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mannatea · 3 years

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Hi. I used to follow your old blog on a different account. Hope you're doing well. Do you have any tips on thinking up stories that are *not* dark and depressing due to subject material? The last story I was working on I had to quit because the backstory I was developing for my passive male character was super depressing. At times I enjoyed researching it, though what won out was the thought I was wasting my time looking into angsty things for something I wasn't even planning to publish. Now I want to write something a little happier. But I have the most experience in writing angst and cringe comedy 😅 thanks for any help you can give. Stay safe out there!

By the way, good on you for dropping that manga you used to follow. I was happy most of the characters lived, but other than that, it felt "meh" to me (granted, I didn't read all the way from the beginning). The author was probably going for a "people will always be fighting each other" theme, but some of the imagery of what happened after a time skip could definitely be taken as pro-fascist. And I was disappointed the protagonist basically said he wanted to bring about destruction! I'm glad I didn't spend any money to read it.

Wow, hi! I’m doing all right, thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing all right, too. :)

As far as “that manga” goes, I’ve kept tabs on it. I’ve been on the fringes for the last two-ish years; I dedicated something like four real life years to that fandom and mostly had a good time while I was there (made some friends I hope to keep for life), so it was one of those situations where I just had to find out how it ended. I realized at some point that I was in a very negative space in the fandom, and felt it was better to publicly drop the series and the blog associated with all of my meta/discussion than to play in what had become a toxic pool for me. I didn’t really want to drop the account after my time there, but I couldn’t have dealt with the nonstop questions/messages/etc that would have piled in over the years, and eh, when you’re done you’re done. I criticize Hallmark television for fun, now, instead. It’s a lot less stressful! And literally nothing is That Deep so there’s very few delusions, at least on the Tumblr side of things. (Reddit, however, is insane, but I don’t post in the fandom there.)

As far as writing advice goes, I am going to apologize in advance for muddled thoughts. I just got out of work and have been staring at numbers all day, so it’s hard for me to think lmaoo.

In my opinion, any sort of character or personality type/flaw/whatever could have developed via a negative OR positive influence/catalyst, so that’s something to consider. I also think people tend to reach for “sad” or “traumatic” pasts either as a way to cope with their own issues/pasts/whatevers, or because it’s the “easy explanation” for why a character is the way they are.

If you WANT to write things a certain way, it’s sometimes a matter of changing the lens through which you’re viewing life, the story, the characters, or character writing in general. This is never easy, especially when you find a genre you feel comfortable in, but it’s always possible. When I was in college and submitted an autobiographical piece (Rot Tooth) for a creative writing final, I received multiple comments from classmates and even the professor that my talent/skill was in writing comedy. COMEDY!!!! I don’t think anyone who has read my writing from the last decade would say that I was a comedy writer. I stopped labeling ‘fics as humor/romance so long ago I can’t even remember when it was. But boom. I had written a comedy piece.

I don’t think I can ignore that most of the comedic elements in Rot Tooth were brought about because humor is one of the ways in which I cope with things, but it was also a very conscious choice I made. I wanted people to be able to engage with the story without being grossed out, without getting bored, without feeling that it was a poor-pathetic-me story, and humor was the classiest way to do it. Here, read this long story that includes journal entries from Ye Olde Livejournal days, but it will make you laugh often enough that the depressing aspects of the story don’t weigh it down too much! It was probably the only way to make the subject matter widely palatable.

As often as I joke about characters or scenes or moments that “just write themselves” the author does have control. I mostly write fanfiction, so let’s go with examples from that.

I’m (very slowly) working on a ‘fic called Three Years which features a character who, when last seen, was headed off to serve a prison sentence. They haven’t been on the show for three years and thus I assume they have been serving that sentence for the last three years. The story starts when this character is released from prison. They are a woman. This is a historical piece of fiction. Prisons were vile to women and yet...this is fiction. I have a choice. I get to choose. Does she get to start her life off carrying 25 bags of trauma or just 2? It would be unreasonable to expect that someone, especially a woman, who was imprisoned for 3 years in the early 1900s wouldn’t have some issues (at the very least, the isolation would have been awful), but it doesn’t really have to be much worse than that. It doesn’t.

I have the power to choose.

A character has anger issues. Sure, he could have had a traumatic past with an abusive parent who took his anger out on him or his mom or whatever...or maybe it is an inherited personality trait and the parent figure with the problem was never really That Bad about it, but seeing it normalized makes it harder for the character in question to realize it’s a huge problem and part of their character arc is realizing they need to get help, not because they don’t want to be like their dad, and not because they hate their dad, but because they just want to be a better person/they don’t want to let that struggle consume them.

Someone’s sweetheart goes off to war. Guess what? They don’t have to die there to force a traumatic past. They don’t have to come back a raging alcoholic either. Maybe the time apart, and the time fighting a war just puts a natural sort of crack in the relationship by making it clearer to each character what they want in life/what matters to them in their life.

A character is super passionate about their work/hobby. Maybe they have ADHD and it’s a hyperfixation. Maybe they’re autistic and it’s a Special Interest. It doesn’t have to be “their parents ignored them and forced them to be alone all the time and they used this thing to cope so it means everything to them because it’s always been there.”

Maybe you have a character whose greatest fear is losing the people they love. It doesn’t have to be because a pet died in their arms when they were four and it traumatized them. It doesn’t have to be because they only have one person they love in the whole world. It can just be a thing because that’s a valid fear literally anyone can reasonably have, and maybe it’s a bigger deal because they don’t have siblings or aren’t close to many people! (And the “aren’t close to many people” thing doesn’t have to stem from trauma, either. Most busy adults for example who get to choose their friends, are just like that.)

A perfectionist might just have the personality type; it doesn’t mean their parents criticized everything they ever did. A person with three failed marriages might hesitate to fall in love and try again but it doesn’t have to be because those three failed marriages were abusive. A quiet character may just be shy or introverted by nature.

