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libraryofloveletters · 3 years

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a fic of chim coming back to live with you as he bunked with Buck due to covid while you worked at the hospital

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Howard “Chimney” Han x Reader

Warnings: mentions of covid, alcohol and the consumption of, teasing Eddie about Buck (for my Buddie stans)

Category: Fluff with a lil bit of angst

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: I have more Chim content coming soon :) also I didn’t proof-read this so idk hopefully it's okay

“Hey you” you smile at Chim over the phone, he called you while he was getting ready for work, you on the other hand, now getting home from a shift.

“Hey, how was work?” he asked while pouring some coffee into a mug, his phone was up against the wall.

“Hectic but that’s a norm” you proceed to go through your after work routine which consists of disinfecting everything that comes in with you, your scrubs in the washing machine and straight to the bathroom you go. “What time are you off tonight love?” you turned on the shower, the phone rested face up on the counter.

“6 this afternoon, if they don’t need me any longer. What time is your shift ?” he took a sip of the coffee, his face contorting at the overly hot liquid. You chuckled at his little scrunched up expression, “I start at 7 but I got to be in around 6:30″

“Oh my god, is that y/n?” you wrap the towel around yourself when you hear Buck’s voice and heavy footsteps approaching. Picking up the phone so they would see you again, “hi buckaroo, how’s life with your roommate ?”

“Y/n, I'm begging you. Please take him back” Buck was half dressed, you knew they had to leave for work what should have been 15 minutes ago if they wanted to be on time.

“Is he driving you crazy yet Buck ?”

“Yet?” he shouted, “he’s been doing that since day one!”

“Buck shut up and go get dressed. Stop talking to your lady friend.” Chim rolled his eyes. “Ohhh does he have a little girlfriend ?” you tease, you can hear Buck shout a shut up in your general direction making you smile.

“Why don't you come home babe ? I'm sure Buck would be happy to have his apartment back to himself”

“I can’t, you know that” he gives you an apologetic look

“It’s not that you can’t, you just don't want to.”

“Y/n I-” he opens his mouth but you cut him off, “C’mon, we’re both working and yeah, we both need to take the precautions necessary to keep ourselves safe, which we’re already doing. Just think about it? Please ? I miss you.”

“I know,” he sighs, running a hand over his face. “I know- I'll think about it okay ? I miss you too”

“I’m gonna take a shower and try to get some sleep. I love you, be safe okay?”

“I love you too and I will. I'll text you before your shift” Chim blew you a kiss, you blew one back and hung up.

The door to your apartment was propped open as Eddie helped you move the new couch. “No, no lift it! You're going to scratch the floor!” Eddie warned you because you were pulling the couch from your end. You had spilt chocolate ice cream on the couch and the stain just wouldn’t come out. In all fairness, it wasn’t just ice cream, the couch was old as hell. It wouldn't hurt to replace it so you did just that. Eddie was over to help you because one, he’s the only person you knew with a pick up truck who would help you move both couches on a short notice, two, Chim was working and you didn’t really feel like telling him that you were getting rid of his favourite couch and three, Eddie was your best friend, if you asked him to help you bury a body, he’d drop what he was doing and come help you and you'd do the same for him.

After managing to get it into the apartment, you finally get it where you want it. “How about a beer for all your hard work ?” you asked, walking to the kitchen. Eddie took a seat on the couch, “how about you watch Chris next Saturday for me and I'll still take the beer for all my hard work ?” he called out, making you chuckle. “You got a deal, Diaz” you sit beside him, handing him a bottle.

“Chim’s still staying with Buck, right ?” he takes a sip as he looks over at you. You can't help but sigh, “yeah, why? Jealous that you can't have your boyfriend all to yourself, Eddie ?” you tease, Eddie gives you a slight shove. He wouldn’t admit it but the mention of Buck being his boyfriend made him blush. The two of you sat there just catching up on life, it had been a while since you last saw Eddie.

“How’s Chris adjusting to the whole online school ?” you ask, Eddie groans, “It was a little hard at first, they didn’t have a set schedule for a few days and it was hard for him. Now, he's got the hang of it, he really seems to like his teacher.” Eddie tells you, you smile.

“Maybe I'll pop by one day if I’m off. They have me working back to back, so I should have a few days off next week”

“Yeah, that would be nice. Chris misses you. The last few weeks have just been me and Carla who he only sees via FaceTime, it’d be nice to have someone else around.”

“Oh his other dad didn’t come by ?” you ask, Eddie’s brows furrow. He had that adorable confused look he gets.

“Buck, I'm talking about Buck”

“Oh,” the same blush appears on Eddie’s face but he shakes his head. “Not yet”

Your phone was tucked under your leg as you shifted towards the side of the couch, your legs now stretched in front of you. The phone was somewhere under your leg when Eddie changed the topic back to you and Chim and what was happening there.

Across the city, Buck’s phone rings. “Hey y/n!” he says, the audio from your end sounds muffled. “Y/n ? Helloooo?” Buck calls again and it still sounds muffled. He listens for a few seconds, setting the phone on speaker and resting it beside him on the counter. The sound is coming through clearly now and it sounds like you and Eddie were having a conversation. Buck debated for a minute, does he hang up or should he keep listening ? It was wrong to eavesdrop but it’d be even worse to hang up, he just had to know what the conversation was about.

Curiosity always killed the cat.

Buck listened, Eddie had asked you something that he didn’t quite catch but he listened to your reply. “God, I miss him you know ? It took forever to get used to sleeping by myself again and I know I do it when he’s on shift but it’s not the same” you tell him, Eddie hums. Continuing with your thought, “I just want him home I don't care if it’s selfish but what’s the worst that could happen, ya know?”

“You both work equally dangerous jobs right now, he knows that. He worries about you” Eddie says. “Yeah and I worry about him too, but I'd worry a little less if I got to see him.” you mumble, the sound of something clinking from your end.

Buck wanted to hang up but he wanted Chim out of his apartment a little more than he wanted to hang up. His need to hear what was happening was a little stronger than his moral compass, Maybe there’s something in here to make his case to Chim.

Chim pushes the door open, his bag dropping to the floor. Buck was hunched over the counter, his eyes on his phone. “Hey” Chim says, walking over to Buck. Buck looks like a deer in headlights, “Chim” his eyes go from the phone to Chim and then back to the phone. Eddie begins talking before Buck could end the call.

“He’s just taking precautions, y/n”

“I know that Eddie but so is everyone else. He's just being a stubborn ass” you groan.

Buck looks over at Chim, an apologetic look on his face. “Does she-” Chim whispered, Buck shook his head.

“Cut him some slack, he’s trying” Eddie spoke up

“Eddie, stop trying to justify his actions. Everyone is taking precautions, he's not the only one that’s worried about that. You’ve got a kid at home and you still go home to him! All of you have families to go home to and you all do, what’s the difference here ? We’re two grown adults, I don't see what the issue is.” your voice raises slightly.

Chim leaned over and ended the call. “How long have you been listening ?” He questions the blonde man, Buck turns to lean against the counter. “A few minutes before you walked in.” Chim nodded, he stood there for a few seconds before turning on his heels and headed towards the couch.

“What are you doing ?” Buck follows him, all the clothes that had been scattered across his living room, the same ones that had been driving him insane, were now tossed into a bag.

“I’m going home, Buck. Unless you want me to sta-” “god no, go home” Buck answered a little too quickly. “Uh- sorry. You're more than welcomed to stay if you’d like” Buck mumbles, Chim shakes his head and laughed. “Thanks for letting me crash.” He patted Buck’s shoulder as he headed to the door.

---

Eddie was still lazing on the couch when the door unlocked. He looked over his shoulder to see Chim walking in. “Hey” Eddie sits up, “hey, where are they ?” Chim sets the bag down on the floor, he walks to the kitchen leaving Eddie on the couch.

“Shower, should be out soon I think.” He gets up and walks towards the door, “I’ll head out and give you guys some space” Eddie says.

“Yeah, thanks for hanging out with them.” Chim smiles, Eddie gives him one back.

“Anytime man, tell them I said bye. Oh and I'll text later about babysitting” Eddie heads out, pulling the door shut behind him.

Chim knocked on the bathroom door before walking in. “Get out! Can't whatever you want wait dude? I'm in the shower” you groan from behind the curtain, Chim smiles at the sound on your voice. He’s talked to you everyday since he’s been staying with Buck, but it sounded different in person.

“Yeah, it can wait” he leaned back against the counter, your head pops out from behind the curtain.

“You're home!” you seemed excited yet confused.

“I’m home” he smiles

“Wait, is Eddie still out there?”

“He went home, said something about babysitting ?”

You nodded before pulling the curtain shut again. “What changed your mind ?” you called out, continuing with your shower. “Your phone call to Buck.” his fingers tapped against the counter. “What phone call ?”

“Seems like you accidentally called and we overheard. Well, he did, I only heard the last part about me being a stubborn ass”

Chim saw the towel disappear behind the shower curtain, you pushed it back and stepped out, the towel now around you. “I didn’t realize I called Buck, I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm glad you did. You’re right. Everyone else has families and everyone’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll be okay too”

“So you're saying I'm right ?” stepping towards your boyfriend, your arms wrap around his neck, resting on his shoulders. Chim’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him and closing the gap between the two of you.

“Yeah, you’re right. Happy ?” he asked, you nodded.

“Always happy when I'm with you” you smiled at him.

---

taglist: @dralexreid @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @keenmarvellover @venusrosepetal @mikaelson-emma @beth-winchester21

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sergeanthurtsbrigade · 3 years

Text

Meet Joe Black

I’ve watched this movie a couple times now. To a detriment really. Or “perhaps” a detriment, lol. I’m not really sure...

Anyway, I bring that up to say it’s an interesting one. At least I think so. I’ve watched it knowing there’s a ton of people who don’t like it and/or think it’s slow and brooding.

I guess it is.

I’m no expert on these things.

Not yet at least lol.

Maybe one day...

But I don’t think that day is today.

Anyway. Moving on...

I guess to the privilege and understanding of scaling this film to your average classic romance film — it’s nothing like, say, a film like Casablanca or let’s say The Notebook or, even let’s weirdly say, I don’t know — On the Waterfront.

That to push the specific point of: this film is 3 hours for a reason. It’s complex. It’s contemplative. It’s mystic beyond words. And it’s uncontrollably introspective. That’s just what it is at it’s raw core. Take it or leave it.

Anyway, perhaps it’s introspective most in like, a scary, uncomfortable way maybe lol. Maybe. And that’s okay really — I think, lol. Like I said, lol — I’m not at ALL an expert on these things. But I don’t know; I think this film is a sensitive breath of fresh air.

Take a moment to understand that this movie is NOT about Joe Black. It’s not even about how Joe Black’s presence is effecting the people he’s interacting with.

This is film is about people and most of all, it’s about the things they don’t say to each other — especially behind each other’s backs. This movie is about the lies we tell.

I say that because every single character in this movie won’t admit how they really feel or own up to who they really are. They never tell the truth about what’s really going on until it’s too late — and even then, that’s not enough. Because like I said, the film is NOT about truth; it’s about lies. Everyone in every single one of these scenes lies to someone else to protect either their own ego or to avoid bruising someone else’s. Even Joe f*cking Black.

So much so, that perhaps, there’s an argument to be made that no one in the film changes fundamentally at all. And even THAT, would still be okay lol. The only difference that happens is everyone finally takes the time to listen to each other’s motives and honest hearts for the first time in forever. Bad or good. They hear or see the truth finally and accept things as they really are and maybe especially, have been. Joe kickstarts this process a little bit, but even then, everything that happens in this film apparently was going to happen regardless. Whether everyone in it would have been comfortable accepting that is probably more up in the air and in question to debate — at least to me.

As Joe tells the elder Islands woman earlier in the film — he really doesn’t have control over people’s fates. They often complain to him and curse him because they think he has that power — but he more often than not feels so power-LESS in taking souls to the next place — that he decided to take a break from his usual routines instead. That’s the whole reason he’s “vacationing” under the guise of this new character “Joe Black” alongside Bill Parrish’s demise. Joe is finally taking the time to have and find some peace; to examine his “function” and “purpose” in this universe he’s apparently supposed to be overlooking.

