Wind up skirts
TIN YEARS OF TROLLX!!!
2011.03.31 06:09 sodypop TIN YEARS OF TROLLX!!!
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2016.04.29 23:04 ExperimentalFailures Wind-up gifs
2013.09.23 07:40 ThederpiestOne Waking up to Wind
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2024.05.14 03:47 CheckUrCrawlspaces Growing up, my mother forbade me from ever talking about my little brother outside the house. 50 years later, they're both dead, and I'm ready to talk
The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.
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Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.
2024.05.13 21:01 haystacs SELLING ITEMS !! (negotiable, nyp)
< HEELS >
mon cheri - 35k
shadow empress - 45k
snuggly reindeer slippers - 1k
cherry blossom sandals - 8k
summer fantasy - 40k
< SKIRTS >
north pole - 1.5k
cherry blossom - 10k
< ACCESSORIES >
opposites attract headphones - 8k
steampunk wings - 4.5k
crisp air puffy jacket - 6k
midnight's strike popstar bodice - 3k
summer fantasy bodice - 18k
american flag - 4k
canadian flag - 4k
HALLOWEEN bat tophat - 500
supernatural hoop earrings - 500
glowing pumpkin - 500
vampire's heir - 500
nocturnal kitty ears - 42k
EASTER easter egg boppers - 500
bunny bonnet headband - 500
spring scramble earrings - 500
easter egg top hat - 500
baby chick backpack - 500
CHRISTMAS winter snowglobe - 600
polar bear beret cap - 600
sparkly christmas bells earrings - 600
father christmas' present bag - 600
glittering noel bows - 600
merry sparkly dress - 800
flower vines arm beauty - 600
gone with the wind bow headband - 600
light up ornament necklace - 600
sparkly candy cane ears - 600
reindeer crossbody - 600
DEWDROP SHOWERS rainbow armlets - 200
bouquet of clovers - 200
mix matched striped socks - 300
exquisite emerald earrings - 250
rainbow diamond earrings - 200
four leaf clover ears - 200
chocolate luck coin - 200
leprechaun belt - 200
ruffle top hat - 200
submitted by haystacs to RoyaleHighTrading [link] [comments]
mon cheri - 35k
shadow empress - 45k
snuggly reindeer slippers - 1k
cherry blossom sandals - 8k
summer fantasy - 40k
< SKIRTS >
north pole - 1.5k
cherry blossom - 10k
< ACCESSORIES >
opposites attract headphones - 8k
steampunk wings - 4.5k
crisp air puffy jacket - 6k
midnight's strike popstar bodice - 3k
summer fantasy bodice - 18k
american flag - 4k
canadian flag - 4k
HALLOWEEN bat tophat - 500
supernatural hoop earrings - 500
glowing pumpkin - 500
vampire's heir - 500
nocturnal kitty ears - 42k
EASTER easter egg boppers - 500
bunny bonnet headband - 500
spring scramble earrings - 500
easter egg top hat - 500
baby chick backpack - 500
CHRISTMAS winter snowglobe - 600
polar bear beret cap - 600
sparkly christmas bells earrings - 600
father christmas' present bag - 600
glittering noel bows - 600
merry sparkly dress - 800
flower vines arm beauty - 600
gone with the wind bow headband - 600
light up ornament necklace - 600
sparkly candy cane ears - 600
reindeer crossbody - 600
DEWDROP SHOWERS rainbow armlets - 200
bouquet of clovers - 200
mix matched striped socks - 300
exquisite emerald earrings - 250
rainbow diamond earrings - 200
four leaf clover ears - 200
chocolate luck coin - 200
leprechaun belt - 200
ruffle top hat - 200
2024.05.13 09:01 EscapingKid Patch Notes - Update 29.2
 | Original Post (pubg.com) submitted by EscapingKid to PUBGConsole [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/5nt7qd8p650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=9934ae3506f4280dbc5fb67df9c65ba76936e541 29.2 HighlightsPUBG Patch Report #29.2 on YouTubeLive Maintenance Schedule※ The times shown below are subject to change.
Map Service※ Console players can anticipate the next rotation every Thursday at 7 AM UTC.Schedulehttps://preview.redd.it/1bsklrrp650d1.png?width=562&format=png&auto=webp&s=91ddce08aea13b342de0bc2b03dd0463fbd89205Live Server - Featured Map
Live Server - Normal MatchRandom Map Regions - NA, EU, RU, OC, SA & Consolehttps://preview.redd.it/scbnhttt650d1.png?width=666&format=png&auto=webp&s=f98b87eb5549e1d658584583e4c661f5636a63ab※ Rotations featuring Deston will have a 20% probability for each map. For Weeks 2 and 4, fixed and favored maps will each have a 22% probability and etc. maps will be 11% each. Live Server - Ranked
World: Erangel Classic※ Erangel Classic is available in Normal Match as a featured map and is also supported in Custom Match.※ Erangel Classic preserves the essence of the earlier version of Erangel, its distinctive appearance and atmosphere, all while delivering the enjoyable gameplay experiences that players have grown accustomed to. Service Period (UTC)Normal Match (Featured Map)
Custom Match
Detailshttps://preview.redd.it/d6k8yghv650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=887aad6ec1609bc13a74b3297d38e42b98a2fa1f
GunplayWhile not identical to the old recoil, Erangel Classic's reduced recoil will enable players to relive the nostalgia of the old Erangel map. However, this adjustment excludes certain firearms such as SRs, Handguns, and the Crossbow.
Tommy Gunhttps://preview.redd.it/6f2ero1w650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=343a3008bb65c923d2e900b3e1d184842249c41d
ARs
SMGs
DMRs
LMGs (DP-28, M249, MG3)
Shotguns
UIhttps://preview.redd.it/lo1biziw650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=0f656354b0721347ab61e1d6c82cf4a65e8c4582https://preview.redd.it/89qyl3vw650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=8ae59c4a17ac807fd17e80bd3182335aef2425a9
Spawnhttps://preview.redd.it/jpgbnq8x650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=e9c64049d4d0806d58d9d1f7ce6e9613d5ba4318
World: Rondo※ The following features are available only in Rondo.New Item: Zipline Gunhttps://preview.redd.it/cgmsrxlx650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=1cf710bdb86a39a6186f1d8932205baedc5f77e4Meet the Zipline Gun, a zippy new travel tool that lets you navigate Rondo in a whole new way.
In-Game ChallengesTo make teamwork easier, we're improving In-game Challenges based on player feedback.https://preview.redd.it/vkurm56y650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=b4c26a25abcd646564fc495eb32db1acaa775614
World Misc.
New Feature: Win Streak ShowdownIntroducing Win Streak Showdown, where premade teams compete in Normal Match for achievements beyond the Chicken Dinner.https://preview.redd.it/91ragzly650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=6035b0e2043c6df807b429970982625846777912 How to Participate
Rules
Rewards
Arcade※ The following updates apply to Custom Match as well.Team Deathmatchhttps://preview.redd.it/x8u90z8z650d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=bb91d6ff386740aa2c8309b112fed612be4fa5d6
Intense Battle Royale
QoLGroup EmoteThe Team Emote feature has been renamed to Group Emote and now offers broader interaction possibilities. Enjoy emotes with even more players!https://preview.redd.it/rbqybo52750d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=d0d20c6cf448388ceb5366637b3b2ba85c6780d2
Survivor Passhttps://preview.redd.it/849af8k2750d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=5c40e734910cc713013f4c5cd9b2a0cadeae8afdA new Survivor Pass: Off the Grid is prepared for the 29.2 update. Read more details in the May Store Update announcement! WorkshopNew item sets have been added to the Hunter's Chest and Archivist's Chest.https://preview.redd.it/j687hj54750d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=22c0e78fcb0df210c160cc22ed971c574a21135f
UX/UI
Performance
Bug FixesGameplay
World
UX/UI
Items & Skins※ Clipping issue: Graphics that are shown outside the visible part of an image/object.
|
2024.05.13 08:45 EscapingKid Patch Notes - Update 29.2
| | Original Post (pubg.com) submitted by EscapingKid to PUBATTLEGROUNDS [link] [comments] 29.2 HighlightsPUBG Patch Report #29.2 on YouTubeLive Maintenance Schedule※ The times shown below are subject to change.
Map Service※ PC players can anticipate the next rotation every Wednesday at 2 AM UTC, while Console players can expect the same every Thursday at 7 AM UTC.ScheduleLive Server - Featured Map
Live Server - Normal MatchMap Select Regions (AS, SEA)Map Select Regions - KJP, KAKAORandom Map Regions - NA, EU, RU, OC, SA & Console※ Rotations featuring Deston will have a 20% probability for each map. For Weeks 2 and 4, fixed and favored maps will each have a 22% probability and etc. maps will be 11% each.Live Server - Ranked
World: Erangel Classic※ Erangel Classic is available in Normal Match as a featured map and is also supported in Custom Match.※ Erangel Classic preserves the essence of the earlier version of Erangel, its distinctive appearance and atmosphere, all while delivering the enjoyable gameplay experiences that players have grown accustomed to. Service Period (UTC)Normal Match (Featured Map)
Custom Match
Details
GunplayWhile not identical to the old recoil, Erangel Classic's reduced recoil will enable players to relive the nostalgia of the old Erangel map. However, this adjustment excludes certain firearms such as SRs, Handguns, and the Crossbow.
Tommy Gun
ARs
SMGs
DMRs
LMGs (DP-28, M249, MG3)
Shotguns
UIhttps://preview.redd.it/gmusqti1450d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=99df16c7166303624e6c632376dff84da6752ed6
Spawn
World: Rondo※ The following features are available only in Rondo.New Item: Zipline GunMeet the Zipline Gun, a zippy new travel tool that lets you navigate Rondo in a whole new way.
In-Game ChallengesTo make teamwork easier, we're improving In-game Challenges based on player feedback.
World Misc.
New Feature: Win Streak ShowdownIntroducing Win Streak Showdown, where premade teams compete in Normal Match for achievements beyond the Chicken Dinner.How to Participate
Rules
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2024.05.11 16:59 natedj30 Strange request
 | So, growing up in the 90s in TSCC as a little gay boy with older sisters, I thought this was a beautiful necklace. I mean, the wind in her hair and the folds of that skirt! I cant even! Lol. I always secretly wanted one, and turns out, I still kinda do. Do any of you have one laying around somewhere that you're willing to part with? submitted by natedj30 to exmormon [link] [comments] |
2024.05.11 13:56 nulll_ DEADCOAST Book 1: "HEAT and the Grizzly Reds" - Intro / Chapter 1 - 15-20 Min Read -- Dystopian Future -- Science Fiction.
NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Hello Hello! I am a first-time writer embarking on my first dumpster fire; input is most welcome. I'm not the best self-editor, so get your hiking boots on. It's rough out there. Whenever I read it, I find or create more errors (:
OPTIONAL READS: For the Retro Computer or Programming Enthusiast OR if you are open to other formats of story telling. I tried to combine my love for programming as an UNDERSTANDABLE way to tell a story through a Visual Experience in the Command Line Interface;
A Stand-Alone VISUAL ASCII 'Programming Terminal' Story Prologue. Follow through(Screen Shots of my Command Line Interface) the UNE-EYE Observational Satellite Terminal as Kable extracts Classified Data about his Beloved Military Unit, THE HUMMINGBIRDS, a flying exoskeleton unit. This includes the origin story of a Technology Tree in Book 1.
The story unfolds with the chilling invasion of Vancouver, marking a turning point as DAGGR makes its ambitions clear, culminating in the assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. This act of aggression leaves the country reeling, exposing vulnerabilities and igniting a global reaction.
The UNE-EYE satellite is central to the international response, a significant narrative element representing the world's most advanced orbital tracking system. Once decommissioned in favour of privacy, the Dutch reactivated the satellite as a strategic move to monitor DAGGR's movements and coordinate a unified international effort against the aggressors. This revival of UNE-EYE symbolizes a crucial turning point, highlighting the global stakes and the interconnectedness of nations in the face of a common enemy.
As Canada grapples with its plight, the DAMU (Deserted American Military Units) rise in solidarity, breaching borders to fight alongside their Canadian counterparts. This act of defiance is mirrored by international forces, including the Netherlands and Ukraine, each bringing their unique strengths to the coalition, underscored by the strategic oversight provided by the UNE-EYE satellite.
Amidst the geopolitical chaos, a man who had all but given up, a boxer on the ropes, emerges from Vancouver's Gastown. Known as HEAT, this leader of the Grizzly Reds becomes a symbol of resistance and hope. HEAT's story, and that of the Grizzly Reds, is one of resilience, rallying not only Canadians but also global citizens to stand against DAGGR's tyranny.
" Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" is a compelling narrative of survival, alliance, and resistance. It deftly weaves together elements of advanced technology, international politics, and the indomitable human spirit. The inclusion of the UNE-EYE satellite serves as a testament to the complexities of modern warfare and the critical role of global surveillance and coordination in maintaining security and freedom. But something else stirs amongst it. The UNE still shrouds its use, albeit assuring it is for record-keeping purposes- there is no way to be sure. Join HEAT and the Grizzly Reds as they navigate the challenges of Time, War, Science and liberating their fellow man in Vancouver. THE GRIZZLIES NEED YOU, in this action-packed, emotional saga, speaks to the resilience and camaraderie inherent in the human condition.
CHAPTER 1 - The Blood Spattered Maples
ILLUSTRATED VERSION -> HERE <-
The early morning sun cast a serene glow over Vancouver, its golden rays gently coaxing the city from its slumber. The harbour lay still, bathed in a tranquil blend of crimson and amber, defiantly calm as if aware of the day's latent potential for tumult. The awakening streets, pulsating with the vibrant beat of daily enterprise, transformed into bustling arteries of life.
Amidst this urban renaissance, Ryan stood by his apartment window, one eye still tinged a fading shade of deep lavender from last night's ordeals. He absorbed the duality of the world outside – a peaceful façade masking an undercurrent of chaos, much like his own existence. The apartment, a silent guardian of his life's chapters, was awash with tangible memories; some stood proudly like trophies, and others lingered like indelible scars.
"Eugh, need to sort out this money mess," Ryan muttered, his voice a gravelly mix of resolve and weariness. He gingerly touched the bruise beneath his eye, a stark reminder of the previous night's fight. He wasn't just a boxer but a living, breathing paradox. His undefeated record of 12-0 was more than a tally of victories; it was a map of a life spent dancing in and out of shadows. At 17, he was a beacon of hope for Canadian Olympic Futures. Now, at 33, he was a spotlight in his subconscious, illuminating the relentless passage of time and a road riddled with 'what ifs.' Eleven of those wins were echoes from a past steeped in the sweat and blood of the ring before life's currents swept him into the city's gritty underbelly. There, he became an enforcer, not out of choice but a necessity, bound by ties, not of blood but of unbreakable bonds forged in adversity. Stepping back into the ring at 33, Ryan wasn't chasing glory; he was hunting redemption, a chance to rewrite a narrative that had veered off course.
Today's boxing was far from what he once knew; it had transformed into a digital spectacle, a charade he refused to partake in. The sport now paraded fighters adorned with loud chains and face tattoos, pretending to live a life of crime they don't. Vile symbols of fame he doesn't wish for. Ryan had always skirted the fringes of the spotlight, respecting the sport but despising what it had become - a glorified masquerade that he believed led the youth astray. He stared out at the awakening city, contemplating his place in this ever-changing world, just as the first notes of a familiar yet unwelcome voice crackled from the vintage radio on his shelf.
"Ah, jimmy2piece," he scoffed, the name leaving a bitter taste. The vintage radio crackled on, announcing the dazzling exploits of the heavyweight boxing champion, an embodiment of everything Ryan detested about the sport's current state. Ryan's hand lingered over the old radio, a relic amidst the bountiful thrift and trinket that abundantly filled his apartment. The announcer's voice, overly flamboyant in its praise of 'jimmy2piece,' clashed with the morning's tranquillity, grating against Ryan's every nerve. With a flick brimming with contempt, he silenced the intrusive chatter. The ensuing silence was a stark reminder of his path's divergence from the once-noble art of boxing to a life mired in moral ambiguity.
"Enough of this nonsense," he muttered, the disdain in his voice mirroring the snarl on his lips as he spun the dial back to silence.
*Click*
Ryan was a man of contemplation; opening his balcony door, he let the morning breeze mingle with the memories that haunted him daily. These reflections were a tormenting ritual, no matter the joys and love surrounding him. His only respite was constant movement – hobbies, work, art – anything to fend off the sharp claws of the past that threatened to shred the remnants of his self-respect. He had lost ten years to choices and actions that replayed in his mind relentlessly every single day.
"This 'jimmy2shoes' or whatever...pal throws pillows, a poser pretending he's about that gang life; I can see it in his eyes, he's not a killer," he grumbled, gazing out at the awakening city. This day promised a respite from his underground fights – at least for a while. His recent backstreet brawls, a far cry from the glory of the boxing ring, were what paid the bills now. "At least I've bought myself three more months..."
Leaning on the railing of his miniature balcony, Ryan cradled a cup of steaming coffee, his gaze drifting over the streets below. At this moment, the chaos of his life seemed distant, replaced by a transient calm. Despite his bruised, rough presentation, a certain peace enveloped him, a rare stillness that belied the storm of his existence. His thoughts meandered through the serene hum of the city and the gentle brush of the ocean breeze. The skyscape, with clouds dancing to the ocean's rhythm, offered a brief escape from his turbulent past.
Memories of Robin, his mentor and friend, floated into his consciousness. Robin's untimely death in Dubai was a wound that never healed. The sacrifices he had made to keep Robin safe, only to be absent on the fateful trip that claimed his friend's life, weighed heavily on him. "Why did it have to be you, Robin?" he whispered to the horizon, the question, a haunting torment upon his daily routines.
Ryan was a thinker; as he slid over his ashtray from the stool, he sparked up A morning 'dart' (cigarette), as he called them. His past began to creep into his head, as it did every morning. With each inhalation of addiction-soothing nicotine, his blazing thoughts followed as his brain began to become fully active from his sleep. It was a raven on his shoulder tormenting him, pecking at him ever haunting his consciousness. No matter the love he may have found or the happiness, friends, or family surrounding him. The time to reflect was always grim and consistently unbearable. If he stood still, the Ravel's claws sunk more profoundly; the only reprieve was constant distractions. It's why he kept so busy, creative, and active. Ryan constantly kept moving with hobbies, work, or art. Pushing off the switchblade thoughts ready to cut into his subconscious and bleed out whatever self-respect he had left that day. He threw away ten years of his life, and he relives them every. Single. Day.
"Damn man, what's the point of it all?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the morning breeze. His gaze lingered on the horizon, eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Robin's gone, and here I am, a ship adrift; up shits creek without a paddle. What good can I do? What purpose do I serve? My skillset? My knowledge? Ive wasted my life, nothing is applicable." The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Ryan's life had indeed been a storm of violence and turmoil, from the gritty days working alongside Robin, watching his back to his hard-fought victories in the boxing ring. He had dreamt of leaving the world of fights behind, yet fate seemed to have woven a different path for him, one that he couldn't escape...
The distant sound of boat horns broke his train of thought. These weren't the usual rhythmic calls that echoed along Vancouver's shores; they carried a sense of urgency, growing louder and more frantic by the second. Ryan leaned forward, squinting into the morning light. The sight that greeted him was anything but ordinary. Dark, ominous and foreboding shapes were cutting through the waters toward the Seawall – military-grade ships that seemed like phantoms against the sun's bright backdrop.
"What the...?" Ryan murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he recalled a line from a 1930s radio show. "Ah yes, the 'Anti-Frackers' upping their game, bravo!" He often found solace in humour, a shield against the world's harsh realities. Ryan was an unbreakable anvil to the world, always struck to sharpen others' steel. But what about his iron resolve? He bore the burdens so others didn't have to, a silent guardian shouldering the world's weight in stoic silence. Yet beneath that armour of stoicism beat the heart of a man grappling with his vulnerabilities, a man with a core as soft as it was intense.
Just like that- The world as we knew it, changed forever.
The morning's peace shattered abruptly as sirens wailed into life, slicing through the air with a sense of impending doom. The tranquil dawn was now a backdrop to a nightmare unfolding in real time. Ryan's eyes, mirroring the turbulent hues of a stormy sea, narrowed in primal alertness. These were not friendly vessels coming to grace the city's harbour; they were harbingers of chaos, their arrival a silent scream in the gardens of Vancouver's tranquility. As the city around him carried on, blissfully unaware of the looming threat, Ryan's mind shifted into high gear, honed by years of confrontation, conflict and reading other peoples intentions. He understood the unspoken language of death, the subtle shift in the air that preluded catastrophe. The serene calm that had greeted the day now seemed like the deceptive stillness before a devastating storm.
PFFFFT~~
Ryan's coffee ejected out his mouth, a clean mist dispersed, dancing in the ocean winds.
His eyes widened in shock. "That... No, that's not right. That honeycomb structure on the bow – that's rumoured military tech, not something you'd find on a civilian vessel. That's definitely not one of our decommissioned ships; Canada has always had a modest military budget- It's not the U.S. either; they've moved on to those massive city carriers," he muttered, recalling the recent unveiling of the U.S.'s latest naval behemoth designed to be a self-sustaining war ecosystem.
"These are destroyers...carriers...and what in the world are those landing crafts?" His voice trailed off as a wave of realization washed over him. A heavy breath escaped his lips, his heartbeat thundering in unison with a growing sense of dread. This kind of military might, sleek and menacing, was straight out of the pages of a dystopian novel. Ryan's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, mingling with an unsettling fear. Vancouver, with its serene beauty and peaceful reputation, was the last place one would expect a military invasion. Yet, as he stood there, the city around him persevered in blissful ignorance. Laughter and the sounds of daily life echoed up to his balcony, starkly juxtaposed against the darkening horizon of his thoughts.
Something sinister was unfolding, and he felt an urgent need to act. "Ah, damn it!" he exclaimed, frustration boiling over as he hurled his mug to the ground, where it shattered into razer sharp ceramic shards—a glimpse of futures past.
The walls of Ryan's apartment, once a gallery of memories from a life half-lived, now felt like they were closing in on him. The space that had been his refuge, adorned with mementos of a tumultuous past, suddenly felt like a prison. He felt trapped, not by physical barriers, but by the weight of the unfolding crisis. Who could he call? Who would believe him about an impending military assault? Was there even time?
Each option seemed as hopeless as the next, leaving him feeling powerless. His fists, which had once brought him victory in the ring, now seemed futile in the face of this immense and unknown threat.
BOOM
A thunderous crash tore through the city's fabric, piercing the veil of laughter and routine. Giggles changed to Shrieks, the buzzing of cars in the city turned screeching of panicked tires. It was a boom resonating with such force that it seemed to shake the very resolve of the most robust steel, a sound that demands attention and captivates a person, a sound of death; it rattles you to the bone. This explosion marked a pivotal moment that would forever alter the course of Vancouver's history and, indeed, the world's.
The resounding echo of the first explosion heralded a declaration of war on all that was ordinary. In Ryan, the shockwave ignited a transformation. Despair morphed into an unyielding determination, a fire kindled deep within. His skin prickled, each hair standing on end as if his nerves were braille, spelling out the moment's urgency.
"Are they firing at us?" Ryan's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic. The thought seemed almost too surreal to entertain. He hesitated momentarily, grappling with the reality of the situation. The explosion's roar, so fierce it shook the foundations of his apartment, jolted him back to the present. Racing back to his balcony, what he saw confirmed his darkest fears.
The ships in the harbour were no longer silent, ominous spectators; they had unleashed their fury, sending plumes of smoke and debris skyward. Vancouver's skyline, once a proud testament to peace and progress, now served as a harrowing backdrop to an unfolding apocalypse. Below, the streets descended into chaos. People scattered in a frantic attempt to escape, their screams piercing the air, a chorus of dawning terror.
Ryan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat a call to action. He was no hero, never the 'good guy' in his story, but he did value life above all. Standing there, witnessing his city being torn apart, he knew he couldn't remain a passive observer. Indecision and shock gave way to resolve.
"MOTHA FU-" he cursed, his words lost in the burst of an explosion, spotted at the last second.
The world around him had erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury.
An air burst shell detonated with ferocious intensity a mere 50 meters from Ryan's sanctuary. The explosion ripped through the building, an unforgiving hatred that jolted reality itself. The blast wave, a monstrous force of destruction, assaulted his apartment, shattering the windows with an ease that mocked Vancouver's fragility. Glass shards, transformed into lethal projectiles, hurtled through the air with a hunter's precision, each piece seeking its target. Instinctively, Ryan lunged for cover, his only protection a vintage oak promotional board, a relic of a bygone era. This wooden guardian, decorated with the iconic image of Stan Lee, stood as a stoic defender, a symbol of comic heroism now repurposed to shield flesh and blood from the brutal onslaught.
A low hum erupts from the depths of his being as the fireball swirled around him. "Breathe... I can't... don't fall asleep... don't...sleep..." he whispered, fighting the encroaching darkness. His cobalt eyes, glazing over open, fighting to the last light, flickered between consciousness and oblivion. The distant, muffled voices of mentors past echoed in his mind, a fading chorus in the theatre of his memories. Ryan looked to his left, cast one last lingering look at the Vancouver sky, a canvas of blue that seemed so distant now. As his vision began to narrow, a tunnel drawing him away from the light, Ryan felt the grip of darkness pulling him under heavy, yet weightless. Once so vivid and alive, the world around him was fading into shadows.
Amid shrapnel-induced unconsciousness, Ryan's mind catapulted him back to a pivotal moment from his youth – the Ontario Canadian Olympic Trials.
The stadium's noise swirled around him, but it was an entirely different world within the ring. There, it was just Ryan and his opponent, every move a testament to the sacrifices he and Robin(Ryan's longtime mentor both inside, and outside the ring) had made together.
Ryan's style in the ring was unique, a blend of calculated ferocity in speed and agility. He adopted the elusive, angular movements that Robin had honed while serving alongside the hardened Ukrainians on the frontlines of Kyiv. This style was compelling and unpredictable, frustrating his opponents with swift and efficient strikes. Ryan's ability to slip away from counters, almost serpentine in its execution, left them grasping at straws.
Point fighting for the Olympics was a system that worked well with Ryan's style but not necessarily with his mindset. Ryan was a fighter at heart, and sometimes, when pushed, the disciplined techniques would give way to a rawer form of combat. Robin, who always believed in Ryan's potential, saw this as his greatest fault and biggest asset to "push past." In his gruff but encouraging voice, Robin would often spew "The stink in that mind, You've got a head on you that'd make an onion cry," highlighting Ryan's occasionally impulsive nature, and inability to control his emotions when it mattered. This characteristic made Ryan fearless in the ring but also sloppy, open, and vulnerable. It often led him into trouble outside of the solace in prizefighting.
In these trials, Ryan's physical attributes – his slender frame, broad shoulders, wide back and a peculiarly long wingspan that gave him an imposing presence in his weight class – it made him stand out. His frame synchronized with his style, creating a truly unique spectacle of genetic gifts, hard work, and skill.
These memories blended nostalgia and pain as they flickered through Ryan's mind. They were reminders of a path once trodden, a journey shaped by the influence of a mentor and the determination of a fighter's spirit.
As the Olympic Trials set to begin, Robin looked to Ryan to instill confidence for his upcoming bouts, but Ryan was in his element. It was fight day, the fun day, the day to show off all of the hard work. Ryan had confidence, and his style in the ring displayed it in full. He moved with an angular rhythm that was both art and battle – slipping, landing a quick stiff counter cross, then gracefully stepping out of reach inches from returning fire. He made it look fun and easy, as if playing with his prey before fangs clench throat, delivering the killing bite. Looking closer, you can only see fire and determination in his bright eyes. He found purpose in the beautiful science of boxing. His strategy was that of a technical boxer, The Counterpuncher; 1. To bait his opponent into committing, then counter, fight long, fight smart. 2. Beat em' up, Frustrate em', then start slinging the heat in the uppercuts and lead hooks.
The bell rang and the fight was officially underway. Ryan controlled the ring with his long frame. Each exchange was rapid yet controlled, a dance of precise strikes and evasive maneuvers. The world's complexities faded in these moments, leaving only Ryan and the pure essence of the sport he loved. He felt invincible, a force of nature within the confines of the ring. To Ryan, the fight was more than a competition; it was a performance, an exhilarating escape from the mundane. It was true Purpose.
The intensity of the round reached a frustrating outburst by his opponent, who grabbed Ryan by the back of his head– 'SPLIT' called by the referee, his hand placed between them. A judge calls for a correction, catching the referee's attention only for a split second. In this second, Ryan's Opponent saw an opportunity. Lifting his head to move away, Ryan locks eyes with his Opponent, sporting a grin and delivering a sly headbutt as a parting gift. It's against the rules, but part of the game's harsh reality if gone unnoticed. Expelling energy and detesting it was a waste of fuel. It was a jolting reminder of "at all times"(protect yourself), a stark contrast to the discipline and respect Ryan upheld, starting his boxing journey in Thailand under "Muay Thai" rules, ideology of the worrior spirit and discipline. There was a sense of Honor in Lumpinee Stadium.
The outcome of these unsavoury tactics here is an advantage for the opponent. Ryan's inner pools erupt, his mind swirled with raging white waters, crashing and colliding against each other, two oceans with opposite currents meeting in his consciousness. His once technical thoughts, muscle memory mixed with fight iq burst with flames, erupting and incinerating all strategy in his path. His eyes widened, open like he'd found his primal genetic ancestry hidden deep within. The slaughter and the war of history. The bloodshed of 1000 lifetimes. He felt it all. Manic in thought. Ryan wanted to take his glove off and rip his cheeks open from the inside out--
BREAK - Ryan snaps back into it, erupting in stoic, silent, primal rage.
The ground rushed up to meet him as he crashed onto the canvas, the taste of iron and the sting of defeat mingling in his mouth. The crowd's roar faded into a distant echo, a stark reminder of how quickly the tides of battle could turn. Robin's voice sliced through the ringing from the corner, resonating with a force that commanded attention.
"Get your shit together, JUMPIN JESUS RYAN! HEART OF GOLD AND HEAD OF STONE – GET UP, YOU LITTLE COWARD! YOU'RE LETTING IT WIN, AGAIN! STOP THIS ONION HEAD NONSENSE AND DANCE, BOX THIS FELLA – YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, ACT LIKE IT, BELIEVE IN IT!"
His words were more than just a call to action; they were a lifeline thrown into the stormy seas of Ryan's mind. Each syllable was drenched in the raw, unfiltered wisdom that only a life spent in the cauldron of combat could forge. Robin's tone was a volatile cocktail of fury and concern, the urgency palpable in his voice. His palms crashed against the ring mat; each hit thunderous punctuation to his fiery sermon.
"You've got the talent, kid, but it's as good as ash if you keep burning it to the ground. I'M HERE FOR YOU, IM RIGHT HERE. SNAP OUT OF IT AND BOX THIS PLASTIC PATTY! MOVE GOD DAMNIT, GET UP!"
On the canvas, Ryan lay dazed, the echo of Robin's voice ringing in his ears. It was more than a mere pep talk; it was a wake-up call that struck a chord deep within him. Amidst the haze of the crowd murmurs and the pulsating pain that coursed through his body, clarity began to emerge. Lying there, Ryan grasped the essence of Robin's message –
"coward? letting it win? Playing my ego are ya Robin...hes right though. Im throwing this shit away."
This moment, sprawled on the canvas under the glaring lights and the crowd's gaze, became a crucible of transformation. The raw emotion and the hard-hitting truth in Robin's words ignited a spark in Ryan. It was time to rise, shake off the shadows of rage, and embrace a fighter's true spirit like he had learned in Thailand – not just with fists but with heart and mind in unison.
Staggered yet stirred by the dual impact of the physical hit and Robin's piercing words, A padded fist crushed into the rings canvas, followed by a kneee and the eruption of the crowd. Ryan was back, and he began to pull himself up from the canvas. His resolve, momentarily dimmed, now reignited with a fierce, clear, calculated intensity. Memories of the gruelling hours spent in the gym flooded back to him – the relentless sparring sessions, the time spent in Thailand, the sweat and toil, and the invaluable lessons etched into his being under Robin's stern tutelage.
With a renewed spirit, Ryan stepped back into the battle, his movements now embodying controlled power and a fluidity to his step. He recalled his time fighting beside the backdrop of the "Sarama" a traditional Thai music played when in combat. The times of learning to move, fight with the music, to flow, to be fluid, to be concise. Ryan finally put it all together in the heat of battle. He had merged his inherent ferocity with the disciplined technique that Robin relentlessly drilled into him, and the mindfull practises of the years he spent under Burklerk Pinsinchai in the jungles of Chiang Mai. His style was now fully displayed, raw and visceral yet refined by countless hours of practice in mind, body and spirit.
The final rounds bell clang to a start in a clinic of skill and sheer willpower. Ryan, driven by a blend of desperation and unwavering determination, unleashed a barrage of calculated and explosive strikes. Each punch and maneuver was a nod to the efficient, no-nonsense Ukrainian style that Robin had imparted to him. Ryan moved rhythmically across the mat, steps measured and precise, executing short, angular movements and deft outside counterpunches. He had returned to his element – the dance of combat, where he felt most alive, a symphony of movement where every step and punch was a testament to his life's journey and experiences as a human being first, and as a fighter second.
In this wake-up call, Ryan reinvigorated and reminded himself of his love for the sport, the exhilarating blend of art and athleticism. He was not just fighting to win; he was celebrating boxing, combat, honouring the path he had walked with Robin, and reclaiming what it meant to be a true fighter through Burklurk Pinsinchai's Teachings.
The round pressed on, and Ryan executed his maneuvers with a surgeon's precision. First;
-- The counterpuncher; a display in timing and accuracy, delivered with the full force of training and innate skill. --
ONE!…TWO!…THREE!…FOUR!…FIVE!…SIX!...SEVEN!..EIGHT!
Ryan's opponent stands, admirable, but futile, driven by sheer will but hampered by sluggish movements, the man rose to his feet, it was clear the fight was reaching its zenith.
The opponent, gathering his remaining strength for a final stand, launched a jab, a last-ditch effort relying more on brute force than finesse. But this was a fatal mistake in Ryan's world – playing right into what Ryan was best at. Counters.
Ryan read the move with the clarity of a seasoned fighter. As the jab came, he effortlessly slipped to the right, evading the punch with a short angular step that spoke of his ring intelligence. Instantly, he countered with the same sharp cross from his right hand, followed by a devastating hook that cut through the air with lethal intent in his left. Grasping at straws, reeling from the counter, Ryans opponent threw a desperate, looping last stand punch, Ryan dipped down and left, rolling the punch with an elegance that made it seem almost effortless. He was Hunting for the Kill Shot. Seizing the moment, Ryan unleashed a ferocious left uppercut, the force of the blow lifting his opponent's chin skyward. He followed up with a right overhand, but just before impact, he halted the punch. There was no need for it; his opponent was already collapsing, the "Lights were on, but no one was Home". The fight was effectively over, Ryan's last combination is the final note, a crescendo that echoed through the ring.
As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd erupted. Ryan stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, every fibre of his being alight with the thrill of victory. This wasn't just a win; it was a performance, a display of skill, heart, and the indomitable spirit of a fighter who had walked through fire and flames to the otherside and emerge victorious.
The final bell Rings with not a single chair in the arena warm; a thunderous clap erupts from the crowd. It was more than just applause; it was an acknowledgment of a battle fiercely fought by both men. In that moment ringside, in a triumphant victory, Ryan and Robin shared a look that spoke volumes, a connection far beyond the usual bounds of mentor and protégé. Their bond, tempered in the crucible of hardship and struggle, was now sealed in the glory of this defining triumph.
Standing amidst the cheers and the adrenaline-fueled euphoria, Ryan found himself momentarily lost in the tide of memories. It was a poignant reminder of the journey that had brought him here, a path marked by triumphs and losses. Robin's teachings transcended the confines of boxing; they were life lessons imprinted deep onto him. Ryan began to slowly step out of the ring; the weight of these reflections settled upon him. The victory was sweet, but it carried the weight of all sacrificed to achieve it. Robin's presence was felt strongly, a guiding force that continued to shape his path, illuminating the way forward even in the most challenging times.
submitted by nulll_ to HFY [link] [comments]
OPTIONAL READS: For the Retro Computer or Programming Enthusiast OR if you are open to other formats of story telling. I tried to combine my love for programming as an UNDERSTANDABLE way to tell a story through a Visual Experience in the Command Line Interface;
A Stand-Alone VISUAL ASCII 'Programming Terminal' Story Prologue. Follow through(Screen Shots of my Command Line Interface) the UNE-EYE Observational Satellite Terminal as Kable extracts Classified Data about his Beloved Military Unit, THE HUMMINGBIRDS, a flying exoskeleton unit. This includes the origin story of a Technology Tree in Book 1.
####
INDEX
- DEADCOAST - THE HUMMINGBIRDS PROLOGUE -> HERE <-
- DEADCOAST - COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED INTRO -> HERE <-
- HEAT & GRIZZLY REDS - CHAPTER 1 ILLUSTRATED -> HERE <-
The story unfolds with the chilling invasion of Vancouver, marking a turning point as DAGGR makes its ambitions clear, culminating in the assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. This act of aggression leaves the country reeling, exposing vulnerabilities and igniting a global reaction.
The UNE-EYE satellite is central to the international response, a significant narrative element representing the world's most advanced orbital tracking system. Once decommissioned in favour of privacy, the Dutch reactivated the satellite as a strategic move to monitor DAGGR's movements and coordinate a unified international effort against the aggressors. This revival of UNE-EYE symbolizes a crucial turning point, highlighting the global stakes and the interconnectedness of nations in the face of a common enemy.
As Canada grapples with its plight, the DAMU (Deserted American Military Units) rise in solidarity, breaching borders to fight alongside their Canadian counterparts. This act of defiance is mirrored by international forces, including the Netherlands and Ukraine, each bringing their unique strengths to the coalition, underscored by the strategic oversight provided by the UNE-EYE satellite.
Amidst the geopolitical chaos, a man who had all but given up, a boxer on the ropes, emerges from Vancouver's Gastown. Known as HEAT, this leader of the Grizzly Reds becomes a symbol of resistance and hope. HEAT's story, and that of the Grizzly Reds, is one of resilience, rallying not only Canadians but also global citizens to stand against DAGGR's tyranny.
" Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" is a compelling narrative of survival, alliance, and resistance. It deftly weaves together elements of advanced technology, international politics, and the indomitable human spirit. The inclusion of the UNE-EYE satellite serves as a testament to the complexities of modern warfare and the critical role of global surveillance and coordination in maintaining security and freedom. But something else stirs amongst it. The UNE still shrouds its use, albeit assuring it is for record-keeping purposes- there is no way to be sure. Join HEAT and the Grizzly Reds as they navigate the challenges of Time, War, Science and liberating their fellow man in Vancouver. THE GRIZZLIES NEED YOU, in this action-packed, emotional saga, speaks to the resilience and camaraderie inherent in the human condition.
ILLUSTRATED VERSION -> HERE <-
The early morning sun cast a serene glow over Vancouver, its golden rays gently coaxing the city from its slumber. The harbour lay still, bathed in a tranquil blend of crimson and amber, defiantly calm as if aware of the day's latent potential for tumult. The awakening streets, pulsating with the vibrant beat of daily enterprise, transformed into bustling arteries of life.
Amidst this urban renaissance, Ryan stood by his apartment window, one eye still tinged a fading shade of deep lavender from last night's ordeals. He absorbed the duality of the world outside – a peaceful façade masking an undercurrent of chaos, much like his own existence. The apartment, a silent guardian of his life's chapters, was awash with tangible memories; some stood proudly like trophies, and others lingered like indelible scars.
"Eugh, need to sort out this money mess," Ryan muttered, his voice a gravelly mix of resolve and weariness. He gingerly touched the bruise beneath his eye, a stark reminder of the previous night's fight. He wasn't just a boxer but a living, breathing paradox. His undefeated record of 12-0 was more than a tally of victories; it was a map of a life spent dancing in and out of shadows. At 17, he was a beacon of hope for Canadian Olympic Futures. Now, at 33, he was a spotlight in his subconscious, illuminating the relentless passage of time and a road riddled with 'what ifs.' Eleven of those wins were echoes from a past steeped in the sweat and blood of the ring before life's currents swept him into the city's gritty underbelly. There, he became an enforcer, not out of choice but a necessity, bound by ties, not of blood but of unbreakable bonds forged in adversity. Stepping back into the ring at 33, Ryan wasn't chasing glory; he was hunting redemption, a chance to rewrite a narrative that had veered off course.
Today's boxing was far from what he once knew; it had transformed into a digital spectacle, a charade he refused to partake in. The sport now paraded fighters adorned with loud chains and face tattoos, pretending to live a life of crime they don't. Vile symbols of fame he doesn't wish for. Ryan had always skirted the fringes of the spotlight, respecting the sport but despising what it had become - a glorified masquerade that he believed led the youth astray. He stared out at the awakening city, contemplating his place in this ever-changing world, just as the first notes of a familiar yet unwelcome voice crackled from the vintage radio on his shelf.
"Ah, jimmy2piece," he scoffed, the name leaving a bitter taste. The vintage radio crackled on, announcing the dazzling exploits of the heavyweight boxing champion, an embodiment of everything Ryan detested about the sport's current state. Ryan's hand lingered over the old radio, a relic amidst the bountiful thrift and trinket that abundantly filled his apartment. The announcer's voice, overly flamboyant in its praise of 'jimmy2piece,' clashed with the morning's tranquillity, grating against Ryan's every nerve. With a flick brimming with contempt, he silenced the intrusive chatter. The ensuing silence was a stark reminder of his path's divergence from the once-noble art of boxing to a life mired in moral ambiguity.
"Enough of this nonsense," he muttered, the disdain in his voice mirroring the snarl on his lips as he spun the dial back to silence.
*Click*
Ryan was a man of contemplation; opening his balcony door, he let the morning breeze mingle with the memories that haunted him daily. These reflections were a tormenting ritual, no matter the joys and love surrounding him. His only respite was constant movement – hobbies, work, art – anything to fend off the sharp claws of the past that threatened to shred the remnants of his self-respect. He had lost ten years to choices and actions that replayed in his mind relentlessly every single day.
"This 'jimmy2shoes' or whatever...pal throws pillows, a poser pretending he's about that gang life; I can see it in his eyes, he's not a killer," he grumbled, gazing out at the awakening city. This day promised a respite from his underground fights – at least for a while. His recent backstreet brawls, a far cry from the glory of the boxing ring, were what paid the bills now. "At least I've bought myself three more months..."
Leaning on the railing of his miniature balcony, Ryan cradled a cup of steaming coffee, his gaze drifting over the streets below. At this moment, the chaos of his life seemed distant, replaced by a transient calm. Despite his bruised, rough presentation, a certain peace enveloped him, a rare stillness that belied the storm of his existence. His thoughts meandered through the serene hum of the city and the gentle brush of the ocean breeze. The skyscape, with clouds dancing to the ocean's rhythm, offered a brief escape from his turbulent past.
Memories of Robin, his mentor and friend, floated into his consciousness. Robin's untimely death in Dubai was a wound that never healed. The sacrifices he had made to keep Robin safe, only to be absent on the fateful trip that claimed his friend's life, weighed heavily on him. "Why did it have to be you, Robin?" he whispered to the horizon, the question, a haunting torment upon his daily routines.
Ryan was a thinker; as he slid over his ashtray from the stool, he sparked up A morning 'dart' (cigarette), as he called them. His past began to creep into his head, as it did every morning. With each inhalation of addiction-soothing nicotine, his blazing thoughts followed as his brain began to become fully active from his sleep. It was a raven on his shoulder tormenting him, pecking at him ever haunting his consciousness. No matter the love he may have found or the happiness, friends, or family surrounding him. The time to reflect was always grim and consistently unbearable. If he stood still, the Ravel's claws sunk more profoundly; the only reprieve was constant distractions. It's why he kept so busy, creative, and active. Ryan constantly kept moving with hobbies, work, or art. Pushing off the switchblade thoughts ready to cut into his subconscious and bleed out whatever self-respect he had left that day. He threw away ten years of his life, and he relives them every. Single. Day.
"Damn man, what's the point of it all?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the morning breeze. His gaze lingered on the horizon, eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Robin's gone, and here I am, a ship adrift; up shits creek without a paddle. What good can I do? What purpose do I serve? My skillset? My knowledge? Ive wasted my life, nothing is applicable." The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Ryan's life had indeed been a storm of violence and turmoil, from the gritty days working alongside Robin, watching his back to his hard-fought victories in the boxing ring. He had dreamt of leaving the world of fights behind, yet fate seemed to have woven a different path for him, one that he couldn't escape...
The distant sound of boat horns broke his train of thought. These weren't the usual rhythmic calls that echoed along Vancouver's shores; they carried a sense of urgency, growing louder and more frantic by the second. Ryan leaned forward, squinting into the morning light. The sight that greeted him was anything but ordinary. Dark, ominous and foreboding shapes were cutting through the waters toward the Seawall – military-grade ships that seemed like phantoms against the sun's bright backdrop.
"What the...?" Ryan murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he recalled a line from a 1930s radio show. "Ah yes, the 'Anti-Frackers' upping their game, bravo!" He often found solace in humour, a shield against the world's harsh realities. Ryan was an unbreakable anvil to the world, always struck to sharpen others' steel. But what about his iron resolve? He bore the burdens so others didn't have to, a silent guardian shouldering the world's weight in stoic silence. Yet beneath that armour of stoicism beat the heart of a man grappling with his vulnerabilities, a man with a core as soft as it was intense.
Just like that- The world as we knew it, changed forever.
The morning's peace shattered abruptly as sirens wailed into life, slicing through the air with a sense of impending doom. The tranquil dawn was now a backdrop to a nightmare unfolding in real time. Ryan's eyes, mirroring the turbulent hues of a stormy sea, narrowed in primal alertness. These were not friendly vessels coming to grace the city's harbour; they were harbingers of chaos, their arrival a silent scream in the gardens of Vancouver's tranquility. As the city around him carried on, blissfully unaware of the looming threat, Ryan's mind shifted into high gear, honed by years of confrontation, conflict and reading other peoples intentions. He understood the unspoken language of death, the subtle shift in the air that preluded catastrophe. The serene calm that had greeted the day now seemed like the deceptive stillness before a devastating storm.
PFFFFT~~
Ryan's coffee ejected out his mouth, a clean mist dispersed, dancing in the ocean winds.
His eyes widened in shock. "That... No, that's not right. That honeycomb structure on the bow – that's rumoured military tech, not something you'd find on a civilian vessel. That's definitely not one of our decommissioned ships; Canada has always had a modest military budget- It's not the U.S. either; they've moved on to those massive city carriers," he muttered, recalling the recent unveiling of the U.S.'s latest naval behemoth designed to be a self-sustaining war ecosystem.
"These are destroyers...carriers...and what in the world are those landing crafts?" His voice trailed off as a wave of realization washed over him. A heavy breath escaped his lips, his heartbeat thundering in unison with a growing sense of dread. This kind of military might, sleek and menacing, was straight out of the pages of a dystopian novel. Ryan's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, mingling with an unsettling fear. Vancouver, with its serene beauty and peaceful reputation, was the last place one would expect a military invasion. Yet, as he stood there, the city around him persevered in blissful ignorance. Laughter and the sounds of daily life echoed up to his balcony, starkly juxtaposed against the darkening horizon of his thoughts.
Something sinister was unfolding, and he felt an urgent need to act. "Ah, damn it!" he exclaimed, frustration boiling over as he hurled his mug to the ground, where it shattered into razer sharp ceramic shards—a glimpse of futures past.
The walls of Ryan's apartment, once a gallery of memories from a life half-lived, now felt like they were closing in on him. The space that had been his refuge, adorned with mementos of a tumultuous past, suddenly felt like a prison. He felt trapped, not by physical barriers, but by the weight of the unfolding crisis. Who could he call? Who would believe him about an impending military assault? Was there even time?
Each option seemed as hopeless as the next, leaving him feeling powerless. His fists, which had once brought him victory in the ring, now seemed futile in the face of this immense and unknown threat.
BOOM
A thunderous crash tore through the city's fabric, piercing the veil of laughter and routine. Giggles changed to Shrieks, the buzzing of cars in the city turned screeching of panicked tires. It was a boom resonating with such force that it seemed to shake the very resolve of the most robust steel, a sound that demands attention and captivates a person, a sound of death; it rattles you to the bone. This explosion marked a pivotal moment that would forever alter the course of Vancouver's history and, indeed, the world's.
The resounding echo of the first explosion heralded a declaration of war on all that was ordinary. In Ryan, the shockwave ignited a transformation. Despair morphed into an unyielding determination, a fire kindled deep within. His skin prickled, each hair standing on end as if his nerves were braille, spelling out the moment's urgency.
"Are they firing at us?" Ryan's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic. The thought seemed almost too surreal to entertain. He hesitated momentarily, grappling with the reality of the situation. The explosion's roar, so fierce it shook the foundations of his apartment, jolted him back to the present. Racing back to his balcony, what he saw confirmed his darkest fears.
The ships in the harbour were no longer silent, ominous spectators; they had unleashed their fury, sending plumes of smoke and debris skyward. Vancouver's skyline, once a proud testament to peace and progress, now served as a harrowing backdrop to an unfolding apocalypse. Below, the streets descended into chaos. People scattered in a frantic attempt to escape, their screams piercing the air, a chorus of dawning terror.
Ryan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat a call to action. He was no hero, never the 'good guy' in his story, but he did value life above all. Standing there, witnessing his city being torn apart, he knew he couldn't remain a passive observer. Indecision and shock gave way to resolve.
"MOTHA FU-" he cursed, his words lost in the burst of an explosion, spotted at the last second.
The world around him had erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury.
An air burst shell detonated with ferocious intensity a mere 50 meters from Ryan's sanctuary. The explosion ripped through the building, an unforgiving hatred that jolted reality itself. The blast wave, a monstrous force of destruction, assaulted his apartment, shattering the windows with an ease that mocked Vancouver's fragility. Glass shards, transformed into lethal projectiles, hurtled through the air with a hunter's precision, each piece seeking its target. Instinctively, Ryan lunged for cover, his only protection a vintage oak promotional board, a relic of a bygone era. This wooden guardian, decorated with the iconic image of Stan Lee, stood as a stoic defender, a symbol of comic heroism now repurposed to shield flesh and blood from the brutal onslaught.
A low hum erupts from the depths of his being as the fireball swirled around him. "Breathe... I can't... don't fall asleep... don't...sleep..." he whispered, fighting the encroaching darkness. His cobalt eyes, glazing over open, fighting to the last light, flickered between consciousness and oblivion. The distant, muffled voices of mentors past echoed in his mind, a fading chorus in the theatre of his memories. Ryan looked to his left, cast one last lingering look at the Vancouver sky, a canvas of blue that seemed so distant now. As his vision began to narrow, a tunnel drawing him away from the light, Ryan felt the grip of darkness pulling him under heavy, yet weightless. Once so vivid and alive, the world around him was fading into shadows.
Amid shrapnel-induced unconsciousness, Ryan's mind catapulted him back to a pivotal moment from his youth – the Ontario Canadian Olympic Trials.
The stadium's noise swirled around him, but it was an entirely different world within the ring. There, it was just Ryan and his opponent, every move a testament to the sacrifices he and Robin(Ryan's longtime mentor both inside, and outside the ring) had made together.
Ryan's style in the ring was unique, a blend of calculated ferocity in speed and agility. He adopted the elusive, angular movements that Robin had honed while serving alongside the hardened Ukrainians on the frontlines of Kyiv. This style was compelling and unpredictable, frustrating his opponents with swift and efficient strikes. Ryan's ability to slip away from counters, almost serpentine in its execution, left them grasping at straws.
Point fighting for the Olympics was a system that worked well with Ryan's style but not necessarily with his mindset. Ryan was a fighter at heart, and sometimes, when pushed, the disciplined techniques would give way to a rawer form of combat. Robin, who always believed in Ryan's potential, saw this as his greatest fault and biggest asset to "push past." In his gruff but encouraging voice, Robin would often spew "The stink in that mind, You've got a head on you that'd make an onion cry," highlighting Ryan's occasionally impulsive nature, and inability to control his emotions when it mattered. This characteristic made Ryan fearless in the ring but also sloppy, open, and vulnerable. It often led him into trouble outside of the solace in prizefighting.
In these trials, Ryan's physical attributes – his slender frame, broad shoulders, wide back and a peculiarly long wingspan that gave him an imposing presence in his weight class – it made him stand out. His frame synchronized with his style, creating a truly unique spectacle of genetic gifts, hard work, and skill.
These memories blended nostalgia and pain as they flickered through Ryan's mind. They were reminders of a path once trodden, a journey shaped by the influence of a mentor and the determination of a fighter's spirit.
As the Olympic Trials set to begin, Robin looked to Ryan to instill confidence for his upcoming bouts, but Ryan was in his element. It was fight day, the fun day, the day to show off all of the hard work. Ryan had confidence, and his style in the ring displayed it in full. He moved with an angular rhythm that was both art and battle – slipping, landing a quick stiff counter cross, then gracefully stepping out of reach inches from returning fire. He made it look fun and easy, as if playing with his prey before fangs clench throat, delivering the killing bite. Looking closer, you can only see fire and determination in his bright eyes. He found purpose in the beautiful science of boxing. His strategy was that of a technical boxer, The Counterpuncher; 1. To bait his opponent into committing, then counter, fight long, fight smart. 2. Beat em' up, Frustrate em', then start slinging the heat in the uppercuts and lead hooks.
The bell rang and the fight was officially underway. Ryan controlled the ring with his long frame. Each exchange was rapid yet controlled, a dance of precise strikes and evasive maneuvers. The world's complexities faded in these moments, leaving only Ryan and the pure essence of the sport he loved. He felt invincible, a force of nature within the confines of the ring. To Ryan, the fight was more than a competition; it was a performance, an exhilarating escape from the mundane. It was true Purpose.
The intensity of the round reached a frustrating outburst by his opponent, who grabbed Ryan by the back of his head– 'SPLIT' called by the referee, his hand placed between them. A judge calls for a correction, catching the referee's attention only for a split second. In this second, Ryan's Opponent saw an opportunity. Lifting his head to move away, Ryan locks eyes with his Opponent, sporting a grin and delivering a sly headbutt as a parting gift. It's against the rules, but part of the game's harsh reality if gone unnoticed. Expelling energy and detesting it was a waste of fuel. It was a jolting reminder of "at all times"(protect yourself), a stark contrast to the discipline and respect Ryan upheld, starting his boxing journey in Thailand under "Muay Thai" rules, ideology of the worrior spirit and discipline. There was a sense of Honor in Lumpinee Stadium.
The outcome of these unsavoury tactics here is an advantage for the opponent. Ryan's inner pools erupt, his mind swirled with raging white waters, crashing and colliding against each other, two oceans with opposite currents meeting in his consciousness. His once technical thoughts, muscle memory mixed with fight iq burst with flames, erupting and incinerating all strategy in his path. His eyes widened, open like he'd found his primal genetic ancestry hidden deep within. The slaughter and the war of history. The bloodshed of 1000 lifetimes. He felt it all. Manic in thought. Ryan wanted to take his glove off and rip his cheeks open from the inside out--
BREAK - Ryan snaps back into it, erupting in stoic, silent, primal rage.
