#it makes me so angry lol. like again i am not a secure or stable person either but this is… uhm.

[pepprs]

like.. idk if it’s just me but i don’t think this is something a person in a healthy happy marriage with a secure sense of self would have on full display in the most frequented area of the house.

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

[copperpieceharlot]

Bud I’m sorry to swing into your inbox uninvited like this but my soul is having an OOTS renaissance thanks to your content in the tag and did you say Leverage AU

haha holy SHIT this got Long. but yes. i’ve been. Thinking. (also literally Never feel like you have to apologize for sending me messages. i was Hoping someone would ask me about this. now i have an Excuse to share EVERYTHING ive written abt it :3)

Obviously, Roy is the leader/brains of the outfit. He grew up having some Strong Opinions abt what’s Legal versus what’s Right due to tragic backstory involving the death of his little brother which was definitely SOMEONE’S fault for negligence but since there technically wasn’t any illegal behavior, there were no consequences for it. Also he’s still angry at his dad bc he thinks his dad is also partly culpable (and also also just a dick). He’s the Moral Backbone of the team (alongside Durkon, more on that later) in basically the same way Nate was in og Leverage. He’s actually not the best at figuring out what people want (that’s Haley and, shockingly, occasionally Elan), but once he has that info, he is the absolute best at figuring out the ideal plan of attack to use in any given case.

Haley is still a thief. I mean she maps to Parker almost PERFECTLY. Her dad was a thief & a conman, her mom wasn’t but knew about it and mostly accepted it, but she died tragically in a mugging gone wrong or smth, which made Ian crank the paranoia WAY up and taught Haley to do the same in the name of “safety”. Let’s keep the “Ian is in Trouble and Haley needs money, Fast” which is why she signs on to the first job in the first place. She’s less acrobatic than Parker, tending towards finding (or making) weak spots in security, but she can still make a tumble check when she needs to.

Elan is the grifter who is somehow an Idiot but also not???? It baffles everyone. When he’s playing a part for a con, he’s FLAWLESS, but then the rest of the time he’s just. No Thoughts Head Empty. He probably gets lured in initially because he’s decided to try his hand at being part of a full team, rather than the two-man cons he’s been running that invariably end w his partner conning him as well and stealing half of his take. Also he likes the idea of being Crime Friends. He’s that tweet where it’s like, Roy: “after the heist is over, we split up and never communicate again” / Elan: [about to unveil his Crime Buddies Forever Friendship Quilt Puppets]: “never?”

Vaarsuvius is the hacker/gadget person. They have a Vaguely Snobby Yet Unidentifiable accent, dyed(?) purple hair (nobody has ever seen their roots) and nobody knows who they “really” are or where they came from, but they’re good at what they do so everyone just accepts the mystery. They probably got suckered into the team by their initial employer (who I’ll get to Eventually, lol) framing it as a challenge to their intellect, like, “oh, I see, you’re not smart enough to make this team work for you...” to which they were like Fucking Watch Me and also melted his computer. Anyways. They are joined (digitally) by their Intrepid Friend And Co-Conspirator (his words, not theirs), a fellow hacker known only as Blackwing, or, on certain forums, Blackwing_Bird. (In the first season, V only occasionally references him when saying they’re “calling in extra help” or smth for a particularly complex hack job. He starts showing up a little more in s2 and eventually by the start of s4 is a regular & established presence, but only appears as actions in a computer interface or output.) Elan is convinced he’s an AI, Belkar doesn’t think he actually exists, Haley pretends she doesn’t think he exists, and Durkon and Roy try not to think about it too hard, as long as B and V still get the job done.

Belkar is the hitter. He is on the team bc their initial employer got him out of jail for it. He doesn’t have a tragic backstory, he just likes doing violent crimes. As the series progresses, he grows some empathy & stuff, but really only for people who actually deserve it. Assholes still get decked. It’s all very touching. (Also he has dwarfism caused by achondroplasia. It doesn’t actually bother him and is useful in fights bc his opponents frequently have no fucking clue how to approach him, but he likes Pretending to take offense at stupid things just to see how far he can go with it.)

Aaaand last but not least, Durkon is the least involved member of the team. He’s actually a career criminal and Roy’s mentor, and wasn’t a member of the initial team that [redacted, I’ll tell you later, PROMISE] put together for a couple of reasons, the main one being that he’s Officially retired in order to spend more time with his family, which consists of his mom, his friend (not girlfriend) Hilgya, baby Kudzu, and a truly stunning number of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Roy frequently calls or visits him for advice and he Occasionally shows up to help out on local jobs, but generally he avoids doing crime if he can (as part of a deal with Hilgya, who is also a career criminal; basically, they’ve both cut back on the crime in order to provide a more stable home environment for Kudzu. But sometimes, you gotta do a little crime, and in those cases, Sigdi enjoys spending time w her grandson.)

NOW. THE BIG REVEAL YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. Who got the team together in the first place?!

The answer: Lord Shojo (or whatever Normal Person Name you want to assign him). Now this is where it gets tricky: he had them do a thing that they thought was good, THEN they thought it was BAD, but then when they confronted him he revealed that it Appearing to be bad was actually a test of character and would they consider working as basically internal investigators for him? But then he had a heart attack, so, rip. But THEN it turned out that he’d left them a bunch of money anyway and they were all feeling kind of Inspired so they formed the Order of the Stick, LLC (which, no, i am not coming up with a new name, actually, because I just don’t care. someone else can come up w a justification for that name, tho, i’m sure it’s possible). Also Miko was there and was unhappy abt their actions, and also their general existence.

Moving on. Villains!

Redcloak is the Sterling replacement, because that DEEPLY amuses me.

Xykon is a season-long main villain, probably one that Redcloak finds himself working for but then “teams up with” (read: blackmails) the Order to bring him down bc even Redcloak finds Xykon distasteful. That’s season 3, let’s say.

Tarquin is another season villain, say season 2. Nale probably shows up pretty early in s1, actually, as another recurring antagonist like Sterling but uh. Less good at it. Anyways the s2 final 3 eps deal with them (accidentally) discovering that Tarquin runs some Evil Empire Company, then trying to outplay him and take him down. Idk if Nale still dies in this version tbh.

Tsukiko is a one-off s1 villain who returns briefly in s4 alongside Miko, who has gone well and truly off the rails.

Season 1 finale has to do w Roy finally getting Vengeance for his little brother.

The vampire squad is the s4 finale villain who do smth terrible to Durkon and then get the Mother Of All Revenge served up to them by the Order.

I envision the show as being 5 seasons (like og Leverage) but I’m not going to sketch out s5 because I think it should be based off whatever happens in the current story arc, possibly involving some legacy of the OotSquiggle.

Other stuff!

The Order of the Squiggle is a legendary criminal team from the 60s who stole a BUNCH of famous shit & then proceeded to legendarily implode. This has no bearing on the plot I’ve sketched out, I just think it’s fun.

The Sapphire Guard members should probably be reworked as FBI. I don’t care about most of them but I do think that Lien and O-Chul could be like, FBI agents who Choose to look the other way while the Order does their very-much-not-legal-but-still-fair Justice Crime, and maybe even help them out on occasion.

So, the Final season-by-season outline, based on everything I’ve written so far:

s1 e1: getting the team together, doing a con for Shojo, then at the end he dies and the gang is like “dang what now?" and intend to split up except then they Don’t.

mid-s1: Nale shows up and tries to trick the Order, but then gets beat like a drum.

late s1: Tsukiko is an underling of the Villain Of The Week, winds up in police custody. But She’ll Be Back.

s1 finale: Roy’s Vengeance: The Vengeaning. also we meet Redcloak as an antagonist.

s2 e1: the truth abt Haley’s father comes out

early s2: The Two Live Crews Job but it’s the Order vs the Linear Guild and the Linear Guild ARE all bad guys.

mid-s2: Redcloak returns. ugh.

late s2: the sapphire guard FBI makes its first appearance, hello O-Chul and Lien.

s2 pre-finale: once again they’re in conflict w Nale over smth, he spends the whole episodes making Cryptic Remarks, they basically beat him (like a drum!) but then the stinger at the end is that Tarquin reveals himself and Elan is like “Dad?!”, roll credits.

s2 finale, part 1: Elan is hanging out w Tarquin bc he’s DEEP in Denial, the Rest of the team tries to take Tarquin down, but it doesn’t work.

s2 finale, part 2: Elan finally gets a clue and they manage to beat Tarquin. still haven’t decided if Nale dies or not, but I’m leaning towards yes. also they rescue Haley’s dad.

s3 e1: fuck dude idk.

early s3: Redcloak shows up, AGAIN, everyone groans. he has blackmail on them, he wants them to take Xykon down.

mid s3: The Rashomon Job but it’s about stealing the Talisman of Dorukan and it turns out that Nale was there too (“oh!” Elan says. “I was wondering why I looked so weird in all those mirrors! But it wasn’t my reflection, it was Nale’s!” “Sweetie, that wasn’t Nale’s reflection,” says Haley. “Huh,” says Elan, “so the mirrors were broken?”, cue eye rolling from everyone else.), and the Successful thief was Hilgya, who’d nabbed it from the owner before it even went on display.

s3 finale: they beat Xykon, actually factually, because he deserves to get his ass Thoroughly kicked, even if only in AU form. Lien and O-Chul are there, so are some other less helpful FBI people. There’s a bit where O-Chul Exact Wordses his way out of telling his superiors about the Order’s less legal activities without technically lying. King shit.

s4 e1: doesn’t really matter. maybe smth to do w some legacy of Tarquin’s company to set up the drama w Malack & Durkon later.

early s4: Durkon gets SENT TO PRISON. Malack approaches the Order abt this because sure they have Different Ethics but they’re still Friends. (Roy is surprised and a little hurt that he’s never heard of Malack, but he ignores that in favor of Let’s Get Whatever Fuckers Did This To Our Friend.)

immediately after that: Miko and Tsukiko return as a Team, preventing the Order from working on the Durkon situation

mid s4: Redcloak makes another unexpected & unwelcome appearance but he’s maybe a little less of a dick? the Order collaborates with Malack & his Crime Buddies (hello, Vector Legion) to pull one over on him tho, because “less of a dick” does not mean “a pleasant or decent person”, and also he was mean abt Durkon being in jail, so he totally deserved it. he still gets whatever he wanted tho, just takes a blow to his pride. also prevents the Order from helping Durkon. they’re having a LOT of setbacks wonder why that could be, not to make sure the season fills its whole length or anything, no sirree

s4 finale: something something taking down the organization, headed by Hel (yes that’s her real name), which framed Durkon for their Big Crime. Durkon goes free and Extra Firmly retires, For Good, He Swears, but says he “met someone new” who might be an asset.

s5 e1: minrah joins the team! and the episode is set in like, somewhere really snowy. that’s all i got.

the rest of s5: don’t know, don’t care, it’s open-ended until the comic finishes up.

[omgkalyppso]

I can't just pick one because I'm indecisive af, so how about three for the WIP ask thing: "fairy," "wedding interrupted," and "the wind was bitter cold"? Or you can pick just one of these to elaborate on if that's too much lol

This is going to be a long ass post. Here we go!

fairy

Okay so I have an AU that I’ve promised myself not to start in earnest until either or both my soulmate au or mermaid au’s are finished. I’m calling it a fantasy au, but the doc is titled fairy because it primarily features Claude’s introduction and the make up of fantasy races for the fantasy au are as follows:

Fae - Vampire

Claude - Fairy

Hilda - Werewolf

Lorenz - Hedge Mage

Marianne - Werewolf

Ferdinand - The human child (now a man) exchanged for a fairy / changeling child

Edelgard - Human Hunter

Hubert - Human Hunter

Caspar - Human Hunter

Linhardt - Vampire

Seteth - Vampire

Rhea - Ancient Dragon

Sylvain - Human Hunter

Felix - Human Hunter

Ingrid or Mercedes - Human Hunter

Maya - Werewolf

Raphael - Werewolf

Ignatz - Werewolf

The hunters will be working in groups of three, and I can’t decide whether Sylvain + Felix + Ingrid as three of the Faerghus four is more interesting than Sylvain + Felix + Mercedes in the role of a cleric for the sake of monster hunting. I’m also undecided about whether and how to incorporate Dimitri as some wild thing that-maybe-killed-Glenn, but I feel more strongly about not including him to focus on the core plot in my outline.

Have an excerpt of blocked dialogue. Marianne is running from hunters and to keep her from being tracked, Hilda and Lorenz are destroying her shoes.

Lorenz: We do have a cobbler in town but whether they'll have something for your feet, I just don't - no!

Hilda: (coming back in the house, letting in each a white and black cat) What?

Lorenz: Hilda! Only the black cat is mine. Maggie.

Hilda: What's the big deal? (the white cat walks behind a couch or chair or something and comes out the other side as a white dove) Oh.