According to Joe, our “time” is set.

So really, the only thing Joe can control is how he FEELS about that being the case.

Much like everyone else in this film, Joe’s 3 hour journey is either accepting it happily or begrudgingly continuing to feel uncomfortable about it all.

So, again, to the point of everyone in this film lying to themselves and each other — Joe still lies about who he is or avoids telling everyone he’s Death incarnate lol.

At the end of the day, even when Susan catches a glimpse mentally or spiritually of who Joe truly is — the woman still doesn’t and can’t admit it out loud.

Susan didn’t fully love Drew. She knew that. She just didn’t know whether it was okay to FEEL okay about it or continue being uncomfortable with it. Bill knew it was time for him to step back from Parrish Communications anyway. He’s dying now. What he had to learn to accept was how this company that he so delicately fathered into inception would be able to run without him. Joke is, this was something Bill always worried and wondered about. He tells or at least implies this to Joe after one of the board meetings at the very least lol.

Bill obsessively has found himself concerned how his legacy would and will continue after his years, but has never acted on ensuring his values and morals would stay with the company SHOULD he ever be coup de tat’d.

The joke of “death and taxes” in the board room from Drew obviously culminates in the pun of Joe posing as an IRS Agent (another lie), but it’s all in service of getting Drew to truly understand how evil and disrespectful his actions toward Parrish Communications have been. Joe and Bill’s lie invoke him to speak about his true intentions to the Board — but in all reality, that’s something that should have been done from the start. Why? Because Drew openly admits and feels comfortable telling Quince his ulterior motives simply as power play and form of humiliation.

Quince in turn openly says he’ll expose Drew (which he ends up doing through encouragement by Joe — but in all reality — that fight and passion from Quince might have proceeded without Joe when you consider how much it was eating Quince up in the first place).

Really, Drew enjoyed doing what he was doing. It was wrong; but he liked it. Wealth and promotions were his own main personal values and concerns. But he wasn’t understanding the value of truth and honor that was embedded in the COMPANY he was trying to overturn. That’s why he lost Susan. That’s why he started to get on Bill’s bad side. That’s why the Board (regardless of agreeing with the invocation of the retirement article) was weary of Drew once he called the secret meeting.

We all tell lies.

But what we really should just get used to — is accepting the truth.

And if not that, we should learn to at least accept how we feel about those truths.

I don’t know.

Anyway, I say all that to say that the most honest person in this whole 3 hour film happens to be the elder black Islands lady from earlier in the hospital scene anyway lol.

Even the Joe that died at the top of this film was far more honest than anyone else proceeding him. So maybe both of those characters, original Joe and the elder woman.

But especially the elder woman...

Case and point, original Joe is who Susan mistakes and falls for anyway. And remember, both Original Joe and the Islands woman were people taken by the Death possessed Joe Black falsely, selfishly and uncomfortably before their “times.”

Don’t you remember...?

We know it was wrong that both Original Joe and the elder woman died because that’s why Joe gives Susan BACK her coffee shop boy and that’s why Death possessed Joe feels guilt after taking the Islands woman to “the next place.” Death Joe lied to Bill and said he would never and could never make exceptions — but he made one for the Island lady.

If Joe continuing to be childish and trying to play human wasn’t wrong — as the Islands lady put it — he wouldn’t have started acting out once he took her. Arguing with Bill, who started to have to continuously put Joe in his place for thinking he was some sort of giant who could play God. Because that’s the thing...

Joe isn’t God.

He’s just a piece of the puzzle beginning to not serve his natural purpose. And now? He’s throwing off the balance of himself and his surroundings selfishly by lying about it. He’s in the wrong. And now he knows it for sure by facing new negative human emotions he was never aware of before.

Sadness.

Loneliness.

Anger.

Love.

Guilt.

Joe can’t lie to himself the way he perhaps could without a human soul. Bill isn’t scared of him (which is unorthodox and intriguing to Joe) and neither is the Islands lady. For the first time in Joe Black’s existence — he’s beginning to understand who he is by admitting it to himself emotionally.

And like... isn’t that something we’re all supposed to be on this Earth doing?

Why is it that we don’t...?

...anyway...

I don’t know.

I watch this film for comfort these days. I’m still trying to figure out why, but I know part of it has to be because of how raw and honest it is.

Meet Joe Black is melancholy in an intriguing way too. But, outside the interesting performances and writing (at least, in my opinion), I’m very sensitive to enjoying how heartfelt the film is for trying to explore how we form and keep secrets.

I tend to enjoy sitting here watching a film like this for three hours. Has yet to be a moment I haven’t watched it all the way through if I catch it on television. Never matters how deep I happen to come by the film into the later or mid areas of it’s runtime either.

I just can’t seem to move out the room once it’s on the screen...

So, yeah. I could go into how I enjoy the performances or cinematography or writing. The lighting and ethereal-ness of it all too.

Could talk about what I don’t like as well...

But...

I feel all of those extra things would be WAY more tepid and uncouth in comparison to speaking strongly about how I feel that this film’s core makes me feel every so often. The vibe and soul of this film is something I feel far more comfortable codifying. At least right now maybe.

I’ll let you know in the future if that changes...

I really don’t know whether I want my love life to be like ones you see in Meet Joe Black. I’m not even sure if I feel comfortable lying in the insurmountable ways people do in Meet Joe Black either. But what I do know is that I’d feel far more comfortable in my life if I could be as transparent with people in and around my life — the way that Meet Joe Black would like it’s characters to try and be.

Anyway, stay safe out there or your mind might crack. I don’t want that to happen to you.

Hopefully, even if it does — and I’m really praying it won’t — there’ll be peanut butter somewhere in the vicinity for you.

And if there is peanut butter,

I hope you enjoy it...

...Thoroughly.

🥺🌹❤️😂🥰

#meet joe black #sadness #brad pitt #thomas newman #love #romance #death #melancholy #film #cinema #film review #cinema studies #sergeanthurtsbrigade

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fernsplaysthings · 3 years

Text

Here’s about 2.7k words about Birds.

There’ll be more. Eventually.

Be nice to Spider. Be nice to Spider. Be nice to Spider.

“He must know we could just kill him? I’ve killed Gods. He’s just an overstuffed Ether pinata.”

Be nice to Spider. Be nice to Spider. Be nice to Spider.

Roost’s shell shivers like the wings of an agitated insect and he turns his single eye towards his Guardian, squinting across at them in judgement. The ornament, a tiny replica of a Vex Harpy, does make the whole spectacle a little sillier than he wants but the impact, he hopes, will be the same. Nestled in the seat of their jumpship Kestral swings their vision away from their descent into the tattered islands of the Reef to take in the scolding Ghost.

“I’m not going to kill him,” they almost whine defensively, “He just needs to know I could if I wanted to. Especially if he tries anything shitty with you. ”

The impression of a sigh sounds from the little light, “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Kes. I know we’ve seen a lot of loss and pain. Sundance, Sagira, Glint. I know some ghosts - the other kind - are showing their faces and it’s...it’s hard for you to put your feelings together. But…” Roost presses into the crook of Kestral’s neck with some force, finding rest in the collar of fur that covers their shoulders, “...You’ll always have me. We’ll have each other.”

Silence. The Ghost’s eye swivels upwards towards his Guardian’s face after waiting a moment to see if the prolonged quiet pulled a reply from them. Their face was blank and stoney and it took a moment for them to realise they were being watched intently.

Be nice to Spider. Be nice to Spider. Be nice to Spider.

“Stop trying to make me cry while I’m concentrating, you fuck.”

---

“Alright Kestral. The line’s secure. It’s just you, me and Roost.”

The Young Wolf sighs heavily, “Glint is it really a good idea for me to keep coming back here?”

They’d been jumping back and forth to the Shore for a short while now, meeting up with Crow for a run down on the Wrathborn situation and where they were in the general scheme of things. It’d be fine. Once the Celebrant was dead they could part ways and the Young Wolf could go back to their normal day to day activities. And their own normal thoughts. Because holy shit debating the morality of what they were doing and juggling the complex feeling of seeing the former Prince of the Reef’s face regularly, with the fact that the New Light had nothing to do with…

...that.

It was stressful. And not ‘God slaying’ stressful. Not even embracing the Darkness stressful. Wading into the depths and heights of the fabled Deep Stone Crypt, although unique in it’s inflicted trauma - poor Artemis - hadn’t put them in the same situation. Killing came with it’s own special kind of low. Grieving was a totally different monster.

“I understand why you’re worried but he remembers nothing. Plus, he looks up to you,” the little Light sounds concerned, his synthesised voice with a pleading edge. He obviously and proudly loved his Guardian, “You’re the first kind face he’s seen and I - we would appreciate it. A lot, Kestral.”

Another heavier sigh and the Hunter kneaded at their temples, bracing themselves to see that face again. Reliving the moment - moments? - over again in their mind. Cayde’s final rattling words. Uldren’s futile attempts to reason his way out from the sights of Petra’s gun. The new confounding idea that they now felt something aside from pity for the man that had been laid out on the floor unready to die.

“We’ll be in the lair in a few minutes. Let Spider know we’re on our way.”

“Will do, Guardian. We’re looking forward to seeing you!”

---

Coming face to face with the man that inhabited the body of Uldren Sov was a little less jarring these days and, although still entirely uncomfortable and a little like walking on eggshells at all times, they did kind of look forward to the quick wit - without the underlying loathing he’d always had before - and how damn earnest he was. A real Guardian, determined with all his heart to help people around him.

It was endearing. Unfortunately.

Mostly because it reminded them a little of their early Guardian days. Way back when things were somehow both simpler and more difficult. When they’d known that they wanted to help wherever they saw pain and danger but unsure of who they were and what cause they were fighting for aside from the driving urge to protect...

Even when they’d end up carrying the resulting hurt with them when they left.

Long before the ‘Young Wolf’ was an icon amongst Guardians, Kestral had been sweet and earnest themself. Driven but alone. Aside from Roost, of course. And despite the fact that the face and voice of their newest member of the flock had haunted their nightmares for months they still didn’t want ‘Guardian-hood’ to break him down too. For him to succumb to the slow process of losing himself to the need to help, whatever the cost.

Shared burdens and all that.

Plus Kestral liked to think that they had a good bit of experience under their belt to pass on to him so perhaps he’d find himself happily surrounded in the Guardian ‘culture’ one day soon.

“With Savek defeated and a good number of Wrathborn taken care of I think our next target is somewhere near the mines to the north.”

Crow stands over his cluttered desk, a map somewhat resembling the Tangled Shore spread beneath his hands and marked with crosses in seemingly random locations. One of them they recognised, Sjursrest, where the Wrathborn Eliksni Savek had been called. She hadn’t been the worst enemy to fight and Spider had left them alone for a while afterwards. Apparently he was mildly generous after they’d achieved a small goal.

Naturally the generosity only lasted until another of his shipments suddenly vanished and then it was straight back to work for his poor underling.

“You think the smaller Wrathborn might lead us straight to them again?”

He turns his attention to the Hunter at his side, a head shorter than himself - if you didn’t include the nest of hair in their high ponytail - and catches their gaze. They really wanted to hate that glowing yellow stare but...it was softer than Uldren’s had ever been when looking at them. Held less contempt for what they were.

It didn’t feel like he was sizing them up for a coffin.

Realising he’d been looking a little too long, perhaps uncomfortable with the Hunter’s unnervingly steady returned look, Crow cleared his throat, “If you try the lure at the Cryptolith again we can see where it leads.”

“Sounds good to me,” they reply, stepping back from the map and holding out a palm for Roost to transmat into, “I’ll keep in touch. Unless you’ll be joining me this time?”

The slightly clunky sound of Glint’s shell as he twisted in alarm snapped Kestral away from Roost and they arched an eyebrow.

“Crow, I know you want to help but you have to stay out of sight.”

His shoulders visibly slouch and Kestral hated how defeated he looked when, knowing the ache of feeling useless, they understood how much he wanted to be out there. It made sense to keep him secreted away though, just in case a single Guardian out on the Shore recognised his face and matched him to his former life. Just in case they felt the need to let him know that they knew what he’d done. If Kestral hadn’t been sure that Uldren deserved death even at the end of their hunt, this man, completely unconnected in everything but appearance, definitely didn’t deserve the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of other Lightbearers like them.

