The Coven of Blades

But fuck all that. Once I discovered there were others like me and what teratophilia was, I felt less alone, less of a freak, finally understanding that lifelong part of my identity. I can thank the internet for that.

Now let me list the fictional characters that make happy in the heart and in the pants.

Humans (with monstrous or abnormal physical and mental characteristics):

Arkham Knight Scarecrow

Arkhamverse Riddler

Deadpool

Killer croc

Aliens and non-human people:

Male Yautja

Turians like Garrus, Nihlus, Adrien Victus, Roland Quarn, etc. Sparatus can dismiss my claims anytime.

Krogan

Drell

Salarians (for asexual companionship)

People (Fable fans) are being really fucking shitty to me because I have an unpopular opinion. I'm not trying to be a bitch, I mean no disrespect to the devs of the reboot, I fully plan on giving the game a chance, etc. If I don't get my way I'm not going to attack or harass the developers like the absolute fucking toilet sponges on Youtube attacked and harassed the trans-fem environmental artist for being the reason the PC is "ugly."

All of this because I believe that Fable isn't Fable without the world-building (historical characters and history) established in Fable The Lost Chapters and expanded on by "Tales of Albion" should be included in the reboot. I've clarified what I mean numerous times and somehow they're still misconstruing/twisting my words. I don't want or expect the base world-building to be 1:1, I fully expect and hope that they will evolve the source material.

All I want is the Old Kingdom, the Void, William Black, the Court mostly Jack of Blades to exist in the reboot. If Playground can't include it at the bare minimum then they should have made their own IP instead of skinning Fable's corpse and wearing it.

I see everyone saying Fable isn't Fable without "the moral choices," "British Humor, life-sim mechanics, good/evil morphing, etc" but they never include world-building.

A fantasy world heavily depends on its lore (history and historical characters), usually from the source material it's based off, to have a distinct identity. I play the Elder Scrolls series, not only for the features, but for the story, characters and lore which allows me to invest and immerse myself in a unique living world I can't get anywhere else. No other fantasy world is the same.

It's the same for Fable. Even if it has all the gameplay and humor of the originals, without the basic history of William Black, the Old Kingdom, the Court, and the void, it will never be Fable. Fable is its humor, its gameplay, its features, its lore/history and its historical characters. You can't extract one of these and still call it Fable which is why it baffles me as to why so few people care about the base lore. You say you want a Fable game, but you're okay with history, historical characters, and world-building being completely gutted?

That IS the source material. Do you mean to tell me the Fable reboot is still Fable without Fable? That's like saying a bologna sandwich is still a sandwich without bread.

 I expect Fable to be everything and have everything (to a certain point) from the originals but improved and evolved. As a writer, why the fuck would you wipe out pre-existing world-building and basic history to start completely anew? Firstly, you're creating a lot more work for yourself as well as increasing development time and costs.

 Finally, why wouldn't you evolve/improve the base world construct and adapt what already exists to make it yours? The base material has so much untapped potential that was never realized or properly explored. The Court and even Jack of Blades by himself were never utilized satisfactorily. Jack needed more development.

Forgive me, Dene!

This isn't a boast. This is a persistent problem for me when purchasing clothes. I fucking hate it so much. Small to medium pants fit me fine depending on the scaling used at the factory, but I always have to buy extra-large shirts/blouses to accommodate my chest, making me look dumpy above the waist. Dresses are even harder to shop for online. I want to look good (or as good as my troglodyte-looking ass can.) I want to feel pretty dammit. D:

Imagine: You've been captured and strapped to a table by Scarecrow (I envisioned Arkham Knight Scarecrow). You somehow manage to slip one of your arms free and just as he's looming over to inject you. You grab him at him blindly. Instead of catching his hand or wrist, you capture a fistful of Scarecock and balls.

Squeezing the peach is a valid defense tactic against men, at least that's what your self-defense instructor swears by. Then again she has been to court repeatedly for sexual harassment...