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░ ░░░ ░░░ ░░ ░ ▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▓ ▓▓ ▓▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓▓ █ ███ ██ █ ████ █ ███████ █ ████ █ ████ ██ ██ █ █████████████████████████████████████The fight escalated, Ryan's disciplined technique unravelled under the seething tide of his rage. The finesse and agility that once defined his footwork gave way to a heavier, more aggressive stance. His feet, usually light and swift under his commanding frame, now felt anchored to the floor, each step driven more by fury than finesse. This transformation in style played perilously into his opponent's advantage. Ryan, usually a master of stick-and-move tactics, found himself engaging in close-quarter brawls, trading his advantage for a risky gamble. His in-and-out maneuvers, once a blur of grace, turned into brutish, in-the-pocket exchanges. This was a terrain where his more muscular and compact opponent had the upper hand. A raw, primal contest of power replaced the tactical dance that Ryan excelled at. Ryan's precise strikes became wild swings, his movements predictable to his seasoned adversary. Seizing the moment, the opponent unleashed a devastating barrage of inside hooks with their compact frame. A vicious right hook, lands clean in the exchange, thrown with the grace of a milkbag, the power hooks brute force, cut through Ryan's defences. The blow landed with a bone-jarring impact, sending a shockwave through Ryan's frame. His world spun as he stumbled, his once dominant presence in the ring now faltering under the weight of his unchecked emotions.
The ground rushed up to meet him as he crashed onto the canvas, the taste of iron and the sting of defeat mingling in his mouth. The crowd's roar faded into a distant echo, a stark reminder of how quickly the tides of battle could turn. Robin's voice sliced through the ringing from the corner, resonating with a force that commanded attention.
"Get your shit together, JUMPIN JESUS RYAN! HEART OF GOLD AND HEAD OF STONE – GET UP, YOU LITTLE COWARD! YOU'RE LETTING IT WIN, AGAIN! STOP THIS ONION HEAD NONSENSE AND DANCE, BOX THIS FELLA – YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, ACT LIKE IT, BELIEVE IN IT!"
His words were more than just a call to action; they were a lifeline thrown into the stormy seas of Ryan's mind. Each syllable was drenched in the raw, unfiltered wisdom that only a life spent in the cauldron of combat could forge. Robin's tone was a volatile cocktail of fury and concern, the urgency palpable in his voice. His palms crashed against the ring mat; each hit thunderous punctuation to his fiery sermon.
"You've got the talent, kid, but it's as good as ash if you keep burning it to the ground. I'M HERE FOR YOU, IM RIGHT HERE. SNAP OUT OF IT AND BOX THIS PLASTIC PATTY! MOVE GOD DAMNIT, GET UP!"
On the canvas, Ryan lay dazed, the echo of Robin's voice ringing in his ears. It was more than a mere pep talk; it was a wake-up call that struck a chord deep within him. Amidst the haze of the crowd murmurs and the pulsating pain that coursed through his body, clarity began to emerge. Lying there, Ryan grasped the essence of Robin's message –
"coward? letting it win? Playing my ego are ya Robin...hes right though. Im throwing this shit away."
This moment, sprawled on the canvas under the glaring lights and the crowd's gaze, became a crucible of transformation. The raw emotion and the hard-hitting truth in Robin's words ignited a spark in Ryan. It was time to rise, shake off the shadows of rage, and embrace a fighter's true spirit like he had learned in Thailand – not just with fists but with heart and mind in unison.
Staggered yet stirred by the dual impact of the physical hit and Robin's piercing words, A padded fist crushed into the rings canvas, followed by a kneee and the eruption of the crowd. Ryan was back, and he began to pull himself up from the canvas. His resolve, momentarily dimmed, now reignited with a fierce, clear, calculated intensity. Memories of the gruelling hours spent in the gym flooded back to him – the relentless sparring sessions, the time spent in Thailand, the sweat and toil, and the invaluable lessons etched into his being under Robin's stern tutelage.
With a renewed spirit, Ryan stepped back into the battle, his movements now embodying controlled power and a fluidity to his step. He recalled his time fighting beside the backdrop of the "Sarama" a traditional Thai music played when in combat. The times of learning to move, fight with the music, to flow, to be fluid, to be concise. Ryan finally put it all together in the heat of battle. He had merged his inherent ferocity with the disciplined technique that Robin relentlessly drilled into him, and the mindfull practises of the years he spent under Burklerk Pinsinchai in the jungles of Chiang Mai. His style was now fully displayed, raw and visceral yet refined by countless hours of practice in mind, body and spirit.
The final rounds bell clang to a start in a clinic of skill and sheer willpower. Ryan, driven by a blend of desperation and unwavering determination, unleashed a barrage of calculated and explosive strikes. Each punch and maneuver was a nod to the efficient, no-nonsense Ukrainian style that Robin had imparted to him. Ryan moved rhythmically across the mat, steps measured and precise, executing short, angular movements and deft outside counterpunches. He had returned to his element – the dance of combat, where he felt most alive, a symphony of movement where every step and punch was a testament to his life's journey and experiences as a human being first, and as a fighter second.
In this wake-up call, Ryan reinvigorated and reminded himself of his love for the sport, the exhilarating blend of art and athleticism. He was not just fighting to win; he was celebrating boxing, combat, honouring the path he had walked with Robin, and reclaiming what it meant to be a true fighter through Burklurk Pinsinchai's Teachings.
The round pressed on, and Ryan executed his maneuvers with a surgeon's precision. First;
-- The counterpuncher; a display in timing and accuracy, delivered with the full force of training and innate skill. --
- He deftly slipped his opponent's cross, a move as fluid as it was swift.
- He angled off, creating a space wide enough for his next move.
- With an almost predatory precision, Ryan unleashed a powerful right cross, targeting his opponent's cheek from the angle he had just created. But Ryan wasn't done yet.
- He slipped out again, evading any potential counter from his disoriented opponent. The rhythm, he danced in and out with his precise timing, perfected down to inches and angles.
- In a final, decisive movement of the exchange, Ryan slipped in. He timed his step with a long cross that came off-beat, catching his opponent utterly off-guard. The punch landed with a satisfying impact, culminating in a perfectly executed combination. As he watched his opponent stagger, Ryan couldn't help but think, 'cya sleepy boi,' a silent acknowledgment of his dominance in this singular exchange.
ONE!…TWO!…THREE!…FOUR!…FIVE!…SIX!...SEVEN!..EIGHT!
Ryan's opponent stands, admirable, but futile, driven by sheer will but hampered by sluggish movements, the man rose to his feet, it was clear the fight was reaching its zenith.
The opponent, gathering his remaining strength for a final stand, launched a jab, a last-ditch effort relying more on brute force than finesse. But this was a fatal mistake in Ryan's world – playing right into what Ryan was best at. Counters.
Ryan read the move with the clarity of a seasoned fighter. As the jab came, he effortlessly slipped to the right, evading the punch with a short angular step that spoke of his ring intelligence. Instantly, he countered with the same sharp cross from his right hand, followed by a devastating hook that cut through the air with lethal intent in his left. Grasping at straws, reeling from the counter, Ryans opponent threw a desperate, looping last stand punch, Ryan dipped down and left, rolling the punch with an elegance that made it seem almost effortless. He was Hunting for the Kill Shot. Seizing the moment, Ryan unleashed a ferocious left uppercut, the force of the blow lifting his opponent's chin skyward. He followed up with a right overhand, but just before impact, he halted the punch. There was no need for it; his opponent was already collapsing, the "Lights were on, but no one was Home". The fight was effectively over, Ryan's last combination is the final note, a crescendo that echoed through the ring.
As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd erupted. Ryan stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, every fibre of his being alight with the thrill of victory. This wasn't just a win; it was a performance, a display of skill, heart, and the indomitable spirit of a fighter who had walked through fire and flames to the otherside and emerge victorious.
The final bell Rings with not a single chair in the arena warm; a thunderous clap erupts from the crowd. It was more than just applause; it was an acknowledgment of a battle fiercely fought by both men. In that moment ringside, in a triumphant victory, Ryan and Robin shared a look that spoke volumes, a connection far beyond the usual bounds of mentor and protégé. Their bond, tempered in the crucible of hardship and struggle, was now sealed in the glory of this defining triumph.
Standing amidst the cheers and the adrenaline-fueled euphoria, Ryan found himself momentarily lost in the tide of memories. It was a poignant reminder of the journey that had brought him here, a path marked by triumphs and losses. Robin's teachings transcended the confines of boxing; they were life lessons imprinted deep onto him. Ryan began to slowly step out of the ring; the weight of these reflections settled upon him. The victory was sweet, but it carried the weight of all sacrificed to achieve it. Robin's presence was felt strongly, a guiding force that continued to shape his path, illuminating the way forward even in the most challenging times.
2024.05.11 08:45 Kazsou My Shop! looking at offers! (i need money so bad pls)
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2024.05.11 07:23 EchoBookOfficial Rate my Prologue - Echo
Hello all. I am writing a book, my first book, and I was hoping for some feedback. I have had this idea for a book in my head for years now, with the world building and character development contained all in my head, so I decided to finally write down some of my thoughts. I apologize if it is too long. Any feedback would be great. Thank you all.
Name of the book : Echo
Genre : Fantasy
Prologue
Part 1
As the first whispers of dawn began to soften the night, we moved like shadows along the path skirting Kyktras’s towering stone walls. The city behind us lay asleep, its inhabitants unaware of the stealthy figures slipping through the darkness at its edges. My mentor, a ghost in the muted light, moved with silent precision that spoke of years navigating the delicate balance of power and secrecy in a land ruled by a king and jealously guarded by noble families. "Stay sharp," she whispered, her voice a hushed echo in the cool air. "Tonight, we address a breach of trust that threatens the very foundation of our community. Remember, this mission is not just about executing a deed—it’s about sending a message."
My mentor was not usually this aggressive, but in the event of treason, she held no mercy. Our mission’s target was a fellow assassin, a brother-in-arms who had sold out the desperate for a meal. His betrayal had enraged us all, revealing the location of a secret smuggling tunnel used by those desperate to escape the city's harsh realities. Such an act of treachery underscored the brutal reality of life in the Slums, where even the promise of food could turn the loyal treacherous.
We approached his makeshift hideout, a dilapidated shack camouflaged by the shadows of the outer ring’s edge. She paused, blending into the darkness as she assessed the surroundings. Turning to me with stern eyes that reflected the moon’s faint glow, she said, "Each betrayal cuts deeper into the trust that binds us. Tonight, you learn the true cost of survival and the heavy burden of our choices."
She signaled for me to cover the front as she circled to the rear. The plan was straightforward yet fraught with peril. As she vanished into the night with a bloom of blackened purple smoke, I pressed against the rough wooden wall of the shack. The night’s ambient sounds—a contrast to my racing heart—filled the air, the occasional rustle of wildlife, and the distant sound of the night watch’s movement along the city walls.
This mission was more than a mere assassination; it was a grim lesson in the stark realities of our world. In Kyktras, where even the trusted could betray for a morsel of food, the lines between friend and foe were often blurred by desperation, and every secret revealed could mean death.
As I pressed against the rough wooden wall of the shack, waiting for the signal, a sudden crash shattered the silence. The side door burst open, and the traitorous assassin bolted into the open, desperation fueling his sprint. He knew his fate if caught—perhaps the open fields offered a sliver of hope for escape.
She appeared at the doorway, a momentary silhouette against the dim interior light. "Quinn! After him!" Her command sliced through the night, sharp and urgent.
Adrenaline surged as I took off, my boots pounding the soft earth. The fields around Kyktras were vast, the darkness a maze of shadows and whispers. Ahead, the fleeing figure was a ghost, barely discernible against the night's canvas.
Despite the distance, I knew this was my moment. I slid to a stop, pulling the bow from my back. The world seemed to hold its breath as I notched an arrow, the faintest light of dawn casting long, uncertain shadows. Eighty meters, I estimated, adjusting for the wind, the weight of the night air pressing against my skin.
The bowstring sang a tight, whispering hum as I released the arrow. It cut through the darkness, a silent herald of judgment. The fleeing assassin's figure stumbled, then crumpled quietly onto the field—a stark, motionless silhouette against the dewy grass.
Breathing heavily, I walked up to where he lay. The arrow had found its mark with a grim precision, a testament to the countless hours of training under her watchful guidance. She joined me, her presence solemn. "You did well," she said, her voice low. "But remember, each life taken is a heavy burden. Carry it with honor and awareness of its cost."
We quickly ensured the scene bore no signs of our involvement, erasing tracks and retrieving the arrow. As we made our way back through the fields towards the hidden pathways of Kyktras, she spoke again, her words cutting through the fading darkness. "This world of shadows we navigate is unforgiving and harsh. Today, you've learned another aspect of what it demands from us—not just stealth and skill, but readiness to act decisively when the moment calls."
The first light of dawn crested the distant walls as we approached the city, the events of the night a new weight in my conscience, a reminder of the stark realities of our existence and the roles we were destined to play. As the first light of dawn painted the sky in pale hues, we made our way back to the clandestine heart of Kyktras. The guild headquarters, hidden in plain sight within the maze of the Slums, was an unassuming structure to the untrained eye, yet it held the pulse of covert operations under its roof.
The guild leader, Maris Vhal, awaited our report in her office, a room shrouded more in secrets than in tapestries. Her presence commanded both respect and an undercurrent of fear. With steel-gray hair braided tightly back and eyes that missed nothing, Maris was as formidable as she was enigmatic.
"We completed the task," my mentor began, her voice steady despite the weight of exhaustion. "The traitor won't be a concern any longer."
Maris nodded, her expression unreadable. "Good. Your efficiency remains our guild's best asset, though I must remind you both of the dangers of such breaches. We cannot afford loose ends, not with the Hunters ever vigilant."
As she spoke, I noticed a fleeting shadow cross my mentor’s face—an echo of a deeper, unspoken tension. We bowed gracefully and left without saying another word, the message to my mentor as clear as the sky. The weight of the night’s events hung between us, an unspoken dialogue of shared secrets and burdens. Unable to hold back my concerns any longer, I broke the silence.
"Why don’t you just leave Kyktras?" I asked once clear of Maris’s ears, "You’ve always talked about seeing what lies beyond the walls."
The question seemed to strike a nerve. She stiffened, her hands pausing mid-motion as she turned to face me, her expression clouded with a rare flicker of anger. "Quinn, we do not discuss that—not now, not ever. Is that clear?" Her tone was sharp, a stark contrast to the warmth I was accustomed to.
I stepped back, taken aback by the intensity of her response. “I... I’m sorry, I was just...” I stumbled to get the words out, as if the response removed my ability to think.
A tense silence hung in the air, heavy with words unsaid. After a moment, her features softened, and she sighed, a weary, maternal sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless unspoken fears.
"I’m sorry, Quinn," she murmured, her hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. "It’s just… there are things at play here, dangers you don’t fully understand. Maris knows about my use of Umbra, and she’s threatened to expose me to the Hunters if I try to leave. It’s not as simple as just walking away."
Her confession, spoken softly amidst the clatter of metal and leather, drew a stark picture of the invisible chains that bound her to this place, to duties marred by threats and blackmail. I nodded, understanding the delicacy of her position, the precarious balance she maintained not just for her own safety but potentially for others as well.
"We’ll figure this out," I assured her, my voice low. "You’re not alone in this."
The shadows cast by the early light seeming to whisper of the delicate threads of loyalty and power that held our fates. Each step was a reminder of the trust she placed in me, a trust I vowed to honor above all else.
Dawn barely penetrated the thick smog that shrouded the Slums, casting a pallid light over the decrepit landscape. We threaded our way through the narrow, mire-filled alleys where the city’s forgotten resided. Here, the buildings were makeshift shelters cobbled together from scavenged wood and rusted metal, each one leaning on its neighbor for support, a mirror of the community’s own tenuous bonds.
The streets teemed with the weary and the worn. Vendors hawked sparse goods from ramshackle stalls, their voices brittle with fatigue. Children with gaunt faces and eyes too old for their years scrounged through piles of refuse, searching for anything salvageable. Laundry hung limply between the cramped houses, the fabric stained and threadbare.
Stray dogs skirted around the edges of human activity, their forms skeletal, their movements slow with hunger. The stench of rot and burning garbage permeated the air, a constant reminder of the relentless struggle for survival in this forsaken part of Kyktras.
As we moved through the Slums, I could feel the weight of the scene pressing down on us. Beside me, my mentor's steps were measured, her face set in a mask of stoic endurance. Yet, as we passed a young mother consoling a crying child, her facade briefly faltered. A look of profound sadness crossed her features—a silent testament to the heartache of witnessing such despair and feeling powerless to alleviate it.
She didn’t speak, nor did she need to. The grim set of her jaw and the slight tremble of her hands as she adjusted her cloak spoke volumes. Her gaze lingered on the squalid surroundings, the sight of such relentless hardship etching deeper lines of resolve and sorrow into her already weathered face.
We continued on, the ambient sounds of the Slums—a mixture of distant shouts, the clatter of makeshift carts, and the occasional cry of despair—fading into the background as we approached our modest dwelling. Inside, the simple quiet of our home provided a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary amidst the storm.
There, in the safety of our shared space, the tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but the shadow of what we had walked through lingered, a reminder of the battles yet fought and the lives we strived to protect, even when our efforts felt like mere drops in an ocean of need.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of routine chores and maintenance of our gear, the normalcy a thin veneer over the unspoken tension that lingered from our morning walk through the Slums. As evening approached, we decided to step out for fresh supplies, a necessary risk to prepare for the uncertain days ahead.
We moved through the dimming streets, the fading light casting long shadows that twisted like specters across the cobblestones. The marketplace was less crowded at this hour, the vendors packing up their stalls, their faces weary from the day's labor. The air was cooler now, the stench of the Slums less oppressive but never fully absent.
As we turned into a narrow alley between dilapidated buildings, the sudden hiss of an arrow slicing through the air shattered the evening calm. My mentor pushed me aside just as the arrow embedded itself in the wall where my head had been seconds earlier. Spinning around, I caught a glimpse of a figure perched on a rooftop—another assassin, bow in hand, lining up another shot.
Without hesitation, my mentor conjured dark tendrils of Umbra, creating a shield that deflected the next arrow. "Go, Quinn! Stop them!" she commanded, her voice strained under the effort of maintaining the barrier.
I took off at a sprint just as another arrow sliced through the air next to me. Not a very good shot I thought to myself. I dodged through the maze of alleys as the assassin fled across the rooftops, the chase a blur of adrenaline and fear, but my focus narrowed to the fleeting shadow ahead. As I gained ground, the assassin paused, perhaps thinking they could take another shot. They underestimated my resolve.
Leaping across a gap between buildings, I tackled them to the ground. He released the arrow, cutting the side of my face as it soured into the sky. I rolled over in retreat, the pain of my face as evident as the blood dripping down my cheek. The assassin climbed on top of me and placed his bow on my throat. The sky began to fade, his glowing eyes mocking my final moments.
As if summoned by my distress, I hear the calls of my name, and the faintest figure resembling my mentor came into view, and a fury of smokey purple tendrils engulfing my would-be attacker and throwing him to the side. I gasp for air as I turn to my mentor, limping over with a hand on her stomach, a single arrow pultruding through.
Still filled with adrenaline, and now anger, grab the attackers bow and pounce onto him, pushing with all my might onto his throat as he did to me. Slowly, the glow faded from his eyes, and his look changed from determination to confusion in his last fleeting moments. Soon, he was nothing more than a corpse residing on a rooftop. The memory of my mentors appearance came rushing back to me. I turned around and saw her laying on her side, hand still clenching where the arrow had embedded itself into her stomach. Her breathe coarse and desperate, trying to cling to any life she had in her.
“No no no.... please no...” I whispered as I ran to her aid, “Please don’t... please...” She placed her bloodied hand on my cheek and smiled. A tear forming in her eyes. “I’m so.... proud of you....” her voice barely a whisper, “Leave this place.... for me...” were the final words her lungs could muster.
“Don’t do this! Please! I still need you!”
submitted by EchoBookOfficial to writers [link] [comments]
Name of the book : Echo
Genre : Fantasy
Prologue
Part 1
As the first whispers of dawn began to soften the night, we moved like shadows along the path skirting Kyktras’s towering stone walls. The city behind us lay asleep, its inhabitants unaware of the stealthy figures slipping through the darkness at its edges. My mentor, a ghost in the muted light, moved with silent precision that spoke of years navigating the delicate balance of power and secrecy in a land ruled by a king and jealously guarded by noble families. "Stay sharp," she whispered, her voice a hushed echo in the cool air. "Tonight, we address a breach of trust that threatens the very foundation of our community. Remember, this mission is not just about executing a deed—it’s about sending a message."
My mentor was not usually this aggressive, but in the event of treason, she held no mercy. Our mission’s target was a fellow assassin, a brother-in-arms who had sold out the desperate for a meal. His betrayal had enraged us all, revealing the location of a secret smuggling tunnel used by those desperate to escape the city's harsh realities. Such an act of treachery underscored the brutal reality of life in the Slums, where even the promise of food could turn the loyal treacherous.
We approached his makeshift hideout, a dilapidated shack camouflaged by the shadows of the outer ring’s edge. She paused, blending into the darkness as she assessed the surroundings. Turning to me with stern eyes that reflected the moon’s faint glow, she said, "Each betrayal cuts deeper into the trust that binds us. Tonight, you learn the true cost of survival and the heavy burden of our choices."
She signaled for me to cover the front as she circled to the rear. The plan was straightforward yet fraught with peril. As she vanished into the night with a bloom of blackened purple smoke, I pressed against the rough wooden wall of the shack. The night’s ambient sounds—a contrast to my racing heart—filled the air, the occasional rustle of wildlife, and the distant sound of the night watch’s movement along the city walls.
This mission was more than a mere assassination; it was a grim lesson in the stark realities of our world. In Kyktras, where even the trusted could betray for a morsel of food, the lines between friend and foe were often blurred by desperation, and every secret revealed could mean death.
As I pressed against the rough wooden wall of the shack, waiting for the signal, a sudden crash shattered the silence. The side door burst open, and the traitorous assassin bolted into the open, desperation fueling his sprint. He knew his fate if caught—perhaps the open fields offered a sliver of hope for escape.
She appeared at the doorway, a momentary silhouette against the dim interior light. "Quinn! After him!" Her command sliced through the night, sharp and urgent.
Adrenaline surged as I took off, my boots pounding the soft earth. The fields around Kyktras were vast, the darkness a maze of shadows and whispers. Ahead, the fleeing figure was a ghost, barely discernible against the night's canvas.
Despite the distance, I knew this was my moment. I slid to a stop, pulling the bow from my back. The world seemed to hold its breath as I notched an arrow, the faintest light of dawn casting long, uncertain shadows. Eighty meters, I estimated, adjusting for the wind, the weight of the night air pressing against my skin.
The bowstring sang a tight, whispering hum as I released the arrow. It cut through the darkness, a silent herald of judgment. The fleeing assassin's figure stumbled, then crumpled quietly onto the field—a stark, motionless silhouette against the dewy grass.
Breathing heavily, I walked up to where he lay. The arrow had found its mark with a grim precision, a testament to the countless hours of training under her watchful guidance. She joined me, her presence solemn. "You did well," she said, her voice low. "But remember, each life taken is a heavy burden. Carry it with honor and awareness of its cost."
We quickly ensured the scene bore no signs of our involvement, erasing tracks and retrieving the arrow. As we made our way back through the fields towards the hidden pathways of Kyktras, she spoke again, her words cutting through the fading darkness. "This world of shadows we navigate is unforgiving and harsh. Today, you've learned another aspect of what it demands from us—not just stealth and skill, but readiness to act decisively when the moment calls."
The first light of dawn crested the distant walls as we approached the city, the events of the night a new weight in my conscience, a reminder of the stark realities of our existence and the roles we were destined to play. As the first light of dawn painted the sky in pale hues, we made our way back to the clandestine heart of Kyktras. The guild headquarters, hidden in plain sight within the maze of the Slums, was an unassuming structure to the untrained eye, yet it held the pulse of covert operations under its roof.
The guild leader, Maris Vhal, awaited our report in her office, a room shrouded more in secrets than in tapestries. Her presence commanded both respect and an undercurrent of fear. With steel-gray hair braided tightly back and eyes that missed nothing, Maris was as formidable as she was enigmatic.
"We completed the task," my mentor began, her voice steady despite the weight of exhaustion. "The traitor won't be a concern any longer."
Maris nodded, her expression unreadable. "Good. Your efficiency remains our guild's best asset, though I must remind you both of the dangers of such breaches. We cannot afford loose ends, not with the Hunters ever vigilant."
As she spoke, I noticed a fleeting shadow cross my mentor’s face—an echo of a deeper, unspoken tension. We bowed gracefully and left without saying another word, the message to my mentor as clear as the sky. The weight of the night’s events hung between us, an unspoken dialogue of shared secrets and burdens. Unable to hold back my concerns any longer, I broke the silence.
"Why don’t you just leave Kyktras?" I asked once clear of Maris’s ears, "You’ve always talked about seeing what lies beyond the walls."
The question seemed to strike a nerve. She stiffened, her hands pausing mid-motion as she turned to face me, her expression clouded with a rare flicker of anger. "Quinn, we do not discuss that—not now, not ever. Is that clear?" Her tone was sharp, a stark contrast to the warmth I was accustomed to.
I stepped back, taken aback by the intensity of her response. “I... I’m sorry, I was just...” I stumbled to get the words out, as if the response removed my ability to think.
A tense silence hung in the air, heavy with words unsaid. After a moment, her features softened, and she sighed, a weary, maternal sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless unspoken fears.
"I’m sorry, Quinn," she murmured, her hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. "It’s just… there are things at play here, dangers you don’t fully understand. Maris knows about my use of Umbra, and she’s threatened to expose me to the Hunters if I try to leave. It’s not as simple as just walking away."
Her confession, spoken softly amidst the clatter of metal and leather, drew a stark picture of the invisible chains that bound her to this place, to duties marred by threats and blackmail. I nodded, understanding the delicacy of her position, the precarious balance she maintained not just for her own safety but potentially for others as well.
"We’ll figure this out," I assured her, my voice low. "You’re not alone in this."
The shadows cast by the early light seeming to whisper of the delicate threads of loyalty and power that held our fates. Each step was a reminder of the trust she placed in me, a trust I vowed to honor above all else.
Dawn barely penetrated the thick smog that shrouded the Slums, casting a pallid light over the decrepit landscape. We threaded our way through the narrow, mire-filled alleys where the city’s forgotten resided. Here, the buildings were makeshift shelters cobbled together from scavenged wood and rusted metal, each one leaning on its neighbor for support, a mirror of the community’s own tenuous bonds.
The streets teemed with the weary and the worn. Vendors hawked sparse goods from ramshackle stalls, their voices brittle with fatigue. Children with gaunt faces and eyes too old for their years scrounged through piles of refuse, searching for anything salvageable. Laundry hung limply between the cramped houses, the fabric stained and threadbare.
Stray dogs skirted around the edges of human activity, their forms skeletal, their movements slow with hunger. The stench of rot and burning garbage permeated the air, a constant reminder of the relentless struggle for survival in this forsaken part of Kyktras.
As we moved through the Slums, I could feel the weight of the scene pressing down on us. Beside me, my mentor's steps were measured, her face set in a mask of stoic endurance. Yet, as we passed a young mother consoling a crying child, her facade briefly faltered. A look of profound sadness crossed her features—a silent testament to the heartache of witnessing such despair and feeling powerless to alleviate it.
She didn’t speak, nor did she need to. The grim set of her jaw and the slight tremble of her hands as she adjusted her cloak spoke volumes. Her gaze lingered on the squalid surroundings, the sight of such relentless hardship etching deeper lines of resolve and sorrow into her already weathered face.
We continued on, the ambient sounds of the Slums—a mixture of distant shouts, the clatter of makeshift carts, and the occasional cry of despair—fading into the background as we approached our modest dwelling. Inside, the simple quiet of our home provided a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary amidst the storm.
There, in the safety of our shared space, the tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but the shadow of what we had walked through lingered, a reminder of the battles yet fought and the lives we strived to protect, even when our efforts felt like mere drops in an ocean of need.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of routine chores and maintenance of our gear, the normalcy a thin veneer over the unspoken tension that lingered from our morning walk through the Slums. As evening approached, we decided to step out for fresh supplies, a necessary risk to prepare for the uncertain days ahead.
We moved through the dimming streets, the fading light casting long shadows that twisted like specters across the cobblestones. The marketplace was less crowded at this hour, the vendors packing up their stalls, their faces weary from the day's labor. The air was cooler now, the stench of the Slums less oppressive but never fully absent.
As we turned into a narrow alley between dilapidated buildings, the sudden hiss of an arrow slicing through the air shattered the evening calm. My mentor pushed me aside just as the arrow embedded itself in the wall where my head had been seconds earlier. Spinning around, I caught a glimpse of a figure perched on a rooftop—another assassin, bow in hand, lining up another shot.
Without hesitation, my mentor conjured dark tendrils of Umbra, creating a shield that deflected the next arrow. "Go, Quinn! Stop them!" she commanded, her voice strained under the effort of maintaining the barrier.
I took off at a sprint just as another arrow sliced through the air next to me. Not a very good shot I thought to myself. I dodged through the maze of alleys as the assassin fled across the rooftops, the chase a blur of adrenaline and fear, but my focus narrowed to the fleeting shadow ahead. As I gained ground, the assassin paused, perhaps thinking they could take another shot. They underestimated my resolve.
Leaping across a gap between buildings, I tackled them to the ground. He released the arrow, cutting the side of my face as it soured into the sky. I rolled over in retreat, the pain of my face as evident as the blood dripping down my cheek. The assassin climbed on top of me and placed his bow on my throat. The sky began to fade, his glowing eyes mocking my final moments.
As if summoned by my distress, I hear the calls of my name, and the faintest figure resembling my mentor came into view, and a fury of smokey purple tendrils engulfing my would-be attacker and throwing him to the side. I gasp for air as I turn to my mentor, limping over with a hand on her stomach, a single arrow pultruding through.
Still filled with adrenaline, and now anger, grab the attackers bow and pounce onto him, pushing with all my might onto his throat as he did to me. Slowly, the glow faded from his eyes, and his look changed from determination to confusion in his last fleeting moments. Soon, he was nothing more than a corpse residing on a rooftop. The memory of my mentors appearance came rushing back to me. I turned around and saw her laying on her side, hand still clenching where the arrow had embedded itself into her stomach. Her breathe coarse and desperate, trying to cling to any life she had in her.
“No no no.... please no...” I whispered as I ran to her aid, “Please don’t... please...” She placed her bloodied hand on my cheek and smiled. A tear forming in her eyes. “I’m so.... proud of you....” her voice barely a whisper, “Leave this place.... for me...” were the final words her lungs could muster.
“Don’t do this! Please! I still need you!”
2024.05.11 04:37 critical_courtney [Hot Off The Press] — Chapter Six
![[Hot Off The Press] — Chapter Six](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/inEC5vdxIlxXnduyO-DedKlMn43YrFK8uZ8nyBj_Yeo.jpg "[Hot Off The Press] — Chapter Six") | https://preview.redd.it/34y98l11mpzc1.jpg?width=1410&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5d12592f7af99dbfc4b46fa31b0260b7485649bc submitted by critical_courtney to redditserials [link] [comments] My Discord Buy me a cup of coffee (if you want) Previous Chapter Chapter Six: (Dawn) My house was quiet save for the occasional bleating of Billie outside. And he was only vocal for a little bit in the morning. The warm smell of coffee filled the kitchen as I fried up an egg sandwich courtesy of the Fates. A soft clicking noise kicked on as the spout of my coffee maker whirred to life and granted me the caffeine I’d need to start my day. “Thanks be to Kaldi,” I mumbled, pulling out a white mug with a black witch hat and boots painted on the side. Underneath the logo were the words, “Nice shoes. Wanna have hex?” I grinned as I filled the mug with coffee and watched the steam float up to gently kiss my nose. I didn’t add any cream or sugar. They were mainly in my cabinet for guests. Guests like Frankie Dee, who definitely shouldn’t be on my mind right now. Because we were professional business partners. Not romantic partners who fell in love after a decidedly amusing one-night stand. No need to remember how soft her lips were or how she squirmed under my touch. Because there was no way that was happening again. Yup, I thought, sipping my coffee, picturing things I definitely shouldn’t be. No way. I made quick work of my breakfast while scrolling through my social media feeds and replying to a few comments I’d gotten about yesterday’s podcast episode. A few minutes later, I left my phone on my nightstand, donned a simple pair of ripped jeans and a purple tank top, and went into the backyard. The air was still a bit nippy for a tank top, but I’d be fine once I got used to it. Billie ran up to me as soon as I stepped onto the lawn. Picking the goat up, I kissed his head gently three times and giggled. “Okay, my adorable little Billie. I need you to watch the Fates while I say hi to Mother. Can you do that?” “Baa!” my furry little friend bleated. “Thatta boy.” I set him down and stepped over the ranch fence and chicken wire into the patch of woods behind my home. Maple and elm trees greeted me with open branches as my bare feet traced over the soil. Taking a deep breath of the cool morning wind, I made my way about 100 feet from my property line to a faerie ring of mushrooms. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a few pieces of candy, unwrapped them, and placed them in the circle. “Gotta keep the fae happy,” I said, grinning. “I certainly don’t want them coming for a visit.” A little further into the woods, I found my usual morning meditation spot between two tree stumps. I’d dug out a little hollow in the earth next to a bayberry bush. Sitting cross-legged, I lowered myself into the little hollow and took a deep breath, closing my eyes. Clearing my mind usually took a few minutes as I typically pictured all the things I had waiting for me ahead in the day to come. But this morning most of my thoughts focussed on a certain newspaper editor. Squinting, I tried to chase them away. The most I managed was to push those thoughts out to the fringe of my subconscious. They were like a herd of ornery goats, and I didn’t have a border collie to properly lead them where they needed to go. “That’ll have to do,” I mumbled, taking another deep breath, holding it for 10 seconds, and letting it go slowly, feeling my mind sink into the welcome embrace of Mother Gaia as I did every morning. The feel of soil between my toes, the sound of a blue jay calling out above me, the taste of morning fog that rolled from Casco Bay and had yet to yield its grip on this cool morning to an eventual sunny day. In all of these things, there was magic, and I tapped into it, surrendered myself to this beautiful gift of life. With my body held in place by the roots of this small patch of forest, I opened my spirit to Mother Gaia for a new day of life. “Mother Gaia, I thank you for the many gifts you provide each day. I greet you by name this day as I do every morning with notes of gratitude on my lips. I sing the song of your beauty with each breath of air released from my lungs. You feed me. You clothe me. You put the very earth under my feet. I receive these blessings and bow my head to the grand start of another new day. May I honor you with it,” I prayed aloud to the goddess. The wind picked up, and I sat there breathing, not in silence, but in the morning sounds of this tiny patch of forest on the west side of Portland. Someone in the next neighborhood over was walking an excited dog barking at something. In the distance, I heard Billie sound off again. Behind me, a fox darted over one of the stumps and between some tall grass. My mind drifted to rest as I felt waves of energy from the Earth moving through the ground beneath me and up through the trees. With a slower breath, I folded into the parcel of nature that held me and remained at peace for a while. An hour later, I was showered and sitting in my recording studio down in the basement. Black absorbers hung on each wall around me. The brown and white carpet muffled my footsteps as I walked over to my laptop and turned everything on. While my Adobe Audition booted up and started syncing my files, I walked over to a table behind me and lit some sandalwood incense, softly blowing on the embers to coax wafting smoke to life. It didn’t take long before the smell of incense filled my basement studio. From one of my basement hopper windows, I saw all of the Fates rush by, chasing something. A snake maybe? Giggling, I took a seat at the computer desk and swung the microphone and its protector around toward me. I cleared my throat and blew my nose. “Testing 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, testing. Testing,” I said, adjusting the levels of my recording. I pulled a worn notebook with Wednesday Addams on the cover toward me and flipped to the notes I’d made for this episode. I need to get a new one with Jenna Ortega on the cover, I thought, seeing I only had three or four pags left in this notebook. Yawning and shaking my head from side to side, I hit the record button and spoke the opening lines of my podcast. “You’re listening to Dawn’s Divinations, your #1 witchy podcast for everything from astrology to tarot. On today’s episode, I’ll be discussing tips for grounding yourself against chaotic energy, what’s up with Jupiter lately, and I have a recorded interview with Maria Gonzalez about her newest book on shadow work and what we all get wrong when trying to tackle it.” Pausing for a moment, I took a breath away from my microphone and a quick sip of water. “But before we get into all that, I want to take a minute to thank the sponsor for today’s episode, Bombo Socks. When I’m hiking in Acadia National Park and trying to connect with nature, it’s so much easier to get my head right when I’m wearing socks that keep my feet dry and cool no matter the weather. Bombo Socks have a variety of materials all ethically sourced and made by hand for any of your comfort needs, whether you’re hiking down a trail or recording a witchy podcast episode.” I spent the rest of the morning recording, editing, and proofing the latest episode before submitting it to my distributor that would push it across to various platforms where my listeners were subscribed to me. When I’d finished adding a few bonus recordings for my Patreon subscribers, I got up and stretched. “Oh goddess, I’m tired,” I said. Right about that time, my stomach let me know that the egg sandwich I’d eaten a few hours ago was depleted. And it hungered for more. “Easy, tum tum. You’re growling louder than I did reading the things Gretchen said to Imogen in the restaurant.” As I tried to figure out what I could make for lunch with rice, flour, and breadcrumbs, I reminded myself to go grocery shopping tonight. Just like I’d reminded myself last night before playing two hours of “Little Kitty, Big City.” My phone buzzed, and I found a text from Keyla waiting for me as I unlocked the screen. “Client canceled meeting. Lunch?” she wrote. As I grinned and confirmed our lunch date, I practically ran into my room to throw on a purple v-neck shirt, a black broom skirt, and a long flowing jacket I left unbuttoned. Keyla worked at a little accounting office in Knightville, so I made the 15-minute drive along the Fore River and over the Casco Bay Bridge. I always liked Knightville. It was quiet and had such pretty views of Portland’s harbor from Thomas Knight Park. You could walk up a little ramp to a platform halfway between the Casco Bay Bridge and the water, and the harbor would hide no secrets from you on a sunny day. Cruise ships that docked in town, sailboats, and cargo vessels having their shipping containers unloaded via crane, you could see it all. And a little further in the distance, you could spot some of the taller buildings in downtown Portland like the M&T Bank Building and the Time and Temperature Building flashing words like “Call Joe.” Half of Knightville seemed like a little residential cluster just across the water from Maine’s biggest city, and half of it seemed like a little downtown section for SoPo. Sitting right smack dab in the middle of the little neighborhood was a Mexican restaurant called Taco Duo. I walked inside to the smell of salsa and cooked beef, instantly reminding me how hungry I was. Working while hungry. Who did that remind me of? A certain newspaper editor I definitely wasn’t still thinking about now that my podcast was finished and uploaded. Sitting at an orange table surrounded by blue and yellow chairs, I spotted perhaps the only real friend I’d made since moving to Maine. She was munching on chips and salsa frowning at her phone when I walked over. “Hey girl!” she said, standing up and throwing her arms around me. I smiled and returned Keyla’s crushing hug. “Well, that’s a much happier look than the one you had five seconds ago. Did another coworker ask why you spelled your name ‘weird’ again?” I asked as we both sat down. Neither of us needed a menu. We’d both eaten here enough to have the damn thing memorized in English and Spanish. Keyla rolled her eyes. “Not quite. Thankfully, I have nothing new to report from the accounting firm of Snow and Cream. But I did make my boss squirm last week by asking what the office’s plans for celebrating Juneteenth this year were. That man set a land speed record for sweat. His shirt was soaked in about 20 seconds,” she said, giggling. I snickered. Sitting across from me was a tall, gorgeous Black woman wearing a nice blouse and slacks. She looked every part the role of an accountant. But seeing as Maine was literally the whitest state in the U.S., Keyla didn’t exactly look like a carbon copy of her coworkers, most of whom were middle-aged white men who drove nice trucks or SUVs to the office and all looked like they would repeatedly hire a new guy by the name of Ben Wyatt, only to have him quit minutes later. If Keyla didn’t draw the occasional glance for her skin color, she might be stared at for her shaved head. It was the typical bullshit people of color dealt with existing in a society we’d constructed primarily for people who looked like me. We both met on the Merrill Theatre fundraising committee, a group of five people who help plan how best to take money from people to keep a beautiful and underfunded fine arts location from being shuttered and bulldozed for luxury condos or some bullshit. “No, I was scowling because I haven’t been able to find any resources for dating, uh, trans men,” Keyla said, putting her phone in her purse. I flashed her a wicked grin. “Oh? Got yourself a new boyfriend, Keyla? And why haven’t I seen any pictures or even heard this man’s name? You’ve been holding out on me!” My best friend in the entire world rolled her eyes for a second time, and we got up to order our food. Before long, she had a chorizo burrito, and I had a plate of mole enchiladas with beans and rice. Between mouthfuls of delicious food, I poked at Keyla’s dating life again. “So. . . his name?” She looked up and finished a bite before answering. “His name is Lalo. We go to the same gym. He’s been helping me with weightlifting and eventually asked for my number.” My smile only grew. “Yeah. . . and?” She sneered. “Bitch, shut up. I ain’t like that. . . not yet, anyway.” “There it is!” I almost whooped. She jabbed a finger in my face. “You shut that mouth, or I’ll turn you over to the Church and tell them you’re secretly a witch. They’ll give you the rack or something.” “Keyla, I already have a perfectly functional rack.” She raised an eyebrow but couldn’t keep from snickering. “And tell me. . . has anybody made good use of it lately? I mean — it’s been two months since Jessica dumped you, right? How do you know your tits are still perfectly functional?” I stared down at the table and found myself at a loss for words. I was thinking about Frankie Dee again and the feeling of her breasts pressed against mine. The way they — fuck! The goal was to keep things professional. And I couldn’t do that if I kept wishing she’d get under me again (and stay awake this time). “Oh my god, you’re picturing someone right now, aren’t you? Who is she? Tell me her name.” “Oh no no, my friend. You first. Tell me about Lalo,” I said, taking another bite of my enchilada. Keyla scratched her cheek and then looked at her plate, not eating. “He’s really cute, got a body that looks like it was chiseled by a Renaissance sculptor.” I cocked my head to the side as a husband and wife got up from the table beside us to leave and head home. “Then what’s the issue? It sounds like you’re attracted to him.” “I am! He’s great. And he makes me laugh. The other day we were passing a truck that had a license plate with the letters F-O-O-F-O-O on it. He said, ‘Huh. Must belong to a bunny.”” I just stared at my bestie and started to reevaluate my friend options. It only took me three years to make a real friend up here in Maine. I bet I could shorten the next friend search to two years. “That’s not funny, Keyla. That’s just sad.” She smiled. “Okay, so his jokes aren’t funny. But Lalo THINKS he’s funny. And I find that shit hilarious. I just. . . I’ve never dated a trans man before, and I want to make sure I don’t accidentally say something insensitive, ya know? I fully accept he’s a man. He’s a man’s man. And bonus, Lalo was raised without any macho bullshit or toxic masculinity.” I just ate quietly while I listened. “I like him plenty. And him trusting me with that secret before we even went on an official date took guts. I just want to make sure I’m being respectful and returning that courtesy,” she said. Reaching across the table, I took her hand. She looked up, and I smiled. “I think you’re going to be perfectly fine, Keyla. Just treat him like any other guy you’ve dated. Minus Robert, because that poor dude is probably still in therapy after what you did to him.” She scowled. “That fucker knows what he did and absolutely had it coming.” I threw up my hands in surrender. One of the cashiers stared at us and shook his head before walking back into the kitchen. My eyes wandered around to the painted yellow walls of the restaurant, walls lined with double lights, painted flowers, and framed art. Keyla’s burrito had officially broken into pieces, so she’d transitioned to finishing the insides with a spoon. I watched as she scooped up pork and potatoes. “So, tell me about this girl,” Keyla said, narrowing her eyes. I sighed. “What’s to tell? She’s managing editor of the Portland Lighthouse-Journal, the same paper I just signed a contract with to become their astrology editor,” I said. “Frankie told me she wants to keep things professional.” Keyla drooped a little, almost like she was feeling sorry for me. Hell, with how badly I wanted to do things to Frankie Dee and have her do them to me, I felt sorry for me. “Of course, this was after I took Frankie home semi-drunk from a book club meeting, and we fooled around,” I mumbled, taking a drink of my tea. My bestie’s eyes widened, and she pointed a finger in my face. “I think you should have started your story there, Dawn. Jesus. I believe your new coworker would call that ‘burying the lede.’ You took your future coworker home from a bar, and she asked to keep things professional afterward?” A little boy with a skateboard came in and picked up his to-go order, only to be scolded by an employee for trying to skate between tables on the way out. “There’s nuance! Context! Geez. Neither of us knew who we were. It was her first time at the book club meeting, and we’d only previously communicated over email,” I said, finishing my enchiladas. “So. . . you didn’t know. Damn, Dawn. You sure do like your complicated romances,” Keyla said, rubbing the back of her neck. “So what are you doing to do?” I shrugged. “What can I do?” I said, with my elbows on the table. “There are times when she looks at me where I can practically hear her begging me to hold her. It’s like. . . she’s being crushed by this boulder, and I’m the first person to walk by in days. And the way she takes me seriously and asks serious questions about my craft, it just. . .,” I trailed off. My heart quivered hearing her ask me questions about Artemis and The Morrigan again. I wanted her to see more of me. Gods! I wanted her to know every inch of me, body and soul. Midnight and magic. Looking up at Keyla, I sighed. “She sees me, Keyla. And I know she doesn’t want to keep things professional. I think she’s secretly hoping I’ll push at the door until she’s left with no choice but to open it and press our lips together. But until she says that. . . I can’t know for sure.” The accountant across from me raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Damn, bitch. You are down bad.” My phone vibrated. Looking at the screen, my heart started racing for an entirely different reason. And for a moment, all I could hear was a man shouting from the pulpit and smell the odor of old carpet. I could taste the wafers and grape juice. Somewhere in the back of my head, Mom’s voice said, “I was wrong. Run.” “So what are you going to do?” Keyla asked. I just shook my head staring at the name “Ex-Father (Shitbag)” on my phone’s screen. My heart thumped even harder in my chest as I declined the call and fought to keep from screaming, “Leave me alone!” Amid all the panic, I felt Keyla’s hand on my arm. “Dawn? Are you okay?” I put my phone back in my purse and wiped my forehead. “Yeah! Yeah. . . sorry. Just kind of zoned out there for a moment. What were we talking about again?” The restaurant’s phone rang behind me as a customer called in an order. “I asked what you were going to do about this Frankie girl, and you got really pale really fast. And it takes a lot to make you look pale,” she said. Shrugging, all I could do was say, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” What was I going to do? |
2024.05.10 23:40 Future_Ad_3485 Paranormal Inc. Part Thirteen: Jakal of Despair!
Staring up at the skyscraper standing tall in a sea of eerie fog, lost souls wandered aimlessly back and forth into the revolving door. Wut and Croak shifted uncomfortably behind me, both of them shaking their heads. Massaging my forehead, this had to be the definition of despair.
“Nothing screams loss of hope like a never ending job.” I commented with a huff, both of them raising their weapons at the souls pausing for a minute. “Let’s take down this Jakal person.” Resuming their activity, a pair of violet eyes glittered on the top floor. Joining the souls pouring in, a cold stale lobby greeted me. Taking in the empty ivory desk, the souls poured into offices. Wondering where to go, the answer must lay in a code somewhere. Wut nudged my shoulders, his robes brushing against the top of my feet. Pointing to the flickering light in the elevator, a quiet fear had me stepping back. Elevators scared me, Wut flicking the back of my head.
“There aren’t any stairs.” He pointed out in a huff, Croak shooting daggers from her eyes. “Let’s go.” Dragging the two of us onto the elevator, a rusty door clicked shut. His expression softened at my obvious fear, an apologetic smile lingering on his lips. Nothing needed to be said, the elevator groaning up to the top floor. The door clicked open, a maze of cubicles had our brows cocking at the same with a scoffs of disappointment. Why couldn’t anything simply be one and done? Then again, getting lost in a maze of cubicles did sound depressing as shit. Moving around in front of us, the path changed.
“Have fun suffering in dark despair as I torture you with an endless test.” An icy female voice laughed maniacally, my muscles stiffening. “Only then you can fight me. See you never!” Stepping into the first cubicle, the smell of stale ketchup was on point. Covering up my nose with the hem of my onyx lace skirt, another musty breeze had my scarlet blouse fluttering with my leather jacket. Wut and Croak began to argue next to me, a couple of shadow snakes slithering down my arms. Kicking my dagger out of its case, my eager palm caught it. Keeping them by side, their glowing eyes were seeking out danger. Crashing through twists and turns, a couple of hisses had me skidding to stop. Glancing up, a tall slender goddess with violet eyes appeared over me. Her slicked back silver hair glistened in the flickering office lights, a silver flute hovered by her lips. Horror rounded my eyes, my blade expanding. Smashing my blade into her flute, the darn thing clattering to the cheap carpet. Noting the crack by feet, the maze was set to reset again. Kicking it into the crack, the cubicles shifted around once more. The metal groaned, a rotten scent twirled from the end of the flute. Seeking a way out from the bomb that was going to harm us, a weak point presented itself. Kicking her back into the air, a space big enough for us opened up. Motioning for them to follow, musty air lashed at our cheeks as we crashed through several floors. Hitting a desk, office supplies rolled onto the floor. Dust rained down with pieces of ceiling hitting my face, Wut and Croak crashing onto me. Pushing them off, time wasn’t in our deck of cards. Sitting up with a gruff groan, every muscle screamed in protest. Hopping off the desk, a cafeteria caught my eyes. Leaping over the cubicles, flute music had chills running up my spine. Venomous gas seeped through the cracks, the clear glass walls of the cafeteria would protect us. Jumping over the last one, our boots pounded towards the glass doors. Ripping them open, we skidded into the large sterile room. Locking the doors behind us, that damn fog claimed the rest of the floor. Stacking several tables against the doors, something had to give. Ignoring their protests, something had to cancel out the fog. Croak’s usual nightmares wouldn’t do, my palm pressing against the glass. Flitting between the many objects, a gust of fresh air was what we needed. Several shadow snakes slithered down my arms, their hissing guiding me to a loose tile. Plucking the tile from the floor, a golden flute glinted in the flickering lights. Tucking my blade into my belt, a rush of energy blew my loose strands about the moment I brought it to my lips. Blowing the one song I knew, purified wind flooded from the end. Spinning it in between my fingers, this was our ticket out. Croak bounced onto my back, her chin resting on my head. Feeling her soft gray suit against my skin had me feeling better, her blade grazing my cheek.
“Cool flute, love.” She sang gleefully, plucking it from my fingers. “How you managed across one of three golden flutes bemuses me. Shall I play it for you? The flute happens to be my favorite instrument.” Caving in with a long breath, she flipped off of my back. Landing with a spin, excitement buzzed in her eyes. Bringing the flute to her lips, complex notes flowed magically. My breath hitched at its beauty, the purified wind blasting the glass. Covering myself with my arms, another gust of wind had the shards shooting into the distance. A shrill fuck had us shrinking back, the venom dissolving upon contact with the purified air. Continuing to play, our enemy’s notes were harsh compared to Croak’s gentle notes. Playing louder, Wut and myself sought a way to get closer to this goddess. Assuming that water was her power, the moment they unleashed that side would mean the twins were here. Closing my eyes, two more energies were approaching. Opening my eyes to a concerned Wut, my lips pressed into a thin line. The twins were on their way and we were outnumbered, regret dimming my eyes.
“Scout out the twins’ locations and come back to me. I have a problem to deal with before they get here.” I whispered into his ear, his head nodding once. Sinking into his smoke, my boots pounded towards our target. Dodging a splash of water, my body smashed into the floor. Snatching her ankle, a disconcerting alarm rounded her eyes at me throwing her through several floors. Catching her flute, a strong squeeze had it crumbling to pieces. Whistling for Croak to follow, her hand grabbed mine the moment I jumped into the hole. Using the rebar to slow our descent, the goddesses body twitched on top of a desk, her broken bones beginning to heal. Angling my elbow for her spine, Croak did the same. Striking her spine at full strength, the vertebrates shattered to dust. Unable to move, a ribbon of violet blood poured from her lips. Flipping to our feet, we raised our blades over our heads. Swinging our blades towards her heart, a shrill shriek rattled the building the moment we pierced her heart. Twisting our blades in deeper, her body seized until it decayed to a cloud of dust. Plucking the heart off of the tips of our blades, the organ shriveled into a black ball of tissue. Tucking it into an evidence bag, clues rested in this organ. Croak raised her hand for a high five, my palm smacked hers with a matching crazed grin. One problem was solved, two more were coming our way. The building groaned underneath our boots, Wut swooping in to whisk us out of the crumbling structure. Running on smoke discs, his boots hit the ashy gray dirt. Hiding us behind the thickest tree, the twins came into view in their usual outfits of a pink dress and a white suit. Tapping their blades against their legs, lightning bounced off of their bodies. Wishing that Morte was here, a loud boom had concrete and dust raining down over us. Poking my head around the trunk, a pile of rubble hid their bodies. Something felt off, the twins appearing over our heads. Sparks fluttered in the air with the violent clash of our blades, lightning whipping over our heads. Kicking Salacia in the stomach, her body shot into the sky. Spinning my blade over my head, a swift swing sent her twin in the opposite direction. Wut staggered over to us, a gaping wound stealing my breath away. Turning towards Croak, no words needed to be said. Tossing him over her shoulder, she was gone in a second. Calculating when they would come back down, hollow footsteps echoed behind me. A female version of Wut approached me in black robes, ivory waves floating in the hot air in her neon smoke around her worn boots. Playing with a neon whip, her neon green eyes glowed with adventure. An annoyed sigh poured from my lips, today seeming to be run by Murphy's law.
“I sensed my beloved Wut. Where is he?” She mused with a sly grin, her eyes falling on the twins flying back towards us. “Give him up or die.” Cursing under my breath, time was not on my side. Cracking her whip in my direction, the rubble groaned in protest with my jump back. Gritting my teeth, a low growl rumbled in my throat.
“He works for me by choice. If he wanted to leave your creepy ass because of acts of pure insanity, that isn’t on me. All of that falls on you, sweetheart.” I pointed simply, a snarl twitching on her inky lips. “Not that I have time but let’s handle this.” Charging at her, twirls avoiding her whip with ease. Focusing a bit better, her whip cut my cheek. Narrowing my eyes in direction, her whip deflected my blade. The twins appeared behind her, their blades glinting in the air. Tackling my new enemy to the rubble, two blades sunk into my back. Neon tears slid down her cheeks, the corner of her lips quivering. Blood pooled in my throat, the bastards ripping their blades out of my back. Watching my blood paint their features, small electrical burns dotted my back. Feverish apologies flowed from her lips, my tears splashing onto her face while my blood began to stain her robe.