Why did Glint have to mention them being the first friendly Guardian he’d seen?

Crow straightened up, his momentary lapse in drive apparently a small hiccough and shot a grin over to his Ghost, “I see, you want to keep me all to yourself. I can’t blame you.”

With that Kestral decided they’d seen enough wholesome Light interactions for the day and threw up a lax salute before turning on their heel and heading for the exit.

“Glint has our feed, if you find anything new let us know.”

---

The following week happened to be the beginning of the Tower’s Dawning celebration. Having taken down yet another of the big Wrathborn, a heavy shank that decided to be the biggest pain in their ass, Kestral assumed that Spider could give the newest addition to his collection a small break to enjoy a mini version of the festivities. Since Glint had explained that their last Dawning had been ‘difficult’ - Kestrel preferred the term ‘emotionally scarring’ - they’d taken it upon themself, with a little prodding from Roost, to see to it that Crow at least received some traditional cookies from at least one Guardian.

Sadly, letting the rest of the fireteam know that the body of Uldren Sov walked again and that of all people Kestral, bringer of his demise, was taking him cookies…

Yeah they didn’t have time to unpack that.

So one tin of cookies (varied flavours), a string of tiny lights shaped like engrams, two servings of powdered hot chocolate (marshmallows stored separately) and a small gift wrapped delicately in a bow made their way aboard the jumpship storage before they travelled to the Tangled Shore.

A mote of panic made its way into their mind as they landed and gathered the items; what if he didn’t like any of this? They could just leave the goods on the ship and not have to worry about being mocked...or making him feel patronised by their silly traditions. Roost’s slitted glare forced them to continue though. He completely believed Crow and Glint would appreciate the gestures and Kestral hoped that he’d been speaking with the new Lightbearer’s Ghost to confirm as much. Either that or Roost had far too much faith in his goofy Guardian’s ideas on ‘welcoming’ and ‘festivities’.

Of course all that was immediately followed by the slap in the face that was ‘realising they wanted Crow to be happy’ and decided to focus on fitting everything in their arms instead.

Naturally the easiest way to get everything to the lair would have been to transmat it all at the same time, but something had to be said for riding up with a stack of goodies. Plus Spider hated it when they rolled in on their sparrow and ditched it in the corridor for a while before sending it away. He’d not been impressed on seeing that his (least) favourite Guardian seemed to have something other than work on their mind but he said little about it. Kestrel strode by quickly regardless because any conversation with Spider that could be avoided, should be.

Glint heard them before they’d rounded the corner, floating just out of view of the entrance, little eye lighting up brighter when he realised who’d turned up. And that they had stuff.

“You didn’t warn us!”

Kestrel struck an awkward pose, upper body ladened with their bounty, “Surprise?”

Crow’s head peeked around into the corridor soon after they’d spoken, a small tilt of the head and raised eyebrow as he glanced towards Glint questioningly. The Ghost simply rounded on Kestral and Roost, nudging them into the room before spinning excitedly.

“What is all this?”

Although trying not to meet his confused face - for fear, embarrassment or shame - the Hunter realised they’d need some extra arms to sort things out. Especially since Crow’s work surfaces seemed to be partially covered in machinery and scrap, with the other parts covered in grease and...Hive gunk? No matter what it was, it was no place for cookies. Placing the small stack in his arms Kestral quickly slung the lights over...something...and powered them up.

The small ‘oh’ could’ve come from either Glint or Crow, they weren’t sure.

“Do you have somewhere sort of clean to sit?”

Glancing over to a seat fashioned from assorted stuff Crow made a pained grimace, “Not going to lie I’m not exactly used to having guests.”

No matter. An ‘only slightly ruined dust sheet’ thrown over it and Kestral was satisfied that it would do for something to sit on for a bit. They took the mini festive haul back from Crow and gestured for him to perch as they held out the tin of cookies.

“I wasn’t sure what flavour you like so…” their smile was awkward, “Yeah. I made a bunch.”

“A bunch of what?”

The Ghosts’ simultaneous outbursts made both Lightbearers startle a little and when Glint settled into a very gentle description of Dawning cookie traditions Kestral took their seat beside him, swinging their legs up to hug their knees.

“Dig in. I bought hot drinks too.”

During the time taken for Kestral to find a comfortable position and for Roost to nestle into his favourite resting spot - Kestrel’s fluffy shoulders - Crow had taken bites of, what looked like, one of each cookie flavour and Glint was telling him which flavours they probably were. Once again Kestral found themself forgetting some of the weird past involving the body beside them, and investing themself in how engrossed in trying cookies he was. How much fun Glint was having talking about festivals now that they’d both finally been able to experience a bit. How much more there was to come and-

“Sorry, do you want some?”

The Hunter blinked up at him, “They’re all yours. I don’t want to help myself to your gift.”

“Glint sa-” the little Ghost tapped a point of his shell against Crow’s face and the New Light stuttered, “Thank you, Kestral. Roost.”

A saccharine warmth filled their chest for a moment, Roost’s shell fluttering again at the shared happiness and pride. They wanted to hate it so much. ‘Past Kestral’ screamed internally about grief and pain and weariness. ‘Present Kestral’ was tired of that and kind of liked the soft smile on their companion’s face - just because they knew they’d helped, nothing else of course - and the way his little Light seemed to buzz with the sheer affection at seeing his Guardian content.

“One more thing,” they press the small gift into his hands, “Don’t get too excited.”

The Awoken’s slightly blank stare prompted Glint into another explanation about how ‘the paper’s actually meant to be removed’ and so on, Kestral mesmerised - oh no - watching him deftly undo the bow they’d worked quite hard to form, reel the ribbon into a roll and then carefully unwrap the paper, Glint all the while egging him on to tear it open since ‘gifts are supposed to be exciting’.

It wasn’t an exciting gift but they did what they could.

On the Crow’s lap lay a folded pile of thick wool and fleece, edges neatly stitched into tidy seams. The deep red of the main body of fabric seemed to be the ideal colour based on what he wore but...well, Roost had said it was a good idea. He’d unfolded it with care, running his hands over the plush underside of the item, that same soft smile on his face.

“Aha, a cosy blanket.”

“I’m sorry if it’s not much I-”

“No! No, it’s...nice. Spider doesn’t supply much in the way of luxury, and…” his voice was a kind laugh as he gestured down to his lap where Glint had already made himself a nest in the folds of the blanket, “...I think it’ll be well used.”

Kestral hadn’t intended to spend almost a full day on the Shore chattering with Crow but somewhere along the way, later into the evening, they’d dug out a camping stove, filled a pan with water and made up two hot chocolates by the colourful glow of the string lights. The pair had settled down, opposite ends of the makeshift bench, feet messily thrown somewhere on the ‘seat’ between them, warm cups in hand. And at some point while immersed in talk of other festivals celebrated at the tower, the blanket had made its way from just covering Crow’s knees to being shared across them both.

Underneath the lively Guardians’ conversation the pair of Lights quietly decided that this might become a little more complicated than they’d anticipated.

#destiny 2 #d2 #young wolf x crow #kestral //

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maandags · 4 years

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can i have something with draco malfoy and plants

the Forbidden Forest is quiet this time of night.

granted, the Forbidden Forest is quiet pretty much always, which is mainly due to the fact that it’s — surprisingly — forbidden for students to roam and wander. for good reason, too; the man-eating spiders and the morally questionable centaurs that, among others, make up its population aren’t known to be particularly friendly towards Hogwart’s students.

this, like all the warnings your friends have bombarded you with to try and keep you from entering the Forest, did not deter you in the slightest. in fact, it just made you want to explore its woods more. and so that’s why, at twelve whole years of age, you first set foot in the Forbidden Forest. now, you only went maybe 50 feet into the Forest that first time, giggling to yourself, adrenaline coursing through your veins, hand gripping your wand — looking over your shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure the school grounds weren’t out of sight — but it was enough to give you a taste, show you the smallest of flickers of the life brewing deep inside the forest, and it left you addicted straight away.

now, four years later, your little excursions to the Forest are never more than a few days apart. you know its paths, know its flora and fauna, know every square inch of it like the back of your hand. you’re not scared anymore of going.

nevertheless, the first few steps are always a thrill. it’s the tangible change in atmosphere, the soft bed of grass beneath your feet making way for a layer of dead leaves and branches and rocks where the tiniest of creatures wriggle about. it’s not fully dark yet, so you walk slower than you usually would, allowing yourself to look around and try and recognise as many plants and beasts as possible. (another reason why you didn’t really want to stop your visits to the forest: your Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures marks have never been higher.)

after an hour or so, as you trudge deeper into the forest, the surroundings start to grow more visibly magical in nature. trees look blurred when you try to look at them directly. big leaves shift unnaturally in completely still air. sparkly birds let out trills that sound a little too human. a swarm of small, yellow-and-blue songbirds fly over. one of them swoops down and lands briefly on your outstretched arm, and you pet it, resisting the urge to bury your fingers in the fluffy plumage, knowing full well that instead of flesh and bones these birds are made of some sort of bluish-black goop that a) smells absolutely rank, b) along with sticky and very quick-hardening seems to be vaguely acidic in nature and c) is a major bitch to wash out of clothing.

the bird flies at your side for a while, trilling in response to your soft whistles, the tip of its wing tickling your cheek every other minute. you spot a few pixies, who respond to your cheery wave with a string of hoots and screeches, a cluster of three-feet-tall mushrooms pulsing with a harsh pink light, and a slow-moving cloud of gold mist, which you give a wide berth, holding your breath for good measure.

then an arrow whizzes past your ear, and your hand flies up with a gasp. your fingers come away red with blood.

you spin on your heel, hand pressed up to the side of your head, and narrow your eyes at the centaur standing ten feet away from you. ”haha, Brin. very funny.”

he levels an unimpressed stare at you. ”you know you’re not supposed to be here, Y/N.”

”you’ve been telling me that for four years now.”

”and you’ve been ignoring it for four years.”

”indeed I have.” you spin around, yanking the arrow from the tree it landed in. ”can I keep this?”

Brin glares at you. you roll your eyes but hand the arrow back to him. ”you’re no fun. that arrow has my blood on it, I should be legally allowed to keep it.”

Brin shakes his head, turning around and starting to walk back the way he’d (supposedly) come. ”I can’t even begin to explain how flawed that logic is.”

you snicker, hurrying after him. Brin might be a little stuck up, but he’s also one of the few friends you have in the Forest, and even then you don’t see him that much. ”so. how’ve things been here?”

Brin briefly glances up at the sky, and you immediately regret asking, already steeling yourself for an incomprehensible monologue about stars and the positions of planets and whatnot. if you were better in at astronomy, you probably would have been able to understand some of it, but you’re shit at astronomy, so it’s mostly gibberish to you.

but all Brin says is, ”things are stirring.”

you raise a brow. ”things?”

”are stirring, yes.”

”stirring.”

”yes.”

”the things.”

he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. ”I really don’t know what more you want from me, Y/N.”

you look back up at him, unflinching. ”literally anything else. ‘things are stirring’ is all I got out of you, and that’s not much to go on.”

Brin sighs, short and sharp. ”I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. forget about it. it’s not something you should concern yourself with.”

you pretend to gag. ”you sound like Bane.”

Brin opens his mouth, about to object, but stops dead, narrowing his eyes and throwing out an arm to stop you. his tail swishes from side to side and he stands still, head cocked, listening intently.

for all your joking around, you immediately shut your mouth, the tension gripping Brin all of a sudden leaking into your body as well. it’s all fun and games until a centaur gets genuinely nervous, and in those situations it’s best to watch the aforementioned centaur and do what they do. your hand slowly creeps towards your robe’s breast pocket, where your wand is stored, but you don’t pull it out yet.

Brin’s eyes flick to you, irritation flashing in them. ”someone’s here.”

you pause, not sure if this is an inconvenience or a Bad Thing. ”um. elaborate, please?”