Lorenz: Yes. Oh. (white dove turns into a large moth, turns into tiny little fairy fey!Claude)

Claude: Wow, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get in here. (Lorenz tries to catch him) Hey! Careful.

Lorenz: Sorry?

Claude: It's fine. (Hilda does grab him) Oh. You're fast. (but he just poofs from her hand) Not that it matters.

Hilda: I'm so sorry Lorenz.

Claude: Lorenz! I almost didn't recognize you without the sun on your skin. Why's it so dark in here? (a knock at the door)

Lorenz: (to Claude) Hide. (who does)

Hilda: Seteth, hi.

Seteth: Whatever it is you're doing in here, you're not half as subtle as you think you are. There are hunters going door to door, and if that shock of blue hair is unusual to me, it will surely stand out to them. Hide your friend more securely. They will be here within the hour. I'm off to warn Linhardt.

wedding interrupted

The final chapter of my fic Lorenz and Hilda’s Paired Ending might end up stretched out to three chapters because as it stands I’m bullying them. I intend to interrupt their wedding night three times. The first two times with accidents / incidents relating to Sylvain.

the first time lorenz and hilda are interrupted his shirts are hanging open, hilda's fully dressed, they've basically been making out. cue knock at the door hilda: (distressed) Are you going to answer that? lorenz: I told them not to disturb me except for fire, kidnapping, or a declaration of war. (buttoning up, haphazardly before answering) Yes? chief of staff: There's been a small fire in the stables. lorenz: What? chief of staff: All steeds are fine, and are being round up by [servant] on his wyvern. We're going to move them to the barns on the eastern farmstead. lorenz: Was it arson? chief of staff: It appears to be ... incompetence. lorenz: Was anyone hurt? chief of staff: Not seriously. lorenz: (holding his forehead) Who was hurt, and in what way was it not serious? chief of staff: Margrave Gautier, your grace. Although he was uninjured by the fire, he took a rather nasty tumble from the roof of the tack house. lorenz: That's two stories up. chief of staff: It is. He landed in a rather soft pile of snow however, and is being treated in his rooms. lorenz: (exasperated) What was he doing up there? Was anyone else involved? chief of staff: His ... Beg pardon. Duke Fraldarius was ... present. One can only speculate what led them there, and what stole the Margrave's pants. lorenz: Ah. Well handled. (a pause) He's fine? chief of staff: He's fine. lorenz: Then I will deal with this on the morrow. Thank you for telling me. chief of staff: (as like a goodbye) Your Grace.

A break for you.

another knock at the door, lorenz is undressed, hilda is still fully dressed. things were Busy hilda: Don't answer that! lorenz: (desperate, plaintive) Your family is under my roof, I need to appear responsible. hilda: Bring up my family again and see how far that gets you. lorenz puts on a housecoat, goes to speak with his staff. i didn't bother blocking out this dialogue though it would likely be included lorenz: Hilda, I'm headed off for a few minutes. (starts pulling on pants at the least - not his dress pants) hilda: What? Why? lorenz: Your brother might be holding Sylvain hostage. hilda: What? Goddess, let me- lorenz: Please don't. hilda: But I could easily be fully dressed much faster. lorenz: Exactly. I'm obligated to go, and if people see me in a housecoat and you fully dressed, then they will know far more about our bedroom than I could ever stomach. (calling to her from the door) Don't undress. hilda: (calling back, while lorenz has the door open) I'm letting my hair down! (i ... can't not deal with lorenz who's been obsessed with marriage for at least eight years not wanting hilda to fuck him in her wedding dress) felix: I'm so sorry, your grace. lorenz: It isn't your fault, as far as I know, and, outside of public forums, you may call me Lorenz - we have enough years together. servant: He's still in there, my lord. chief of staff: (correcting) Your grace. lorenz: It's fine. Holst? Are you in there? holst: Lorenz? They fetched you over this? lorenz: Sylvain... Are you alright? Holst, they're calling this a kidnapping. holst: What? sylvain: I'm okay. lorenz: Can someone please open the door? holst: Ah! Right! felix: (relieved, going to sylvain's bedside) Sylvain ... lorenz: (slamming the door, keeping his staff on the opposite side) Are you all out of your minds? You can't even behave for four hours? sylvain: (apologetic, pleading) Lorenz. lorenz: (angry)I swear Sylvain, you have tested my patience three times tonight. (more annoyed and kinda sad than angry) And two of these moments have pulled me from my marital bed. sylvain: Shit. (gets elbowed in the head by felix) Fuck. lorenz: (about to lose his shit) Stop this, nonsense! sylvain: I'm sorry. holst: You have my apologies as well. lorenz: (rolling his eyes) I'll offer my forgiveness in the morning, assuming you refrain from any further tomfoolery. holst: Of course. sylvain: I won't be moving. lorenz: Alright. (a sigh) I am curious to know what happened here, but I fear Hilda will bar the door if I take much longer. felix: Thank you. lorenz: You are welcome. Your grace. felix: Felix. lorenz: Felix.

Another break

((much?) later) lorenz: Now where were we? hilda: Lorenz if someone knocks on this door while you're inside me you better not fucking answer it. lorenz: I ... hilda: If you answer it, you can sleep in the hallway. lorenz: I won't answer it Hilda. I'm all yours. (they fuck, and like, catch their breath and whatever) hilda: Mmmm, well now I'm undressing. lorenz: Good. Because I need to feel your body now. Let me help you. when they're both actually naked. we'll get the third knock on the door hilda: Lorenz, I swear to Seiros. lorenz: I ... I'm not inside you. (goes to get his housecoat) hilda: You cursed us! lorenz: I know, my dear. (opening the door) Please don't tell me someone's declared war. chief of staff: (amused, kind of mocking) No, your grace. lorenz: Then what (internally: the fuck) is so important that it couldn't wait?

The wind was bitter cold

This is a skyrim-adjacent fic featuring my oc Oretia and esaari’s Philip. It’s meant to be a werewolf fight and confession. The title of the wip is just the first line in the document because I was lazy and knew I’d remember what it was:

The wind was bitter cold. Layers in Winterhold were key to survival, and when someone of irregular size, taller, fatter, continuously growing children, were in need of a new one, Oretia found herself as busy as if she’d been hunting to feed the masses. This was to say nothing of the leather straps and parcels that found use in fishing and construction. She found it difficult to believe that the city had been so small and conservative before her arrival so as to ration away the whole winter.

Oretia wondered what resources the Jarl had at their fingertips, if the people did complain beyond her business of an inability to weather the cold and their hardships. For the moment, at least, she found purpose in being out in the woods, despite Philip’s warnings of full moons and things in the forest.

She’d had to hold back her laughter and embarrassment, and had resolved to tell her sister to be more subtle in the southern mountains, as stories like werewolves were infecting the city below.

The moon was full, and high already, though the sun had yet to set — brightening the fallen snow to a rich golden color, as well as the shaggy coat of an unexpected guest.

Oretia stared at the injured beast with reverence and surprise, and she had to wonder if it were they that had unnerved the local populace. A great elk, albino, but for the splash of blood staining its side, trailing down a shattered leg, hobbled north towards the cliffs and the sea. The creature was magnificent, beautiful and strange to look upon, covered in the fog of its own heavy breaths, and whether it had seen her, seemed resolute in its undoubtedly final act.

This was not how Oretia had intended to spend her evening. No matter what other ‘things’ there were in the forest, wolves and mountain lions and all manner of predators would pose a very real danger if they should find her. Yet as the elk lay down by the cliffside, it felt too much like a gift, from which deity or daedra she couldn’t be sure, but there was no walking away from such a calling.

The elk’s massive chest heaved with each pained cry, its haunting song echoing off the cliffside in a melodic death rattle. As Oretia approached, she could hear horkers bay on the shore below, terrified by the commotion, scattering into the sea. A predator may have heard the call already, but she was too close now, caught in the sad gaze of a large doomed eye, and it became a matter of pride and honor. Oretia readied her blade.

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 02.11.20 lb

this fucking episode my dudes. i just went through it like...

business maharani is doing some more bitchification of bhaabi, ki dekho phir nikal gayi aapke peeche. even used the same lameass mandir excuse, the idiot, instead of coming up with something new.  

hubs like riddhima is a major pain in the ass, but she's MY PAIN IN THE ASS, where isss sheeee, why isn't she back yet???????? is she ok????????????

ishani getting a call about someone in the hospital and......

bitch, it's her friend who's in the hospital. why the fuck would anyone call ISHANI of all people if riddhima was in the hospital????

lo aa gayi.

gujarat registration gaadi waale bhaiyya was a careful driver. unlike literally everyone else on tellywood. good for him.

concern!maxxxxxxxxxxx about her haalat.

asks about her bleeding hand and she's like i'll tell you if you tell me about how YOUR hand got hurt. noice.

again, rrahul's not putting on the vansh voice in this scene and it's 300% more watchable. for the love of god stop directing him in a way that impedes his performance!!!!!!! LET THE MAN MOVE HIS FACE AND TALK IN HIS NORMAL VOICE!!!!!!!!!!!

cliche dialogue about “shareer ke ghaav jaldi bhar jaate hain par dil ke ghaav..........”

this asshole is like yeah who would know that better than me???? BITCH WHAT IS THIS, THE TRAUMA OLYMPICS???

she's thinking ki yeah, i'm not gonna fall for your fakeass parwaah anymore. good. i like. she needed this stupidass illusion of her's broken longggggggggg back.

ohohohohoho ib waala mangalsutra breaking and slipping off trope idhar bhi hai.

“tooti hui cheezein kabhi kabhi dobara nahi judti.”

dialogue maarke chali gayi, lol.

but notice she's the one who caught it anyway. which makes me think she's gonna choose him/this relationship YET AGAIN. *deeeeeeeepest sigh in the world that sucks up all the oxygen in the atmosphere*

“jaise mera dil.”

OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH.

“lekin ab waqt aa gaya hai bohut se cheezon ko sahi karne ka.”

again, he looks menacing and all, but is probably just talking about making sure all the paperwork is up to date for upcoming end of year audits. he's a very rich accountant, remember???

ragini's medical reports have come.

lol being married to ishani is taking yearssssssss off angre's lifespan. roz naya tension, naya drama.

also, angre refers to vansh as "vansh bhai" when talking about him to ishani, but calls him "boss" when referring directly. interesting. veryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy interesting. you guys need to sort out that relationship, my dudes. it's the only stable, healthy one in this whole damn show.

ishani is like you're his right hand, what the hell are you doing about riddhima spying on him and getting all up in his business???????? dang, this might be the first conversation they're having about their only common interest: vansh's well being.

also i notice ki shivaay ke saare shirts angre ko diye gaye hain. huh, the shirts must have a kanji eyed wearer clause in their contract.

“mujhe shakti dijiye ke main apne emotions se upar uthke sahi ke saath khadi rahoon.”

damn, first time i've had a lil respect for riddhima. i mean, i know ultimately it's all gonna go to shit, but she's trying.

lmao a dhaarmik aarti version of the title track is playing. a version for every situation!

“main ragini ko bacha ke rahoongi. yeh mera aapse, ragini se, aur apne aap se vaada hai.”

YESSSSSSSSSSS BITCH, SISTERS OVER MURDEROUS MISTERS!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG WHY WON'T Y'ALL JUST DRESS HIM LIKE THIS, LIKE ARNAV, WITH THE SHIRT AND SWEATER COMBOOOOOOOOOOOOO. PLS GODDDDDDDDDDDD STOP DRESSING HIM WITH THAT STUPID SCARF WAALA BLAZERRRRRRRRRRRRR I BEG OF YOUUUUUUUUUU

he's talking to some shadow (def a woman) about how they're his humraaz about the whole ragini issue and nothing is hidden from them and how everything is going as they planned and the story will end soon.

it might be siya but omg i hope to goddddddddddddd it's ishani. i really really reallly want it to be ishani and see the hot demon siblings do some scheming and planning together. the sibs that conspire together, stay together!!!!!!!!!

menacing growling about riddhima and how he needs shadow chick's help in "handling" her, so that she doesn’t leave the house.

“chaahe VR mansion uske liye jail bann jaaye, i don't care.” cool, real healthy. also copied from this week's naagin 5. i'm telling you, these two shows be copying their homework off each other.

vansh leaning real hard on how he trusting shadow chick. hmmmm. reallyyyy hope it's ishani. though can’t say i wouldn’t be delighted if siya also turns out to be just as fucking twisted as him.

ofc ms. snoopy here has come to snoop. SIS TUM THAK NAHI JAATI KYA ISS SAB SE. MUJHE TOH DEKHTE HI THAKAAN HO GAYI HAI AND I NEEDS ME SOME GLUCON D.

“ragini riddhima se jeete-jee milna toh door, usse dekh bhi na sake.”

uh a little too late for that my man, lol. your girls already had a catchup session this afternoon. they're going for brunch and manis next weekend!

oh ho, she knows that angre's gone out. so this is def someone else in the house. DAMN, I'M REALLY INVESTED IN THIS SHADOW NOW.

yaaar, kya haalat bana rakhi hai shivaay ke room ki. best room hota tha iss set ka, aur isko bas ek random space banaa rakha hai.