“Why?” She choked out through a waterfall of tears and sniffles, her trembling hands wiping the corner of my lips. “I was going to kill you.” Shrugging my shoulders, my patience was wearing thin. Struggling to my feet, my knees met the twins’ stomachs. Painting my face with their blood, the burst organs had me chuckling to myself. Kicking their blades away from them, my fingers curled around their throat. Pinning them to the closest trees, every breath felt like hard labor.
“Like hell you are getting away this time.” I threatened starkly between wheezes, their fingers clawing at hands. Another energy swallowed the space in a cloudy darkness, two claws piercing their hearts. Their heads bobbed a couple of times before dropping for the final time, panic twisting my features. Cursing under my breath, they needed help. Ripping them off the claws, a faint pulse had me sighing with relief. Tossing one of them to my new friend, the other one was tossed over my shoulder. Using my sword to find the exit, she took the other one. Whisking them away, an eerie silence came over the dimension. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, a lump forming in my throat at wicked feminine laughter behind me.
“Fine, you can have my puppets but I am going to take over the damn world.” She bragged with a fit of maniacal giggles, the rubble crunching as I spun to face my new nemesis. Inky straight hair floated down to her ankles, her golden dragon eyes watching me tremble in my spot. Golden horns twisted into the sky, golden scales lining her cheeks. Clicking her black claws together, fresh tears cascaded from my eyes. Unable to move, something about her powers had me frozen in my spot. Her fur robes swayed with every circle around me, her inky lips curling into a sneer. Words bounced around my mind, the color draining from my face at a spell keeping my mouth shut.
“I am giving you one chance to join my team. Be the new number one of Stormana’s league of forgotten gods.” She chuckled with a twisted grin, a fire rising in her throat. Gripping my blade desperately, the crunching stopped with her in front of me. Shaking my head, a defiant grin curled on my pale face. Feeling my heart rate pick up, any nerves I had left fled at golden flames undoing my bun. Wincing through the agony of burns on my cheek, her claw traced my body. Bringing her hand back, Croak appeared over her. Shaking my head, Croak refused to listen. Spinning her blade over her head, one of her claws cut off her head. Rolling to my feet, her limp body hit the toe of my boot. The raw agony of losing my friend broke the silence curse, tortured wails exploding from my lips. Unable to fight the depression, no rage could come to my assistance.
“That will keep happening until you join my side.” She warned venomously, pure hatred burning in her eyes as golden flames whisked her away. Sinking to my knees, Croak was already decaying to ash, violent sobs wracking my body. Scooping up her head, my muscles ached as I crawled over to her body. Hugging all of her close to my body, her hand clutched mine. Her eyes fluttered open, her tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Give my heart to Cal and tell him that I love him.” She wheezed with a broken smile, her hand gripping mine tighter as my tears splashed onto her face. “Don’t cry for me. I did it on my own accord, love. I love you, love.” Her hand hit my lap, the rest of her decaying into a pile of ash. A gust of wind blew her into the air, her heart glowed in my palm. Curling into a ball, claws extended from my fingertips. Clutching her heart close to my chest, the dimension glitched out to a busy park in the middle of the day. Shrinking my sword back down to a dagger, my trembling hand shoved it into its case. A crowd gathered around me, none of it mattering. The twins shoved everyone aside, both of them getting everyone to get on with their day. Bowing down to me, their foreheads were pressed to the lush grass.
“We vow to serve you with all the life we have left.” They vowed together, the previous mark shifting to inky snakes around their arms as they sat on their haunches. Saying nothing else, Wut’s face fell at the sight of Croak’s heart. Scooping me up, he tossed me over his shoulder. Too numb to protest, his words faded in and out on the way back to the hearse. Sitting me down in the back, his sharp eyes scanned me over for any more wounds than the obvious ones. Mixing potions while trying to get me to talk, the freak with a whip bowed at my feet. Vowing her allegiance to me, this had Wut written all over it. Hovering her face inches from mine, the burns on my cheek refused to heal into a smooth scar. Crying for a minute, her fingers caught a couple of tears. Rubbing them on my cheek, the angry scars faded to a smooth cheek. Mumbling a dejected thank you, Wut shoving a vial down my throat had it ending swiftly. Ignoring everyone checking me over, the sole thing I could focus on was the heart in my quivering palm. Getting up without a word, I climbed into the driver’s seat. The other’s jumped into the back, my appearance being the most normal one. Fishing around the glove box, an evidence bag fell onto the seat. Sliding her heart into the bag, I placed it onto my lap. Shoving the key in, the silence was deafening. Missing her endless chatter, discreet weeps shook my body the whole ride back. Pulling up to the front, Cal waited with a big smile with my girls and son. Hopping out, I placed my finger on my lips to quiet the others. Motioning for him to come with me, dread bubbled in my gut at what I had to do. The poor guy had lost one wife and now he was losing another love in his life. Walking with him in the garden, his face fell at my obvious tears. Presenting him with Croak’s heart, any composure he had died in seconds. Raising his fist for my face, it stopped inches from my face. Shit, I deserved every ounce of rage heading my way.
“You can hit me. I don’t mind.” I spoke with a dejected smile, bowing my head in shame. “Please hate me for the rest of your l-” Burying me into a bear hug, his tears soaked the top of my head. Hating myself for my failure, his hands cupped my tear drenched face. Smiling kindly in my direction, the sorrow wore on his face.
“If I knew Croak, she chose to try to save you. Thank you for her heart.” He sighed sorrowfully, his hand curling around her heart. “Do you want to see what she wanted me to do with it?” Taking a step back, his black dress shirt fluttered in a gust of cool wind. Holding it in his palms, the organ hardened to a ruby heart. Wonder softened the blow of my sorrow, his hand tucking it into the pocket of his dark jeans. Hugging me one last time, his footfalls echoed hollowly away from me. Morte called for me, the stress becoming too much. Sprinting out of the garden, the brick wall grazed the heel of my boots. Crunching into the woods, branches scratched my cheeks. Running until I couldn’t, a cave had me smiling brokenly to myself. Sliding down the slick gray wall, my hands rested on my knees. Alone, I needed to be alone.
“Hey.” A meek voice called out, Wut’s friend sitting down across from me. “I am Eris, Wut’s girl. Do you want to talk?” Staring dumbly at her glowing eyes, that was a rare question for me to be asked. Croak always asked me what was on my mind, another wave of tears rattling my body. Scooting over to me, her arms pulled me into an awkward embrace. Burying my head into her shoulder, her embrace becoming like the bear hugs Croak used to smother me in. Sobbing harder into her chest, my fingers grasping desperately at her robes. Letting me cry until the moon claimed the sky, her hands cupped my cheeks. Wiping away my tears with her thumbs, her crooked grin was her natural smile. Attempting to smile back, her palm slid to cover my mouth.
“You don’t need to smile when you can’t.” She assured me sweetly, lowering her hand to her lap. “Let the grief course through you. Then you can get revenge for her loss.” Laughing honestly to myself, Eris was amazing in the best way. Popping to her feet, my muscles refused to move. Placing me on her back, the warmth of her flames had exhaustion slapping me in the face. Draping my arms around her neck, the hood of her robe felt soft against my wet cheeks. Carrying me back, Morte thanked her for getting me. Choosing not to berate me, his arms placed me onto his back. Carrying me into the living room, her heart glistened in the center of a worn coffee table. A metal bowl with Celtic markings containing pieces of blessed parchment papers fluttered in the bottom, a piece of paper waiting for me. Smiling to myself, the funeral was rather touching. Sitting me down on the couch, my fingers curled around a raven feather quill. Dipping the tip into the inkwell, the tip couldn’t stop moving. Moving the favorite memories onto the back, tears of joy mixed the sad ones as I folded the paper. Placing my paper on the top, Hel and the others huddled close to me as Cal placed her heart in the center. Pouring his blood over the paper, ruby stained the sea of parchment and ink. Pressing his palms together, his words were dripping with tears.
“Dear Lord, grant her soul an entrance into Heaven. Help her reach the stars she dreamed of touching.” He wept brokenly, struggling to continue to speak. “Do this one for me. If you can’t let her in, give her a generous second chance. Amen.” Golden flames devoured everything, the crystal melting into a sea of sparkling ash. A warm breeze akin to Croak’s love had the ash fluttering out the open window. A pensive smile hung in the air, an alarm in the kitchen caused one of the brothers to rush out of the room. Not one word was spared, the energy in the room brightening at Miles and the girls hugging me from all sides. Kissing them feverishly, Morte plopped down next to me. Clapping his hands, all eyes fell on him.
“How about we tell funny stories with Croak?” He suggested with a gentle smile, the others raising their glasses of wine in honor of Croak. “I think we need to celebrate all that she was.” The twins hovered awkwardly in the doorway, the couch groaning as I leapt over the back. Approaching them with a comforting smile, neither one could look me in the eyes.
“I forgive you. Whatever was driving you guys before doesn’t matter.” I promised them while taking their hands, their tense expressions softening. “Look, the past is water under the bridge. Work bold and true by my side, and you can have true joy in your life. I am pointing out that your marks prevent you from killing anyone in our group. Trust will be found eventually. Please be patient with me.” Flinching as I reached out to embrace them, the years of abuse were apparent. Noticing the soft terror haunting their expressions, the floor announced that I was giving them space.
“If you need to talk about your shitty childhood, I am all ears. Don’t open up if you don’t want to.” I continued with my genuine smile, both twins brightening up a bit. “Your mother was a bitch and if you didn’t kill her I was going to eventually. Thank you for the help.” Ruffling their hair the way Mr. Bone used to do to me, something lit the fire of hope back up into me. If I could bring what was left of the Bone family back together, that damn dragon lady didn’t stand a damn chance. Guiding them to the table, the girls showed off their bunnies. Miles looked glum, my hand waved him over. Walking him up to my bedroom, I presented him with a silver wrapped box. Remember that Croak wrapped it with me, silent tears stained my cheeks. Wrapping paper flew everywhere, his face illuminating at the boy rabbit in blue overalls laying in the bottom of the box. Wiping away my tears before he noticed, his arms draped around my neck. Remembering what Croak spoke once, she always told me to cherish what I had. Kissing the top of his head, his tiny feet bounced down the stairs. The girls joined him in playing, Morte appearing at the bottom of the stairs. Climbing each step with a more broken expression, the wrapping paper crunched underneath him as he plopped down next to me. Pulling me onto his lap, his strong hands buried my face into his shoulder. Another wave of grief had me sobbing harder into his shoulder, the word sleep ringing in my ear. Sinking into a rough slumber, Morte’s humming was the last thing I heard.
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“Nothing screams loss of hope like a never ending job.” I commented with a huff, both of them raising their weapons at the souls pausing for a minute. “Let’s take down this Jakal person.” Resuming their activity, a pair of violet eyes glittered on the top floor. Joining the souls pouring in, a cold stale lobby greeted me. Taking in the empty ivory desk, the souls poured into offices. Wondering where to go, the answer must lay in a code somewhere. Wut nudged my shoulders, his robes brushing against the top of my feet. Pointing to the flickering light in the elevator, a quiet fear had me stepping back. Elevators scared me, Wut flicking the back of my head.
“There aren’t any stairs.” He pointed out in a huff, Croak shooting daggers from her eyes. “Let’s go.” Dragging the two of us onto the elevator, a rusty door clicked shut. His expression softened at my obvious fear, an apologetic smile lingering on his lips. Nothing needed to be said, the elevator groaning up to the top floor. The door clicked open, a maze of cubicles had our brows cocking at the same with a scoffs of disappointment. Why couldn’t anything simply be one and done? Then again, getting lost in a maze of cubicles did sound depressing as shit. Moving around in front of us, the path changed.
“Have fun suffering in dark despair as I torture you with an endless test.” An icy female voice laughed maniacally, my muscles stiffening. “Only then you can fight me. See you never!” Stepping into the first cubicle, the smell of stale ketchup was on point. Covering up my nose with the hem of my onyx lace skirt, another musty breeze had my scarlet blouse fluttering with my leather jacket. Wut and Croak began to argue next to me, a couple of shadow snakes slithering down my arms. Kicking my dagger out of its case, my eager palm caught it. Keeping them by side, their glowing eyes were seeking out danger. Crashing through twists and turns, a couple of hisses had me skidding to stop. Glancing up, a tall slender goddess with violet eyes appeared over me. Her slicked back silver hair glistened in the flickering office lights, a silver flute hovered by her lips. Horror rounded my eyes, my blade expanding. Smashing my blade into her flute, the darn thing clattering to the cheap carpet. Noting the crack by feet, the maze was set to reset again. Kicking it into the crack, the cubicles shifted around once more. The metal groaned, a rotten scent twirled from the end of the flute. Seeking a way out from the bomb that was going to harm us, a weak point presented itself. Kicking her back into the air, a space big enough for us opened up. Motioning for them to follow, musty air lashed at our cheeks as we crashed through several floors. Hitting a desk, office supplies rolled onto the floor. Dust rained down with pieces of ceiling hitting my face, Wut and Croak crashing onto me. Pushing them off, time wasn’t in our deck of cards. Sitting up with a gruff groan, every muscle screamed in protest. Hopping off the desk, a cafeteria caught my eyes. Leaping over the cubicles, flute music had chills running up my spine. Venomous gas seeped through the cracks, the clear glass walls of the cafeteria would protect us. Jumping over the last one, our boots pounded towards the glass doors. Ripping them open, we skidded into the large sterile room. Locking the doors behind us, that damn fog claimed the rest of the floor. Stacking several tables against the doors, something had to give. Ignoring their protests, something had to cancel out the fog. Croak’s usual nightmares wouldn’t do, my palm pressing against the glass. Flitting between the many objects, a gust of fresh air was what we needed. Several shadow snakes slithered down my arms, their hissing guiding me to a loose tile. Plucking the tile from the floor, a golden flute glinted in the flickering lights. Tucking my blade into my belt, a rush of energy blew my loose strands about the moment I brought it to my lips. Blowing the one song I knew, purified wind flooded from the end. Spinning it in between my fingers, this was our ticket out. Croak bounced onto my back, her chin resting on my head. Feeling her soft gray suit against my skin had me feeling better, her blade grazing my cheek.
“Cool flute, love.” She sang gleefully, plucking it from my fingers. “How you managed across one of three golden flutes bemuses me. Shall I play it for you? The flute happens to be my favorite instrument.” Caving in with a long breath, she flipped off of my back. Landing with a spin, excitement buzzed in her eyes. Bringing the flute to her lips, complex notes flowed magically. My breath hitched at its beauty, the purified wind blasting the glass. Covering myself with my arms, another gust of wind had the shards shooting into the distance. A shrill fuck had us shrinking back, the venom dissolving upon contact with the purified air. Continuing to play, our enemy’s notes were harsh compared to Croak’s gentle notes. Playing louder, Wut and myself sought a way to get closer to this goddess. Assuming that water was her power, the moment they unleashed that side would mean the twins were here. Closing my eyes, two more energies were approaching. Opening my eyes to a concerned Wut, my lips pressed into a thin line. The twins were on their way and we were outnumbered, regret dimming my eyes.
“Scout out the twins’ locations and come back to me. I have a problem to deal with before they get here.” I whispered into his ear, his head nodding once. Sinking into his smoke, my boots pounded towards our target. Dodging a splash of water, my body smashed into the floor. Snatching her ankle, a disconcerting alarm rounded her eyes at me throwing her through several floors. Catching her flute, a strong squeeze had it crumbling to pieces. Whistling for Croak to follow, her hand grabbed mine the moment I jumped into the hole. Using the rebar to slow our descent, the goddesses body twitched on top of a desk, her broken bones beginning to heal. Angling my elbow for her spine, Croak did the same. Striking her spine at full strength, the vertebrates shattered to dust. Unable to move, a ribbon of violet blood poured from her lips. Flipping to our feet, we raised our blades over our heads. Swinging our blades towards her heart, a shrill shriek rattled the building the moment we pierced her heart. Twisting our blades in deeper, her body seized until it decayed to a cloud of dust. Plucking the heart off of the tips of our blades, the organ shriveled into a black ball of tissue. Tucking it into an evidence bag, clues rested in this organ. Croak raised her hand for a high five, my palm smacked hers with a matching crazed grin. One problem was solved, two more were coming our way. The building groaned underneath our boots, Wut swooping in to whisk us out of the crumbling structure. Running on smoke discs, his boots hit the ashy gray dirt. Hiding us behind the thickest tree, the twins came into view in their usual outfits of a pink dress and a white suit. Tapping their blades against their legs, lightning bounced off of their bodies. Wishing that Morte was here, a loud boom had concrete and dust raining down over us. Poking my head around the trunk, a pile of rubble hid their bodies. Something felt off, the twins appearing over our heads. Sparks fluttered in the air with the violent clash of our blades, lightning whipping over our heads. Kicking Salacia in the stomach, her body shot into the sky. Spinning my blade over my head, a swift swing sent her twin in the opposite direction. Wut staggered over to us, a gaping wound stealing my breath away. Turning towards Croak, no words needed to be said. Tossing him over her shoulder, she was gone in a second. Calculating when they would come back down, hollow footsteps echoed behind me. A female version of Wut approached me in black robes, ivory waves floating in the hot air in her neon smoke around her worn boots. Playing with a neon whip, her neon green eyes glowed with adventure. An annoyed sigh poured from my lips, today seeming to be run by Murphy's law.
“I sensed my beloved Wut. Where is he?” She mused with a sly grin, her eyes falling on the twins flying back towards us. “Give him up or die.” Cursing under my breath, time was not on my side. Cracking her whip in my direction, the rubble groaned in protest with my jump back. Gritting my teeth, a low growl rumbled in my throat.
“He works for me by choice. If he wanted to leave your creepy ass because of acts of pure insanity, that isn’t on me. All of that falls on you, sweetheart.” I pointed simply, a snarl twitching on her inky lips. “Not that I have time but let’s handle this.” Charging at her, twirls avoiding her whip with ease. Focusing a bit better, her whip cut my cheek. Narrowing my eyes in direction, her whip deflected my blade. The twins appeared behind her, their blades glinting in the air. Tackling my new enemy to the rubble, two blades sunk into my back. Neon tears slid down her cheeks, the corner of her lips quivering. Blood pooled in my throat, the bastards ripping their blades out of my back. Watching my blood paint their features, small electrical burns dotted my back. Feverish apologies flowed from her lips, my tears splashing onto her face while my blood began to stain her robe.
“Why?” She choked out through a waterfall of tears and sniffles, her trembling hands wiping the corner of my lips. “I was going to kill you.” Shrugging my shoulders, my patience was wearing thin. Struggling to my feet, my knees met the twins’ stomachs. Painting my face with their blood, the burst organs had me chuckling to myself. Kicking their blades away from them, my fingers curled around their throat. Pinning them to the closest trees, every breath felt like hard labor.
“Like hell you are getting away this time.” I threatened starkly between wheezes, their fingers clawing at hands. Another energy swallowed the space in a cloudy darkness, two claws piercing their hearts. Their heads bobbed a couple of times before dropping for the final time, panic twisting my features. Cursing under my breath, they needed help. Ripping them off the claws, a faint pulse had me sighing with relief. Tossing one of them to my new friend, the other one was tossed over my shoulder. Using my sword to find the exit, she took the other one. Whisking them away, an eerie silence came over the dimension. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, a lump forming in my throat at wicked feminine laughter behind me.
“Fine, you can have my puppets but I am going to take over the damn world.” She bragged with a fit of maniacal giggles, the rubble crunching as I spun to face my new nemesis. Inky straight hair floated down to her ankles, her golden dragon eyes watching me tremble in my spot. Golden horns twisted into the sky, golden scales lining her cheeks. Clicking her black claws together, fresh tears cascaded from my eyes. Unable to move, something about her powers had me frozen in my spot. Her fur robes swayed with every circle around me, her inky lips curling into a sneer. Words bounced around my mind, the color draining from my face at a spell keeping my mouth shut.
“I am giving you one chance to join my team. Be the new number one of Stormana’s league of forgotten gods.” She chuckled with a twisted grin, a fire rising in her throat. Gripping my blade desperately, the crunching stopped with her in front of me. Shaking my head, a defiant grin curled on my pale face. Feeling my heart rate pick up, any nerves I had left fled at golden flames undoing my bun. Wincing through the agony of burns on my cheek, her claw traced my body. Bringing her hand back, Croak appeared over her. Shaking my head, Croak refused to listen. Spinning her blade over her head, one of her claws cut off her head. Rolling to my feet, her limp body hit the toe of my boot. The raw agony of losing my friend broke the silence curse, tortured wails exploding from my lips. Unable to fight the depression, no rage could come to my assistance.
“That will keep happening until you join my side.” She warned venomously, pure hatred burning in her eyes as golden flames whisked her away. Sinking to my knees, Croak was already decaying to ash, violent sobs wracking my body. Scooping up her head, my muscles ached as I crawled over to her body. Hugging all of her close to my body, her hand clutched mine. Her eyes fluttered open, her tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Give my heart to Cal and tell him that I love him.” She wheezed with a broken smile, her hand gripping mine tighter as my tears splashed onto her face. “Don’t cry for me. I did it on my own accord, love. I love you, love.” Her hand hit my lap, the rest of her decaying into a pile of ash. A gust of wind blew her into the air, her heart glowed in my palm. Curling into a ball, claws extended from my fingertips. Clutching her heart close to my chest, the dimension glitched out to a busy park in the middle of the day. Shrinking my sword back down to a dagger, my trembling hand shoved it into its case. A crowd gathered around me, none of it mattering. The twins shoved everyone aside, both of them getting everyone to get on with their day. Bowing down to me, their foreheads were pressed to the lush grass.
“We vow to serve you with all the life we have left.” They vowed together, the previous mark shifting to inky snakes around their arms as they sat on their haunches. Saying nothing else, Wut’s face fell at the sight of Croak’s heart. Scooping me up, he tossed me over his shoulder. Too numb to protest, his words faded in and out on the way back to the hearse. Sitting me down in the back, his sharp eyes scanned me over for any more wounds than the obvious ones. Mixing potions while trying to get me to talk, the freak with a whip bowed at my feet. Vowing her allegiance to me, this had Wut written all over it. Hovering her face inches from mine, the burns on my cheek refused to heal into a smooth scar. Crying for a minute, her fingers caught a couple of tears. Rubbing them on my cheek, the angry scars faded to a smooth cheek. Mumbling a dejected thank you, Wut shoving a vial down my throat had it ending swiftly. Ignoring everyone checking me over, the sole thing I could focus on was the heart in my quivering palm. Getting up without a word, I climbed into the driver’s seat. The other’s jumped into the back, my appearance being the most normal one. Fishing around the glove box, an evidence bag fell onto the seat. Sliding her heart into the bag, I placed it onto my lap. Shoving the key in, the silence was deafening. Missing her endless chatter, discreet weeps shook my body the whole ride back. Pulling up to the front, Cal waited with a big smile with my girls and son. Hopping out, I placed my finger on my lips to quiet the others. Motioning for him to come with me, dread bubbled in my gut at what I had to do. The poor guy had lost one wife and now he was losing another love in his life. Walking with him in the garden, his face fell at my obvious tears. Presenting him with Croak’s heart, any composure he had died in seconds. Raising his fist for my face, it stopped inches from my face. Shit, I deserved every ounce of rage heading my way.
“You can hit me. I don’t mind.” I spoke with a dejected smile, bowing my head in shame. “Please hate me for the rest of your l-” Burying me into a bear hug, his tears soaked the top of my head. Hating myself for my failure, his hands cupped my tear drenched face. Smiling kindly in my direction, the sorrow wore on his face.
“If I knew Croak, she chose to try to save you. Thank you for her heart.” He sighed sorrowfully, his hand curling around her heart. “Do you want to see what she wanted me to do with it?” Taking a step back, his black dress shirt fluttered in a gust of cool wind. Holding it in his palms, the organ hardened to a ruby heart. Wonder softened the blow of my sorrow, his hand tucking it into the pocket of his dark jeans. Hugging me one last time, his footfalls echoed hollowly away from me. Morte called for me, the stress becoming too much. Sprinting out of the garden, the brick wall grazed the heel of my boots. Crunching into the woods, branches scratched my cheeks. Running until I couldn’t, a cave had me smiling brokenly to myself. Sliding down the slick gray wall, my hands rested on my knees. Alone, I needed to be alone.
“Hey.” A meek voice called out, Wut’s friend sitting down across from me. “I am Eris, Wut’s girl. Do you want to talk?” Staring dumbly at her glowing eyes, that was a rare question for me to be asked. Croak always asked me what was on my mind, another wave of tears rattling my body. Scooting over to me, her arms pulled me into an awkward embrace. Burying my head into her shoulder, her embrace becoming like the bear hugs Croak used to smother me in. Sobbing harder into her chest, my fingers grasping desperately at her robes. Letting me cry until the moon claimed the sky, her hands cupped my cheeks. Wiping away my tears with her thumbs, her crooked grin was her natural smile. Attempting to smile back, her palm slid to cover my mouth.
“You don’t need to smile when you can’t.” She assured me sweetly, lowering her hand to her lap. “Let the grief course through you. Then you can get revenge for her loss.” Laughing honestly to myself, Eris was amazing in the best way. Popping to her feet, my muscles refused to move. Placing me on her back, the warmth of her flames had exhaustion slapping me in the face. Draping my arms around her neck, the hood of her robe felt soft against my wet cheeks. Carrying me back, Morte thanked her for getting me. Choosing not to berate me, his arms placed me onto his back. Carrying me into the living room, her heart glistened in the center of a worn coffee table. A metal bowl with Celtic markings containing pieces of blessed parchment papers fluttered in the bottom, a piece of paper waiting for me. Smiling to myself, the funeral was rather touching. Sitting me down on the couch, my fingers curled around a raven feather quill. Dipping the tip into the inkwell, the tip couldn’t stop moving. Moving the favorite memories onto the back, tears of joy mixed the sad ones as I folded the paper. Placing my paper on the top, Hel and the others huddled close to me as Cal placed her heart in the center. Pouring his blood over the paper, ruby stained the sea of parchment and ink. Pressing his palms together, his words were dripping with tears.
“Dear Lord, grant her soul an entrance into Heaven. Help her reach the stars she dreamed of touching.” He wept brokenly, struggling to continue to speak. “Do this one for me. If you can’t let her in, give her a generous second chance. Amen.” Golden flames devoured everything, the crystal melting into a sea of sparkling ash. A warm breeze akin to Croak’s love had the ash fluttering out the open window. A pensive smile hung in the air, an alarm in the kitchen caused one of the brothers to rush out of the room. Not one word was spared, the energy in the room brightening at Miles and the girls hugging me from all sides. Kissing them feverishly, Morte plopped down next to me. Clapping his hands, all eyes fell on him.
“How about we tell funny stories with Croak?” He suggested with a gentle smile, the others raising their glasses of wine in honor of Croak. “I think we need to celebrate all that she was.” The twins hovered awkwardly in the doorway, the couch groaning as I leapt over the back. Approaching them with a comforting smile, neither one could look me in the eyes.
“I forgive you. Whatever was driving you guys before doesn’t matter.” I promised them while taking their hands, their tense expressions softening. “Look, the past is water under the bridge. Work bold and true by my side, and you can have true joy in your life. I am pointing out that your marks prevent you from killing anyone in our group. Trust will be found eventually. Please be patient with me.” Flinching as I reached out to embrace them, the years of abuse were apparent. Noticing the soft terror haunting their expressions, the floor announced that I was giving them space.
“If you need to talk about your shitty childhood, I am all ears. Don’t open up if you don’t want to.” I continued with my genuine smile, both twins brightening up a bit. “Your mother was a bitch and if you didn’t kill her I was going to eventually. Thank you for the help.” Ruffling their hair the way Mr. Bone used to do to me, something lit the fire of hope back up into me. If I could bring what was left of the Bone family back together, that damn dragon lady didn’t stand a damn chance. Guiding them to the table, the girls showed off their bunnies. Miles looked glum, my hand waved him over. Walking him up to my bedroom, I presented him with a silver wrapped box. Remember that Croak wrapped it with me, silent tears stained my cheeks. Wrapping paper flew everywhere, his face illuminating at the boy rabbit in blue overalls laying in the bottom of the box. Wiping away my tears before he noticed, his arms draped around my neck. Remembering what Croak spoke once, she always told me to cherish what I had. Kissing the top of his head, his tiny feet bounced down the stairs. The girls joined him in playing, Morte appearing at the bottom of the stairs. Climbing each step with a more broken expression, the wrapping paper crunched underneath him as he plopped down next to me. Pulling me onto his lap, his strong hands buried my face into his shoulder. Another wave of grief had me sobbing harder into his shoulder, the word sleep ringing in my ear. Sinking into a rough slumber, Morte’s humming was the last thing I heard.
2024.05.10 20:04 Vukobasa An observer in the Near East: MONTENEGRO (1907)
 | ΜΟΝΤΕΝEGRO submitted by Vukobasa to Crnogorstvo [link] [comments] CHAPTER I THE CITY IN THE SKY Why I went to the Balkans―The road to Montenegro―Cettinje and its petroleum tins―About the blood-feud―England and Montenegro―Warned not to attempt to go to Albania―My guide a marked man-The story of Tef―A woman's fickleness, and its sequel. CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje―A cigarette with the Prince―The policy of Montenegro―A confidential chat―His Royal Highness's admiration for England―His views upon Macedonia―He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania. but I persuade him to help me―His Highness's kindness―Souvenirs. ** CHAPTER I THE CITY IN THE SKY Why I went to the Balkans— The road to Montenegro — Cettinje and its petroleum tins — About the blood-feud — England and Montenegro — Warned not to attempt to go to Albania — My guide a marked man — The story of Tef — A woman's fickleness, and its sequel. I ENTERED the Balkans by the back door. The luxuries of the Orient Express had no attraction for me. I wanted to see the Balkans as they really are, those great, wild, mountainous countries, so full of race hatreds, of political bickerings, of fierce blood-feuds, of feverish propa- gandas those nations with their interesting monarchs and their many mysteries. The "Orient" runs direct from Paris to the Balkan capitals, it is true, but if one goes to study a people the capital is not the only place in which to discover the truth. One must go into the country, move among the peasantry, hear their grievances and investigate their wrongs. Therefore I decided to enter the East by Montenegro, and also visit the wild and little-known regions of Northern Albania. The comfortable voyage by the Austrian-Lloyd mail steamer Graf Wurmbrand from Trieste down the Adriatic, touching at Pola, the Austrian naval station, Lussinpiccolo, Zara- famed for its maraschino-Sebenico, Spalato, and Gravosa to Cattaro, has been already described by many writers. Suffice it to say that it is perhaps one of the most picturesque of pleasure-trips in the world, for every moment one has a fresh panorama of mountain and blue sea, of green, fertile islands with subtropical vegetation, and tiny white villages nestling at the sea's edge, as the steamer threads her way through the narrow and often difficult channels. At times the wild scenery, especially in the Bocche di Cattaro, reminds the traveller of the Norwegian fiords, and at others the coast is an almost exact reproduction of the French Riviera. The object of my journey was, however, not in order to write a mere description of men and places. There have been other travellers in the Balkans who have related their story, therefore my mission was to make careful inquiry into the present unsettled state of affairs, try and discover the grievances of both sides, and endeavour to obtain from the rulers and statesmen of the various nations their aspirations for the future. This I succeeded in doing, for the various monarchs of the Balkans graciously gave me audience; and from their Ministers, from the middle classes, and from the peasants, I was enabled at last to form some conclusion as to the real situation-political, economical, social, and financial. The writer who attempts to place the various Balkan questions impartially and clearly before the public will at once find himself utterly confused, and wallowing wildly in a morass of misstatement and misrepresentation. The Balkans are torn by race hatreds, party strife, and the intrigues of the Powers. The Turk hates the Bulgar, the Serb hates the Austrian, the Roumanian hates the Greek, the Albanian hates the Montenegrin, the Bosnian hates the Turk, while the Macedonian hates everybody all round. What is told to one authoritatively one hour, is flatly contradicted the next; therefore it is not in the least surprising that in the European Press there have been so many misstatements about the various Balkan questions, the real truth being so very difficult to obtain. I have, however, endeavoured to obtain it, and at risk of being injudicious, to place before the reader the facts as they are, without any political bias, or any seeking to gloss over the many glaring defects of administration of which I have myself been witness. To describe the beauties of the Bocche di Cattaro, that series of winding channels where the high grey mountains rise sheer from the water, would be only to traverse old ground. Suffice it to say that I landed at Cattaro on a bright, sunny noon, and found upon the quay a tall, lean mountaineer who had been sent to meet me. To the traveller fresh from the West the Montenegrin costume of both women and men is very attractive, but a few days in the Balkans soon accustoms the eye to a perfect phantasmagoria of colour and of costume. Pero was my driver's name, and I noticed that around his waist was a revolver belt, but minus the weapon. I inquired where it was, and with a grin he informed me that Cattaro, being in Dalmatia, the Austrians would not allow Montenegrins to bring arms into their country; so they were compelled to leave them on the other side of the frontier, ten kilometres distant. My bags packed upon the three-horse travelling carriage and secured with many strings, and Pero equipped with a plentiful stock of cigarettes, he mounted upon the box, whipped up his long-tailed ponies, and we started on our eight-hour ascent of that great wall of mountain that hides Montenegro from the sea. As we ascended through the little village of Skaljari we entered upon a magnificent road, said to be one of the greatest engineering feats of modern times, and steadily ascended, until at the striped black-and-yellow Austrian boundary post we crossed the frontier, and were in the "Land of the Black Mountain"-Montenegro. Across the road, at an acute angle, a row of paving-stones marks the frontier, and soon after- wards we found ourselves in the wildest and most desolate mountain region. At a lonely roadside hut Pero obtained his big, serviceable-looking revolver, and I, of course, wore mine in my belt; for in Montenegro or Albania arms make the man. A man unarmed is looked upon as an effeminate coward. Indeed, by order of Prince Nicholas every Monte- negrin must wear the national dress, both men and women, and every man must carry his revolver when out of doors. Four hours from Cattaro we were in a lonely mountain fastness, a wild, desolate, treeless region of huge limestone rocks of peculiar volcanic formation, which gave them the appearance of a boiling sea. The views over the Adriatic as we turned back were so superb that, despite photographing being strictly forbidden on account of the fortresses in the vicinity, I could not resist the temptation to take one or two surreptitiously. On, through a bleak, uninhabited country, we at last reached the guard-house of Kerstac, and then half an hour later found ourselves upon a plateau where, in the centre, stood the small clean village of Nyegush, the ancestral home of the reigning family, and the scene of most of the Montenegrin wars of independence. Here we halted for half an hour at the post-house, and before we left, the big, lumbering post-diligence, with its armed guard, came up behind us. Before we moved off again it had grown dark, the moon shone, and for four hours longer we alternately climbed and descended through that wild region of silence and desolation, until at last we saw, deep below, the lights of Cettinje, the little capital, and an hour later brought us to the unpre- tending "Grand" Hotel. Hardly had I entered my room when there came a loud knock at my door, and a tall, scarlet-coated Montenegrin warrior, armed to the teeth, entered and saluted. For a moment I looked up at him aghast, but the mystery was solved when, next second, he handed me with great ceremony a telegram from a dear friend in England wishing me God- speed. I had taken him to be, at least, one of the Prince's bodyguard, and he was only a plain telegraph messenger! This was but one of many surprises in store for me in Montenegro. Next morning I went out to look round the clean little capital, when, on passing the Prince's palace, I saw a number of soldiers drawn up, and as I went by, the band suddenly struck up the British National Anthem! I raised my hat, halted, and stood puzzled. Surely they were not honouring me! Another moment, however, and I recognised the reason. In a carriage, accompanied by the Grand Marechal of the Court, there drove up my friend Mr. Charles des Graz, the newly-appointed British Chargé d'Affaires to Montenegro, who was about to present his creden- tials to His Royal Highness the Prince. Montenegro is perhaps the most interesting country in all the Balkans. Cettinje, a small, clean town of broad streets and one-storeyed, whitewashed houses, is a little city in the sky, lying as it does in a cup-shaped depression at the summit of a high, bare mountain. Its long, straight, main street reminds one very much of a small country town in England, if it were not that everyone is, by law, compelled to wear the national dress, and every man has in his belt his big, long- barrelled revolver, without which he must never go out of doors. The men, sturdy mountaineers, are of fine physique- handsome fellows, all of them. Their dress consists of dark blue baggy trousers, white woollen gaiters, raw-hide shoes, a scarlet jacket heavily braided with gold, and a small round cap, with black silk around the edge and the crown of the same colour as the jacket, bearing the Prince's initials in Servian letters, "H.I." The women, who are particularly good-looking, wear dark skirts, beautifully hand-embroidered blouses, and a kind of long coat, with open sleeves of soft, dove-grey cloth. Forbidden to wear European hats, they are compelled to adopt an exactly similar cap to the men, except that the crown is embroidered instead of bearing the royal initials. Nowhere have I seen such glorification of the male as in Montenegro. To the men, born fighters as they are, work is undignified; therefore the women toil while the opposite sex look on. I saw women employed in building operations and performing work which, in other countries, is left to day- labourers. Cettinje is quaint in the extreme. The only houses of foreigners are the various Legations, and the only foreigners are diplomats with their wives and families. The first thing that strikes the stranger is the number of petroleum tins. Opposite the hotel I saw a great ring of empty tins, numbering some hundreds, ranged around a fountain. A few women were squatting gossiping, and an armed policeman lounged against the water-source. On inquiry, I found that there was a water famine, and the tins had been placed there at dawn to await the moment when the authorities thought fit to allow the people to get their daily supply. The women had gone away to work, and would return later. The Monte- negrins a short time ago constructed a reservoir, but there was a crack in it, so the water ran away. Hence the famine. The petroleum tin is never out of sight for a single moment in Cettinje. At any hour, and in any street, you see women and children carrying them. They are used for everything, from milk-pails to flower-pots. In Cettinje one comes for the first time up against the dark-faced, scowling Albanian in his tightly fitting trousers of white wool striped with black, his dirty white fez, and the swagger of superiority in his gait. He is well armed, and for a good reason. The Montenegrin hates the Albanian, because of the constant border feuds over at Podgoritza, where blood is constantly spilt, and where I have seen a Montenegrin in the market squatting over a basket of apples with a loaded rifle. That morning I was chatting to a man in Montenegrin dress, of whom I had bought some excellent cigarettes, manufactured by the Montenegro Tobacco Monopoly-an Italian syndicate, by the way and happened to mention that I was on my way to Albania. "Ah, gospodin!" he exclaimed, holding up both his hands, and glancing at the revolver in my belt. "Take my advice. Don't go into Albania or Macedonia. You are not safe there from one moment to the other. For half a word they'll shoot you dead as easily as they drink a glass of wine. No man's life is worth a moment's purchase there. I'm Albanian myself from Kroja-and I know." This was scarcely reassuring. I looked about me on every hand as I strolled through Cettinje. All was so quiet, so orderly, so very peaceful there, even though the big, burly mountaineers in the gold-laced jackets eyed me with askance as I passed. Not without some trepidation I took a number of photographs, for I had heard that, like the Turk, the Monte- negrin was averse to having his counterfeit presentment put upon paper. Nevertheless, the first feeling of insecurity having passed, I very soon found myself quite at home in Cettinje, and in the midst of very good and kind friends. A good many foreigners come up from Cattaro to pry about Cettinje for a day or two, buy picture-postcards and antique arms, sneer at the honest Montenegrin, and return into Dalmatia. Towards such, the Montenegrin is not par- ticularly polite. But those who go to Cettinje to seriously and thoroughly study the people and their future will find a great deal of genuine and charming hospitality. My first day in Cettinje was lonely. Afterwards, until I left, I was always with friends and officials, who took the greatest trouble to answer my questions and explain matters. Montenegro is entirely unlike any other country in the world. Its air of antiquity is particularly pleasing, while on every hand the beneficent rule of Prince Nicholas is apparent. Every man in Montenegro swears by his Prince, whom he almost worships. They call him their "father," and if His Royal Highness raised the standard of war to- morrow, every man would rise and fight to the death. The Prince is accessible to all his people-more so to them, indeed, than to the diplomats. Sometimes, early in the morning, he will sit in an arm-chair on the steps leading to the entrance of his palace, and there hear the complaints or petitions of his people. In this patriarchal way he often ministers justice. Last year he granted Montenegro a Constitution, and there is now a Skupshtina similar to that of Servia; but the people have not yet quite understood that in future they must go to the Ministers, and not to their Prince. They will see him, and nobody else. In no country is loyalty and patriotism so strong as in Montenegro. The army is well trained, and the whole country being one huge natural fortress, a foreign enemy would experience enormous difficulty in gaining entrance. In Cettinje, even a constant traveller like myself meets with continual surprises. One day, while walking at the rear of the Bigliardo, or old palace-so called because when built the first billiard table was introduced-I heard the sound of clanking chains behind me. At first I took no notice, but as it continued with regular rhythm I glanced behind, when, to my amaze- ment, I saw a convict in leg-fetters with difficulty taking his afternoon stroll beneath the trees! There were several others on the grass plot before the prison, idling in the shadow or gossiping with their friends, who had come to keep them company! Inquiriesshowed that most of these prisoners were murderers, not for robbery but for vendetta. In Montenegro the blood- feud is constant, and life is held very cheap. It invariably commences by jealousy, and is of everyday occurrence. Two lovers quarrel, and one is shot. Then the blood-feud commences, and unlike in Italy or other Southern countries, the vendetta is not only upon the murderer, but upon his next-of-kin. Therefore, if the assassin escapes into Servia, Bosnia, or Turkey, as he so often does, the brother of the dead man takes up the feud and kills the assassin's brother without parley when next he meets him. I myself saw a man shot dead one night in Ryeka, at the head of the Lake of Scutari, and the murderer walked coolly away undeterred. It was the blood-feud, and no one took much notice. "S'bogom!" (God be with you!) It is the expression you hear on every hand in the Balkans. In the streets the peasants touch their round caps in salute and exclaim, "S'bogom!" When you leave for a journey and when you return, when you rise and when you go to rest; even if you go for a short walk-it is the same. Life is so uncertain in those wild regions that the protection of the Almighty is invoked upon you always, and your revolver is ever ready in your belt. In Cettinje I had a faithful guide and servant, a black-eyed, somewhat sinister-looking Albanian, named Palok. He travelled with me through Montenegro and Albania, and was most faithful and devoted. Besides Albanian and Serb he spoke a little Italian, and possessed a keen sense of humour. One day, while we were travelling through the wild, bare mountain, a perfect wilderness of huge boulders without a single tree or even blade of grass, we halted for our midday meal, and while eating he told me of a great friend of his who had recently been killed at Spuz for vendetta, and he added, fondling the butt of his revolver, "I too, gospodin, shall die before long." I looked at him in surprise. His usually humorous face had changed. It was dark and thoughtful, and his black eyes were fixed upon me. "Is there a blood-feud upon you, then?" I asked, in surprise. "Yes," he replied briefly; and though I endeavoured to persuade him to tell the story, it was not until the following day that with some reluctance he explained. "A year ago my brother Tef, away in Scutari, fell in love with a beautiful girl. He had a rival-a young Albanian, a coppersmith in the bazaar. They quarrelled, but the girl-ah! she was very beautiful-preferred Tef. Where- upon the rival one night took his rifle and laid in wait for my brother in the main street of Scutari. Early in the evening he left the house of the girl's father, and as he passed the fellow shot poor Tef dead." And he paused as his brow knit deeply, and his teeth were set tightly. "Well?" I asked. "Well, gospodin. What would you have done had your own brother died a dog's death? I took a rifle, and within a week the murderer was in his grave. I shot him through the heart and then I left Scutari." "And you are safe here, in Montenegro ?" "Safe! Oh dear, no," he answered. "One day-it may be to-day-the fellow's brother will kill me. He must kill me. It is Fate-why worry about it? It does one no good." And the marked man, the man doomed to die at a moment when he least expects it, rolled a cigarette and lit it with perfect resignment. "And are you not afraid to go with me back to Scutari?" I asked, amazed at his fearlessness. "Afraid, gospodin!" he exclaimed, looking at me in reproach as his hand instinctively wandered to his weapon. "Afraid! No Albanian is afraid of the blood-feud. I have killed the murderer, and his brother must kill me. It is our law." And the doomed man smiled gravely. "And the girl?" I asked. "Ah! They are all the same," he answered, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "A month ago she married a tobacco- seller a man old enough to be her father. Poor Tef! If he could but know!" "And the blood-feud still continues?" "Of course-until I am dead." Then Palok smoked on in silence, entirely resigned to the fate that awaits him. He knows that one day, as he walks along the road, the sharp crack of a hidden rifle will sound, and he will fall to earth, another victim of a woman's fickleness. S'bogom! God be with you! CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje-A cigarette with the Prince-The policy of Monte- negro-A confidential chat-His Royal Highness's admiration for England-His views upon Macedonia-He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania, but I persuade him to help me-His Highness's kindness -Souvenirs. HIS Royal Highness the Prince will be pleased to grant you private audience at four o'clock this after- noon, gospodin." The tall, burly aide-de-camp in the little round cap, high boots, pale blue overcoat, and pistols in his belt, saluted, and we shook hands. It was then three o'clock, and I was just about to go out to visit Madame Constantinovitch, the mother of Princess Mirko. So I had to return at once to my room and dress for the audience. The kings and princes of the Balkans have a habit of summoning one at a moment's notice, and paying visits at unearthly hours. Here, in Cettinje, in the heart of these wild, desolate fast- nesses, one seems so far removed from European influence, yet how great a part has this rocky, impregnable country, with its fierce soldier-inhabitants, played in the politics of Eastern Europe, and how great a part it is still destined to play in the near future! The fact that everybody is armed gives the stranger an uncanny feeling. The man who brings one's coffee wears a perfect arsenal of weapons in his sash, and one quickly acquires the habit of carrying a revolver one's self. Indeed, if you are wise, you will carry a good serviceable weapon from the moment you enter the Balkans to the moment you quit them. But if you approach the Albanian frontier, you will be at once warned not to fire without just cause. A few shots is sufficient to alarm the whole neighbourhood for many miles, and on hearing the alarm every man seizes his rifle and flies to the rendezvous, fully equipped and eager for the fight with those Albanian border tribes, of whom I afterwards had the good fortune to be the guest. I had already had a long chat with Prince Danilo, the Crown Prince of Montenegro, whom I found a very smart and highly educated man, fully alive to the political difficulties of the neighbouring states and the necessity of Montenegro preserving her independence. He held very strong views upon the terrible state of affairs in Macedonia, and gave me many interesting details about his own country. Having met him, and also his younger brother, Prince Mirko, I was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of their father, Prince Nicholas, the ruler of the sturdy, warlike dwellers of the "Land of the Black Mountain "-the principal and most striking figure in this remarkable country, where peace and war walk ever hand-in-hand. Since 1860, when his uncle, Prince Danilo, was assassinated, he has ruled justly, if somewhat sternly, and has succeeded in raising his nation from a state of semi-civilisation to the high place it now occupies in the Eastern world. In 1888 he gave the country a Civil and Criminal Code, and last year he granted a Constitution. Indeed, he has done all in his power to induce his warriors to follow the arts of peace without forgetting those of war. At the hour appointed, the royal aide-de-camp called in a carriage and drove me to the Palace, a long, dark brown building of somewhat plain exterior, as befits the home of a fighting race, where I was received in the great hall by half a dozen bowing servants in scarlet and gold. Here I was met by the chamberlain, who conducted me up the grand staircase and into the great audience-chamber, with its many fine paintings and highly polished floor. Then, after a moment, the Prince-a brilliant figure-entered, shook me by the hand, and welcomed me to Montenegro. These formalities ended, His Royal Highness said in Italian, "Come, let us go into yonder room. We shall be able to talk there more comfortably." And he led me into a smaller chamber, where he gave me a seat at the table where he sat. The afternoon was gloomy, and dusk was creeping on, therefore upon the table a great antique silver candelabra had been set, and by its light I was enabled to obtain a good view of the ruler of Crnagora, the "Land of the Black Mountain." Of magnificent physique, tall, muscular, with hair slightly grey, he bore his sixty-five years lightly. Attired in the splendid national costume of scarlet, blue, and gold, with high boots, he wore a single decoration at his throat, the Cross of Danilo, of which Order he is Master. Upon his hand- some, well-cut features the candles shed a soft light, causing the gold upon his dress to glitter, and I noticed, as I asked him questions, how his dark, keen eyes shot quick, inquiring glances of alertness. After the first few minutes of regal formality His Highness's manner entirely changed. Putting ceremony aside, he pro- duced his cigarette case of crocodile skin, with the royal crown and cipher in gold in the corner-offered me a Montenegrin cigarette, took one himself, lit mine with his own hand, and then we fell to chatting. In the delightful hour and a half we smoked together I asked the prince-poet many questions, and learnt many things. He explained several difficult points in Balkan politics, which to me, an Englishman, had always been puzzling. We spoke in Italian of Macedonia and of a certain well-known foreign diplomat in London who was our mutual friend, the Prince giving me a very kind message to deliver to him. Presently I referred to the splendid result of his rule, and related to him a little incident which had occurred to me in Nyegush a few days before, as showing how deeply he was beloved by his nation. A smile crossed his fine open countenance as he replied simply, "I have done my best for my people-my very best; and I shall do so as long as God gives me life. I am happy to believe that my people appreciate my efforts." "And now, Monseigneur," I asked, "will you tell me what is the present position of Montenegro?" "The present position is peace," was his prompt answer. "I have granted a Constitution, and the first meeting of the new Skupshtina has been held successfully. Though the Albanian question is always with us, I am thankful to say we are on the most excellent terms with Turkey, while towards Russia we are pursuing our traditional policy. For the Emperor Francis Josef of Austria I have nothing but the most profound admiration, and I owe very much to him." "And towards England, Monseigneur ?" "England has been, as you know, Montenegro's very best friend," replied the Prince. "I, personally, have the greatest respect and admiration for your great country. We Montenegrins always remember that it was Mr. Gladstone who gave us the strip of seaboard on the Adriatic with Dulcigno. He was our greatest friend, and his memory is respected by admirer by every man in Montenegro. Of Tennyson, too, I am a great I am very fond of his poems." "You are a poet yourself, Monseigneur," I remarked, remembering that more than one poetical drama from his pen had been successfully produced on the stage. His Royal Highness smiled, and puffed slowly at his cigarette. "I have written one or two little things, it is true; but nothing of late." "I wonder if I dare ask your Royal Highness to write a few lines for me as a souvenir of my visit?" I asked, not without some trepidation. "Ah!-well-I won't promise," he laughed. "All depends whether I'm in the mood for it." "But you will try, won't you? And the Prince nodded assent. Then we spoke of Servia and of recent events there; but he was not inclined to discuss the question, and naturally so, when it is remembered that his daughter was the late wife of King Peter. Returning to the burning question of Macedonia, I saw that he was well informed of all that was transpiring around lakes Presba and Ochrida and down in Serres. "It is a monstrous state of affairs," he declared. "Something must be done at once, for as soon as spring comes again the massacres will increase." "But there are outrages, tortures, and massacres every day," I remarked. "Ah yes," he sighed, "I know. Most terrible details have reached me lately. But you are going to Macedonia yourself, and you will see with your own eyes." "And what, in your opinion, would be the best settlement of the question?" I inquired. "There is but one way, namely, for the Powers to call a conference and place Macedonia under a governor - general, who must be a European prince. The reforms would then be carried out, and the Greek bands expelled from the country. How long will Europe tolerate the present frightful state of affairs?" "The fact is, Monseigneur, that we, in England, are very ignorant of the true state of things, or even of the facts of the Macedonian question," I said. "Ah, there you are quite correct. If your English public knew what was really happening-how an innocent Christian population is being slaughtered and exterminated because of international rivalry-they would cry shame upon those responsible for this wholesale murder and outrage. But" -he smiled-" I almost forget myself. My position as a ruler forbids me to talk politics, you know!" And we laughed together. "So you are going to Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, and to Constantinople-eh?" he remarked a little later, when we had lit fresh cigarettes. "In Bulgaria, and also in Roumania, you will see many things that will interest you. The Bul- garians are very strongly armed, and so are the Roumanians." "Her Majesty the Queen of Roumania has also promised me audience," I said. "When you see her, will you please present to Her Majesty my most cordial respects. She is so very charming." "I want, Monseigneur, to visit Northern Albania, leaving Montenegro by Ryeka and Scutari. Would that be the best route, do you think?" "What!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Do you actually contemplate visiting the tribes up in the Accursed Mountains?" "Certainly. Why not?" "Well, my advice is, don't think of going there. If you do, you will never return. You'll be shot at sight, like a dog. You have no idea what those uncivilised tribes are like. The whole country is utterly lawless." "So I understand. But I've also heard that the Albanian possesses a deep sense of honour. And I thought that I might possibly obtain permission from one or other of the chiefs." The Prince was silent for a moment. Then, looking at me across the table, said- "Do not go. It is far too great a risk." His advice was the same that my, friends in London had given me; the same that I had received there, in the market-place of Cettinje. But I was determined, and pressed His Royal Highness to assist me, at last receiving his promise of help. By his kind permission, the Albanian named Palok acted as my guide, and what eventually happened to me in that wild region will be seen in the following pages. "Well," exclaimed the Prince at last, "if you go up there, it must be at your own risk. I've warned you of the danger. No one has been up there for many years. It has been at- tempted, of course, but travellers have either been held to ransom, and the Turks have been compelled to pay for their release, or else they have simply been shot by the first Albanian meeting them. The country beyond Scutari is the most unsafe in the whole Balkan Peninsula." I replied that I intended to make the attempt. "Well, then, I wish you buon viaggio," he laughed. "May every good luck attend you, and as we say in Montenegro - S'bogom! (God be with you!) When you return for I suppose you will pass this way down to the sea-come and see me, and tell me all about the Skreli and Kastrati country -for of course I am highly interested. They are always at war with our people on the frontier." "I will let your Royal Highness know the moment I am back in Cettinje," I promised. Then rising, he gripped my hand warmly, saying- "Then I will help you if I can. Be careful of yourself, for I shall be anxious about you. Again, S'bogom!" And the Prince accompanied me to the head of the grand staircase, where I made my obeisance, turned and descended through the rows of armed and bowing servants ranged in the hall, charmed by His Royal Highness's graciousness towards me and by the pleasant chat I had enjoyed. When, after my journey through Northern Albania, I one afternoon re-entered that audience-chamber, and he came forward with outstretched hand to greet me, he exclaimed- "Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face a little travel-worn- eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe," he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder. "Come along to this room. It is more cosy," and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet. For nearly two hours I sat relating to him what occurred on my journey, and describing the wild country which had, until then, been practically a sealed book. Even though Cettinje is so near, hardly anything was known of the Skreli, the Hoti, the Klementi, or the Kastrati tribes, save that they were brigandish bands who constantly raided the Montenegrin frontier. The Prince listened to me with great attention, and put many questions to me as we smoked together. Then rising, he took from a drawer in his great writing- table a small scarlet box, and as he opened it he bestowed upon me a compliment undeserved, for he said - "There are few men who would have risked what you have done. Therefore I wish to invest you with our Order of Danilo, as a mark of my appreciation and esteem." And he displayed to me the beautiful dark blue and white enamelled cross of the Order, the same that he was wearing at his throat, surmounted by the royal crown and suspended upon the white ribbon edged with cerise. After he had invested me with the Order, saying many kind things to me, which I really don't think I deserved, he added- "The chef du chancellerie will send you the diploma in due course, and I trust, when you petition your own gracious Sovereign King Edward, that His Majesty will allow you to wear this insignia." I thanked His Royal Highness, gripped his hand, and a few minutes later passed through the line of bowing servants out of the Palace. And that same evening I received from His Royal Highness the signed photograph which appears in these pages. Before I left Cettinje I received the following expressive lines, written especially for me by a Montenegrin poet who is a great personage, but whose name he would not permit me to give. They are in Servian as follows, and I have placed their English translation below :- S' veledušnog Albiona Pružiše se dvije ruke Crnoj Gori da pomogu U junačke njene muke S' vrućom rječu na ustima Gladston diže Crnogorce A Tenison za najprve U svijet ih broi borce Na glas svoih Velikana Britanski se narod trže Da pomože da zaštiti Crnu Goru iz najbrže Posla svoje bojne ladje Sto na tečnost gospostvuju Veledušno da zaštite Domovinu milu Moju O fala ti po sto puta Blagorodni lyudi Soju Dok je svjeta dok je greda Nad Ulcinjem koje stoju Hraniće ti blagodarnost Ova šaka sokolova Koima si u pomoci Stiga putem od valova. The literal translation in English is as follows:- From the great-souled Albion, Two arms were stretched To help Montenegro In her heroic sufferings. With fiery word on his lips Gladstone lifts up Montenegrins, Whilst Tennyson declared them The very first fighters in the world. On the call of their great men, British people rose up In quickest manner, to help And to protect Montenegro. They despatched their war-ships, Which rule over the seas, Generously to protect My Fatherland so dear to me. Oh! thanks to thee, hundredfold thanks, Noble race of men. As long as the world lasts, As long as the mountains above Dulcigno stand, Will remain grateful to thee, This handful of falcons, To whose help thou didst come By the road of the waves. - An Observer in the Near East - William Le Queux. Publisher, E. Nash, 1907. \** https://preview.redd.it/jg36zlvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=eacb8abc6368963f81177eefecbd44642c09cd97 https://preview.redd.it/7lh8gmvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=225f2bc1649240bfe5c57e72dfdaf93f28938bb7 https://preview.redd.it/2lvn8hwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6677bcd6e7d76a5f229b5ea7e61c9f0a5596ea47 https://preview.redd.it/pgqltmvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e4acf257abe5f0223c62635ecd9ac2a4f5e9614e https://preview.redd.it/xktn0ovu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=14d6087bbc6b3028c40e6e978674d470e23fab35 https://preview.redd.it/4zps2mvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=51e5049c7cbbc1fc455754e40e04c9b2c9a124e0 https://preview.redd.it/9qr2xrwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=48f98198cad524a0157100b60325e72d6b2f1770 https://preview.redd.it/ywzpenvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7118b6072a634d6ccce1b96eaab6bebbf987e194 https://preview.redd.it/9h2y0mvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=966897fbdcca422eee9ff410852bcd8cbe89d1ae https://preview.redd.it/07po9ovu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f8a078de6ef8ffc1808160270e46329f3a097d21 https://preview.redd.it/n89tenvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ea8a9fee167bb25b07ec3137bd235d600cb9dbe4 https://preview.redd.it/vv7knswu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=aa295c8644a75b5f5a5050bf0795875f9925c3b5 https://preview.redd.it/q1jxpnvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8d7431b419b1f5c1a33dba099465285fc5ed5297 https://preview.redd.it/w44qbfwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e18314ac2a333efe0b2d9301f7fba3c6d40b12f4 https://preview.redd.it/mclcb6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=90e4b7fedc3b3d63ee33c7c2cbd1b990a60203f3 https://preview.redd.it/qf6829tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=97e01c85545926178ccddbaee3ef4d96f2052201 https://preview.redd.it/5rqaz5tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b90176f3da386c7875f33301b02806cbfd8ec2c1 https://preview.redd.it/702o47tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7f3fe6bbf9e492105e72f1a551d902ec74218d03 https://preview.redd.it/bloxg8ug2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0b3d48034feb0a9f8f192e91df103a0308991c8b https://preview.redd.it/a2jhb8tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bb9a7fbfbce7700a06aa50574a786668dd321727 https://preview.redd.it/jgiqu6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ec2b5af58c8e25428d0c39550ed54d71e6c9188c https://preview.redd.it/ud3kc5tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=73dd2e0d96ef1cae5d9d934234db8f886b543e83 https://preview.redd.it/59uib9tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9b319597ac2f654c036eddec48c29e9ad539bebb https://preview.redd.it/8ahdu6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1ccad4eec7cb2a6ec943633f09df5e4c6368e21a https://preview.redd.it/iat3u8ug2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dd80620268744a4d40a5d90aa291c5c56a5f64a9 https://preview.redd.it/ix1wp7tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0167cb5340b66f879442cdee00459649a31d8400 https://preview.redd.it/6p3tr6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ff95f8f74a7a65050a8abd518f321a186425ff92 https://preview.redd.it/iqvfy6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b0216c5b990fc3f44ac5b266cd3838b2830b295b https://preview.redd.it/d94is8tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=74c14118e9431762a63800f3f25ed864ea637e52 |
2024.05.10 17:01 thatotherchicka April 2021 - Question #27
“27. What is the CLASSIFICATION of a women’s hip-length jacket with an outer shell constructed from a laminated 100% polyester woven fabric bonded to a thermoplastic polyurethane film that is visible from the backside of the fabric? The garment is insulated with a 650 fill goose down containing an 80/20 down/feather ratio, has a full front opening secured with a zipper, a multi-adjustable hood, long sleeves with inner-protective cuffs, an adjustable powder skirt, zippered pockets below the waist and on the sleeves, a zippered vent under each arm, odor control technology, and a hem threaded with an elastic cord fitted with locks for tightening around the body.