However, staring into the cold cloudy blue eyes of Scarecrow while you're aggressively fondling his junk makes for an intensely awkward situation. You hear a dry chuckle fall from his tattered lips.

No, I'm not going to sell nudes. No titty pic or pussy portraits (unless you're talking about my cats). I tried to sell my PS4 and all the games with it in town but the Tech Peddler is never open. Mfer is always in Boston. This is like the 20th time this year.

The nearest pawn shop just closed so I'm shit out of luck. Stingy bastards wouldn't give me what I need anyway. I need cat food and gas money damn it. WTF am I going to do. I don't even know how to set up donations. I'm low this month because we had to register our car (our only means of transportation in a rural area) and that bitch cost A LOT to register. Holy shit.

I HAVE BA in Creative Writing for fuck's sake. I even graduated salutatorian yet there's this annoying bitchy voice screaming negativity in my brain.

"Maybe my entire class was composed of poor writers." I doubt it. A lot of my classmates have found a measure of success.

Maybe my professors were too lenient and the classes too easy. Then I remember the time my screenwriting professor, a stern passionate man made me cry over a fuck up. Is this imposter syndrome?

Please read the finished rough draft. I don't expect you to pepper my alabaster cheeks with sweet comforting kisses. I accept critiques so long as said critique is constructively given to me. In other words, don't be a cunty fuck nugget. Give me suggestions. I need a cute nickname befitting of Scarecrow.

Without further stalling here's my edited "finished" draft inspired by "Shot Through the Heart." (I'm a perfectionist, this bitch will never truly be finished in a way that satisfies me

*************************************************************

Int. Arkham Asylum - Night (Post Arkham Knight)

DARK WOMAN, 5'0 wreathed in dancing shadows watches the cell block below. Her orange eyes aglow like Jack-o-lanterns stalk the patrolling guards with predatory keenness. A palpable anger emanates from the figure as her eyes land on the cell at the far end of the block. The bodies of fallen guards lay at her feet.

SCARECROW/JONATHAN CRANE cowers in the corner of his cell jabbering to himself. His milky blue eyes dart fearfully to the minutest movement outside his cell.

SCARECROW: Bat... Ashes... Piano.

Guard 1: (bangs his fist on the glass of Crane's cell.) Shut up in there!

SCARECROW: (Screams.)

Guard 1: Not so scary now are you?

Guard 2: Batman really did a number on him. Not much left of the poor bastard now. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Guard 1: (Laughs.) Poor bastard? He's lucky Waller doesn't let us beat him more.

Guard 2: It was fun making Crane shit himself for a change. Speaking of which has he had his share for today?

Guard 1: Haha! I love my job! Nothing like unleashing my aggression on these psychos.

The two guards approach SCARECROW's cell. Guard 1 withdraws his baton and smacks it against his open hand. SCARECROW shrinks into the furthest corner of his cell, shielding his already disfigured face.

A cadaver plunges from the catwalk, landing behind the two guards with a wet crack. The two whirl around to confront the source of the noise. A shattered face stares back at them with melted eyes.

Guard 1: What the fuck?

Guard 2: Who did this!?

Two more bodies fall from above landing in a twisted heap at their feet. Drawn by the commotion more guards investigate, gathering around the corpses. GUARD 3, wielding a flamethrower, followed by the more conventionally armed GUARD 4 and GUARD 5 study the scene.

Guard 4: *wretches .* God! What happened to them?

Guard 5: Ugh. Definitely closed casket viewings.

Guard 5 nudges one of the corpses with the toe of his boot. As soon as he does the body erupts in a cloud of green chemicals and gore, triggering a chain reaction among the other corpses.

Covered in viscera and the mysterious chemical their armor sizzles and bubbles.

Guard 3: (Screams)

A dark veil of orange smoke envelopes the hall as the woman leaps down in front of the guards. Her silhouette can barely be seen through the thick, acrid smog.

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

Darlin', you give love a bad name

The guards blindly rush the woman through the smog, coughing violently. She parries their blows with elegant ballet-like movements. Her flexibility and dancelike manner of motion give her an uncanny and inhuman quality.