ASLKFJSLDKJFLSDKJFLDKSF

this fucker crazyyyyy. like fulllll on flipping cray cray!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wow ok he's shaking from rage. more unhinged than i've ever seen him. which is really something. something scary as fuckkkkkkkk.

kudos to riddhima for just being like same old, same old, instead of being scared. i'm really liking i-give-no-fucks-riddhima.

DUDE. THIS FUCKER HAS COMPLETELY LOST IT.

also knife play copied from shivaay. this dude like a much much worse version of shivaay. never thought that would be possible, but never say never with ITV and the year 2020.

ok i don't like this angry version of him that's outta control, all shaking and growling and panting. not only is it really bad acting, it's hard to take seriously as menacing. ppl are always scarier when they're ice fucking cool with their anger.

blah blah blah some more growled warnings and riddhima and i are just here like............. “ok and????”

she's not even allowed to leave the room.

oooooh brave sis questioning him back and provokingggggggggg himmmmmmmmmm. got a death wish, this one, but i like her like this. i was sick of her just collapsing all over the place weeping. thaaaaaank god she found her longlost backbone.

“tum jaise haiwaan ki baat kabhi nahi maanungi.”

sarcastic slow clapping and slightly turned on by this show of dheentness.

“chalo aaj tumhari bahaaduri ko celebrate karte hain.”

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

“piyo, zeher nahi milaaya hai ismein.”

OK NOW THAT YOU SAID THAT I'M DEFINITELY THINKING THAT YOU HAVE.

omg ridhhimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa you idiottttttt.

ok he's def put something in it. his face almost looking pitying as he takes the glass back.

“jaao. jahaan jaana hai jaao. nahi rokunga tumhe.”

ohhhhhhhhhh boy.

dslkfjsdlfkjdslkfjdslkjflkd her legs don't work no moreeeeeeeee.

THIS FUCKERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. JESUS CHRIST THIS CRAZY ASS FUCKING D;SLFKJ;SLDKFJ;LDSKJF;LDKJ

EVEN THE CHANNEL PUTTING BIG BOLD DISCLAIMER OVER THE SCENE LIKE THIS SHIT IS SERIOUSLY UNHINGED AND FICTIONAL THE CHANNEL ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT CONDONE THIS FUCKING MADNESSSSSSSSS

I CANNOT STOP SCREAMING THIS FUCKERRRRRRR IS OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK IS THIS THIS SHIT IS MAKING 4 LIONS MEN LOOK LIKE SOFT CUDDLY LIL SOFTBOIS I AM LITERALLY GOING OUTTA MY MIND WITH RAGE AND ANGUISH WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

i need a break. i seriously need a break to go cuddle my cat coz my god this deranged fucking showwwwwwwwwww.

ok cuddle break done. i’m not feeling any better but at least the tears of blood have stopped flowing from my eyes?

all i gots to say at this point is that CHEELANSHU SINGHANIA FROM NAAGIN 5 WOULD NEVER DO THIS. ONCE AGAIN SANKIIII CHEEL BOY >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> HUMAN MEN.

“haiwaan hoon main. rakshas hoon. aur rakshas kuch bhi kar sakta hai.”

electric chair for you, dude. ELECTRIC FUCKING CHAIR, GREEN MILE STYLE.

he literally gave her a paralytic.

“isse ek luxury relaxing spa treatment ki tarah enjoy karna.”

OMG I WISH I HAD SOMEONE MAKE ME SLIP INTO A PARALYTIC COMAAAAAAAAAA WHAT ELSE COULD A GIRL WANT FROM PRINCE CHARMING UWU TRUE WUVVVVVVVVV

omg inn paplu taplu ka chip waala naatak abhi bhi chal raha hai BIGGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED IN THE HOUSE YOU IDIOTS KEEP THE FUCK UP LITERALLY NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR SADAA HUA MEMORY CARD ANYMOREEEEEEEEEE

anyway they decide to put it in the bank locker. omg why though, under the mattress was suchhhhhhh a safe and secure spot!!! badal kyun rahe ho tum log?!?!?!!?!?

“good morning.”

sis, lower half is paralysed. haath abhi bhi kaam kar rahein haina??? PICK UP WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU CAN GET YOUR HANDS ON AND HURL IT AT HIS FUCKING HEADDDDDDDDDDD

“don't worry, bas kuch der ki baat hai. uske baad tum apne pairon pe khadi ho sakti ho. main tumhari help kar deta hoon.”

TELLL HIM SIS. TELL HIM TO STAY THE FUCK AWAY AND NEVER EVER COME WITHIN A 3 DISTRICT RADIUS OF YOU. 

“phir se zidd. tumhara naam riddhima nahi, ziddhima hona chahiye tha.”

ok can't deny i lol'd at that.

OK NO BACK TO HATING HIM. PUNS WILL GET YOU NOWHERE WITH ME, YOU BLOODY PSYCHOPATH.

“abhi toh bas ek chota dose diya hai jiska asar sirf 10 ghante rehta hai.”

oh how sweet. such a considerate husband. Star Parivaar Pati of The Year you are. haan behen, aur rakho aise pati ke liye karwachauth.

“agar baat nahi maaani, toh agla dose double hoga.”

seriously though, where can i get one of these? all i want is to be put in a coma so that i don't have to be conscious anymore. esp with the USA election today............ give me a 5x dose, daddy.

YEAH RIGHT LIKE SHE'S EVER GONNA CONSUME ANYTHING YOU OFFER HER EVER AGAIN LOL

“tum chaahe kitni bhi koshish karlo vansh, main tumhe ragini ko nuksaan pohunchaane nahi dungi.”

determination toh behen ka top classssssssssssss hai. where do ppl get such mental will from? i face the slightest inconvenience and i need a 6 hour nap to cope.

LMAO VANSH YOU DUMBASS YOU LEFT HER WITH HER PHONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. YOU KNOW SHE'S A SPY AND HAS SOMEONE ON THE OUTSIDE. YOU WANTED HER NOT TO GET TO RAGINI BUT NOW SHE CAN JUST CALL WHOEVER SHE’S WORKING WITH TO GET RAGINI THE HELP. GOD, BEWAKOOFON KI TOLI HAI YEH SHOWWWWWWWW.

ab yaad aayi kabir ki. my god, he seems like such a mellow weirdo now compared to vansh, just into some casual costume-changing and quasi fratricide. almost a tolerable level of deranged compared to this other fucking madman.

sent a voice note to him.

SHE HEARD SOMEONE COMING AND FLUNG THE PHONE ACROSS THE ROOM INTO A PILE OF CLOTHES. OH HO WHYYYYYYYYYYYY, YOU COULD HAVE LITERALLY JUST HID IT BACK UNDER THE PILLOWS WHERE YOU FOUND IT!?!?!??!?!?!?

“hi riddhima! tumhe iss haal mein dekh kar, dil ko bohut sukoon mil raha hai.”

asldkfsjflkjdslfkjdl i honestly love her the most. she's so fucking petty and hilarious.

ishani is like thank god bhai has seen fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally seen your real face.

“sirf vansh ne hi nahi, inn sab mein maine bhi vansh ka asli chehra dekh liya hai.”

“kya matlab hai tumhara?!?!!”

ok, i'm thinking ishani is shadow girl. from day 1, she’s wanted riddhima to see vansh in a certain way; as someone dangerous, the way he projects himself. (as opposed to dadi and siya who want her to see his soft side.) this statement from riddhima makes her wary that did she get close to the actual truth. INTERESTING. VERYYYYYYYYY INTERESTINGGGGG.

she's now grumbling about how vansh treats her much better than she actually deserves. I REALLY WANT MORE INSIGHT INTO THIS BROTHER SISTER RELATIONSHIP THEY HAVE IT'S SO INTRIGUINGGGGGGGG

le, kapde chale gaye laundry. phone ke saath.

———————————————————————

precap: kabir listened to the voice note and now him and mummy are in panic about ragini disclosing the truth about 3 years ago. RE DEVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. OFC THESE TWO WERE INVOLVED IN THAT KAAND TOO. LITERALLY EVERY ONE IN THIS SHOW IS A DERANGED MENACE TO SOCIETY.

kabir coming to meet riddhima.

but ofc.

ugh she turned back saying “K.........” and he's like there's literally no one in this house whose name starts with K.

*facepalms for allllll eternity till my godforsaken face itself falls off.*

i think i’ll go watch s2 of mirzapur now. i need something ~~~light and fluffffffffffy~~~ to take my mind off whatever the FUCK this was.

[purplesurveys]

1040

survey by amandahudson48

When's the last time you said you were sorry? Maybe last Friday or yesterday? I haven’t been replying to Andi because I was in a slump, then when I was finally able to get back to them I made sure to apologize first and explain why it took me a while to respond.

Have you done anything interesting in the last week? I got to dine in at a restaurant again after nine months last Monday, and I brought my parents to treat them as well. The three of us had ramen, then I also treated them to frozen yogurt after. It felt nice to be out, but we also headed to a mall Gab and I used to regularly go to so everything ended up being too difficult to process and I was fighting tears the whole time at the ramen place.

Are there any songs you listen to everyday? I don’t think so. There have been a lot of days where I’ve avoided music altogether.

What do you consider a waste of time? Having to manually go to a government office nowhere near your house to queue for an ID or document when it could be done digitally, but you can’t and have no choice anyway because the agency’s website isn’t even working. In short, welcome to the Philippines where the government can steal billions but can’t maintain their own damn websites.

How do you react to stress? I tend to have a shorter fuse around people. So that I don’t accidentally lash out on anyone, I’ll bring myself to work on autopilot until I get a task done. If I find time to myself, I cry in private for a few minutes because stress sucks; then I try to dust myself off and get back to working.

Have you ever considered what you would do in certain life/death sitches? Sometimes. My game plan for the most part is to simply scream at the top of my lungs to rouse attention, but I’ll never really know what I’ll do unless something actually takes place. I have a track record of being scared frozen when scary men have approached me in the past, so idk if I will have it in me to scream in a life or death situation.

Have you ever gone mud riding? No. Photos don’t look too appealing mostly because I’m not into vehicles and driving them on unconventional terrain lol, but I mean I would still give it a shot at least once.

Do you edit your photos? Just sometimes, if I mean to show off or promote someone/something to my mutuals; like the time I promoted my uncle’s business when he gave me a free cheesecake. I usually use the VSCO or Foodie apps.

What kind of cookie do you like the most? Chocolate chip cookies that are crispy on the outside and gooey inside; and dark chocolate macadamia cookies.

Do you enjoy working alone? Sure, though I don’t mind the occasional groupwork.

Is there anyone you're not over and feel like you never will be? Yes, I’m in exactly the same place I found myself at five years ago.

Do you like long or short surveys? Medium-length, so like anywhere between 40-70 questions is the perfect length for me.

How often do you listen to your iPod? I used to listen to it everyday because I brought it with me throughout middle school and the first half of high school. When iPods slowly went out of style in junior year, I started using it less frequently.

What kind of house do you want? Something modern and minimalist; I’d like it to be predominantly rectangular or square in shape with large windows. I do also want a brutalist style for myself but I might have to give that up if I ever end up with a family, as I don’t want my kids thinking their own home looks aloof and unapproachable.

Would you like living on the coast? It sounds like paradise. Yeah, absolutely.

What song was the last you listened to? To Let A Good Thing Die - Bruno Major. Then I got really sad and had to stop listening to music altogether and scramble to watch something hilarious on YouTube.

When's the last time you were really late to something? Last week, for a meeting with a client :/ I wasn’t accustomed to my weekly calls just yet and ended up attending a 4:30-5 PM meeting at 4:57, right when it was ending, because I thought it started at 5. It was embarrassing and my manager was rightfully jokingly mad at me.

Do you prefer to take back roads or the highways? Highways as much as possible, but if I’m stuck in traffic and if it looks like I wouldn’t be able to get to my destination on time then I ask Waze to guide me through backroads.

How do you spell your name without consonants? Rbyn or Rbn, depending on what you consider y to be.

What's the last movie you watched? Uhhh it was still That Thing Called Tadhana but it’s been a while. I mainly watch a Korean drama titled Start Up these days.

What would you like your generation to change? The people society votes into office. Young Americans seem to be leading the charge on this front, which is so so great. Meanwhile in my country Manny Pacquiao is planning for his 2022 presidential campaign and we are once again fucked because voter’s literacy is so fucking low that I actually see a possibility of him winning. Migrating has never sounded more attractive.

Do you use your cell phone a lot? Yeah, it’s beside me with the screen turned on nearly the entire day.

When's the last time you saw an ocean wave? Not sure about an ocean wave, but the last time I saw a wave in general (we were at a beach) was August 2019.