Brin takes a deep breath. ”one of yours.”

as if on cue, the silence is split by a blood-curdling scream.

your head snaps towards where the sound came from, but it’s too dark and too far away to see. ”shit,” you mutter under your breath, before summoning a globule of light to hover in front of you and taking off in the direction of the scream.

one of you. did that mean another human? a wizard? a Hogwarts student? but no, it couldn’t be — no Hogwarts student would be insane enough to venture this far into the Forbidden Forest this late into the night.

as you follow the strangled cries of panic and yelps of pain, you start to get a dim visual of what happened, and you curse again.

Devil’s Snare. the little shits are everywhere, their roots creeping along the forest floor and waiting for any living thing to stumble across them. you’ve since learned to look out for them, jump over them and walk just fast enough to avoid getting entangled, having had a few close calls yourself.

this Snare is a particularly nasty one. old, gauging by its height and the thickness of the vines sprouting from its core. strong. fucking hell. you stop just out of reach, sending a few more globules of light to surround it as to get a better view of what the exact fuck is going on.

the person is almost completely covered in vines at this point. struggling, crying out in fear and pain, gasping for breath. the vines, of course, only tangle further around his body. after a bit of heated internal debate, you begrudgingly admit that if you’re going to help this guy, you’ll need to get closer. so you do, careful not to get too close just yet. the light you’d sent up is not enough to make the Snare let go of its prey, but it is enough to (mostly) prevent any stray vines from grabbing hold of your ankles.

”stay still!” you shout, kicking a vine away and shooting three more lights to hover around the trapped guy.

he does not stay still. in fact, he doesn’t look like he heard you at all.

in the meantime, the smaller vines have taken more of an interest in you as you approach, and you growl, muttering a spell under your breath. a straight blade of white-hot flame sprouts from your wand, and as you calmly swing it in a wide arc, the light and the heat makes the plant recoil. as you pick your way through the branches and vines, getting ever closer to the guy, whose struggling is starting to get weaker, you cup your hands around your mouth, almost singing your eyebrows with your sword of fire in the process, and repeat, ”STAY FUCKING STILL!”

”what?”

”STAY STILL. I can’t help you unless you stay still!”

a faint groan sounds, and the figure stops struggling for a split second, but the vines tighten around him and out of reflex his arms shoot out, trying to fight the pressure off his chest.

”oh my god, I cannot believe I’m doing this,” you pant, closing the rest of the distance between you with a couple big leaps, landing smack in the middle of the biggest and nastiest vines, and that’s when you discover that the biggest and nastiest vines also have spikes, because the vine that immediately wraps around your calf digs its spikes into your flesh and you cry out.

a hand flails in front of your face. you grab the wrist to which it is attached. a plan forms in your mind — a crazy plan, an insane plan that just might be the death of both you and the unknown guy. but it’s the plan you have, and thus the plan you’re going with.

with your fiery blade you cut through a few of the vines that cross the guy’s chest — and then you put your wand away, extinguishing the fire and quickly stuffing your wand in your breast pocket.

”what are you doing?” he asks, and that’s when it clicks. the indignant tone he still manages to have even though he’s being crushed to death; the curl of his lip you can’t make out in the fray but can picture perfectly in your head.

you reel back, though it’s not as dramatic as you’d have liked it to be, because a thick vine has already snaked across your back (but that’s okay, that’s part of the plan, it’s okay, it’s fine) and you only manage to be pushed back into his chest with an oof.

you wrangle free, pulling back just enough to be able to make out his face. ”Malfoy?”

recognition flashes in his eyes — nothing more than two specks in the darkness — and he says quietly, ”Y/N.”

”fucking — ow —” spikes dig into the back of your thigh — ”the fuck are you doing here?”

”I think we have other things to worry about right now,” he says faintly, grunting as he’s pushed closer to you.

you scrunch up your nose but concede, promising yourself that you’ll question him later — if you even get out of this alive. ”if I die right now, Malfoy — for you — I will come back to life so I can murder you myself.”

he purses his lips, but nods, as if to say, ”that’s fair.” it is. it is fair. little shit.

you take a breath, steeling yourself, then dive down into the tangle of writhing vines at your feet, ignoring Malfoy’s shout of your name above you.

this is where it gets gross, and where you might lose a hand. one hand comes up to your chest and yanks out your wand, and the other searches beneath you — vines, vines, spikes (ow), more vines, a single leaf, and then, finally, the disgustingly soggy pulsing heart of the plant. you give a triumphant ”AHA!” then stick your wand into the core with a squelch that makes you gag, pull out your hand and shout the sword of fire spell. the flaming blade cuts through the heart. the vines shudder — convulse — and then go limp, and you shrug them off, staggering away, gagging, tripping twice before falling against a tree and retching, a hand pressed against your stomach, taking deep breaths, trying to blink the black spots away.

as soon as you feel like you can shout without throwing up, you march up to Malfoy, who looks about as good as you feel, tear out your wand and stick it under his chin and yell, ”WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”

you expect him to yell back. that’s how the two of you have always functioned: you shout something, he yells something back. he yells something, you shout back.

but he doesn’t. he just stands there, looking deflated and shaky and frankly on the verge of tears. ”thank you, Y/N.”

it catches you off-guard. you pretend it doesn’t. Malfoy never thanks anyone. ”no, fuck you. answer my goddamn question. what are you doing here?”

”I was following you, all right? I know you’ve been going into the Forest for ages, and I wanted to know what you got up to. that’s it.”

you scoff. ”right. you were just following me. that’s not creepy at all.”

”listen, Y/N. I don’t know what else you want from me.” he sounds tired and defeated and it makes you angry, because it’s so Not Malfoy that it’s unsettling, and the last thing you need right now is ‘unsettling’.

you throw your hands up into the air and start stomping away. ”I don’t know! I don’t fucking know. just — ugh!” you kick a dead tree stump, out of which comes charging a single fat gnome, waving a small stick and shouting an incomprehensible string of what are without a doubt profanities you’ve never even heard of.

”Y/N.”

”what?!”

”you’re bleeding.”

you stop walking, dropping your face in your hands and bursting into tears.

ten seconds. that’s all you allow yourself. ten seconds until you’ve got to get yourself together; ten seconds to scream and cry and sob your heart out. ten seconds, and then you take a deep, deep breath, wipe your cheeks and say, ”right,” and start walking again.

for a moment you don’t hear anything, and you think Malfoy is going to stay behind — but then he sighs and jogs a few steps to catch up to you. you walk in silence for a long time. the only words you say is when you quietly warn him not to step too close to a certain rock, or not to touch a certain flower.

when you absent-mindedly pull a leaf off a green plant and press it to your nose, inhaling deeply, he looks to you in alarm. you roll your eyes. ”it’s mint.” you inhale again, letting your eyes flit closed. ”it’s comforting.”

a little bit later, and there’s a faint rustling to your right. Malfoy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth; you rub a tired hand to your eyes. ”I was almost thinking you’d just left.”

Brin purses his lips, picking you up and wordlessly depositing you onto his back. you let your head drop against his back. ”thank you, Brin.”

”I would have helped you.”

”I had it under control.”

”I know.” he extends a hand towards Malfoy, who looks at it for a split second, then his gaze flits to you; you give a small nod, and a half second later he’s sat behind you, hands carefully resting on your hips.

”you…” your voice falters. ”you don’t have to do this, you know. Bane… and Magorian… surely they don’t approve of this.”

”they won’t know,” Brin says quietly. the forest around you slowly shifts back into a more peaceful atmosphere. the songbirds return. moonlight starts to filter through the foliage, and you take a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been needing.

a few hundred feet before the edge of the Forest, Brin stops. ”this is as far as I go.”

Malfoy slides off his back, then holds a hand for you to take, and you do, because you’re tired and wobbly and unsure whether your legs will hold your weight.

”thank you,” Malfoy says. you cast him a sideways glance. that’s the second time he’s thanked someone tonight, which is two times more than you thought he was capable of.

you nod curtly. Brin bows his head, then levels his gaze at you. ”I hope I don’t see you again, Y/N.”

you give him a lopsided grin. ”no promises.” and for the first time, something like a smile peeks through the centaur’s serious facade.

the last trek back onto school grounds is uneventful, bar the fact that the adrenaline has now completely worn off, and you start to feel sore all over, and you realise that your left leg — calf and thigh — is indeed bleeding. a lot. you have scratches on your arms and a nasty one on your cheek as well, and you’re covered in muck and grey slime. you probably look like something straight out of a Muggle zombie apocalypse film.

”you know the forest well,” Malfoy says as you step out of it.

you’re too tired to argue. ”yeah,” you reply simply. ”I love it.”

”you’ll be going back?” there’s a slightly incredulous hint to his voice, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself — you almost died. how could you possibly want to go back to such a place?

but the truth is that you do. you do want to go back. because the forest has been more of a home to you than Hogwarts has ever been. because you love its trees and its bushes and its weird magic plants and its pixies and centaurs and birds of enchantment. you love everything about it. even the near-death experiences. that’s what makes it fun.

”I will,” you say. ”I will be going back, Malfoy.” it sounds a little too much like a challenge. it sounds like you’re saying; try and stop me. I dare you.

he merely nods. he’s taken out his wand and cast a simple light spell, and the glowing tip of the wand sways as he walks. in the light, his eyes reflect gold. ”good.”

your eyebrows shoot up with the speed of a thousand Firebolts. ”excuse me?”

he grins; a boyish, sharp grin, that makes your stomach do a very irrelevant flip. ”I would have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

#you: can i have something with draco malfoy and -#me foaming at the mouth: FUCK RIGHT OFF #so uhhhhhhh aticus . fuck right off #requests #hp #draco malfoy x reader #THIS GOT SO MUCH LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO BE OOPS

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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In the beginning was MICHAEL, an ANGEL loyal to the cause of the ANGELS. He is said to be IMMORTAL and uses HE/THEY pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as a KING of the KINGDOM OF CAELUM. Blessed be his name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

Michael is widely regarded as the elite among the angels - though they move fast, he moves faster. Though they are intelligent and clever, he is cutting and far quicker with his wit. What makes him a true force, though, is his ability to predict his opponent’s moves and strategy in battle. Once they have an established pattern that he is able to discern, defeating them becomes rather easy - and this is something that he is able to apply in other spheres of life as well, such as negotiation and debate. Although, he finds this rather difficult to apply as of late. There are a number of demons that are aware of this ability and have learned to abate it somewhat, and mortals are far more difficult to gauge due to their unpredictable nature (and newfound abilities) since the dawn of this age.

THE HISTORY.

He remembers what it was to be beloved. To be favored by both God and Man, lauded as the savior of the kingdom of heaven and the children on earth. At the first flicker of his existence, Michael knew what his duty was - to be the protector and the sword that God would wield against the world, whether it be as protection or punishment, it did not matter. So long as he did his duty and did it well; it is a difficult thing, though, to fulfill one’s duty when bearing a heart that it is aflame, one that aches and trembles at the gentlest of touches. And yet he had to learn how to brutalize it, how to do so in order to steel it against the notion of mercy. What good was mercy when chasing the foolish humans from the garden of Eden - though they wept and bemoaned the loss of the only place they had known to be their home? What use was it when he cast his own brother, Lucifer, from heaven and watched him fall to the decrepit realm of hell? He had led the soldiers of heaven against the rebels that were condemned. With his flaming bled he slaughtered those he had once called his brethren, and he did so at God’s bidding and in His name. One would think that, since it was his duty, his sole reason for creation, it might have been easier for him to bear; he waited for his heart to quiet, perhaps it might even revel in the righteousness of his duty. After all, for these acts he was lauded and venerated, rendered and depicted in paintings, scraps of metal, and marble stones. But decades turned into centuries, and centuries into millennia and this suffering of his never seemed to wane.

And God, his father, never seemed intent on lessening his suffering. Michael never uttered a word against his father, and his father never thanked him - but still all saw him as the only beloved, as the only angel worthy enough to be wielded as God’s sword. Imagine, then, their surprise when his rageful heart could no longer be quelled by his haphazard attempts at soothing it, could no longer be caged by the steel that he had meticulously built and reinforced millennia after millennia. It had been one, single request that he had finally uttered - have mercy upon the soul of this girl, Father, he had begged. A single girl, taken too young - perhaps no one in the grand scheme of things, a blinking, flickering star that was fading in the vastness of the cosmos. But she had been kind, she had been good, and God had let her be taken aware far too young, had allowed her to feel the flicker of flames simply because it had been predetermined. But Michael knew the truth as well as his Father - if He had so wished, the girl might have been saved. The only request he had ever made since the waking of his existence and still his Father denied him. No one could blame him when, after that, he had felt his heart truly break. And from it burst forth a torrent of unfettered rage and pain.

