But if they don't want to know us, that's okay too."

“Fine. Let me put on my paint and I’ll see you all outside. If your whole family isn’t waiting for me, then I’m going to take off.”

"What are you talking about? They're right there." Zizi gestured at the bottom of ladder leading up to the hayloft. All of the brothers and sisters were there, including Manaco, making sure to tell the younger ones to be on their best behavior. Keira, too, was bubbly as ever, and waved with a big grin. "They didn't want you feeling too lonely."

Grievous didn’t dare look down. Her tail was as stiff as a branch from the anticipation. “I see. Well, you can still wait. Painting is important to me.”

"I can paint!" Zalana, the youngest piped up from down below. "Lemme do it!"

"You can't even color inside the lines." Ahusaka shook his head. "And you want to do her war paint?"

"What's war paint?" Tana, Tala, and Tarsha asked in unison.

"It's makeup." Santika and Sakari harmonized.

"Ooo, let me paint your nails then!" Huyana volunteered.

"I'll do your hair!" Miku added. "And your fur!"

"Does she even like that shit?" Urboro groaned.

"Why don't you ask her first?" Keira told her younger sisters. "Never hurts to ask."

"You asked me if I thought your butt looked big in a skirt, and when I said yes, you punched me, that's a lie." Chatima told his sister.

"That's because you were being a jerk." Dasan poked his brother.

"You know better than that, she'll wipe the floor with you." Bodawa rolled his eyes.

Grievous took the noisy distraction as a form of mental training. She could focus hard on her makeup, as well as tune them out. Finally, she was done. With great detail she drew the white paint upon her face, with black lines giving her a scary image of an animal skull. She dunked her hair in the water to clean, followed by a dozen seconds to naturally warm her body to bring it to a frazzle poof. Not wanting to simply climb down the ladder, she stretched her limbs for minute. Once she felt her exorcises were done, she took a running jump off the barns second floor, flipping over the family. Landing on her feet, she turned to them, eyeing every last one. “I am Grievous.”

"Oof, I'm too old to go jumping around like that." Zizi climbed down the ladder. "Everyone, this is Grivy. I'll name mine from oldest to youngest. This is Manaco, Ahusaka, Keira, Urboro, Miku, Chatima, Huyana, Sakari and Satinka are twins, Dasan, and Tama, Tala, Tarsha are triplets, and then my youngest is Zalana. Everyone say hello and be nice."

“It’s Grievous. I’m serious about that.” The newest Waku didn’t know what to make of so many of her people being one big causal family. If anything, it was rather overwhelming. “Hello.”

"I'm sure it will take a bit to learn all of our names, so why don't you come with us today? We having dragon-back practice today." Keira suggested. "You can meet some of our dragons, see our home, and then later, we'll have a game of Magma Ball!"

“Which home?”

"Our home. This home." Ahusaka motioned to the giant house behind the barn. "What Mom took you in is her's and... uh... well, her private quarters." He was careful not to mention their father. "It's attached to our house, but that space is hers."

“I’m busy.” Grievous took a hand to her mouth, whistling for Sylvain to come to her.

"Doing what? Existing?" Urboro snerked. "Come on, drop the act and go hang out with us."

"We'll get ice cream!" Keira promised. "And you can try all the flavors."

"You think ice cream solves everything." Dasan remarked.

"Well... it doesn't hurt."

“I came her to get answers from our mutual father. That is all. I care not for your icy cream.” Her Wyvern bounded up to Grievous, purring its head for scratches. “I’m not here for a vacation. I- look. I’m grateful for a roof over my head for the night, but I did not come to know more brothers and sisters. I’m sure you have much on your mind about me. I cannot deny I’m curious about you too, but you are not my first priority.” With a small jump, Grievous got atop her saddle.

"So what? You're just going to bolt cause you're uncomfortable?"

"Urboro! That's not nice!"

"Hey, she's not being that friendly either."

"Pwease?" Zalana asked Grievous. "Just for a little while?"

“I’m leaving because you can’t give me answers about my heritage. You can’t absolve anger I feel. You are not my family. You have history I could never hope to share. I will return if I do wish to.” She spoke with unwavering condition, walking out into the open to ready take off.

"Young lady, you turn around right this instance!" Zizi spun the earth under Sylvain's feet to unsteady him for takeoff. "My children were nice enough to take time to come out here to get to know you. Not judge you, not blame you, nothing. You will give them a little of your time before you saunter off on some quest for answers. Kahli isn't going anywhere." She crossed her arms. "That means now."

"Mom, she doesn't have to---"

"Oh yes she will."

Sylvain acted wildly, roaring with fear as the ground spun him about. Grievous was patient with Zizi, but this snapped something in here. “You’re not my mother! And get your hands off my Wyvern! If you don’t stop scaring him, I’ll give your children something to be terrified of!”

"You know what? I'm trying my damnest to be nice to you." Zizi told Grivy with a loud scowl. "All you do is push me away, push all of us away. And you know what?" She threw up her hands. "I'm done trying. If you want to go tear into my lying, scheming, dog of a husband, then fucking go!!!"

As their mother tromped off, all of the siblings were wide eyed. None of them had ever heard their mother curse, much less display such... hatred of their father. For a moment, nothing was said. All of them looked at each other, confused and a touch afraid of their parents' crumbling relationship.

"She's right." Manaco shook his head. "Just go, Grievous. We're... we're tired of this."

“Good gods. I don’t know you people. Wow do you even care about me?” Grievous patted her Wyvern, taking off into the air. “Stop wallowing in your pity. Do something.”

"Let's just... how about we just go check on the dragons and spend the day together?" Keira suggested to her siblings. "It's been a long past couple of days."

"I couldn't agree more." Ahusaka nodded his head. "Let's go get ice cream too."

"You're not getting any of mine this time." Manaco snorted.

~

Kahli was currently at work in the plantation, going to clock in regardless that Zizi worked there as well. News hadn’t spread to his co-workers yet, but a few sensed he was off. The Waku simply dismissed it as a bad nights sleep. When he saw his tailed child walk through the glass doors, he sighed. “This is my place of work.”

“You owe me time old man.”