A. 6202.93.0700
B. 6202.93.0911
C. 6210.40.5520
D. 6210.50.5520
E. 6210.50.8050”
Go to chapter 62 and jump to additional US note 3(a):
(a) When used in a subheading of this chapter or immediate superior text thereto, the term 'recreational performance outerwear' means trousers (including, but not limited to, ski or snowboard pants, and ski or snowboard pants intended for sale as parts of ski-suits), coveralls, bib and brace overalls, jackets (including, but not limited to, full zip jackets, ski jackets and ski jackets intended for sale as parts of ski-suits), windbreakers and similar articles (including padded, sleeveless jackets), the foregoing of fabrics of cotton, wool, hemp, bamboo, silk or manmade fibers, or a combination of such fibers; that are either water resistant within the meaning of additional U.S. note 2 to this chapter or treated with plastics, or both; with critically sealed seams, and with 5 or more of the following features (as further provided herein):
(i) insulated for cold weather protection;
(ii) pockets, at least one of which has a zippered, hook and loop, or other type of closure;
(iii) elastic, draw cord or other means of tightening around the waist or leg hems, including hidden leg sleeves with a means of tightening at the ankle for trousers and tightening around the waist or bottom hem for jackets;
(iv) venting, not including grommet(s);
(v) articulated elbows or knees;
(vi) reinforcement in one of the following areas: the elbows, shoulders, seat, knees, ankles or cuffs;
(vii) weatherproof closure at the waist or front;
(viii) multi-adjustable hood or adjustable collar;
(ix) adjustable powder skirt, inner protective skirt or adjustable inner protective cuff at sleeve hem;
(x) construction at the arm gusset that utilizes fabric, design or patterning to allow radial arm movement; or
(xi) odor control technology
The term 'recreational performance outerwear' does not include occupational outerwear.
Highlight this note. It has been tested on multiple times. Now, let’s look at our two potential headings:
6202 - Women's or girls' overcoats, carcoats, capes, cloaks, anoraks (including ski jackets), windbreakers and similar articles (including padded, sleeveless jackets), other than those of heading 6204:
6210 - Garments, made up of fabrics of heading 5602, 5603, 5903, 5906 or 5907:
This is a jacket so it sounds like it would go under 6202. However, take a look at chapter note 6:
Garments which are, prima facie, classifiable both in heading 6210 and in other headings of this chapter, excluding heading 6209, are to be classified in heading 6210.
So, we need to determine if our cargo can be classified under 6210. Let’s look at 6210 more closely and check the different headings they mention:
5602 - Felt, whether or not impregnated, coated, covered or laminated:
5603 - Nonwovens, whether or not impregnated, coated, covered or laminated:
5903 - Textile fabrics impregnated, coated, covered or laminated with plastics, other than those of heading 5902:
5906 - Rubberized textile fabrics, other than those of heading 5902:
5907 - Textile fabrics otherwise impregnated, coated or covered; painted canvas being theatrical scenery, studio back-cloths or the like:
Our article is a laminated 100% polyester woven fabric bonded to a thermoplastic polyurethane film that is visible from the backside of the fabric. That sounds to me like 5903. Let’s check the chapter notes to be sure. Chapter 59 note 3 states:
For the purposes of heading 5903, “textile fabrics laminated with plastics” means products made by the assembly of one or more layers of fabrics with one or more sheets or film of plastics which are combined by any process that bonds the layers together, whether or not the sheets or film of plastics are visible to the naked eye in the cross-section.
That definitely sounds like our product. If it is made from a fabric of 5903 then it would be classified under 6210. Let’s look at our options that remain for that heading:
6210.40 - Other men's or boys' garments:
6210.50 - Other women's or girls' garments:
We know this is a women’s jacket so it must go under 6210.50. Our final options are:
6210.50.5520 – Other: of man-made fibers: Other: Anoraks (including ski-jackets), wind breakers and similar articles
6210.50.8050 – Other: Other: Other: Anoraks (including ski-jackets), wind-breakers and similar articles
Polyester is a man-made fabric so it would go under 6210.50.5520. The answer is D.
submitted by thatotherchicka to CBLE [link] [comments]
A. 6202.93.0700
B. 6202.93.0911
C. 6210.40.5520
D. 6210.50.5520
E. 6210.50.8050”
Go to chapter 62 and jump to additional US note 3(a):
(a) When used in a subheading of this chapter or immediate superior text thereto, the term 'recreational performance outerwear' means trousers (including, but not limited to, ski or snowboard pants, and ski or snowboard pants intended for sale as parts of ski-suits), coveralls, bib and brace overalls, jackets (including, but not limited to, full zip jackets, ski jackets and ski jackets intended for sale as parts of ski-suits), windbreakers and similar articles (including padded, sleeveless jackets), the foregoing of fabrics of cotton, wool, hemp, bamboo, silk or manmade fibers, or a combination of such fibers; that are either water resistant within the meaning of additional U.S. note 2 to this chapter or treated with plastics, or both; with critically sealed seams, and with 5 or more of the following features (as further provided herein):
(i) insulated for cold weather protection;
(ii) pockets, at least one of which has a zippered, hook and loop, or other type of closure;
(iii) elastic, draw cord or other means of tightening around the waist or leg hems, including hidden leg sleeves with a means of tightening at the ankle for trousers and tightening around the waist or bottom hem for jackets;
(iv) venting, not including grommet(s);
(v) articulated elbows or knees;
(vi) reinforcement in one of the following areas: the elbows, shoulders, seat, knees, ankles or cuffs;
(vii) weatherproof closure at the waist or front;
(viii) multi-adjustable hood or adjustable collar;
(ix) adjustable powder skirt, inner protective skirt or adjustable inner protective cuff at sleeve hem;
(x) construction at the arm gusset that utilizes fabric, design or patterning to allow radial arm movement; or
(xi) odor control technology
The term 'recreational performance outerwear' does not include occupational outerwear.
Highlight this note. It has been tested on multiple times. Now, let’s look at our two potential headings:
6202 - Women's or girls' overcoats, carcoats, capes, cloaks, anoraks (including ski jackets), windbreakers and similar articles (including padded, sleeveless jackets), other than those of heading 6204:
6210 - Garments, made up of fabrics of heading 5602, 5603, 5903, 5906 or 5907:
This is a jacket so it sounds like it would go under 6202. However, take a look at chapter note 6:
Garments which are, prima facie, classifiable both in heading 6210 and in other headings of this chapter, excluding heading 6209, are to be classified in heading 6210.
So, we need to determine if our cargo can be classified under 6210. Let’s look at 6210 more closely and check the different headings they mention:
5602 - Felt, whether or not impregnated, coated, covered or laminated:
5603 - Nonwovens, whether or not impregnated, coated, covered or laminated:
5903 - Textile fabrics impregnated, coated, covered or laminated with plastics, other than those of heading 5902:
5906 - Rubberized textile fabrics, other than those of heading 5902:
5907 - Textile fabrics otherwise impregnated, coated or covered; painted canvas being theatrical scenery, studio back-cloths or the like:
Our article is a laminated 100% polyester woven fabric bonded to a thermoplastic polyurethane film that is visible from the backside of the fabric. That sounds to me like 5903. Let’s check the chapter notes to be sure. Chapter 59 note 3 states:
For the purposes of heading 5903, “textile fabrics laminated with plastics” means products made by the assembly of one or more layers of fabrics with one or more sheets or film of plastics which are combined by any process that bonds the layers together, whether or not the sheets or film of plastics are visible to the naked eye in the cross-section.
That definitely sounds like our product. If it is made from a fabric of 5903 then it would be classified under 6210. Let’s look at our options that remain for that heading:
6210.40 - Other men's or boys' garments:
6210.50 - Other women's or girls' garments:
We know this is a women’s jacket so it must go under 6210.50. Our final options are:
6210.50.5520 – Other: of man-made fibers: Other: Anoraks (including ski-jackets), wind breakers and similar articles
6210.50.8050 – Other: Other: Other: Anoraks (including ski-jackets), wind-breakers and similar articles
Polyester is a man-made fabric so it would go under 6210.50.5520. The answer is D.
2024.05.08 16:39 SpiralSour Booking Bo Dallas Returning - Part Two: The Family I've Got Left
SummerSlam 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Finn Bálor
Five years ago, at this very same event, Bray Wyatt debuted a brand new version of himself. A version known as The Fiend. A monstrous being that featured very little man in its existence, it was a demonic creature, feeding on the fear of those it crossed and becoming seemingly impervious due to it.
Five years later, the brother of the man who brought that thing into the wrestling world, faces the same man who fell victim at the feet of The Fiend. And just as Bray Wyatt did, Bo Dallas has some tricks in his sleeve, or...some rabbits in his hat.
[Finn Bálor enters first, the confident Irishman with a historic career who has made his mark as a legend in the business. From Bullet Club to training Becky Lynch & JD McDonagh to arguably the greatest NXT Champion of all time to the first ever Universal Champion to The Judgement Day. Tonight, he looks to build upon that illustrious status with a victory over the unpredictable Bo Dallas.
Bálor stands, ready to fight, when the lights dim out. Bálor is slightly puzzled, this isn't part of Bo's recent entrances.
At the top of the entrance way sits a door, an eerie glow doubled with an eerie vibration emanating from it. Suddenly, the door busts open.
White Rabbit Remix - Jefferson Airplane
Bálor watches as from the door emerges a figure. A figure seemingly humanoid in nature, but something slightly off, the fog filling the area makes it hard to discern what that is.
The fog clears and it becomes increasingly clear what's gone wrong here. The crowd gasps and then quiets.
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
A figure, very similar to the images above, exits the door and infringes on the sanctity of the ring as he approaches. Fur is matted along the arms, abdomen, legs. Splatters of a once viscous red liquid that has dried a crimson brown are visible all over the once pristine, white pelt.
And the face...a disgusting hybrid between a human and an inhumanely large rabbit. The ears jutting out of the face made out of that same...material. That unnatural fur. The left side of the face revealing what used to be a man. He looks...like Bo Dallas. The skin portion of the face is smothered in red, further stretching the meaning of recognizable. An almost leathery appearance coats the angry, red skin. A texture much too old for Taylor Rotunda's age of thirty three.
The teeth lay as jagged pieces of metal, unable to be contained by the maw of the creature.
The lights come up as the unholy monster enters the once sacred ring. A ring that has made this sport possible and a ring where the best matches in professional wrestling have occured, a ring that held the matches and moments that made you fall in love with wrestling in the first place.
And it's tainted, rendered unclean, by this animal. A chill runs down Finn Bálor's spine. He stands his ground, eyeing his bizarre opponent warily, unsure of what to expect from this unholy creation. Memories of a scene he's starred in before, not unlike this, flooding him.
The White Rabbit's grotesque visage contorts into a twisted semblance of a grin as he advances towards Bálor, his movements jerky and unnatural. Bálor braces himself for the impending confrontation, his senses on high alert as he prepares to defend himself against this monstrous aberration.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the match, and Bálor wastes no time in launching a flurry of strikes at The White Rabbit, hoping to catch him off guard and gain the early advantage. But The White Rabbit proves to be more agile than he appears, dodging Bálor's attacks with ease and countering with a brutal barrage of his own.
The White Rabbit toys with Bálor, taunting him with mocking gestures and sadistic laughter as he systematically dismantles his opponent with a series of harsh maneuvers. Bálor fights back with all his might, refusing to let fear or uncertainty cloud his judgment as he battles against the odds.
As the match progresses, The White Rabbit's dominance becomes increasingly evident, his unnerving presence casting a pall over the arena as he unleashes his full arsenal of twisted and unpredictable offense. Bálor struggles to keep pace, his every move countered with ruthless efficiency by his monstrous adversary.
But just when it seems that all hope is lost, Bálor summons the strength of his fighting spirit, rallying back with a defiant burst of energy that catches The White Rabbit off guard. With The White Rabbit still standing, Bálor delivers a thunderous Coup de Grâce, driving his feet into The White Rabbit's chest with bone-shattering force.
The impact ripples through the ring as The White Rabbit crumples to the canvas, his grotesque form writhing in agony. Bálor seizes the opportunity, pinning his monstrous opponent for...for a one count.
Bálor quickly climbs and attempts a second Coup De Grâce, this time to a downed opponent. The White Rabbit moves out of the way and quickly snaps the neck of Finn Bálor. The Rabbit pulls up the paralyzed form of Bálor, and sinches in Hell's Gates.
The referee calls for the bell as the lifeless form of Bálor begins to bleed from his nose and ears, the extraneous pressure from the submission evident.
The White Rabbit stares out at the audience, stares down at Bálor and exits the ring, he walks towards the door, goes through the portal and closes it behind him.
The lights come up and all that's left is the ravaged body of Finn Bálor.]
RAW, 8/12/24:
(Writers Note: Damian Priest is going to be uninvolved in this feud due to focusing on his main event aspirations and his growing distance from The Judgement Day.)
Two weeks after the emergence of one of the most disturbing figures we've ever seen grace the squared circle, Bo Dallas returns to RAW to address the events of SummerSlam.
He says that when he returned to WWE four months ago, he was a very nervous man. He was wracked with feelings of uncertainty and fear, he remembers going into a match with a specific man, Joe Gacy. He remembers being the most scared he's ever been, you have to understand, Bo wasn't like his brother. Bo didn't get 'extreme', he didn't get the opportunity to have matches like that and here he was.
Faced with a madman, challenged to a Love and War match. Joe, he taught Bo something that night, he told him "Fulfill Your Destiny." And it was at that moment, that Bo realized something. He realized what Bray had been doing all those years.
If you can take your fear, and manifest it into something physical, something truly special can be born, and better yet, it leaves you, the man behind the magic, completely fearless.
Before Dallas can continue, The Judgement Day appears, Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh surround the ring. Bálor says that Bo caught him off guard at SummerSlam, and he wants a rematch, especially seeing as how without his smoke and mirrors, Bo sure does seem fragile.
"It's true. I wouldn't be able to fight all three of you by myself, which is why I'm so glad I don't have to."
BRAUN!
The Monster Among Men makes his first appearance in almost a year, marching out on stage. The Judgement Day is already sufficiently rattled before the titantron goes a mossy green and Erick Rowan appears besides Strowman, standing with his former Wyatt Family brother.
Strowman & Rowan storm the ring causing JD & Dominik to flee and escape, but Bálor turns around into Grim Affection. Dallas stands tall, inheriting the family Bray built. What's that saying? The brother of my brother is my brother? Something like that.
Bash In Berlin 2024:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs The Judgement Day (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh)
[Following a confident, braggadocios entrance by The Judgement Day, Dallas, Strowman and Rowan mark their arrival with a Code Orange performed remix of Feared. The music, calling back to the numerous other songs Code Orange has provided for the Rotunda family.
Dallas, flanked by the hulking figures of Strowman and Rowan makes for an intimidating visual. The Judgement Day have an experience edge though, especially with Bálor having personally trained and scouted McDonagh several years ago.
Dallas and Mysterio start the match and Bo quickly gets flustered by the speed and lucha experience of Dominik. Though Dominik has control early, Dallas gets fed up, and following a lucky strike, tags out to Braun Strowman.
Strowman dismantles Dominik, tossing him around the ring with ease. He connects with a heart-throb to the chest before hoisting Mysterio into a move we have not seen from Strowman...since he was a follower.
The hanging triangle lock is applied, Strowman squeezing around the neck of Dominik as Mysterio hangs limply. Dominik kicks out, inciting Braun to return another maneuver. The reverse chokeslam connects and Strowman places a boot on Dominik's chest, but Mysterio still manages to fight out.
Strowman brings Rowan in, who locks a bear hug forcing Dominik to scramble for escape. Despite Dominik's surviving the bear hug, his relief is short lived as Rowan cinches a vice grip around the skull. Dominik creates separation, and Rowan tries to flatten him with a spin kick, but Mysterio ducks. A dropkick to the knee and a 619 follows, giving Dominik an opportunity to tag out.
Finn Bálor is brought in and begins striking away on Rowan, littering the bigger man with bruises. A well placed pele kick wobbles Rowan and leaves him victim to a shotgun dropkick into the turnbuckles. Bálor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Rowan avoids shoving Finn into the corner. Rowan charges in, but Bálor hops over him and Erick crashes into the steel post.
JD is tagged in and immediately hits a pump helluva kick on the cornered Rowan. Rowan is down to a knee and McDonagh comes from behind with a leap over Rowan culminating in a stunner. A kick out by Rowan inspires McDonagh to connect with a swanton bomb for a near-fall.
JD attempts for Devlinside, yet discovers Rowan is too big of a man to be trying that on. Rowan gets grip on the neck and goes for a chokeslam, McDonagh does a backflip out of it landing on his feet. JD connects with a superkick, followed by a springboard moonsault DDT.
Dallas breaks up the pin, Dominik rushes in to even the odds, Strowman neutralizes Dominik, Bálor brawling with Braun. Chaos unfolds, and eventually Dallas and co. clear the ring. Braun runs the Strowman Express on Judgement Day plowing through each member at ringside, except for JD who catches him with a penalty kick after hopping onto the apron.
JD and Rowan begin to battle again as the legal men, McDonagh knees Rowan in the face and dives with a crossbody for a two count. JD tags out to Bálor, who allows Rowan to bring in Bo Dallas.
Dallas and Bálor, now both as their mortal selves, begin to brawl. Bálor connects with a slingblade, and a shotgun dropkick driving Bo nearly through the turnbuckles. Bàlor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Dallas avoids and attempts Grim Affection. Bálor slips out and locks the head up under the arm, connecting with a snap elbow drop across the heart.
Bálor climbs now once more, and Dallas hangs him up before sending Finn to the canvas below with a superplex. A near-fall follows, and Dallas clings to the leg of Bálor, trying to prevent a tag. Finn kicks him away and reintroduces McDonagh to the fray.
JD flusters Dallas with strikes and speed, but as he locks onto the wrist and attempts his springboard moonsault DDT, Dallas catches him in position and connects with Grim Affection. Strowman and Rowan plow through Dominik and Bálor preventing a save.
Dallas gets the victory for his team, and alongside his disciples of destruction, stands tall. The entire locker room put on notice.]
Over the next several weeks, The Judgement Day keeps their distance from Dallas's clan. Dallas fastly finds a new target, challenging The Final Testament. Dallas continuously tells Karrion Kross that he was destined for this, dating back almost a decade (in reference to Kross's stint as The White Rabbit in Lucha Underground.)
We get a very fun Authors Of Pain/Strowman & Rowan match out of it, and by the end of September, Bo has successfully convinced Karrion Kross to abandon AOP, Paul Ellering and even Scarlett, adding yet another massive man to his growing group.
October arrives and with his group nearing completion, Dallas targets a man his brother knew very well. That man being Seth Rollins. Dating back to The Shield & The Wyatt Family's iconic feud to The Fiend chasing Rollins' Universal Championship, Rollins was always one of Bray's best rivals. Not to mention, Dallas and Rollins have history from their days in FCW together, only Rollins has so significantly eclipsed Dallas in success and he's sure to rub that in Bo's face now.
You may think the numbers game is so insurmountable and overwhelming, but one puzzle piece that makes this that much more interesting is who Seth has been teaming with as of late. His protege and trainee, Nathan Frazer.
There's a segment featuring Dallas, flanked by his followers and Rollins with Frazer, but the tension is so heavy between Bo and Nathan, you would think they were the only two people in the ring. Frazer addresses his fear of Dallas, and that fear was proven valid considering the damage Dallas has done to the foes he's encountered since.
Dallas cost Nathan his best friend, he cost him his tag team titles, he cost him his brother! But Nathan has news for Bo, he is not running anymore.
Dallas steps forward, looking to acknowledge the impact he's had on Frazer.
"Nate, is it? I don't know how to tell you this, but...I don't even know who you are."
Bo is calloused and cold, and simply decides to feed Frazer and Rollins to the wolves. We get a tag match between Rollins and Frazer vs Strowman and Rowan, with commentary making note of Rollins and Braun being former tag team champions together, ending in victory for Rollins and Frazer.
Armageddon 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Seth Rollins
[The anticipation is high as Bo Dallas and Seth Rollins step into the ring, flanked by their respective allies. Rollins, accompanied by Nathan Frazer, exudes the confidence of a former champion as he eyes Dallas, who seems to stand that much taller alongside the imposing trio of Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Karrion Kross.
The match begins with Dallas and Rollins locking up in the center of the ring, each vying for control. Rollins gains the early advantage with his technical prowess, countering Dallas's power-based offense with precision strikes and fast maneuvers. But Dallas refuses to back down, using his size and strength to overpower Rollins and gain the upper hand.
As the match progresses, both competitors unleash a barrage of moves, each refusing to give an inch in their quest for victory. Rollins employs his signature high-flying arsenal, soaring through the air with breathtaking dives and aerial assaults that keep Dallas on the defensive. But Dallas proves to be a resilient opponent, weathering Rollins's onslaught and mounting several counterattacks of his own.
In the final moments of the match, Rollins, alongside Frazer battle off Dallas's trio of monsters. Rollins looks for a Curb Stomp, that Dallas avoids. Dallas hooks on for Grim Affection, but Rollins latches onto the arm, trapping Bo before spinning him into a RainTrigger knee strike. A definitive Curb Stomp follows and Rollins is able to secure the victory giving Bo his first clean singles loss since returning.]
With Survivor Series fast approaching, the men Dallas has targeted come back to haunt him, as Rollins and Frazer form something of a truce with The Judgement Day, seeking to take down the common enemy in Bo Dallas.
We get some interesting interactions such as Kross trying to convince JD that he can see the darkness in him, harkening back to JD's NXT character of old, only for JD to tell Kross that he doesn't know anything about him before shattering his nose with a wicked headbutt.
With Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins banding together Bo seems to be just one man short. It's the RAW prior to Survivor Series when Dallas, Strowman, Rowan and Kross stand on stage staring down the babyface quintet. The crowd waits with baited breath before Love Is Blind hits and Joe Gacy strolls on stage, making his main roster debut to side with his NXT foe.
They charge the ring and a brawl breaks out, and as security tries to keep the ten men apart, we here a distinguished William Regal shout
"WarGames!"
Survivor Series 2024:
Team Dallas (Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, Joe Gacy & Karrion Kross) vs Team Rollins (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins) - WarGames
[It is decided that Joe Gacy and Seth Rollins will be opening this match. Both men selected by their teams for their stamina in matches like these, Gacy from his CZW days, Rollins having been WWE's premier workhorse for years.
The bell rings and they make their way on to the steel connector between the two rings. They begin wallaying on each other with forearms before Joe sneaks in a boot to the midsection, Gacy attempts a powerbomb on the steel, but Rollins reverses with a back body drop.
Seth looks for a superkick, but Gacy catches the foot and sends Rollins into the left ring. Rollins looks for a spinning forearm, but Gacy ducks and gores Rollins with a shoulder thrust. Joe sails over Rollins into the ring, and using his deceptive athleticism, looks for his handspring lariat.
Rollins catches him with a superkick and tries for a Pedigree. Gacy is able to muscle up Rollins into an Alabama Slam, he then throws Rollins into the turnbuckles forcing Seth to take a seat. A big crossbody to the seated, cornered Rollins follows and Gacy begins to reign.
Joe starts targeting the bad back sending Rollins writhing with forearms and knees to the lumbar. He eventually gets a knee on the spine with a tight grip around the mouth, controlling Seth's breathing. Rollins begins to fire up and fight out with elbows to the midsection. Rollins hits a leaping knee strike to Gacy and takes him down a peg.
Rollins attempts a Curb Stomp, but Gacy moves landing Winds Of Change as Rollins turns around. Gacy tries for a running senton, but Rollins moves this time. Curb Stomp attempt, Gacy moves, handspring lariat, Rollins ducks, superkick, Curb Stomp connects.
Rollins knows he can't make the cover so he climbs to the top to inflict more damage. Frogsplash, but Gacy gets the knees up. Joe shoves Rollins into the ropes hoping to connect with an elbow to the back, but Rollins rebounds with a spinning forearm. Gacy ducks locking on for a German Suplex, Rollins lands on his feet and closes in with a V-Trigger, Gacy rebounds off the ropes into a Falcon Arrow and the countdown begins.
Erick Rowan is the next entry, joining Joe Gacy as a focused duo. Rowan pounces on Rollins, but Seth fights back, attempting a RainTrigger but Rowan catches him by the face, in an Iron Claw like grip. Rowan looks for a slam using the claw grip, but Rollins hooks onto the head and reverses into a DDT.
Rollins begins to litter both Joe and Rowan with corner forearms, Rowan eventually catches Rollins and attempts a two handed chokeslam. Rollins dropkicks the body of Rowan mid-slam, and recuperates. He attempts a Pedigree, but Rowan reverses with a back body drop, Rollins lands on his feet and nails an enziguri to stumble the big man.
He mounts Rowan in the corner and begins landing repeated right hands, Rowan shoves him off the middle turnbuckle and closes the distance with a big boot. He positions Seth in the corner before slapping Gacy and hyping him up, ala The Bludgeon Brothers.
Gacy charges for a crossbody to the downed Rollins, but Seth springs up, sails over the running Gacy and lands a dropkick to Rowan. A leaping knee to the mouth follows and Rollins gets Rowan back in Pedigree position.
Gacy comes over with a clothesline that Rollins ducks before hitting a superkick to Gacy, Rowan tries to whip Rollins into the corner but Seth reverses and Erick smashes into Gacy. Rollins jumps to the middle turnbuckle raining down with a barrage of right hands to Rowan then Gacy.
Rowan and Gacy try to catch their bearings before turning around into a Phoenix Splash Crossbody from Rollins and the countdown begins.
Finn Bálor is the next entry, entering a couple of chairs into the field for him and Rollins. They stare each other down, remembering all the wars they've been through and begin to beat down on Rowan and Gacy. It's going well at first, with Gacy especially being incapacitated, before Rowan stops Bálor mid chair swing.
He mule kicks Rollins and rips the chair out of Finn's hands before tossing Finn into the corner. Rollins shortly after joins him. Rowan proceeds to biel toss Rollins who tucks and rolls to come out unscathed. Bálor is then biel tossed on top of Rollins before Rowan throws the aforementioned chair into the face of Bálor.
Rowan attempts to chokeslam Seth on top of the other chair, Rollins scrambles and kicks the chair over so it's legs up. Rowan proceeds with the chokeslam anyway, delivering Rollins onto the bottom of the chair. He then sets up another chair in the corner, wedging it between turnbuckles. He vaults Bálor in that direction, but Finn slides low to avoid connection, only for Gacy to bull pounce him into the chair anyway.
Rowan and Gacy survey the carnage they've caused, as Bálor tries to crawl into the other ring. Rowan joins him on the steel connector and despite Finn's valiant efforts, is able to claw slam him onto the steel beam as the countdown begins.
Bo Dallas is the next entry, and he doesn't waste time getting his hands dirty. He simply passes his objects of destruction their tools. A table, a length of chain and a toolbox. He then observes as his monsters begin to wreak havoc.
Gacy whips at Rollins with the chain, before wrapping it around his face and neck. Rowan squeezes between Bálor's fingers with pliers, applying pressure as he kneels on his back.
Gacy throws the toolbox into the face of an unsuspecting Rollins. Gacy sets up the table against the turnbuckles. He tries to whip Rollins into it, but Seth catches himself, he fights back against Rowan and Gacy but Joe gets a knee to the face before lifting Rollins on his shoulder and charging him through the table.
Rowan yanks Bálor up and delivers him with biel tosses onto the chain and toolbox as the countdown begins.
Dominik Mysterio is the next entry, and he quickly realizes the challenge he's up against. He ducks under Rowan and Gacy, tackling Bo and unloading with right hands. Rowan and Gacy drag him off and begin mercilessly beating on him.
Dallas calls them off, dragging Dominik into the right ring, telling Rowan and Gacy that he'll handle Mysterio. He looks for Grim Affection, but Dominik escapes and rolls backwards with Dallas before hitting a dropkick to the back. Bo is in position, but as Dallas runs the ropes, Rowan catches him by the throat.
Rowan chokeslams Dominik into the arms of Gacy who connects with a German Suplex. The ominous duo gaze down at the broken body of Mysterio, before feeding him to Dallas, who connects with Grim Affection as the countdown begins.
Karrion Kross is the next entry, and introduces a very special weapon. A barbed wire wrapped 2x4 as well as a suspicious grey baggie.
He begins brandishing Bálor and Rollins with the wood and wire. He rips at the flesh and rakes it across the face of Rollins. He begins toying with Bálor, and releases the 2x4 asking Finn to stand up and show him what he's got. Bálor fires up, and sweeps the legs sending Kross back first onto the barbed wire. He then stomps on the chest caving Kross further in.
He beckons Rowan and Gacy to try their best, and as they begin to swarm, the numbers game becomes too much. Rowan with a spinning heel kick, Gacy with a crossbody against the ropes. They continue to dismantle their foes as the countdown begins.
JD McDonagh is the next entry, and introduces several chairs. He cracks Gacy, Rowan and Dallas repeatedly, bruising them with the stiff chair strikes.
He gets Bo in the corner and hits a running dropkick with the chair under his feet, ala Rob Van Dam. McDonagh is rolling, but here comes Kross. Karrion and McDonagh have had something of a personal sub rivalry, and Karrion relishes punishing McDonagh. A fallaway suplex downs McDonagh and leads to Kross wielding a chair.
Swing and a miss, swing a miss, swing and connects with the foot of JD who was going for a roundhouse, swing and the chair lodges itself around the head of McDonagh, headbutt by McDonagh with the chair around the head, both men down and the countdown begins.
Braun Strowman is the next entry, the final for Team Dallas. He introduces multiple tables and sets them up in a row of three. Dominik chooses this time to reappear and swiftly gets chokeslammed through one of the tables.
Braun is able to get JD up in a hanging triangle lock with the chain wrapped around his neck, but Bálor and Rollins come to the save. Finn, Seth and JD work to take down Gacy, Rowan, Strowman and Kross.
McDonagh scaling the cage, Rowan, Dallas and Strowman starting to recover, Gacy on one table, Kross on one table, Rollins and Bálor climb, frogsplash through the table from Rollins, Coup De Grâce through the table from Bálor, moonsault from the top of the cage by McDonagh!
Everyone is down as the countdown begins.
Nathan Frazer is the next and final entry, Frazer is a one man wrecking crew as he enters, showing off his agility using both rings to his advantage. Frazer clears Kross, Gacy, Strowman, Rowan but faulters as he encounters Dallas.
Bo taunts Frazer from his knees, and as Frazer hesitates to take the kill shot, Rowan takes advantage with a claw slam to Nathan. Rollins capitalizes with a superkick to Dallas and a chair shot to the head of Rowan, once Erick's head is sufficiently trapped inside the chair, Rollins hops onto the back and hits a modified Pedigree, jamming the chair into the throat and jaw.
Gacy is seen stalking Rollins, having wrapped the barbed wire from the 2x4 around his arm, he charges in with a handspring barbed wire wrapped lariat to Rollins. Bálor closes in with a shotgun dropkick into the corner before fetching the grey baggie. He opens it, emptying out thumbtacks onto the canvas.
Bo comes over, striking with Bálor. Finn gets the upper hand and climbs for a standing Coup De Grâce, similar to how he tried to put The White Rabbit away at SummerSlam. He misses, going feet first into the tacks, Dallas grabs hold of the head and connects with Grim Affection on the tacks.
Three seconds later, and Team Dallas has survived WarGames. Bo collects up his soldiers, standing above the battered bodies of his opposition. One question remains clear, who can stop Bo Dallas?]
With Team Dallas pulling out a massive victory inside arguably the most grueling match type in WWE history, they look forward to moving on from the men they dismantled at Survivor Series.
One man, though, refuses to let them. That man is Nathan Frazer. Still haunted by the price he paid, the friend he lost, the halt in momentum, due to Bo's arrival in NXT.
A couple of weeks following WarGames, Frazer comes out to call out Bo Dallas, Seth Rollins tries to talk Frazer down and calm him, but Nathan is insistent. He failed to take Bo down, he failed to make things right, he needs to beat Bo Dallas.
Strowman, Rowan, Kross and Gacy emerge. Gacy states that Bo isn't here tonight, but they would be more than happy to show Frazer exactly what he's in for if he wants to keep...chasing rabbits.
The monsters storm the ring and surround Rollins and Frazer in a very hound like way. Just before they pounce, a theme song hits, the lights go up and wouldn't you know it, motherfucking Axiom arrives.
Frazer & Rollins take advantage of the distraction and Axiom lends his hand, leading to the monsters retreating. Rollins guards the ring as Axiom and Nathan Frazer stare each other down.
'Hug It Out' chants run through the arena, and Axiom & Frazer embrace, putting the past behind them.
Over the next two weeks, we get two very interesting matches. The first, a street fight between Bo Dallas and Nathan Frazer, in which Frazer finally gets an opportunity at singles revenge on Bo in a brutal, chaotic brawl. Dallas wins this match with help from his possee.
The second, Karrion Kross vs Seth Rollins, a good showcase for Kross as he steps up against a main eventer and one of the best in the world. Rollins wins in a good match, but it's what happens after that draws attention.
Rollins is seated in the corner when the lights go out, section by section, plunging Rollins into darkness and for the first time, Seth Rollins meets The White Rabbit.
The Rabbit crawls towards Rollins who closes his eyes in fear, creating parallels to a similar scene five years ago. Rollins, though, this time, stands up and stares down The Rabbit.
Seth grabs a microphone and stares down this fiendish entity. "Crown Jewel, me and my boys vs you and yours."
The Rabbit cocks his head to the side and the lights go out once more, when they come up, a hat remains in the ring. A hat very similar to Uncle Howdys', Rollins lifts it and a rabbit jumps out. At the bottom of the hat is a note, written on light blue, Firefly Funhouse themed paper.
"WE ACCEPT."
Crown Jewel 2024:
Axiom, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins vs Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan
[Five years after Bray Wyatt defeated Seth Rollins at this same event to become Universal Champion, Rollins faces off against his spiritual successor and younger brother, Bo Dallas. Frazer and Axiom share a quick nod of understanding, their strategy clear: use their speed and agility to outmaneuver their larger opponents. On the other side of the ring, Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan stand tall, their imposing presence a stark contrast to the quickness of their adversaries.
The match begins with Axiom and Dallas squaring off for the first time since NXT when Dallas took Axiom's title. The two competitors circle each other cautiously before locking up in a test of strength. Axiom utilizes his lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic prowess to keep Dallas off balance, darting in and out of range with precision. Shortly after, Nathan and Rowan engage in a battle of power versus speed, with Frazer using his agility to evade Rowan's powerful strikes while delivering rapid-fire kicks and strikes of his own.
As the match progresses, Rollins enters the fray, unleashing a flurry of high-flying maneuvers on his ex-partner, Strowman. Braun struggles to keep pace with his nimble opponent as Rollins utilizes his speed to his advantage, ducking and weaving around Strowman's attempts at offense before delivering an enzuigiri that sends the big man staggering backwards.
Rollins lands a knee to the nose and a step-stool Curb Stomp off the back of Frazer shortly after, but Rowan saves the match. Axiom and Nathan join forces, working in tandem to take Rowan out and wear him down with a series of double-team maneuvers. Rollins exits the ring and, acting in the role of Reigns, assists in hitting a Shield Bomb through the announce table on Rowan.
Despite the valiant efforts of Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan, the tide of the match begins to turn in favor of Rollins and his team. Axiom unleashes a devastating flurry of strikes on Dallas once Strowman and Seth tag out, culminating in a rattling roundhouse kick that leaves the former champion reeling. Meanwhile, Nathan Frazer climbs to the top turnbuckle and launches himself into the air, executing a picture-perfect shooting star press that connects squarely with Bo Dallas, leaving him sprawled out on the canvas.
With Dallas incapacitated, Nathan seizes the opportunity to go for the pin, hooking the leg as the referee counts the three. The crowd erupts into cheers as Rollins, Axiom, and Nathan Frazer celebrate their hard-fought victory, Frazer finally getting his revenge on the man who permanently altered his career.]
January arrives and the Dallas clan set their sights on the Royal Rumble, more specifically, helping Bo to win the Royal Rumble. To fulfill his destiny at WrestleMania.
When the Rumble arrives, they're doing a great job of tearing through everyone in the match. Rowan and Gacy aren't even entries, but continuously skirt around the rules, helping Bo, Kross and Strowman rack up eliminations.
They eliminate the likes of Finn Bálor, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn before they encounter the one man wrecking crew that is Randy Orton. Orton swiftly eliminates Kross and Strowman before turning his attention to Dallas. Bo is able to force him into position for Grim Affection, but Orton escapes landing an RKO and eliminating Bo Dallas.
When the Rumble has concluded, Bo has a hard time accepting this loss, and sics his men on Orton. Orton gets a victory over a game Karrion Kross leading to the onslaught by Strowman, Rowan and Gacy. However, this draws the call of the disgruntled men Bo's crew eliminated at the Rumble.
Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn.
Kevin and Randy already have a friendly history, and Zayn, coming off an Intercontinental Title loss to Ilja Dragunov in August, partners up with his long time tag partner to fight the cause.
Bo acknowledges the history his brother had with Randy Orton, including Orton burning down his childhood home, The Wyatt Compound.
Finally, at Elimination Chamber, much like The Shield and The Wyatt Family over a decade prior, we get a six man tag.
Elimination Chamber 2025:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs Kevin Owens, Randy Orton & Sami Zayn
[It's very poetic, Bo has been very much hitting all of Bray's best moments in modern day versions. The demonic alter-ego debuting at SummerSlam against Finn Bálor, facing off with Seth Rollins at Crown Jewel and now a six man tag at Elimination Chamber.
Dallas lets his opponents know ahead of this match that he has some tricks up his sleeves, but that a truly good magician never reveals his secrets.
There's plenty of fun interactions, Strowman & Zayn having been Braun's first feud away from The Wyatt Family, Strowman & Owens and the terrorizing Kevin went through in 2018, Rowan & Orton facing off for the first time since Orton went after The Wyatt Family in 2017, Bo & Sami reigniting their NXT feud from 2014.
The match ends when Braun sets Owens, Zayn and Orton up in separate corners. He biel tosses Orton, biel tosses Sami and goes for Owens, but Kevin fights back hitting a Stunner on the big man. Bo comes in and eats a Pop-Up Powerbomb for a near-fall.
Kevin gets Dallas in the corner for a Kevin Cannonball and connects, once, twice, Kevin looking for a third cannonball from the corner. Zayn stops Owens and tells Kevin to let Sami end this. Bo staggers up and Sami looks for a Helluva Kick from the corner to the right of the one Owens is stood in.
HELLUVA KICK! TO OWENS!
Kevin falls into Zayn's arms and Sami pushes him to the ground before walking off, leaving Owens defenseless.
Bo crawls over looking for Grim Affection, Kevin escapes, superkick connects. Both men fall and Owens makes the hot tag to Orton. Orton clears out Rowan, Gacy, Kross and Strowman with RKOs before setting up Dallas for the punt. No one to help the wounded rabbit, The Viper closes in.
Orton's momentum is halted though by a hand grabbing his foot at ringside, the person is in a hood and just as Orton shakes free of his grip, he turns around into Grim Affection for the win.
Bo Dallas has pinned Randy Orton. His family in ruins all around the ring, Bo celebrates his victory, and is proven to be a very truthful man. He really did have quite a few tricks up his sleeve tonight.]
It is advertised that on RAW the following night, we will find out the man who cost Randy Orton at Elimination Chamber.
When the time comes, Bo, flanked by his men, states that long ago his brother put into motion a plan. A plan that would unite six people together, the six most optimal people to incite change into this company. They were handpicked by Bray since the beginning.
Braun Strowman, Bray's black sheep, the man he personally discovered and brought into the WWE to be part of his family.
Erick Rowan, Bray's left hand and the man who carried out Bray's commands for years, one of his most loyal soldiers.
Joe Gacy, a man who felt an indescribable spiritual connection to Bray Wyatt, Bray told Bo that he didn't know who the final member was, but that the man meant to fill the role would, that they would feel an intrinsic, undeniable pull.
Karrion Kross, a man with goals very similar to Bray, and a man who was being mentored by Bray backstage prior to his passing, his golden child.
And now that just leaves one person. Someone who knew Bray very well, someone Bray found much success with in this very ring. So without further ado, the final member of The Wyatt Si-
Randy Orton enters, he denounces this ceremony and is out for blood tonight. Bo states that it's actually perfectly convenient that Orton be here for this, seeing as Randy also knows this person very well.
"In fact, Randy, you're the reason this person wasn't here for five years. The past is a funny thing Randy, the axe forgets, the tree...oh, the tree always remembers."
Realization sets in on the face of Orton before the hooded figure blasts Randy as he turns around. The hood comes off, and there stands, the final member of The Wyatt Six.
Matt Hardy.
Randy Orton is able to get his revenge on Matt Hardy in Matt's last WWE match ever, a street fight on an episode of RAW. It's a grueling, physical battle, but Orton knows the numbers game is too large for him to seek revenge on Bo Dallas.
Besides, Dallas has his hands full.
Just as quickly as The Wyatt 6 began, some subtraction begins to occur. One week, Rowan will be with them backstage only to not come to the ring and go missing, Kross and Strowman face similar fates, leaving only Dallas, Gacy and Hardy.
Dallas begins to question where his family members have gone, and Gacy vows to protect him. That is moments before Dallas and Gacy head to the ring, and Matt Hardy is no longer with them.
Backstage footage airs of something destroying Matt Hardy, beating him violently, and as the being turns its head, it is made clear.
The Demon is here.
Heartbeats fill the arena and Gacy exits the ring to guard the perimeter. Red lights dawn on the squared circle, before The Demon attacks Gacy at ringside making quick work of him.
The Demon crawls into the ring before Dallas grabs a mic, kneeling down to The Demon's level.
"I know what you want, there's only one place for souls like ours to do this. Hell In A Cell."
On the go home show for WrestleMania, Finn Bálor and Bo Dallas have a face to face, Finn says that The Demon never got to meet The Fiend but it will get to meet The Rabbit.
"In layman's terms, Bo. You bring your demons, I'll bring mine."
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Bo Dallas vs Finn Bálor
Five years ago, at this very same event, Bray Wyatt debuted a brand new version of himself. A version known as The Fiend. A monstrous being that featured very little man in its existence, it was a demonic creature, feeding on the fear of those it crossed and becoming seemingly impervious due to it.
Five years later, the brother of the man who brought that thing into the wrestling world, faces the same man who fell victim at the feet of The Fiend. And just as Bray Wyatt did, Bo Dallas has some tricks in his sleeve, or...some rabbits in his hat.
[Finn Bálor enters first, the confident Irishman with a historic career who has made his mark as a legend in the business. From Bullet Club to training Becky Lynch & JD McDonagh to arguably the greatest NXT Champion of all time to the first ever Universal Champion to The Judgement Day. Tonight, he looks to build upon that illustrious status with a victory over the unpredictable Bo Dallas.
Bálor stands, ready to fight, when the lights dim out. Bálor is slightly puzzled, this isn't part of Bo's recent entrances.
At the top of the entrance way sits a door, an eerie glow doubled with an eerie vibration emanating from it. Suddenly, the door busts open.
White Rabbit Remix - Jefferson Airplane
Bálor watches as from the door emerges a figure. A figure seemingly humanoid in nature, but something slightly off, the fog filling the area makes it hard to discern what that is.
The fog clears and it becomes increasingly clear what's gone wrong here. The crowd gasps and then quiets.
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
A figure, very similar to the images above, exits the door and infringes on the sanctity of the ring as he approaches. Fur is matted along the arms, abdomen, legs. Splatters of a once viscous red liquid that has dried a crimson brown are visible all over the once pristine, white pelt.
And the face...a disgusting hybrid between a human and an inhumanely large rabbit. The ears jutting out of the face made out of that same...material. That unnatural fur. The left side of the face revealing what used to be a man. He looks...like Bo Dallas. The skin portion of the face is smothered in red, further stretching the meaning of recognizable. An almost leathery appearance coats the angry, red skin. A texture much too old for Taylor Rotunda's age of thirty three.
The teeth lay as jagged pieces of metal, unable to be contained by the maw of the creature.
The lights come up as the unholy monster enters the once sacred ring. A ring that has made this sport possible and a ring where the best matches in professional wrestling have occured, a ring that held the matches and moments that made you fall in love with wrestling in the first place.
And it's tainted, rendered unclean, by this animal. A chill runs down Finn Bálor's spine. He stands his ground, eyeing his bizarre opponent warily, unsure of what to expect from this unholy creation. Memories of a scene he's starred in before, not unlike this, flooding him.
The White Rabbit's grotesque visage contorts into a twisted semblance of a grin as he advances towards Bálor, his movements jerky and unnatural. Bálor braces himself for the impending confrontation, his senses on high alert as he prepares to defend himself against this monstrous aberration.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the match, and Bálor wastes no time in launching a flurry of strikes at The White Rabbit, hoping to catch him off guard and gain the early advantage. But The White Rabbit proves to be more agile than he appears, dodging Bálor's attacks with ease and countering with a brutal barrage of his own.
The White Rabbit toys with Bálor, taunting him with mocking gestures and sadistic laughter as he systematically dismantles his opponent with a series of harsh maneuvers. Bálor fights back with all his might, refusing to let fear or uncertainty cloud his judgment as he battles against the odds.
As the match progresses, The White Rabbit's dominance becomes increasingly evident, his unnerving presence casting a pall over the arena as he unleashes his full arsenal of twisted and unpredictable offense. Bálor struggles to keep pace, his every move countered with ruthless efficiency by his monstrous adversary.
But just when it seems that all hope is lost, Bálor summons the strength of his fighting spirit, rallying back with a defiant burst of energy that catches The White Rabbit off guard. With The White Rabbit still standing, Bálor delivers a thunderous Coup de Grâce, driving his feet into The White Rabbit's chest with bone-shattering force.
The impact ripples through the ring as The White Rabbit crumples to the canvas, his grotesque form writhing in agony. Bálor seizes the opportunity, pinning his monstrous opponent for...for a one count.
Bálor quickly climbs and attempts a second Coup De Grâce, this time to a downed opponent. The White Rabbit moves out of the way and quickly snaps the neck of Finn Bálor. The Rabbit pulls up the paralyzed form of Bálor, and sinches in Hell's Gates.
The referee calls for the bell as the lifeless form of Bálor begins to bleed from his nose and ears, the extraneous pressure from the submission evident.
The White Rabbit stares out at the audience, stares down at Bálor and exits the ring, he walks towards the door, goes through the portal and closes it behind him.
The lights come up and all that's left is the ravaged body of Finn Bálor.]
RAW, 8/12/24:
(Writers Note: Damian Priest is going to be uninvolved in this feud due to focusing on his main event aspirations and his growing distance from The Judgement Day.)
Two weeks after the emergence of one of the most disturbing figures we've ever seen grace the squared circle, Bo Dallas returns to RAW to address the events of SummerSlam.
He says that when he returned to WWE four months ago, he was a very nervous man. He was wracked with feelings of uncertainty and fear, he remembers going into a match with a specific man, Joe Gacy. He remembers being the most scared he's ever been, you have to understand, Bo wasn't like his brother. Bo didn't get 'extreme', he didn't get the opportunity to have matches like that and here he was.
Faced with a madman, challenged to a Love and War match. Joe, he taught Bo something that night, he told him "Fulfill Your Destiny." And it was at that moment, that Bo realized something. He realized what Bray had been doing all those years.
If you can take your fear, and manifest it into something physical, something truly special can be born, and better yet, it leaves you, the man behind the magic, completely fearless.
Before Dallas can continue, The Judgement Day appears, Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh surround the ring. Bálor says that Bo caught him off guard at SummerSlam, and he wants a rematch, especially seeing as how without his smoke and mirrors, Bo sure does seem fragile.
"It's true. I wouldn't be able to fight all three of you by myself, which is why I'm so glad I don't have to."
BRAUN!
The Monster Among Men makes his first appearance in almost a year, marching out on stage. The Judgement Day is already sufficiently rattled before the titantron goes a mossy green and Erick Rowan appears besides Strowman, standing with his former Wyatt Family brother.
Strowman & Rowan storm the ring causing JD & Dominik to flee and escape, but Bálor turns around into Grim Affection. Dallas stands tall, inheriting the family Bray built. What's that saying? The brother of my brother is my brother? Something like that.
Bash In Berlin 2024:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs The Judgement Day (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh)
[Following a confident, braggadocios entrance by The Judgement Day, Dallas, Strowman and Rowan mark their arrival with a Code Orange performed remix of Feared. The music, calling back to the numerous other songs Code Orange has provided for the Rotunda family.
Dallas, flanked by the hulking figures of Strowman and Rowan makes for an intimidating visual. The Judgement Day have an experience edge though, especially with Bálor having personally trained and scouted McDonagh several years ago.
Dallas and Mysterio start the match and Bo quickly gets flustered by the speed and lucha experience of Dominik. Though Dominik has control early, Dallas gets fed up, and following a lucky strike, tags out to Braun Strowman.
Strowman dismantles Dominik, tossing him around the ring with ease. He connects with a heart-throb to the chest before hoisting Mysterio into a move we have not seen from Strowman...since he was a follower.
The hanging triangle lock is applied, Strowman squeezing around the neck of Dominik as Mysterio hangs limply. Dominik kicks out, inciting Braun to return another maneuver. The reverse chokeslam connects and Strowman places a boot on Dominik's chest, but Mysterio still manages to fight out.
Strowman brings Rowan in, who locks a bear hug forcing Dominik to scramble for escape. Despite Dominik's surviving the bear hug, his relief is short lived as Rowan cinches a vice grip around the skull. Dominik creates separation, and Rowan tries to flatten him with a spin kick, but Mysterio ducks. A dropkick to the knee and a 619 follows, giving Dominik an opportunity to tag out.