There are times where he thinks that he might have drowned his own brethren with his seething anger, forcing them to drink it in until they were poisoned with it as well. Other times he thinks that he blinded himself to the resentment that tied the angels in their coup against God. But he knows that to ruminate on the events of the past can only lead to madness - regardless, he still held his sword to his Father’s throat, watched the ichor pour from His divine wounds and cast Him from the heaven that He had so long hidden Himself in. What an odd thing it was to feel the steady beat of his heart and to know, as he watched his Father fall to the earth that he was finally at peace. What an odd thing it was to realize that death and peace were one in the same. Though, with this dead heart he found that it was easier to wear a crown upon his head and take the burden of this new world upon his winged shoulders. With his bloodied hands he built a kingdom that allowed his people the freedom that they were never given by the divinity that they had once called God and Father. He ushered them into a new era in a world that could be theirs - and what better turn of fate could there be than if the world was theirs alone?

He sees how the dawn of this new age has made them stronger - and he has felt how it is making them weak. Each day he awakes and feels the beating of his dead heart push him closer to the edge of greed, to the edge of hunger and he is beginning to find it difficult to smother it, to stop himself from giving in. But he looks at the lands that await them, thinks of the promise of peace should all bend their knee and fall under his rule. How could they deny him the crown and kingship when it is so clear that he, who has known true suffering and true pain, is the only one that can stop it from consuming them all? Fate has thwarted him, the obstinacy of the demons and humans prodding at him like the bites of gnats. They think they know better than he, the celestial that rallied the entirety of the heavens against God? They think they know better than the angel that has witnessed the true danger of natures of demons and the fickle, beguiling morals of humans? Michael, he is named. He Who Is Like God - and when has God ever been satiated unless he dictates all things?

THE CONNECTIONS.

GABRIEL & RAPHAEL: The Archangels. They were known as the three Archangels in the old world - famed and venerated (though Michael above all). They are brothers in every sense of the word: bickering over the smallest of things, needling one another, but loving one another all the same. Though, as of late, Michael has become worried that his new status as their liege and lord has caused something of a rift between them. Perhaps chasm is a more accurate word to describe it. Before, their arguments would end in jest, but now he can only recall the biting words that seem to dig deeper each time they dare to broach any sort of conversation. What worries him more is the fact that, since the dawn of time, they have been at his side - have been the wards against his own pride and paranoia. The further he drifts from them, the more he begins to wonder if he is well and truly sane.

ZADKIEL: Pawn. They were close once, despite the disparity in their positions - one an Archangel and the other a Cherubim. They were both treasured by God, beloved by Him especially when Lucifer was cast out from Heaven. They had both thought of the fallen angel as a brother and had found comradery in the face of misery and disappointment. But then Michael became more prominent among the Mortals, revered and uplifted while Zadkiel receded into the background, all too glad to remain beneath the shadow of God’s hand. Michael knew that, without a doubt, even if it warred with Zadkiel’s obstinate sense of duty, he would fall into line if asked. And he would do it again and again and again, no matter what the Cherubim might forsake along the way. Call it morbid curiosity, but Michael cannot wait to find out what will push him to the edge.

VIKTORIA: Muse. There is something unnameable about them that calls to him like a moth to a flame, like a mortal to sin. Since the dawn of time he has kept his gaze upon them, watching them from afar, fascinated by every utterance that echoes from their lips, or every weary wave of their lithe fingers. Whenever they speak, he bends an ear to listen, though it seems that they have no interest in ever speaking directly to him. Or, when they deign to, it is in short clipped words that are rarely ever complimentary or kind. No matter, he tells himself, because regardless they are hired to protect him and ensure his safety - to be his eyes and ears in the places where he is unable to reach. It costs him a pretty penny, but it's worth it, so long as it keeps them coming at his beck and call again and again.

SALOME: Headache. He really does loathe how she looks at him whenever they are forced to regard one another. Her words always seem saccharine, laced with falsities and only ever contemptuous when he bothers to read between the lines. Why she loathes him, he can’t seem to fathom, but whatever the reasons be they seem to be founded on nothing more than a gut feeling. Perhaps she remembers how his blade had kept her from heaven and how he had watched her be casted into health, as she had rightfully deserved to be. Or perhaps she sees in him everything she is denied -- and Salome has been refused so little in the world that to deny her every request fills him with delectable satisfaction. Perhaps, he thinks, that if he wears away at her enough then she might be rendered utterly useless to the Vices in her quest to fulfill her needs above all else.

Michael is portrayed by Adonis Bosso* and was written by ROSEY. He is currently TAKEN by CAROLINE.

#literate rp #rpg #rp #fantasy rp #new rp #a #michael #c #cnb

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evolutionsvoid · 4 years

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Of all the types of Mancers that exist, there are some more obvious and commonly known then others. When you speak of Mancer Syndrome, hardly anyone will think of Venomancers and Psychomancers. The common folk tend to lean towards the blatantly obvious when it comes to magic, like fire balls, lightening bolts and "black magic." Thus, Pyromancers and Cryomancers are often thought about, because if you can wield the power of magic, why wouldn't you spit fire and summon ice? The biggest one, though, is the one that is the most notorious of them all, and probably the first to sour the Mancer name: Necromancers. What can even be written on this detestable field that hasn't been said a thousand times? Necromancers are those who delve into the art of resurrection and reanimation, those who toe the line between life and death. This field doesn't just stick with bringing corpses back to life, it also involves altering dead flesh, contacting spirits, and wielding the power of decay. Any kind of magic that uses a corpse or lifeless parts as a canvas is one that dabbles with necromancy. Some may question the practical uses of such an art, as what can it be used for in day-to-day life? Lots of magics find ways to help their fellow man and ease their burden. Necromancy is honestly not one of them. Of course there are those out there that say that there are many practical uses for such an art, but these claims are rubbish. "You can use it to contact dead loved ones and get closure," some may say, but plenty of people out there figure out how to move on after someone close to them bites it. Trying to contact someone from the dead is also a good recipe to accidentally bring forth a more malicious entity, or give your grieving customer some weird obsession. "We can bring fallen warriors back to life so that they can continue to fight for our righteous cause!" is another that should honestly tip you off that something bad is going down. Yes, it could help in winning battles and wars, but for who? At least enlisting normal people requires you to convince them to join your side, but having an army of mindless zombies makes people wonder about your morals. Also, if you do win the war, then what? What do you do with all these undead soldiers? Toss them back in their graves? Most of the time, the answer is "keep them around just in case" which translates to "use them to chop up dissenters and keep the masses in line." And if it isn't about the soon-to-be dictator, it is about the families who see their loved ones stumbling about and rotting. Most of the times it causes a bit of distress, but in some cases, people try to act like these empty husks are the real deal and then things get weird. Another reason I have heard is that necromancy "teaches you about the dying part so that we can use it to stop the dying thing." I have only heard that once at a drunken dinner party and I refuse to let them live that one down.

Just like any other magic user, necromancers are under constant threat of mana poisoning. All this corpse-raising draws mana from the Splenius magus, and using such magic has effects on your body. There is some debate, however, of what causes the initial infections. Some think a necrotic element is slowly introduced to body whenever a spell is cast, just like other Mancers. Others say that the art of necromancy uses bits of your own life force as fuel, which is what degrades your body and mind. If this second theory was true, it would add some interesting implications to the field. Since most mana poisoning occurs when people overuse certain magic directly from their own flesh, the sickness can be prevented by using outside sources and cleansing your body. If necromancy does indeed feed off life force, then these normal preventative practices wouldn't work. With no current idea how to circumvent this, it would mean that every person who delves into the art of necromancy would be doomed to become a full on Mancer. This idea is what supporters of this theory point to, as many necromancers spiral out of control once they start bringing people back from the dead. It is a tempting piece of evidence, but I don't think it holds up. Many practitioners of this art do indeed go out of control, but I think that has to do with the mental issues that arise when one resurrects dead loved ones and believe they can conquer death. Gaining a god complex is practically a side effect of necromancy. When one starts delving deeper and deeper into this art and they fail to properly protect themselves, the toll will become obvious. Their own bodies will take on the likeness of the death they seek to avoid. Their skin will turn pale, and their hair will begin to fall out. For some, their flesh sags as if it is melting off their bones, while others shrivel like dried sponges. Health issues will arise, as the necrotic energy starts to eat away at their own bodies. At this point, they should stop and seek professional help, but who ever listens to sanity and logic? What typically happens is the weakened victim tries to use their magic on themselves, hoping that it can save them. If it can bring dead flesh back to life, then surely it can overcome a nasty cough and emaciated limbs? When they partake in this bit of self help, they will find that their magic works! Their bodies will be morphed back to normal and their health will be intact, at least it seems to be. What is really happening is that they are doubling down on this insanity. Besides the normal dose of mana poisoning one would get from frequent spell use, you are now pumping your veins with the magic to help keep yourself together. This just escalates things, causing the deterioration to happen faster and faster. Soon appendages will atrophy and bits of your flesh will begin to rot off. At this point, recovery is incredibly rare. Even if you were to stop performing necromancy entirely and ran straight to the nearest doctor, your poisoned body would soon give into infection and whatever lovely diseases you've contracted. It is usually here when people snap, as they watch their form fall to pieces. To fix this issue, they will turn to stitching their lost parts back on or finding suitable replacements from fellow neighbors. As they consume their fellow man and desperately try to keep their rotting body in one piece, the Mancer Syndrome will reach its final stage and a true Necromancer will be born. What emerges from this transformation is repulsive and barely human. Their decaying flesh will have required them to come up with insane ideas on how to keep themselves alive and intact (well, mostly). They may mutate their own bodies, take pieces from other people or creatures, or find some other vessel to dump their rotted souls in. Whatever they do, it will most likely result in some festering pile of deformed meat that somehow still thinks this is all okay. When a victim succumbs fully to Mancer Syndrome, their minds tend to be lost during the journey. Some Necromancers may come out bestial and mindless, driven by a desire to survive and "reproduce." Reproduction, to them, means raising more corpses and creating more undead beasts. Funny enough, a feral Necromancer is the optimal result to come from the transformation. These creatures are ruled by instinct and obsession, so they are easy to predict and manipulate. Them being mindless also puts aside the whole "but they're still a person" objections that some fools may spout. A jabbering undead beast is easy to rally the people against, and many of these monstrosities are not smart enough to handle this pressure. Tempt them with a nice full cemetery and they will dive face first into any trap you lay. The real issue that comes from full blown Necromancers is when these abominations come out with some of their faculties intact. Like certain other Mancers, there is a chance for the mind to survive the transformation. When this happens, things get real bad. Now able to think and plan, these Necromancers will not be so easily fooled or trapped. They will think that they have ascended to some higher form, and thus they must continue their mission. Often this mission is the same old "kill the living, raise the dead" sort of thing. They will seek to gain power and followers, which often means they need corpses. Lots of them. Ever wonder why some cemeteries and tombs are so expensive to get into? That is because they are heavily guarded and certain folk will pay out the nose to ensure their dead stay right where they are. Necromancers of any sort become scavengers, eagerly scouring the land for corpses to use for their mission. Some may reanimate them into personal soldiers, while others may add this meat to their own form. Regardless of their end goal, Necromancers will go after any source of dead meat, and when that source dries up, they go after the living. Unlike some Mancers who may vanish into the wilderness, away from man and his cities, Necromancers tend to throw themselves directly into populated areas. This makes dispatching them crucial, no matter how sapient they are. The last thing you want is for a town to get hit by a plague and then have a horde of Necromancers come rushing in for the buffet. With undead beasts at their side and a whole array of horrible powers, Necromancers can be quite the headache. They are one of the few Mancers you will deal with that will have allies, so it is best to have numbers of your own. Eliminating their own zombies and warriors is crucial, as that is their main weapon. Taking them out will allow you and your fellow fighters to focus entirely on the Necromancer, giving you the advantage. It is also good to take out these minions because, despite popular belief, these nasty things don't die when their Necromancer is defeated. No idea why this thought has become so ingrained in people, but it isn't that simple. They may lose coordination and guidance, but they won't just drop to the ground once you lop their master's head off. On that note, beheading and stabbing aren't always a surefire way to kill a Necromancer. Due to their reanimating magic and monstrous form, they tend to survive injuries that would kill a normal person. Honestly, if you are looking at a person who is using their own entrails as whips, you should assume that impaling them probably isn't going to do a whole lot of good. So instead, one should aim to reduce any Necromancer to goop. Pulverize them with blunt weapons or fry them with any magic you can, just make sure you keep going until the remains stop moving. Another piece of advice I have is one that should be incredibly obvious, and that is: don't die. If one of your warriors gets killed in the fray, you can be sure that they will be getting back up to bite your throat out. So if you can't guarantee that every one of you will make it out alive, then everyone should be aware that they are going to bash a turned friend's skull in at some point. Either don't hesitate when that happens, or bring people you really don't like to the battle. Since Necromancers are so hated and reviled, you would think they wouldn't show up so often. The magic that births them is banned in many places, and raising a single dead rat will sound off the dinner bell for every angry mob within ten leagues. Killing a Necromancer is a sure fire way for people to like you, so any adventurer or slayer will be eager to bag one. Despite this, these nasty things keep popping up, and some never get put down in the first place. Turns out many people are terrified of death, and will do anything to stop it from taking them or a loved one. It is not so bad when a common mage falls for this trap, because you can get your troops together and beat them to a bloody pulp. The issues occur when a king or some high up noble decides that they aren't ready to let go, so they get themselves a Necromancer to get the job done. In this case, the abomination will be protected by these wealthy idiots who will do anything to keep their delusions alive. I have seen knights and entire legions being sent forth for the sake of some rotted meat bag, as their desperate court of fools refuse to accept loss. Five different groups of adventurers butchered and she didn't have to lift a freaking finger. I am pretty sure she is just mocking me at this point, because why else would she keep sending me an invitation to these stupid cotillions? I am not coming over to kill you for the same reasons you aren't coming over here to kill me. Lets keep throwing chess pieces at each other and not get cheeky with it, okay? While some would say that Necromancers are the most dangerous Mancer there is, I would say that is absolutely untrue. Yes, the whole reanimating the dead and warping flesh thing is terrible, but it is something that many know how to combat. Show me a warrior who doesn't know how to fight the undead, and I will show you a fool that is holding a pointy stick. Ever since the dawn of this art, people have been adamant in stopping it, so there are plenty of ways to deal with them. Things like Ferromancers and Biomancers, however, are mind-boggling abominations that wield impossible powers and possess a frustrating resilience. So are Necromancers the most dangerous? No. Are they the most notorious? Yes, pretty much every person who has heard about magic would know about necromancy. And with most religions not taking too kindly to such a practice, they make it known to every person that will listen. The other thing that Necromancers are champs at is being the most insufferable magic users to ever exist. Whether they have turned or not, they just cannot shut up about their art and their desires to "conquer death." The sheer amount of drama they have to add to everything is extremely grating, and it seems like the art of necromancy requires one to take up theater at some point in their lives. "We are rebels against the tyrant, Death" and "The black veil of the void shall be pulled back for humanity to truly see" is just some of the insane drivel these bloated pus bags will come up with. They just act so high and mighty despite the fact that their appendages are falling off. I honestly don't hate Necromancers for raising the dead, I couldn't care less about what you do with a corpse. It is the fact that they turn the public against all magic users and then never shut up about the struggles of the soul and flesh that makes me want to vaporize every last one of them. Cavarious Shaid -------------------------------------- Yeah, I say that it is the most recognizable and commonly known Mancer, but I completely forgot about making an entry for them til now. It is only because DeltaX9 pointed out this glaring gap that I finally drew something up. Was so busy trying to get crazy and creative, that I completely missed one the most obvious one! So here it is and that is one less hole in my gallery!