Kahli growled, and he saw Grievous take a fighting stance the moment he reached for a spade. Slowing his reach, he didn’t move away from his flower garden. “I need to move this solar plant. It can only bloom under direct sunlight. This isn’t a weapon.”

“I... I knew that.” Kahli didn’t need to confront her on her lie. Carefully caring for his plants, he ignored his daughter for a few minutes in deep silence. It was after her observation she broke it. “Why do you garden? Are you not a warrior? Or a general to Hyrule?”

“No. I am a simple man with simple needs. Gardening is my occupation. You learn to value and take care of the smallest of life.” With a place of his hand, the Waku man silently disintegrated a few weeds into ash. “And be able to remove the parasites found within.”

“But you are Hasai. Should you not want something more?”

“I had something more. I learned to be satisfied building my own garden, removing weeds to increase the value of my flowers.”

As for Zizi, she spent the rest of the day at her home. She tried to keep going about her day as usual. Normally, she'd be at work, but there were others there to run the plantations. Yet, she was not ready to face Kahli. She didn't want to talk to him, to see him, to even be breathing the same air as him. Zizi could not recall the last time she felt this angry. The bad thing was, she did not want to feel angry. She hated feeling this way. But... how could she ever forgive this secret? This betrayal? Her husband had nearly 700 more children out there. Zannah used her husband for the Empire's benefit---spirits, why couldn't Kahli just listen to her when she said Zannah was bad news?! After cleaning the house from top to bottom, she went to lay on the bed. She couldn't sleep. She just laid there... depressed.

Grievous shadowed Kahli for almost all day as her father worked. He didn’t say more then a sentence to her whenever she asked a question regarding his work. If others approached, she scared them off with a scowl. When he finally checked out, the man walked back to his house. Zizi’s house. He had food he needed to eat before it expired. The girl was surprised he would go back so soon. “What about what Manaco said?”

“I am not governed by the word of my son.”

Zizi sensed him. He was outside... with his other daughter. Proof of his betrayal. Curling her hand into a fist, a wall of thorns and poisonous plants covered the house from brick to brick. She wanted him to go away.

Kahli saw the vines rise up, and his patience waned. Zizi could ignore him, but he’d not have her deny him his entry to his home. Using his terrible power, with a touch, he turned her vines into bombs. With a light detonation, her plants turned into ash. He knew how much grief this caused, but she could ignore him in peace, or confront him in person. Grasping the front door, he glared at Grievous. “Stay outside.”

He wanted to play it that way, did he? Zizi then opened up the earth, the same that she had done with Grievous. It swallowed Kahli up to his hips and carried him backwards a good ways, then spat him out. Once more, the wall of prickly thorns and plants went up around the house, and barbs erupted all over the doors.

Kahli didn’t get nearly as far as anyone else did, burning through the earth to crawl out and plant his feet.  With a bolt of lightning, he fried the vines, burning them out of spite, but did not step closer to the house. It was a slower death for the plants, yet they to turned to dust. He was prepared for anything Zizi would throw, yet stood outside, leering their shared bedroom room, daring her to even just look him in the eye.

It seemed she was going to have to do this the hard way. Plants and earth were not the only thing she could manipulate now. Rocks started to shift out of the ground, blocking every entrance to the house. Then, just to add an extra sprinkle of spite, boulders emerged to circle around the home, acting as a barricade.

Kahli knew that he could blow up the rocks, but it would damage the integrity of his house with shrapnel. With no words, he walked back to Manaco’s.

‘Good. He was leaving’, Zizi thought. She was not ready to talk to him. At Manaco's house, he was painting the outside stucco which had scuff marks from fire.

Kahli considered his options as he returned to his son’s place of home. Honourable suicide one of them. He looked down at Manaco at his work. “I could have fixed that.”

"It's fine, it's just a little scuffed. You can pick up a brush though." Manaco had paint splattered on his clothes and skin. While he was great at training dragons, running a section of the plantation, and his fire magic, he was not exactly the... artistic one. "I'd like to get this done before nightfall."

“Of course.” Kahli felt it needed to be done sooner or later, passing his son a wrapped present in a box. “Happy Birthday.”

"... you know, I sort of forgot about my birthday with... everything going on." Manaco walked inside his house, gesturing for his dad to sit down while he opened his present. "I... talked with Mom. Just for a bit."

“What did she have to say?” The box is itself was a wonderful wood carving, with the contents inside being a card of love from both Kahli and Zizi. “The present itself is the box. For storage my son.”

"Always can use more storage. Definitely can put keepsakes in here. Thank you." Manaco then set the gift aside. "Mom is... hurt, for lack of better word. She feels like you chose Zannah over her, over your family. I know she understands the implication of the bond and a life debt, though... it's complicated, Dad." The young man rubbed the back of his neck. "I can see your point and I can see Mom's point. Didn't help the fact that Grivy told Mom that you got nearly 700 kids out there. Mom is in-between wanting to choke you and throttle Zannah. I've never seen her like this... this... this mad." He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

“You could castrate me...”

"Dad, please don't take the the wrong way, but... there's no way in hell I'm going anywhere near your balls." Manaco looked a bit disgusted. "And the thought of castration even makes me queasy. Look, I think the best thing to do is just... figure out a solution to this Zannah problem. Maybe if you can figure out a way to pay off the rest of the life debt with something other than," He cleared his throat. "Sperm, then that would be one problem out of the way. Talking to Mom might be... difficult. You need to give her a little more time to cool down."

“You want me to go to Zannah alone?”

"Not necessarily. Though, I don't think Mom should go." Manaco grimaced. "She might do something rash."

“Agreed. She’d be killed.”

"Mom? Or Zannah?" Manaco clasped his hands together. "Ever since Mom found out she was the earth sage... forest sage? Whatever the title, her power has gotten stronger. Maybe she really can drain plant life... or give it."

“Zannah is more than just fire. She has mastered the powers of a god.”

"You truly think a real deity wouldn't put Zannah in her place?"

“You trust your mothers legends too much. I won’t bring any of you with me to see her.”