An angel's smile is what you sell

You promise me Heaven, then put me through hell

Chains of love got a hold on me

When passion's a prison, you can't break free

Frigid terror takes grasp of the guards, wracking their limbs with tremors and causing them to jump at shadows. The woman materializes from the smoke behind Guard 1 and plunges her needled fingers into his exposed eyes.

Oh, you're a loaded gun, yeah

Oh, there's nowhere to run

No one can save me

The damage is done

Guard 1: (screams in agony clutching his bleeding sockets.)

Guard 3 unleashes a gout of flames upon the woman. The woman calmly stares down the fire and casually tosses a powder bomb at his feet, consuming him and his colleagues in flame. The surviving guards attack each other as a new contingent of guards pours in.

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

You give love a bad name (bad name)

I play my part and you play your game

You give love a bad name (bad name)

Hey, you give love, a bad name

Paint your smile on your lips

Blood red nails on your fingertips

A school boy's dream, you act so shy

Your very first kiss was your first kiss goodbye

The woman walks down the block tossing small bombs at each passing cell. Inmates join the firefight, throwing the Asylum into chaos. She closes in on Scarecrow's cell pausing to sadly gaze upon him.

Woman: (In a soft southern accent, think Southern Belle) What have they done to you?

Whoa, you're a loaded gun

Whoa, there's nowhere to run

No one can save me

The damage is done

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

You give love a bad name (bad name)

I play my part and you play your game

You give love a bad name (bad name)

You give love, oh

She produces a bloodstained keycard from her garter. The cell door slides open as she swipes the card and punches in the number (or uses a severed finger for a fingerprint recognition scan)

Scarecrow jumps at the footfall of boots clicking against the cell floor, his milky eyes darting toward the noise. A flash of familiarity warms his gaze.

Scarecrow: Rag... doll... Bat... hurt...Flame

The woman kneels next to the slender, much taller man and gently grabs his chin. Their eyes meet. He flinches when she strokes his cheek.

Woman: (Shushes him) It's okay darlin'. You remember me, don't you?

He relaxes as she briefly examines his face. Deep death black bruises paint his cadaverous face and sinewy arms. Her eyes narrow dangerously.

Scarecrow: Home... Ragdoll... Safe.

Woman (Ragdoll): Yes, Jonny *she pats hands.* You're safe with me. Nobody's going to hurt you ever again.

Ragdoll helps him to his feet, draping one of his long arms over her shoulders. The two use the chaos to escape the asylum.

Ragdoll: I'll make you better, I promise you, Jonny.

Oh, shot through the heart

And you're to blame

You give love a bad name

I play my part and you play your game

You give love a bad name (bad name)

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

You give love a bad name (bad name)

I play my part and you play your game

You give love a bad name (bad name)

You give love

You give love (bad name)

You give love

You give love (bad name)

You give love

You give love (bad name)

You give love

Int. Arkham Asylum - Night (Post Arkham Knight)

A figure wreathed in dancing shadows watches the cell block below. Their orange eyes aglow like Jack-o-lanterns stalk the patrolling guards with predatory keenness. A palpable anger emanates from the figure as their eyes land on the cell at the far end of the block. The bodies of fallen guards lay at their feet.

SCARECROW/JONATHAN CRANE cowers in the corner of his cell jabbering to himself. His milky blue eyes dart fearfully to the minutest movement outside his cell.

SCARECROW: Bat... Ashes... Piano.

Cunty Guard: (bangs his fist on the glass of Crane's cell.) Shut up in there!

SCARECROW: (Screams.)

Cunty Guard: Not so scary now are you?

Guard: Batman really did a number on him. Not much left of the poor bastard now.

Cunty Guard: (Laughs.) Poor bastard? He's lucky Waller doesn't let us beat him more.

Guard: Yeah, remember when Chuck beat him last week? Crane shit himself - literally.

Cunty Guard: I love my job! Nothing like unleashing my aggression on these scumbags.