I think everyone carries some kind of trauma with them, so it’s never unreasonable to have some in a person’s past (you can’t write an ugly character without having to think about the fact that they carry some trauma from what it’s like to grow up ugly), but it doesn’t have to define them. It doesn’t have to overshadow everything else in their past.

You can always ask yourself, “Why am I reaching for angst every time I create a backstory?” Literally everyone has some kind of angst. Most kids were hurt by things said to them in school, for example, or made fun of for some reason. Most people did something extremely embarrassing as a kid and never got over it. There are a thousand little moments in our adult lives that go back to these little points—you might call them the tiny traumas. But they’re not defining. They’re not so heavy they also live in the present. Not all of them.

Why do you reach for the darkest corner? Why not for the light? Or a middle ground?

I encourage people to write basically whatever floats their boat, but it sounds like you’re at a point where you just feel weighed down by that sort of stuff, and that’s not a great way to feel, especially when it discourages you from working on a project entirely.

My final suggestion: look at some of your favorite characters from various types of media. Are they all traumatized? What are their defining characteristics? Black Beauty has some depressing stuff in it, but is ultimately a story with a happy ending. Pride and Prejudice has drama, but nobody’s past is filled with the darkest stuff imaginable. North and South has awful things to consider in it (cotton mills were sooo awful) but the characters are not wildly traumatized people.

What kind of story are you trying to tell? Do the characters need to be traumatized to tell it? Does the story have to be dark to get across the message you want to send?

Way back in the day, when I was into “that manga” I made an RP blog for a one-off character that nobody gave a damn about. Like, he was so one-off that even back in those days nobody even remembered him having existed. It was sort of a joke RP blog that wasn’t supposed to be serious. The only canon information we had about this character was that he enjoyed drinking. I decided to make him a lighthearted character because the series was pretty dark and I wanted to send people hilarious starters instead of wading through the muck of depression with everyone else’s sad, abused characters. I decided his family was old money and he had a brother. Nothing super traumatizing in his past. Some family issues but not the sort of thing that would haunt anyone. He was not traumatized in his recent past any more than other characters were. Mostly just “a regular guy.” I really loved RPing him. He was fun! The story could get heavy but he didn’t have to be.

Anyway, dive head-first into the dark angst if you want, but if it’s not necessary to tell the story you want to tell, just remember you don’t have to go there. You have the choice.

#long post #thoughts about writing #nacrene-archaeologist #answered mail

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

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Since I rant enough about the wizening Ma and Pa received in Sinnoh it's only right to wreak bloody rhetorical vengeance elsewhere:

However harsh it may be, I'm glad Takeshi Shudo isn't alive to witness the hateful desecration of his legacy.

...

In a universe where no one's allowed to age, why are the modern Jessie and James so withered and decrepit?

Dragon Ball has been on for more than three decades. Its stars were permitted to grow up, because the head can cope with the opportunities this offers.

Yet Goku, Krillin, Bulma et al bear a greater similarity to their younger selves than these gurning invertebrates do to Team Rocket, wearing a papery approximation of their skin.

Akira Toriyama is actually concerned about his life's work, still coming up with interesting concepts, brand-new characters, and most importantly, values his audience by keeping to the established canon.

If a Dragon Ball fan reads this, I am so jealous of you.

Consider yourselves fortunate not to have seen the thing you loved the most pulverised and the resulting glutinous mass moulded back into makeshift sloppy cadavers.

Look at the state of that man! That's a good picture these days!

Why have the eyelid lines turned into upside down bags?

And why has she collected her lashes for this particular screen shot?

On eyes with a strangely feline slant...

Has she had a face lift?

Get yer money back on that one, love.

And why has he marks under his eyes and round his flapping gob to add the hint of exhaustion?

And why don't her lips reach the edge of her mouth anymore?

And why must he display Beaver Toof, as if he's only got six pegs left?

Giving it to him but not her implies she's lost the lot, needing to gum objects for a result.

And why do her low-slung ears consist only of lobe?

And why can you see his featureless lugs? Why does his barnet stand outwards in tentacles like he's taken to wearing a floppy Starmie?

What's that's meant to be, purple dreadlocks?

And why is her hairline curved and absolutely straight, like a bad wig, apart from the perfunctory bits to the side, which I guarantee won't alter their position throughout the run?

Hair used to move about, now by law there's a set pattern which cannot change. Stamp that life out immediately.

And what's that flaccid growth between his weary peepers? Is that meant to be fringe?

PFFFT!!!

And why are her digits just as thick and oblong as his?

It ain't fingers. It's trotters.

And why's he got a back to his throat, but she hasn't?

And why are we forced to witness it? You can see all the way to his dangler!

The great gaping pink cave looks like the end of Looney Tunes when Porky Pig pops up and stammers: "That's all folks!"

Remember a lack of Beaver Toof? And triangular mouths?

Remember when Meowth was a cheeky, spirited little cat, not a middle-aged human midget, an emaciated wreck bored of it all?

Remember when it wasn't deemed necessary to expose us to internal organs?

And when James was a handsome, hysterically camp dandy, not a creepy, snot-ridden science dweeb?

And when Jessie was a beautiful, stylish young girl, hot-tempered but loyal, not a sullen, cold, reptilian, Botoxed-to-the-gills gorgon?

Remember when Team Rocket were fun? And attractive?

Remember when they had joy in their hearts in spite of their poverty? And vim? And hope?

Remember them acting with flair and imagination?

Remember when their schemes had variety?

Remember when they had more than a single disguise per era?

Remember when they had many occupations? And were good at them?

Remember when they'd have a go at everything and weren't reduced to flipping condemned meat in a grotty burger van FOR THREE YEARS?!

Remember when those in charge didn't despise them, when they got happy endings?

Remember split screens? And face faults? And background tones? And purple streaks down your cheeks?

Remember big, bright open eyes, not shrunken, sagging and empty holes afflicted by glaucoma?

Remember when Jessie had eyelashes?

Remember when Pokémon was an anime?

And when James had a fringe, not a bent swelling like a balloon animal?

And when the artist could be arsed to draw Meowth's Charm properly?