"Mom has seen the deities before, you haven't. Aunt Zarazu has seen them. They all saw them at the defeat of Vul'kar." Manaco told his father. "I have faith in them because Mom does. I believe they're here to help us. After all, if they didn't want us to survive, they never would have blessed us with these abilities." He then said. "I'll look after Mom and my siblings while you go to talk to Zannah. Just... come back alive."

“No. What if she kills me for wishing to defy her?”

"Why would she do that when she obviously still has use for you?"

“What if she kills one of you to punish me for thinking against her...”

"It's not like we're going to go there anymore," Manaco remarked. "And if she tried to kill one of us, it'd mean war. We may not be royalty, but we are the queen's nieces and nephews. Aunt Zar would be pissed. Uncle Covarog would be pissed."

“... You’re right. I don’t want to leave without speaking to your mother first though.”

"... you want me to convince her to talk to you?"

“Yes.”

"... I'll try. I can't make any promises. Though I will say, it might be best to meet outside the house." Manaco suggested. "How about the tree house?"

“We can do that. First, I need you to deal with the girl following me around.”

"Grievous? You want me to do... what?" Manaco told his father. "I'm not going to kill her."

“Scare her. Beat her in a fight. She doesn’t belong here, to either side of the family. I hear that Zizi cursed her out. And she made workers at the plantation uncomfortable by glaring any that drew too close.”

"... very well. You know she'll lose, right?"

“I don’t really care about the outcome.”

"Hmph. You could show a little faith, I am a good fighter."

Kahli rewarded his son with a half-hearted grin. “I know my boy. I didn’t train a welp.”

Outside, Grievous was brushing the scales of Sylvain, getting a purr out of the Wyvern.

Manaco really did not like to fight unless he had to do so. Sparring was enjoyable, but fighitng for real? That was a pain. Stretching, the eldest son of Kahli and Zizi approached Grievous. "My father wishes for me to spar you. Do you still wish to do so?"

“You mean it?” It was the first time Manaco broke through her stoic personality. She seemed lightly excited, like being told the possibility of going to the park. “I would be honoured. Do you?”

"Let's make a little bet," Manaco offered. "I win, you do what I ask and respect my mother. You win, you get to saunter around and I get to sing your praises. Deal?" He offered his hand.

Grievous didn’t take it. Handshakes came for after a duel, not before. She didn’t know if Manaco would throw her to the ground. “I do respect your mother. She’s been kind to a stranger. That’s... not something anyone can do. I merely need answers she can’t give.”

"Still, you didn't have to push her away. She was only trying to help."

“I don’t... I don’t need distractions. You don’t need me giving you all a reminder of your new pain.”

"That's what you think? Did you even bother to ask of what we really thought?"

“Fine. You can tell me if you win.” Grievous walked to the open road, taking a stance.

Manaco waited until Grievous was in position. He cracked his knuckles. His hands were scarred from years of training. Despite being half Waku, sometimes, fire could get out of control if he was not careful.

Anticipate his movements. Those words ran through her mind. Grievous looked Manaco up and down. She wasn’t so foolish as to charge in blindly with aggression. His hands were scarred, possible weak knees. His shift forward gave her the idea he was. She made the bet that she would need to attack his upper body after a strike low. Trip him up, strike him in head.

The sun came down just the right angle, and the girl rushed forward to take him down in three moves.

Anticipate the moves, that's always what his father told him. A warrior's greatest strength was not speed or brute force, it was simply being able to know what the opponent was going to do before it was done. It was like time moved in slow motion. Manaco saw her aiming, watching the glance of her eyes. Trip. He jumped over her leg. Strike to the side of the head. He blocked that with his face. Sucker punch to the face to stun. He caught her fist with one hand and then with the other, Manaco grabbed her by the throat with brute force and slammed her into the ground, the back of her head slamming hard into the gravel. He held her there, and she would not be able to move.

"... yield." He breathed.

Grievous had complete surprise on her face. She patted the side of his arm to tap out. It took a long moment to catch her breath, and to focus her vision from her skull rattling. “I... I tried to anticipate your movements. You’re a-a-” Instead of speaking more, Grievous threw up her lunch to the side.

"Yeah, I know I'm fast---?!?!?" Manaco released her throat and jumped back when she threw up. "... are you sick or did I throw you too hard?"

“Hard. You-” Able to wobble to her hands and knees, Grievous threw up for a few more rounds. “Oh god. I haven’t been beat that hard, so quickly in a while. I’m sorry for my pathetic after performance.”

Manaco patted her back. Gently. "It's okay, it happens to everyone sometimes. You uh... need some water to rinse out your mouth?"

“Yes please.” Grievous gripped his hand gently. “You’re a magnificent brawler. I’m a strategist myself. Can you help me go home?” She paused, frazzled by her response. “I mean Zizi’s.”

"I cannot go back to the Kikai Empire---oh." Manaco realized what she meant. "Yeah, we can go there. I'm about to go there right now. Come on, there's a lemonade stand along the way, it will do better to get the yuck out of your mouth besides water."

“Is ice cream good for head aches? I want to apologize to Keira and family as a sign of peace.” Grievous sounded rather meek. She didn’t have the energy to be indifferent with her age.

"For headaches? Not sure about that. But ice cream is always good when you're feeling low." Manaco ordered Grievous a lemonade and handed it to her. "Sip slowly. Let it sit in your mouth. Then swallow."

Grievous slowly took her sip, almost purring at the taste. “It’s very good.”

Kahli from his window as they walked off together, disappointed by his actions in not scaring her. However, he didn’t know how else to approach the situation.

~

The walk back to Zizi’s house was a stumble, with Grievous still finding herself woozy. Manaco held buckets of different flavoured ice cream for the whole family to enjoy. Turns out they’d walk in on a family dinner.

"And then he laughed so hard that Lon-Lon milk squirted out his nose!"

"That's great, sweetie, but can we talk about a topic that doesn't involve boogers and milk?" Zizi was trying to get Zaltana to hold still so she could wipe her mouth.

"How did you do on your math test?"

"I passed!"

"I got all good marks on my dragon-back test."

"I'm still waiting on my letter from the vet academy."

"Uncle Corsaire said I could shadow him on his next trip to the Zoran Islands."