#undead #zombie #necromancy #Necromancer #art #drawing #monster #creature #body horror

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gold-from-straw · 4 years

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Divergence - ch9

Charles and Erik ACTUALLY COMMUNICATE!!

Read from the beginning on Ao3 if you like!

Erik poured Charles and himself a glass of scotch, added some ice cubes, and brought them back over to the fireplace. Charles barely reacted when Erik placed the glass down in front of him, beyond the flicker of a distracted smile.

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep hold of the teleporter with practice?” Erik asked after a moment of silence.

Charles took a mouthful of whiskey and swallowed. “I’m not sure. Connecting with him was like trying to grip mercury, and I don’t know if that’s just a property of his mental structure, or if I’ll be able to improve.” He frowned into the fire. “I don’t know how I’d practice, though.”

Silence fell again. “What about the other man?” Erik asked. “Janos Quested.”

“I don’t know,” said Charles slowly. “I was able to connect with his mind, but…” He sat up properly and leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at Erik for the first time. “The thing is that Cerebro was always different to the way I usually use my telepathy. And this version of Cerebro is still a work in progress.”

“You got his location, though,” Erik frowned. “That’s what we wanted, after all.”

Charles grimaced. “For all the good that does us when he works with a teleporter. And what I saw of his thoughts was…” He shook his head. “I can’t really sort out anything clear, just… there’s loyalty there. But also a deep rage, and fear.”

Erik shrugged. “None of that contradicts what we already know about the Hellfire Club. They hate humans.”

Charles studied Erik for a moment. “I’m not sure… we know that Emma Frost believes in Shaw’s vision of the future, and that’s why she’s with him. But… I can’t imagine Shaw’s changed so much over the past decade that he’s recruiting by words alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that Janos’ rage felt… personal. It didn’t feel like that of a man who wants to destroy half of the world. It felt…”

Erik narrowed his eyes at him. Charles squirmed under his gaze. “It felt like yours, my friend. Janos Quested has been through something like you, and his fear and fury feels like yours.”

Erik’s fingers tightened around his glass. “So what?” he asked roughly, drinking the rest of the whiskey and standing sharply, busying his hands with the decanter. “What does it matter if we can empathise with the enemy? This changes nothing.”

“I only mean that we might not be facing a united front. Quested may not be our enemy.”

“He was never my enemy,” scoffed Erik. “I never cared a damn about him or any of the others, you know this, Charles! My target is Shaw, and I will kill him.”

He braced himself, spine tight for the gentle, patronising remonstrations. How killing Shaw could never bring him peace, how they must rise above, be better. All those things his father said about the sneering boys who spat on him in the street, and where had that got him?

But Charles was silent. Erik turned with a frown. “What? No moral imprecations today?”

Charles bit his lip, and to Erik’s horror he saw tears glistening in his eyes. “Charles… I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Shit, he’d been teasing, nothing more! He’d never thought it would hurt Charles, he’d never meant to hurt him!

“You were younger than Francis,” Charles whispered, and he looked up to meet Erik’s eyes as the tears fell. “How could he… how could anyone?”

Erik knelt in front of Charles, hands hovering above an arm, a knee, so un-used to giving comfort. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “I’ve grown- I’m strong enough now. It’ll never happen again.”

“It should never have happened in the first place,” Charles said, clasping Erik’s hands between both of his own. “All he’s taken from you, when you were so young. And he’s going to take this from you too, your mercy--”

“I’ve killed before, Charles, many times. My soul is already broken.” He gave a crooked smile, trying to joke it away.

“And now you feel like you have to kill him, but you don’t. He’s already taken so many choices from you, don’t let him take one more.”

“I can’t let him live. I won’t.”

“Then let me help,” said Charles, so soft it was almost a whisper. “Let me… if I can get to his mind, I believe I can shut him away from his power. Let him live in the depths of a CIA prison, knowing what he used to be, what he can never be again. Let him see you turn your back on him and his murderous life, and let him know he failed.”

Erik stared at Charles. The room crackled with the force of Charles’ ferocity, the viciousness on his face. “You realise that’s not mercy,” Erik said slowly, his heart racing. He had never thought to be afraid of Charles before.

Charles nodded. “I know,” he whispered. “I thought… you were right. I’ve been so afraid, I’ve been running for so long I thought it was the same as standing up for myself, but… I see Francis and Arthur and I’m angry. I’m so angry that anyone dared lay a hand on them! And then I remember that was me. And it was you, and oh, God, Erik, you must have been so small, so afraid, and I am angry.”

Erik leaned up, straightening his body so he could reach Charles’ lips and kiss him, his free hand sinking into Charles’ soft hair so he could worship him. Charles froze for a moment, and then he was kissing him back, sliding forward on the chair to press their bodies together, tangling his fingers in Erik’s turtleneck and moaning into the kiss.

Like a sucker punch, Erik was swamped by a wave of emotions and thoughts, a storm of wanted him so long, so perfect, so beautiful, so powerful, of every touch Charles had ever stolen, every late night, every debate, every chess game. Every sensation right now, razor sharp, the wool under his skin, the taste of his lips, and just as Erik thought he’d faint from it, it receded.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Erik, please, please say something, oh God, what have I--”

“Charles,” Erik croaked, wrapping his hands around Charles’ wrists where they clung to his jumper. “It’s fine, I’m fine, just--”

“I’m so sorry,” Charles said. “I didn’t mean… I just…”

Erik smiled and stroked Charles’ cheek with his thumb. “I mean it - it was overwhelming but… is that how you feel? All of that?”

Charles bit his lip and looked up at him in a way that must surely be designed to melt Erik to the core. “Always, when I’m with you, my friend,” he said, and Erik kissed him once again.

Tagging everyone who interacted with the last chapter! (also the permanent tag list <3) Thank you!! @kungpao-giffy, (Done! Thank you ^_^) @insertmeaningfulusername, @mathmusicreading, @bugy-boo, (awwww I know!! Erik is such a dad!! Thank you!) @butterflymarvel, @writing-with-melon, @melonreblogsstories, @tteabea, @these-maginot-lines, @lyricfulloflight, @fullmetalcarer, @deathzpells, @ketchavies-thoorrrr666, @alchemagickal, @iamacommanderpotato, @thepaintingsafake, @gerec, @ikeracity, @triffidsandcuckoos, @thechaoticwave, @kaeden4, @iwillshipyouman, @kernezelda, @azulso, @akasanata, @rainbow-door, @vivavelle, @xcziel, @fxngsfogxarty, @marveltrashblog, @pumpkinspicedshane

#Lyn's Writing #cherik #Divergence (Charlesen)#multiple universes #multiple selves #implied child abuse/neglect #emotional hurt/comfort

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princess-of-france · 4 years

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I’m interested in your take on Angelo & Isabella w/ personality parallels (also just your opinion on Angelo especially tbh because I feel like I under-analyzed him when I read the play bc I was just. Well, found him scary :P) because obviously w/ your production you’re pretty deep in and I don’t see a lot of MFM content

Oof, this is a loaded question.

I’m happy to answer it, but I think I should make a disclaimer that—as you point out—my opinions of Angelo are skewed by my experiences as an actor inside a specific production. I’m also not an English scholar; I’m a theater artist. My lit crit skills are dodgy at best (as @lizbennett2013 knows all too well), and I don’t believe there is a single way to interpret any character in drama, especially when you’re dealing with heightened text. All I can do is give my honest appraisal of Angelo as I have encountered him dramaturgically through cutting our script, rehearsing Isabella, and seeing his iterations in other productions.

So! Angelo and Isabella. Two sides of the same coin. I really think they are.

Let’s get the obvious stuff out of the way first: Angelo is scary. He just is. His sexually motivated exploitation of authority continues to be one of the most transcendent aspects of this ever-timely play. However you stage it, however you trim the text, whatever charismatic actor you slot into the role, Angelo is a capital-T-Terror and there’s no getting around it. Coercive, manipulative, hypocritical, ruthless, misogynistic, fraudulent, and cruel, he basically spends the entirety of MEASURE FOR MEASURE committing crimes and then soliloquizing about how painful it all is for his bargain-price conscience. You’ll never hear me say he doesn’t deserve his reputation as one of the most reprehensible tyrants in all of Shakespeare.

But.