Remember when the voices weren't nails down a blackboard?

When Meowth didn't sound like a wedge of coal grinding beneath an oil-deprived door?

When Jessie's dulcet tones had a wider range that just screechy, and weren't reminiscent of a cacophonous banshee clawing her way from a bog, using her own mug as a shovel?

When James speaking didn't suggest he was at best, suffering sinus difficulties, and at worst, constantly battling to swallow his own sick from looking at her?

Mind you, I'm grateful the 4Kids cast are no longer here. They deserve better, and their presence would only validate the crude bastardisations.

Every time the guttural howls reach my poor ears a chill runs through my system, and reminds me of The Pokémon Company sacking the real dub crew in preference for a job done on the cheap.

Remember speed lines? And Pokéball-throwing animation?

Remember a new motto performance in each installment, not the same stock footage reused again and again?

Remember when it rhymed?

It shows.

Remember remembering it?

Remember when Team Rocket would walk down the street in their uniforms and no one took a blind bit of notice despite the organisation operating there?

And they didn't fanny about in one scabby polyester costume every minute they were travelling, even when NO ONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE?

Since Unova, whilst confronting Ash and this era's soon-to-be-forgotten companions, you get this exchange:

Moron-Of-The-Week: "Who are Team Rocket?"

Ash: "They're bad guys who steal other people's Pokémon."

EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME!!!

WORD-FOR-WORD IDENTICAL!!!

The writers have such deep appreciation for their work they're sending in cut-and-paste scripts.

Remember blasting off when something blew up, not an explosion from nowhere, or giving it the slip with a jet pack, or abduction by a Care Bear?

Remember when the eyebrows matched the hair?

Remember when he wore it long?

Remember blue shock? And sweat drop? And hammerspace? And comedy violence?

Remember her jagged hairline? And it being RED!!!

Remember proper highlights to it, rather than the odd white lump now and again, as if sweating like a pig, or their heads are infested with giant space ticks?

Remember when they were in all the episodes? And were main characters? And on the introduction sequence?

Remember when Jessie and James used to hug? And hold hands?

And bicker as only a couple can, but you knew they'd never cope alone?

Remember when they'd fly into each other's arms under the flimsiest pretext?

Remember when they meant more to one another than just being a pair of unconnected and disembodied wraiths coincidentally walking down the same road?

And they had more than civil interactions?

Remember when she loved him as much as he loved her?

And no one else could ever take his place?

And canon wasn't infected with the ruinous depiction of her as a hard, heartless bitch barely tolerating him until someone 'better' came along, at which point she'd fuck off without a backwards glance?

'Better', as in a scabby, satchel-mouthed, gormless cretin, just to add surly insult to merciless injury.

Never has such a life-long and hardcore defender of the faith flipped into an ardent Rumishipper as I did after that episode, once I'd swept up the fragments of my soul.

Remember when they were sympathetic?

Remember when they showed human warmth?

Remember when they cared about each other?

Remember when they weren't just a jangling, distorted mess of half-recollected traits?

Remember when they weren't really evil?

Remember Rocketshipping? That was a thing once, believe it or not.

Remember when they had a conscience?

Remember when actually wicked characters turned up, and Team Rocket ALWAYS sided with Ash, rather than the nauseating spectacle of suddenly being best buds with the Boss?

Remember when they had contact with the Twerps?

Remember when Team Rocket and the Twerps loved each other in secret and would endanger themselves to save their 'enemies'?

Everything that was once good and winning about them was sucked out, degree by degree, to leave the corpse, hollow and dead, strung up on wires as a grim marionette.

I'm sure most who see this will vehemently disagree, that I'm completely wrong, that THEY like them.

Yes, you like this three, but you don't like Team Rocket. This is not them. You have yours, and I have mine, but let's not pretend they are the same.

Why, if there is no difference, would I be so hostile, when they meant so much too me?

Did you ever wonder where the original fans went, why they all departed en masse? It's not because they 'moved on' or 'matured'.

They didn't leave Pokémon. Pokémon left them.

As the makers rely so heavily on repetition (sorry, nostalgia) they arrogantly expect us to still be here, having blithely welcomed our memories minced and our canon ripped up or ripped off, apparently.

We're intended to put up with watching them lay waste to ťhe series's body, clinging on for when a rotting bone is pulled up now and again and waved at us, before they chuck it aside to continue the dismemberment.

It's been eaten from the inside out, explaining the facial collapse. Behold the beauty on show:

You see what I mean, don't you?

Don't you? No, because otherwise you'd say the same.

How anyone feels able to describe three deformed freaks as 'hot' or 'cute' I will never comprehend.

The uniform collar protrudes like a solid pipe, emphasising the pencil necks.

It gives the impression of wrinkled, leathery tortoises peering out of their shells to secure a tasty lettuce treat.

Is that pretty? No.

Is it so surprising I don't care for my favourites to resemble melted waxwork skeletons of their own dæmonic counterparts?

S&M is a most fitting name, for this is torture.

In the film Death Becomes Her, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn vie for the attention of Bruce Willis, both taking a serum giving everlasting youth and slimness.

The catch is it confers immortality, but not invulnerability, so when pushed down the stairs Meryl survives but is dead, her neck broken, thus she's zipped up in the morgue fridge.

When Goldie is shot with a canon she too rises, internal organs blown out.

The rest of the adventure involves the pair losing the war against time, patching up and painting over peeling grey skin, holding onto loose limbs as their bodies fall apart.

This obviously is the case here. The trio lapped the potion up at the close of Sinnoh, experienced a fatal accident and are now steadily crumbling to mush before us.

According to grave-diggers the head always goes first, so there you are then.

I have a suspicion that Giovanni lured all three to his crypt, experimenting on them to engineer his ultimate super soldier, which explains their flat, plastic appearance. Those since Unova began are the cyborgs, the real ones locked in his cellar.

You may notice I have about the lowest opinion possible of the current writing team, as they deserve.

Why should I have any respect for vindictive halfwits like this, who hate Team Rocket so much they're going out of their way to distort and uglify them, expressing the resentment in celluloid?