How long can you hold your breath? Maybe a minute max? I haven’t had to try in a while.

Would you rather work behind the scenes or be the star? Behind the scenes. I loathe the spotlight and I’ve never been the performing type, and I always hated it whenever I’ve had to perform in school or for a family function. It’s also why, as fun as hosting looks like as a career, and as much as I know I would’ve been decent in it if I tried, it was just ultimately never the path for me.

Are you a sore loser? Yeah, I hate it. I’m competitive to the bone, which personally sucks too because it’s hard for me to enjoy games lol. I make it easier for the playing crowd by just watching at the sidelines so that I don’t ruin things for them.

When's the last time you used a pair of scissors? Yesterday when I was doing embroidery.

What was the last word you thought? I mean...’embroidery,’ I guess, since I typed it last before reading this question.

Is it easy to make you angry? It takes me a while to explode.

Have you wondered if other people wonder what you’re thinking? No.

Do you sing a lot? When I’m alone and am certain no one can hear, yes.

Do you think you have an addictive personality? Uh no, not really. I like keeping a certain distance with everyone I interact with. As nice as I can be, I try to make sure my personality isn’t the type that would ~leave people wanting more~ so to speak.

Which affects us more: our genes or the environment in which we're raised? For me, it’s the environment. Genes are strong too, but they’re already there; they’re given, they’re constant, they’re wired into each person. The fact that people can still be constantly affected depending on what kind of situation they’re in says much about the capabilities of being raised in a certain environment. For instance, I know for sure I would’ve ended up being more emotionally stable if I was provided with a healthier, gentler upbringing.

Why do you believe that? Oops, I may have already answered it above.

Honestly, do you enjoy arguing? Nah. Watching others do it can be fun, but I avoid them myself.

Do you prefer to use tape or glue? Tape. More secure.

Do you see routine as a comfort or a rut? Comfort. I do like bursts of spontaneity every now and then, though.

When's the last time you cried? Last night. I wanted to this morning, but I already did so much heavy crying last night that I just gave myself a break today.

Do you believe that love can get you through anything? No. I know that now.

What do you wish you had more of? Money is always a good answer. Also, weekends.

If you HAD to change one thing about your best friend, what would it be? I wish Angela lived nearer, so that it’s easier to visit. I wish Gabie wasn’t so selfish.

Have you ever gone to sleep mad? It’s harder that way, lol. But I mean yeah I guess I’ve felt angry while trying to go to bed; it’s just that I usually use certain outlets so that I could calm down and fall asleep more easily.

Do you like your computer? I love it. Even though it’s an older Macbook Air I have no plans to replace it; it’s still so low-maintenance and reliable after all this time.

Which theory do you wish but perhaps not believe was true about afterlife? This is a good question and something I always wish was verbalized more. For me, it’s the idea of reuniting with all your deceased family, friends, and pets in death. That has always given me comfort, but I don’t necessarily cling to it.

Is there anyone that you truly could not live without? I can think of one such person, but we’ll see if it holds true.

[lalainajanes]

I just read poisonously pretty and it was the cutest thing and of course Caroline would incapacitate anyone who could stop her on her quest and then threaten klaus with the consequences lol all for the sake of fighting a dragon. Is there any chance for a part 2?

Writer’s Month Day Four - Trope Prompt: Road Trip. A follow up to Poisonously Pretty in which Caroline is a rebellious princess and Klaus is her conflicted guard and there’s a quest.

Poisonously Pretty - Two

“What are you wearing?”

Carolinetosses a scornful look over her shoulder and returns to securing hersaddlebags. She does not offer a response to Klaus’ asinine question. He hadeyes, and a lifetime of putting on his own breeches, surely he could deduce thename of the garment Rebekah had sewn for her in preparation for her journey.

She’d hadKlaus’ horse brought from the stables because, as soon as she’d learned he’d beguarding her door she’d known her chances of giving him the slip were nil.Caroline had adjusted her plan accordingly. When he makes no further movement,no attempt to begin checking his saddle or loading his own belongings, shepauses and turns to him.

He’sstaring at her, expectantly, with a fair measure of disbelief. It makes herwant to fidget, or adjust her loose fitting tunic. Caroline refuses to giveinto the urge. “I can hardly travel incognito in my gowns, can I?”

“You have adozen split skirts meant for riding.”

Again, he’spointing out the obvious and, with her plan coming together so nicely, Carolinehas little patience for it.

“Ten,actually. All in fine fabrics, embroidered in expensive thread and intricatepatterns. Do you want us to be setupon by highwaymen?”

“You can’tmean to pass for a man.” His tone rankles, the incredulousness he’s displayingmaking Caroline think that he’s convinced that she’s an imbecile. It hurts abit. They might not be friends, as they were as children, but she’d thoughtKlaus at least respected her.

She givesthe bag a final tug, ensuring it won’t be jostled loose. She lifts her chin,crosses her arms as she turns to face Klaus. “A man, no. Bonnie offered apotion that would grow whiskers on my face but I declined. I see no reason why,from a distance, it would not be assumed I’m a youth of fourteen or so if Idress the part.”

Klaus isn’tconvinced, his eyes dipping towards her chest. If it were any other man she’dbe offended but Klaus’ gaze isn’t lecherous and, if Caroline’s being entirelyhonest – something she always tries to be with herself – she’s been wishingKlaus would recognize that she’s a woman now. That he’d perhaps find herdesirable. Touchable.

“They’rebound,” she informs him briskly.

He appearshorrified, “I beg your pardon?”

Carolinethrows up her hands in frustration, “Oh please, don’t act like you’re ablushing maid. I’m speaking of my breasts, Klaus. I’ve overheard both Genevieveand Aurora whispering rather flattering things about your prowess as a lover soI assume you’re familiar with the weight and shape of the average pair.”

His mouthopens. Closes. Caroline’s never seen him so discomfited, without a ready quip,and it’s immensely satisfying. “Perhaps you shouldn’t pick your bed partnersfrom among my ladies in waiting if you’re so concerned with discretion.”

Caroline’salways chosen the most gossipy courtiers for her inner circle. It’s onlyprudent, keeps her well appraised of the goings on in her kingdom. Her father’sadvisors aren’t keen on Caroline’s interest in politics. They tend to hide informationthey think her too delicate to know. Caroline’s ensured she has other sources.

“Besides,between the tunic and the cloak I’ll wear, my breasts will be entirelyunnoticeable.”

She’dchecked of course. Had modeled her new clothing for her closest friends andgotten their assurances. Well, Bonnie andElena had assured, Katerina had teased Caroline about how the tightlyfitted leather of her breeches clung to areas of her body that were usuallywell covered. Kat had pronounced the pants alluring, had commissioned Rebekahto make her a pair of her own.

Unfortunately,Klaus doesn’t seem allured. He’s irritated, even further away from her than heusually is, regarding her like he’s not sure she’s in her right mind.

She’d liketo tell him that she’s more herself than she has been in years. Free andexcited about her quest and in control of her own life. She feels exactly howshe’s longed to.

It doesn’t look as though Klaus is going torecover himself anytime soon so Caroline sighs, fits her foot into her stirrup.That jolts him into awareness and he takes several jerky steps, instinctively reachingfor her waist to assist her.

Caroline’sfaster, has ridden astride her whole life – slightly scandalous but her motherhad always refused to be tucked away in a carriage or trail behind the men at asedate pace and Caroline has happily followed her lead  - and she’s sitting comfortably in the saddleby the time Klaus is close enough to reach her.

“Besthurry,” she tells him sweetly, tipping her head in the direction of his horse.

He guessesher intent immediately, “Princess,” he says, voice low and thick with a censure.

OneCaroline doesn’t heed, digging in the heels of her boots so her horse takesoff. She laughs when she hers Klaus curse, the sound ringing through the emptystable yard.

Who knewquests could be such fun?

* * * * *

If anyonehad told Caroline that silence was a form of torture, she never would havebelieved them. She and Klaus had departed The Salvatore castle a few hoursbefore dawn and he hadn’t spoken a word to her since he’d thundered up the roadbehind her. It’s now passed midday and he’s only glowered. Her early attemptsat conversation had been answered with nothing but the barest grunts. Carolinehad been forced to give up. She’s tempted to sing but that would give her awayshould another traveler happen to hear.

She’s alsostarving, her back and thighs beginning to ache because if Klaus refused to converseshe’d decided to refuse to suggest a rest or a meal. It’s childish, she knowsbut if he’s intent on making her suffer in silence she’ll ensure he’s asuncomfortable as she can make him.

She sneaksa peek at him, finds him just as stone faced as he’d been the last time she’dchecked on him. Caroline huffs out an annoyed breath, only realizing hermistake when Klaus’ head turns towards her. “Tired, Princess?” he drawls.

“Caroline,”she corrects. Klaus opens his mouth, surely to refuse, but Caroline talks overhim. “What if someone should hear you addressing me so formally? Why, the newsthat I was travelling these lands with such meagre guard would spread likewildfire and we’d be forced to fend of bandits left and right.”

“Meagreguard?” Klaus repeats, highly offended.

She turnsaway, reaching for her flask of water to hide her smile. Perhaps she’s juststumbled onto a solution for her problem. She doesn’t necessarily want Klaus tobe angry with her but if she pokes at his temper, his healthy ego, he’sunlikely to be able to maintain his silence.

A burningdesire to be right, a willingness to fight to prove it, had been the source ofmany of their childhood clashes.

She shrugs,“I rarely see you in the practice yards anymore. It stands to reason that you’reno longer as skilled as you once were.”

“Justbecause you don’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not there.”

Caroline groans,her head rolling back on her shoulders until she’s staring at the sky, “Mustyou only speak in meaningless nonsense?”

She can seehim in her peripheral vision, just barely, and he’s smirking, the lout. “You’re there every morning. Making aspectacle with Katerina. Surely your skill with your blades can save us shouldwe be ambushed?”

He’sobviously mocking her but Caroline’s stuck on his first words. They hadn’t beena question. “How do you know I practice every morning?”

“I am thecaptain of your personal guard.”

“Oh yes,how could I forget? So nice to know that I only matter because I am your job.” She winces at the nakedbitterness, the hurt that had spilled out with her snide words, urging herhorse to trot a little faster so he won’t be able to see the sheen of tearsthat has clouded her vision.

He allowsher the distance, a modicum of privacy. Somehow, that hurts even more.

* * * * *

They find avillage, a few hours after sunset. Klaus looks around, studying the buildings,the few people who remain outside. Caroline does the same, knows theassessments that he’s making. The street is swept, dotted with buildings ingood repair. The villagers are clean and seemingly pleasant, no drunkards orbeggars in sight.

Klaus mustfind the place pleasing enough, calls to a passerby, asking if there’s an inn.The man approaches and Caroline tips her head down, hoping the dimness and theshadow of her hat will hide her features. Luckily, he pays her no notice,converses briefly with Klaus.

There’s noinn, Klaus is informed and Caroline despairs for a moment. She’d been hopingfor a blanket, a bed, even one less plush than the feather stuffed mattressesshe’s accustomed too. There is a farmer, with a wife and several young sons, who’llprovide travelers a safe campsite, a hot dinner and a place to wash, for asmall price just a short ways down a lane.

Caroline’sstomach rumbles at the mention of hot food. She’d stocked her saddlebags withdry fruit and jerky, has been grazing all day, a home cooked meal sounds rapturous. Klaus thanks the villager forhis assistance, steers his horse in the indicated direction and Caroline isquick to follow.

“Have youthought of a name to go with your disguise,” Klaus murmurs, once they’re aloneagain.

Carolinecannot believe that she hadn’t. She’s been planning this for ages. “Stefan,”she decides. “After the young prince.”

Klaus isn’tpleased with her answer, “You’d name yourself after a boy so easilymanipulated?”

She laughs,more loudly than she should because the trill of it would easily mark her sex, “Whynot? Had he been shrewder I’d never have managed to steal away. I owe theprince a favor.”

“You mostcertainly do not,” Klaus clips out.

Hisexpression has turned thunderous, his jaw tight and brows drawn. If Carolinewere more familiar with caution she’d seek to soothe.

Instead,she inflames.

She’s got adragon to face. She might as well practice with another ornery beast.

Carolinebrings a fingertip to her chin, tapping as if she muses aloud, “Whatever sortof favor would he like, do you think? Katerina’s not a fan of kisses but I’dlike to investigate the matter myself. I can do at least that without risking ruination.”  

Klaus makes a noise, low and sharp andinfuriated.

Carolineignores the warning in the sound. “Perhaps a little more, hmm? I’ve been toldthat there are a number of pleasant things a woman can do with a partnerwithout surrendering her virginity. And Stefan is quite nice to look at.”

Klausthrows her a lethal glare, reaches over to slap her horse sharply on the rumpbefore urging his own into a gallop. Caroline’s mare gives chase and she has tolean down, grip tightly with her knees, in order to avoid being thrown.

Well. Seemsshe’d hit a nerve.