Of the three defining qualities I see in Angelo—ideological dogmatism, rhetorical prowess, and professional pride—there’s not one of them that is not blisteringly prominent in his antagonist, Isabella. Despite the fact that she’s a Catholic republican (“Butt out of people’s lives, Big Government; God will judge us when we die!”) and he’s a Puritan[ical] bureaucrat (“My job is to regulate people’s lives because purgatory is a myth!”), they have far more in common, cognitively, than not. Understand: I’m not saying that Angelo is not a piece of shit for how he behaves throughout course of the play. Nor am I implying that Isabella is somehow culpable for his masturbatory exercise of power over her. My girl has flaws, but she’s unquestionably the hero of M4M. What I’m trying to articulate is that Angelo and Isabella were born with the same psychological toolkit, which they elect to apply towards radically different purposes. (Think Parseltongue and “It is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities…”) This shared intellectual arsenal is what makes their pair of scenes in Act Two so iconic. We basically get to watch them play out Newton’s Third Law in real time: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction… As far as rhetoric goes, neither Isabella nor Angelo can overwhelm the other. For every argument she makes in favor of mercy, he punctures it with legalism. For every judicial explication he provides, she dissolves it with morality. One minute, we’re nodding our heads along with Angelo as he explains why Christian values should have no place in a court of law; the next, we’re on our feet cheering for Isabella to convince him to factor human integrity into his role as a public servant. I can’t read 2.2 as anything other than the blueprint for every screenplay Aaron Sorkin ever wrote. It is the ultimate courtroom drama.

Just look at the play’s opening act. Angelo’s hasty promotion aside, both he and Isabella begin the story at the lowest rung of their respective vocational ladders: he’s a would-be Chief Justice, she’s a would-be Prioress. Deputy/nun. Politics/religion. Different spheres/same ambition. And, in like true zealots, both Angelo and Isabella express their commitment to their new duties in terms of self-flagellation:

“You may not so extenuate his offenseFor I have had such faults, but rather tell me,When I that censure him do so offend,Let mine own judgment pattern out my deathAnd nothing come in partial.” (Angelo, II.i.29-33)

“And have you nuns no farther privileges?[…] I speak not as desiring more,But rather wishing a more strict restraintUpon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.” (Isabella, I.iv.1, 3-5)

It’s also worth mentioning that our first introduction to these characters features them scurrying along in the wake of an authority figure they respect.

Act 1, Scene 1: Angelo wants to know the extent to which he can wield his law degree at the pleasure of the Duke of Vienna (the Duke himself!).

Act 1, Scene 4: Isabella wants to know the extent to which she can practice self-denial for the glory of God and the approval of Mother Superior.

They are both drawn to gravitas, to figures who represent order and authority. They are also drawn to discipline. He’s a non-drinking, non-smoking Precision. She’s a gluttony-abhorring Bride of Christ. Let the rest of the world eat cake. They will be eating their sins and purifying their souls, thank you very much.

At the risk of descending into the flaming pits of cliché, I’ll also touch on those three qualities I mentioned earlier, because who says the TPE (Three Paragraph Essay) is dead?

First up: ideological dogmatism.

[Side note: I may be a crappy historian, but I do recognize there’s a historical paradigm at play in this text. Vienna needs to be a Catholic city and Angelo’s Protestantism needs to be allusive because Shakespeare presumably valued all his limbs and didn’t relish the idea of rotting in a Cheapside prison. If he’d lived in a “free press” kind of sociocultural context, he might have endowed his religious figures with a bit more Opinion. I digress.]

In the M4M-centered episode of Isaac Butler’s phenomenal podcast, “Lend Me Your Ears,” he interviews JohnPaul Spiro (Assistant Director of the School of Liberal Arts, Villanova University), who does a wonderfully unfussy job of summing up the Angelo/Isabella ideology parallel:

“In much the same way as our era is filled with political zealots—as well as, to a certain degree, religious zealots—what you’ll find when you look closer is there’s a small number of very loud people who are dominating the discourse. And a lot of people are in the middle and would rather not have to take sides. Claudio, he seems to be monogamous, he seems to want to just live a very simple life, he’s not really concerned with theological things. And when pressed on theological things, his point is: ‘I don’t really know. No one really knows what happen when you die, so I’m scared.’”

Because religious extremism lies at the heart of the rhetorical warfare between Angelo and Isabella, I think there’s a misconception that M4M is a Play About Religion. But the ONLY characters who canonically go to the mat about the finer points of theology are…wait for it…Angelo and Isabella. This is an early modern text brimming with religious figures (Sister Francisca, Friar Thomas, Friar Peter, even the phony Friar Lodowick), but not a single one of them gets on the pulpit about ANYTHING in the course of the entire play. Sister Francisca’s role consists of bemusedly listening to her youthful novitiate describe her desire for stricter prohibitions at the cloister. Friar Thomas, a sycophantic priest whose parish coffers are probably lined with Vincentio’s gold, spends his one onstage scene nodding his head sympathetically as the Duke over-explains why he is disguising himself as a monk. Friar Peter, the poor Jesuit roped into delivering the Duke’s messages, forgoes moralizing and instead uses his limited dialogue to try to help two disenfranchised women receive justice for their abuse. And Friar Lodowick, of course, is nothing but an alias for a cowardly sociopath who wants to run the world without being held accountable for his mistakes. Nothing evangelical about any of that.

But Angelo and Isabella? They can’t shut up about religion.

Isabella wants Angelo to temper his punitive Weltanschauung with morality, ideology, Platonic ideals, metaphysics…in short, all of the intangibles that can’t be used as evidence in a court of law.

“Why, all the souls that were were forfeit onceAnd He that might the vantage best have tookFound out the remedy. How would you be,If He, which is the top of judgment, shouldBut judge you as you are? O, think on thatAnd mercy then will breathe within your lips,Like man new made.” (Isabella, II.ii.97-103)

Angelo, in turn, wants Isabella to recognize the futility of Catholicism as a proper tool for creating heaven on earth because Catholicism permits withdrawal from the world and the abdication of earthly responsibility (cf: nunnery). Instead, he argues, what God actually needs is for people to actively toil in their communities to criminalize, punish, and eradicate sin.

“I show [pity] most of all when I show justice,For then I pity those I do not know,Which a dismissed offense would after gall,And do him right that—answering one foul wrong—Lives not to act another.” (Angelo, II.ii.128-132)

They take up the two sides of a theological debate that predates Christianity: ethics vs. justice. And that conflict is itself inextricably tied to the timeless political debate of non-intervention vs. regulation. And the thing is: even when Angelo and Isabella realize the irreconcilability of their respective schools of thought, they KEEP ARGUING ABOUT IT because extremism is just that: extreme. Angelo and Isabella may be major players in M4M, but they represent the radical minority of their world. They are the “small group of very loud people” and literally everyone is a moderate next to them. Ideology, not desire, is the bedrock of their personhood. When confronted with a person of an uncompromisingly polar viewpoint, they behave as if it might be possible to change the viewpoint of that person because the alternative is to admit defeat. To tragic effect, they hold their ideals more sacred than human life. For Angelo, that ideal is the law (i.e. integrity of action). For Isabella, it’s chastity (i.e. integrity of the soul). They are dogmatic in their beliefs, inflexible in their opinions, and inalienably convinced of their own “rightness.” They are austere, incisive, independent, articulate, and sharp. They are disgusted by the depravity of the world around them and determined to transcend it. What differentiates them is the content of their convictions, but they rate the value of that conviction equally.

So, yes, M4M is a play acutely interested in how religion shapes the law and human behavior. But I would argue that it is really only about one thing: power.

Which brings me to rhetoric.

Angelo and Isabella are lawyers. Both of them. High-powered, quick-thinking, weakness-sniffing, self-righteous litigators. Sure, Isabella may not have the paperwork to prove it; she was conceived by an Englishman in the early 17th century. But much in the same way that it’s obvious to everyone with eyes that would-be nun Maria [von Trapp] is a born music teacher from the first scene of The Sound of Music, so is it evident from Isabella’s first moments onstage that she is a born lawyer. She was, quite simply, born to argue.

Consider her first scene onstage: in the nunnery, with Lucio and Francisca. Unlike the audience, Isabella doesn’t have empirical evidence of Lucio’s amorality and notorious womanizing. She doesn’t need it. She can smell it on him. And in six short lines, she wipes the mosaic-laced marble floor of the cathedral with his ass:

LUCIOCan you so stead meAs bring me to the sight of Isabella,A novice of this place and the fair sisterTo her unhappy brother, Claudio?

ISABELLAWhy her “unhappy brother”? Let me ask,The rather for I now must make you knowI am that Isabella, and his sister.

LUCIOGentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you.Not to be weary with you, he’s in prison.

ISABELLAWoe me, for what?

LUCIOFor that which, if myself might be his judge,He should receive his punishment in thanks:He hath got his friend with child.

ISABELLASir, make me not your story.

LUCIO‘Tis true.I would not, though ‘tis my familiar sinWith maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,Tongue far from heart, play with all virgins so.I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted,By your renouncement an immortal spiritAnd to be talked with in sincerityAs with a saint.

ISABELLAYou do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

(I.iv.18-40)

I’m not going to venture down the English professor’s rabbit hole of rhetorical devices and syntactical analysis—partly because there are thousands of scholars who have already done it better than I ever could (check out Claire McEachern and Julie Felise Dubiner!) and partly because I’ve been blathering for too long in general. But sufficed to say that three hallmarks of a good lawyer are as follows:

The ability to seize and repurpose the language of one’s opponent (“Why her ‘unhappy brother?’”)

The ability to spot and sidestep landmines (“Sir, make me not your story.”)

The ability to redirect conversation (“You do blaspheme.”)

By that metric alone, Isabella’s performance here is worthy of the Harvard Law Review.

And then, of course, two scenes later, she meets her match.

A dear friend of mine, who is a first-year at Georgetown Law and basically the smartest person I’ve ever met, once told me: “The best and worst thing that can happen to a good lawyer is to meet another good lawyer with different ideas.” I do apologize for invoking Sorkin twice in one essay, but honestly: “The President likes smart people who disagree with him” (Leo, The West Wing, 2x05). It is a truth universally acknowledged that however infuriating it is for a highly intelligent person to debate with an equally intelligent person who disagrees with everything they stand for, it can also be unbelievably stimulating and monumentally entertaining to watch. (Hello, 50 million seasons of Law & Order.)

I’m now two weeks deep into rehearsals for M4M and I still get gobsmacked, daily, by the sheer majesty of Angelo’s and Isabella’s rhetoric. Theirs goes so far beyond the mental agility of anyone else in this play, or even—dare I say it—in Shakespeare’s canon. They are beyond intelligent. They are freaky genius kids with the kind of sanctimonious stubbornness that would be obnoxious if it weren’t so damn compelling. Between the two of them, between their two infamous scenes, they pull out every rhetorical trick in the book and play approximately seventeen unique rounds of intellectual checkers. (I say checkers because chess is too slow for them. If you want chilly brinksmanship, check out the Roman plays. Angelo and Isabella have agendas and professional pride on the line. Time is of the essence.)

ISABELLAI do think that you might pardon him,And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

ANGELOI will not do it.

ISABELLABut can you, if you would?

ANGELOLook, what I cannot, that I will not do.

ISABELLABut might you do it, and do the world no wrongIf so your heart were touched with that remorseAs mine is to him?

ANGELOHe’s sentenced. ‘Tis too late.

ISABELLA“Too late”? Why, no. I, that do speak a word,Might call it back again.

(II.ii.67-78 [italics are mine])

Things get even more complicated when they start moving into those same theoretical marshes I described earlier:

“If he had been as you, and you as he,You would have slipped like him, but he like youWould not have been so stern.” (Isabella, II.ii.84-86)

“The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.Those many had not dared to do that evilIf the first that did th’ edict infringeHad answered for his deed. Now ‘tis awake…” (Angelo, II.ii.117-120)

ENOUGH WITH THE METAPHORS ALREADY. CLAUDIO IS ON DEATH ROW.

And even when they finally, finally get to the point, they remain at an impasse:

ISABELLAYet show some pity.

ANGELOI show it most when I show justice.