There was a load of conversation at the table until Manaco walked into the kitchen with their favored dessert.

"ICE CREAM!!!" All the kids cheered and started to get up until Zizi barked.

"NO! Dinner first. Dessert second."

"Awww, but Mom---"

"Don't 'but Mom' me, you're eating real food first."

“Ow. So loud.” Grievous hobbled over to the couch, her tail wiggling off the side. She didn’t want to intrude on the family dinner, but she felt the need to express need for some quiet.

"...? She's back?" Keira looked surprised. "I thought you left."

"She returned." Manaco shrugged his shoulders.

“Head hurts. Will stay for a while.” Grievous groaned, a massive migraine taking hold of her. All she could think about besides the pain was tactics on how to beat Manaco.

"...?" Everyone exchanged confused glances. "Okay? Uh... Mom?"

"Just let her rest for a bit. If she's hungry later, she can get a plate."

“I will try your cream made of ice Keira.” Grievous’ tail poked a blanket next to it, but she felt to frozen by her migraine to grab it.

"...? Really? Who are you and what have you done with Grivy?"

"Don't you mean 'Grumpy', Keira?"

"Shut it, Urboro."

Taking a small bowl of strawberry flavored ice cream to Grievous, she then tossed a blanket over the girl's body.

“You’re the hooligan who swears in front of her siblings. Certainly worse than being grumpy...” Grievous took a whiff of Urboro as she came close. Seemed she skipped out on a shower and preferred cologne for the moment. “...stinky.”

"Eat your ice cream and be nice." Keira shoved the spoon in Grievous' mouth.

“Your sister smells though.” Grievous took a bite of the ice cream, slowly rolling her tongue for the flavour. A whole new world opened up for her. “This is amazing! It’s so soft and fruity. I’ve never had anything like it!”

"Strawberry is my favorite." Keira then told her. "Only eat a bowl a day or else, your stomach will hate you for it."

"But it's made of strawberry. Strawberries are healthy."

"This has milk and sugar added to it. Milk? Okay. Lots of sugar? Stomach ache."

"Oh." Grievous chose to reflect on her impressions against the family. "I apologize for being so distant. You seem like a very close family."

The family didn’t seem to reply, at least, in Grievous’ mind. With her headache getting the best of her, and being comfy on the couch, she eased herself into a deep sleep.

~

Zizi loved her family, though every now and then, she'd visit the tree house for a moment to herself. There were a lot of memories in this place. Sometimes, if Skull Kid felt like it, he'd leave her a note to visit him there. He was always playing with one of her younger children or finding a way to be a nuisance in the palace. She wondered if it was possible to turn back time, to undo some of the past mistakes. Though, if she did undo some, where would she be today?

That night, Kahli waited for Zizi to leave the house and go to the treehouse as Manaco promised she would. It seemed that Grievous would be staying the night inside. Good. No distractions from what needed to be done. With great burden on his mind, he quietly made his way up the treehouse steps, knowing his wife was waiting at the little table set.

Zizi had brewed tea, like she always did. A second cup was waiting for Kahli. As he entered the tree house, she said nothing.

Kahli slowly took his seat, grasping the tea cup. Giving her a respectful bow of the head, he freely took a sip. For a few moments, silence filled the air between them. “The time for talk is now then?”

"Say what you need to say." Zizi told her husband. "I promised Manaco I would listen."

“The truth. And nothing but the truth.”

"Truth or not, there is and will always be pain."

“Of course. That is my life. I suppose I could only delay it for a while.” Kahli took another sip of tea, his hands calm and steady.

"... I want to know why."

“Manaco thinks that you believe that Zannah was something I could have avoided before our marriage. You forget, I became indebted to her before we ever met. By sparring my life, I was forced into a spiritual contract with her. The Emperor could ask me of anything bar breaking my physical bond to you.” Kahli set his tea down, gently heating it up by trailing his finger around the rim and applying body heat. “I never imagined at the time she’d ask me to play such a large-scale plan in resurrecting my tribe. There’s always been so many variables with that Zizi. I couldn’t, mentally or spiritually, stop myself from fulfilling the terms of her life debt. Our god wouldn’t allow it, so it is physiologically for all Hasai that carry the flame. I’ve also gone back and forth in not caring for the Waku. I saw them as merely clones, donations of myself. How could they be my children. Yet, there was a small flicker in me that was glad to know Zannah sought to see my people revived after genocide. Yes, she has them as part of her military, but that has been part of Hasai culture since the conception of the Empire eons ago. But the most painful part was the pain I knew this would bring you if... when revealed. I tried my best to keep this ugly truth from the beautiful light of our family. I didn’t want the Empire to have complete control over our children, so I complied instead of taking my life.”

"... I should have killed her all those years ago when she first kidnapped me." Zizi was trying to keep her emotions in check, but the tree was evidence that she was highly upset and angry. The wood kept shifting. Leaves keep whistling and moving. "I tried to do the right thing by her and her people and look where it got me."

“I can’t argue. You saved so many lives. Zannah in turn created many, and turned a society of violence against their fellow man into unity. She’s... I don’t think she’s ever seen any of us as friends. Family and her subjects well being...”

"She's using them as pawns. Chess pieces. It sickens me."

“I could judge Covarog similarly.” Kahli was quiet, defeated in his voice. “Any questions on your mind?”

"Covarog can be an asshole but he doesn't keep secrets from my sister." Zizi gave Kahli a hard stare. "Grievous mentioned something about Zannah making you swear not to tell me, but I still can't..." She set down her tea cup, trying to focus. "I still cannot, for the life of me, wrap my head around you thinking that all of this would never come to light."

“Per the life debt, Zannah can give mental commands as well. One was to never speak of the process. I had no choice but to obey. My soul was trapped by it.”

"... even if that is the case... you never wanted to tell me in the first place."

“I did. God, I did.” Kahli had so little energy in his voice. And a deep pain that echoed through every fibre of his body.