Carolinecouldn’t be more pleased.

[segadores-y-soldados]

An Eye for An Eye

A write up and analysis of Moira’s new interactions with Soldier: 76, McCree, Reaper, and a few others.  Includes a discussion on Moira after the events of “Retribution”, and how Soldier: 76 does believe she was responsible for it.  Also discusses the different ways we can interpret Soldier’s line, and the different ways we can interpret Moira’s reply.

TL;DR: Soldier: 76 blames Moira for the events of “Retribution,” and likely for aiding in the fall of Overwatch. While he mentions “Reyes,” he never actually says what he thinks “Reyes had been planning,” leaving the line open to a discussion on if Jack is presently aware of Gabriel’s plan to infiltrate Talon.  Compared to the emotionality and intensity of Soldier’s line, Moira’s reply is oddly and almost eerily disaffected, especially compared to her interactions with Winston, Mercy, Pharah, and McCree.  Contains a small part on the increasing likelihood of a romantic angle between Gabriel and Jack.

(Italics represent actual speaking inflections and changes in tone present in the actual audio)

Moira’s research:

Winston: Overwatch had good reason to shut down your research! Moira: I shouldn’t be surprised at such a narrow opinion coming from a jumped-up ape.

---

Mercy: Describing your work as “unethical” would be a kindness. Moira: But the true question is whether or not you can deny my discoveries...(pause) ...No, I didn’t think so.

---

Sarcasm:

Moira: Well, I must never worry about my safety when the brave agents of Helix are with us. Pharah: Don’t be so sure about that.

---

The effects of “Retribution”:

Moira: Our courageous cowboy... The years haven’t changed you much, have they, Jesse? McCree: Well, they certainly haven’t changed my feelings about working with you.

---

Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch.  If I had known what Reyes had been planning, I would never have allowed it. Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business... (Audio link)

---

The “I don’t get paid enough for this” category:

Moira: Your condition seems relatively stable. Reaper: No one’s accused me of that in a long time. (Audio link)

Other things to read before this: “Long Reasons Not to Trust Moira in Retribution” and “Retribution and Reapercussions.”  Warning: true to the first one’s name, they are both very long, and they are both constructed around the idea that Moira was a double-agent working for Talon during the events of “Retribution,” and that she sold out the mission to Talon before the mission started.

Let’s clear one thing here, immediately, before any of this begins:

Both Soldier: 76 and McCree believe Moira betrayed Blackwatch during “Retribution.”  

Soldier: 76 does 100%, McCree’s opinion is very strongly implied, based on his interaction above, and on his older one with Moira:

McCree: Always thought hiring you was a mistake. Moira: The best mistake one could ever make.

This is very important for two main reasons:

The first is that whatever happened during Gabriel’s debriefing was enough to: 1) convince McCree to stay in Blackwatch for another year or two, 2) convince McCree to remain loyal to his BW commander for another year or two, 3) convince Jack Morrison to allow Gabriel Reyes to stay in Overwatch for another two years, 4) convince Jack Morrison that Gabriel Reyes, Jesse McCree, and Genji Shimada could be allowed to operate even when their division was suspended.

(More under the cut)

I am very pleased to see the new Soldier: 76 interaction, for a variety of reasons, but absolutely the most immediate one is that his words, his tone, the whole thing shows he truly believes Moira betrayed Blackwatch and eventually undermined the rest of Overwatch.

The other thing is that Soldier: 76 uses pretty strong language to describe Moira and her role in the fall of Overwatch (well, as strong as a T-rated game can get you in a 15 second conversation, lol).  This is in direct contrast with his interactions with Reaper, which are much drier, more sarcastic or deadpan in tone, and significantly calmer.

Which leads to another question:

Does Jack Morrison actually blame Gabriel Reyes for the fall of Overwatch?  Or for any of his actions before, during, or since?

In fact, it is extremely interesting that we now have an audio example of what Jack Morrison sounds like when he is actually angry.  As I said, his words, his tone, his anger - all of these things are exponentially higher than how he talks to Reaper, or Winston, or Mei, or Ana.  If you could have argued he was “upset” with Reaper or “frustrated” with Winston, that’s borderline impossible to defend now.  In retrospect, pretty much everything else Soldier: 76 says to other characters in the game is calm (“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”), or cautionary (“You need to slow down, think about your actions.” or “The frontlines are no place for a scientist” or “War isn’t a game.”) , or even possibly just sarcastic (“Think you can do my job, do you?”).

Or...perish the thought - maybe even genuine, like “Your mother would’ve been proud of you” or “I thought I was, until I met you.”

Which makes it really fascinating that Soldier: 76 tells Moira that she was the disgrace to Overwatch, not Gabriel...and that he never actually says this to Reaper.  

In fact, at no point - in the game, in the comics, in the shorts or animations - does Soldier: 76/Jack ever directly blame Gabriel or his persona of “Reaper” for what happened to Overwatch...or what happened to him.

At best, Soldier: 76 alludes to “what Reyes had been planning”, before suggesting that he himself wouldn’t have “allowed it.”

...Allowed what?  

He never states what Gabriel “had been planning.”  On the surface level, it seems to imply that Gabriel had been planning “the fall of Overwatch” - which is the story other people (including Moira and maybe Doomfist) seem to believe.

But again, Soldier: 76 never says that he believes this.

And why does Jack seem to think his opinion or approval (or denial of it) could have swayed Gabriel’s decision?

It’s because we now know that he absolutely could have, that Jack Morrison was probably the only person who could have convinced Gabriel to stop doing whatever “he had been planning.”

Using the “Retribution” comic, we know that it was Jack Gabriel would consult with when he needed advice or wanted a discussion on Overwatch and Blackwatch’s joint goals:

A matter which both men apparently did very privately, on a very personal level.

So personal, that individuals like McCree, Genji, and Moira were not informed of them (during the Retribution era):

McCree: How are you going to explain this to the Strike-Commander? Gabriel: You let me worry about what Jack needs to know. McCree: You know you can’t shoot him. Gabriel: No, but I could shoot you.

As I said in “Retribution and Reapercussions,” it seems unlikely to me that Gabriel would completely, 180-degree flip his motivations and objectives after the “Retribution” mission ended.

His motivations?

Protect Jack (to put it in very plain terms).

His objective?

The original one: get more information in order to bring down Talon before they hurt Jack or anyone else in Overwatch.

The one that actually occured during Retribution:

Survive a compromised mission with all of his agents alive, get extracted, and get back to base -

To develop a new plan of attack against the enemy steadily “infiltrating” them.

In “Retribution and Reapercussions,” I argued that part of that plan involved getting Moira to stay cooperative with Gabriel and Blackwatch, in order to 1) preserve Overwatch secrets, 2) preserve Gabriel’s secrets (e.g. his “condition”), and 3) attempt to get more information from Moira.

Personally, I also think Gabriel - with or without Jack’s personal approval - probably began making his own plans to infiltrate Talon under the persona of “Reaper.”  Reaper as a “persona” is dry, sarcastic, snarky, angry, bitter, irreverant, and hellbent on “revenge”.  I argued in both “Long Reasons” and “Reapercussions” that this “masquerade” works on Moira - at the very least, she takes advantage of it, egging Gabriel on during the mission or asking him questions about his condition.

I also think that, after Gérard’s assassination, Gabriel was completely committed to his plan to infiltrate and enact retribution - equal punishment, equal justice - on Talon for their work against Overwatch.

Now -

Did Jack Morrison know about this plan?

I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I’m currently split on it about fifty-fifty.  I think that it is actually in-character for Gabriel to have told Jack about his plan in some way - after all, he talked with Jack about “bringing Antonio in” (which Jack personally approved of), so I think it’s totally possible Jack was aware of whatever...methods Gabriel was using to get into Talon.

The other part of this is the “approval” bit: Jack’s awareness of Gabriel’s plan (or lack thereof) does not equal his approval of it.  Jack could have known about it and not approved of it, leading to a genuine falling out over “the ends justifies the means” ideology between the two men.

The problem with this interpretation is that Jack has basically become a new version of “pre-fall Gabriel Reyes” in the present day story of Overwatch, down to repeating Gabriel’s own lines (“What are you looking at?”, “If you want something done right”, “I don’t play by the rules”, etc).  Jack being upset that Gabriel wanted to infiltrate Talon rings pretty hollow (or at least partially hypocritical) when you look at his current actions as “Soldier: 76″.

Therefore, it also makes sense that Jack genuinely was unaware of Gabriel’s plan.  After all, there’s the issue of plausible deniability to consider:

In “Retribution,” we learn from part of Gabriel’s debriefing that Gabriel offers Jack a chance to back out of the debriefing and secure “plausible deniability” for himself.  Jack refuses to leave, and while his tone is frustrated, what he actually demonstrates is that he’s willing to stand by Gabriel as his commander, his friend, and his “partner”, even through the consequences of the mission.

Personally, I think Gabriel would find that endearing.

I think he would also find it absolutely terrifying.

Gabriel wants to protect Jack (again, in blunt terms), and if Jack won’t protect himself from social, political, or possibly physical harm, then Gabriel will do it for him.

After all, “if you want something done right...”

You have to do it yourself.

In “Retribution,” it was “what” Jack needs to know about.

By the time of “Uprising,” it was “nothing” Jack needs to know about.

Gabriel could have totally hidden his plans to infiltrate Talon from Jack, in a extreme effort to preserve Jack’s plausible deniability, and also distance Jack from the effects of him “going deep” as Reaper.

Because if Gabriel was bargaining with Moira for a cure for his “condition,” it’s also possible he fully expected to die for his decision - to lose his “condition” would make him mortal again, and to be mortal in the “talons” of his enemies:

Could be deadly.

Gabriel trying to drive Jack away for Jack’s own safety is very plausible, and very much a common trope for the “undercover spy” story.  We have not seen Blizzard use that trope yet in Overwatch, so it remains a very open plot point in their deck of cards.

This also gives us a way to see Soldier: 76′s interaction with Moira as both genuine and “truth-twisting” simultaneously:

Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch.  If I had known what Reyes had been planning, I would never have allowed it.

(bold for emphasis) It allows Jack to be honest while also concealing the truth from Moira (and the best lies always have a little bit of truth and vulnerability to them): if he had known that Gabriel had been planning to “go in deep” under cover into Talon to infiltrate them (especially if Jack is aware that Gabriel is still trying to find a cure for his condition), Jack would never have allowed it -

Not because he disagreed with the methods or means -

But because Jack would want Gabriel to be safe.

As I said in “Reapercussions,” Jack probably wasn’t upset with Moira’s recruitment itself - not really.  He might have had qualms about Gabriel recruiting the scientist whose lab he helped shut down, but he probably wanted a cure for Gabriel’s condition as well.  Jack trusted Gabriel with his health and yet doing so opened up Gabriel, Blackwatch, and Overwatch to vulnerability, and allowed the greatest “disgrace” in Overwatch’s history to enter the organization.

Again, a very classic storytelling trope between two heroes: one wants to go “all in” on a risky plan - a desperate attack, an infiltration, a “death blossom” tactic - while the other argues that they can’t, it’s too dangerous, with typical lines like:

“It’s the only option we have left!” “But what about you?” “If a sacrifice is what it takes, then I’m willing to die for it.” “But I can’t lose you.”

And yes, I’ll be blunt about it - it’s almost always tied to romance.

“But can’t two characters go through this sort of situation platonically?”

Of course they can - anyone who has ever loved someone platonically could admit to that.  No one’s being blind to that angle.  It’s just disproportionately a trope that’s used to heighten romance in stories.  If one of the two characters was the opposite sex (or, if you’d like to use the canon Overwatch romance of Lena and Emily), and you ran through this scenario, you know exactly what you the audience would think about those two characters.

As a reminder, Michael Chu is a big fan of “The Legend of Korra,” and Bryan’s words on the finale of the show are extremely relevant in this moment, and they represent one of the first times a writer and creator of a popular media story was open on the topic:

I’m usually rolling my eyes when that happens in virtually every action film, “Here we go again…” It was probably around that time that I came across this quote from Hayao Miyazaki: “I’ve become skeptical of the unwritten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same feature, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to portray a slightly different relationship, one where the two mutually inspire each other to live - if I’m able to, then perhaps I’ll be closer to portraying a true expression of love.”

[...] However, I think there needs to be a counterpart to Miyazaki’s sentiment: Just because two characters of the same sex appear in the same story, it should not preclude the possibility of a romance between them. No, not everyone is queer, but the other side of that coin is that not everyone is straight. The more Korra and Asami’s relationship progressed, the more the idea of a romance between them organically blossomed for us.

(Source)

Blizzard has already taken a very open stance on this by creating Emily and introducing her - in no uncertain terms - as the romantic partner of Lena “Tracer” Oxton.