Jessie, James and Meowth lost their only defender in Takeshi Shudo. From that point they descended from loveable, hapless tragic figures to self-parodies (Hoenn) whiney, irritating divs dumping one another at every interval (Sinnoh), robotic, amoral scum (Unova and Kalos) and now physically repulsive minor additions (Alola and Galar). Is that trajectory all accidental?

It not that it's a new 'style' (for want of a better word), as were that the case, this hideousness would apply to the entire cast, but it's only done to Team Rocket. How could that be unless motivated by malice?

Given the sub thesps are obliged to prostrate themselves in the dust, begging fans to make their appreciation known, it smacks of desperation.

They wouldn't need to ask that were the trio treated as an integral component. They must sense the objections and are thus drumming up support to avoid the dole queue.

Are those in charge so resentful of their presence it manifests in mutilating them, keen to do anything that may alienate the fanbase, so at the first sign of a dip in popularity they can leap upon it as the perfect excuse to write Team Rocket out?

Why be surprised? These are imbeciles who reject their own canon at the close of every generation, so why care about someone else's?

If people have to harangue the writers with grovelling praise of their retcons, rehashes and all-round twatting about, butter 'em up sufficiently, with the implied threat of deserting the franchise should Team Rocket be ejected, taking their purses too, all so the smug, avaricious berks deign to put the trio in the next generation, that proves they don't want them, so how can what they write for their characters be objectively of any worth?

Team Rocket would've departed by now, were there not a palpable worry their absence might ring the death knell of the whole thing, turning off the financial tap, which is what matters.

Therefore they are retained, grudgingly, and only so long as the clamour continues at its current decibel level. If that drops it's over, and don't expect a romantic resolution. Why should pleasing you be a concern when you're to leave with them?

Ask yourself: how much of your devotion is based on what they are right now, and how much is from who they used to be?

How long can they live off past glories?

The offences done in Unova and Kalos were bad enough, but remarkably Game Freak found further depths to plumb, therefore it can only get worse.

I have of course retained the loveliest for last:

Be still, my beating heart.

No, really, be still. Stop infact.

Planet of the Apes.

#Team Rocket #Jessie #James #Meowth #Alola #GIFS

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 5 years

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Into the Depths

The part where Hades takes Persephone to the underworld. Again. This is only an interpretation.

Part 4: Descent

Like Kiani’s mom, Erik had a lot of land but it was varying shades of grey and a tad foggy.. a little depressing and eerie even. Kiani felt the small dip in her spirit. There were no flowers, but a few spindly trees gasping for life’s sustaining breath. He had three other eye-catching cars, yet he lived alone. That one needed an explanation. Why did he need so many if it was only him?

“I like variety. It’s like having tulips, irises, and roses,” he explained stepping to the side to let her explore the vehicles at her own curious pace. She was interesting to observe. Every move she made was deliberate and intentional yet unpredictable. She peered into the window of the white McClaren 570, trying the door. With the push of a button from Erik’s keyring it unlocked and the horn beeped. She jumped, looking back to him quickly and he snorted lightly, containing his laugh. He nodded for her to continue her exploration. Opening the car door to slide into the driver’s seat, she looked like a giant child behind the wheel. He walked around to watch her step on the pedals and turn the wheel making “vroom verrrrrrrr skrrr” noises and that’s when he lost it. His eyes scrunched shut, his knees buckled and he almost hit the ground. She didn’t get the joke, but he was laughing so hard it made her laugh because he was laughing.

“I’m a teach you how to drive one of these days,” he sighed trying to calm himself, his hand on his stomach imagining her speeding in a sportscar with her fluffy baby doll dress and sandals. She clapped in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn to drive a car!”

“You’ll need what’s called a license to drive legally, which is a card with your face on it that you get from what’s called a DMV, but once you get it you can drive anywhere and as far as you want. I just hope you’ll take me with you.”

“I want you and mom to come with me on a drive,” she tugged lightly on his shirt.

“I’m not sure if that’s realistic,” he murmured sadly, “But I’m up for it. I’ll do whatever you want. Where are we going?”

She paused shyly as if she had no clue and was mildly ashamed. He wondered how much she knew about geography. He’d teach her that too eventually. “Race you inside,” he whispered gesturing to the large home.

Kiani had never seen so many gadgets and gizmos in her life. Her upbringing had consisted of playtime in nature and with friends, music and dancing, baking cakes and cookies, learning about the flowers she grew, old movies, puppet shows, and reading. Erik’s home was different. There were boxes called game systems in a room he called his game room along with a pool table. She’d never played pool, but she recognized the green felt and the balls from her old black and white movies.

“I know these balls,” she grinned completely unaware of the double meaning. He bit his tongue, swallowing his lips to keep from making a cheeky comment. The distance between the two of them mentally and sexually was astronomical, but also brilliant. She saw life differently through a pure and clean lens. He could spend the rest of his life wrapped up in her beautiful mind. “Your dimples are so deep!” She moved around the table to push her index fingers into them and his laugh stuttered free again. He gave her the tour of the grounds, leaving no room secret.

“Is this the bedroom you sleep in,” she asked bouncing into the room and drawing the curtains to look out through the windows. Everywhere she went in his mansion, she brought light and made herself at home. Her sandals had been left downstairs at the front door. She was barefoot, running around his house like a kid in a candy store, picking up and touching everything and asking questions. So many questions. When she went in a drawer and pulled out a bag of a white substance, he hadn’t noticed until she stuck her finger in it. She was being too still. He approached, peeping over her shoulder to catch her playing in a bag of white powder.

“Not that one,” he admonished gently, wiping her fingers off with a t-shirt. He sealed the bag and put it back. “That’s not good to play with, that’s cocaine and you definitely shouldn’t sniff or eat that.”