Finn Bálor is brought in and begins striking away on Rowan, littering the bigger man with bruises. A well placed pele kick wobbles Rowan and leaves him victim to a shotgun dropkick into the turnbuckles. Bálor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Rowan avoids shoving Finn into the corner. Rowan charges in, but Bálor hops over him and Erick crashes into the steel post.
JD is tagged in and immediately hits a pump helluva kick on the cornered Rowan. Rowan is down to a knee and McDonagh comes from behind with a leap over Rowan culminating in a stunner. A kick out by Rowan inspires McDonagh to connect with a swanton bomb for a near-fall.
JD attempts for Devlinside, yet discovers Rowan is too big of a man to be trying that on. Rowan gets grip on the neck and goes for a chokeslam, McDonagh does a backflip out of it landing on his feet. JD connects with a superkick, followed by a springboard moonsault DDT.
Dallas breaks up the pin, Dominik rushes in to even the odds, Strowman neutralizes Dominik, Bálor brawling with Braun. Chaos unfolds, and eventually Dallas and co. clear the ring. Braun runs the Strowman Express on Judgement Day plowing through each member at ringside, except for JD who catches him with a penalty kick after hopping onto the apron.
JD and Rowan begin to battle again as the legal men, McDonagh knees Rowan in the face and dives with a crossbody for a two count. JD tags out to Bálor, who allows Rowan to bring in Bo Dallas.
Dallas and Bálor, now both as their mortal selves, begin to brawl. Bálor connects with a slingblade, and a shotgun dropkick driving Bo nearly through the turnbuckles. Bàlor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Dallas avoids and attempts Grim Affection. Bálor slips out and locks the head up under the arm, connecting with a snap elbow drop across the heart.
Bálor climbs now once more, and Dallas hangs him up before sending Finn to the canvas below with a superplex. A near-fall follows, and Dallas clings to the leg of Bálor, trying to prevent a tag. Finn kicks him away and reintroduces McDonagh to the fray.
JD flusters Dallas with strikes and speed, but as he locks onto the wrist and attempts his springboard moonsault DDT, Dallas catches him in position and connects with Grim Affection. Strowman and Rowan plow through Dominik and Bálor preventing a save.
Dallas gets the victory for his team, and alongside his disciples of destruction, stands tall. The entire locker room put on notice.]
We get a very fun Authors Of Pain/Strowman & Rowan match out of it, and by the end of September, Bo has successfully convinced Karrion Kross to abandon AOP, Paul Ellering and even Scarlett, adding yet another massive man to his growing group.
You may think the numbers game is so insurmountable and overwhelming, but one puzzle piece that makes this that much more interesting is who Seth has been teaming with as of late. His protege and trainee, Nathan Frazer.
There's a segment featuring Dallas, flanked by his followers and Rollins with Frazer, but the tension is so heavy between Bo and Nathan, you would think they were the only two people in the ring. Frazer addresses his fear of Dallas, and that fear was proven valid considering the damage Dallas has done to the foes he's encountered since.
Dallas cost Nathan his best friend, he cost him his tag team titles, he cost him his brother! But Nathan has news for Bo, he is not running anymore.
Dallas steps forward, looking to acknowledge the impact he's had on Frazer.
"Nate, is it? I don't know how to tell you this, but...I don't even know who you are."
Bo is calloused and cold, and simply decides to feed Frazer and Rollins to the wolves. We get a tag match between Rollins and Frazer vs Strowman and Rowan, with commentary making note of Rollins and Braun being former tag team champions together, ending in victory for Rollins and Frazer.
Armageddon 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Seth Rollins
[The anticipation is high as Bo Dallas and Seth Rollins step into the ring, flanked by their respective allies. Rollins, accompanied by Nathan Frazer, exudes the confidence of a former champion as he eyes Dallas, who seems to stand that much taller alongside the imposing trio of Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Karrion Kross.
The match begins with Dallas and Rollins locking up in the center of the ring, each vying for control. Rollins gains the early advantage with his technical prowess, countering Dallas's power-based offense with precision strikes and fast maneuvers. But Dallas refuses to back down, using his size and strength to overpower Rollins and gain the upper hand.
As the match progresses, both competitors unleash a barrage of moves, each refusing to give an inch in their quest for victory. Rollins employs his signature high-flying arsenal, soaring through the air with breathtaking dives and aerial assaults that keep Dallas on the defensive. But Dallas proves to be a resilient opponent, weathering Rollins's onslaught and mounting several counterattacks of his own.
In the final moments of the match, Rollins, alongside Frazer battle off Dallas's trio of monsters. Rollins looks for a Curb Stomp, that Dallas avoids. Dallas hooks on for Grim Affection, but Rollins latches onto the arm, trapping Bo before spinning him into a RainTrigger knee strike. A definitive Curb Stomp follows and Rollins is able to secure the victory giving Bo his first clean singles loss since returning.]
With Survivor Series fast approaching, the men Dallas has targeted come back to haunt him, as Rollins and Frazer form something of a truce with The Judgement Day, seeking to take down the common enemy in Bo Dallas.
We get some interesting interactions such as Kross trying to convince JD that he can see the darkness in him, harkening back to JD's NXT character of old, only for JD to tell Kross that he doesn't know anything about him before shattering his nose with a wicked headbutt.
With Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins banding together Bo seems to be just one man short. It's the RAW prior to Survivor Series when Dallas, Strowman, Rowan and Kross stand on stage staring down the babyface quintet. The crowd waits with baited breath before Love Is Blind hits and Joe Gacy strolls on stage, making his main roster debut to side with his NXT foe.
They charge the ring and a brawl breaks out, and as security tries to keep the ten men apart, we here a distinguished William Regal shout
"WarGames!"
Survivor Series 2024:
Team Dallas (Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, Joe Gacy & Karrion Kross) vs Team Rollins (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins) - WarGames
[It is decided that Joe Gacy and Seth Rollins will be opening this match. Both men selected by their teams for their stamina in matches like these, Gacy from his CZW days, Rollins having been WWE's premier workhorse for years.
The bell rings and they make their way on to the steel connector between the two rings. They begin wallaying on each other with forearms before Joe sneaks in a boot to the midsection, Gacy attempts a powerbomb on the steel, but Rollins reverses with a back body drop.
Seth looks for a superkick, but Gacy catches the foot and sends Rollins into the left ring. Rollins looks for a spinning forearm, but Gacy ducks and gores Rollins with a shoulder thrust. Joe sails over Rollins into the ring, and using his deceptive athleticism, looks for his handspring lariat.
Rollins catches him with a superkick and tries for a Pedigree. Gacy is able to muscle up Rollins into an Alabama Slam, he then throws Rollins into the turnbuckles forcing Seth to take a seat. A big crossbody to the seated, cornered Rollins follows and Gacy begins to reign.
Joe starts targeting the bad back sending Rollins writhing with forearms and knees to the lumbar. He eventually gets a knee on the spine with a tight grip around the mouth, controlling Seth's breathing. Rollins begins to fire up and fight out with elbows to the midsection. Rollins hits a leaping knee strike to Gacy and takes him down a peg.
Rollins attempts a Curb Stomp, but Gacy moves landing Winds Of Change as Rollins turns around. Gacy tries for a running senton, but Rollins moves this time. Curb Stomp attempt, Gacy moves, handspring lariat, Rollins ducks, superkick, Curb Stomp connects.
Rollins knows he can't make the cover so he climbs to the top to inflict more damage. Frogsplash, but Gacy gets the knees up. Joe shoves Rollins into the ropes hoping to connect with an elbow to the back, but Rollins rebounds with a spinning forearm. Gacy ducks locking on for a German Suplex, Rollins lands on his feet and closes in with a V-Trigger, Gacy rebounds off the ropes into a Falcon Arrow and the countdown begins.
Erick Rowan is the next entry, joining Joe Gacy as a focused duo. Rowan pounces on Rollins, but Seth fights back, attempting a RainTrigger but Rowan catches him by the face, in an Iron Claw like grip. Rowan looks for a slam using the claw grip, but Rollins hooks onto the head and reverses into a DDT.
Rollins begins to litter both Joe and Rowan with corner forearms, Rowan eventually catches Rollins and attempts a two handed chokeslam. Rollins dropkicks the body of Rowan mid-slam, and recuperates. He attempts a Pedigree, but Rowan reverses with a back body drop, Rollins lands on his feet and nails an enziguri to stumble the big man.
He mounts Rowan in the corner and begins landing repeated right hands, Rowan shoves him off the middle turnbuckle and closes the distance with a big boot. He positions Seth in the corner before slapping Gacy and hyping him up, ala The Bludgeon Brothers.
Gacy charges for a crossbody to the downed Rollins, but Seth springs up, sails over the running Gacy and lands a dropkick to Rowan. A leaping knee to the mouth follows and Rollins gets Rowan back in Pedigree position.
Gacy comes over with a clothesline that Rollins ducks before hitting a superkick to Gacy, Rowan tries to whip Rollins into the corner but Seth reverses and Erick smashes into Gacy. Rollins jumps to the middle turnbuckle raining down with a barrage of right hands to Rowan then Gacy.
Rowan and Gacy try to catch their bearings before turning around into a Phoenix Splash Crossbody from Rollins and the countdown begins.
Finn Bálor is the next entry, entering a couple of chairs into the field for him and Rollins. They stare each other down, remembering all the wars they've been through and begin to beat down on Rowan and Gacy. It's going well at first, with Gacy especially being incapacitated, before Rowan stops Bálor mid chair swing.
He mule kicks Rollins and rips the chair out of Finn's hands before tossing Finn into the corner. Rollins shortly after joins him. Rowan proceeds to biel toss Rollins who tucks and rolls to come out unscathed. Bálor is then biel tossed on top of Rollins before Rowan throws the aforementioned chair into the face of Bálor.
Rowan attempts to chokeslam Seth on top of the other chair, Rollins scrambles and kicks the chair over so it's legs up. Rowan proceeds with the chokeslam anyway, delivering Rollins onto the bottom of the chair. He then sets up another chair in the corner, wedging it between turnbuckles. He vaults Bálor in that direction, but Finn slides low to avoid connection, only for Gacy to bull pounce him into the chair anyway.
Rowan and Gacy survey the carnage they've caused, as Bálor tries to crawl into the other ring. Rowan joins him on the steel connector and despite Finn's valiant efforts, is able to claw slam him onto the steel beam as the countdown begins.
Bo Dallas is the next entry, and he doesn't waste time getting his hands dirty. He simply passes his objects of destruction their tools. A table, a length of chain and a toolbox. He then observes as his monsters begin to wreak havoc.
Gacy whips at Rollins with the chain, before wrapping it around his face and neck. Rowan squeezes between Bálor's fingers with pliers, applying pressure as he kneels on his back.
Gacy throws the toolbox into the face of an unsuspecting Rollins. Gacy sets up the table against the turnbuckles. He tries to whip Rollins into it, but Seth catches himself, he fights back against Rowan and Gacy but Joe gets a knee to the face before lifting Rollins on his shoulder and charging him through the table.
Rowan yanks Bálor up and delivers him with biel tosses onto the chain and toolbox as the countdown begins.
Dominik Mysterio is the next entry, and he quickly realizes the challenge he's up against. He ducks under Rowan and Gacy, tackling Bo and unloading with right hands. Rowan and Gacy drag him off and begin mercilessly beating on him.
Dallas calls them off, dragging Dominik into the right ring, telling Rowan and Gacy that he'll handle Mysterio. He looks for Grim Affection, but Dominik escapes and rolls backwards with Dallas before hitting a dropkick to the back. Bo is in position, but as Dallas runs the ropes, Rowan catches him by the throat.
Rowan chokeslams Dominik into the arms of Gacy who connects with a German Suplex. The ominous duo gaze down at the broken body of Mysterio, before feeding him to Dallas, who connects with Grim Affection as the countdown begins.
Karrion Kross is the next entry, and introduces a very special weapon. A barbed wire wrapped 2x4 as well as a suspicious grey baggie.
He begins brandishing Bálor and Rollins with the wood and wire. He rips at the flesh and rakes it across the face of Rollins. He begins toying with Bálor, and releases the 2x4 asking Finn to stand up and show him what he's got. Bálor fires up, and sweeps the legs sending Kross back first onto the barbed wire. He then stomps on the chest caving Kross further in.
He beckons Rowan and Gacy to try their best, and as they begin to swarm, the numbers game becomes too much. Rowan with a spinning heel kick, Gacy with a crossbody against the ropes. They continue to dismantle their foes as the countdown begins.
JD McDonagh is the next entry, and introduces several chairs. He cracks Gacy, Rowan and Dallas repeatedly, bruising them with the stiff chair strikes.
He gets Bo in the corner and hits a running dropkick with the chair under his feet, ala Rob Van Dam. McDonagh is rolling, but here comes Kross. Karrion and McDonagh have had something of a personal sub rivalry, and Karrion relishes punishing McDonagh. A fallaway suplex downs McDonagh and leads to Kross wielding a chair.
Swing and a miss, swing a miss, swing and connects with the foot of JD who was going for a roundhouse, swing and the chair lodges itself around the head of McDonagh, headbutt by McDonagh with the chair around the head, both men down and the countdown begins.
Braun Strowman is the next entry, the final for Team Dallas. He introduces multiple tables and sets them up in a row of three. Dominik chooses this time to reappear and swiftly gets chokeslammed through one of the tables.
Braun is able to get JD up in a hanging triangle lock with the chain wrapped around his neck, but Bálor and Rollins come to the save. Finn, Seth and JD work to take down Gacy, Rowan, Strowman and Kross.
McDonagh scaling the cage, Rowan, Dallas and Strowman starting to recover, Gacy on one table, Kross on one table, Rollins and Bálor climb, frogsplash through the table from Rollins, Coup De Grâce through the table from Bálor, moonsault from the top of the cage by McDonagh!
Everyone is down as the countdown begins.
Nathan Frazer is the next and final entry, Frazer is a one man wrecking crew as he enters, showing off his agility using both rings to his advantage. Frazer clears Kross, Gacy, Strowman, Rowan but faulters as he encounters Dallas.
Bo taunts Frazer from his knees, and as Frazer hesitates to take the kill shot, Rowan takes advantage with a claw slam to Nathan. Rollins capitalizes with a superkick to Dallas and a chair shot to the head of Rowan, once Erick's head is sufficiently trapped inside the chair, Rollins hops onto the back and hits a modified Pedigree, jamming the chair into the throat and jaw.
Gacy is seen stalking Rollins, having wrapped the barbed wire from the 2x4 around his arm, he charges in with a handspring barbed wire wrapped lariat to Rollins. Bálor closes in with a shotgun dropkick into the corner before fetching the grey baggie. He opens it, emptying out thumbtacks onto the canvas.
Bo comes over, striking with Bálor. Finn gets the upper hand and climbs for a standing Coup De Grâce, similar to how he tried to put The White Rabbit away at SummerSlam. He misses, going feet first into the tacks, Dallas grabs hold of the head and connects with Grim Affection on the tacks.
Three seconds later, and Team Dallas has survived WarGames. Bo collects up his soldiers, standing above the battered bodies of his opposition. One question remains clear, who can stop Bo Dallas?]
With Team Dallas pulling out a massive victory inside arguably the most grueling match type in WWE history, they look forward to moving on from the men they dismantled at Survivor Series.
One man, though, refuses to let them. That man is Nathan Frazer. Still haunted by the price he paid, the friend he lost, the halt in momentum, due to Bo's arrival in NXT.
A couple of weeks following WarGames, Frazer comes out to call out Bo Dallas, Seth Rollins tries to talk Frazer down and calm him, but Nathan is insistent. He failed to take Bo down, he failed to make things right, he needs to beat Bo Dallas.
Strowman, Rowan, Kross and Gacy emerge. Gacy states that Bo isn't here tonight, but they would be more than happy to show Frazer exactly what he's in for if he wants to keep...chasing rabbits.
The monsters storm the ring and surround Rollins and Frazer in a very hound like way. Just before they pounce, a theme song hits, the lights go up and wouldn't you know it, motherfucking Axiom arrives.
Frazer & Rollins take advantage of the distraction and Axiom lends his hand, leading to the monsters retreating. Rollins guards the ring as Axiom and Nathan Frazer stare each other down.
'Hug It Out' chants run through the arena, and Axiom & Frazer embrace, putting the past behind them.
Over the next two weeks, we get two very interesting matches. The first, a street fight between Bo Dallas and Nathan Frazer, in which Frazer finally gets an opportunity at singles revenge on Bo in a brutal, chaotic brawl. Dallas wins this match with help from his possee.
The second, Karrion Kross vs Seth Rollins, a good showcase for Kross as he steps up against a main eventer and one of the best in the world. Rollins wins in a good match, but it's what happens after that draws attention.
Rollins is seated in the corner when the lights go out, section by section, plunging Rollins into darkness and for the first time, Seth Rollins meets The White Rabbit.
The Rabbit crawls towards Rollins who closes his eyes in fear, creating parallels to a similar scene five years ago. Rollins, though, this time, stands up and stares down The Rabbit.
Seth grabs a microphone and stares down this fiendish entity. "Crown Jewel, me and my boys vs you and yours."
The Rabbit cocks his head to the side and the lights go out once more, when they come up, a hat remains in the ring. A hat very similar to Uncle Howdys', Rollins lifts it and a rabbit jumps out. At the bottom of the hat is a note, written on light blue, Firefly Funhouse themed paper.
"WE ACCEPT."
Crown Jewel 2024:
Axiom, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins vs Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan
[Five years after Bray Wyatt defeated Seth Rollins at this same event to become Universal Champion, Rollins faces off against his spiritual successor and younger brother, Bo Dallas. Frazer and Axiom share a quick nod of understanding, their strategy clear: use their speed and agility to outmaneuver their larger opponents. On the other side of the ring, Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan stand tall, their imposing presence a stark contrast to the quickness of their adversaries.
The match begins with Axiom and Dallas squaring off for the first time since NXT when Dallas took Axiom's title. The two competitors circle each other cautiously before locking up in a test of strength. Axiom utilizes his lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic prowess to keep Dallas off balance, darting in and out of range with precision. Shortly after, Nathan and Rowan engage in a battle of power versus speed, with Frazer using his agility to evade Rowan's powerful strikes while delivering rapid-fire kicks and strikes of his own.
As the match progresses, Rollins enters the fray, unleashing a flurry of high-flying maneuvers on his ex-partner, Strowman. Braun struggles to keep pace with his nimble opponent as Rollins utilizes his speed to his advantage, ducking and weaving around Strowman's attempts at offense before delivering an enzuigiri that sends the big man staggering backwards.
Rollins lands a knee to the nose and a step-stool Curb Stomp off the back of Frazer shortly after, but Rowan saves the match. Axiom and Nathan join forces, working in tandem to take Rowan out and wear him down with a series of double-team maneuvers. Rollins exits the ring and, acting in the role of Reigns, assists in hitting a Shield Bomb through the announce table on Rowan.
Despite the valiant efforts of Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan, the tide of the match begins to turn in favor of Rollins and his team. Axiom unleashes a devastating flurry of strikes on Dallas once Strowman and Seth tag out, culminating in a rattling roundhouse kick that leaves the former champion reeling. Meanwhile, Nathan Frazer climbs to the top turnbuckle and launches himself into the air, executing a picture-perfect shooting star press that connects squarely with Bo Dallas, leaving him sprawled out on the canvas.
With Dallas incapacitated, Nathan seizes the opportunity to go for the pin, hooking the leg as the referee counts the three. The crowd erupts into cheers as Rollins, Axiom, and Nathan Frazer celebrate their hard-fought victory, Frazer finally getting his revenge on the man who permanently altered his career.]
January arrives and the Dallas clan set their sights on the Royal Rumble, more specifically, helping Bo to win the Royal Rumble. To fulfill his destiny at WrestleMania.
When the Rumble arrives, they're doing a great job of tearing through everyone in the match. Rowan and Gacy aren't even entries, but continuously skirt around the rules, helping Bo, Kross and Strowman rack up eliminations.
They eliminate the likes of Finn Bálor, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn before they encounter the one man wrecking crew that is Randy Orton. Orton swiftly eliminates Kross and Strowman before turning his attention to Dallas. Bo is able to force him into position for Grim Affection, but Orton escapes landing an RKO and eliminating Bo Dallas.
When the Rumble has concluded, Bo has a hard time accepting this loss, and sics his men on Orton. Orton gets a victory over a game Karrion Kross leading to the onslaught by Strowman, Rowan and Gacy. However, this draws the call of the disgruntled men Bo's crew eliminated at the Rumble.
Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn.
Kevin and Randy already have a friendly history, and Zayn, coming off an Intercontinental Title loss to Ilja Dragunov in August, partners up with his long time tag partner to fight the cause.
Bo acknowledges the history his brother had with Randy Orton, including Orton burning down his childhood home, The Wyatt Compound.
Finally, at Elimination Chamber, much like The Shield and The Wyatt Family over a decade prior, we get a six man tag.
Elimination Chamber 2025:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs Kevin Owens, Randy Orton & Sami Zayn
[It's very poetic, Bo has been very much hitting all of Bray's best moments in modern day versions. The demonic alter-ego debuting at SummerSlam against Finn Bálor, facing off with Seth Rollins at Crown Jewel and now a six man tag at Elimination Chamber.
Dallas lets his opponents know ahead of this match that he has some tricks up his sleeves, but that a truly good magician never reveals his secrets.
There's plenty of fun interactions, Strowman & Zayn having been Braun's first feud away from The Wyatt Family, Strowman & Owens and the terrorizing Kevin went through in 2018, Rowan & Orton facing off for the first time since Orton went after The Wyatt Family in 2017, Bo & Sami reigniting their NXT feud from 2014.
The match ends when Braun sets Owens, Zayn and Orton up in separate corners. He biel tosses Orton, biel tosses Sami and goes for Owens, but Kevin fights back hitting a Stunner on the big man. Bo comes in and eats a Pop-Up Powerbomb for a near-fall.
Kevin gets Dallas in the corner for a Kevin Cannonball and connects, once, twice, Kevin looking for a third cannonball from the corner. Zayn stops Owens and tells Kevin to let Sami end this. Bo staggers up and Sami looks for a Helluva Kick from the corner to the right of the one Owens is stood in.
HELLUVA KICK! TO OWENS!
Kevin falls into Zayn's arms and Sami pushes him to the ground before walking off, leaving Owens defenseless.
Bo crawls over looking for Grim Affection, Kevin escapes, superkick connects. Both men fall and Owens makes the hot tag to Orton. Orton clears out Rowan, Gacy, Kross and Strowman with RKOs before setting up Dallas for the punt. No one to help the wounded rabbit, The Viper closes in.
Orton's momentum is halted though by a hand grabbing his foot at ringside, the person is in a hood and just as Orton shakes free of his grip, he turns around into Grim Affection for the win.
Bo Dallas has pinned Randy Orton. His family in ruins all around the ring, Bo celebrates his victory, and is proven to be a very truthful man. He really did have quite a few tricks up his sleeve tonight.]
It is advertised that on RAW the following night, we will find out the man who cost Randy Orton at Elimination Chamber.
When the time comes, Bo, flanked by his men, states that long ago his brother put into motion a plan. A plan that would unite six people together, the six most optimal people to incite change into this company. They were handpicked by Bray since the beginning.
Braun Strowman, Bray's black sheep, the man he personally discovered and brought into the WWE to be part of his family.
Erick Rowan, Bray's left hand and the man who carried out Bray's commands for years, one of his most loyal soldiers.
Joe Gacy, a man who felt an indescribable spiritual connection to Bray Wyatt, Bray told Bo that he didn't know who the final member was, but that the man meant to fill the role would, that they would feel an intrinsic, undeniable pull.
Karrion Kross, a man with goals very similar to Bray, and a man who was being mentored by Bray backstage prior to his passing, his golden child.
And now that just leaves one person. Someone who knew Bray very well, someone Bray found much success with in this very ring. So without further ado, the final member of The Wyatt Si-
Randy Orton enters, he denounces this ceremony and is out for blood tonight. Bo states that it's actually perfectly convenient that Orton be here for this, seeing as Randy also knows this person very well.
"In fact, Randy, you're the reason this person wasn't here for five years. The past is a funny thing Randy, the axe forgets, the tree...oh, the tree always remembers."
Realization sets in on the face of Orton before the hooded figure blasts Randy as he turns around. The hood comes off, and there stands, the final member of The Wyatt Six.
Matt Hardy.
Besides, Dallas has his hands full.
Just as quickly as The Wyatt 6 began, some subtraction begins to occur. One week, Rowan will be with them backstage only to not come to the ring and go missing, Kross and Strowman face similar fates, leaving only Dallas, Gacy and Hardy.
Dallas begins to question where his family members have gone, and Gacy vows to protect him. That is moments before Dallas and Gacy head to the ring, and Matt Hardy is no longer with them.
Backstage footage airs of something destroying Matt Hardy, beating him violently, and as the being turns its head, it is made clear.
The Demon is here.
Heartbeats fill the arena and Gacy exits the ring to guard the perimeter. Red lights dawn on the squared circle, before The Demon attacks Gacy at ringside making quick work of him.
The Demon crawls into the ring before Dallas grabs a mic, kneeling down to The Demon's level.
"I know what you want, there's only one place for souls like ours to do this. Hell In A Cell."
On the go home show for WrestleMania, Finn Bálor and Bo Dallas have a face to face, Finn says that The Demon never got to meet The Fiend but it will get to meet The Rabbit.
"In layman's terms, Bo. You bring your demons, I'll bring mine."
2024.05.08 00:57 jardimoceania (Spoilers Main) Sansa and Daenerys parallels and showdown in the end.
I know people didn't like the storyline in season 8 involving Dany and Sansa and truly believe that this was a show only storyline, yet, re reading the books, those 2 characters are looking more and more as mirrors and foils for each other. Also, the more I read A Clash Of kings, the more certain I am that Sansa will be the Queen in the North by the end. There is a lot of foreshadow of Sansa be queen, in fact, on her first chapter of this novel. Anyway, let's start with Dany and Sansa bizarre dance in the first book A GAME OF THRONES.
We start the books with Dany telling us that "She doesn't want to be his Queen, she wants to go home"
Daenerys has no desire on marrying Khal Drogo and be his Queen, she is terrified of him, she thinks he is ugly and unatracive. All she wants is the house with red door and the lemon tree, she is longing for the only place she ever felt happy and safe.
Dany wishes to be free, to have no past or future, yet the Targaryen legacy doesn't allow her to make her own choices.
Another interesting detail I notice is how she sees Westeros. It's almost like a dream, a magical place that was described by her in songs, yet, a place she had never actually been. Is something that exists only on her imagination.
.......on the other hand .... Sansa is absolutely in love with the idea of marrying Joffrey and be his queen. She could not wait to leave Winterfell, the only place that was ever a home for her and march south and marry her beloved prince. In fact she falls in love with him EVEN BEFORE meeting him.
She was told in the begging of the book that Joffrey belongs to her and only her, that he is her betrothed, his future King. He will be HER husband and no one else. Joffrey is supposed to care for Sansa and treat her with affection and love. (we all know how that ended up)
If we switch Joffrey for Westeros, it makes for an interesting parallel. Sansa falls in love with Joffrey before even meeting him, it's the idea of Joffrey that seduces Sansa. He belongs to her, he is supposed to love her and be kind to her. She probably grew up hearing songs and stories about how lovely and honourable princes are. That's Dany's position during most of the books. Westeros belongs to her, the people of Westeros are supposed to care for her and celebrate her return. She never met this strange place, only heard songs and stories about this land. I feel like Westeros is going to break Dany's heart just like Joffrey broke Sansa's heart.
By the end of the book, we know exactly that everything goes terrible for Sansa and her beloved prince is a cruel monster. We start chapter SANSA chapter VI with Sansa in bed, having dreams about her father's death, she is morning the death of her father, Ned Stark. Sansa is heartbroken and very weak, she hasn't eat anything, she wants to die and she cries day and night.
Buy the time Sansa wakes up from her dreams and see Joffrey in front of her, her world has been completely turned upside down. She can see clearly now that he is no hero. and Sansa has now a new goal in her mind. She wants to go home.
Sansa is literally switching places with Daenerys, now Sansa doesn't want to be his queen. She thinks he is ugly, she is surprised she never noticed that before. When Joffrey takes Sansa to see her father head, Sansa looks towards the entire city of Kings Landing and her attention now focus in the North. Sansa now longs for the home where she was happy and safe. Just like Dany longed for the house with the red door. We could literally have a line where Sansa says "I don't want to be his queen, I want to go home"...
The next chapter of the book is Daenerys IX we have Dany also having dreams, dragon dreams..
The dream goes on and on for pages, she is waking the dragon, she is flying, she sees the red door..... it's so close.....
Once Dany wakes up she is informed she lost her child and will give Drogo a merciful death. She is now determined to wake the dragons and conquer Westeros, the red door is left behind....
Daenerys is now in pursuit of Viserys dreams, she is embracing her House ambitions, all the dreams of being free, of finding the red door and left behind. From now she sets her goals on Westeros. Now Dany does want to be a queen.
Why do I expect Sansa and Dany to clash? first of all, the parallels of those two girls are too strong for me to be ignored, those two little girls have so much in common. Both Sansa and Dany are sold in marriages against their will because of their claims. Dany to Khal Drogo and Sansa to Tyrion Lannister, both never imagined to be heirs of their Kingdoms since they both had older brothers, both have motherhood and longing for children and family in their storylines, both have older protectors who desire them, Ser Jorah and Littlefinger, both are running from assassins in some part of the story....
We know that Sansa will take back the North according George RR MARTIN 2003-2004 outline for AFFC
And once Sansa is back at Winterfell she will feel stronger and safer than she ever was in the beginning of the story. I think she refusing of giving up the North independence was hinted in the books.
Sansa is refusing to kneel so that Tyrion can cloak her in her wedding ceremony. I always thought that this could be a foreshadow for a future storyline. Sansa refusing to kneel and give away the North after conquering back from The Lannisters and Boltons.
And for those who forgot, you have to remember that on book 2, ACOK, Rob has been named King in the North and this decision infuriates Joffrey and she was brutally spanked and tortured every time Rob won a battle against The Lannisters...
In the chapter 32 of the book we have Sansa be taken to a public audience with Joffrey to answer for Rob latest victory. This entire chapter is a living nightmare, Sansa not only is publicly spanked for Rob's victories, people are laughing at her beating, Joffrey wants her stripped of her clothes, he wants her blood to spill for her brothers triumph. Sansa literally spills her blood for the North Independence.
Sansa was abused, beaten, humiliated and threatened with death because the North proclaimed independence, her blood was spilled every time Robb achieved a victory. And by the end, for her to suddenly giving up after so much pain and sorrow doesn't seem likely.
sooo, yeah, those are my ramblings. I have been re reading the books now after season 8 and I am not gonna lie to you, some storylines do seem to have come straight from George.
So yeah, I think we may have a clash of those two characters in the end, just like season 8, but I believe it would be better done by George himself.
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We start the books with Dany telling us that "She doesn't want to be his Queen, she wants to go home"
Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home."A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Daenerys has no desire on marrying Khal Drogo and be his Queen, she is terrified of him, she thinks he is ugly and unatracive. All she wants is the house with red door and the lemon tree, she is longing for the only place she ever felt happy and safe.
"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Dany wishes to be free, to have no past or future, yet the Targaryen legacy doesn't allow her to make her own choices.
When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo's manse.A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Another interesting detail I notice is how she sees Westeros. It's almost like a dream, a magical place that was described by her in songs, yet, a place she had never actually been. Is something that exists only on her imagination.
Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. "Our land," he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. "Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers."A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her.
.......on the other hand .... Sansa is absolutely in love with the idea of marrying Joffrey and be his queen. She could not wait to leave Winterfell, the only place that was ever a home for her and march south and marry her beloved prince. In fact she falls in love with him EVEN BEFORE meeting him.
She was told in the begging of the book that Joffrey belongs to her and only her, that he is her betrothed, his future King. He will be HER husband and no one else. Joffrey is supposed to care for Sansa and treat her with affection and love. (we all know how that ended up)
It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.A Game of Thrones - Sansa I
If we switch Joffrey for Westeros, it makes for an interesting parallel. Sansa falls in love with Joffrey before even meeting him, it's the idea of Joffrey that seduces Sansa. He belongs to her, he is supposed to love her and be kind to her. She probably grew up hearing songs and stories about how lovely and honourable princes are. That's Dany's position during most of the books. Westeros belongs to her, the people of Westeros are supposed to care for her and celebrate her return. She never met this strange place, only heard songs and stories about this land. I feel like Westeros is going to break Dany's heart just like Joffrey broke Sansa's heart.
By the end of the book, we know exactly that everything goes terrible for Sansa and her beloved prince is a cruel monster. We start chapter SANSA chapter VI with Sansa in bed, having dreams about her father's death, she is morning the death of her father, Ned Stark. Sansa is heartbroken and very weak, she hasn't eat anything, she wants to die and she cries day and night.
Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she had closed her eyes. Yet those were the best times, for when she dreamed, she dreamed of Father. Waking or sleeping, she saw him, saw the gold cloaks fling him down, saw Ser Ilyn striding forward, unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back, saw the moment … the moment when … she had wanted to look away, she had wanted to, her legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen to her knees, yet somehow she could not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting, and her prince had smiled at her, he'd smiled and she'd felt safe, but only for a heartbeat, until he said those words, and her father's legs … that was what she remembered, his legs, the way they'd jerked when Ser Ilyn … when the sword …A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
Buy the time Sansa wakes up from her dreams and see Joffrey in front of her, her world has been completely turned upside down. She can see clearly now that he is no hero. and Sansa has now a new goal in her mind. She wants to go home.
"It does not please me," Joffrey said. "Mother says I'm still to marry you, so you'll stay here, and you'll obey."A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
"I don't want to marry you," Sansa wailed. "You chopped off my father's head!" Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. >He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.
From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya's hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north …A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.
Sansa is literally switching places with Daenerys, now Sansa doesn't want to be his queen. She thinks he is ugly, she is surprised she never noticed that before. When Joffrey takes Sansa to see her father head, Sansa looks towards the entire city of Kings Landing and her attention now focus in the North. Sansa now longs for the home where she was happy and safe. Just like Dany longed for the house with the red door. We could literally have a line where Sansa says "I don't want to be his queen, I want to go home"...
The next chapter of the book is Daenerys IX we have Dany also having dreams, dragon dreams..
She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone. "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX
The dream goes on and on for pages, she is waking the dragon, she is flying, she sees the red door..... it's so close.....
The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.......the dragon....all of sudden, she sees Rhaegar and she hears Jorahs voice whispering the last dragon... I think what's happening here is that the dragon dreams are replacing Daenerys own dreams..
And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX
"Yes, Khaleesi." Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed … something … someone … what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to …
Once Dany wakes up she is informed she lost her child and will give Drogo a merciful death. She is now determined to wake the dragons and conquer Westeros, the red door is left behind....
Ser Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith. "Princess …" he began. "Why do you call me that?" Dany challenged him. "My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?" "He was, my lady." "Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now."A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X
Daenerys is now in pursuit of Viserys dreams, she is embracing her House ambitions, all the dreams of being free, of finding the red door and left behind. From now she sets her goals on Westeros. Now Dany does want to be a queen.
Why do I expect Sansa and Dany to clash? first of all, the parallels of those two girls are too strong for me to be ignored, those two little girls have so much in common. Both Sansa and Dany are sold in marriages against their will because of their claims. Dany to Khal Drogo and Sansa to Tyrion Lannister, both never imagined to be heirs of their Kingdoms since they both had older brothers, both have motherhood and longing for children and family in their storylines, both have older protectors who desire them, Ser Jorah and Littlefinger, both are running from assassins in some part of the story....
We know that Sansa will take back the North according George RR MARTIN 2003-2004 outline for AFFC
And once Sansa is back at Winterfell she will feel stronger and safer than she ever was in the beginning of the story. I think she refusing of giving up the North independence was hinted in the books.
His uncle's part went less well. The bride's cloak he held was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. No one had thought to bring a stool, however, and Tyrion stood a foot and a half shorter than his bride. As he moved behind her, Sansa felt a sharp tug on her skirt. He wants me to kneel, she realized, blushing. ......She felt another tug at her skirt, more insistent. I won't. Why should I spare his feelings, when no one cares about mine?A Storm of Swords - Sansa III
Sansa is refusing to kneel so that Tyrion can cloak her in her wedding ceremony. I always thought that this could be a foreshadow for a future storyline. Sansa refusing to kneel and give away the North after conquering back from The Lannisters and Boltons.
And for those who forgot, you have to remember that on book 2, ACOK, Rob has been named King in the North and this decision infuriates Joffrey and she was brutally spanked and tortured every time Rob won a battle against The Lannisters...
"She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.A Clash of Kings - Sansa I
"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lackwit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question . . . except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punish her. He used the other five for that.
In the chapter 32 of the book we have Sansa be taken to a public audience with Joffrey to answer for Rob latest victory. This entire chapter is a living nightmare, Sansa not only is publicly spanked for Rob's victories, people are laughing at her beating, Joffrey wants her stripped of her clothes, he wants her blood to spill for her brothers triumph. Sansa literally spills her blood for the North Independence.
When she emerged, Sansa walked on the Hound's left, away from the burned side of his face. "Tell me what I've done." "Not you. Your kingly brother." "Robb's a traitor." Sansa knew the words by rote. "I had no part in whatever he did." Gods be good, don't let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.....Joffrey stood in the center of the throng, winding an ornate crossbow. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were with him. The sight of them was enough to tie her insides in knots. "Your Grace." She fell to her knees. Frowning, he lowered the crossbow. "I'd shoot you too, but if I do Mother says they'd kill my uncle Jaime. Instead you'll just be punished and we'll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Dog, hit her." "Let me beat her!" Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a "morningstar" whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all. He trotted his broomstick around her, shouting "Traitor, traitor" and whacking her over the head with the melon. Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew to pieces. Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied. Joffrey did not so much as snigger. "Boros. Meryn." Leave her face, I like her pretty... Boros slammed a fist into Sansa's belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes. It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows. Enough," she heard the Hound rasp. "No it isn't," the king replied. "Boros, make her naked." Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa's bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. "Beat her bloody," Joffrey said, "we'll see how her brother fancies—" What is the meaning of this?" The Imp's voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. She stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged.A Clash of Kings - Sansa III
Sansa was abused, beaten, humiliated and threatened with death because the North proclaimed independence, her blood was spilled every time Robb achieved a victory. And by the end, for her to suddenly giving up after so much pain and sorrow doesn't seem likely.
sooo, yeah, those are my ramblings. I have been re reading the books now after season 8 and I am not gonna lie to you, some storylines do seem to have come straight from George.
So yeah, I think we may have a clash of those two characters in the end, just like season 8, but I believe it would be better done by George himself.
2024.05.07 19:59 blueworld51 Fiberglass or Carbon fiber aero
I’ve been thinking about a subtle undercarriage aero kit for my VA for a short while now, such as a front lip splitter, side skirts and a rear diffuser. Which in conjunction I’m probably gonna also put it on coilovers and just tighten up that wheel gap, so not lowering it too much. Now for the average daily driver with those cosmetic mods, how would it be as far as drivability? What was your experience like with these mods? And which material should I put my money towards? Fiberglass or carbon? I don’t plan on doing super aggressive cosmetic/ aero mods to the body, I just want it to add a little spice and possibly benefit for better handling maybe? I’m no expert on aerodynamics, but sometimes highway driving I get a bit of drag and at high winds I could feel the chassis being pushed around. Apologies if I sound incompetent, I’m just trying to justify wether or not it’s worth it for a fun daily driver that I may or may not take to the track
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2024.05.07 11:43 Mossy042002 4 years in college and Im thinking about ending my life. I dont want to die.
Hi!
I posted this on mentalhealth already but id also like to get some more insight.
It's the end of the semester. It was going well. I've had my bumps but compared to the semester where I got a gpa of 1.6 (3 Ds) I'm doing much better. For context, I'm a chemical engineering student. I got a C+ in my Thermo class, A in my History class, A in my art class, B- in my cheme Lab. I ended up having to withdraw from Clac 3 as I tried different ways to get through but the homeworks was too different from the exams. Im not the only one struggling, a lot of people withdraw or retake the class. I don't mind failing and I'm used to it. I've gotten through it before, however this time I don't think I can. I've had good progress in my continuum class over the past semester. Had rocky midterms but I worked to do better. I have high 90s in the homework and the projects but exams are 60%. 3 exams including the final 20 points each.
I have really bad test anxiety. It was pretty bad in highschool but I figured out ways to recover and push through. During covid that all fell apart and I couldn't function any more. I was a 2020 Highschool graduate and went straight to college. I have severe ADHD and I'm on the spectrum. I didn't really want that to define or stop me but over these past 4 years I can't even see myself as human. Sometimes I wish I could rip out my brain. Right now I just dont think I can live with it anymore. I had my continuum final today. I prepared for it, maybe I should have done more but I understood the equations and could at least display my work. I completely fell apart. I tried to do as much as I could but it didn't go well. I had been pretty good about my last couple tests as well. No breakdowns however I think from exhaustion, burnout and depression I couldn't keep myself in check mentally. Whenever this happens I start to think about how if i fail ill need to kill myself. This has been an issue for years. I always cry on exams but again I learned how to deal. The images have gotten a lot more realistic though.
I can see my own blood, feel my back hit the water, imagine the way the wind would feel on top of the bridge. It's not even just images anymore but more like a memory. Like it's already happened. Today was especially bad. It feels like it's supposed to happen. I don't want to die. I kept chanting that to myself on the exam (I was in a private room). But whenever I take those exams it's like russian roulette. Will this be the one to finally push me over? I'm pretty sure this exam had a bullet in it.
I feel like this final wouldn't have such a large effect if I didn't feel so cornered. My department doesn't like me. And I don't mean the students or professors but more specifically my advisor. I feel like she's tired of me. Im sure they want to get rid of me but I love this degree. I don't want to quit. I have a co-op lined up and it's my dream co-op as well. It's really my fault for being a bad student but I've been struggling to live. Really I've just been surviving. I'm trying to get better and take care of myself but it takes time and I don't think my degree has that time. I got kicked out when I got a 1.6 but I went into a College restoration program and got straight A's. I met my department's demands, even exceeded them but they still didn't want me back. They wanted to see how I did in community college classes first. The only reason they let me back is because I was taking a LOA this past fall and I needed a program to return to (I couldn't take my cheme classes till this spring). I've been working with my old Restoration mentor this semester and I've seen myself improve. I'm finally talking to my classmates and Despite all this progress it's going to go down the drain with one exam.
I know my department is going to kick me out. I'm going to lose everything. My apartment, the friendships I made, the progress, everything. I really wanted to live. I wanted a future even though most of the futures I thought of were me committing suicide I thought maybe I could make it to my 30s. My parents have put so much money into me and they remind me over and over again how expensive it is. I'm a really expensive mistake. I don't think I could face them. They've already been so gracious with my past. I really wanted to do well but it's unrealistic to think I could suddenly be a B and A student right off the bat. The College restoration program wasn't even a full course load; it was 9 credits with some 0 credit help classes. Im taking 18 credits this semester. And it's difficult but I was managing and improving again. All I needed was a 70 on this final really.
I know it's sudden to start to think about suicide when I havent even seen the exam grade but I know Im going to fail. I'll probably end up with a D in the class but my degree only accepts Cs and that's only occasionally. You need to be a B, A student. If I somehow make it through and they keep me I wont kill myself but if they kick me out I dont think I can continue. I enjoy learning so much but I struggle so much in an exam based system. I try different ways to succeed and some work but im always using at least 20% of my focus during an exam trying to keep myself mentally stable. To not overthink, obsess about small details, to not let intrusive thoughts and to not break down. And yes I take meds and they do help but that can only go so far. It's exhausting. Even though I do well in the other aspects of the class, the exams will always be the deciding factor.
I'm sorry this is such a long post. It's my fault I failed the exam and I should just take it but I'm tired. I really am. I love learning so much but I hate that whenever I'm learning I'm thinking about points and how to prove myself to my department. I'm no longer here for myself but to try to satisfy my department. Im going to talk to my proffesor. Hes really nice and Iappreciate him but I dont think theres much he can do. Ill even try talking to my department. Ill fight but If I lose thats it. And honestly my chances seem slim.
There's a cemetery in my city that I'd always drive to. It looks over one of the towns on the skirts of the city. It's really pretty in the morning and at sunset. When the fog is low to the ground, if you go up there it'll look like a river or ocean in between the hills(mountains?). The lights from the town at night make it look like a river of pinks, yellows, purples and blues. It's really pretty. I'd like to rest there.
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I posted this on mentalhealth already but id also like to get some more insight.
It's the end of the semester. It was going well. I've had my bumps but compared to the semester where I got a gpa of 1.6 (3 Ds) I'm doing much better. For context, I'm a chemical engineering student. I got a C+ in my Thermo class, A in my History class, A in my art class, B- in my cheme Lab. I ended up having to withdraw from Clac 3 as I tried different ways to get through but the homeworks was too different from the exams. Im not the only one struggling, a lot of people withdraw or retake the class. I don't mind failing and I'm used to it. I've gotten through it before, however this time I don't think I can. I've had good progress in my continuum class over the past semester. Had rocky midterms but I worked to do better. I have high 90s in the homework and the projects but exams are 60%. 3 exams including the final 20 points each.
I have really bad test anxiety. It was pretty bad in highschool but I figured out ways to recover and push through. During covid that all fell apart and I couldn't function any more. I was a 2020 Highschool graduate and went straight to college. I have severe ADHD and I'm on the spectrum. I didn't really want that to define or stop me but over these past 4 years I can't even see myself as human. Sometimes I wish I could rip out my brain. Right now I just dont think I can live with it anymore. I had my continuum final today. I prepared for it, maybe I should have done more but I understood the equations and could at least display my work. I completely fell apart. I tried to do as much as I could but it didn't go well. I had been pretty good about my last couple tests as well. No breakdowns however I think from exhaustion, burnout and depression I couldn't keep myself in check mentally. Whenever this happens I start to think about how if i fail ill need to kill myself. This has been an issue for years. I always cry on exams but again I learned how to deal. The images have gotten a lot more realistic though.
I can see my own blood, feel my back hit the water, imagine the way the wind would feel on top of the bridge. It's not even just images anymore but more like a memory. Like it's already happened. Today was especially bad. It feels like it's supposed to happen. I don't want to die. I kept chanting that to myself on the exam (I was in a private room). But whenever I take those exams it's like russian roulette. Will this be the one to finally push me over? I'm pretty sure this exam had a bullet in it.
I feel like this final wouldn't have such a large effect if I didn't feel so cornered. My department doesn't like me. And I don't mean the students or professors but more specifically my advisor. I feel like she's tired of me. Im sure they want to get rid of me but I love this degree. I don't want to quit. I have a co-op lined up and it's my dream co-op as well. It's really my fault for being a bad student but I've been struggling to live. Really I've just been surviving. I'm trying to get better and take care of myself but it takes time and I don't think my degree has that time. I got kicked out when I got a 1.6 but I went into a College restoration program and got straight A's. I met my department's demands, even exceeded them but they still didn't want me back. They wanted to see how I did in community college classes first. The only reason they let me back is because I was taking a LOA this past fall and I needed a program to return to (I couldn't take my cheme classes till this spring). I've been working with my old Restoration mentor this semester and I've seen myself improve. I'm finally talking to my classmates and Despite all this progress it's going to go down the drain with one exam.
I know my department is going to kick me out. I'm going to lose everything. My apartment, the friendships I made, the progress, everything. I really wanted to live. I wanted a future even though most of the futures I thought of were me committing suicide I thought maybe I could make it to my 30s. My parents have put so much money into me and they remind me over and over again how expensive it is. I'm a really expensive mistake. I don't think I could face them. They've already been so gracious with my past. I really wanted to do well but it's unrealistic to think I could suddenly be a B and A student right off the bat. The College restoration program wasn't even a full course load; it was 9 credits with some 0 credit help classes. Im taking 18 credits this semester. And it's difficult but I was managing and improving again. All I needed was a 70 on this final really.
I know it's sudden to start to think about suicide when I havent even seen the exam grade but I know Im going to fail. I'll probably end up with a D in the class but my degree only accepts Cs and that's only occasionally. You need to be a B, A student. If I somehow make it through and they keep me I wont kill myself but if they kick me out I dont think I can continue. I enjoy learning so much but I struggle so much in an exam based system. I try different ways to succeed and some work but im always using at least 20% of my focus during an exam trying to keep myself mentally stable. To not overthink, obsess about small details, to not let intrusive thoughts and to not break down. And yes I take meds and they do help but that can only go so far. It's exhausting. Even though I do well in the other aspects of the class, the exams will always be the deciding factor.
I'm sorry this is such a long post. It's my fault I failed the exam and I should just take it but I'm tired. I really am. I love learning so much but I hate that whenever I'm learning I'm thinking about points and how to prove myself to my department. I'm no longer here for myself but to try to satisfy my department. Im going to talk to my proffesor. Hes really nice and Iappreciate him but I dont think theres much he can do. Ill even try talking to my department. Ill fight but If I lose thats it. And honestly my chances seem slim.
There's a cemetery in my city that I'd always drive to. It looks over one of the towns on the skirts of the city. It's really pretty in the morning and at sunset. When the fog is low to the ground, if you go up there it'll look like a river or ocean in between the hills(mountains?). The lights from the town at night make it look like a river of pinks, yellows, purples and blues. It's really pretty. I'd like to rest there.
2024.05.07 11:16 Mossy042002 4 years in college Im going to kill myself at the end of this semester
Hi!
It's the end of the semester. It was going well. I've had my bumps but compared to the semester where I got a gpa of 1.6 (3 Ds) I'm doing much better. For context, I'm a chemical engineering student. I got a C+ in my Thermo class, A in my History class, A in my art class, B- in my cheme Lab. I ended up having to withdraw from Clac 3 as I tried different ways to get through but the homeworks was too different from the exams. Im not the only one struggling, a lot of people withdraw or retake the class. I don't mind failing and I'm used to it. I've gotten through it before, however this time I don't think I can. I've had good progress in my continuum class over the past semester. Had rocky midterms but I worked to do better. I have high 90s in the homework and the projects but exams are 60%. 3 exams including the final 20 points each.
I have really bad test anxiety. It was pretty bad in highschool but I figured out ways to recover and push through. During covid that all fell apart and I couldn't function any more. I was a 2020 Highschool graduate and went straight to college. I have severe ADHD and I'm on the spectrum. I didn't really want that to define or stop me but over these past 4 years I can't even see myself as human. Sometimes I wish I could rip out my brain. Right now I just dont think I can live with it anymore. I had my continuum final today. I prepared for it, maybe I should have done more but I understood the equations and could at least display my work. I completely fell apart. I tried to do as much as I could but it didn't go well. I had been pretty good about my last couple tests as well. No breakdowns however I think from exhaustion, burnout and depression I couldn't keep myself in check mentally. Whenever this happens I start to think about how if i fail ill need to kill myself. This has been an issue for years. I always cry on exams but again I learned how to deal. The images have gotten a lot more realistic though.
I can see my own blood, feel my back hit the water, imagine the way the wind would feel on top of the bridge. It's not even just images anymore but more like a memory. Like it's already happened. Today was especially bad. It feels like it's supposed to happen. I don't want to die. I kept chanting that to myself on the exam (I was in a private room). But whenever I take those exams it's like russian roulette. Will this be the one to finally push me over? I'm pretty sure this exam had a bullet in it.
I feel like this final wouldn't have such a large effect if I didn't feel so cornered. My department doesn't like me. And I don't mean the students or professors but more specifically my advisor. I feel like she's tired of me. Im sure they want to get rid of me but I love this degree. I don't want to quit. I have a co-op lined up and it's my dream co-op as well. It's really my fault for being a bad student but I've been struggling to live. Really I've just been surviving. I'm trying to get better and take care of myself but it takes time and I don't think my degree has that time. I got kicked out when I got a 1.6 but I went into a College restoration program and got straight A's. I met my department's demands, even exceeded them but they still didn't want me back. They wanted to see how I did in community college classes first. The only reason they let me back is because I was taking a LOA this past fall and I needed a program to return to (I couldn't take my cheme classes till this spring). I've been working with my old Restoration mentor this semester and I've seen myself improve. I'm finally talking to my classmates and Despite all this progress it's going to go down the drain with one exam.
I know my department is going to kick me out. I'm going to lose everything. My apartment, the friendships I made, the progress, everything. I really wanted to live. I wanted a future even though most of the futures I thought of were me committing suicide I thought maybe I could make it to my 30s. My parents have put so much money into me and they remind me over and over again how expensive it is. I'm a really expensive mistake. I don't think I could face them. They've already been so gracious with my past. I really wanted to do well but it's unrealistic to think I could suddenly be a B and A student right off the bat. The College restoration program wasn't even a full course load; it was 9 credits with some 0 credit help classes. Im taking 18 credits this semester. And it's difficult but I was managing and improving again. All I needed was a 70 on this final really.
I know it's sudden to start to think about suicide when I havent even seen the exam grade but I know Im going to fail. I'll probably end up with a D in the class but my degree only accepts Cs and that's only occasionally. You need to be a B, A student. If I somehow make it through and they keep me I wont kill myself but if they kick me out I dont think I can continue. I enjoy learning so much but I struggle so much in an exam based system. I try different ways to succeed and some work but im always using at least 20% of my focus during an exam trying to keep myself mentally stable. To not overthink, obsess about small details, to not let intrusive thoughts and to not break down. And yes I take meds and they do help but that can only go so far. It's exhausting. Even though I do well in the other aspects of the class, the exams will always be the deciding factor.
I'm sorry this is such a long post. It's my fault I failed the exam and I should just take it but I'm tired. I really am. I love learning so much but I hate that whenever I'm learning I'm thinking about points and how to prove myself to my department. I'm no longer here for myself but to try to satisfy my department. Im going to talk to my proffesor. Hes really nice and Iappreciate him but I dont think theres much he can do. Ill even try talking to my department. Ill fight but If I lose thats it. And honestly my chances seem slim.
There's a cemetery in my city that I'd always drive to. It looks over one of the towns on the skirts of the city. It's really pretty in the morning and at sunset. When the fog is low to the ground, if you go up there it'll look like a river or ocean in between the hills(mountains?). The lights from the town at night make it look like a river of pinks, yellows, purples and blues. It's really pretty. I'd like to rest there.
submitted by Mossy042002 to TrueOffMyChest [link] [comments]
It's the end of the semester. It was going well. I've had my bumps but compared to the semester where I got a gpa of 1.6 (3 Ds) I'm doing much better. For context, I'm a chemical engineering student. I got a C+ in my Thermo class, A in my History class, A in my art class, B- in my cheme Lab. I ended up having to withdraw from Clac 3 as I tried different ways to get through but the homeworks was too different from the exams. Im not the only one struggling, a lot of people withdraw or retake the class. I don't mind failing and I'm used to it. I've gotten through it before, however this time I don't think I can. I've had good progress in my continuum class over the past semester. Had rocky midterms but I worked to do better. I have high 90s in the homework and the projects but exams are 60%. 3 exams including the final 20 points each.