Going back to Jack and Gabriel, individual members of the Overwatch development team - mainly Jeff Kaplan and Michael Chu - have said things like “it is a deep, complex relationship that’s not necessarily only driven by romance,” “these guys loved each other,” and (the most recent one) “Gabriel Reyes was Jack Morrison’s partner” to describe their relationship.

Once is an accident.

Twice is a coincidence.

Three times is a pattern.

So yeah, Jack Morrison could be very angry that “his friend” risked everything - Blackwatch, Overwatch, global peace, his health, his very life - to go under cover.  It happens in stories, and it happens in real life too.  Love is a powerful emotion in all of its forms - platonic, familial, romantic, etc.

Or we can be honest and use the terms that the developers themselves have given us.

So that we can say:

That Jack Morrison is very angry and hurt that his partner 

- a man he loved, a man he built an organization and a lifetime with, a man he trusted over and over and over again - 

risked everything that actually mattered - the organization they had built together, the lifetime they had shared, the loved that they had, their deep, complex relationship of romance, trust, and power - 

to go deep under cover to fight and destroy the enemy organization threatening them.

...The story writes itself, doesn’t it?

So those are two possible interpretations:

1) Jack Morrison knew what Gabriel Reyes was planning and did not approve of it. 2) Jack Morrison did not know what Gabriel Reyes was planning, and once he found out, he still did not approve of it.

But then we come to the third possible interpretation:

3) Regardless of his awareness, Jack Morrison knew or eventually learned what Gabriel Reyes was planning, and he did approve of it.

Could this be plausible?

Given that we now know what Jack Morrison sounds like when he is actually angry, all of the interactions between Soldier: 76 and Reaper now sound like...

Mild banter, to be honest.

Soldier: 76: Aren't you supposed to be dead?

Reaper: Didn't take.

Soldier: 76: One of these days someone is gonna to put an end to you.

Reaper: I invite them to try.

Soldier: 76: Well. You sure take to this ‘bad guy’ thing easily, don't ya?

Reaper: And you sure know how to play ‘boy scout’.

These conversations don’t sound...angry or upset or even frustrated?  The second one is particularly weird now that we know that Jack knows Gabriel is virtually immortal, and the last one almost sounds like a joke, with Soldier even laughing a bit at one point.  

For two men trying to convince the world that they had a massive falling out and hate each other to the point of, uh, “trying” to kill each other (which they spectacularly fail at), they’re not doing a very good job.  

But again, notably absent is a remark that is remotely comparable to the intense emotion Soldier: 76 has in his new interaction with Moira.  His “threat” of “someone is gonna put an end to you” is actually pretty passive, and Reaper’s reply is equally as dry and “joking” - neither man says they’ll actually kill the other.

And of course, Soldier: 76 does not say anything like this:

Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch.  If I had known what [you] had been planning, I would never have allowed it.

To Reaper.

He never blames Gabriel directly for the fall of Overwatch at any point, in any source material.  He never says anything like “Gabriel Reyes destroyed Overwatch” or even “Gabriel Reyes was a disgrace to Overwatch.”  As I wrote above, he doesn’t even seem to get mad at Reaper in the present-day.

Compared to, McCree and Ana for example:

Reaper: Just like old times.

Ana: Right. Except for the part where you became a homicidal murderer.

Reaper: Guess you're going back on my list, Ana.

Ana: What happened to you, Gabriel?

Reaper: I taught you everything you know.

McCree: Not everythin'.

McCree: You weren't given those guns to toss 'em around like trash.

Reaper: I don't take lessons from you.

But there are two important things to keep in mind here:

1) Ana and McCree were not actually present for the explosion of the Swiss Base.  It is very likely neither of them know what Gabriel has been planning.  We know from Michael Chu that McCree has not encountered Reaper in the present day, but if they met, he would recognize Reaper as Gabriel.

2) Gabriel does not trust either of them to the same level or “depth of their relationship” as he does Jack.  Ana did not even appear in the “Retribution” comic, and McCree appeared only in the beginning and ending.  He also was unaware of Gabriel’s personal discussion about the mission with Jack, or Jack’s personal approval of it.

(And again, to be blunt, neither Ana nor McCree “directly motivate” Gabriel’s actions in “Retribution” the way Jack does.)

So, could Soldier: 76 approve of whatever Gabriel has been and is planning?

Yeah, I really think it’s possible.  Not a clue if it’s “more or less likely” than the other interpretations, but I think it’s definitely plausible.  Soldier: 76 acts and talks like “pre-fall” Gabriel Reyes did, and he - like Gabriel (and Reaper) - currently toes the line between “retributive justice” (“an eye for an eye”) and “renegade revenge.”  

Which means, if he does approve of Gabriel infiltrating Talon, then he’s lying to Moira.

...But I mean -

He is wearing a mask.

And we know how important mask symbolism is in Overwatch.

The fact that the two of them are “masquerading” as more “extreme” versions of the roles they have always played - the “hero” and the “villain” - 

Is very suspicious at this point.

Which finally brings me to Moira’s reply.

Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business...

...Now -

A number of people asked something along the lines of, “But isn’t she saying that he, Jack, benefited from turning a blind eye to Gabriel’s actions?” or “That it was convenient for Jack to ignore Gabriel’s actions because it either helped Overwatch in the long run, or because Gabriel later ‘took the blame’ for the problems?”

Which, I understand, conceptually, but personally, I feel like that...misses the mark.

The main reason is that - if that is what Moira is saying - then she still does not know how “deep” Gabriel’s relationship with Jack was (or possibly currently is).

That she is unaware that they had conversations like this in the past (and again, possibly still do in the present):

And if that is “The Point” of her reply - to show the audience that she’s still “buying” that Gabriel is “mad he took the blame” for Retribution - then I find it awkwardly written, and rather starkly impassive.  If Moira was actually “firing back” at Jack for “letting Gabriel take the blame for Retribution,” wouldn’t she...do it to the same intensity as these?

Winston: Overwatch had good reason to shut down your research! Moira: I shouldn’t be surprised at such a narrow opinion coming from a jumped-up ape.

---

Mercy: Describing your work as “unethical” would be a kindness. Moira: But the true question is whether or not you can deny my discoveries...(pause) ...No, I didn’t think so.

---

Moira: Well, I must never worry about my safety when the brave agents of Helix are with us. Pharah: Don’t be so sure about that.

Moira can be absolutely vicious when she’s mad - you can actually hear the snear in her tone of voice in the Winston interaction, and also hear the snarky, icy coldness in the Mercy one.  The Pharah interaction oozes sarcasm - like, even more than her new McCree one.

And let’s not forget the “unimpeachable” line.

So make no mistake - when Moira intends to fire back, she burns things down.

So her reaction to Jack Morrison - a man she likely has a personal bone to pick with for shutting down her old lab - vehemently calling her “a disgrace” and saying that he would’ve stopped “Reyes” if he could have...feels so calm.  

Like.  Unaffectedly so.  Almost eerily so.

And I don’t know if that’s her ploy or she simply doesn’t care enough to be bothered to get intense about it.

But it sounds and feels off to me.

When Moira believes she is in the right, or when she thinks something is going well for her, she gets unbelievably smug and savage about it.

Moira: I wouldn’t describe this as ‘light resistance’…quality intelligence we received. Genji: It makes no difference to me. Moira: …How droll.

McCree: Better to kill them now than wait for another surprise attack! Moira, to herself: …ha, ironic.

McCree: You’re awfully calm about all this. Moira: I take it all in my stride.

Gabriel: Enough art! Let’s get out of here. McCree: Never had the eye for it anyways. Moira, muttering: …philistines.

Soldier: 76 has revealed that he knows what she did during “Retribution”.  And in her McCree interactions, she’s honestly smug about it.

McCree: Always thought hiring you was a mistake. Moira: The best mistake one could ever make. 

But with Soldier: 76, not even...a tease.  Or a taunt.  Or a snide remark.

Just a calm, controlled:

Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business...

She sounds...almost thoughtful.  Contemplative.

Methodical.

In “A Clash of Kings” I speculated that Moira might be aware of Gabriel’s plan to bring down Talon.  At the time, I wrote that she might not even care, and - if pressured to pick a side - would pick Gabriel over Talon because her research is more important than her organization.  I still stand by the latter point -

But I will admit that I think the “might not care” part might have been...preemptive.

Because again, as I said in the audio post, I personally feel like Moira sounds almost suspicious of Soldier: 76 here.  Is she saying that it was convenient for Jack Morrison to “turn a blind eye” to Gabriel’s actions in Blackwatch?  Is she saying that he benefited from Gabriel doing “the real work” for Overwatch?

...It’s still off to me.

Because Overwatch fell anyways -

And Jack Morrison was literally scarred by the event.

So in the long run, how exactly was it “convenient” for Jack to ignore Gabriel’s actions - a perspective that we know is inherently incorrect because Jack actually knew a good deal about Blackwatch’s missions, and inherently incorrect again because Overwatch was destroyed anyways?

If Moira wants to say that Jack “reaped the rewards” of Gabriel’s work, there’s...a lot of other ways - a lot of smugger ways - she could say that.  And if that was “The Point” of the interaction, I personally think it would be more directly stated, considering how blunt and vicious her other interactions are when she gets mad.

To me, her tone implies that she thinks it is “still convenient” for Jack to continue “ignoring Gabriel’s business” - that, not only did Jack benefit from “turning a blind eye” then, but that he continues to benefit by “turning a blind eye” now.

Much like how Antonio’s monologue in “Retribution” was a very classic, “I’ve been expecting you, Mister Reyes Bond”, Moira here feels like she is throwing out another spy-genre trope line:

“It seems like it was convenient for you that things went this way...a little too convenient.”

...People always say not to “read too much into these lines,” or “it’s not that deep,” but I disagree.  It was a close reading and analysis of the “Masquerade” comic that really gave significant evidence towards the “Reaper is infiltrating Talon to take it done from the inside,” and that was nearly a full year before “Retribution” the comic came out.  It is a close and thorough look-through of Necropolis and Castillo that shows us what Sombra knows, and how she might be linking several characters together.

And it was a close synthesis and discussion of the lines of evidence in Retribution that indicated that Moira was the “double-agent” in Blackwatch.

And it is what the lead writer of Overwatch himself wants “you the player” to do:

“One of the things we really like doing with Overwatch is playing with perspective.  We utilize perspective when we analyze or when we tell stories about characters, what they’re thinking, what their goals are.  And we have a lot of unreliable narrators.  We want people to pay careful attention to what characters think about in particular situations.  We want them to use their judgment and their knowledge of a character’s thoughts to come up with their own ideas about the universe.”

(Michael Chu’s 2017 GDC talk)

Maybe this is a “cheap” argument, but I also think that downplaying Moira’s reaction here or writing it off as “she’s just saying Jack got all the pros while Gabriel took all the cons” is a bit of a disservice to the intelligence of her character, and the intelligence of Overwatch’s writing team.  They get only a few seconds to convey some really intense information (not just in this, but for example, the new Lúcio interactions, some of the Doomfist interactions, the Symmetra interactions, etc), and while I don’t expect every word to be “hand-picked” and scrutinized before it goes into a voice line or interaction, I do expect some sort of discussion about protraying character and development, different personality, reactions to new situations or information, tone and expression for the voice actors, and on and on.  

This interaction, as small and as “short” as it is, has to pass through several people before it “ends up” with the player - one of them being the voice actor or actress themselves, who has to provide the nuance and tone for the line - and I would bet that at least once or twice, alternate lines or word choices were brought up.  It’s part of the writing and storytelling process, especially one that involves actual voiced parts.

Moira “the character” was smart enough to play two sides against each other in Retribution, survive the mission, survive “the consequences,” and successfully bring down an organization she hated, as well as gain leverage over one of its major leaders and eventually “recruit” him into her new organization.

All while also being a genuis but unethical scientist on top of it.

I think it is very plausible for her to question Reaper’s “loyalty” to Talon (especially when we add in her new interaction with him), but she seems to think he’s either “committed” now, or still bound to it by her research.  So while she might be skeptical of it, she tolerates and accepts Reaper’s working relationship with Talon for now.  Even if she doesn’t fully believe his statements of “No, I’m totally on Talon’s side now, trust me,” Moira at least knows she has extra leverage over him as a failsafe.

However, I also think it’s plausible for Moira to be very skeptical of why Reaper and Soldier: 76 haven’t killed each other yet.  Why they both managed to walk away from the Swiss Base explosion alive.  Why there have been six to seven years since that with no “results” on Reaper’s part.

Why Jack Morrison is using a “Soldier ID number” that Gabriel Reyes would recognize and understand.

Why Jack Morrison is still alive after Reaper “trapped him” in Hakim’s compound.

Why Reaper tells Ana Amari that Jack “made him this thing” when Moira knows a decent part of Reaper’s post-fall condition is due to her own influence.

Why Jack Morrison seems to believe that his “approval” or “permission” for Gabriel Reyes to enact “what he had been planning” mattered to Gabriel at all.