“Then what do you do with it,” she asked. It was a valid question. He didn’t expect the subject to breech so soon or in this manner, but he couldn’t lie to her and he couldn’t treat her like a child and shield her from the truth of life. She was twenty-four fuckin years old, it was time for her to know some real shit. She deserved to be given the chance to form her own opinions about the world and him without her mind being warped by the people she trusts.. Including him. Even if he hated it, he had to tell the truth or risk losing her trust down the road. He knew too well that trust was hard to get back once lost.

“I sell it.. It’s worth a lot of money, that’s how I paid for this house and everything in it. It’s how I met your father some years ago and he took me under his wing.”

“You know my father?! Does he ever mention me,” she asked with bright eyes and right then he wanted to find Franklin and drag him to face the eyes of Kiani for himself. He couldn’t lie to her and say yeah, he talks about you all the time. The only time Franklin ever mentioned Kiani was to remind Erik to drop off her card every year. Before Erik, it had been some other guy. He wouldn’t just do it himself. Erik didn’t understand why a father wouldn’t actively fight to see his child. Especially one as bright, loving, and kind as Kiani. The way he saw it, any child he helped to make he’d stay to raise. He could picture a future with flowers, fatass babies, and a world of pure joy with Kiani. If would hurt like fuck when she left.. If she left. But he couldn’t tell her any of this.

“He never forgets your birthday that’s for sure,” he said simply and Kiani chuckled.

In the meantime, back on Yvette's property, Ms. Smith paced in the kitchen for she knew she was in great trouble. Meron called Yvette and she was on her way. Ms. Smith accepted that she'd most likely be fired. The most precious flower in the garden had been snatched into foul hands under her watch. She grabbed the housephone and called the store again for the umpteenth time. "No, she's not back! I told you to watch her," Meron yelled angrily. "She slipped away," Ms. Smith cried. The rain began to fall and thunder roared shaking the ground. The flower shop door swung open and Yvette stormed in like a woman enraged.

"Where is my child," she cried causing a scene. She didn't care about customers or business at that point, she only cared about finding her child. She knocked over a vase, her frustration making her angry enough to hit. "I trusted you all with my precious Kiani and you lost her! Find her! NOW! Why are you standing here! MOVE!"

"I know who she's with," Meron groaned shaking her head. "Then let's go get her quickly," Yvette yelled.

"We can't. She's with Erik Stevens. We wouldn't be able to get close to him. We have no choice but to wait for her return and hope it's soon."

"Erik Ste.. You let one of Franklin's cronies take my child? You let that disgusting..." She shrieked furiously and threw another vase. "Shut it down," she yelled. "Shut it all down. Everyone out! Business is closed until I get my child back. No one gets paid. Get out!"

Meron slowly approached Yvette. Being a mother herself, she understood. With her hands up, she tried approaching Yvette.

"DON'T," Yvette yelled. They'd lost her child and she was pissed. Her innocent baby was abducted by a criminal and who knew what was happening to her! Men were disgusting, she knew it from first hand experience. She didn't want to imagine Erik putting his dirty hands on her pure Kiani. The thought made her skin crawl. She called Franklin and when he picked up, she went off in his ear.

"Listen, you deadbeat trifflin negro! Did you know your goon kidnapped my child?! Did you know? What if he touches her?!"

"Yvette. Calm down, Erik isn't a bad guy."

"So you knew! You sold my child to a known criminal!"

"Yvette. He's not like me..... But even if he did decide to get his rocks off, so what?! He's a good kid. They're both overdue. She'll be fine."

"Good kid my ass! He's a criminal! But you don't care. Of course you don't," she chuckled humorlessly, "Nope, you don't care. Well how about this. Until she gets back, this business is closed. No plant will grow. AND I'm going to make the ground around you cave. You won't be able to leave home without falling into quicksand or a mud pit! I hope you fall in! All of the places where you deal? Earthquakes. I'll split the ground if I have to. I'll kill everyone. I don't care." Thunder cracked and Meron shivered nervously.

"What? Yvette.. Come on now! You can't just-"

"It's already done. Bring me my daughter," she growled hanging up the phone. As she said, the ground changed. Franklin was indeed trapped. His business would have to be postponed indefinitely.

“Kiani… what do you know about drugs,” Erik asked anticipating Kiani's confusion. If they were going to have a chance of being together, he had to tell it all. He opened his mouth, but the words got stuck. He decided to start with geography. He talked about where they were in relation to other continents and where they were in the country. He told her about all the places he’d gone as she soaked up every detail asking questions.. So many questions. He showed her pictures on his phone, talking up a country called Wakanda in particular. She clapped when he said he’d take her there and that all she needed was a passport that he’d help her to get. Finally, he brought the conversation full circle. “Okay, drugs.. “ he said with her full attention. He pulled baggies from the drawer, setting them on the table between them. If she was gonna know, then she was gonna understand the truth. He pointed to each individual bag. “This is called cocaine. This is marijuana. This is crack which is a less refined version of the cocaine. This is heroin. All of these alter the human mind and are capable of causing hallucinations. They provide a high, which is a very good feeling. All these except the weed are dangerous to consume but highly addictive. That’s what makes your father and I able to sell so much. They get addicted and they come back. It’s against the law to have these things too. The police could put a person in jail for having just one of these bags. Only reason I'm not there is because they're afraid of me.”

“Why do you do it?”

“At first it was for the money. I bought this house and this land with the money I made from selling this stuff. Then I guess, I never stopped.”

“But you profit at the expense of others..”

“I don’t sell to nig- um, black people.. I just do business with black people…” Her expression alone cut him down.

”You have so many things here. Things I’ve certainly never seen or heard of. Could you stop now?”

He wanted badly to say no, but he couldn’t lie. Not to her. He scratched at his beard. Technically, he could very well stop. Other than rich all the drug game had ever made him was lonely. “…..I could,” he said hesitantly. Her expression told him that was exactly what she wanted him to do. Stop selling drugs. He bit his lip thinking of the hold she had on him. She was folding him so effortlessly. He’d give her anything. “Can I sell the rest of my product before I get out the game? It basically sells itself, I just need to get rid of it.”

“How much do you have left to sell?”