"How do you ever expect me to trust you again?" Zizi could not even look at him, and instead, stared at her cup. "Your debt isn't even over from what Grievous said. I know you will go running back to Zannah, whether you wish it or not. I thought... at one point in time that the life of an assassin, a warrior, you would leave it behind completely. I thought you did to stay here with me, with our family. But..." She gripped her cup tightly. "You're a Waku... a Hasai... and I daresay sometimes, they want to be a pawn of Zannah's."

It was Kahli’s turn to not look her in the eye. “When have I last killed someone as an assassin. When have I fought in a battle last? As for my debt, I don’t know what else to do. What can I do Zizi?”

"I don't know when was the last time you did such a thing. Zannah might have commanded you to do so, and you did not tell me. You might be keeping that from me too and who knows what else." Zizi stood from her seat. "Go finish your debt to Zannah."

“I haven’t gotten over the thousand mark yet. What about our children Zizi? What about this family? Everything I’ve done, in both pride and shame, I’ve done for all of us.”

"If there was a way to get out of this debt to Zannah, wouldn't you have tried long ago?" Zizi scoffed. "Kahli, you're missing my point. How in the name of the heavens above do you ever expect me to trust you after this?"

“If I begged, she could simply silence me with a word. I alone can’t challenge her whim. My soul might be Zannah’s for now... but my loyalty and love are for you.”

"Loyalty and love go hand in hand with trust, Kahli." Zizi could barely even look at her husband. She felt sick. The Zemlja wanted to scream at him, she wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt her. She hated feeling this way. Zemljas were supposed to be peaceful, benevolent, keepers of the earth. She felt far from peaceful and eons from benevolent. "I want to forgive you, and I want to forget but... there is evidence in my home right now, sleeping beside of my children, of this whole fucked up situation." She took a sharp inhale. "And that poor girl deserves none of the blame. All she wants is some answers, and someone to tell her she's more than just another soldier under Zannah's thumb. But you?" Zizi shook her head. "All these years we've been together, I've never doubted you until now. I don't know if that doubt will ever go away. I don't know if I will ever be able to trust you again. As for Zannah," She gritted her teeth. "I will make her pay for betraying my trust. I thought she was my friend, our friend... and once again, I was blindsided."

“No!” Kahli’s tea shook with his voice. “Be angry with me. Blindly maim me as much as you like, but I will not endanger our children’s lives because you want to seek revenge against Zannah. Do you want war Zizi? Do you want our children to experience it?”

"You honestly think I'm dimwitted? I will not attack her in front of the Empire's citizens', Kahli, nor will I cause war between her and my sister." Zizi figured her husband would know better than that. "I am patient. I am clever. I will find a way to make her hurt without her ever knowing it was me."

“Don’t be a fool Zizi. Don’t seek vengeance.” Kahli shook his head, not knowing how to heal this. “What can I accomplish by going to Zannah now alone? Tell me.”

"Fool? You honestly think I cannot win against her, in any way, do you? She thinks she's untouchable, dares to say she's some sort of deity, and I will show her that she's just as vulnerable as the rest of us. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. I am a patient woman." Zizi then threw her hands up. "And what makes you think I have a damn clue what you should do? For all I care right now, you can go there and stay there until the debt is up." She walked toward the ladder. "I'm going to take care of my children and the newest addition to the family. You figure out a solution."

Kahli stood in the way of the doorway. “Zizi. This is my family too. Those are our children. How long can you keep me from them? I want to hold the triplets. I want to laugh at our sons jokes. We’re a family. I won’t be able to go on without you.”

"You can see your children anytime, Kahli." Zizi corrected him, trying to go around him, but he was being stubborn. "I won't keep them from you. You can hold the triplets, laugh at jokes, whatever you wish. But concerning me? What I need is time. Right now, I want nothing more than to scream at you, and to hurt you like you've hurt me. And I hate feeling that way. I don't like violence; I don't want to be violent." She then snapped; every moment close to him disgusting her. "Get out of my way!"

“Then I’m going to go sleep in my own bed.”

"The hell you are, you're not sleeping beside of me!"

“Then you don’t need to sleep in that bed.” Kahli made his way out the tree fort first.

"You're not staying in my house, you're going to Manaco's!" Zizi was out of the tree house and on the ground with the help of the huge branches. "I don't want you near me, I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear you! I don't care if you want to see the kids, but you're doing so elsewhere."

“I built that house. I built that bed. So how about this.” Kahli turned to Zizi, pointing a sharp finger at her nose. “I get one more final night in the comfort of my own bed. Then, in the afternoon, I leave for the Empire. I will confront Zannah, and I will find a way to pay off my debt, or die trying. Perhaps I can restore some honour I tainted between us with a worthy death trying. You have sisters you can go see for the night. You, the one who broke my ribs and STRUCK ME CAN GO!!! You nearly KILLED ME!!! I’ve never hit you or the kids all my life. I tried my best given a bad hand, so you will give me this one thing Zizi!” Kahli shouted at her, his fury at himself, a little towards his wife, and the world surfacing. “You can come back in the morning, and perhaps, if you’re wishes are strong enough, I’ll be dead by tomorrow night!”

"YOU DESERVED IT, YOU TRAITOR!!!" Zizi screamed back at him, a flash of green emitting from her skin. Thorns were sprouting once more and some plants even started to wilt. "You know what?! Fine! Go enjoy one last night in that house. You can take care of the kids, you can take care of the chores, and you can go kiss Zannah's green ass because spirits knows, you rather be at your be serving your precious Empire rather than here! I'm fucking tired of your excuses! That's all I've heard, not you owning up to your mistakes! Blame it on whatever life debt or god or reason you want to, I will never trust you again! And you can bet that I will find a way to make that bitch pay! Whether you think it's foolish or not, spirits as my witness, I will make her world crumble just like mine has!" She used her magic to call forth some vines before using snark, saying, "Dead? You're the fool, Kahli, Zannah won't kill you. She still needs you for a debt, remember?"

Then, the vines carried her away from the greenhouse, away from Kahli, and not toward the castle, but toward the forest... if anyone would tolerate her presence without questions, it would be Skull Kid.