I think Moira can figure out that there are vital pieces of information that she’s missing.  She can see how - against all odds - the situation is still very convenient for Jack.  She just isn’t entirely sure how.

I think this Soldier: 76-Moira interaction pairs well with her new Reaper interaction.

Moira: Your condition seems relatively stable. Reaper: No one’s accused me of that in a long time.

I think it is possible for Moira to skeptical of Reaper here, but I do also think it’s just as likely that she’s simply stating a fact, doctor-to-patient.  I’m not certain if the interpretation matters significantly.

Instead, I think this interaction is meant for “us the player” to realize that the thing Reaper “claims” he wants from Moira - the thing that is his “supposed” motivation for working with Talon:

Is “fixing” itself.  Or that whatever treatments Moira is giving him now are working.

And that “Reaper” could potentially be released from his “curse” soon-ish.

And if that is true, then why is Reaper still working with Talon?

If you believe infiltration theory, then yeah, the answer feels pretty obvious: Gabriel will eventually enact retribution on Talon and bring them down the way they did to Overwatch.

But if/when Moira realizes she’s steadily losing her extra leverage over him, what will she do?

Will she realize that she and Akande have just invited their own “retribution” into their castle?

Or will it be too late for them to stop him?

[anothergirlrecovering]

Lynn 67

Today was such a rough session but I mean that in a good way. I got there before her and she apologize. I was like when you don't have to apologize I get it, I'm your first session. She laughed and said that it was a case of can't find the keys and that she was like oh my God I'm going to have to cancel my session because I can't get a ride to work after you've already driven an hour and a half. I was like do they not have Uber here and she was like OK yes they do but by the time one would have gotten to me we would've already been halfway through your session. I was like true well I'm glad that you found your keys. We both sat down and she asked how I was doing and I said I'm OK how are you and she said good. I could tell that she's reading my body language which definitely said that I was anxious and she was like OK so how are you doing and I was like well I brought a list but I'll try to be quick so that we can get back into doing more real work. I told her about how my husband's job was not secure and then I went down in shame spiral about my friend Michelle and how today he found out that his job will renew the contract for one more year so that anxiety is not there but that I'm just feeling really overwhelmed and anxious because I was really hoping that he would be hired on this May which would mean that I could leave one of my jobs and do full-time private practice. I told her about how I had stayed up until 2 AM last night trying to do insurance billing only to wake up to an email that said it was all rejected because of an enrollment issue and she asked me who it was through and I said Blue Cross and she said that she's been asking her other coworkers about the new system and basically she was like I don't know it's going on but we all know that it's bad and I was like yeah I'm trying to figure that out now. She said it's really confusing for everyone and then I can call office ally and ask him to do like an hour walk through where they explain how to use their system. I said I didn't know that but that could be really helpful so I might try that. I emailed them so we will see what they say. I told her also about how it really bothers me about how anxious I was about the freaking monologue and how long it took me and how many hours I agonized over it and also about how I found that in 12th grade I was a producer for a little skin and also that I did a short play for chapel and how much it bothers me that I can't remember any of it and I knew I was repeating myself but I was like literally people joke about how crazy it is that I remember so many details of different random things and I can tell you so many details about different classes but drama is the only one that I really can't remember and how annoying and frustrating that is. Lynn pointing out that it's possible that drama was the one place I felt like I could be me and therefore it was a good memory which got clouded by all of the trauma taking place or that I was so anxious that I just couldn't remember it because I was too busy worrying about other things or that the trauma has taken it's place and once I clear some of the trauma then maybe some of those positive memories will come back. She asked if I had kind to those experiences and I was like yeah sometimes. I told her that I went with the monologue from waitress and that it's just so frustrating how much anxiety I do have. I told her that the vacation went OK for the most part and it was cold that really beautiful there. I told her that I had found the memories from drama class by looking at my old emails to Candace and that something that also stood out to me that was surprising was how many of those emails, which was like almost all of them included journal entries of me talking about my grandma and how hard that was and the interest back-and-forth of we feel hopeful she will get better and now things are getting worse again and now they're getting better and now I feel hopeful but now I don't and now she's staying with my aunt and now she's moving back with us and it was very chaotic and overwhelming and I think I've really minimized a lot of that as not being a huge deal but looking back at those journals I see how that really could've affected me as a teenager to constantly be so upset and overwhelmed and anxious about my grandma's health. And I mentioned that that was the grandma to the church had said that my panic attacks were a spiritual warfare and that if I would've prayed harder she could've lived. She was like that was the angry grandma right and I was like wait what? I was like I didn't have an angry grandma we both just kind of looked at each other awkwardly while smiling and she was like no you did and I was like what and she was like no it wasn't it like and I was like do you mean at the very end of her life when she got really sick and her personality changed? And she was like yeah I knew that I was thinking of something and I was like well yeah luckily she wasn't actually mean to me but yeah she did do a complete 180 of who she was. I explained how it was the type of thing where my grandma had a Trumatic childhood and then as an adult she didn't really do a great job and didn't really work much and slept around with different guys, one of them being the milkman who was the father of three of the kids and so my mom and her siblings grew up in poverty and constantly having to move homes and change schools and DCS would be called for them being dirty or wearing old clothes and so my mom kind of took on the mom role as a kid. Lynn pointed out that it makes sense then one my mom would be the way she is and hang onto the religious stuff so much and I was like yeah basically my grandma and my mom and two of her sisters kind of did a 180 changing once they found religion and they became what most people would consider stable. The other siblings pretty much have drug or alcohol problems and struggle to find jobs and kind of had the stereo typical trauma life's. She said that sounds like it's definitely something we need to work on and She asked me what I thought would be best to work on today and I was like well yes we definitely do need to work on the stuff with my grandma at some point but honestly I think some of the anxiety and self he feels more immediate simply because of the theater class and the fact that like yes I still need to do a monologue and I just wish that I wasn't so overwhelmingly anxious and self hating about all of it. She looked back in my chart and said that was what we were working on last time and she kind of went through and said we should try to focus directly on kind of what the real problem is here and kind of going back all the way to where we had initially gotten stuck with the perfectionism was with the positive believe I'm OK as I am. She asked me to grab the tappers and to go with that and see what about that phrase is still really bothering me. I explained that it honestly just still feels like there's something wrong with me and I noticed how as a teenager I went back and listen to one of the tapes that Michelle and I have recorded on and I remembered being so shocked because my little kid voice was really high-pitched and had great inflection and I was like what the heck so my voice has an always been monotone and depressive and it was almost like oh what the heck was I like a boy who hit puberty in their voice changed and then also that I was thinking about how my tongue looked weird and how I remember as a teenager looking into the mirror and being so ashamed of my tongue because it has a large crack down the middle and two cracks in the side and I was like you know how in the 90s everybody was kind of doing the whole tongue out for the mirror shots kind of deal but that I was really embarrassed by the fact that my tongue looks weird and I knew that there was something wrong with me and I had googled it but this was before google was huge and I didn't really find anything and how it wasn't until I did acupuncture that it got explain to me and how the acupuncturist was honestly really validating because he said that your tongue splits like that when you have really severe anxiety and panic for a long time and Lynn was like I didn't know that and I was like yeah I didn't either and she stuck her tongue out and was like do I have a line down my tongue and I was like now LOL but it's pale which could be related to allergies or she was like or the coffee that I just drink before coming and I was like yeah that too. She asked if the tongues looks like that from folding it in your mouth and I said no for whatever reason the tongue just naturally splits like that when your body is under so much anxiety and panic for so long and I explained out was really validating because acupuncturist was like honestly have never seen someone as young as you are to have such a big split like that normally I see this kind of split with all the war veterans with PTSD so you must've really had some severe anxiety as a kid and I was like yeah. Lynn said that was really interesting and to notice that and to go with my body and I explained how I felt anxious. I noticed how I have a really strong fighter flight kind of response and how even on vacation there was a point when our car was struggling in the snow and I completely panicked I had grab the door handle and was about to jump out but luckily my husband grabbed traction on the ground and he kind of laughed it off but that's that same kind of panic where I just run when I get that scared and that was how it felt as a kid with trying to get out. She had me notice what that was like and then I started to tear up thinking about how scary and overwhelming those panic attacks as a kid were and how I don't even know how to really describe it to do it justice but that I've had panic attacks as adults and they are absolutely nothing like the ones as a kid and maybe part of that is because as an adult I know what a panic attack is in as a kid I didn't know and so is just is completely overwhelming out of control response and she was like just notice what that would have been like for a little kid to not know what's happening. So I noticed and then I ended up down the shame spiral of how I had those panic attacks that were really severe and would last like 30 minutes or so and that happened for like the first month and a half of my brother getting sick but that after that I would dissociate and so it made me think of like what if my mom was right maybe I should've just communicated and maybe it was my fault and maybe no one at church really knew how badly I needed help because my panic attacks were any 30 minute panic attack explosion anymore they were more of like a few minutes of a panic attack and then complete dissociation. She asked me how old I was and I said six and she said to notice that whole little six-year-old is and I noticed Beth was like I really can't remember what would've happened after the dissociation part so I don't know how I would've responded or acted. She asked me why people dissociate and I said usually because they get flooded and can't handle the present and she said yes to notice that that it was a protective mechanism. And then I started to tear up more and I said well that's a shitty protective mechanism because if anything it just meant that my family and church all thought that I was having this few minute meltdown and then was perfectly fine but I clearly was not fine and so again it just feels like it was my fault for not speaking up. She told me to notice again I was only six and to get in touch with my body and I noticed I felt really anxious and then all of a sudden I just started like really crying, like multiple tears streaming down my face kind of crying and she did the toppers for a long time I just cried and I explained how I don't know why but I'm just always so scared of everything and how even when we went skiing on location I was so scared on the ski lift and my has been was pointing out all the little kids you could do it and I took for panel also is fine but I just always been so terrified of everything and I had thought about my grandma when she died and how scary it was that she passed out and the thud on the floor and I had a panic attack at the airport A few months ago because somebody passed out and I just freaked out and there was the sudden she told me to just noticed that fear and where I feel in my body and I just kept crying and feeling anxious and sad and I explain how it's just not fair that you can't predict and control anything in life and I know that's just life then I hate it and I want to be able to control everything and it feels not fair that I can't guarantee safety and I don't know why am so anxious about my safety and I think that's why I'm such a workaholic is because you never know when it's going to be gone or where you're going to need it and it just makes me feel so overwhelmed and that's probably why my husband's job potential he being lost stressed me out so much and I don't know if safety is just so huge for me and I can't guarantee it and that really bothers me. Eventually the tears kind of slow down and I started to feel anxious but not terrified and crying anymore. I noticed how I have really loves going to church and hardly felt sad because I don't know that I loved it for the right reasons but that I really loved being able to see my cousins and also the fact that there was so much good food that I wasn't otherwise allowed to have there and I notice how there was this craft we did that was probably a cheesy walking with Jesus wall art thing but that I have been really really proud of the sneaker that I had designed and it hung up on the wall for years even after we left the church and how there was a kid Adam who had severe cognitive disabilities and this was before autism was really a diagnosis and I don't know what he had but lots of neurological issues and I remember just being so anxious and terrified of him because he was so I'm predictable and I just realized how unpredictability scares me so much. She had me get back into my body and notice what I was experiencing when I think about that for-year-old experiencing so much fear around my grandma passing out and also said that a lot of this is sounding like I'm intellectualizing and this is my adult self coming out to make sense of it and she wanted me to get back into that little kid memory and I noticed that I feel really anxious and it's the same kind of anxiety that experience now where your heart starts racing and it's just this overwhelming feeling and I explained how like even on the car ride here I thought about the fact that I was like what if Lynn tells me to do my monologue for her and I was like I would literally start crying and say no like I can't do it and it's that same just heart racing overwhelming anxious feeling, which Lynn kind of laughed about me thinking about her asking me to do the monologue but she asked me to notice that for your old fear that that's where that fear started and to notice what I would do to comfort that child now. I started to tear up again I sent really hard to separate myself out from any other kid what I would do and she was like just try and I was like I mean I guess that I would just hug them and try to explain that the doctor is going to take care of it and it's OK to feel scared and she was like OK just noticed that and I noticed that my dad had been freaking out because it was his mom and my mom is just kind of freaking out and I realize that my parents probably just overlooked me completely because they were freaking out so much and it was the day of my brother's first birthday which is usually a really big deal and we were having a big party at our house and we were supposed to be setting everything up and everybody was overwhelmed and my grandma kept telling my dad at the hospital that she was so sorry for ruining his birthday party and I think that it was kind of natural that everyone forgot about me in that moment. She told me to notice that I've been forgotten and then I started to cry again and I was like or maybe they didn't forget me and they intentionally fucking didn't tell me because that's their track record after that. I explained how when my mom got sick when I was in high school nobody fucking told me anything and it was just this big mom is sick and nobody knows what's wrong and then with my grandma nobody would tell me anything in high school then either and then even now with my grandpa's wife who has Alzheimer's, my mom didn't tell me how bad it was getting and I literally found out from my brother who texted me and asked if I had known how bad it had gotten and of course at this point I'm crying and I'm like and I maybe there wasn't anything that I could've done but maybe I would've wanted to call her one last time or write her a card or ask for her matzoh ball soup recipe or something since she's gone or at least her mind is and maybe I would've gotten some closure but I didn't get that because they didn't give me that opportunity and it just doesn't feel fair. She asked me about my mom being sick and what the issue was and I was like honestly I really don't know because what happened was we were at my grandpa's apartment for like Rosh Hashanah or something and there was a scale in the bathroom and naturally every single one of my family members stepped on it and it was accurate for everyone except my mom and for my mom at show that she had lost 15 pounds and she tried to say that the scale must of been broken and that was when we knew something was wrong because that was a significant amount of weight loss. I explained that nobody really talk to me but that there was a time when I was coming home from volleyball practice and I member that I had a really bad day and my cocaptain Christie had been screaming at me for no reason and embarrassed me because she was mad about her stupid boyfriend and I was so upset and I got in the car and remember my dad saying we don't need you to cause trouble just be quiet and go to your room and don't start anything mom sick and that was kind of it where it was more of like don't burden us with your shit just be quiet and keep to yourself and I didn't really know what was going on and I member being really scared that she would have cancer or something but nobody talk to me about it so I never knew. At this point I know my mom says that they did a bunch of tests and things but that the holistic medicine approach said that it was a bad response to antibiotics and that it somehow destroyed her gut flora and that was what happened but I don't really know because with Western medicine they never really found an answer or she never told me anything. I feel like I ended up having another gold tooth moment we're Lynn was like so when you think back on it now your mom had a significant amount of weight loss and knowing how rigid she is and all of her food issues do you think that there's any chance that she had an eating disorder and was losing weight for those reasons and I was like well shit I hadn't really thought of that but I suppose it's possible. She pointed out that it could've easily been something that they were stressing about that I didn't even know anything about our relationship issues with her and my dad or something that could've caused her to lose weight from stress and I was like I really don't know I just know that I kind of was given the sense that I needed to be quiet and not cause more problems. When pointed out that she thinks that I was a very intuitive kid in that I was aware of other peoples emotions and fed off of that. She asked if I've ever worked with an anxious kid who didn't have an anxious parent and I was like I'm not sure and then I realize there was the one really smart kid and I was like crying and I don't know his biological parents but the grandparents who took care of them we're not anxious at all but this came together was super super smart and always tried to intellectualize everything and she was like man that sounds familiar and I was like yeah I guess so I just always tried to make sense of everything and she was like well sure you're really smart kid and I think you were really into it even understand a lot but didn't have the context to really make sense of it and so you just ended up sort of in that ripple effect of dealing with all the anxiety and not really being able to explain anything or understand what was going on. I said that definitely made sense and I wasn't sure. She said she thinks that I definitely have an over tendency to intellectualize and I was like LOL me? She said yeah and that's why we need to keep going back to the bottom but she said that seems like we made some really good progress today and I was like yeah well thank you for letting me cry with you and shoes like of course good work we will keep at it for next time. I paid her and scheduled for next time, and asked her if she had seen the Kristen Bell Therapist a video yet. She said no and asked if it was funny and I was like yeah I think you'll really appreciate it. She laughed and said she would definitely love to see yet because we always need a good joke about our field so I told her that I would email it to her. I told her that it's a parity of a client who really likes her therapist but her therapist says she's going on vacation for two weeks and Lynn laughed and was like oh that's me and I was like exactly I thought about how you are always taking your non-vacations. I asked her if she had taken another non-vacation while I was away and she said yes she had gone to visit her daughter in New York because she was able to get really cheap tickets for 100 bucks and it was just like a weekend and her daughter wanted her to come visit to go see a certain show and it's her birthday weekend since you can't come home for her birthday Lynn figured she would go spend it with her there. Lynn said that she keeps up with like all of the different travel watch websites and things and is constantly scanning for cheap flights and that she supposed to go back to New York in a few weeks but she was like yeah I might bump it back I don't know yet but Lynn laughed and was like I get to be a little bit impulsive when I see cheap flights and then I just go for it. I laughed and I was like well that's nice and I asked her about allegiant Airlines no longer flying at that airport and she Said she thinks it's supposed to resume in June but that if you stay up-to-date with all of the different travel websites you can get almost as cheap flights in general and I was like damn I don't really know how you do that but that's awesome. She said you just have to keep up with them and I was like yeah maybe when I have more time. She told me to take care and I said thank you and goodbye and went into the waiting room and realized I had left my phone on her couch. So then I frantically searched my purse for my phone and checked my pockets awkwardly while her next client stared at me so then I started making small talk with this other client and said I think I left my phone on her couch and then we ended up having a nice little conversation about how this lady has three kids and all the 17 is what's making her forgetful and she gets in and eventually Lynn came out and I was like hey I think I left my phone on your couch and she looked over and was like yeah you did so she went to grab it and I jokingly was like no worries I just made friends with your next client and she laughed and said good see you next week and I headed out.