Suddenly his cell rang. Fonzo. He answered it and immediately felt as though fate was punching him in the dick with a brick. Kiani was working her magic somehow. He excused himself stepping out of the room yelling in a hushed tone, “The fuck you want? I’ll call you later…. Now?… Of all fuckin days, damn… Shit! I’ll be there… I said I’d be there muhfucka.”

His boy wanted him to drop off fourty kilos of cocaíne immediately. Apparently, there was a big dog around town who was ready to cash out. Sounded hella weird, but if it was so, it was a big deal. Collecting himself, he took a deep breath. “You shut the fuck up,” he whispered to a soul who’d been taunting him ever since he’d met Kiani. She was a woman with large hoop earrings and an airbrushed tank who’d died in a domestic violence dispute. “You gone ruin that poor girl with your bullshit. Just leave her alone, please. It’s not too late,” she’d say. He’d been doing well to tune it all out, but his outburst opened the gate. The souls began to bombard him with requests. It was too much, he was completely overwhelmed. “ALL OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP,” he yelled holding his temples. The door creaked opened behind him.

“Erik, what’s wrong? Who are you talking to?” Kiani murmured softly. She looked very concerned and he instantly egretted yelling like he did. He didn’t want to scare her, but the spirits were still so LOUD and they wouldn’t stop talking or trying to get his attention. He was watching fifty two people literally crowd his space and cramp his style. There were hundreds more scattered amongst his home, roaming. He wanted to scream… again. He was close to sending them to their second death never to be heard from again. Kiani held his face in her hands, her thumbs rhythmically stroking the whiskers of the dark beard on his jaw. He lowered his head until his forehead touched hers.

“They won’t.. Leave. Me. Alone,” he muttered trying not to curse and then it all poured out of him. He told her all about his dark ability. The souls, the voices. How all he needs to do is wish it and a person will die. How he’d killed countless people in his career and could still see most of them. He even told her about the second death and how many times he’d sent hoards of people to that dark black empty plane never to be heard again. He exposed it all while she listened thoughtfully and took it in.

She looked around then, and though she didn’t see souls, she felt them. When she really focused and honed in, she felt sorrow, pain, fear, anger, regret. The sensations gripped her like a stronghold and intensified. The feeling became incredibly overwhelming. She felt nauseous and her heart began to ache. She couldn’t shake it off. She understood Erik’s frustration and his panic because she was close to screaming and it had only been a minute.

“Sunflowers. Tell me about sunflowers,” Erik said noticing her distress. She was confused at first, but the longer she rattled on about sunflowers and their seeds, the more absorbed she became in her words. Soon it was as though she was back to herself.

“Ohhh,” she sighed, “I know what you did. That was clever. How did you figure out that little trick?”

“Stumbled on it,” he shrugged. “If I didn’t turn them off somehow, I’d go crazy.” She nodded in agreement. The second death made sense to her all of a sudden. It was extreme, but it was for his sanity.

In the car, Erik flew down the road through suburbs to the congested city. In that city, there was a rough neighborhood with high crime rates and suspicious activities. It reminded him of home back during his childhood. He parked at an apartment building where there was a group of young men standing out front smoking, Hennessy in hand. “Stay here and keep the doors locked. Don’t speak to anyone and don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I go with you? Please,” she begged. Her sparkling eyes were his kryptonite. He didn’t have a chance to deny her, it was impossible. She’d begged to come along for the ride though he’d asserted that it was dangerous. She was afraid to be in the mansion alone after what she’d felt. Plus, she didn’t want to leave him. In her words, if he was in danger, then he shouldn’t be alone either. She opened her door and stepped out following him to the trunk where he pulled the large box. She attempted to help lift it and he let her think her strength was doing something, though he held 98% of the weight easily. “Wow, thank you Kiani,” he said warmly, taking the box. She glowed, proud of her contribution. The way the sun hit her skin made him pause to take it in. He couldn’t find one thing about her that he didn’t adore.. maybe the dress, but that wasn’t her fault.

“Erik,” she waved in front of his face snapping him back into the moment, “We have to drop off the box!”

With a raise of his brows, his mind cleared and he turned to walk into the building, nodding casually at the group of young men. They nodded back, “Aight Erik.” When she turned her head, he locked the car doors with one hand on his keyring and the other hand holding the box effortlessly. He didn’t want to ruin the illusion that she’d helped. She’d looked so proud. The elevator went up to the third floor and they stepped out into a hall where someone’s loud music was dominating the airspace and Erik smelt weed. He knocked on the last door on the right and after a quiet few seconds, it swung open. Red flags went off in Erik’s mind. Typically there would be a long series of unlocks and the man inside, Fonzo, would look through the keyhole before cautiously peeping out.

“Oh wassup, E,” the man said nervously, his eyes confirming to Erik that something was very wrong. Erik put his hand on Kiani silently begging her to stay put and she reached for him, but he was firm. “Please,” he mouthed. It was obvious she’d never grown up with anything to fear. That alone was dangerous for her. Thankfully, she nodded. Stepping pass Fonzo, he drew his gun that was well hidden in his waistband and strolled into the apartment. Immediately a bullet whizzed past his head and he returned fire, not killing but disarming. The shooter wore a black ski mask and Erik aimed his gun threatening to shoot as he approached the man, snatching off his mask. “Terrence,” he groaned recognizing the skinny black man. “Damn. You too?! Didn’t I make sure you and your family was good and you got the nerve..” Erik knocked him to the ground and kicked him hard, betrayal forcing him to see scarlet red. Kiani’s fearful squeak made him turn around and Terrance climbed from the floor aiming his gun to the back of Erik’s head as Fonzo held Kiani at gunpoint. “Sorry brother,” Terrence winced holding his bruised ribs, “It’s money, it’s not personal.” Fonzo shrugged, “For me, it’s a little personal.” His finger flinched on the trigger and Kiani squeezed her eyes shut, her tears flowing. But then Fonzo’s hand began to shake and he dropped gun, falling backward to the ground, still convulsing. He seized until white froth filled his mouth while Erik mouthed to Kiani to duck. She dipped and he quickly moved his head. A bullet soared to where Kiani’s head would’ve been and Erik kneed and elbowed Terrence, taking the gun and tackling him down again. “The only reason I’m not killing you is because I know your kids and they don’t deserve that,” he whispered, “But if you ever pull this shit again.. you gone look just like him,” he said pointing the gun at Fonzo.