The Waki glared off into the darkness his wife vanished into. He deserved to be maimed? He was a traitor to his family? Nonsense. Did he deserve to be cast out? Perhaps? But to be nearly killed? What example did that set for the children? Tired, Kahli arrived back at his home, the moon covered by clouds tonight to mask his entrance. It seemed all his children were fast asleep. Tomorrow was a weekend, so no school for them. That would give him some time to speak to them if they wished. After scrounging around for some leftover food, the man went straight to the comfort of his bed. This night turned out to be nothing but hell for his mind.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/611455983362949120/burnt-heart-ch-3-breach-of-trust

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/612492318747082752/burnt-heart-ch-5-reflection

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse. In the ATOTR expanded universe with work from @figmentforms and @s-kinnaly.

[therealmvp89]

I felt this..

To My Baby’s Father

When you pressed send that night, you ended our relationship so casually and so callously. In the time since, my hours have been consumed trying to separate the you I knew, or thought I knew, with the decision you took to close the door on myself and our unborn child so decidedly.

I don’t know the what led you there, the thought processes meandering through your head like tributaries to the ocean, all taking us to the final fact: your absence. I won’t know if you lay awake in the small hours justifying your decision to yourself. My own thoughts have taken me to a more rational understanding that, for the majority, the necessity of making such a decision will happen only once in your life, if at all. If you choose to absolve yourself of all responsibility, by text message, to the woman you ostensibly loved and the child you had said you wanted, on the basis that you have the biological capability of doing so, you cannot claim that this is not representative. Sometimes, we must be judged by our one-offs.

Having consulted my own male friends, many of whom are fathers themselves, I take some level of comfort in knowing that they are all outraged at your behaviour. Conflicted obviously, by the thought that, in a sea of wonderful, kind and feeling men, I’ve somehow and unluckily found the anomaly. Which leads me to my next question: what do your own friends think? Your own best friend, a step father to two small girls, and whose wife was left, like me, by the father of her children. I cannot begin to believe that he would have kept quiet, having been so close to the destruction that an absent father leaves. In my head, I will his wife to tell you of the devastation of seeing a young child cry that their father rejected them. I want her to shake you violently and tell you truthfully of the poverty and the depression and the loneliness of raising a child alone.

I think of you often; almost every hour your sweet face swims to the fore of my mind and floors me. What are you doing and who are you with? I wonder if you’re with another woman now, someone who will no doubt know nothing of me and your baby. Are your rolling over in bed, sleepily snuggling close to her whilst, down the road, I lie awake, alone, with our baby kicking so furiously into my soft belly. Will she laugh like I did at your idiosyncrasies, those peculiar bedtime routines you so rigidly adhered to. Hands, face, teeth. Vest off. Earplugs in as the clock turned eleven. Phone set to flight mode. Kiss on the cheek. Sleep.

I want to call you every day. I want you to know and to understand the reality of life for me now you’re gone. The knowing glances from the midwives, now that you’ve forcibly put me into that stigmatised bracket, the hated demographic of the single mother. Those boxes on the forms I never thought I’d have to tick. I know you will never receive the bitter, biting comments that I do, the blunt inference of promiscuity and irresponsibility. Though I know it’s not your fault, that it’s indicative of society’s ingrained perceptions of women and sexuality , I wonder, if the tables were turned, if I walked away from my baby after birth to leave you picking up the pieces of my selfishness and flagrant disregard for others, a mewling baby in tow, would you be treated the same? Would your aunties raise their unkind eyebrows at your irresponsibility? Would your friends mutter slyly to each other that perhaps you should have used a condom? I suspect that you would be lauded a hero, a magnanimous human being who took on the responsibility of parenting alone with no complaint.

Most of all, though, I think about the impact of your choice on the life of our baby. I worry endlessly about the space you will leave behind, what your absence will create in this child and what it will take away. The thought of our son or daughter, aged five, asking where daddy is and why doesn’t he come to watch the swimming gala, haunts me daily. That when I think of how her history, her sense of belonging and her identity will only ever be half sketched I’m filled with a level of rage towards you that I never thought possible in meek, mild me The wonderful, human parts of you, your patient, gentle kindness like the time you spent two frustrating hours trying attempting to explain the rules of cricket so I could share in your life, our child will never have the benefit of. Will my parenting, my character, and the fierce love I already feel for this child, ever compensate for the bits they wont be able to take from the beautiful parts of you?

I want you to know that your absence is felt. That I will do this because I have to. But it hurts

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #55: Swindle.

Written: 3/2/2017

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere? Are you famous or somethin’?” I hear that all the time, and its hard for me to go outside without people asking me similar questions, or staring me down, quietly trying to figure out where they know me from. Maybe its my face or something, I don’t know. I’m not famous at all, and I really haven’t done anything very notable, aside from several run in’s with the law when I decided to get my income by grifting people. Sure, I may have conned a couple of people, but it was never anything big, or morally bankrupt, just small time stuff, believe me. I don’t do nothing to anybody that doesn’t deserve it.

Then again, if anyone falls for my tricks, then you know that they deserve it.

One of the best things about the way I work is that everyone always tends to think that I’m somebody else, I have one of those faces that resembles every face. “Hey, didn’t we go to high school together?” Why yes we did, and I can see you’re doing very well for yourself, but I’m in a bit of a deep end. I was doing great until my wife died from ovarian cancer, and now the governments taken all of our money in death taxes, which leaves me unable to pay for the funeral. “Hey, aren’t you on that television show about the female detective?” Why yes, yes I am, and I will give you an autograph for twenty bucks. Okay, I never said I was good at my job, I’m very small time, believe me. The only time I can make money off of people is when they approach me, thinking that I’m somebody I’m not, and everything I try to do just doesn’t work out too well.

I think the worst part is that I’ve never even failed in a spectacular manner, and my highs are pretty similar to my lows. Either I get around $20, or somebody refuses to pay me and just walks away, nothing of interest, nothing to really even talk about. I guess I should be pleased about how entirely forgettable I am, since it does wonders in my line of work, but sometimes I wonder if I really even should call myself a con man, a swindler, grifter, pretender, smooth talker, hustler, swindler, charmer, fake, louse, whatever you want to call me, I’m probably not. I’m no more than a mere opportunist, and everyone worth their salt creates their own luck, instead of waiting for it to happen to them. Woe be to me, the world’s lousiest conman! I am of such low repute, and my story is of so little of interest that you’ll forget about it after hearing of it! A couple minutes later the tale will completely leave your mind, and you will move on with your life, forgetting a forgettable man such as myself, vaguely familiar due to his lack of defining features.