I have really bad test anxiety. It was pretty bad in highschool but I figured out ways to recover and push through. During covid that all fell apart and I couldn't function any more. I was a 2020 Highschool graduate and went straight to college. I have severe ADHD and I'm on the spectrum. I didn't really want that to define or stop me but over these past 4 years I can't even see myself as human. Sometimes I wish I could rip out my brain. Right now I just dont think I can live with it anymore. I had my continuum final today. I prepared for it, maybe I should have done more but I understood the equations and could at least display my work. I completely fell apart. I tried to do as much as I could but it didn't go well. I had been pretty good about my last couple tests as well. No breakdowns however I think from exhaustion, burnout and depression I couldn't keep myself in check mentally. Whenever this happens I start to think about how if i fail ill need to kill myself. This has been an issue for years. I always cry on exams but again I learned how to deal. The images have gotten a lot more realistic though.
I can see my own blood, feel my back hit the water, imagine the way the wind would feel on top of the bridge. It's not even just images anymore but more like a memory. Like it's already happened. Today was especially bad. It feels like it's supposed to happen. I don't want to die. I kept chanting that to myself on the exam (I was in a private room). But whenever I take those exams it's like russian roulette. Will this be the one to finally push me over? I'm pretty sure this exam had a bullet in it.
I feel like this final wouldn't have such a large effect if I didn't feel so cornered. My department doesn't like me. And I don't mean the students or professors but more specifically my advisor. I feel like she's tired of me. Im sure they want to get rid of me but I love this degree. I don't want to quit. I have a co-op lined up and it's my dream co-op as well. It's really my fault for being a bad student but I've been struggling to live. Really I've just been surviving. I'm trying to get better and take care of myself but it takes time and I don't think my degree has that time. I got kicked out when I got a 1.6 but I went into a College restoration program and got straight A's. I met my department's demands, even exceeded them but they still didn't want me back. They wanted to see how I did in community college classes first. The only reason they let me back is because I was taking a LOA this past fall and I needed a program to return to (I couldn't take my cheme classes till this spring). I've been working with my old Restoration mentor this semester and I've seen myself improve. I'm finally talking to my classmates and Despite all this progress it's going to go down the drain with one exam.
I know my department is going to kick me out. I'm going to lose everything. My apartment, the friendships I made, the progress, everything. I really wanted to live. I wanted a future even though most of the futures I thought of were me committing suicide I thought maybe I could make it to my 30s. My parents have put so much money into me and they remind me over and over again how expensive it is. I'm a really expensive mistake. I don't think I could face them. They've already been so gracious with my past. I really wanted to do well but it's unrealistic to think I could suddenly be a B and A student right off the bat. The College restoration program wasn't even a full course load; it was 9 credits with some 0 credit help classes. Im taking 18 credits this semester. And it's difficult but I was managing and improving again. All I needed was a 70 on this final really.
I know it's sudden to start to think about suicide when I havent even seen the exam grade but I know Im going to fail. I'll probably end up with a D in the class but my degree only accepts Cs and that's only occasionally. You need to be a B, A student. If I somehow make it through and they keep me I wont kill myself but if they kick me out I dont think I can continue. I enjoy learning so much but I struggle so much in an exam based system. I try different ways to succeed and some work but im always using at least 20% of my focus during an exam trying to keep myself mentally stable. To not overthink, obsess about small details, to not let intrusive thoughts and to not break down. And yes I take meds and they do help but that can only go so far. It's exhausting. Even though I do well in the other aspects of the class, the exams will always be the deciding factor.
I'm sorry this is such a long post. It's my fault I failed the exam and I should just take it but I'm tired. I really am. I love learning so much but I hate that whenever I'm learning I'm thinking about points and how to prove myself to my department. I'm no longer here for myself but to try to satisfy my department. Im going to talk to my proffesor. Hes really nice and Iappreciate him but I dont think theres much he can do. Ill even try talking to my department. Ill fight but If I lose thats it. And honestly my chances seem slim.
There's a cemetery in my city that I'd always drive to. It looks over one of the towns on the skirts of the city. It's really pretty in the morning and at sunset. When the fog is low to the ground, if you go up there it'll look like a river or ocean in between the hills(mountains?). The lights from the town at night make it look like a river of pinks, yellows, purples and blues. It's really pretty. I'd like to rest there.
2024.05.07 01:46 SpiralSour IWF, Book Bo Dallas Returning - Part Two: The Family I've Got Left
SummerSlam 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Finn Bálor
Five years ago, at this very same event, Bray Wyatt debuted a brand new version of himself. A version known as The Fiend. A monstrous being that featured very little man in its existence, it was a demonic creature, feeding on the fear of those it crossed and becoming seemingly impervious due to it.
Five years later, the brother of the man who brought that thing into the wrestling world, faces the same man who fell victim at the feet of The Fiend. And just as Bray Wyatt did, Bo Dallas has some tricks in his sleeve, or...some rabbits in his hat.
[Finn Bálor enters first, the confident Irishman with a historic career who has made his mark as a legend in the business. From Bullet Club to training Becky Lynch & JD McDonagh to arguably the greatest NXT Champion of all time to the first ever Universal Champion to The Judgement Day. Tonight, he looks to build upon that illustrious status with a victory over the unpredictable Bo Dallas.
Bálor stands, ready to fight, when the lights dim out. Bálor is slightly puzzled, this isn't part of Bo's recent entrances.
At the top of the entrance way sits a door, an eerie glow doubled with an eerie vibration emanating from it. Suddenly, the door busts open.
White Rabbit Remix - Jefferson Airplane
Bálor watches as from the door emerges a figure. A figure seemingly humanoid in nature, but something slightly off, the fog filling the area makes it hard to discern what that is.
The fog clears and it becomes increasingly clear what's gone wrong here. The crowd gasps and then quiets.
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
A figure, very similar to the images above, exits the door and infringes on the sanctity of the ring as he approaches. Fur is matted along the arms, abdomen, legs. Splatters of a once viscous red liquid that has dried a crimson brown are visible all over the once pristine, white pelt.
And the face...a disgusting hybrid between a human and an inhumanely large rabbit. The ears jutting out of the face made out of that same...material. That unnatural fur. The left side of the face revealing what used to be a man. He looks...like Bo Dallas. The skin portion of the face is smothered in red, further stretching the meaning of recognizable. An almost leathery appearance coats the angry, red skin. A texture much too old for Taylor Rotunda's age of thirty three.
The teeth lay as jagged pieces of metal, unable to be contained by the maw of the creature.
The lights come up as the unholy monster enters the once sacred ring. A ring that has made this sport possible and a ring where the best matches in professional wrestling have occured, a ring that held the matches and moments that made you fall in love with wrestling in the first place.
And it's tainted, rendered unclean, by this animal. A chill runs down Finn Bálor's spine. He stands his ground, eyeing his bizarre opponent warily, unsure of what to expect from this unholy creation. Memories of a scene he's starred in before, not unlike this, flooding him.
The White Rabbit's grotesque visage contorts into a twisted semblance of a grin as he advances towards Bálor, his movements jerky and unnatural. Bálor braces himself for the impending confrontation, his senses on high alert as he prepares to defend himself against this monstrous aberration.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the match, and Bálor wastes no time in launching a flurry of strikes at The White Rabbit, hoping to catch him off guard and gain the early advantage. But The White Rabbit proves to be more agile than he appears, dodging Bálor's attacks with ease and countering with a brutal barrage of his own.
The White Rabbit toys with Bálor, taunting him with mocking gestures and sadistic laughter as he systematically dismantles his opponent with a series of harsh maneuvers. Bálor fights back with all his might, refusing to let fear or uncertainty cloud his judgment as he battles against the odds.
As the match progresses, The White Rabbit's dominance becomes increasingly evident, his unnerving presence casting a pall over the arena as he unleashes his full arsenal of twisted and unpredictable offense. Bálor struggles to keep pace, his every move countered with ruthless efficiency by his monstrous adversary.
But just when it seems that all hope is lost, Bálor summons the strength of his fighting spirit, rallying back with a defiant burst of energy that catches The White Rabbit off guard. With The White Rabbit still standing, Bálor delivers a thunderous Coup de Grâce, driving his feet into The White Rabbit's chest with bone-shattering force.
The impact ripples through the ring as The White Rabbit crumples to the canvas, his grotesque form writhing in agony. Bálor seizes the opportunity, pinning his monstrous opponent for...for a one count.
Bálor quickly climbs and attempts a second Coup De Grâce, this time to a downed opponent. The White Rabbit moves out of the way and quickly snaps the neck of Finn Bálor. The Rabbit pulls up the paralyzed form of Bálor, and sinches in Hell's Gates.
The referee calls for the bell as the lifeless form of Bálor begins to bleed from his nose and ears, the extraneous pressure from the submission evident.
The White Rabbit stares out at the audience, stares down at Bálor and exits the ring, he walks towards the door, goes through the portal and closes it behind him.
The lights come up and all that's left is the ravaged body of Finn Bálor.]
RAW, 8/12/24:
(Writers Note: Damian Priest is going to be uninvolved in this feud due to focusing on his main event aspirations and his growing distance from The Judgement Day.)
Two weeks after the emergence of one of the most disturbing figures we've ever seen grace the squared circle, Bo Dallas returns to RAW to address the events of SummerSlam.
He says that when he returned to WWE four months ago, he was a very nervous man. He was wracked with feelings of uncertainty and fear, he remembers going into a match with a specific man, Joe Gacy. He remembers being the most scared he's ever been, you have to understand, Bo wasn't like his brother. Bo didn't get 'extreme', he didn't get the opportunity to have matches like that and here he was.
Faced with a madman, challenged to a Love and War match. Joe, he taught Bo something that night, he told him "Fulfill Your Destiny." And it was at that moment, that Bo realized something. He realized what Bray had been doing all those years.
If you can take your fear, and manifest it into something physical, something truly special can be born, and better yet, it leaves you, the man behind the magic, completely fearless.
Before Dallas can continue, The Judgement Day appears, Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh surround the ring. Bálor says that Bo caught him off guard at SummerSlam, and he wants a rematch, especially seeing as how without his smoke and mirrors, Bo sure does seem fragile.
"It's true. I wouldn't be able to fight all three of you by myself, which is why I'm so glad I don't have to."
BRAUN!
The Monster Among Men makes his first appearance in almost a year, marching out on stage. The Judgement Day is already sufficiently rattled before the titantron goes a mossy green and Erick Rowan appears besides Strowman, standing with his former Wyatt Family brother.
Strowman & Rowan storm the ring causing JD & Dominik to flee and escape, but Bálor turns around into Grim Affection. Dallas stands tall, inheriting the family Bray built. What's that saying? The brother of my brother is my brother? Something like that.
Bash In Berlin 2024:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs The Judgement Day (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh)
[Following a confident, braggadocios entrance by The Judgement Day, Dallas, Strowman and Rowan mark their arrival with a Code Orange performed remix of Feared. The music, calling back to the numerous other songs Code Orange has provided for the Rotunda family.
Dallas, flanked by the hulking figures of Strowman and Rowan makes for an intimidating visual. The Judgement Day have an experience edge though, especially with Bálor having personally trained and scouted McDonagh several years ago.
Dallas and Mysterio start the match and Bo quickly gets flustered by the speed and lucha experience of Dominik. Though Dominik has control early, Dallas gets fed up, and following a lucky strike, tags out to Braun Strowman.
Strowman dismantles Dominik, tossing him around the ring with ease. He connects with a heart-throb to the chest before hoisting Mysterio into a move we have not seen from Strowman...since he was a follower.
The hanging triangle lock is applied, Strowman squeezing around the neck of Dominik as Mysterio hangs limply. Dominik kicks out, inciting Braun to return another maneuver. The reverse chokeslam connects and Strowman places a boot on Dominik's chest, but Mysterio still manages to fight out.
Strowman brings Rowan in, who locks a bear hug forcing Dominik to scramble for escape. Despite Dominik's surviving the bear hug, his relief is short lived as Rowan cinches a vice grip around the skull. Dominik creates separation, and Rowan tries to flatten him with a spin kick, but Mysterio ducks. A dropkick to the knee and a 619 follows, giving Dominik an opportunity to tag out.
Finn Bálor is brought in and begins striking away on Rowan, littering the bigger man with bruises. A well placed pele kick wobbles Rowan and leaves him victim to a shotgun dropkick into the turnbuckles. Bálor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Rowan avoids shoving Finn into the corner. Rowan charges in, but Bálor hops over him and Erick crashes into the steel post.
JD is tagged in and immediately hits a pump helluva kick on the cornered Rowan. Rowan is down to a knee and McDonagh comes from behind with a leap over Rowan culminating in a stunner. A kick out by Rowan inspires McDonagh to connect with a swanton bomb for a near-fall.
JD attempts for Devlinside, yet discovers Rowan is too big of a man to be trying that on. Rowan gets grip on the neck and goes for a chokeslam, McDonagh does a backflip out of it landing on his feet. JD connects with a superkick, followed by a springboard moonsault DDT.
Dallas breaks up the pin, Dominik rushes in to even the odds, Strowman neutralizes Dominik, Bálor brawling with Braun. Chaos unfolds, and eventually Dallas and co. clear the ring. Braun runs the Strowman Express on Judgement Day plowing through each member at ringside, except for JD who catches him with a penalty kick after hopping onto the apron.
JD and Rowan begin to battle again as the legal men, McDonagh knees Rowan in the face and dives with a crossbody for a two count. JD tags out to Bálor, who allows Rowan to bring in Bo Dallas.
Dallas and Bálor, now both as their mortal selves, begin to brawl. Bálor connects with a slingblade, and a shotgun dropkick driving Bo nearly through the turnbuckles. Bàlor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Dallas avoids and attempts Grim Affection. Bálor slips out and locks the head up under the arm, connecting with a snap elbow drop across the heart.
Bálor climbs now once more, and Dallas hangs him up before sending Finn to the canvas below with a superplex. A near-fall follows, and Dallas clings to the leg of Bálor, trying to prevent a tag. Finn kicks him away and reintroduces McDonagh to the fray.
JD flusters Dallas with strikes and speed, but as he locks onto the wrist and attempts his springboard moonsault DDT, Dallas catches him in position and connects with Grim Affection. Strowman and Rowan plow through Dominik and Bálor preventing a save.
Dallas gets the victory for his team, and alongside his disciples of destruction, stands tall. The entire locker room put on notice.]
Over the next several weeks, The Judgement Day keeps their distance from Dallas's clan. Dallas fastly finds a new target, challenging The Final Testament. Dallas continuously tells Karrion Kross that he was destined for this, dating back almost a decade (in reference to Kross's stint as The White Rabbit in Lucha Underground.)
We get a very fun Authors Of Pain/Strowman & Rowan match out of it, and by the end of September, Bo has successfully convinced Karrion Kross to abandon AOP, Paul Ellering and even Scarlett, adding yet another massive man to his growing group.
October arrives and with his group nearing completion, Dallas targets a man his brother knew very well. That man being Seth Rollins. Dating back to The Shield & The Wyatt Family's iconic feud to The Fiend chasing Rollins' Universal Championship, Rollins was always one of Bray's best rivals. Not to mention, Dallas and Rollins have history from their days in FCW together, only Rollins has so significantly eclipsed Dallas in success and he's sure to rub that in Bo's face now.
You may think the numbers game is so insurmountable and overwhelming, but one puzzle piece that makes this that much more interesting is who Seth has been teaming with as of late. His protege and trainee, Nathan Frazer.
There's a segment featuring Dallas, flanked by his followers and Rollins with Frazer, but the tension is so heavy between Bo and Nathan, you would think they were the only two people in the ring. Frazer addresses his fear of Dallas, and that fear was proven valid considering the damage Dallas has done to the foes he's encountered since.
Dallas cost Nathan his best friend, he cost him his tag team titles, he cost him his brother! But Nathan has news for Bo, he is not running anymore.
Dallas steps forward, looking to acknowledge the impact he's had on Frazer.
"Nate, is it? I don't know how to tell you this, but...I don't even know who you are."
Bo is calloused and cold, and simply decides to feed Frazer and Rollins to the wolves. We get a tag match between Rollins and Frazer vs Strowman and Rowan, with commentary making note of Rollins and Braun being former tag team champions together, ending in victory for Rollins and Frazer.
Armageddon 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Seth Rollins
[The anticipation is high as Bo Dallas and Seth Rollins step into the ring, flanked by their respective allies. Rollins, accompanied by Nathan Frazer, exudes the confidence of a former champion as he eyes Dallas, who seems to stand that much taller alongside the imposing trio of Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Karrion Kross.
The match begins with Dallas and Rollins locking up in the center of the ring, each vying for control. Rollins gains the early advantage with his technical prowess, countering Dallas's power-based offense with precision strikes and fast maneuvers. But Dallas refuses to back down, using his size and strength to overpower Rollins and gain the upper hand.
As the match progresses, both competitors unleash a barrage of moves, each refusing to give an inch in their quest for victory. Rollins employs his signature high-flying arsenal, soaring through the air with breathtaking dives and aerial assaults that keep Dallas on the defensive. But Dallas proves to be a resilient opponent, weathering Rollins's onslaught and mounting several counterattacks of his own.
In the final moments of the match, Rollins, alongside Frazer battle off Dallas's trio of monsters. Rollins looks for a Curb Stomp, that Dallas avoids. Dallas hooks on for Grim Affection, but Rollins latches onto the arm, trapping Bo before spinning him into a RainTrigger knee strike. A definitive Curb Stomp follows and Rollins is able to secure the victory giving Bo his first clean singles loss since returning.]
With Survivor Series fast approaching, the men Dallas has targeted come back to haunt him, as Rollins and Frazer form something of a truce with The Judgement Day, seeking to take down the common enemy in Bo Dallas.
We get some interesting interactions such as Kross trying to convince JD that he can see the darkness in him, harkening back to JD's NXT character of old, only for JD to tell Kross that he doesn't know anything about him before shattering his nose with a wicked headbutt.
With Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins banding together Bo seems to be just one man short. It's the RAW prior to Survivor Series when Dallas, Strowman, Rowan and Kross stand on stage staring down the babyface quintet. The crowd waits with baited breath before Love Is Blind hits and Joe Gacy strolls on stage, making his main roster debut to side with his NXT foe.
They charge the ring and a brawl breaks out, and as security tries to keep the ten men apart, we here a distinguished William Regal shout
"WarGames!"
Survivor Series 2024:
Team Dallas (Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, Joe Gacy & Karrion Kross) vs Team Rollins (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins) - WarGames
[It is decided that Joe Gacy and Seth Rollins will be opening this match. Both men selected by their teams for their stamina in matches like these, Gacy from his CZW days, Rollins having been WWE's premier workhorse for years.
The bell rings and they make their way on to the steel connector between the two rings. They begin wallaying on each other with forearms before Joe sneaks in a boot to the midsection, Gacy attempts a powerbomb on the steel, but Rollins reverses with a back body drop.
Seth looks for a superkick, but Gacy catches the foot and sends Rollins into the left ring. Rollins looks for a spinning forearm, but Gacy ducks and gores Rollins with a shoulder thrust. Joe sails over Rollins into the ring, and using his deceptive athleticism, looks for his handspring lariat.
Rollins catches him with a superkick and tries for a Pedigree. Gacy is able to muscle up Rollins into an Alabama Slam, he then throws Rollins into the turnbuckles forcing Seth to take a seat. A big crossbody to the seated, cornered Rollins follows and Gacy begins to reign.
Joe starts targeting the bad back sending Rollins writhing with forearms and knees to the lumbar. He eventually gets a knee on the spine with a tight grip around the mouth, controlling Seth's breathing. Rollins begins to fire up and fight out with elbows to the midsection. Rollins hits a leaping knee strike to Gacy and takes him down a peg.
Rollins attempts a Curb Stomp, but Gacy moves landing Winds Of Change as Rollins turns around. Gacy tries for a running senton, but Rollins moves this time. Curb Stomp attempt, Gacy moves, handspring lariat, Rollins ducks, superkick, Curb Stomp connects.
Rollins knows he can't make the cover so he climbs to the top to inflict more damage. Frogsplash, but Gacy gets the knees up. Joe shoves Rollins into the ropes hoping to connect with an elbow to the back, but Rollins rebounds with a spinning forearm. Gacy ducks locking on for a German Suplex, Rollins lands on his feet and closes in with a V-Trigger, Gacy rebounds off the ropes into a Falcon Arrow and the countdown begins.
Erick Rowan is the next entry, joining Joe Gacy as a focused duo. Rowan pounces on Rollins, but Seth fights back, attempting a RainTrigger but Rowan catches him by the face, in an Iron Claw like grip. Rowan looks for a slam using the claw grip, but Rollins hooks onto the head and reverses into a DDT.
Rollins begins to litter both Joe and Rowan with corner forearms, Rowan eventually catches Rollins and attempts a two handed chokeslam. Rollins dropkicks the body of Rowan mid-slam, and recuperates. He attempts a Pedigree, but Rowan reverses with a back body drop, Rollins lands on his feet and nails an enziguri to stumble the big man.
He mounts Rowan in the corner and begins landing repeated right hands, Rowan shoves him off the middle turnbuckle and closes the distance with a big boot. He positions Seth in the corner before slapping Gacy and hyping him up, ala The Bludgeon Brothers.
Gacy charges for a crossbody to the downed Rollins, but Seth springs up, sails over the running Gacy and lands a dropkick to Rowan. A leaping knee to the mouth follows and Rollins gets Rowan back in Pedigree position.
Gacy comes over with a clothesline that Rollins ducks before hitting a superkick to Gacy, Rowan tries to whip Rollins into the corner but Seth reverses and Erick smashes into Gacy. Rollins jumps to the middle turnbuckle raining down with a barrage of right hands to Rowan then Gacy.
Rowan and Gacy try to catch their bearings before turning around into a Phoenix Splash Crossbody from Rollins and the countdown begins.
Finn Bálor is the next entry, entering a couple of chairs into the field for him and Rollins. They stare each other down, remembering all the wars they've been through and begin to beat down on Rowan and Gacy. It's going well at first, with Gacy especially being incapacitated, before Rowan stops Bálor mid chair swing.
He mule kicks Rollins and rips the chair out of Finn's hands before tossing Finn into the corner. Rollins shortly after joins him. Rowan proceeds to biel toss Rollins who tucks and rolls to come out unscathed. Bálor is then biel tossed on top of Rollins before Rowan throws the aforementioned chair into the face of Bálor.
Rowan attempts to chokeslam Seth on top of the other chair, Rollins scrambles and kicks the chair over so it's legs up. Rowan proceeds with the chokeslam anyway, delivering Rollins onto the bottom of the chair. He then sets up another chair in the corner, wedging it between turnbuckles. He vaults Bálor in that direction, but Finn slides low to avoid connection, only for Gacy to bull pounce him into the chair anyway.
Rowan and Gacy survey the carnage they've caused, as Bálor tries to crawl into the other ring. Rowan joins him on the steel connector and despite Finn's valiant efforts, is able to claw slam him onto the steel beam as the countdown begins.
Bo Dallas is the next entry, and he doesn't waste time getting his hands dirty. He simply passes his objects of destruction their tools. A table, a length of chain and a toolbox. He then observes as his monsters begin to wreak havoc.
Gacy whips at Rollins with the chain, before wrapping it around his face and neck. Rowan squeezes between Bálor's fingers with pliers, applying pressure as he kneels on his back.
Gacy throws the toolbox into the face of an unsuspecting Rollins. Gacy sets up the table against the turnbuckles. He tries to whip Rollins into it, but Seth catches himself, he fights back against Rowan and Gacy but Joe gets a knee to the face before lifting Rollins on his shoulder and charging him through the table.
Rowan yanks Bálor up and delivers him with biel tosses onto the chain and toolbox as the countdown begins.
Dominik Mysterio is the next entry, and he quickly realizes the challenge he's up against. He ducks under Rowan and Gacy, tackling Bo and unloading with right hands. Rowan and Gacy drag him off and begin mercilessly beating on him.
Dallas calls them off, dragging Dominik into the right ring, telling Rowan and Gacy that he'll handle Mysterio. He looks for Grim Affection, but Dominik escapes and rolls backwards with Dallas before hitting a dropkick to the back. Bo is in position, but as Dallas runs the ropes, Rowan catches him by the throat.
Rowan chokeslams Dominik into the arms of Gacy who connects with a German Suplex. The ominous duo gaze down at the broken body of Mysterio, before feeding him to Dallas, who connects with Grim Affection as the countdown begins.
Karrion Kross is the next entry, and introduces a very special weapon. A barbed wire wrapped 2x4 as well as a suspicious grey baggie.
He begins brandishing Bálor and Rollins with the wood and wire. He rips at the flesh and rakes it across the face of Rollins. He begins toying with Bálor, and releases the 2x4 asking Finn to stand up and show him what he's got. Bálor fires up, and sweeps the legs sending Kross back first onto the barbed wire. He then stomps on the chest caving Kross further in.
He beckons Rowan and Gacy to try their best, and as they begin to swarm, the numbers game becomes too much. Rowan with a spinning heel kick, Gacy with a crossbody against the ropes. They continue to dismantle their foes as the countdown begins.
JD McDonagh is the next entry, and introduces several chairs. He cracks Gacy, Rowan and Dallas repeatedly, bruising them with the stiff chair strikes.
He gets Bo in the corner and hits a running dropkick with the chair under his feet, ala Rob Van Dam. McDonagh is rolling, but here comes Kross. Karrion and McDonagh have had something of a personal sub rivalry, and Karrion relishes punishing McDonagh. A fallaway suplex downs McDonagh and leads to Kross wielding a chair.
Swing and a miss, swing a miss, swing and connects with the foot of JD who was going for a roundhouse, swing and the chair lodges itself around the head of McDonagh, headbutt by McDonagh with the chair around the head, both men down and the countdown begins.
Braun Strowman is the next entry, the final for Team Dallas. He introduces multiple tables and sets them up in a row of three. Dominik chooses this time to reappear and swiftly gets chokeslammed through one of the tables.
Braun is able to get JD up in a hanging triangle lock with the chain wrapped around his neck, but Bálor and Rollins come to the save. Finn, Seth and JD work to take down Gacy, Rowan, Strowman and Kross.
McDonagh scaling the cage, Rowan, Dallas and Strowman starting to recover, Gacy on one table, Kross on one table, Rollins and Bálor climb, frogsplash through the table from Rollins, Coup De Grâce through the table from Bálor, moonsault from the top of the cage by McDonagh!
Everyone is down as the countdown begins.
Nathan Frazer is the next and final entry, Frazer is a one man wrecking crew as he enters, showing off his agility using both rings to his advantage. Frazer clears Kross, Gacy, Strowman, Rowan but faulters as he encounters Dallas.
Bo taunts Frazer from his knees, and as Frazer hesitates to take the kill shot, Rowan takes advantage with a claw slam to Nathan. Rollins capitalizes with a superkick to Dallas and a chair shot to the head of Rowan, once Erick's head is sufficiently trapped inside the chair, Rollins hops onto the back and hits a modified Pedigree, jamming the chair into the throat and jaw.
Gacy is seen stalking Rollins, having wrapped the barbed wire from the 2x4 around his arm, he charges in with a handspring barbed wire wrapped lariat to Rollins. Bálor closes in with a shotgun dropkick into the corner before fetching the grey baggie. He opens it, emptying out thumbtacks onto the canvas.
Bo comes over, striking with Bálor. Finn gets the upper hand and climbs for a standing Coup De Grâce, similar to how he tried to put The White Rabbit away at SummerSlam. He misses, going feet first into the tacks, Dallas grabs hold of the head and connects with Grim Affection on the tacks.
Three seconds later, and Team Dallas has survived WarGames. Bo collects up his soldiers, standing above the battered bodies of his opposition. One question remains clear, who can stop Bo Dallas?]
With Team Dallas pulling out a massive victory inside arguably the most grueling match type in WWE history, they look forward to moving on from the men they dismantled at Survivor Series.
One man, though, refuses to let them. That man is Nathan Frazer. Still haunted by the price he paid, the friend he lost, the halt in momentum, due to Bo's arrival in NXT.
A couple of weeks following WarGames, Frazer comes out to call out Bo Dallas, Seth Rollins tries to talk Frazer down and calm him, but Nathan is insistent. He failed to take Bo down, he failed to make things right, he needs to beat Bo Dallas.
Strowman, Rowan, Kross and Gacy emerge. Gacy states that Bo isn't here tonight, but they would be more than happy to show Frazer exactly what he's in for if he wants to keep...chasing rabbits.
The monsters storm the ring and surround Rollins and Frazer in a very hound like way. Just before they pounce, a theme song hits, the lights go up and wouldn't you know it, motherfucking Axiom arrives.
Frazer & Rollins take advantage of the distraction and Axiom lends his hand, leading to the monsters retreating. Rollins guards the ring as Axiom and Nathan Frazer stare each other down.
'Hug It Out' chants run through the arena, and Axiom & Frazer embrace, putting the past behind them.
Over the next two weeks, we get two very interesting matches. The first, a street fight between Bo Dallas and Nathan Frazer, in which Frazer finally gets an opportunity at singles revenge on Bo in a brutal, chaotic brawl. Dallas wins this match with help from his possee.
The second, Karrion Kross vs Seth Rollins, a good showcase for Kross as he steps up against a main eventer and one of the best in the world. Rollins wins in a good match, but it's what happens after that draws attention.
Rollins is seated in the corner when the lights go out, section by section, plunging Rollins into darkness and for the first time, Seth Rollins meets The White Rabbit.
The Rabbit crawls towards Rollins who closes his eyes in fear, creating parallels to a similar scene five years ago. Rollins, though, this time, stands up and stares down The Rabbit.
Seth grabs a microphone and stares down this fiendish entity. "Crown Jewel, me and my boys vs you and yours."
The Rabbit cocks his head to the side and the lights go out once more, when they come up, a hat remains in the ring. A hat very similar to Uncle Howdys', Rollins lifts it and a rabbit jumps out. At the bottom of the hat is a note, written on light blue, Firefly Funhouse themed paper.
"WE ACCEPT."
Crown Jewel 2024:
Axiom, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins vs Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan
[Five years after Bray Wyatt defeated Seth Rollins at this same event to become Universal Champion, Rollins faces off against his spiritual successor and younger brother, Bo Dallas. Frazer and Axiom share a quick nod of understanding, their strategy clear: use their speed and agility to outmaneuver their larger opponents. On the other side of the ring, Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan stand tall, their imposing presence a stark contrast to the quickness of their adversaries.
The match begins with Axiom and Dallas squaring off for the first time since NXT when Dallas took Axiom's title. The two competitors circle each other cautiously before locking up in a test of strength. Axiom utilizes his lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic prowess to keep Dallas off balance, darting in and out of range with precision. Shortly after, Nathan and Rowan engage in a battle of power versus speed, with Frazer using his agility to evade Rowan's powerful strikes while delivering rapid-fire kicks and strikes of his own.
As the match progresses, Rollins enters the fray, unleashing a flurry of high-flying maneuvers on his ex-partner, Strowman. Braun struggles to keep pace with his nimble opponent as Rollins utilizes his speed to his advantage, ducking and weaving around Strowman's attempts at offense before delivering an enzuigiri that sends the big man staggering backwards.
Rollins lands a knee to the nose and a step-stool Curb Stomp off the back of Frazer shortly after, but Rowan saves the match. Axiom and Nathan join forces, working in tandem to take Rowan out and wear him down with a series of double-team maneuvers. Rollins exits the ring and, acting in the role of Reigns, assists in hitting a Shield Bomb through the announce table on Rowan.
Despite the valiant efforts of Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan, the tide of the match begins to turn in favor of Rollins and his team. Axiom unleashes a devastating flurry of strikes on Dallas once Strowman and Seth tag out, culminating in a rattling roundhouse kick that leaves the former champion reeling. Meanwhile, Nathan Frazer climbs to the top turnbuckle and launches himself into the air, executing a picture-perfect shooting star press that connects squarely with Bo Dallas, leaving him sprawled out on the canvas.
With Dallas incapacitated, Nathan seizes the opportunity to go for the pin, hooking the leg as the referee counts the three. The crowd erupts into cheers as Rollins, Axiom, and Nathan Frazer celebrate their hard-fought victory, Frazer finally getting his revenge on the man who permanently altered his career.]
January arrives and the Dallas clan set their sights on the Royal Rumble, more specifically, helping Bo to win the Royal Rumble. To fulfill his destiny at WrestleMania.
When the Rumble arrives, they're doing a great job of tearing through everyone in the match. Rowan and Gacy aren't even entries, but continuously skirt around the rules, helping Bo, Kross and Strowman rack up eliminations.
They eliminate the likes of Finn Bálor, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn before they encounter the one man wrecking crew that is Randy Orton. Orton swiftly eliminates Kross and Strowman before turning his attention to Dallas. Bo is able to force him into position for Grim Affection, but Orton escapes landing an RKO and eliminating Bo Dallas.
When the Rumble has concluded, Bo has a hard time accepting this loss, and sics his men on Orton. Orton gets a victory over a game Karrion Kross leading to the onslaught by Strowman, Rowan and Gacy. However, this draws the call of the disgruntled men Bo's crew eliminated at the Rumble.
Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn.
Kevin and Randy already have a friendly history, and Zayn, coming off an Intercontinental Title loss to Ilja Dragunov in August, partners up with his long time tag partner to fight the cause.
Bo acknowledges the history his brother had with Randy Orton, including Orton burning down his childhood home, The Wyatt Compound.
Finally, at Elimination Chamber, much like The Shield and The Wyatt Family over a decade prior, we get a six man tag.
Elimination Chamber 2025:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs Kevin Owens, Randy Orton & Sami Zayn
[It's very poetic, Bo has been very much hitting all of Bray's best moments in modern day versions. The demonic alter-ego debuting at SummerSlam against Finn Bálor, facing off with Seth Rollins at Crown Jewel and now a six man tag at Elimination Chamber.
Dallas lets his opponents know ahead of this match that he has some tricks up his sleeves, but that a truly good magician never reveals his secrets.
There's plenty of fun interactions, Strowman & Zayn having been Braun's first feud away from The Wyatt Family, Strowman & Owens and the terrorizing Kevin went through in 2018, Rowan & Orton facing off for the first time since Orton went after The Wyatt Family in 2017, Bo & Sami reigniting their NXT feud from 2014.
The match ends when Braun sets Owens, Zayn and Orton up in separate corners. He biel tosses Orton, biel tosses Sami and goes for Owens, but Kevin fights back hitting a Stunner on the big man. Bo comes in and eats a Pop-Up Powerbomb for a near-fall.
Kevin gets Dallas in the corner for a Kevin Cannonball and connects, once, twice, Kevin looking for a third cannonball from the corner. Zayn stops Owens and tells Kevin to let Sami end this. Bo staggers up and Sami looks for a Helluva Kick from the corner to the right of the one Owens is stood in.
HELLUVA KICK! TO OWENS!
Kevin falls into Zayn's arms and Sami pushes him to the ground before walking off, leaving Owens defenseless.
Bo crawls over looking for Grim Affection, Kevin escapes, superkick connects. Both men fall and Owens makes the hot tag to Orton. Orton clears out Rowan, Gacy, Kross and Strowman with RKOs before setting up Dallas for the punt. No one to help the wounded rabbit, The Viper closes in.
Orton's momentum is halted though by a hand grabbing his foot at ringside, the person is in a hood and just as Orton shakes free of his grip, he turns around into Grim Affection for the win.
Bo Dallas has pinned Randy Orton. His family in ruins all around the ring, Bo celebrates his victory, and is proven to be a very truthful man. He really did have quite a few tricks up his sleeve tonight.]
It is advertised that on RAW the following night, we will find out the man who cost Randy Orton at Elimination Chamber.
When the time comes, Bo, flanked by his men, states that long ago his brother put into motion a plan. A plan that would unite six people together, the six most optimal people to incite change into this company. They were handpicked by Bray since the beginning.
Braun Strowman, Bray's black sheep, the man he personally discovered and brought into the WWE to be part of his family.
Erick Rowan, Bray's left hand and the man who carried out Bray's commands for years, one of his most loyal soldiers.
Joe Gacy, a man who felt an indescribable spiritual connection to Bray Wyatt, Bray told Bo that he didn't know who the final member was, but that the man meant to fill the role would, that they would feel an intrinsic, undeniable pull.
Karrion Kross, a man with goals very similar to Bray, and a man who was being mentored by Bray backstage prior to his passing, his golden child.
And now that just leaves one person. Someone who knew Bray very well, someone Bray found much success with in this very ring. So without further ado, the final member of The Wyatt Si-
Randy Orton enters, he denounces this ceremony and is out for blood tonight. Bo states that it's actually perfectly convenient that Orton be here for this, seeing as Randy also knows this person very well.
"In fact, Randy, you're the reason this person wasn't here for five years. The past is a funny thing Randy, the axe forgets, the tree...oh, the tree always remembers."
Realization sets in on the face of Orton before the hooded figure blasts Randy as he turns around. The hood comes off, and there stands, the final member of The Wyatt Six.
Matt Hardy.
Randy Orton is able to get his revenge on Matt Hardy in Matt's last WWE match ever, a street fight on an episode of RAW. It's a grueling, physical battle, but Orton knows the numbers game is too large for him to seek revenge on Bo Dallas.
Besides, Dallas has his hands full.
Just as quickly as The Wyatt 6 began, some subtraction begins to occur. One week, Rowan will be with them backstage only to not come to the ring and go missing, Kross and Strowman face similar fates, leaving only Dallas, Gacy and Hardy.
Dallas begins to question where his family members have gone, and Gacy vows to protect him. That is moments before Dallas and Gacy head to the ring, and Matt Hardy is no longer with them.
Backstage footage airs of something destroying Matt Hardy, beating him violently, and as the being turns its head, it is made clear.
The Demon is here.
Heartbeats fill the arena and Gacy exits the ring to guard the perimeter. Red lights dawn on the squared circle, before The Demon attacks Gacy at ringside making quick work of him.
The Demon crawls into the ring before Dallas grabs a mic, kneeling down to The Demon's level.
"I know what you want, there's only one place for souls like ours to do this. Hell In A Cell."
On the go home show for WrestleMania, Finn Bálor and Bo Dallas have a face to face, Finn says that The Demon never got to meet The Fiend but it will get to meet The Rabbit.
"In layman's terms, Bo. You bring your demons, I'll bring mine."
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Bo Dallas vs Finn Bálor
Five years ago, at this very same event, Bray Wyatt debuted a brand new version of himself. A version known as The Fiend. A monstrous being that featured very little man in its existence, it was a demonic creature, feeding on the fear of those it crossed and becoming seemingly impervious due to it.
Five years later, the brother of the man who brought that thing into the wrestling world, faces the same man who fell victim at the feet of The Fiend. And just as Bray Wyatt did, Bo Dallas has some tricks in his sleeve, or...some rabbits in his hat.
[Finn Bálor enters first, the confident Irishman with a historic career who has made his mark as a legend in the business. From Bullet Club to training Becky Lynch & JD McDonagh to arguably the greatest NXT Champion of all time to the first ever Universal Champion to The Judgement Day. Tonight, he looks to build upon that illustrious status with a victory over the unpredictable Bo Dallas.
Bálor stands, ready to fight, when the lights dim out. Bálor is slightly puzzled, this isn't part of Bo's recent entrances.
At the top of the entrance way sits a door, an eerie glow doubled with an eerie vibration emanating from it. Suddenly, the door busts open.
White Rabbit Remix - Jefferson Airplane
Bálor watches as from the door emerges a figure. A figure seemingly humanoid in nature, but something slightly off, the fog filling the area makes it hard to discern what that is.
The fog clears and it becomes increasingly clear what's gone wrong here. The crowd gasps and then quiets.
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
A figure, very similar to the images above, exits the door and infringes on the sanctity of the ring as he approaches. Fur is matted along the arms, abdomen, legs. Splatters of a once viscous red liquid that has dried a crimson brown are visible all over the once pristine, white pelt.
And the face...a disgusting hybrid between a human and an inhumanely large rabbit. The ears jutting out of the face made out of that same...material. That unnatural fur. The left side of the face revealing what used to be a man. He looks...like Bo Dallas. The skin portion of the face is smothered in red, further stretching the meaning of recognizable. An almost leathery appearance coats the angry, red skin. A texture much too old for Taylor Rotunda's age of thirty three.
The teeth lay as jagged pieces of metal, unable to be contained by the maw of the creature.
The lights come up as the unholy monster enters the once sacred ring. A ring that has made this sport possible and a ring where the best matches in professional wrestling have occured, a ring that held the matches and moments that made you fall in love with wrestling in the first place.
And it's tainted, rendered unclean, by this animal. A chill runs down Finn Bálor's spine. He stands his ground, eyeing his bizarre opponent warily, unsure of what to expect from this unholy creation. Memories of a scene he's starred in before, not unlike this, flooding him.
The White Rabbit's grotesque visage contorts into a twisted semblance of a grin as he advances towards Bálor, his movements jerky and unnatural. Bálor braces himself for the impending confrontation, his senses on high alert as he prepares to defend himself against this monstrous aberration.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the match, and Bálor wastes no time in launching a flurry of strikes at The White Rabbit, hoping to catch him off guard and gain the early advantage. But The White Rabbit proves to be more agile than he appears, dodging Bálor's attacks with ease and countering with a brutal barrage of his own.
The White Rabbit toys with Bálor, taunting him with mocking gestures and sadistic laughter as he systematically dismantles his opponent with a series of harsh maneuvers. Bálor fights back with all his might, refusing to let fear or uncertainty cloud his judgment as he battles against the odds.
As the match progresses, The White Rabbit's dominance becomes increasingly evident, his unnerving presence casting a pall over the arena as he unleashes his full arsenal of twisted and unpredictable offense. Bálor struggles to keep pace, his every move countered with ruthless efficiency by his monstrous adversary.
But just when it seems that all hope is lost, Bálor summons the strength of his fighting spirit, rallying back with a defiant burst of energy that catches The White Rabbit off guard. With The White Rabbit still standing, Bálor delivers a thunderous Coup de Grâce, driving his feet into The White Rabbit's chest with bone-shattering force.
The impact ripples through the ring as The White Rabbit crumples to the canvas, his grotesque form writhing in agony. Bálor seizes the opportunity, pinning his monstrous opponent for...for a one count.
Bálor quickly climbs and attempts a second Coup De Grâce, this time to a downed opponent. The White Rabbit moves out of the way and quickly snaps the neck of Finn Bálor. The Rabbit pulls up the paralyzed form of Bálor, and sinches in Hell's Gates.
The referee calls for the bell as the lifeless form of Bálor begins to bleed from his nose and ears, the extraneous pressure from the submission evident.
The White Rabbit stares out at the audience, stares down at Bálor and exits the ring, he walks towards the door, goes through the portal and closes it behind him.
The lights come up and all that's left is the ravaged body of Finn Bálor.]
RAW, 8/12/24:
(Writers Note: Damian Priest is going to be uninvolved in this feud due to focusing on his main event aspirations and his growing distance from The Judgement Day.)
Two weeks after the emergence of one of the most disturbing figures we've ever seen grace the squared circle, Bo Dallas returns to RAW to address the events of SummerSlam.
He says that when he returned to WWE four months ago, he was a very nervous man. He was wracked with feelings of uncertainty and fear, he remembers going into a match with a specific man, Joe Gacy. He remembers being the most scared he's ever been, you have to understand, Bo wasn't like his brother. Bo didn't get 'extreme', he didn't get the opportunity to have matches like that and here he was.
Faced with a madman, challenged to a Love and War match. Joe, he taught Bo something that night, he told him "Fulfill Your Destiny." And it was at that moment, that Bo realized something. He realized what Bray had been doing all those years.
If you can take your fear, and manifest it into something physical, something truly special can be born, and better yet, it leaves you, the man behind the magic, completely fearless.
Before Dallas can continue, The Judgement Day appears, Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh surround the ring. Bálor says that Bo caught him off guard at SummerSlam, and he wants a rematch, especially seeing as how without his smoke and mirrors, Bo sure does seem fragile.
"It's true. I wouldn't be able to fight all three of you by myself, which is why I'm so glad I don't have to."
BRAUN!
The Monster Among Men makes his first appearance in almost a year, marching out on stage. The Judgement Day is already sufficiently rattled before the titantron goes a mossy green and Erick Rowan appears besides Strowman, standing with his former Wyatt Family brother.
Strowman & Rowan storm the ring causing JD & Dominik to flee and escape, but Bálor turns around into Grim Affection. Dallas stands tall, inheriting the family Bray built. What's that saying? The brother of my brother is my brother? Something like that.
Bash In Berlin 2024:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs The Judgement Day (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh)
[Following a confident, braggadocios entrance by The Judgement Day, Dallas, Strowman and Rowan mark their arrival with a Code Orange performed remix of Feared. The music, calling back to the numerous other songs Code Orange has provided for the Rotunda family.
Dallas, flanked by the hulking figures of Strowman and Rowan makes for an intimidating visual. The Judgement Day have an experience edge though, especially with Bálor having personally trained and scouted McDonagh several years ago.
Dallas and Mysterio start the match and Bo quickly gets flustered by the speed and lucha experience of Dominik. Though Dominik has control early, Dallas gets fed up, and following a lucky strike, tags out to Braun Strowman.
Strowman dismantles Dominik, tossing him around the ring with ease. He connects with a heart-throb to the chest before hoisting Mysterio into a move we have not seen from Strowman...since he was a follower.
The hanging triangle lock is applied, Strowman squeezing around the neck of Dominik as Mysterio hangs limply. Dominik kicks out, inciting Braun to return another maneuver. The reverse chokeslam connects and Strowman places a boot on Dominik's chest, but Mysterio still manages to fight out.
Strowman brings Rowan in, who locks a bear hug forcing Dominik to scramble for escape. Despite Dominik's surviving the bear hug, his relief is short lived as Rowan cinches a vice grip around the skull. Dominik creates separation, and Rowan tries to flatten him with a spin kick, but Mysterio ducks. A dropkick to the knee and a 619 follows, giving Dominik an opportunity to tag out.
Finn Bálor is brought in and begins striking away on Rowan, littering the bigger man with bruises. A well placed pele kick wobbles Rowan and leaves him victim to a shotgun dropkick into the turnbuckles. Bálor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Rowan avoids shoving Finn into the corner. Rowan charges in, but Bálor hops over him and Erick crashes into the steel post.
JD is tagged in and immediately hits a pump helluva kick on the cornered Rowan. Rowan is down to a knee and McDonagh comes from behind with a leap over Rowan culminating in a stunner. A kick out by Rowan inspires McDonagh to connect with a swanton bomb for a near-fall.
JD attempts for Devlinside, yet discovers Rowan is too big of a man to be trying that on. Rowan gets grip on the neck and goes for a chokeslam, McDonagh does a backflip out of it landing on his feet. JD connects with a superkick, followed by a springboard moonsault DDT.
Dallas breaks up the pin, Dominik rushes in to even the odds, Strowman neutralizes Dominik, Bálor brawling with Braun. Chaos unfolds, and eventually Dallas and co. clear the ring. Braun runs the Strowman Express on Judgement Day plowing through each member at ringside, except for JD who catches him with a penalty kick after hopping onto the apron.
JD and Rowan begin to battle again as the legal men, McDonagh knees Rowan in the face and dives with a crossbody for a two count. JD tags out to Bálor, who allows Rowan to bring in Bo Dallas.
Dallas and Bálor, now both as their mortal selves, begin to brawl. Bálor connects with a slingblade, and a shotgun dropkick driving Bo nearly through the turnbuckles. Bàlor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Dallas avoids and attempts Grim Affection. Bálor slips out and locks the head up under the arm, connecting with a snap elbow drop across the heart.
Bálor climbs now once more, and Dallas hangs him up before sending Finn to the canvas below with a superplex. A near-fall follows, and Dallas clings to the leg of Bálor, trying to prevent a tag. Finn kicks him away and reintroduces McDonagh to the fray.
JD flusters Dallas with strikes and speed, but as he locks onto the wrist and attempts his springboard moonsault DDT, Dallas catches him in position and connects with Grim Affection. Strowman and Rowan plow through Dominik and Bálor preventing a save.
Dallas gets the victory for his team, and alongside his disciples of destruction, stands tall. The entire locker room put on notice.]
We get a very fun Authors Of Pain/Strowman & Rowan match out of it, and by the end of September, Bo has successfully convinced Karrion Kross to abandon AOP, Paul Ellering and even Scarlett, adding yet another massive man to his growing group.
You may think the numbers game is so insurmountable and overwhelming, but one puzzle piece that makes this that much more interesting is who Seth has been teaming with as of late. His protege and trainee, Nathan Frazer.
There's a segment featuring Dallas, flanked by his followers and Rollins with Frazer, but the tension is so heavy between Bo and Nathan, you would think they were the only two people in the ring. Frazer addresses his fear of Dallas, and that fear was proven valid considering the damage Dallas has done to the foes he's encountered since.
Dallas cost Nathan his best friend, he cost him his tag team titles, he cost him his brother! But Nathan has news for Bo, he is not running anymore.
Dallas steps forward, looking to acknowledge the impact he's had on Frazer.
"Nate, is it? I don't know how to tell you this, but...I don't even know who you are."
Bo is calloused and cold, and simply decides to feed Frazer and Rollins to the wolves. We get a tag match between Rollins and Frazer vs Strowman and Rowan, with commentary making note of Rollins and Braun being former tag team champions together, ending in victory for Rollins and Frazer.
Armageddon 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Seth Rollins
[The anticipation is high as Bo Dallas and Seth Rollins step into the ring, flanked by their respective allies. Rollins, accompanied by Nathan Frazer, exudes the confidence of a former champion as he eyes Dallas, who seems to stand that much taller alongside the imposing trio of Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Karrion Kross.
The match begins with Dallas and Rollins locking up in the center of the ring, each vying for control. Rollins gains the early advantage with his technical prowess, countering Dallas's power-based offense with precision strikes and fast maneuvers. But Dallas refuses to back down, using his size and strength to overpower Rollins and gain the upper hand.
As the match progresses, both competitors unleash a barrage of moves, each refusing to give an inch in their quest for victory. Rollins employs his signature high-flying arsenal, soaring through the air with breathtaking dives and aerial assaults that keep Dallas on the defensive. But Dallas proves to be a resilient opponent, weathering Rollins's onslaught and mounting several counterattacks of his own.
In the final moments of the match, Rollins, alongside Frazer battle off Dallas's trio of monsters. Rollins looks for a Curb Stomp, that Dallas avoids. Dallas hooks on for Grim Affection, but Rollins latches onto the arm, trapping Bo before spinning him into a RainTrigger knee strike. A definitive Curb Stomp follows and Rollins is able to secure the victory giving Bo his first clean singles loss since returning.]
With Survivor Series fast approaching, the men Dallas has targeted come back to haunt him, as Rollins and Frazer form something of a truce with The Judgement Day, seeking to take down the common enemy in Bo Dallas.
We get some interesting interactions such as Kross trying to convince JD that he can see the darkness in him, harkening back to JD's NXT character of old, only for JD to tell Kross that he doesn't know anything about him before shattering his nose with a wicked headbutt.
With Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins banding together Bo seems to be just one man short. It's the RAW prior to Survivor Series when Dallas, Strowman, Rowan and Kross stand on stage staring down the babyface quintet. The crowd waits with baited breath before Love Is Blind hits and Joe Gacy strolls on stage, making his main roster debut to side with his NXT foe.
They charge the ring and a brawl breaks out, and as security tries to keep the ten men apart, we here a distinguished William Regal shout
"WarGames!"
Survivor Series 2024:
Team Dallas (Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, Joe Gacy & Karrion Kross) vs Team Rollins (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins) - WarGames
[It is decided that Joe Gacy and Seth Rollins will be opening this match. Both men selected by their teams for their stamina in matches like these, Gacy from his CZW days, Rollins having been WWE's premier workhorse for years.
The bell rings and they make their way on to the steel connector between the two rings. They begin wallaying on each other with forearms before Joe sneaks in a boot to the midsection, Gacy attempts a powerbomb on the steel, but Rollins reverses with a back body drop.
Seth looks for a superkick, but Gacy catches the foot and sends Rollins into the left ring. Rollins looks for a spinning forearm, but Gacy ducks and gores Rollins with a shoulder thrust. Joe sails over Rollins into the ring, and using his deceptive athleticism, looks for his handspring lariat.
Rollins catches him with a superkick and tries for a Pedigree. Gacy is able to muscle up Rollins into an Alabama Slam, he then throws Rollins into the turnbuckles forcing Seth to take a seat. A big crossbody to the seated, cornered Rollins follows and Gacy begins to reign.
Joe starts targeting the bad back sending Rollins writhing with forearms and knees to the lumbar. He eventually gets a knee on the spine with a tight grip around the mouth, controlling Seth's breathing. Rollins begins to fire up and fight out with elbows to the midsection. Rollins hits a leaping knee strike to Gacy and takes him down a peg.
Rollins attempts a Curb Stomp, but Gacy moves landing Winds Of Change as Rollins turns around. Gacy tries for a running senton, but Rollins moves this time. Curb Stomp attempt, Gacy moves, handspring lariat, Rollins ducks, superkick, Curb Stomp connects.
Rollins knows he can't make the cover so he climbs to the top to inflict more damage. Frogsplash, but Gacy gets the knees up. Joe shoves Rollins into the ropes hoping to connect with an elbow to the back, but Rollins rebounds with a spinning forearm. Gacy ducks locking on for a German Suplex, Rollins lands on his feet and closes in with a V-Trigger, Gacy rebounds off the ropes into a Falcon Arrow and the countdown begins.
Erick Rowan is the next entry, joining Joe Gacy as a focused duo. Rowan pounces on Rollins, but Seth fights back, attempting a RainTrigger but Rowan catches him by the face, in an Iron Claw like grip. Rowan looks for a slam using the claw grip, but Rollins hooks onto the head and reverses into a DDT.
Rollins begins to litter both Joe and Rowan with corner forearms, Rowan eventually catches Rollins and attempts a two handed chokeslam. Rollins dropkicks the body of Rowan mid-slam, and recuperates. He attempts a Pedigree, but Rowan reverses with a back body drop, Rollins lands on his feet and nails an enziguri to stumble the big man.
He mounts Rowan in the corner and begins landing repeated right hands, Rowan shoves him off the middle turnbuckle and closes the distance with a big boot. He positions Seth in the corner before slapping Gacy and hyping him up, ala The Bludgeon Brothers.
Gacy charges for a crossbody to the downed Rollins, but Seth springs up, sails over the running Gacy and lands a dropkick to Rowan. A leaping knee to the mouth follows and Rollins gets Rowan back in Pedigree position.
Gacy comes over with a clothesline that Rollins ducks before hitting a superkick to Gacy, Rowan tries to whip Rollins into the corner but Seth reverses and Erick smashes into Gacy. Rollins jumps to the middle turnbuckle raining down with a barrage of right hands to Rowan then Gacy.
Rowan and Gacy try to catch their bearings before turning around into a Phoenix Splash Crossbody from Rollins and the countdown begins.
Finn Bálor is the next entry, entering a couple of chairs into the field for him and Rollins. They stare each other down, remembering all the wars they've been through and begin to beat down on Rowan and Gacy. It's going well at first, with Gacy especially being incapacitated, before Rowan stops Bálor mid chair swing.