“Erik,” Kiani called. She looked terrified. She was still sitting in front of the dead body. He knew it was time to go. Things had already gone as bad as they could go. He’d shown his true colors and he could feel his own heart breaking. The only thing he feared was losing her in his life. She was his light and he was dimming it.

Leaving the man on the ground, he arranged the three guns in his waistband and helped Kiani to her feet, escorting her to the elevator and from the building, back into the car. He’d left the box that was full of drugs behind without a second thought.

He didn't want to take her back to her home, but he wasn't sure if she was okay with going back to his home. She was uncomfortably silent and it made him nervous. "I'm sorry," he said. She looked at him, her posture relaxing, and put her hand on his knee. "It's not your fault, Erik."

"It is my fault," he asserted. "I took you there and put you in that dangerous situation and though I would never let anything bad happen to you, you were afraid and that's not okay. You saw some things you should've never seen. That was all my fault and I'm sorry."

The car was silent for a moment before she spoke, her hand still on his knee. "Erik. You're my friend and you still need me, so I'm going to help you. But after that.. I want you to take me home."

His heart broke with those last three words and he faced his window fighting the tear that threatened to slip. He'd fucked it up, his only chance. It was his own fault. He nodded.

They ended up back at his place and Kiani led the way back into the mansion. "Hello, souls," she called uncertainly waiting to hear or feel something. She stood still and felt a slight stirring of energy, but it took Erik standing beside her and slowly touching her hand, stroking it with his thumb to feel what she felt before, the discomfort. "Let's find out what they want to tell you. I'll help you to listen," she said. Erik sighed before closing his eyes. He didn't care to listen. He didn't care about the souls, he just wanted them gone. "Try," Kiana said squeezing his hand. He opened his eyes then.

"Okay.. Fine, let's start with you. other than telling me what I need to do, what do you want," he asked the domestic violence victim. She stepped forward. "To move on, asshole! We've all been stuck here waiting. Do your fucking job."

"Ohhh you going for death number twooo," he threatened effectively shutting her up.

"Erik, what did they want," Kiani asked. He relayed the message in less crass terms. "How do they move on," she asked. He shrugged. "Well an you create a realm that isn't a deep dark pit or empty plane? One that's pretty and full of good things? Maybe instead of sending everyone to the dark place for eternity, you could send some people, the good ones, to the good place?"

He stared at her for a moment trying to think of a way to tell her no. He'd have to create a new place in his mind and then screen each soul to determine where it should go. It sounded like more work than it was worth. He then he looked at her and imagined her playing in her field of flowers. Grassy hills, bright colors, sun, woodland animals.. he packaged it all into a beautiful world within his mind and then he opened it up to the domestic violence victim. Excitedly, she ran into it and disappeared. One down. Kiani smiled and he immediately knew that she felt it when someone entered that dream world. It was like she was linked to it. She called this new beautiful world Elysium. One by one, Erik looked at the souls and compartmentalized them. Selfish, evil betrayers and bad people he'd send to the second death. Kind victims and good hearted people went into the paradise. With Kiani's help with the judgments the room dwindled from hundreds to approximately forty souls. Erik felt so much lighter. He was so happy and appreciative.

“Erik, it's time," she said, her face serious. "I wanna go home. I miss it already. I'm not sure if I'm cut out for all of this," she gestured all around. The death she witnessed up close was what did it, he knew it, but it would be insensitive to argue and say it wasn't a common occurrence. He was death incarnate afterall. He had to accept that she was ready to go. Possibly forever. ”Erik, it's not you. You're great. It's everything else. I just need to be home and think," she said grabbing both of his hands. It was true. She valued him. He was the only one in her life who didn't treat her like a child. She craved that and she really did like him. He nodded and before good sense could stop him, he kissed her. Her lips were soft like the flowers she grew and her eyelids floated shut. He kept his eyes open not wanting to miss a moment. It was gentle yet fervent, light yet needy, short yet lasting.

Immediately, Kiani knew that what she'd experienced, she wanted more of. There was no going back now, she'd tasted the forbidden fruit and it was sweet. Was this what her mother and Ms. Smith had been hiding from her? When he pulled away, she grabbed his face planting her lips firmly back onto his. His eyes widened in shock, but he quickly wrapped his strong arms around her and lifted her, carrying her carefully back up the stairs and into his bedroom. The light still poured in. He laid her on her back and quickly found the dried flower from his father's grave that he kept pressed into his father's old journal.

"Touch this."

Kiani's touch brought it to life and he dove onto the bed kissing her neck. The more he kissed her, the brighter the rose became. A single white rose. It multiplied into two. He sucked her neck and two turned to four, eight, sixteen. He killed a few by landing on them as he crawled to lift her dress and pull down her panties. She was very confused by his actions, watching him strangely, but he knew exactly what he was doing. As he lowered his head to kiss, suck, and lick on her lower lips, he was giving her something she could never forget or go backwards from. She would never be the same again. She felt that deep within. The flowers began to cover the bed and overflow as she gasped, her moans forming the notes of his favorite song. When she came, she wore a face of confusion mixed with pleasure and concern.

"How do you feel? Did you like that," he asked watching her emotions swirl and finally land on pure pleasure. She smiled.

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 4 years

Text

This had to be explained to me this morning...

Okay why I don't fucking know and they won't bother because it's fucking dumb and lazy I'm quite sure.

But.

Apparently I won't be home for Christmas, Annabelle and I will be stuck out at the Uncle, Clone, Socrates Christmas Horror with probably my cousin Chris.. Maybe my brother...