Now, all of this misery led me to fall into a deep depression, which I eventually tried to keep at bay by exercising. Every day I lifted weights until I was too sore to even worry about how little I was worth worrying about, and all I had to do to get inside of the gym was to use a membership card that I found outside, on the ground. I looked vaguely like the man on the card, and they let me in without any questions. It may have been the biggest con of my life, worth hundreds of dollars with the year’s membership it carried. The second biggest con was when I lied to myself, saying that working out made me a happier person. The year spent doing this was completely forgettable, just like myself, and is not worth mentioning.

Well, there was one bit in the year that I guess could be considered something of importance, or interest, and it was when I met the steroid salesman who lurked around in the locker room, and he had mistaken me for one of his clients, and handed me a large shipment of his that had already been prepaid for. All I had to do was walk up to him and say, “Hey, did my package finally arrive?” and he assumed that I was one of his customers. A pathetic grift for a pathetic man such as myself, having to swindle drugs. You can’t call it very important, because no matter the monetary price of what I had swindled out of the possession of that vulgar man, I instead paid the price through addiction, anger, and a large amount of broken possessions. I can not tell you how many mirrors I had punched during that year, but I can say there were a lot. It must have given me such terrible luck, a lifetimes worth, because of how poorly my life had become when my training had ceased.

All bulked up like an action figure, I was finally ready to begin the scam that I had been planning throughout that year. I mean, well, its not like I was planning it too much, and it really wasn’t my idea in the first place, because I’m really not very good at these sorts of things. What happened was a man, that’s right, a tall, charming fellow with a voice perfect for radio, and a face for movies, he came up to me when I was at a restaurant, and he asked me if I knew him from somewhere. Yes, this is what happened. And I tried to get him to at least pay for my meal, claiming that I was a war hero, or some other sort of pathetic lie, and he saw right through me, but he knew that I looked perfect for a con that he had planned for quite some time. It was just another instance of me being an opportunist, a kite in the wind, a jellyfish in a sea of swindlers, only able to bob up and down and having to travel wherever the currents take me. It was just another random occurrence in life, and I had no choice but to go along with it, and I was sure that something so intelligent, genius, extravagant, something that a real master of manipulation would only be able to come up with, well, it was certainly art, yes, so why didn’t I go with it? You would have chosen to do the same thing, because its not every day that we get to work alongside the intellectual elite.

So, I start working with this dashing stranger to do the job that he had presented to me, and that I had in no way come up with myself. I’m too pathetic to think of something so grand. He told me about how wrestling had been making a huge come back, and with my age, appearance, and size, well, I could certainly pass myself off as some old wrestler coming back to earn his former glory. It wasn’t unheard of, and the people who were mainly into wrestling now had little knowledge of the very old stars from back in the day, so all I-we had to do was simple.

First, he hired some other big lug, and we dressed him and I up in some old style wrestling get ups, and we did a couple fights. Sometimes we had the other man change outfits so that we could pretend that these were all footage from different fights, and we even rented out this older boxing ring, then used trick photography to imply there was a crowd out there, when it was mainly bleachers full of cardboard cut outs and mannequins. The man who came up with this must have been really smart, dedicated, and impressive in the field if he was not only able to put all of that together, but also make it so that people actually believed-when they were placed around the internet-that the faked matches had been genuine. I must say that even I would have been fooled by the whole display, and I guess that shows that I am no more of a conman than a victim myself. The most impressive part was the camera and film that he used, which made it really seem old school, and gave it that found footage effect.

We also made a couple videos of myself, or my wrestling persona-Wild Card-yelling at a camera about made up beefs with other wrestlers. The names I would yell out were a mix of real ones and fake ones, so it would show that there were some credible names for these younger people, but would also display to them that there were other forgotten and obscure figures out there, lost to time since they were big in a world where the internet never existed, and obscurity was a bottomless pit. This was probably the best part of the whole act, even if I did have to memorize the man’s scripts, since I am terrible at improvising duologue, but it doesn’t matter who wrote it, its still fun to yell things such as:

“Mad Gator, you slept with my girlfriend and her mother, so now I’m going to get you in the ring or outside, its your choice. I’ll skin you and turn your shoes into a nice pair of shoes, that I will use to walk around carelessly in a yard full of dog shit.”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, I’M SO FUCKING ANGRY AND YOU CANNOT STOP ME FROM TEARING YOUR HEAD OFF IN THE RING!”

“Hogan, you tan son of a bitch, I’m going to pay you back for giving my daughter that abortion. I kidnapped your father and have hidden away his heart medication, so even if you free him from my thugs, you wont be able to save his life unless you meet me in the ring!”

On top of all of that, we also paid fake news sites to start posting articles about Wild Card’s downward spiral, due to his son dying in the war, which only reminded the wrestler of all of the young men that he saw die in Vietnam, and which led him to step out of the ring for good. It was a very sad story, even if it was a little pandering to veteran crowd, but I still am very proud of the work, that the guy who brought me in on the con did, and I can only wish that I would be able to write so well. I swear, if that man wasn’t spending all of his time tricking poor saps into giving him their hard earned money, then he would probably be able to do so much other amazing things with his life. It makes you think that the man has to love what he does, because he could easily become a millionaire just by playing it straight.

Anyways, there’s also some rumors that were placed around, talking about Wild Card’s interest in returning to wrestling. There’s some stuff about how he saw the light of the lord, and now he’s almost ready to face his inner demons in the ring, using the power of Christ to absolve himself, and blah blah blah. I would judge the guy for pandering this hard, but nowadays its really the easiest way to do things. Hell, it hasn’t been this easy to manipulate people since 9/11, but then again what do I know? The only thing I can pander to is somebody who mistakes me for somebody else. Pandering is the art of creating a situation, opportunity, a cause, while I am a slave to opportunity, and can only find it when it falls into my lap. After the story was put out there, we started getting all sorts of fan mail, saying how they wanted Wild Card to get back in the ring, saying how inspired they were by him. One man even wrote about how the character used to be his childhood idol, but I suspect his mind hadn’t been too solid, but money is money.