[thoughtsfeelingsjustblah]

1/30 .... Adding to my previous, as I said I would.

I wish I had been able to see a counselor, maybe have had an evaluation, when I was a child. I think my Mom was afraid they would remove me from the home if I talked too much or about the wrong things. But, they could have gotten me on the right meds. They could have made me realize that what I was feeling was “ok”, and normal, given the circumstances.

My Mom and brothers made me feel like my feelings were wrong, misplaced, absurd, unwarranted. They made me feel like I didn’t matter, and I was wrong/a bad child to have emotions. If I talked to one of them about another of them, they would get defensive and dismiss my feelings. Ok, in example... If my Mom would be going on and on about her delusions.. Or, pushing me away, or refusing to say “I love you” back to me.. I would sometimes talk to my brother about it, and most of the time he would get angry/defensive toward me. And remember, I was a young child. A young, confused and insecure child. I  need reassurance, I needed to know that what I felt was normal. Instead, I was treated like i’m being ridiculous, difficult and annoying.

My brother almost always sided with and defended our Mom. Which was because she babied and spoiled him his entire life. He never did anything wrong in her eyes. I wonder if she regretted that in the end, when she was on her death bed, wanting him by her side and he would sneak out to his car to drink and pass out, getting cranky with her when she would beg him to come back in the room with her. She would call me at home in the middle of the night(she didn’t seem to want me to be with her, only him.....I would go see her, though, still) crying, upset that Neil wasn’t there, and I would be the one to talk to her, calm her down, and assure her that I would find him and he would be right back, then call to wake him up and have him get mad at me AND her.

I rarely talked to my oldest brother about anything. He usually responded about the same, and as real shot with me. He didn’t have time to talk to me (because God knows he was so busy with the job he didn’t have, that kind of thing) and my emotions annoyed him, as he would come right out and tell me. Any time I showed emotions, cried, he would get mad at me and tell me to get over my “crying jag”. So, I didn’t talk to him about much of anything. He didn’t have any real interest in being the big brother until my friend came along later, as you may have read about in a previous blog. And even then, his interest in being a big brother wasn’t really about that at all, it was to get close to my friend. Sick.

I had no support system. My Dad wouldn’t really talk to me about serious issues, I feel that he wouldn’t discuss big issues/adult issues with me because I was a child, and it’s something you just shouldn’t do. Kids should only worry about being kids. As a child, I didn’t understand that, though. I was used to my Mom talking about very serious, very adult topics around me and even to me. I thought it was normal.

I had noone. Counseling would have helped me so much. But, she/they didn’t want me to talk to anyone. I had a serious conversation with a girl at school, and she told me about abuse at home. When I confided in my Mom about it, she flipped, angry at me.. She kept asking me WHAT I told this girl for her to feel comfortable telling me something so serious. She lectured me for days, telling me that “we don’t live in a glass house” - meaning what goes on within the home isn’t anyone else’s business. She said that often, until I began to hate the phrase. Anyway, talking to people got me in trouble. And, as I think back, when I would get close to a friend, she would end my friendship with the friend, or at very least, would try. She usually succeeded. I was kid, what choice did I have?

I wonder if CPS would have removed me from the home, if I had opened up to a counselor about me home life. I wonder how different my life would have turned out.

I mentioned, above, that my Mom would refuse to say “I love you”, often times. She withheld affection, most of the time. She wasn’t an affectionate person anyway, even with my Dad. He tried, but she wouldn’t have it. By the time I was 9 or 10, she decided they would have separate beds. She once told me that she didn’t feel capable of loving anyone. I guess that explain a LOT.

I remember when I was little, I would try to hug her, an she would push me away. I would say “I love you”, and rarely hear it back. There were times I would get insecure about her not returning and “I love you” and I would ask her if she loved me. Her answer would depend on her mood. Good mood = “Stop being silly”, or “come on now, not this again”. Bad mood = “no”, “how can I love you when you behave like this”, “not when you act like this”.

I heard so many hurtful things from her over the years. She told me she wished I had never been born, that I caused so much trouble for her, I wasn’t the daughter she dreamed of having, something was wrong with me, she hated me, she regretted being a mother (this one wasn’t even said out of anger), she regretted marrying my dad, her life was better before me. Most of these things she would say when she was mad at me or when she was in one of her strange moods. I would get SO insecure when she was in her moods, and I would try to make her happy, tell her I loved her, try to get her to tell me she loves me, and it would somehow trigger her to take her anger out on me.

Even in my teens and adulthood, she made hurtful remarks and avoided saying I love you, didn’t want me to touch her like 90% of the time. When I would talk to her on the phone, I would usually tell her I loved her before hanging up, she would either say ok and hang up or just hang up. There were a couple times she said it back, but not often. Then, I moved out at 16. A few years later she informed me that I am “no longer part of the immediate family” because I moved out. She didn’t even say that out of anger. Another time, I was 19 or so, and we were watching a movie. First, I have very small breasts. Have to share that info for this to make sense. Anyway, the woman in the movie had more than I have. So my Mom says to me, “look at that, she has no breasts, how can any man want her?”. I know that was her way of cutting me down. She made remarks about weight, too. When I was 10 and started to gain quite a bit of weight, she told me I would never get married if I don’t lose weight, no man wants a fat girl. I clearly remember informing her that if that’s the way it is I will not get married because a boy isn’t going to tell me how I should be. (I like that attitude I had back then, still have it, but at that age it’s funny lol) My brothers didn’t help, we would be watching tv and they would start talking about the women on tv, and they would insist these really thin women had weight on them. It made me feel huge.

In my teens, my Mom continued with the cutting me down. A relative told me that she would edit my photos to make me look thinner before sharing them, ashamed of me. She would compare me to relatives and other women, telling me what a nice “figure” the had, how pretty they are, then say something about my weight. Then, I had a nice sports car at 16. I also had a lot of boys calling the house to talk to me, and interested in me. My Mom told me that they aren’t interested in me, they just want my car. I stopped driving it for a while, and drove my late Dad’s little Mazda for a while to test her theory. I was still getting boy’s attention, and felt better. Her words cut me like a knife. She would make comments about my clothes (I liked long skirts, she would tell me to wear short skirts....which was weird), tell me i’m too fat for my clothes. That I needed to wear long shirts, cover my big butt. I hated by butt for the longest time. This was after losing 100 pounds. (had an eating disorder, no surprise, right?) She always compared me to other females, cousins, friends.. Whether it be about looks, education, personality, intelligence.....they were always superior, I was always lacking. I think most people would have been resentful toward the person they are being compared to. That may have been her goal. I was never resentful, it wasn’t their fault. I resented her, not them. I don’t think I ever did anything right in my Mother’s eyes. Because of boy’s calling me, she would accuse that I was sleeping with a bunch of guys. She would tell me, “if you’re going to sleep around at least charge for it, at least whores get paid”. She thought so little of me. SO little of me.

Then, a few years before she passed away, my brother called me late one night and said “Get down here, I think this is it” - referring to my Mother being about to pass away. I rushed to my Mom’s side in tears. She was out out it, she had hyponatremia (electrolyte imbalance). Her reaction to my being there was shocking. I went to ask her if she was ok, and she yelled for me to get away from her, I am a horrible daughter, she hated me, to stay away. So much anger, it was completely unexpected and heart shattering.

She broke my spirit so many times in my life, but I somehow managed to get back up. I am still damaged. I will always have the emotional scars. I will always wonder what I did, why she seemed to hate me so much. Why I was never good enough.

I wish I knew what it was like to have a normal childhood. A close, loving, supportive family. To have routine, stability and consistency. To feel unconditionally loved. To feel secure. I admire families like that. If I ever have a child, I would never let them feel the way I felt. Until this custody issue we are having now, I/we were providing a loving, stable home for his daughter. The home life I would have loved to have had. She was our world, everything we did was planned with her in mind. Enough about that, though.

I wonder where I would be right now, how I would have turned out, if I had a different home environment.