And so I said "what are people supposed to think? They're supposed to be happy and experiencing new things, this is old shit and for me?! That's gonna make them feel even worse knowing I can't be with my Kidd over some stupid invalid shit that I don't even understand except it's just plain laziness, idiotic and definitely developed by a male!! A male that's lazy about his family!!"

William: let me defend myself

Me: shut up

So I was told by someone, someone i stole a gun from shortly before my faux 16th birthday in an attempt to help save the planet (Not William but an undercover CIA agent), that in his heart he was told that this Christmas when people look around think 'Sabrina is missing out on this kind of happiness with her family' that they should remember and realize that the sadness they feel for me was felt for millions of human trafficked victims world wide, every Christmas and every holiday.

Some of us didn't know about it. Or had forgotten. So let this be the last Christmas any one is sad. It will always be a serious issue in our hearts and minds and souls. But not forever should we carry the burden of sadness and fear.

This year is the eradication of the solitude of the sadness of each Holiday being sad. Now we all know why gramma would sit in the chair alone hugging herself quietly at,the end of the day or sit the camcorder in the corner and refuse to participate like a granddaughter thought she should and try to get her to interact more because she didn't seem happy enough.

This Christmas: the sadness shall be replaced with cheer. The fear with triumph and joy.

And yes you will remember I'll not be happy and my kids without their parents.

But they have my real mom and dad. My real twin brother. Their not real Uncle that loves them as much as a dad. And many more people, nearly 100 in their neat home giving them best wishes and having Christmas dinner.

No way in Hell nor God's green Earth would i allow them to miss Christmas.

So today they will open presents from Uncle Garth and tomorrow Trisha's stockings, the next day from the Dildo King who has been making new things with his family (faux Uncle Garth and real Uncle Matt) that i asked Uncle to purchase 3 years ago in preparation of taking care of my children. And on down. And hopefully I'll be able to get there while Christmas is still happening.

I'm there in spirit as i always have been and that is my Christmas Lesson to know I cared about Children i didn't know i had. And for Declan and Annabelle, too. To know they also assumed one day they would feel Christmas joy as they once had when they were little and alone, listening to little voices explain how things were different where they lived yet no matter how close they felt they knew things were too far to really feel the Christmas joy as they should. This year they will know why.

As Declan explains. Its beautiful because they never expressed unhappiness or even jealousy or loneliness, just an eagerness to understand what they were missing out on because their belief was one day they would experience it out of slavery and here with us.

And it's true. Since my divorce... The ability to do Christmas All big and strong has dwindled... Because i have too much pain, mostly physical and can't gather the strength to make it perfect in every way. And as getting older goes Declan couldn't also hide his worries from his soulmate. Although we worked together to make it best for Annabelle. For us it was more about "Thank God it's Done and everything went perfect"

So this year... Apparently William's laziness wants us to feel that before Christmas. -.- or at Christmas. -.- like i really care. We still have so much work to do! We have mental health and we have bunkers to redo so they're not bunkers and factories to move and figure out what to do with. And employ people at a rate that doesn't cause insane inflation. Like work is never over. So Idk whst the fuck hes thinking. Im All about letting those miserable souls we can't get the missle at think they can enjoy Christmas. Pay a lot of someone's an insane amount of money to miss Christmas and sit outside their house and shadow shot them when they attempt to leave. Drop down the fucking chimney at night... Now that it's raining because the world cries for us...maybe that's not the best idea but still you get the picture. See, my husband is lazy and has no defenses. But i still love him anyways although his life woild be easier if he just listened and didn't pretend he didn't ever hear whole discussions we had where he was all "oh that's so smart!!" And make new plans when he sure as Hell knew i wasn't listening and my face looked like this:

And he tells me i should take a picture of myself because hes too afraid to tell me i look mad and wants to soften things up.

Uh Yeah when you abandon me in Hell when i fully expressed that i wanted him to come back full body in our old truck and drive me to Macy's in Oklahoma So we can get the kids Christmas presents in the form of bedding and some holiday clothing like nice dresses and suits. That they can wear while playing in mud puddles because that's what life is about as stains are like scars but stains remember less pain usually, and more laughter than tears and fears. Then he could leave me at Uncle Garths while he goes back to work. So we could spend the whole drive together and shopping time and then Declan could caravan with us.

But no. Hes all about abandonment because its easy. -.-

And now he's like way way beyond scared. Well that's what a mad face is about. Its the door to truth. And truth isn't always happy or pretty.

Its scary. And it's real. And it doesn't go away. Its Not just a point of view, it is total truth. Its at least 2 points of view and a validation.

When i told him what i wanted he promised he could do it and wss very happy.

So then later he's rambling about me stsying here while im busy making gingerbread houses and I'm quite sure he inhaled too much Stevia powder we used for snow.

William: hey now I don't wanna be in control anymore i want my wife to tell me what to do!

Uncle Donald: are you trying to hide behind Uncle Donald?

William: I'm heading that way!

Uncle Donald: well you get back to body life for yourself and we will make sure you get there safe. If not we will Chinook her express. How does that sound?

William: well uhhh how does that sound to you? Im asking Uncle Donald.

Uncle Donald: well you have a period of 2 hours to decide then we are taking her and the kids and Uncle Dan, as she calls him, with respect because hes always been kind to her.

Me: sounds good to me

William: what about those other guys that have been fighting for her?

Me: Christmas comes the same time every fucking year. Like you they ain't spent it with me so they obviously don't care.

William: well uh they care, now.

Me: because they have an opportunity to and they're all taking too long. What? We put the calender on pause because they didn't make their own opportunities? No they hurry the fuck up. Maybe they will make it but not fair to my children to wait on them to finish and any husband od kine will understand that.

William: not if they always lived in a bunker

Me: well that is why we already placed human trafficking victims with their families as best and as fast as we can So that they can learn to understand. Because it's not something that can be taught, its something that's felt only when together in happiness and love in a group. Its like having a whole meal and not just a bag of chips.

William: that's all you gotta say.

Uncle Donald: Sabrina...

Me: we already have a standing plan from August. It will be easy.

Uncle Donald: that's all

Me: thank you. And Merry Christmas.

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