Then, while we have all of this momentum behind us, we did the next logical step, which was setting up on one of those crowd-funding sites, to get enough money to rent out a large arena where Wild Card could have his big come back match, as a way of his return to wrestling. The price we needed was much more than it actually cost to rent out the place that the man had in mind, so when we reached our goal there was already some extra cash in our pockets, plus when we went over it we were basically rolling in dough. I was shocked, because that’s the most money I had ever tricked out of anyone in my entire life, and I don’t think I could be able to get anywhere near that amount again. Although, there were a couple snags when some people tried to call the match out on what it was-a scam-but somehow this only made our fans even more devoted to the match, and they started claiming that everyone who called it a scam were actually scammers, and somehow threw politics into there for good measure.

“You think being a veteran was a scam? Go out and die for the country, and then try to say how much of a scam this all is!”

“Why do people keep trying to call this fake? What are they trying to cover up?”

Or my personal favorite: “This man lost his son. HIS SON. If he was lying to all of us (just like the lieberal media) then why did he drop out of wrestling all of those years ago? Why would he have to trick people out of money if he could’ve easily been bigger than Hogan? You know what’s a scam? Sending donations to the Democratic party, now that’s a scam. You guys think anything outside of your echochanmber is made up, when rational people know to call it what it is: THE REAL WORLD.” I don’t even know what that person was even talking about, but they donated $126, so God bless them. ———————————————————————————————————

Now, when it came to the day of the match, my plan had been really simple: take all of the money from the tickets that were sold, no refunds, and then board a flight out of the country. Everything else had been going as I had planned it, so why would this go any different?

Nothing but cheering could be heard from inside the arena, the place was packed not only with people, but with noise, with hope, and I was hearing that there weren’t even enough seats to hold everyone, so people were sitting in the aisles, stairs, everywhere they could be fit. The mastermind behind it, that suave bastard, told me that he bribed the staff to ignore the fire code, and anyways he said that if the place burned down then it would all be even better. If people died in the fire, then there would be less people to call it out as one big hustle, and then we could stage a second match in honor of all of the fans who died. This was when things started to look bad for me, and I was realizing how hard it was going to be for me to go through with the guy’s plan, I didn’t want to disappoint all of those kind people out there, but he was better than me, he was a real con artist, and he convinced me to go through with it.

Sure, there have been stories in the media that are claiming that police were investigating the match, suspecting that it was all a ploy to take the money and run, so that’s why I ended up going through with the match, and ended up in my current condition, but that’s not true at all. They even claim that I was the one behind all of it, but as you have seen, I am in no way capable of being able to pull off any of this. In order to clear my name, and prove that I am a victim of circumstance, I will tell you why I ended up fighting in the ring, and why I am where I currently am.

Now, the guy I was supposed to wrestle against was one huge mother fucker. He was like a mountain on steroids. His teeth were completely made of metal, and he had earned the name “The Compacter”, because he had reportedly crushed another wrestler, with his bare hands, and the guy not only had to go to the hospital, but due to spinal damage he was also six inches shorter than he was before that dreaded match. If there was ever a villain in wrestling, then this guy was the man who the villain was afraid of. You get the point, and you can also probably tell why the ringleader had chosen him for Wild Card’s come back, even though I had to have it explained to me three times before I was able to piece it all together. I’m surprised the guy was so patient with me, it really took me a long time to understand the scheme since I’m really just not cut out for that line of work.

So, the both of us have our bags, are dressed up to not gain any attention, and we’re all ready to skip town with all of the money from the big match. Problem is, I’m already guilty about the magnificent scam that we were about to pull off, and on top of that I see the Compacter getting ready for the match, and he’s talking to his kid. First its a sweet moment, and I sort of feel bad for how great of a father he is, but there’s no reason to risk death with a man just because he’s good to his kid. He was already paid anyways. What I saw afterwards really led me to stay, because I saw him flat out clock his own child in the face, and the poor thing is sprawled out on the floor, blood gushing from his nose, she’s-that’s right, it was his daughter-crying quietly, probably because she didn’t want to anger the beast any further. As this awful, horrible, gut-wrenchingly tragic scene plays out, guess what the monster is doing? He’s laughing his head off, that’s what.

In order to stand up to this cruel man, this bully-not because I would’ve been arrested if I tried to flee-I had to face him in the ring, to hopefully show him that he can’t treat children like that. Somebody had to stand up for the ones who can’t protect themselves, and I knew I had to be that person. Don’t call me a hero. What I did is what anyone, any Christian, should have done, and I’m glad that I did my part, even if I paid dearly for it. Sure, I might have been hospitalized for quite some time, and I’ll never be able to walk right again, but in my heart I know that I had done the right thing, because I was able to cast away my life of sin, and was able to stand up for everything that was good and righteous. If we allow evil to spread around the world, unpunished, then doesn’t that make us evil? Who are we to judge horrible deeds if we do not risk everything to seek justice?

Now, you might be wondering why there were no reports of the mastermind that I have talked about, but that’s because he is also a master of disguise, and was able to slip past the police with no problem. I heard rumors of him being able to forge passports, and he is most likely living in some foreign country under some fake name. You can tell that he is a very dangerous man, because he was able to pin many of his other schemes onto me, but like I have demonstrated, I am just a victim of chance. The only reason that they claim I have swindled all of those people, were involved in all of those multi-million cons, was because they never had pictures of the real expert, the man who got me wrapped up in this awful business, and I was the only one who was left behind.

Is this the price I should have to pay for doing the right thing, the just thing? Should I have to spend my time disabled, risking time in prison for crimes that I did not commit, all because I was a victim of a con myself? No, that cannot be right, and that’s why I must implore you to donate, because if I cannot build the funds for an appropriate defense, for private detectives to track down the real swindler, then he will only continue to trick the unsuspecting out of all of their hard earned money, and I will rot in jail in his place. Does that sound like justice to you?