He mule kicks Rollins and rips the chair out of Finn's hands before tossing Finn into the corner. Rollins shortly after joins him. Rowan proceeds to biel toss Rollins who tucks and rolls to come out unscathed. Bálor is then biel tossed on top of Rollins before Rowan throws the aforementioned chair into the face of Bálor.
Rowan attempts to chokeslam Seth on top of the other chair, Rollins scrambles and kicks the chair over so it's legs up. Rowan proceeds with the chokeslam anyway, delivering Rollins onto the bottom of the chair. He then sets up another chair in the corner, wedging it between turnbuckles. He vaults Bálor in that direction, but Finn slides low to avoid connection, only for Gacy to bull pounce him into the chair anyway.
Rowan and Gacy survey the carnage they've caused, as Bálor tries to crawl into the other ring. Rowan joins him on the steel connector and despite Finn's valiant efforts, is able to claw slam him onto the steel beam as the countdown begins.
Bo Dallas is the next entry, and he doesn't waste time getting his hands dirty. He simply passes his objects of destruction their tools. A table, a length of chain and a toolbox. He then observes as his monsters begin to wreak havoc.
Gacy whips at Rollins with the chain, before wrapping it around his face and neck. Rowan squeezes between Bálor's fingers with pliers, applying pressure as he kneels on his back.
Gacy throws the toolbox into the face of an unsuspecting Rollins. Gacy sets up the table against the turnbuckles. He tries to whip Rollins into it, but Seth catches himself, he fights back against Rowan and Gacy but Joe gets a knee to the face before lifting Rollins on his shoulder and charging him through the table.
Rowan yanks Bálor up and delivers him with biel tosses onto the chain and toolbox as the countdown begins.
Dominik Mysterio is the next entry, and he quickly realizes the challenge he's up against. He ducks under Rowan and Gacy, tackling Bo and unloading with right hands. Rowan and Gacy drag him off and begin mercilessly beating on him.
Dallas calls them off, dragging Dominik into the right ring, telling Rowan and Gacy that he'll handle Mysterio. He looks for Grim Affection, but Dominik escapes and rolls backwards with Dallas before hitting a dropkick to the back. Bo is in position, but as Dallas runs the ropes, Rowan catches him by the throat.
Rowan chokeslams Dominik into the arms of Gacy who connects with a German Suplex. The ominous duo gaze down at the broken body of Mysterio, before feeding him to Dallas, who connects with Grim Affection as the countdown begins.
Karrion Kross is the next entry, and introduces a very special weapon. A barbed wire wrapped 2x4 as well as a suspicious grey baggie.
He begins brandishing Bálor and Rollins with the wood and wire. He rips at the flesh and rakes it across the face of Rollins. He begins toying with Bálor, and releases the 2x4 asking Finn to stand up and show him what he's got. Bálor fires up, and sweeps the legs sending Kross back first onto the barbed wire. He then stomps on the chest caving Kross further in.
He beckons Rowan and Gacy to try their best, and as they begin to swarm, the numbers game becomes too much. Rowan with a spinning heel kick, Gacy with a crossbody against the ropes. They continue to dismantle their foes as the countdown begins.
JD McDonagh is the next entry, and introduces several chairs. He cracks Gacy, Rowan and Dallas repeatedly, bruising them with the stiff chair strikes.
He gets Bo in the corner and hits a running dropkick with the chair under his feet, ala Rob Van Dam. McDonagh is rolling, but here comes Kross. Karrion and McDonagh have had something of a personal sub rivalry, and Karrion relishes punishing McDonagh. A fallaway suplex downs McDonagh and leads to Kross wielding a chair.
Swing and a miss, swing a miss, swing and connects with the foot of JD who was going for a roundhouse, swing and the chair lodges itself around the head of McDonagh, headbutt by McDonagh with the chair around the head, both men down and the countdown begins.
Braun Strowman is the next entry, the final for Team Dallas. He introduces multiple tables and sets them up in a row of three. Dominik chooses this time to reappear and swiftly gets chokeslammed through one of the tables.
Braun is able to get JD up in a hanging triangle lock with the chain wrapped around his neck, but Bálor and Rollins come to the save. Finn, Seth and JD work to take down Gacy, Rowan, Strowman and Kross.
McDonagh scaling the cage, Rowan, Dallas and Strowman starting to recover, Gacy on one table, Kross on one table, Rollins and Bálor climb, frogsplash through the table from Rollins, Coup De Grâce through the table from Bálor, moonsault from the top of the cage by McDonagh!
Everyone is down as the countdown begins.
Nathan Frazer is the next and final entry, Frazer is a one man wrecking crew as he enters, showing off his agility using both rings to his advantage. Frazer clears Kross, Gacy, Strowman, Rowan but faulters as he encounters Dallas.
Bo taunts Frazer from his knees, and as Frazer hesitates to take the kill shot, Rowan takes advantage with a claw slam to Nathan. Rollins capitalizes with a superkick to Dallas and a chair shot to the head of Rowan, once Erick's head is sufficiently trapped inside the chair, Rollins hops onto the back and hits a modified Pedigree, jamming the chair into the throat and jaw.
Gacy is seen stalking Rollins, having wrapped the barbed wire from the 2x4 around his arm, he charges in with a handspring barbed wire wrapped lariat to Rollins. Bálor closes in with a shotgun dropkick into the corner before fetching the grey baggie. He opens it, emptying out thumbtacks onto the canvas.
Bo comes over, striking with Bálor. Finn gets the upper hand and climbs for a standing Coup De Grâce, similar to how he tried to put The White Rabbit away at SummerSlam. He misses, going feet first into the tacks, Dallas grabs hold of the head and connects with Grim Affection on the tacks.
Three seconds later, and Team Dallas has survived WarGames. Bo collects up his soldiers, standing above the battered bodies of his opposition. One question remains clear, who can stop Bo Dallas?]
With Team Dallas pulling out a massive victory inside arguably the most grueling match type in WWE history, they look forward to moving on from the men they dismantled at Survivor Series.
One man, though, refuses to let them. That man is Nathan Frazer. Still haunted by the price he paid, the friend he lost, the halt in momentum, due to Bo's arrival in NXT.
A couple of weeks following WarGames, Frazer comes out to call out Bo Dallas, Seth Rollins tries to talk Frazer down and calm him, but Nathan is insistent. He failed to take Bo down, he failed to make things right, he needs to beat Bo Dallas.
Strowman, Rowan, Kross and Gacy emerge. Gacy states that Bo isn't here tonight, but they would be more than happy to show Frazer exactly what he's in for if he wants to keep...chasing rabbits.
The monsters storm the ring and surround Rollins and Frazer in a very hound like way. Just before they pounce, a theme song hits, the lights go up and wouldn't you know it, motherfucking Axiom arrives.
Frazer & Rollins take advantage of the distraction and Axiom lends his hand, leading to the monsters retreating. Rollins guards the ring as Axiom and Nathan Frazer stare each other down.
'Hug It Out' chants run through the arena, and Axiom & Frazer embrace, putting the past behind them.
Over the next two weeks, we get two very interesting matches. The first, a street fight between Bo Dallas and Nathan Frazer, in which Frazer finally gets an opportunity at singles revenge on Bo in a brutal, chaotic brawl. Dallas wins this match with help from his possee.
The second, Karrion Kross vs Seth Rollins, a good showcase for Kross as he steps up against a main eventer and one of the best in the world. Rollins wins in a good match, but it's what happens after that draws attention.
Rollins is seated in the corner when the lights go out, section by section, plunging Rollins into darkness and for the first time, Seth Rollins meets The White Rabbit.
The Rabbit crawls towards Rollins who closes his eyes in fear, creating parallels to a similar scene five years ago. Rollins, though, this time, stands up and stares down The Rabbit.
Seth grabs a microphone and stares down this fiendish entity. "Crown Jewel, me and my boys vs you and yours."
The Rabbit cocks his head to the side and the lights go out once more, when they come up, a hat remains in the ring. A hat very similar to Uncle Howdys', Rollins lifts it and a rabbit jumps out. At the bottom of the hat is a note, written on light blue, Firefly Funhouse themed paper.
"WE ACCEPT."
Crown Jewel 2024:
Axiom, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins vs Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan
[Five years after Bray Wyatt defeated Seth Rollins at this same event to become Universal Champion, Rollins faces off against his spiritual successor and younger brother, Bo Dallas. Frazer and Axiom share a quick nod of understanding, their strategy clear: use their speed and agility to outmaneuver their larger opponents. On the other side of the ring, Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan stand tall, their imposing presence a stark contrast to the quickness of their adversaries.
The match begins with Axiom and Dallas squaring off for the first time since NXT when Dallas took Axiom's title. The two competitors circle each other cautiously before locking up in a test of strength. Axiom utilizes his lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic prowess to keep Dallas off balance, darting in and out of range with precision. Shortly after, Nathan and Rowan engage in a battle of power versus speed, with Frazer using his agility to evade Rowan's powerful strikes while delivering rapid-fire kicks and strikes of his own.
As the match progresses, Rollins enters the fray, unleashing a flurry of high-flying maneuvers on his ex-partner, Strowman. Braun struggles to keep pace with his nimble opponent as Rollins utilizes his speed to his advantage, ducking and weaving around Strowman's attempts at offense before delivering an enzuigiri that sends the big man staggering backwards.
Rollins lands a knee to the nose and a step-stool Curb Stomp off the back of Frazer shortly after, but Rowan saves the match. Axiom and Nathan join forces, working in tandem to take Rowan out and wear him down with a series of double-team maneuvers. Rollins exits the ring and, acting in the role of Reigns, assists in hitting a Shield Bomb through the announce table on Rowan.
Despite the valiant efforts of Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan, the tide of the match begins to turn in favor of Rollins and his team. Axiom unleashes a devastating flurry of strikes on Dallas once Strowman and Seth tag out, culminating in a rattling roundhouse kick that leaves the former champion reeling. Meanwhile, Nathan Frazer climbs to the top turnbuckle and launches himself into the air, executing a picture-perfect shooting star press that connects squarely with Bo Dallas, leaving him sprawled out on the canvas.
With Dallas incapacitated, Nathan seizes the opportunity to go for the pin, hooking the leg as the referee counts the three. The crowd erupts into cheers as Rollins, Axiom, and Nathan Frazer celebrate their hard-fought victory, Frazer finally getting his revenge on the man who permanently altered his career.]
January arrives and the Dallas clan set their sights on the Royal Rumble, more specifically, helping Bo to win the Royal Rumble. To fulfill his destiny at WrestleMania.
When the Rumble arrives, they're doing a great job of tearing through everyone in the match. Rowan and Gacy aren't even entries, but continuously skirt around the rules, helping Bo, Kross and Strowman rack up eliminations.
They eliminate the likes of Finn Bálor, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn before they encounter the one man wrecking crew that is Randy Orton. Orton swiftly eliminates Kross and Strowman before turning his attention to Dallas. Bo is able to force him into position for Grim Affection, but Orton escapes landing an RKO and eliminating Bo Dallas.
When the Rumble has concluded, Bo has a hard time accepting this loss, and sics his men on Orton. Orton gets a victory over a game Karrion Kross leading to the onslaught by Strowman, Rowan and Gacy. However, this draws the call of the disgruntled men Bo's crew eliminated at the Rumble.
Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn.
Kevin and Randy already have a friendly history, and Zayn, coming off an Intercontinental Title loss to Ilja Dragunov in August, partners up with his long time tag partner to fight the cause.
Bo acknowledges the history his brother had with Randy Orton, including Orton burning down his childhood home, The Wyatt Compound.
Finally, at Elimination Chamber, much like The Shield and The Wyatt Family over a decade prior, we get a six man tag.
Elimination Chamber 2025:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs Kevin Owens, Randy Orton & Sami Zayn
[It's very poetic, Bo has been very much hitting all of Bray's best moments in modern day versions. The demonic alter-ego debuting at SummerSlam against Finn Bálor, facing off with Seth Rollins at Crown Jewel and now a six man tag at Elimination Chamber.
Dallas lets his opponents know ahead of this match that he has some tricks up his sleeves, but that a truly good magician never reveals his secrets.
There's plenty of fun interactions, Strowman & Zayn having been Braun's first feud away from The Wyatt Family, Strowman & Owens and the terrorizing Kevin went through in 2018, Rowan & Orton facing off for the first time since Orton went after The Wyatt Family in 2017, Bo & Sami reigniting their NXT feud from 2014.
The match ends when Braun sets Owens, Zayn and Orton up in separate corners. He biel tosses Orton, biel tosses Sami and goes for Owens, but Kevin fights back hitting a Stunner on the big man. Bo comes in and eats a Pop-Up Powerbomb for a near-fall.
Kevin gets Dallas in the corner for a Kevin Cannonball and connects, once, twice, Kevin looking for a third cannonball from the corner. Zayn stops Owens and tells Kevin to let Sami end this. Bo staggers up and Sami looks for a Helluva Kick from the corner to the right of the one Owens is stood in.
HELLUVA KICK! TO OWENS!
Kevin falls into Zayn's arms and Sami pushes him to the ground before walking off, leaving Owens defenseless.
Bo crawls over looking for Grim Affection, Kevin escapes, superkick connects. Both men fall and Owens makes the hot tag to Orton. Orton clears out Rowan, Gacy, Kross and Strowman with RKOs before setting up Dallas for the punt. No one to help the wounded rabbit, The Viper closes in.
Orton's momentum is halted though by a hand grabbing his foot at ringside, the person is in a hood and just as Orton shakes free of his grip, he turns around into Grim Affection for the win.
Bo Dallas has pinned Randy Orton. His family in ruins all around the ring, Bo celebrates his victory, and is proven to be a very truthful man. He really did have quite a few tricks up his sleeve tonight.]
It is advertised that on RAW the following night, we will find out the man who cost Randy Orton at Elimination Chamber.
When the time comes, Bo, flanked by his men, states that long ago his brother put into motion a plan. A plan that would unite six people together, the six most optimal people to incite change into this company. They were handpicked by Bray since the beginning.
Braun Strowman, Bray's black sheep, the man he personally discovered and brought into the WWE to be part of his family.
Erick Rowan, Bray's left hand and the man who carried out Bray's commands for years, one of his most loyal soldiers.
Joe Gacy, a man who felt an indescribable spiritual connection to Bray Wyatt, Bray told Bo that he didn't know who the final member was, but that the man meant to fill the role would, that they would feel an intrinsic, undeniable pull.
Karrion Kross, a man with goals very similar to Bray, and a man who was being mentored by Bray backstage prior to his passing, his golden child.
And now that just leaves one person. Someone who knew Bray very well, someone Bray found much success with in this very ring. So without further ado, the final member of The Wyatt Si-
Randy Orton enters, he denounces this ceremony and is out for blood tonight. Bo states that it's actually perfectly convenient that Orton be here for this, seeing as Randy also knows this person very well.
"In fact, Randy, you're the reason this person wasn't here for five years. The past is a funny thing Randy, the axe forgets, the tree...oh, the tree always remembers."
Realization sets in on the face of Orton before the hooded figure blasts Randy as he turns around. The hood comes off, and there stands, the final member of The Wyatt Six.
Matt Hardy.
Besides, Dallas has his hands full.
Just as quickly as The Wyatt 6 began, some subtraction begins to occur. One week, Rowan will be with them backstage only to not come to the ring and go missing, Kross and Strowman face similar fates, leaving only Dallas, Gacy and Hardy.
Dallas begins to question where his family members have gone, and Gacy vows to protect him. That is moments before Dallas and Gacy head to the ring, and Matt Hardy is no longer with them.
Backstage footage airs of something destroying Matt Hardy, beating him violently, and as the being turns its head, it is made clear.
The Demon is here.
Heartbeats fill the arena and Gacy exits the ring to guard the perimeter. Red lights dawn on the squared circle, before The Demon attacks Gacy at ringside making quick work of him.
The Demon crawls into the ring before Dallas grabs a mic, kneeling down to The Demon's level.
"I know what you want, there's only one place for souls like ours to do this. Hell In A Cell."
On the go home show for WrestleMania, Finn Bálor and Bo Dallas have a face to face, Finn says that The Demon never got to meet The Fiend but it will get to meet The Rabbit.
"In layman's terms, Bo. You bring your demons, I'll bring mine."
2024.05.06 23:12 Poppeppercaramel Apprentice story : the 3 squires.
 | This is the story of my latest apprentices. Not long ago these 3 squires trained and served under Sir based the brave(despite what he has become now, Sir based have a story that we'll covered in the future) and they go to the great crusade in the faraway land for glory, self fulfillment and bright future. Little do they know that what they get will be the opposite of what they hoped for. submitted by Poppeppercaramel to wizardposting [link] [comments] The 3 squires are Jeffrey Walker, Susan Winslow and Benjamin Stammer. All 3 came from different backgrounds. Jeffrey is raised by a single mother after his dad left him to join the sailors, seeking fortune overseas but he never returned. No one knows what happened to him but rumour says he settled down and have a new family somewhere in the great ranch. He's always the one who help his mother do the chores and basically the breadwinner of the house. poor and hungry, he seek a fortune to make his mother's life better where she can finally pause from all the labor and have a comfortable retirement. Where he and his mother can be whole. Susan came from a family of middle class salt miner, a closed community deep inside the sulfur spring. Where life is objectively boring and barely anything going on in the spring other than digging up salt flower and other low value minerals. She feels like she is trapped in the slow, boring and tedious place. Susan want to run free in the world outside, going from place to place and see the beautiful world instead of living a sluggish life toiling away in the cavern dark and cold. Benjamin came from a ghetto, where life is rough and hope is lost. Born and growing up in the wrong side of the town, he knew he won't have any future is such a corrupted and cruel place. He seek to have a better life outside where he can be more than an unemployed street urchin wasted away in horrific place. Poor boy always seeking when the bright future shines on him and pulled him out of darkness and stagnation of his hometown. The great blessing or baleful curse struck when the magic knight, the famous Sir Based the brave who returned from a great quest of destroying evil artifact, Pride blade, announced that he want to recruited some squires for his next adventure. 3 of them has been chosen as his underlying. To served him as his squire until he finally knighted them. The 3 children are thrilled that they will finally fulfill their dream. Dream of wealth and comfort, Dream of glory and journey, dream of bright future. After some strangely fast session of training lesson and rudimentary equipment. Sir based pronounced that the 3 squires are ready for the incoming war. The holy crusade against the desert nation of Levantine, where holy artifact is under possession of Scarlet sultan. Which this will be the 9th attempt at crusade after 5 failure streaks. Still better than wizards attempted at having a council that doesn't get blown up on weekly basis. Under the warm golden sunlight, where everything seem too good to be true, 3 recruits followed their knight to the great battle that awaited them. "after the crusade, you'll become a knight in shining armor just like me" sir based assuring his interns After the months of journeys, Sir based and his squires finally reached the land of golden sand where vast desert and seemingly endless rough terrain can be found. The air is unbearably hot, the wind carries grain of sand everywhere and the sun is blazing above their head. In front of them is the border of the desert nation, Levantine. With many knights and soldiers, they easily breaking through the border checkpoint and marching their ways into the Levantine territory. The squires are excited to fight the Scarlet sultan and his army. But the plan is . . . Complicated, Sir based and his fellow knights tell them that they need to go to some villages first for . . . Reason? Probably for tactical maneuver. The things that follows is much worse that what the squires suspected. The crusader raid the defenseless village and directly attacked civilians in cold blooded. They did this to goad the Levantine army to show themselves in order to prevent the surprise attack. But not a single legionnaires show up, not even when the Knights stabbing and slashing poor villagers into pile of gore. The squires nervously and unwillingly have to partake in this senseless bloodshed as a part of the crusader's plan. After the slaughter, Jeffrey watched his blood soaked hand in horror for what he has done, Susan collapsed to the ground and silently sobbing while glaring at the tip of her spear that still have a piece of clothes belongs to an old woman she has to killed, Benjamin look like he is reconsidering his life choices as he sit in fetal position and watching the sky for some sign. But it's too late to go back, war crime has already been committed and the show must go on. While they slowly trudging through the searing hot desert, the loud horn is thundering through the dry dunes and the Levantine legionnaires shows up as they charging through the crusader's ranks. The legionnaires are standard desert warriors that growing up in naturally harsh climate and limited resources so by nature, they're much tougher than standard soldiers of the crusade. As the legionnaires fighting furiously and the cloud of chaos blocking the views. Sir based being magic knight is casting devastation spell at the desert warrior while fending off their advancement. To distract the legionnaire, he order Jeffrey to buy him some time. The young squire with blond hair swinging his sword frantically at the seasoned warrior but due his rushed training and lack of skills the legionnaire can easily out maneuver him and slashed his arm causing a big gash. As Jeffrey screamed in pain, another legionnaires charged at him and slicing off his right arm which he use to hold a sword. Jeffrey watched in horror as his arm fell off on the sandy ground, the adversary soldier doesn't let Jeffrey process whatever going on and swiping his feet off the ground. With a lightning fast slash, Jeffrey has lost his left leg too. Poor squire cried in pain and watched legionnaires closed in and gaining on him as they prepared for the killing blow. Luckily Susan and Benjamin come in for the timely rescue and the legionnaires decided to retreats as the crusaders started to gain the upper hand. Jeffrey's lost limbs is not only thing they lost in this crusade as poor boy has been carried by his close comrade. They reached another village, the crusader start to do the same habit as they did the last time they entered a village, killing everyone. Sir based order Benjamin to attack a pretty large hovel in the village but as Benjamin nervously walked to the building, a group of fancy looking desert warriors step out. It's the famous Janissary, elite commando of the desert. Within a flash, the janissary swing his long sword at Benjamin and knocked him back. Luckily his morningstar mace blocked the deadly move. He try to go aggressive on Janissary by swinging his mace at the main man in strange dress. Only to be swayed to the side and falls on the ground. As Benjamin trying to get up, he see a barrel of blunderbuss shotgun right in front of his face and that's the last thing he ever seen. However, poor Susan witness all of that and see Benjamin's head blown right off his shoulder by the Janissary. All of this happened while Sir based is busying looting local store and household. The crusaders decided that this crusade is lost so they just given up and go home, they aren't even reach the Levantine city. But sir based also have a side quest. He brings his squad to a nearby Oasis. Where he tell his broken and battered underlings that he need to replenished water supply. He tell Susan to go to other side of Oasis and looks around. Susan shaken body trudging through wet sand and looking for some foraging and suddenly, she see a glittering shiny thing in the water. She lowered herself and touched it. There's some treasure hidden inside the Oasis. But as much as Susan's happiness is skyrocket. Her fear is also skyrocket too as the spirit of fire and smoke forming right in front of her. What in front of her is a woman, a woman with pale orange skin, bright green hair, yellow glowing eyes and wearing pink bra. Her malicious smile bearing mouth full of shark like sharp teeth is grinding while she staring at frightened girl. This is a Djinn, an evil one too. "look what we have here, a little thief, a little murderer. Ungrateful brat that seeking glory from bloodshed and war." the evil Djinn says in cold and hateful tone. "I am Samirah, Djinn of the oasis and I'm not here to granted you wish. I'm here to punish. Vile little things like you doesn't valued fellow human life, still proud and mighty in your uniform of slaughter. You don't deserved to be a human, let me fixed that" Samirah's wicked smile reached ears to ears as she snap her finger, sealing poor Susan's fate. She feel the searing pain engulfing her whole body like if her body being set ablazed, her feet and hand starts to feel really strange and they become soft and squishy, it doesn't take long for poor Susan to falls on the sandy ground as she screeching in agony. Under the gleefully eyes of cruel genie. As the back of her butt swollen and ripped her skirt, when she try to touch it. It's a hard shell like structure forming behind her. Not only that bet her hand is squirming and changed from human like hand into weird mitted pale green hand coated with disgusting sticky slime. Her hands look like she have to permanently wearing a wet squishy mitten. Let's say that she can't use a scissors with hand like that. The horrific transformation continues as her shell swollen and loud bone crack echoes in the air, unbearable pain make Susan wish she was dead but genie aren't here to grant anything. Her feet and legs now morphed into pile of green slimy flesh. Tear running down from Susan's eyes as she cried in pain and horror, begging Samirah to stop her agonising metamorphosis but Samirah is not a kind genie. She take great delight on watching her victim's untold suffering. After 5 minutes of pure horror, Susan now has taken a new mutated and Abhorrent form. As weird half snail have human creature. When Susan finally catch a breath and look around, Samirah already disappeared and she see Sir based carrying a small chest full of precious gemstones. The way back home is like a horror story for them. Jeffrey have to use Susan's new shelled body as his balance for not having left foot anymore, Benjamin only appears as an intangible spirit and Susan have to learned how to move without feet anymore which is extremely painful when she has to slither on burning hot sand. "Good job kids, the crusade is over so all of you can go home. Class dismiss." "Master, can you pay me any compensation? I lost my arm and my leg, I don't think I can help my mom that much anymore" "Nope, forget about it freakshow" "Master, can you hired a wizard to changed me back? I don't want to be a snail hybrid" "Djinn's curse can only be undone by the same Djinn, you're not going to walks anytime soon. Go lives in someone's else garden you filthy animal." "Master, can you at least get my body back to my family for a funeral?" "Not gonna happen, skill issue" Just like that, Sir based just abandoned his squires who no longer useful to him, leaving them to rot in their crumbling state. Instead of wealth and confort, Jeffrey is rewarded with disabilities as an amputee. From a breadwinner to a burden. Instead of bright future, Benjamin is rewarded with death. There's no future for him as his life has ended too soon. Instead of glory and travel, Susan is rewarded with curse, to lived her life as freak of nature in slow, sluggish existence. Ironic as she want to journey out of her salt mine and now she cannot go home anymore. Now being seen as nothing more than Lettuce munching Vermin. What ought to walk now has learned to crawl. A true Chivalry industrial complex moment, hit harder than the Levantine. Luckily, some old wizard pay them a visit. By his side is a zombie and a ghost. "The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. These brats killed without a cause, they spilled blood without a purpose. They're not veteran, they're war criminals" said the zombie "come on, these kids are just 18. There's a place for redemption for them. It's not too late" As wizard takes some times to think to himself before decided to adopted them. Adding them to his ever enlarging roster of minions. Welcome to your new home. |
2024.05.06 00:13 Weird-Mix-3646 I went out with my coworker that has a boyfriend.
I (19M) started a new job about 2.5 weeks ago at my University where I met the coworker in question (20F). It is a very relaxed and social office environment so my coworker and I hit it off. We connected a lot over music and became quite close over that time. I thought she was beautiful but I figured nothing would ever happen since it was at work.
That began to change last Thursday when our boss got the office tickets to see Flo Rida in concert. I ended up pre-gaming with most of my coworkers before arriving. The coworker in question, we'll call her Delphine, came at the very end of the pregame and went to the concert with us. Everyone had a great time and Delphine and I sat with each other all night. Nothing much happened, some slight touches, dancing together, the occasional glances that screamed something more than friendly. I was drunk and disregarded any "vibes" I thought I caught from her.
The next day (Friday) at work was very normal. We had our normal conversational banter. I was, however, mildly confused when she stayed with me after her shift ended. We were both supposed to clock out simultaneously, but my boss asked me to wait a little extra to put something away. When I clocked out we left together and she invited me to study with her. I politely declined because I wanted to nap before a social event that evening. She doubled down and asked again so I agreed. We had a great time studying, when we were done we grabbed some food. We had a great time eating and at this point, our conversations had turned from typical workplace banter and music to religion, philosophy, family life, dreams, goals, you name it. I had heard about her being in a rocky relationship but that never entered my mind. After all, we were just good work friends. In reality, I had a huge crush on her and I think I was trying to gaslight myself.
That night I returned from my social event at around 11:30. She and another one of my coworkers were playing Valorant together so naturally I joined. They talked about Delphine's boyfriend, the terrible things he'd done, and how it was time to break it off. I stayed mostly silent and after we had a nice time. At around 2 am the other girl got off, so it was just Delphine and I. We decided we'd hop on Roblox when she, out of the blue, asked if I wanted to go hiking with her on campus. I said yes and tried to rationalize it in my head. We hiked together for hours and ended up at a cemetery. We had the best conversations I've ever had. We stared into each other's eyes but I knew I couldn't do anything. The wind kicked up a little. She got closer, I got closer. We began cuddling in a cemetery miles from where we started, metaphorically and literally. I almost fell asleep and jolted awake and realized what was going on. We separated for a second and shivered alone just absorbing what had happened. We moved on and kept talking skirting around what we both felt. As it neared morning we decided to return, laughing and smiling. By the time we got back, it was nearly sunrise.
We decided to wait and stay up until the sun rose and found the tallest window on campus to watch it. We sat. She put her head on my shoulder and began to cry. I put my arm around her and did my best to comfort her. We stayed like that for 20 minutes past when the sun was supposed to rise but we couldn't see much as it was too foggy. It was just brighter. We got up and hugged. Long, beautiful hugs. When we separated I felt a way I hadn't felt in a long time. I knew she had a man but I didn't care. She was everything I had ever looked for and he treated her like shit. We agreed to stay professional at work and that she needed to figure out her side of things before anything else. We made plans to work on some homework together the next day. I walked her back to her dorm and I went back to mine.
The next day, I was busy most of the day and when I got home I was exhausted so I asked for a raincheck. She left me on delivered which I did not question, she's a busy person as well. The following morning (today) I woke up and found that she had blocked me on Instagram. I thought everything was good and that she would break up with her boyfriend regardless.
I'd love any advice on the situation. AITA for going with her that night knowing she was technically with somebody? Regardless, I have to see her at work this week.
TLDR: Coworker and I hit it off at the new job, get closer. I find out she has a boyfriend but is about to break up with him. I still agree to go out to hike late at night. We have a romantic night but don't kiss or anything. She then blocks me on Instagram.
submitted by Weird-Mix-3646 to dating_advice [link] [comments]
That began to change last Thursday when our boss got the office tickets to see Flo Rida in concert. I ended up pre-gaming with most of my coworkers before arriving. The coworker in question, we'll call her Delphine, came at the very end of the pregame and went to the concert with us. Everyone had a great time and Delphine and I sat with each other all night. Nothing much happened, some slight touches, dancing together, the occasional glances that screamed something more than friendly. I was drunk and disregarded any "vibes" I thought I caught from her.
The next day (Friday) at work was very normal. We had our normal conversational banter. I was, however, mildly confused when she stayed with me after her shift ended. We were both supposed to clock out simultaneously, but my boss asked me to wait a little extra to put something away. When I clocked out we left together and she invited me to study with her. I politely declined because I wanted to nap before a social event that evening. She doubled down and asked again so I agreed. We had a great time studying, when we were done we grabbed some food. We had a great time eating and at this point, our conversations had turned from typical workplace banter and music to religion, philosophy, family life, dreams, goals, you name it. I had heard about her being in a rocky relationship but that never entered my mind. After all, we were just good work friends. In reality, I had a huge crush on her and I think I was trying to gaslight myself.
That night I returned from my social event at around 11:30. She and another one of my coworkers were playing Valorant together so naturally I joined. They talked about Delphine's boyfriend, the terrible things he'd done, and how it was time to break it off. I stayed mostly silent and after we had a nice time. At around 2 am the other girl got off, so it was just Delphine and I. We decided we'd hop on Roblox when she, out of the blue, asked if I wanted to go hiking with her on campus. I said yes and tried to rationalize it in my head. We hiked together for hours and ended up at a cemetery. We had the best conversations I've ever had. We stared into each other's eyes but I knew I couldn't do anything. The wind kicked up a little. She got closer, I got closer. We began cuddling in a cemetery miles from where we started, metaphorically and literally. I almost fell asleep and jolted awake and realized what was going on. We separated for a second and shivered alone just absorbing what had happened. We moved on and kept talking skirting around what we both felt. As it neared morning we decided to return, laughing and smiling. By the time we got back, it was nearly sunrise.
We decided to wait and stay up until the sun rose and found the tallest window on campus to watch it. We sat. She put her head on my shoulder and began to cry. I put my arm around her and did my best to comfort her. We stayed like that for 20 minutes past when the sun was supposed to rise but we couldn't see much as it was too foggy. It was just brighter. We got up and hugged. Long, beautiful hugs. When we separated I felt a way I hadn't felt in a long time. I knew she had a man but I didn't care. She was everything I had ever looked for and he treated her like shit. We agreed to stay professional at work and that she needed to figure out her side of things before anything else. We made plans to work on some homework together the next day. I walked her back to her dorm and I went back to mine.
The next day, I was busy most of the day and when I got home I was exhausted so I asked for a raincheck. She left me on delivered which I did not question, she's a busy person as well. The following morning (today) I woke up and found that she had blocked me on Instagram. I thought everything was good and that she would break up with her boyfriend regardless.
I'd love any advice on the situation. AITA for going with her that night knowing she was technically with somebody? Regardless, I have to see her at work this week.
TLDR: Coworker and I hit it off at the new job, get closer. I find out she has a boyfriend but is about to break up with him. I still agree to go out to hike late at night. We have a romantic night but don't kiss or anything. She then blocks me on Instagram.
2024.05.05 20:25 Sinspiration Executive Function Coaching made me feel like a failure because I can't learn how to plan. So I tested 4 AI auto-scheduling tools to see if they could do the planning for me. It worked.
When someone is near-sighted, we give them glasses. When someone can’t walk, we give them a wheelchair. But when someone has trouble planning, we make ‘em try harder. At least, that’s what it felt like when I got diagnosed and started at the ADHD Treatment Center. After weeks of no progress with planning and organising tasks, my kind therapist kept encouraging me to try again, but I just kept walking into a wall. I couldn’t do it. At first I cried a lot, because after a lifetime of failing at things that seem simple for everyone else, it stung that I couldn’t even follow the therapy program specifically made for people with ADHD. But then it occurred to me: what if tech could replace some of the executive processes I struggle with, essentially outsourcing the task, giving me a piece of the brain ‘normal’ people have?
The relief when I got an auto-scheduling tool working for me… I can’t even describe it. I use a calendar now. Me! With an actual planning that’s automatically up-to-date the whole time. I know this wouldn’t be a big deal for anyone with normal executive functions, but I’ve never had this. I still felt like the stupidest kid in ADHD-class that I couldn’t do it the ‘normal’ way though, so I just said something offhand to my treatment coordinator at the Center, like: “Oh, by the way, the executive functioning coaching, I just couldn't do it, so I’m having AI do it for me now.” Waving a hand in the air, rolling my eyes at my own silly shortcomings, adopting this apologetic tone I often find myself using, basically saying; I’m sorry that I’m such an idiot I couldn’t even do X, Y or Z, and sorry to be cheating on your program, it’s me, not you, I’m just incapable of doing anything correctly. (Yeah, ADHD did a number on my self-esteem, which was one of my main reasons for seeking help.) To my horror, she told me she had a crying girl in her office recently who quit therapy because she, like me, ‘just couldn’t do it’. In fact, patients with ADHD regularly get so desperate that they give up.
Then I spoke to the psychologist giving the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to ADHD-patients and she estimated roughly half of her patients genuinely can’t learn to plan by themselves. HALF! So I’m not some strange outlier at all. When I told her about auto-scheduling, her eyebrows shot up. “We’ve been teaching people to plan manually, but if what you’re saying exists… maybe we shouldn’t anymore.”
So here’s the thing. I want this information to be out there on the internet for people like me, because we need it the most. And because most of the information on relevant planning tools that I found was written by and for neurotypicals. Neurotypicals seemingly like holistic approaches and pretty apps, sitting down with matcha tea or coffee in the morning for 15 minutes to plan their day. Good for them, but that option is a non-starter for my ADHD-brain. After 4 months with dexamphetamine, I’ve also become a prescriber to the thought that ‘pills don't build skills’. I love my meds, they help so much with focus and they calm down my overactive chipmunk-like brain, but they’re not made of actual magic. Pills can’t give you an extra frontal lobe or a personality transplant. My executive skills are still weak or non-existent. Some of my issues are remarkably similar to people who experience brain damage after an accident, and when you think about it like a disability (like needing glasses, crutches or a hearing-aid) there’s only so much that ‘trying harder’ or ‘talking about how that makes you feel’ can realistically accomplish.
IN SHORT (TL;DR) Yes, auto-scheduling tools can take over the brain-process of planning and I believe this can be helpful for the ADHD-brains struggling with planning, task management and knowing where to start. Of all the tools out there for tasks and planning, I found only 5 that promised to take over for my brain and think for me, namely: Motion, Trevor, Atlas, Reclaim and Skedpal. I looked at all these apps, tested 4 of them, and found that my brain is currently only compatible with Reclaim. YMMV though; there are very good reviews from people with ADHD for Skedpal and Motion as well. I highly recommend auto-scheduling for people with ADHD who are spinning their wheels trying to learn how to plan.
MY HISTORY WITH PLANNING AND MY EXPERIENCE TESTING THE TOOLS To explain how AI bridges the gap between what my brain can and can’t do, I will describe the 4 steps of standardised executive functioning training that I received as part of my ADHD-treatment and what worked for me. There are huge differences in how ADHD manifests. Not everyone struggles to the same degree with the same things. Below, I’ll describe my history with planning, the trouble I ran into in my life and therapy and the upper limits of what my brain can manage. Getting a feel for my type of ADHD should help to determine in what sort of situations auto-scheduling can be helpful. If my story doesn’t spark recognition, some other tool might be a better fit.
Below the 4 therapy-steps, I describe my experience testing the 5 different tools and some of their specs/features. (Sorry, the first section is so long, skipping and scrolling down to the test-section is an option.)
Step 1: Pick a calendar and start using it. I felt a little uneasy when therapy started with this, because it reminded me of the first time I had to use a calendar in high school. I was almost 12 years old. The class-tutor handed out a bunch of papers with assignments from our teachers and told us to plan our homework in accordance with our schedule. Everybody grabbed their cute pocket diaries with pictures of ponies and cars, and started writing. Except for me. In the silent classroom, I tried to grasp what my classmates were doing, what they were looking at and how they all seemed to know what to write down, but I couldn’t figure it out. Eventually, I shoved the papers away and leaned back in my chair. The tutor looked up, surprised. “What are you doing? You need to plan your homework,” he told me. I shrugged and said: “I’ll just remember it.” He got angry, but I felt too embarrassed to admit that I was the only one who didn’t *understand* the assignment, especially with the whole class listening.
In the end, I never learned how to plan, forgot assignments, didn’t do the homework and was late a lot, which led to near-endless punishment for tardiness during my 6 years of high school. I cleaned the whole school more often than I can count and always thought that I would somehow get everything under control as I got older, but my last year was the worst by far. That year, a new ex-military headmaster digitised the system for recording lateness and ordered a crackdown. Teachers had to refuse entrance into the classroom if you were even a second late and if your school ID got scanned more than 5 minutes after the start of class, you were not allowed to enter anymore. The only scanner was attached to a computer all the way on the ground floor of the main building, so I always had to run there, find someone to operate and they had to start the system, which often led to time maxing out and me missing class. The first day of the crackdown, I got written up (well, scanned) SIX times. Dumbstruck, the headmaster asked how I’d managed to do it. Truthfully, I had no idea. I just spaced out a lot and was surprised every time the bell rang and everyone stormed out of the classroom. Everyone, except for me. I still had to figure out how to declutter my little desk, how to fit everything in my backpack again, where I needed to go after that, not walk off in the wrong direction, that sort of thing.
The new rules led to a sharp drop in my attendance, which turned out to be illegal. Without ever meaning to, I was suddenly violating compulsory education laws and the government threatened community service for me and financial sanctions for my parents. The headmaster often had me called away from classes later in the day as well so I could receive new punishments that steadily grew in severity and duration from hours, to days, to weeks, to months and eventually to more daytime hours than were still left in the school year.
This all made sense, because if you punish a kid enough, they’ll eventually learn how to plan, use a calendar, get more organised and be on time... right?
Wrong. I was missing so much class I was barely being taught anything anymore. Suddenly I found myself taking tests I never saw coming about subjects I never even heard about. I had to invent so many answers on the spot that one teacher started reading my 'hilarious' tests to his wife to make her laugh. My grades plummeted. I basically had to be on the school premises from dusk till dawn for all my detention-hours, even though I had to cycle to school for over 15 miles (and back) and had to work in the evenings. I stopped having breakfast, had no time for dinner before work, was always home late again and couldn’t sleep enough because I had to get up in the middle of the night to report for duty in the headmaster’s office long before sunrise. Somewhere in the meantime, I had to try and intercept the threatening letters from the government so I could hide them from my parents. Exhausted, I started daydreaming and messing up even more, which led to more threats, punishment, missed classes, forgotten assignments, bad grades, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to improve. Even though I desperately wanted to. It was a Catch-22 situation.
The pressure was absurd and it’s become a point of reference for me. If my brain had been capable of planning and getting organised, surely I would have learned then.
Instead, I was in serious danger of not graduating at all, after a while. By that point, I was running around half-dressed, cycling in a skirt with bare legs and wet hair in the middle of winter, always in a panic, pale, underfed, with dark circles under my eyes, until a couple of teachers seemed to decide that enough was enough. One by one, they defied the headmaster by pretending they couldn’t see me opening doors after the second bell and insisting my homework was suddenly always done (it wasn’t). I had an excellent memory, so the simple act of letting me stay in their classrooms during the lessons catapulted me to the top of those respective classes. I graduated, but only thanks to their mercy.
I had to keep showing up for punishment daily until I was excused a couple of weeks before the national final exams. Nobody ever seemed to question whether I was unorganised on purpose or if I *deserved* to be the kid who was punished more than anyone else in the school. It only seemed to confuse the obvious punks who were sometimes in detention with me for things like using graffiti on an outbuilding, sabotaging a teacher’s car or building a bomb in an empty can of Pringles to blow up a toilet. The boys asked skeptically what boring little me could possibly have done that was so bad and their questions made sense; I was this polite girl in a skirt who would never even attempt to stick chewing gum under a desk. But I didn’t know why or how everything went wrong all the time. Teachers had been punishing me ever since I was 5 when I regularly had to stand in the hallway outside the classroom for being late or loud, staying after school because my handwriting was supposedly bad on purpose, not trying hard enough to learn how to tie my shoes and failing, drifting off without finishing something, etc, etc.
When I went to college for my bachelor’s degree, I met the first person who realised I simply needed help. He also was a student and commented on my near-empty pocket diary; I’d only scribbled in the games and training sessions with the sports team I’d joined. He suddenly understood my repeated questions to the tune of ‘Wait, what assignment? A deadline? TOMORROW?!’ As the son of two psychologists, he connected my chronic lateness, the daydreaming, the clumsiness, the chaotic demeanour and the way I never seemed to stop moving with my bare dayplanner and he sat me down behind a computer to sign me up for Gmail and Google Calendar. He also introduced me to Wunderlist. He thought it would help with me losing and forgetting things all the time. It helped somewhat, especially when emails pertaining to events automatically started showing up in the Calendar. It was better than nothing, but it didn’t change my style of dumpster-fire-management to ‘plan’ my day. (Or, more accurately: have the day happen to me in a blur.) Students with ADHD in college also started diagnosing me (almost from across the room sometimes) and spontaneously offered their Ritalin. They were an awesome bunch. Unfortunately, methylphenidate made me fall asleep in the middle of the day, so I thought it was a dead end.
After college, I believe I was supposed to install and configure iCal for 2 separate professional jobs? I never got around to it. (The quality of my work was always good, so people thought it was odd, but nobody complained.)
Through the years, I started using Google Calendar more for birthdays, other recurring items, Facebook events, weddings, funerals and vacations. I tried to practise with appointments and reminders. This was a little hit and miss, especially because I still forgot to actually open Google Calendar and I also tended to not prepare for these happenings until the last minute. My husband, who met me when I was 25, attached his calendar to mine pretty soon in the relationship to help out, put things on my calendar and remind me of stuff. It didn't hurt that he has a top psychologist in his family, who noticed my ADHD without me even mentioning anything. Around the same time my husband heard an item on the radio about ADHD in women and called from the car yelling: “You have ADHD! You have all the symptoms! Everything! If you don’t have it, I’ll eat a hat. I’ll eat a store filled with hats.” I still didn't see the point of treatment then, but he’s been operating as if I were already diagnosed ever since. In the years that followed, two of my siblings got diagnosed before me.
So that's my natural level of executive functioning. Technically, I have a calendar, and a husband who helps me use it. Mission accomplished. (Not really though).
Step 2: Gather all your tasks in one place. So my therapist thought it was suboptimal for me to keep writing down tasks on my hand, in a few notebooks, in two separate bullet journals, on random pieces of papers lying around like envelopes and receipts, in Todoist, in Google Tasks and on post-its in many shades stuck everywhere. Go figure. She wanted me to pick 1 place. I glared at her. But the concept made sense.
It really happens too often that I lose a task because I throw away a piece of paper, a gust of wind blows an old post-it behind my desk or I accidentally use hand sanitizer dissolving the ink on my hand. That’s just too silly. And that's in addition to the issue that I forget tasks simply because it's in a notebook I haven't opened in two weeks.
So I picked Todoist, because I already use it to make sense of small shared projects and I like it. I put most of my tasks in there (it’s a lot). I also installed a large widget on my phone to quickly enter tasks in the inbox as soon as I think of them. It's been working pretty well.
Step 3: Add a simple 1-2-3 priority and deadlines to your tasks This is where I started to feel nauseous. I’ve never distinguished between tasks by different levels in priority. I only added an exclamation mark to a list every now and again, for tasks that needed to happen ASAP (so, last week).
To my surprise, and maybe thanks to the dexamphetamines I’ve been prescribed, it wasn’t as undoable as I thought. Turns out, Todoist has different colors for priorities (I vaguely noticed the feature before, but never used it). Grey for no priority, blue for Priority 3, orange for P2 and red for P1. The colors make sense to me. Gauging the priority of a task seems hard, but I can tell you what color a task is. I also know when a task has a real deadline and when one doesn’t. It took some effort and I struggled a bit with focus and decision fatigue, but I got it done and was quite proud of myself. Until step 4.
Step 4: Each morning, review the priorities you’ve assigned to your tasks, change priority levels, and plan your day and week accordingly. I had the biggest Error404. She wanted me to whatnow? I gave it a try. Stared at the list. Stared at the calendar. Went to get tea. Tried again. Got distracted for the rest of the day. Had to start over the next day because time had passed in which I’d officially planned to do something else. Spent half the day trying to ‘review the priority of tasks’ to plan, but got distracted by a related tasks that I thought I could knock off quickly, but it took much longer than I anticipated and I ended up not doing what I should have done that day. Gave up. Showed up empty handed at the ADHD Treatment Centre after one week.
The second week yielded essentially the same result. After the third week, I hadn’t even gotten around to giving it another go. My therapist was all encouraging words, reassuring me that setbacks were normal and that I just had to keep trying. But I already knew that this bar was too high. I felt resigned. I had such high hopes for ADHD-therapy and medication. I thought it would magically solve my problems and that somebody would finally tell me the secret to an organized life that had eluded me for all these years. Instead, the instructions were... very basic. And dexamphetamine did not enable me to sit down each day and just ‘review’ tasks and ‘plan’ my day and add ‘time blocks’. Like it’s easy, instead of a mind bendingly complicated puzzle that would consume a considerable amount of mental energy at the start of each day. (Which is how I know it’s never going to happen. I’ve learned that I need something simple enough that I can do it on my worst day.)
After 5 weeks without progress at the ADHD Treatment Centre, I mentioned that I sometimes use Goblin Tools to break down tasks. It helps me to figure out what has to be done, and it helps me get started. Goblin Tools was new for my therapist, so I heard myself explain it was just this website with AI that helps to break down tasks or figure out what to eat or how long something takes. I have it listed in my bookmarks bar in Google Chrome. When I left her office, I thought to myself that I needed a goblin ánd a pixy on my shoulder to tell me what to do. I stopped walking. What if pixies existed already as different AI tools?
Testing AI scheduling tools There are many organisational apps, some of which are very sleek and advanced, like Monday, Sunsama and Akiflow. However; they still require you to plan your day manually and that’s precisely the thing I struggle with. Which left me with Atlas AI, Trevor AI, Skedpal, Motion and Reclaim AI. (Purists will tell you that some of the software has as much to do with AI as the original Roller Coaster Tycoon, but for all intents and purposes, I’m going to refer to it as AI because that’s what we call it now even though it’s technically not artificial intelligence. Before ‘AI’ became a hype people would just refer to this as auto-scheduling or smart scheduling.)
Atlas AI This really is the most AI-rich of the selection. It looks promising for a lot more than schedule automation because its aim is to replace a real assistent, but it’s still in beta and I found that my ‘assistant’ didn’t always follow through. For instance, it can set timers, but it forgot to remind me when time was up, even though it said it would. It also planned only half of the appointments in Google Calendar that it said in black and white it would schedule. When I asked why this was the case, it replied that maybe it was my internet connection? Nice try, robot assistant who clearly learned everything from humans, including lying. Maybe next year or when it’s not in beta anymore I'll give it another go, but right now, I can’t afford for tasks and appointments to just disappear. (It’s also going to be quite expensive and geared towards business use, not personal organisation, so it was a long shot anyway.)
This left the 4 candidates more clearly dedicated to auto-scheduling my tasks on Google Calendar; Trevor AI, Skedpal, Motion App and Reclaim AI.
Trevor AI Trevor is the official ‘AI’ partner of Todoist, so it made sense to try this one, but I thought integration wasn’t that smooth. The ‘smart scheduling’ only happened after I accepted suggestions and that worked only for things I’d attached a date to. I often don’t add a solid deadline to tasks, so Trevor suggested that I buy a present for Fathers Day come June ASAP even though the task had no (=grey) priority attached and I did have much more pressing tasks at the time (this was back in april). I tried to get auto-scheduling to work, but found that I just had to drag tasks in myself to get what I wanted. I also couldn’t really figure out how it would automatically adjust my schedule after, you know, life happened, even though that’s listed as a feature. I got frustrated. Part of my tasks seemed to be missing. I actually tried twice and also removed Trevor twice.
If you prefer dragging tasks into a schedule yourself and only smart-schedule some items, or smart schedule by hand, this might be a decent option. But in that case, there are many other apps who assist with that, like Sunsama. A big part is also my brain. I couldn’t intuitively use Trevor and kept clicking on the wrong things, had to undo scheduling, that sort of thing. My biggest issue was that I couldn't get fully automated scheduling to work, but that could be my fault. It’s my impression Trever wasn’t originally meant to do that though, it’s more of a smart tool to help you see your tasks and your calendar side-by-side and decide what goes where, with some suggestions from Trevor.
Trevor is relatively affordable. You can use a basic version for free, or upgrade for smart features all the Pro-features for $3.99/mo or $36/year.
Skedpal Skedpal is reasonably (medium) priced software for smart scheduling with a wide array of options and great reviews. Project management is one of the extra attractive features. But I also noticed the interface looks a little bare bones and dated. The instruction videos are 5 years old and the blog was deserted 2 years ago. I found some old information on an app that made it seem like it wasn’t being updated? Skedpal is asking for 15 dollars a month or 10 dollars per month with a yearly subscription, which is decent, but not cheap. Ideally, you’d pick the yearly option in this case, but the idea of paying 120 dollars up front for a tool that might have been quietly abandoned or won’t receive updates anymore made me pause. If I’m going to invest money and the time to learn how to use a tool, I’d like to be able to trust that it’s going be around in the coming years. So I put Skedpal on my Plan B-pile.
However, I checked this today, to make sure, and noticed there were actually some recent tweets on X by Skedpal and also a message about beta-testing for Skedpal 3 last Januari. Skedpal is probably alive and well.I found various reviews for Skepal on social media, including from someone with ADHD, who said Skedpal worked better for them than Motion. This is saying something because there seems to be a consensus amongst reviewers that Motion is the best auto-scheduling tool on the market. It wasn’t for me though.
Motion AI After reading all the positive reviews about the high price tag that was deemed to be worth it (34 dollars a month, or $19 p/m when billed annually), my expectations were high as well. I really spent time trying to get Motion to work for me in the trial week, installing Zapier, importing tasks, getting several different apps integrated, but I found Motion to be annoyingly glitchy. I'm not the only one complaining about it either, so I'm pretty sure it wasn't my computer this time.
I ran into a particularly frustrating bug and I tried everything to solve it. I even changed the times in which tasks could be scheduled to free space to put something in, but it still wouldn’t schedule it and kept showing a ‘scheduling-conflict’ for no reason. I could solve all the other ‘scheduling conflicts’ easily enough, but this block of 2 hours just wouldn’t click into the free space for 2 hours and I couldn’t find out why. I spent hours and hours, watched videos in an effort to troubleshoot, some twice, kept asking the AI on the Motion website what could be the problem and I really, really couldn’t get it to work for me. (My frustration boiled over at one point; it wasn't pretty.)
The options on paper are amazing and endless. The task management feature is like Monday, with projects moving through stages, and it's automatized. Or you can star an important e-mail in Gmail, which can trigger Zapier to send it as a task to Motion, then Motion automatically puts it on your Calendar. (However, you could also add the e-mail to Google Tasks or Todiost via the buttons or plug-ins, and if those task managers are connected to any of the auto-scheduling tools listed here, the email would also show up on you Calendar.) It's enough to make anyone salivate.
Motion is not a match for my brain though, in part because of the bug, but it also felt a bit rigid. The system prefers that you put tasks straight into Motion directly, which makes sense and is possible, but auto-schedulers obviously require information on a task, like priority, how much time you estimate a task would take and a deadline. In Motion, a task without that information won’t be scheduled at all. But I know that I’m the kind of person who shoots a half-finished thought in the Todoist inbox without adding details until later (though I could forget) and I also don’t believe that every task needs those details (for instance, because it’s low priority and would roughly take me an hour, which should be default). I also couldn’t download/import tasks from Todoist and Google Tasks directly; only new ones or solo tasks came through with Zapier, and I spent a lot of time on that as well to get the prompts working. In the end, the tool was too hard for my brain to use and I also thought it wasn’t worth the high price point for me. However: the price is considerably lower for teams and that’s supposedly where Motion shines, also because of the project management with stages feature. I think it’s not originally geared towards personal use.
Reclaim AI I was flabbergasted that Reclaim immediately worked for me, I didn't think it was going to happen anymore. It hadn’t made the top of the list for me for several reasons. The look didn’t appeal to me much, the only app is a web-app and reviewers online consistently declared Motion the better app. I also read on the internet in older posts that people were missing certain functions that Motion had, like automatically re-scheduling tasks you haven’t marked as completed, or theming days for certain tasks, or how the program would prioritise longer tasks over urgent ones. So I'd written Reclaim off. But as soon as I tried Reclaim anyway, I stumbled across all the supposedly missing functions in the settings and instruction videos. Maybe the tool has been improved recently? Reclaim does still have an issue with recurring tasks from Todoist though. I didn't have those, so it wasn't an issue for me, but it probably is for a lot of people. Reclaim also leaves the big task management to other, existing apps and just plans everything. Motion and Skedpal do also incorporate project management within the tool. Reclaim seems to be geared a little more towards personal planning and also incorporating habits during the day, like taking a walk outside.
How visually attractive it is, is also easily adjusted (I’d assumed you were stuck with hip shades of purple), but it's actually irrelevant. I’m starting to feel like that’s almost the best thing about it. Reclaim is much more a tool doing the thinking for you in the background, unseen. I don’t really need to change my behaviour much. I’m still using my own task manager to braindump in and Reclaim schedules everything in Google Calendar. Because the connection goes both ways, I technically don't have to open Reclaim at all. I’ve taken to adding the estimated time a task will take in Todoist itself, but you can also do it in Reclaim or in Google Tasks if that's your task manager (Reclaim automatically sends you the shorthand when you connect Google Tasks). You can also change the default duration of tasks.