The figure kicks one of the bodies off the catwalk. The body lands in front of the two guards with a wet crack. It stares at them with melted eyes and a sloughing face.

Cunty Guard: What the fuck?

Guard: Chuck!? Who did this!?

The figure jumps down. A petit red-headed woman about 5'0 lands on top of Chuck spraying a little bit of his juice onto Cunty guard's shoes.

Mystery Woman: (In a slight southern accent think southern belle) Hiya boys.

Both guards rush the woman. She parries their blows with elegant dancelike movements. Her supernatural flexibility makes her seem uncanny and inhuman, unnerving the guards.

Shot through the heart And you're to blame Darlin', you give love a bad name

------------------------------------------------------

Things haven't been great at all. Last Friday our rescue cat, Maze passed away at home from respiratory failure.

We rushed him to the only veterinarian nearby that would care for him. The hospital in town refused to take him in as a patient.

His asthma went undiagnosed and untreated for too long causing irreversible lung damage. They were basically scar tissue. His original owners' neglect and abandonment sealed his fate before we rescued him. He was sick and so they threw him away.

Before any grief vultures reading this accuse me of neglect, I took him to the vet when we first rescued him, but the vet missed it.

The night Maze died the vet gave him a shot of Depo-medrol and sent us home with prednisolone. Just the stress being away from home worsened his breathing. I blame myself for stressing him out.

I wished the vet would have just euthanized him. He could have drifted off free of suffering instead of like he did. I genuinely wished I didn't have to witness what I did. I don't want it to haunt me like it does. I want to forget, but my brain takes snapshots of moments so vivid I can remember every detail.

He crawled to me. He believed I could make it all better like I always did and I couldn't. I couldn't make the suffering end. I had to watch him die gasping and choking.

Last night was a good example. I was replying to a serious Suicide Squad game post on Reddit titled "Will the insanity end when the new game is released?" There was a slightly off-topic, but still relevant conversation going on.

I got into how odd it is that Waller didn't take any interest in Scarecrow as he was the only rogue in the Arkhamverse to unmask Batman and brought him the closest to defeat/breaking any of them ever had. Fuck, he even out planned Bats on a couple occasions.

I don't know if anyone here realizes just how amazingly OP Arkhamverse Batman in almost every discipline, but for a rogue to get a couple steps ahead of him is a feat unheard of. Scarecrow devised a Thanatos Gambit on the master of the technique. He technically won.

Sure Scarecrow didn't make Batman cross the line he most feared but he gave him a good shove toward that precipice. Using fear toxin, a substance very well known for breaking people permanently even in it's weaker variant, on criminals is extremely morally dubious.

The strongest indicator of the damage done, is that he injected Scarecrow with the almost always lethal version with the intent of destroying his mind. I expect cruelty like that from Scarecrow or Riddler, they're the "bad guys" not our dark brooding hero.

But I digress. I didn't go into it as much as I have here because doing so guarantees no one will read my post.

The OP came back with "Not sure what fear toxin would do against robots." No shit! I'm so fucking stupid I wouldn't know something so obvious. I never implied that fear toxin would affect robots. Completely missed my point. I was talking about his chemical genius, brilliant mind, and ability to out gambit Batman.

Never once did I say he'd be one of the ground forces in Taskforce X. Any fan knows Scarecrow isn't a fighter, that he specializes in psychology and excels in unraveling sanity as opposed to a physical threat.

You'd think Waller would have at least "recruited" Crane to be on the support staff and put his genius to good use. That's all I was saying.

People seem to hate all the Rogues I like in the Arkham subreddit. Riddler and Scarecrow are especially unpopular. Honestly, the more assy they get about me talking about Scarecrow, the more I'm going to mention him.

It's okay for others to make multiple posts describing the explicit things they want to do with Bane, the Joker and Batman but I get shit for just talking about Scarecrow?

Not even in a sexual way, either. I may exaggerate my obsession with Scarecrow in an attempt to be funny but everyone on that sub exaggerates in some way.

Also Me, directed at myself: Get over possibly never seeing OG Mewtwo again you stupid bitch.