For the first time in my life, I have a fully planned schedule, exactly as I need it, in the time slots where I need it. Every day. Like a proper adult. I'm almost giddy. (Sure, I’m still severely underestimating how long tasks will take, but I can just add time or the machine will automatically reschedule it for me. I’ve set automatic rescheduling to after 1 day in the settings. Default is 3 days or only when time is added.)
I know what to do and when. I can stop worrying about that thing that I’m probably forgetting that I should really do first, because it’s all there in Google Calendar. And whenever I disagree with the planning, I can change the priority in Todoist/Google Tasks, go to Reclaim directly and drag the task to where I need it, or bump the task down the list showing the order decided by Reclaim. So that's pretty flexible. If tasks need more time to complete, I can just add time or click on the + button. When I add an appointment in Google Calendar, Reclaim automatically reschedules my whole calendar. When I add a task in ToDoist or Google Tasks, it’s automatically added to Google Calendar based on the priority and/or deadline I’ve added to the task.
When life happens and I only manage half the planned tasks that day (or much less), I used to have a brain-error and think ‘oh no, I did all that hard work making a planning for the week for nothing, EVERYTHING IS RUINED’. Seriously. But Reclaim just re-plans those tasks for the next day and shuffles everything else down the line. It’s just so nice to not have to think about it myself. To actually see tasks planned in time-frames, making visual what I could achieve that week (and what is definitely outside of the realm of possibilities because time is a limited resource, no matter what my brain says). Having a schedule that's always up to date makes using a calendar a lot easier.
I guess it was time, too. A long list of tasks never indicated anything to me anyway. Everything could be 5 minutes long or 10 hours long. Who knew? It felt abstract, even when I tried the Alastair Method in Bullet Journal. (Still my favourite way to do it manually on paper though, I just can't keep it up for more than 2 weeks.) Seeing all the tasks scheduled gives me more of a feeling of urgency that a static list doesn't. So not only do I know where to get started, on what and when, I actually get more done because I don’t wake up thinking ‘ooooh, another saturday… nothing planned… let’s learn to make homemade blocks of soap even though I still have 10 bottles of shower gel left!’
You can use Reclaim for free, surprisingly. I think it’s currently the only one on this list that auto-schedules for free. Free use is possible with a few basic apps like Google Calendar and Google Tasks, which makes auto-scheduling accessible for students with ADHD as well. Use with more specialised apps, including Zapier and Todoist, or extra scheduling links (for booking online meetings with clients, for instance) require a subscription starting at $10 a month or $8 when billed yearly.
I went back to my therapist and could tell her I made progress in a way I didn’t think possible. So if this is you, don’t give up hope yet and hold off on quitting therapy. See if there is a tool for you out there and how far it takes you.
Any auto-scheduling tool will definitely have a learning curve for most people, and you do need to look at the settings to determine what you want the program to do. It will cost time to set up, so it's smart to get a feel whether or not a tool would work for you, if you'd be able to add a level of priority or deadline to tasks at some point and what you'd need the tool to do. But there are plenty of tutorials on the internet, both long and short to help you get started. Goblin Tools is also free and nice to use for breaking down tasks to help get started some more (I’ll just put the links in a comment below). I hope that tools like these will continue to develop, so people who struggle with executive functioning can really lean on them. Just like glasses, a hearing aid or crutches.
I hope this helps someone out there. Thanks for reading this insane amount of text.
P.S. For simple recurring daily routines, I like the app Tiimo and a smart watch. But that’s a different story. :)
submitted by Sinspiration to adhdwomen [link] [comments]
The relief when I got an auto-scheduling tool working for me… I can’t even describe it. I use a calendar now. Me! With an actual planning that’s automatically up-to-date the whole time. I know this wouldn’t be a big deal for anyone with normal executive functions, but I’ve never had this. I still felt like the stupidest kid in ADHD-class that I couldn’t do it the ‘normal’ way though, so I just said something offhand to my treatment coordinator at the Center, like: “Oh, by the way, the executive functioning coaching, I just couldn't do it, so I’m having AI do it for me now.” Waving a hand in the air, rolling my eyes at my own silly shortcomings, adopting this apologetic tone I often find myself using, basically saying; I’m sorry that I’m such an idiot I couldn’t even do X, Y or Z, and sorry to be cheating on your program, it’s me, not you, I’m just incapable of doing anything correctly. (Yeah, ADHD did a number on my self-esteem, which was one of my main reasons for seeking help.) To my horror, she told me she had a crying girl in her office recently who quit therapy because she, like me, ‘just couldn’t do it’. In fact, patients with ADHD regularly get so desperate that they give up.
Then I spoke to the psychologist giving the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to ADHD-patients and she estimated roughly half of her patients genuinely can’t learn to plan by themselves. HALF! So I’m not some strange outlier at all. When I told her about auto-scheduling, her eyebrows shot up. “We’ve been teaching people to plan manually, but if what you’re saying exists… maybe we shouldn’t anymore.”
So here’s the thing. I want this information to be out there on the internet for people like me, because we need it the most. And because most of the information on relevant planning tools that I found was written by and for neurotypicals. Neurotypicals seemingly like holistic approaches and pretty apps, sitting down with matcha tea or coffee in the morning for 15 minutes to plan their day. Good for them, but that option is a non-starter for my ADHD-brain. After 4 months with dexamphetamine, I’ve also become a prescriber to the thought that ‘pills don't build skills’. I love my meds, they help so much with focus and they calm down my overactive chipmunk-like brain, but they’re not made of actual magic. Pills can’t give you an extra frontal lobe or a personality transplant. My executive skills are still weak or non-existent. Some of my issues are remarkably similar to people who experience brain damage after an accident, and when you think about it like a disability (like needing glasses, crutches or a hearing-aid) there’s only so much that ‘trying harder’ or ‘talking about how that makes you feel’ can realistically accomplish.
IN SHORT (TL;DR) Yes, auto-scheduling tools can take over the brain-process of planning and I believe this can be helpful for the ADHD-brains struggling with planning, task management and knowing where to start. Of all the tools out there for tasks and planning, I found only 5 that promised to take over for my brain and think for me, namely: Motion, Trevor, Atlas, Reclaim and Skedpal. I looked at all these apps, tested 4 of them, and found that my brain is currently only compatible with Reclaim. YMMV though; there are very good reviews from people with ADHD for Skedpal and Motion as well. I highly recommend auto-scheduling for people with ADHD who are spinning their wheels trying to learn how to plan.
MY HISTORY WITH PLANNING AND MY EXPERIENCE TESTING THE TOOLS To explain how AI bridges the gap between what my brain can and can’t do, I will describe the 4 steps of standardised executive functioning training that I received as part of my ADHD-treatment and what worked for me. There are huge differences in how ADHD manifests. Not everyone struggles to the same degree with the same things. Below, I’ll describe my history with planning, the trouble I ran into in my life and therapy and the upper limits of what my brain can manage. Getting a feel for my type of ADHD should help to determine in what sort of situations auto-scheduling can be helpful. If my story doesn’t spark recognition, some other tool might be a better fit.
Below the 4 therapy-steps, I describe my experience testing the 5 different tools and some of their specs/features. (Sorry, the first section is so long, skipping and scrolling down to the test-section is an option.)
Step 1: Pick a calendar and start using it. I felt a little uneasy when therapy started with this, because it reminded me of the first time I had to use a calendar in high school. I was almost 12 years old. The class-tutor handed out a bunch of papers with assignments from our teachers and told us to plan our homework in accordance with our schedule. Everybody grabbed their cute pocket diaries with pictures of ponies and cars, and started writing. Except for me. In the silent classroom, I tried to grasp what my classmates were doing, what they were looking at and how they all seemed to know what to write down, but I couldn’t figure it out. Eventually, I shoved the papers away and leaned back in my chair. The tutor looked up, surprised. “What are you doing? You need to plan your homework,” he told me. I shrugged and said: “I’ll just remember it.” He got angry, but I felt too embarrassed to admit that I was the only one who didn’t *understand* the assignment, especially with the whole class listening.
In the end, I never learned how to plan, forgot assignments, didn’t do the homework and was late a lot, which led to near-endless punishment for tardiness during my 6 years of high school. I cleaned the whole school more often than I can count and always thought that I would somehow get everything under control as I got older, but my last year was the worst by far. That year, a new ex-military headmaster digitised the system for recording lateness and ordered a crackdown. Teachers had to refuse entrance into the classroom if you were even a second late and if your school ID got scanned more than 5 minutes after the start of class, you were not allowed to enter anymore. The only scanner was attached to a computer all the way on the ground floor of the main building, so I always had to run there, find someone to operate and they had to start the system, which often led to time maxing out and me missing class. The first day of the crackdown, I got written up (well, scanned) SIX times. Dumbstruck, the headmaster asked how I’d managed to do it. Truthfully, I had no idea. I just spaced out a lot and was surprised every time the bell rang and everyone stormed out of the classroom. Everyone, except for me. I still had to figure out how to declutter my little desk, how to fit everything in my backpack again, where I needed to go after that, not walk off in the wrong direction, that sort of thing.
The new rules led to a sharp drop in my attendance, which turned out to be illegal. Without ever meaning to, I was suddenly violating compulsory education laws and the government threatened community service for me and financial sanctions for my parents. The headmaster often had me called away from classes later in the day as well so I could receive new punishments that steadily grew in severity and duration from hours, to days, to weeks, to months and eventually to more daytime hours than were still left in the school year.
This all made sense, because if you punish a kid enough, they’ll eventually learn how to plan, use a calendar, get more organised and be on time... right?
Wrong. I was missing so much class I was barely being taught anything anymore. Suddenly I found myself taking tests I never saw coming about subjects I never even heard about. I had to invent so many answers on the spot that one teacher started reading my 'hilarious' tests to his wife to make her laugh. My grades plummeted. I basically had to be on the school premises from dusk till dawn for all my detention-hours, even though I had to cycle to school for over 15 miles (and back) and had to work in the evenings. I stopped having breakfast, had no time for dinner before work, was always home late again and couldn’t sleep enough because I had to get up in the middle of the night to report for duty in the headmaster’s office long before sunrise. Somewhere in the meantime, I had to try and intercept the threatening letters from the government so I could hide them from my parents. Exhausted, I started daydreaming and messing up even more, which led to more threats, punishment, missed classes, forgotten assignments, bad grades, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to improve. Even though I desperately wanted to. It was a Catch-22 situation.
The pressure was absurd and it’s become a point of reference for me. If my brain had been capable of planning and getting organised, surely I would have learned then.
Instead, I was in serious danger of not graduating at all, after a while. By that point, I was running around half-dressed, cycling in a skirt with bare legs and wet hair in the middle of winter, always in a panic, pale, underfed, with dark circles under my eyes, until a couple of teachers seemed to decide that enough was enough. One by one, they defied the headmaster by pretending they couldn’t see me opening doors after the second bell and insisting my homework was suddenly always done (it wasn’t). I had an excellent memory, so the simple act of letting me stay in their classrooms during the lessons catapulted me to the top of those respective classes. I graduated, but only thanks to their mercy.
I had to keep showing up for punishment daily until I was excused a couple of weeks before the national final exams. Nobody ever seemed to question whether I was unorganised on purpose or if I *deserved* to be the kid who was punished more than anyone else in the school. It only seemed to confuse the obvious punks who were sometimes in detention with me for things like using graffiti on an outbuilding, sabotaging a teacher’s car or building a bomb in an empty can of Pringles to blow up a toilet. The boys asked skeptically what boring little me could possibly have done that was so bad and their questions made sense; I was this polite girl in a skirt who would never even attempt to stick chewing gum under a desk. But I didn’t know why or how everything went wrong all the time. Teachers had been punishing me ever since I was 5 when I regularly had to stand in the hallway outside the classroom for being late or loud, staying after school because my handwriting was supposedly bad on purpose, not trying hard enough to learn how to tie my shoes and failing, drifting off without finishing something, etc, etc.
When I went to college for my bachelor’s degree, I met the first person who realised I simply needed help. He also was a student and commented on my near-empty pocket diary; I’d only scribbled in the games and training sessions with the sports team I’d joined. He suddenly understood my repeated questions to the tune of ‘Wait, what assignment? A deadline? TOMORROW?!’ As the son of two psychologists, he connected my chronic lateness, the daydreaming, the clumsiness, the chaotic demeanour and the way I never seemed to stop moving with my bare dayplanner and he sat me down behind a computer to sign me up for Gmail and Google Calendar. He also introduced me to Wunderlist. He thought it would help with me losing and forgetting things all the time. It helped somewhat, especially when emails pertaining to events automatically started showing up in the Calendar. It was better than nothing, but it didn’t change my style of dumpster-fire-management to ‘plan’ my day. (Or, more accurately: have the day happen to me in a blur.) Students with ADHD in college also started diagnosing me (almost from across the room sometimes) and spontaneously offered their Ritalin. They were an awesome bunch. Unfortunately, methylphenidate made me fall asleep in the middle of the day, so I thought it was a dead end.
After college, I believe I was supposed to install and configure iCal for 2 separate professional jobs? I never got around to it. (The quality of my work was always good, so people thought it was odd, but nobody complained.)
Through the years, I started using Google Calendar more for birthdays, other recurring items, Facebook events, weddings, funerals and vacations. I tried to practise with appointments and reminders. This was a little hit and miss, especially because I still forgot to actually open Google Calendar and I also tended to not prepare for these happenings until the last minute. My husband, who met me when I was 25, attached his calendar to mine pretty soon in the relationship to help out, put things on my calendar and remind me of stuff. It didn't hurt that he has a top psychologist in his family, who noticed my ADHD without me even mentioning anything. Around the same time my husband heard an item on the radio about ADHD in women and called from the car yelling: “You have ADHD! You have all the symptoms! Everything! If you don’t have it, I’ll eat a hat. I’ll eat a store filled with hats.” I still didn't see the point of treatment then, but he’s been operating as if I were already diagnosed ever since. In the years that followed, two of my siblings got diagnosed before me.
So that's my natural level of executive functioning. Technically, I have a calendar, and a husband who helps me use it. Mission accomplished. (Not really though).
Step 2: Gather all your tasks in one place. So my therapist thought it was suboptimal for me to keep writing down tasks on my hand, in a few notebooks, in two separate bullet journals, on random pieces of papers lying around like envelopes and receipts, in Todoist, in Google Tasks and on post-its in many shades stuck everywhere. Go figure. She wanted me to pick 1 place. I glared at her. But the concept made sense.
It really happens too often that I lose a task because I throw away a piece of paper, a gust of wind blows an old post-it behind my desk or I accidentally use hand sanitizer dissolving the ink on my hand. That’s just too silly. And that's in addition to the issue that I forget tasks simply because it's in a notebook I haven't opened in two weeks.
So I picked Todoist, because I already use it to make sense of small shared projects and I like it. I put most of my tasks in there (it’s a lot). I also installed a large widget on my phone to quickly enter tasks in the inbox as soon as I think of them. It's been working pretty well.
Step 3: Add a simple 1-2-3 priority and deadlines to your tasks This is where I started to feel nauseous. I’ve never distinguished between tasks by different levels in priority. I only added an exclamation mark to a list every now and again, for tasks that needed to happen ASAP (so, last week).
To my surprise, and maybe thanks to the dexamphetamines I’ve been prescribed, it wasn’t as undoable as I thought. Turns out, Todoist has different colors for priorities (I vaguely noticed the feature before, but never used it). Grey for no priority, blue for Priority 3, orange for P2 and red for P1. The colors make sense to me. Gauging the priority of a task seems hard, but I can tell you what color a task is. I also know when a task has a real deadline and when one doesn’t. It took some effort and I struggled a bit with focus and decision fatigue, but I got it done and was quite proud of myself. Until step 4.
Step 4: Each morning, review the priorities you’ve assigned to your tasks, change priority levels, and plan your day and week accordingly. I had the biggest Error404. She wanted me to whatnow? I gave it a try. Stared at the list. Stared at the calendar. Went to get tea. Tried again. Got distracted for the rest of the day. Had to start over the next day because time had passed in which I’d officially planned to do something else. Spent half the day trying to ‘review the priority of tasks’ to plan, but got distracted by a related tasks that I thought I could knock off quickly, but it took much longer than I anticipated and I ended up not doing what I should have done that day. Gave up. Showed up empty handed at the ADHD Treatment Centre after one week.
The second week yielded essentially the same result. After the third week, I hadn’t even gotten around to giving it another go. My therapist was all encouraging words, reassuring me that setbacks were normal and that I just had to keep trying. But I already knew that this bar was too high. I felt resigned. I had such high hopes for ADHD-therapy and medication. I thought it would magically solve my problems and that somebody would finally tell me the secret to an organized life that had eluded me for all these years. Instead, the instructions were... very basic. And dexamphetamine did not enable me to sit down each day and just ‘review’ tasks and ‘plan’ my day and add ‘time blocks’. Like it’s easy, instead of a mind bendingly complicated puzzle that would consume a considerable amount of mental energy at the start of each day. (Which is how I know it’s never going to happen. I’ve learned that I need something simple enough that I can do it on my worst day.)
After 5 weeks without progress at the ADHD Treatment Centre, I mentioned that I sometimes use Goblin Tools to break down tasks. It helps me to figure out what has to be done, and it helps me get started. Goblin Tools was new for my therapist, so I heard myself explain it was just this website with AI that helps to break down tasks or figure out what to eat or how long something takes. I have it listed in my bookmarks bar in Google Chrome. When I left her office, I thought to myself that I needed a goblin ánd a pixy on my shoulder to tell me what to do. I stopped walking. What if pixies existed already as different AI tools?
Testing AI scheduling tools There are many organisational apps, some of which are very sleek and advanced, like Monday, Sunsama and Akiflow. However; they still require you to plan your day manually and that’s precisely the thing I struggle with. Which left me with Atlas AI, Trevor AI, Skedpal, Motion and Reclaim AI. (Purists will tell you that some of the software has as much to do with AI as the original Roller Coaster Tycoon, but for all intents and purposes, I’m going to refer to it as AI because that’s what we call it now even though it’s technically not artificial intelligence. Before ‘AI’ became a hype people would just refer to this as auto-scheduling or smart scheduling.)
Atlas AI This really is the most AI-rich of the selection. It looks promising for a lot more than schedule automation because its aim is to replace a real assistent, but it’s still in beta and I found that my ‘assistant’ didn’t always follow through. For instance, it can set timers, but it forgot to remind me when time was up, even though it said it would. It also planned only half of the appointments in Google Calendar that it said in black and white it would schedule. When I asked why this was the case, it replied that maybe it was my internet connection? Nice try, robot assistant who clearly learned everything from humans, including lying. Maybe next year or when it’s not in beta anymore I'll give it another go, but right now, I can’t afford for tasks and appointments to just disappear. (It’s also going to be quite expensive and geared towards business use, not personal organisation, so it was a long shot anyway.)
This left the 4 candidates more clearly dedicated to auto-scheduling my tasks on Google Calendar; Trevor AI, Skedpal, Motion App and Reclaim AI.
Trevor AI Trevor is the official ‘AI’ partner of Todoist, so it made sense to try this one, but I thought integration wasn’t that smooth. The ‘smart scheduling’ only happened after I accepted suggestions and that worked only for things I’d attached a date to. I often don’t add a solid deadline to tasks, so Trevor suggested that I buy a present for Fathers Day come June ASAP even though the task had no (=grey) priority attached and I did have much more pressing tasks at the time (this was back in april). I tried to get auto-scheduling to work, but found that I just had to drag tasks in myself to get what I wanted. I also couldn’t really figure out how it would automatically adjust my schedule after, you know, life happened, even though that’s listed as a feature. I got frustrated. Part of my tasks seemed to be missing. I actually tried twice and also removed Trevor twice.
If you prefer dragging tasks into a schedule yourself and only smart-schedule some items, or smart schedule by hand, this might be a decent option. But in that case, there are many other apps who assist with that, like Sunsama. A big part is also my brain. I couldn’t intuitively use Trevor and kept clicking on the wrong things, had to undo scheduling, that sort of thing. My biggest issue was that I couldn't get fully automated scheduling to work, but that could be my fault. It’s my impression Trever wasn’t originally meant to do that though, it’s more of a smart tool to help you see your tasks and your calendar side-by-side and decide what goes where, with some suggestions from Trevor.
Trevor is relatively affordable. You can use a basic version for free, or upgrade for smart features all the Pro-features for $3.99/mo or $36/year.
Skedpal Skedpal is reasonably (medium) priced software for smart scheduling with a wide array of options and great reviews. Project management is one of the extra attractive features. But I also noticed the interface looks a little bare bones and dated. The instruction videos are 5 years old and the blog was deserted 2 years ago. I found some old information on an app that made it seem like it wasn’t being updated? Skedpal is asking for 15 dollars a month or 10 dollars per month with a yearly subscription, which is decent, but not cheap. Ideally, you’d pick the yearly option in this case, but the idea of paying 120 dollars up front for a tool that might have been quietly abandoned or won’t receive updates anymore made me pause. If I’m going to invest money and the time to learn how to use a tool, I’d like to be able to trust that it’s going be around in the coming years. So I put Skedpal on my Plan B-pile.
However, I checked this today, to make sure, and noticed there were actually some recent tweets on X by Skedpal and also a message about beta-testing for Skedpal 3 last Januari. Skedpal is probably alive and well.I found various reviews for Skepal on social media, including from someone with ADHD, who said Skedpal worked better for them than Motion. This is saying something because there seems to be a consensus amongst reviewers that Motion is the best auto-scheduling tool on the market. It wasn’t for me though.
Motion AI After reading all the positive reviews about the high price tag that was deemed to be worth it (34 dollars a month, or $19 p/m when billed annually), my expectations were high as well. I really spent time trying to get Motion to work for me in the trial week, installing Zapier, importing tasks, getting several different apps integrated, but I found Motion to be annoyingly glitchy. I'm not the only one complaining about it either, so I'm pretty sure it wasn't my computer this time.
I ran into a particularly frustrating bug and I tried everything to solve it. I even changed the times in which tasks could be scheduled to free space to put something in, but it still wouldn’t schedule it and kept showing a ‘scheduling-conflict’ for no reason. I could solve all the other ‘scheduling conflicts’ easily enough, but this block of 2 hours just wouldn’t click into the free space for 2 hours and I couldn’t find out why. I spent hours and hours, watched videos in an effort to troubleshoot, some twice, kept asking the AI on the Motion website what could be the problem and I really, really couldn’t get it to work for me. (My frustration boiled over at one point; it wasn't pretty.)
The options on paper are amazing and endless. The task management feature is like Monday, with projects moving through stages, and it's automatized. Or you can star an important e-mail in Gmail, which can trigger Zapier to send it as a task to Motion, then Motion automatically puts it on your Calendar. (However, you could also add the e-mail to Google Tasks or Todiost via the buttons or plug-ins, and if those task managers are connected to any of the auto-scheduling tools listed here, the email would also show up on you Calendar.) It's enough to make anyone salivate.
Motion is not a match for my brain though, in part because of the bug, but it also felt a bit rigid. The system prefers that you put tasks straight into Motion directly, which makes sense and is possible, but auto-schedulers obviously require information on a task, like priority, how much time you estimate a task would take and a deadline. In Motion, a task without that information won’t be scheduled at all. But I know that I’m the kind of person who shoots a half-finished thought in the Todoist inbox without adding details until later (though I could forget) and I also don’t believe that every task needs those details (for instance, because it’s low priority and would roughly take me an hour, which should be default). I also couldn’t download/import tasks from Todoist and Google Tasks directly; only new ones or solo tasks came through with Zapier, and I spent a lot of time on that as well to get the prompts working. In the end, the tool was too hard for my brain to use and I also thought it wasn’t worth the high price point for me. However: the price is considerably lower for teams and that’s supposedly where Motion shines, also because of the project management with stages feature. I think it’s not originally geared towards personal use.
Reclaim AI I was flabbergasted that Reclaim immediately worked for me, I didn't think it was going to happen anymore. It hadn’t made the top of the list for me for several reasons. The look didn’t appeal to me much, the only app is a web-app and reviewers online consistently declared Motion the better app. I also read on the internet in older posts that people were missing certain functions that Motion had, like automatically re-scheduling tasks you haven’t marked as completed, or theming days for certain tasks, or how the program would prioritise longer tasks over urgent ones. So I'd written Reclaim off. But as soon as I tried Reclaim anyway, I stumbled across all the supposedly missing functions in the settings and instruction videos. Maybe the tool has been improved recently? Reclaim does still have an issue with recurring tasks from Todoist though. I didn't have those, so it wasn't an issue for me, but it probably is for a lot of people. Reclaim also leaves the big task management to other, existing apps and just plans everything. Motion and Skedpal do also incorporate project management within the tool. Reclaim seems to be geared a little more towards personal planning and also incorporating habits during the day, like taking a walk outside.
How visually attractive it is, is also easily adjusted (I’d assumed you were stuck with hip shades of purple), but it's actually irrelevant. I’m starting to feel like that’s almost the best thing about it. Reclaim is much more a tool doing the thinking for you in the background, unseen. I don’t really need to change my behaviour much. I’m still using my own task manager to braindump in and Reclaim schedules everything in Google Calendar. Because the connection goes both ways, I technically don't have to open Reclaim at all. I’ve taken to adding the estimated time a task will take in Todoist itself, but you can also do it in Reclaim or in Google Tasks if that's your task manager (Reclaim automatically sends you the shorthand when you connect Google Tasks). You can also change the default duration of tasks.
For the first time in my life, I have a fully planned schedule, exactly as I need it, in the time slots where I need it. Every day. Like a proper adult. I'm almost giddy. (Sure, I’m still severely underestimating how long tasks will take, but I can just add time or the machine will automatically reschedule it for me. I’ve set automatic rescheduling to after 1 day in the settings. Default is 3 days or only when time is added.)
I know what to do and when. I can stop worrying about that thing that I’m probably forgetting that I should really do first, because it’s all there in Google Calendar. And whenever I disagree with the planning, I can change the priority in Todoist/Google Tasks, go to Reclaim directly and drag the task to where I need it, or bump the task down the list showing the order decided by Reclaim. So that's pretty flexible. If tasks need more time to complete, I can just add time or click on the + button. When I add an appointment in Google Calendar, Reclaim automatically reschedules my whole calendar. When I add a task in ToDoist or Google Tasks, it’s automatically added to Google Calendar based on the priority and/or deadline I’ve added to the task.
When life happens and I only manage half the planned tasks that day (or much less), I used to have a brain-error and think ‘oh no, I did all that hard work making a planning for the week for nothing, EVERYTHING IS RUINED’. Seriously. But Reclaim just re-plans those tasks for the next day and shuffles everything else down the line. It’s just so nice to not have to think about it myself. To actually see tasks planned in time-frames, making visual what I could achieve that week (and what is definitely outside of the realm of possibilities because time is a limited resource, no matter what my brain says). Having a schedule that's always up to date makes using a calendar a lot easier.
I guess it was time, too. A long list of tasks never indicated anything to me anyway. Everything could be 5 minutes long or 10 hours long. Who knew? It felt abstract, even when I tried the Alastair Method in Bullet Journal. (Still my favourite way to do it manually on paper though, I just can't keep it up for more than 2 weeks.) Seeing all the tasks scheduled gives me more of a feeling of urgency that a static list doesn't. So not only do I know where to get started, on what and when, I actually get more done because I don’t wake up thinking ‘ooooh, another saturday… nothing planned… let’s learn to make homemade blocks of soap even though I still have 10 bottles of shower gel left!’
You can use Reclaim for free, surprisingly. I think it’s currently the only one on this list that auto-schedules for free. Free use is possible with a few basic apps like Google Calendar and Google Tasks, which makes auto-scheduling accessible for students with ADHD as well. Use with more specialised apps, including Zapier and Todoist, or extra scheduling links (for booking online meetings with clients, for instance) require a subscription starting at $10 a month or $8 when billed yearly.
I went back to my therapist and could tell her I made progress in a way I didn’t think possible. So if this is you, don’t give up hope yet and hold off on quitting therapy. See if there is a tool for you out there and how far it takes you.
Any auto-scheduling tool will definitely have a learning curve for most people, and you do need to look at the settings to determine what you want the program to do. It will cost time to set up, so it's smart to get a feel whether or not a tool would work for you, if you'd be able to add a level of priority or deadline to tasks at some point and what you'd need the tool to do. But there are plenty of tutorials on the internet, both long and short to help you get started. Goblin Tools is also free and nice to use for breaking down tasks to help get started some more (I’ll just put the links in a comment below). I hope that tools like these will continue to develop, so people who struggle with executive functioning can really lean on them. Just like glasses, a hearing aid or crutches.
I hope this helps someone out there. Thanks for reading this insane amount of text.
P.S. For simple recurring daily routines, I like the app Tiimo and a smart watch. But that’s a different story. :)
2024.05.05 17:14 Jackofallbrains Aquatic adventure
It’s a Friday afternoon in Yokohama; the rays shine down on the street, and the cotton in the sky is scattered, revealing an angelic blue amongst the hidden stars. People in the town were once again scarce. However, it didn’t bother Moniz much because she is meeting Guinness today for ice cream.
Guinness thought of the idea. She didn’t say the tone of the meeting, whether it’s going to be a conversation about the hostages, a friendly exchange, or maybe something with romantic undertones. I mean, she had kissed Moniz’s hand. Or what if she was just French? She should ask her.
Arriving at the Ice Cream shop, Guinness is sitting at a two person table. The chairs were made out of black metal, with hearts intricately wired in the back of the seat. The table was small and made out of black metal as well with a fishnet like pattern in the center. Guinness smiles at Moniz and waves towards her. She hadn’t ordered anything yet. Maybe Guinness was waiting for her?
Moniz sits down at the seat across from her, hanging her purse from the chair she was seated in. “Hey Guin!” She smiles. “Oh wait- I haven’t talked to you too much- is it okay if I call you a nickname?”
Guinness laughs, and waves her hand up and down. “Oh, of course! It’s not like we’re running a business here, Moniz. Plus, everybody calls me that. Winnie, Raymond, everyone else I can think of. You want to get some ice cream with me? Don’t wanna miss out, do you?”
Moniz nods, getting up from the chair. “Why would I miss out on that? C’mon!”
Guinness and Moniz both walk up to the serving area. The young employee seems nervous. He’s tapping his fingers loudly on the countertop, and his eyebags sink into his skin. He seems exhausted. His voice speaks with a quiver, “What would you like?”
“Hellooo!” Moniz smiles at the man. “I think I’d like… hm…” She looks towards the selection, but it’s practically overwhelming! There were so many flavors- pistachio, chocolate, vanilla, cotton candy, mango, peach, sherbet, napoleon-
Guinness taps on Moniz’s shoulder. “You want me to order first?” Moniz didn’t realize she’d been standing there for so long! How embarrassing.
“Oh! Mhm! If you don’t mind!” Moniz picks at her fingertips while attempting to decide. Sherbet or cotton candy? Oh, sprinkles too! What sprinkles?
Guinness’s red lips part to a smile, answering the man’s previous question. “I’d like a vanilla cone with a cherry on top, please.'' She looks towards Moniz, waiting for her to order as well.
Moniz quickly throws together a choice. “Uhm-! I’ll have a- a strawberry cone please!”
The worker hands the women their ice cream cones, and Guinness offers a hand out with cash to pay. Once they finish the interaction, the two walk through the empty streets of Yokohama, conversing back and forth.
“This feels unreal.” Guinness comments, taking a bite out of her ice cream. “I mean, second biggest town in Japan, not anyone out. Guess places are still on lockdown. Hey Moniz, do you know when everyone will be out?”
A squeamish look forms over Moniz’s face. From what she knew, they’d never be released. Raymond would never turn back, or any of the lobotomized for that matter. “I’m not sure. They don’t really tell me anything…”
Guinness’s polychromatic eyes look directly at Moniz with concern riddled inside them. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Well… I’m not the head of the place.”
“But surely you must have a plan, right?” Guinness adds on.
Moniz takes a bite out of her ice cream to break eye contact. “Uhm, well- I can see if I can convince them. I already tried before but, maybe I can convince my professor to?” Moniz foils with the cone, making light scratches into it.
Guinness looks off to an empty building with no lighting. “I surely hope you can.” A silence takes place for a minute or so, then Guinness speaks up once more. “Hey Moniz, you have a lot on your plate. How about we just… relax?”
“Relax?” Moniz cocks her head. She hadn’t relaxed in a long time because she didn’t know what she defined relaxing as. Brushing her mother’s hair? Gambling? Taking care of her pets?
Guinness nods. “Mhm- we can just walk the empty streets and talk about whatever. We don’t have to bring up the kidnappings. We can just talk like normal people, y’know?” A soft smile blooms across the woman’s lips.
Moniz returns the smile, nodding and taking a bite out of her cone. “Yeah! Okay!” This could be fun, an adventure even. Moniz wouldn’t have to do Syndicate things for the day, and she could go over to Ichazo’s house after to wind down. Yeah- this could be a good day!
Guinness glances around the town, and spots another empty building. The sign on the door states “CLOSED” with bold red lettering. The building appears to be a bakery. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, highlighting the area where pastries typically would be.
“A bakery. What a shame it’s closed.” Guinness sighs.
“Hm? Oh, are you into sweets and all that jazz?” Moniz inquires.
“Mhm! I mainly bake in my free time. It’s an escape for me. It’s so relaxing to just ice a cake or serve a treat to a loved one at the end of the day. I enjoy seeing them happy.”
“Aw! That’s sweet. Have you ever considered opening a bakery?”
Guinness looks back at the deserted pastry shop. “I have thought about it previously. I don’t know, it used to be my dream when I was younger, but dreams dry out sometimes.”
“Oh come on Guin! I bet you’re good at it! People would love it.”
“Well, I don’t know. This place is somewhat chaotic- what if no one came?”
“Pff- c’mon! Guinness, you’re super interesting. I’m sure people would want to come, even if it’s just to visit you.”
Guinness looks over to her and smiles shyly. “You really think so?”
Moniz nods. “Mhm! In fact, I could definitelyyy be a taste tester for you.”
“Oh really? And what should you test?”
“Blueberry scone.”
“Fine then! You can be a taste tester.” Guinness looks over to the left. “Oh! Moniz. Do you see the beach? It’s completely empty.”
Guinness was right. The beach was oddly empty. No umbrellas, no children, no fishers. It was abnormal, especially on a bright day like this. At the same time though, it was sort of an advantage. Without anyone on the beach, they could both do whatever they wanted.
“Yeah- it is! We should go.” Moniz suggests.
“Hm? Like, on the beach?” Guinness inquires.
“Yeah! Well, I’m not wearing anything too nice today. And plus, you’re wearing a sundress. Shouldn’t be too hard to clean.”
Guinness laughs. “But what about our heels? Sand’s hard to walk in.”
“Eh, fuck it. When’s the beach gonna be this empty again?” Moniz looks down at her heels. They’re tall and shiny with a t strap, but they should be fine if she just cleans them. “And I’d say my heels are taller than yours!”
“Okay, okay. Fine.” Guinness takes a bite of her cone. “The ocean might be nice, just wish I brought sunscreen.”
Moniz tilts her head. “Hm? You have a sunhat, you should be alright.”
Guinness’s sunhat is made of straw, with a pink ribbon wrapping around it. The pink matches the rose prints on the green dress she’s wearing.
Guinness nods towards Moniz. “Yeah but I mean for you. What if you get burnt? Shoulder sunburns are the absolute worst.”
“I’ll be okay Guinness! Don’t worry ‘bout it. A little sunburn won’t hurt me.”
“What if you get skin cancer?”
Moniz giggles at the thought- after one sunburn? “I’ll take it like a champ.”
The two reach the beach, and Moniz attempts to scale the sand with the heels on. She starts to wobble like a drunk while the shoes sink into the earth. She holds the ice cream cone over her head just in case she falls over. Eventually, Moniz loses her balance, causing her to topple over in the sand, the cone still up in the air. Guinness quickly rushes over to help her up.
“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?!” Guinness grabs Moniz’s hand that is not in the air and helps her up. Moniz nods aggressively, sand all over her face and clothing now.
“Never felt better! Saved my cone!” Moniz takes the last bite out of the cone. “Finished my cone!” She giggles, and throws off her shoes in the sand. “You think a seagull will eat my shoes?”
Guinness smiles. “Maybe if they can stomach it.” Guinness takes the last bite out of her own cone as well, and throws her short heels down on the sand. “They can have a little extra if they manage to swallow yours.” Guinness starts to run towards the ocean, and shouts joyfully.
“Come on Moniz! The water is so nice!” Guinness throws some water over her head, getting on her hat. The water goes up to her knees, soaking the bottom of her sundress.
Moniz races into the water. Her pleated skirt becomes absolutely drenched, but the water is so cool! While Moniz is rejoicing, Guinness proceeds to splash her. Oh, now Moniz has to get her back! Moniz starts to swim towards the deeper end, and pushes as much water towards Guinness. Guinness tosses her hat to the shore, and pushes water back towards Moniz, laughing. Moniz attempts to push water onto her again, but- hey! She can’t go under the water! That’s cheating!
“Guinness! You can’t go under the water! That’s cheating!”
Guinness comes back up from under the water, rubbing her eyes and shaking off the water from her hair. Her hair appears darker now and starts to wave down to her collarbones. She quickly splashes water back up at Moniz, and dips under the water again.
“Aw! Come on!” Moniz waits for her to pop up again, but- hey, where did she go? Moniz looks around the water, but she hasn’t popped up anywhere. Where is Guinness?
“Guinness?” Moniz cried out. “Guinness!”
Suddenly, from behind Moniz, a large splash crashes into her! She’s been saturated in water! Purple starts to leak down her neck, changing the color of Moniz’s skin. Guinness pops up from behind her, and Moniz swiftly turns.
“Oh my gosh! You’re turning purple and blue!” Guinness laughs. Moniz begins to laugh with her.
“Hm! I am!”
Guinness reaches out for a lock of Moniz’s hair and toils with it- her wine red nails parallels the blue, highlighting the two colors as separates. Guinness’s fingertips start to appear purple from the dye. What was Guinness doing? Why was she so close-? It makes Moniz nervous, and it causes her face to start heating up. When Guinness lets go of Moniz’s hair, her fingertips appear indigo.
“Well, now I’m blue!” She gives Moniz a warm smile.
Moniz laughs nervously. “Mhm!”
The two women continue to play in the waves. By the time they got out of the water, both of them were completely submerged in salt water. It drips off their shoulders, their skirts and down their necks. Sand stuck to their feet, and the breeze sent chills down the women’s bodies. The sun was setting, and it was almost time for the two to head back to their homes. However, they could relax on the sand for a while, right?
Moniz sits on the sand first after shaking off the water, and Guinness follows to sit on her left. The sky is a burning fuschia, encoded with tangerine and dull red. Birds fly by, occasionally making a squawk. The night is truly beautiful. Moniz looks over towards Guinness, observing her freckles and light eyelashes. She notices that Guinness has a beauty mark directly under her right eye, something Moniz hadn’t fully observed before.
“Hm? Do I have something on my face?” Guinness tilts her head, noticing Moniz’s antics.
“Oh! Uhm! Just a bit of sand.” It is true. Guinness does have sand on her cheek.
Guinness laughs, wiping the damp material off her face. “You have sand all over you too. Probably from falling over. Oh, that reminds me, we need to get our shoes!” Guinness stands up, wandering the beach to find their shoes and her sun hat. Guinness picks up the straw hat, still close to the shoreline. She flaps it around, attempting to get the sand off of it. Moniz decides to help search for their items as well, walking north of the sea to retrieve the two pairs of heels. After the women regain their items, they meet back where they were sitting.
“Hey Guinness,” Moniz starts out. “Are you French?”
“French?” Guinness smiles, holding back her laughter. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Well- uhm-” Moniz smiles shyly. “No reason.”
“I’m not French, no, but I did grow up in Ireland. The nature there was fascinating. I lived in a small part of the countryside on a farm with my grandmother. We raised quite a few animals there. Chickens, cows and pigs to name a few. I did much gardening as well. Many of the ingredients in my grandmother’s meals were fresh. She practically taught me everything I know today about cooking.”
“Would you say she’s one reason you thought of opening a bakery?” Moniz cocks her head while drawing doodles in the sand. A bird, an octopus, and a smiley face all rest on Moniz's side.
“I’d believe so, but the idea was mainly out of passion. Hey Moniz, is that how you feel about your research?”
The question caught Moniz off guard. “Hm? I mean, yeah. I uh… I mainly wanted to find a way to help my mother.”
“So there really wasn’t much passion behind it?”
“Well- I found psychology insanely interesting. And neurology. Our minds all rotate like gears! It’s amazing! But I would have never done anything without my mom. I mainly created the lobotomy to put her at ease. She’s a paranoid schizophrenic, so.”
Guinness cocks her head. “Did that affect you much growing up or?”
“Yeah. My mom was horrified of me leaving the house, or watching TV, or me doing anything, really.” Moniz sighs. “She believed a demon would possess me and kill us both. I don’t believe in demons or any religion anymore, but sometimes it still causes me paranoia. Like sometimes I wonder if she was right, even though I know she wasn’t. I know there were no demons to take me through the TV, or suck me through the mattress, or to take my soul while I was out studying. But it still got to me sometimes. I love my mom though, and I really wanted to help her. After the procedure it was like she was a different person. I mean she absolutely begged me for it but… it’s like she’s dead now. But physically alive.”
Guinness nods. “Yeah, I understand that. I’ve watched people lose themselves too. Not as major as your mom, of course, but- it’s strange to watch them fade out.” Guinness towards the waves. “I think if reincarnation was real I’d like to be an ocean creature.”
“Why?” Moniz raises an eyebrow.
“The ocean is stunning, otherworldly. It’s something out of a masterpiece, perhaps by a god’s hand. The coral, the waves, just the creatures being able to breathe under the water? The ocean’s a curious thing, that’s for sure.”
“Hm- I guess you’re right! I’d like to be a jaguar. No reason, they’re just gorgeous.”
“You’d suit it then.“
Moniz felt her face start to flush again. “You think so?”
Guinness nods and gives her a soft smile. Moniz leans her head on Guinness’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
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Guinness thought of the idea. She didn’t say the tone of the meeting, whether it’s going to be a conversation about the hostages, a friendly exchange, or maybe something with romantic undertones. I mean, she had kissed Moniz’s hand. Or what if she was just French? She should ask her.
Arriving at the Ice Cream shop, Guinness is sitting at a two person table. The chairs were made out of black metal, with hearts intricately wired in the back of the seat. The table was small and made out of black metal as well with a fishnet like pattern in the center. Guinness smiles at Moniz and waves towards her. She hadn’t ordered anything yet. Maybe Guinness was waiting for her?
Moniz sits down at the seat across from her, hanging her purse from the chair she was seated in. “Hey Guin!” She smiles. “Oh wait- I haven’t talked to you too much- is it okay if I call you a nickname?”
Guinness laughs, and waves her hand up and down. “Oh, of course! It’s not like we’re running a business here, Moniz. Plus, everybody calls me that. Winnie, Raymond, everyone else I can think of. You want to get some ice cream with me? Don’t wanna miss out, do you?”
Moniz nods, getting up from the chair. “Why would I miss out on that? C’mon!”
Guinness and Moniz both walk up to the serving area. The young employee seems nervous. He’s tapping his fingers loudly on the countertop, and his eyebags sink into his skin. He seems exhausted. His voice speaks with a quiver, “What would you like?”
“Hellooo!” Moniz smiles at the man. “I think I’d like… hm…” She looks towards the selection, but it’s practically overwhelming! There were so many flavors- pistachio, chocolate, vanilla, cotton candy, mango, peach, sherbet, napoleon-
Guinness taps on Moniz’s shoulder. “You want me to order first?” Moniz didn’t realize she’d been standing there for so long! How embarrassing.
“Oh! Mhm! If you don’t mind!” Moniz picks at her fingertips while attempting to decide. Sherbet or cotton candy? Oh, sprinkles too! What sprinkles?
Guinness’s red lips part to a smile, answering the man’s previous question. “I’d like a vanilla cone with a cherry on top, please.'' She looks towards Moniz, waiting for her to order as well.
Moniz quickly throws together a choice. “Uhm-! I’ll have a- a strawberry cone please!”
The worker hands the women their ice cream cones, and Guinness offers a hand out with cash to pay. Once they finish the interaction, the two walk through the empty streets of Yokohama, conversing back and forth.
“This feels unreal.” Guinness comments, taking a bite out of her ice cream. “I mean, second biggest town in Japan, not anyone out. Guess places are still on lockdown. Hey Moniz, do you know when everyone will be out?”
A squeamish look forms over Moniz’s face. From what she knew, they’d never be released. Raymond would never turn back, or any of the lobotomized for that matter. “I’m not sure. They don’t really tell me anything…”
Guinness’s polychromatic eyes look directly at Moniz with concern riddled inside them. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Well… I’m not the head of the place.”
“But surely you must have a plan, right?” Guinness adds on.
Moniz takes a bite out of her ice cream to break eye contact. “Uhm, well- I can see if I can convince them. I already tried before but, maybe I can convince my professor to?” Moniz foils with the cone, making light scratches into it.
Guinness looks off to an empty building with no lighting. “I surely hope you can.” A silence takes place for a minute or so, then Guinness speaks up once more. “Hey Moniz, you have a lot on your plate. How about we just… relax?”
“Relax?” Moniz cocks her head. She hadn’t relaxed in a long time because she didn’t know what she defined relaxing as. Brushing her mother’s hair? Gambling? Taking care of her pets?
Guinness nods. “Mhm- we can just walk the empty streets and talk about whatever. We don’t have to bring up the kidnappings. We can just talk like normal people, y’know?” A soft smile blooms across the woman’s lips.
Moniz returns the smile, nodding and taking a bite out of her cone. “Yeah! Okay!” This could be fun, an adventure even. Moniz wouldn’t have to do Syndicate things for the day, and she could go over to Ichazo’s house after to wind down. Yeah- this could be a good day!
Guinness glances around the town, and spots another empty building. The sign on the door states “CLOSED” with bold red lettering. The building appears to be a bakery. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, highlighting the area where pastries typically would be.
“A bakery. What a shame it’s closed.” Guinness sighs.
“Hm? Oh, are you into sweets and all that jazz?” Moniz inquires.
“Mhm! I mainly bake in my free time. It’s an escape for me. It’s so relaxing to just ice a cake or serve a treat to a loved one at the end of the day. I enjoy seeing them happy.”
“Aw! That’s sweet. Have you ever considered opening a bakery?”
Guinness looks back at the deserted pastry shop. “I have thought about it previously. I don’t know, it used to be my dream when I was younger, but dreams dry out sometimes.”
“Oh come on Guin! I bet you’re good at it! People would love it.”
“Well, I don’t know. This place is somewhat chaotic- what if no one came?”
“Pff- c’mon! Guinness, you’re super interesting. I’m sure people would want to come, even if it’s just to visit you.”
Guinness looks over to her and smiles shyly. “You really think so?”
Moniz nods. “Mhm! In fact, I could definitelyyy be a taste tester for you.”
“Oh really? And what should you test?”
“Blueberry scone.”
“Fine then! You can be a taste tester.” Guinness looks over to the left. “Oh! Moniz. Do you see the beach? It’s completely empty.”
Guinness was right. The beach was oddly empty. No umbrellas, no children, no fishers. It was abnormal, especially on a bright day like this. At the same time though, it was sort of an advantage. Without anyone on the beach, they could both do whatever they wanted.
“Yeah- it is! We should go.” Moniz suggests.
“Hm? Like, on the beach?” Guinness inquires.
“Yeah! Well, I’m not wearing anything too nice today. And plus, you’re wearing a sundress. Shouldn’t be too hard to clean.”
Guinness laughs. “But what about our heels? Sand’s hard to walk in.”
“Eh, fuck it. When’s the beach gonna be this empty again?” Moniz looks down at her heels. They’re tall and shiny with a t strap, but they should be fine if she just cleans them. “And I’d say my heels are taller than yours!”
“Okay, okay. Fine.” Guinness takes a bite of her cone. “The ocean might be nice, just wish I brought sunscreen.”
Moniz tilts her head. “Hm? You have a sunhat, you should be alright.”
Guinness’s sunhat is made of straw, with a pink ribbon wrapping around it. The pink matches the rose prints on the green dress she’s wearing.
Guinness nods towards Moniz. “Yeah but I mean for you. What if you get burnt? Shoulder sunburns are the absolute worst.”
“I’ll be okay Guinness! Don’t worry ‘bout it. A little sunburn won’t hurt me.”
“What if you get skin cancer?”
Moniz giggles at the thought- after one sunburn? “I’ll take it like a champ.”
The two reach the beach, and Moniz attempts to scale the sand with the heels on. She starts to wobble like a drunk while the shoes sink into the earth. She holds the ice cream cone over her head just in case she falls over. Eventually, Moniz loses her balance, causing her to topple over in the sand, the cone still up in the air. Guinness quickly rushes over to help her up.
“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?!” Guinness grabs Moniz’s hand that is not in the air and helps her up. Moniz nods aggressively, sand all over her face and clothing now.
“Never felt better! Saved my cone!” Moniz takes the last bite out of the cone. “Finished my cone!” She giggles, and throws off her shoes in the sand. “You think a seagull will eat my shoes?”
Guinness smiles. “Maybe if they can stomach it.” Guinness takes the last bite out of her own cone as well, and throws her short heels down on the sand. “They can have a little extra if they manage to swallow yours.” Guinness starts to run towards the ocean, and shouts joyfully.
“Come on Moniz! The water is so nice!” Guinness throws some water over her head, getting on her hat. The water goes up to her knees, soaking the bottom of her sundress.
Moniz races into the water. Her pleated skirt becomes absolutely drenched, but the water is so cool! While Moniz is rejoicing, Guinness proceeds to splash her. Oh, now Moniz has to get her back! Moniz starts to swim towards the deeper end, and pushes as much water towards Guinness. Guinness tosses her hat to the shore, and pushes water back towards Moniz, laughing. Moniz attempts to push water onto her again, but- hey! She can’t go under the water! That’s cheating!
“Guinness! You can’t go under the water! That’s cheating!”
Guinness comes back up from under the water, rubbing her eyes and shaking off the water from her hair. Her hair appears darker now and starts to wave down to her collarbones. She quickly splashes water back up at Moniz, and dips under the water again.
“Aw! Come on!” Moniz waits for her to pop up again, but- hey, where did she go? Moniz looks around the water, but she hasn’t popped up anywhere. Where is Guinness?
“Guinness?” Moniz cried out. “Guinness!”
Suddenly, from behind Moniz, a large splash crashes into her! She’s been saturated in water! Purple starts to leak down her neck, changing the color of Moniz’s skin. Guinness pops up from behind her, and Moniz swiftly turns.
“Oh my gosh! You’re turning purple and blue!” Guinness laughs. Moniz begins to laugh with her.
“Hm! I am!”
Guinness reaches out for a lock of Moniz’s hair and toils with it- her wine red nails parallels the blue, highlighting the two colors as separates. Guinness’s fingertips start to appear purple from the dye. What was Guinness doing? Why was she so close-? It makes Moniz nervous, and it causes her face to start heating up. When Guinness lets go of Moniz’s hair, her fingertips appear indigo.
“Well, now I’m blue!” She gives Moniz a warm smile.
Moniz laughs nervously. “Mhm!”
The two women continue to play in the waves. By the time they got out of the water, both of them were completely submerged in salt water. It drips off their shoulders, their skirts and down their necks. Sand stuck to their feet, and the breeze sent chills down the women’s bodies. The sun was setting, and it was almost time for the two to head back to their homes. However, they could relax on the sand for a while, right?
Moniz sits on the sand first after shaking off the water, and Guinness follows to sit on her left. The sky is a burning fuschia, encoded with tangerine and dull red. Birds fly by, occasionally making a squawk. The night is truly beautiful. Moniz looks over towards Guinness, observing her freckles and light eyelashes. She notices that Guinness has a beauty mark directly under her right eye, something Moniz hadn’t fully observed before.
“Hm? Do I have something on my face?” Guinness tilts her head, noticing Moniz’s antics.
“Oh! Uhm! Just a bit of sand.” It is true. Guinness does have sand on her cheek.
Guinness laughs, wiping the damp material off her face. “You have sand all over you too. Probably from falling over. Oh, that reminds me, we need to get our shoes!” Guinness stands up, wandering the beach to find their shoes and her sun hat. Guinness picks up the straw hat, still close to the shoreline. She flaps it around, attempting to get the sand off of it. Moniz decides to help search for their items as well, walking north of the sea to retrieve the two pairs of heels. After the women regain their items, they meet back where they were sitting.
“Hey Guinness,” Moniz starts out. “Are you French?”
“French?” Guinness smiles, holding back her laughter. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Well- uhm-” Moniz smiles shyly. “No reason.”
“I’m not French, no, but I did grow up in Ireland. The nature there was fascinating. I lived in a small part of the countryside on a farm with my grandmother. We raised quite a few animals there. Chickens, cows and pigs to name a few. I did much gardening as well. Many of the ingredients in my grandmother’s meals were fresh. She practically taught me everything I know today about cooking.”
“Would you say she’s one reason you thought of opening a bakery?” Moniz cocks her head while drawing doodles in the sand. A bird, an octopus, and a smiley face all rest on Moniz's side.
“I’d believe so, but the idea was mainly out of passion. Hey Moniz, is that how you feel about your research?”
The question caught Moniz off guard. “Hm? I mean, yeah. I uh… I mainly wanted to find a way to help my mother.”
“So there really wasn’t much passion behind it?”
“Well- I found psychology insanely interesting. And neurology. Our minds all rotate like gears! It’s amazing! But I would have never done anything without my mom. I mainly created the lobotomy to put her at ease. She’s a paranoid schizophrenic, so.”
Guinness cocks her head. “Did that affect you much growing up or?”
“Yeah. My mom was horrified of me leaving the house, or watching TV, or me doing anything, really.” Moniz sighs. “She believed a demon would possess me and kill us both. I don’t believe in demons or any religion anymore, but sometimes it still causes me paranoia. Like sometimes I wonder if she was right, even though I know she wasn’t. I know there were no demons to take me through the TV, or suck me through the mattress, or to take my soul while I was out studying. But it still got to me sometimes. I love my mom though, and I really wanted to help her. After the procedure it was like she was a different person. I mean she absolutely begged me for it but… it’s like she’s dead now. But physically alive.”
Guinness nods. “Yeah, I understand that. I’ve watched people lose themselves too. Not as major as your mom, of course, but- it’s strange to watch them fade out.” Guinness towards the waves. “I think if reincarnation was real I’d like to be an ocean creature.”
“Why?” Moniz raises an eyebrow.
“The ocean is stunning, otherworldly. It’s something out of a masterpiece, perhaps by a god’s hand. The coral, the waves, just the creatures being able to breathe under the water? The ocean’s a curious thing, that’s for sure.”
“Hm- I guess you’re right! I’d like to be a jaguar. No reason, they’re just gorgeous.”
“You’d suit it then.“
Moniz felt her face start to flush again. “You think so?”
Guinness nods and gives her a soft smile. Moniz leans her head on Guinness’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”