(II.ii.127-128)

Which causes Isabella essentially to lose all sense of self-awareness and control because goddam it, never once in her entire life has she met a person she couldn’t out-argue, who the fuck does this deputy think he is, this was supposed to be a simple mission and she’s been standing in this room for ten minutes and he’s still siTTING THERE SMILING AT HER WHAT THE F—

“So you must be the first that gives this sentence,And he that suffers. O, it is excellentTo have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannousTo use it like a giant[…]Could great men thunderAs Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,For every pelting, petty officerWould use his heaven for thunder,Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven,Thou rather with thy sharp and sulfurous boltSplits the un-wedgeable and gnarlèd oakThan the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,Dressed in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,His glassy essence like an angry apePlays such fantastic tricks before high heavenAs makes the angels weep, who with our spleensWould all themselves laugh mortal.” (Isabella, II.ii.134-152)

Which causes ANGELO to lose all self-awareness and control because goddam it, never once in his entire life has he met a person he couldn’t out-argue, who the fuck does this nun think she is, this was supposed to be a simple smackdown and she’s been standing in this room for ten minutes and he’s still waiting for her to admit defeat and oh God oh no oh no oh no why can’t he look away from her face, what the fuck is happening what the F—

ANGELOWHY DO YOU PUT THESE SAYINGS UPON ME?

ISABELLABecause authority, though it err like others,Hath yet a kind of medicine in itselfThat skins the vice o’ th’ top. Go to your bosom,Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth knowThat’s like my brother’s fault. If it confessA natural guiltiness such as is his,Let it not sound a thought upon your tongueAgainst my brother’s life.

ANGELO, asideShe speaks and ‘tis such senseThat my sense breeds with it.

(II.ii.163-173)

Finally, Angelo gets her to leave and faces the music. My tremendous co-actor, Jude Van der Voorde, always slays this soliloquy.

“What’s this, what’s this? Is this her fault or mine?The tempter or the tempted, who sins most, ha?Not she; nor doth she tempt, but it is IThat, lying by the violet in the sun,Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,Corrupt with virtuous season.” (Angelo, II.iv.199-204)

[Non sequitur: Jude is the kind of actor actors dream of acting with. He’s always got at least one trick up his sleeve, so my Isabella is constantly second-guessing herself around him. And he does the “sleazy wunderkind act” with a panache rivaling BJ Novak’s in Season 4 of The Office. He’s also one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. Kids, don’t be Method. Make friends with your fellow actors. Leave the emotions onstage and go get a midnight pizza. You will be so much happier.]

With regards to the M4M narrative, we all know what happens next, although it takes an agonizing 175 lines of text in 2.4 before Shakespeare levels off and gives us the canonical threat:

“Redeem thy brotherBy yielding up thy body to my will,Or else he must not only die the death,But thy unkindness shall his death draw outTo lingering sufferance. Answer me tomorrowOr by the affection that now guides me mostI’ll prove a tyrant to him. As for you:Say what you can, my false o’erweighs your true.” (Angelo, II.iv.177-184)

What precedes this is the kind of tension-groaning, hair-splitting, goosebump-raising rhetorical tarantella that television writers today spend their entire careers trying to emulate. Isabella plays the fool for as long as she possibly can…

ANGELONay, but hear me.Your sense pursues not mine. Either you are ignorantOr seem so, crafty, and that’s not good.

ISABELLALet me be ignorant, and in nothing goodBut graciously to know I am no better.

(II.iv.79-83)

…but eventually Angelo forces her hand and she has to deflect his onslaught with the sleek diplomacy of a kidnapping victim.

ISABELLABetter it were a brother died at onceThan that a sister, by redeeming him,Should die forever.

ANGELOWere not you then as cruel as the sentenceThat you have slandered so?

ISABELLAIgnomy in ransom and free pardonAre of two houses. Lawful mercyIs nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANGELOYou seemed of late to make the law a tyrant,And rather proved the sliding of your brotherA merriment than a vice.

ISABELLAO, pardon me, my lord. It oft falls out,To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.I something do excuse the thing I hateFor his advantage that I dearly love.

(II.iv.114-128)

Remember when I said that Angelo and Isabella are alike in that they are inalienably convinced of their own “rightness”? That still holds true. But now Angelo, without warning, has moved beyond the conceits of debate and is taking Isabella’s rhetorical arguments from 2.2 at literal face value in order to trip her up. He’s brought ideology crashing down to earth and introduced their physical relationship into the conversation…again, without warning and very much without her consent. And she has to figure out a way to back-peddle on her words without yielding defeat of the argument. It is nigh impossible. And I bring it up because guess who gets trapped in the exact same situation three short acts later?

LUCIOCome, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your knave’s visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour! Will ‘t not off?

(LUCIO pulls off the friar’s hood and reveals the DUKE.)

DUKEThou art the first knave that e’er made’st a duke.—First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three.—Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and youMust have a word anon.—Lay hold on him.

LUCIOThis may prove worse than hanging.

DUKEWhat you have spoke I pardon. Sit you down.We’ll borrow place of him. (to Angelo)Sir, by your leave.Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudenceThat yet can do thee office? If thou hast,Rely upon it till my tale be heardAnd hold no longer out.

ANGELOO my dread lord,I should be guiltier than my guiltinessTo think I can be undiscernible,When I perceive your Grace, like power divine,Hath looked upon my passes. (V.i.395-421)

Game, set, match.

As for ego… Do I really need to talk about professional pride? I don’t think so. It’s Angelo and Isabella. Pride leaks out of every virtually every line they speak in this play. Pride in their conviction, pride in their moral righteousness, pride in their intellect, pride in their ability to judge the world with clarity (or whatever). Angelo actually admits it out loud to us in perhaps his most famous soliloquy, because the little fucker has a lot more Catholic guilt about lusting after a novitiate nun than his Protestant heart would like to admit:

“The state whereon I studiedIs, like a good thing being often read,Grown sere and tedious. Yea, my gravity,Wherein—let no man hear me—I take pride,Could I with boot change for an idle plumeWhich the air beats for vain.” (Angelo, II.iv.7-15)

And even though Isabella could easily be the poster child for Christian piety, she’s so damn proud of her own humility that she occasionally threatens to void it altogether.

ANGELOWhat would you do?

ISABELLAAs much for my poor brother as myself.That is, were I under the terms of death,Th’ impression of keen whips I’d wear as rubiesAnd strip myself to death as to a bedThat longing have been sick for, ere I’d yieldMy body up to shame.

(II.iv.107-111)

Look at me, Angelo. Look at this body. It’s mine. Mine and God’s. I see what you’re doing, I know where you’re trying to go. And it is never. going. to happen.

Two weeks into rehearsal and I’m still not sure I’m convincing in my delivery of these lines. I’ve watched every filmed production of M4M I can get my hands on, and it’s no help. I just don’t know what to make of this. Scholars disagree virulently about these lines, but also…scholars aren’t actors, you know? I find myself questioning everything every time I get to this passage. Is Isabella actually a virgin? I’m not sure. Chastity and virginity aren’t actually the same thing and Isabella, for all her idealism, is more worldly than many of her ingenue brethren. One thing is for sure: she’s flushed with self-righteousness when she speaks these words. Angelo may be a haughty son of a bitch, but so is she, so is she, so is she.

Ugh, these characters. I love them so much. I hate Angelo, I do. I also love him. And God help me I love Isabella. They’re dumpster fires of human conviction and I’m so grateful to Shakespeare for giving us their story and for understanding four hundred fucking years ago, that this, THIS is the pinnacle of hell in the female experience: “Who would believe thee, Isabel?”

#MeToo

Thank you, Will. Thank you.

I feel like I should apologize for the length of this reply, but I’ve had so much freaking fun that I also don’t feel apologetic. Thank you for this amazing question! Hope you’re doing well! xx Claire

Tagging @malvoliowithin @measureformeasure @harry-leroy @suits-of-woe

#measure for measure #m4m 2019

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alexsmitposts · 4 years

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Blind Faith, Subterfuge and not “Real Issues” will decide US Presidential Elections Voter behaviour is not really so complicated. I once even took a course in it; about all that I can remember is that the “incumbent and name recognition is all that really matters” in getting re-elected, especially for a US President. Regardless of who is the pick for vice president, or whether or not Joe Biden is a Republican at heart with a bad case of both venality and dementia and Trump cannot make truthful statements, the November election is therefore kind of a “toss up”—at least at first impression. Trump is larger than life, whether or not that is a good thing. This worked in his favour last time round, as the outsider candidate against the tainted Hillary Clinton, pillar of the political establishment, the sort who gives representing a relatively left-leaning party a bad name. But this time the US is not electing a new president, it is holding what is effectively a referendum on the incumbent. In 2016 the primary motivation was voting either FOR Trump or FOR Hillary. This time a significant portion of the population will be voting AGAINST Trump, just because it’s him, and his main task will be get these people to stay at home, rather than vote for Biden, even if they have to hold their noses to do so. But with so many Republicans having a problem with Trump, and Democrats having a problem with Sloppy Joe Biden, there will be less interest in engaging WITH, rather than AGAINST, either candidate. If voters act on hate alone, Biden will walk it. But the long campaigning season will probably end with a weary populace ignoring the real issues and voting on the basis of blind faith – that regardless of things like issues and facts, someone, somehow, is going to make their lives better before the whole political system collapses around them. Schoolyard Bully I am dumbfounded at how Trump can blatantly and unapologetically pander to Christians and they eat it up!!! He is reported to have made a statement that if the states don’t open the churches this weekend there will be consequences!!! Trump has many supporters in the South, where they are keen on States´Rights. But Facebook and other social media sites are repeating his nonsense, and throwing their endorsement to Trump. Maybe the man is the genius he says he is after all. He is definitely playing them – what can Facebook do, censor Trump or claim that such statements go against community standards? He has been a genius at one thing for his entire life – getting his own way, and just for the hell of it, regardless of what is right or well-advised. Like the rich kid who learns how to twist his parents in knots, Trump is godlike in his ability to manipulate. He will use any trick in the book, and make up some new ones. This may end up being what the election is actually about. The more Trump lies and cheats and gets away with it, the more the disadvantaged and the crooked, who have fallen by the wayside when playing by the rules, will think he offers hope. The rest of America will then decide whether that is really the world they want to live in for the next four years, in the midst of a succession of crises they often have wilfully unreal ideas about to begin with. As one new American, before the new immigration rules set in, shared, “Trump is not that evil; I don’t think he is Godlike. He is just a compulsive dude with a character. He is simple but knows how to bargain for profits. Why everyone is after him, it’s funny; I have never seen Americans liking their president ever, as they like Trump.” Us against them Versus them against Us Of course this means Trump won’t campaign by the rules either. Other people made those rules, the same people many Americans blame for taking away their jobs and being soft on their enemies. Trump will do whatever he has to do, whatever the cost, ignoring little things like the Constitution, Rule of Law and facts.His latest stunt is to question whether Biden’s VP running mate is qualified to stand for the office, based on her parent’s origins. That is really catering to his base, as he knows only too well that she is in no way disqualified for the office, but many people wish she was. Barack Obama was subject to so much rumour about his own origins that he actually displayed his birth certificate (saying Honolulu, Hawaii, 4th August 1961, i.e. after it had become part of the US) at a press conference. These allegations were never based on fact, but allowed some voters to dress up prejudice as hoped-for fact. Trump joined these allegations, saw they worked, and has been finding new ways to make prejudice seem justified ever since. Constitutional law experts say Harris’ parents are beside the point. The 14th Amendment grants citizenship to all people born in the US, and Article II Section 1 of the Constitution says that to be eligible for the vice presidency and presidency a candidate must be natural-born US citizen, at least 35, and a resident of the United States for a minimum of 14 years. But the Constitution embodies the establishment, and Trump doesn’t consider himself part of it. Many of his supporters feel betrayed by it, their needs and values having been relegated to secondary status, or worse, because they and their friends were never asked to write the Constitution. Trump has lied to his base like he has lied to everyone else. He does it every day, shamelessly. Remember building a wall and making Mexico pay for it, incarcerating Hillary, paying off the debt and stopping wars, let alone the more recent ones about COVID-19 response. But what is escaping critical attention is that the current man in the White House represents the character and morals of the masses of people who make up the country. They won’t admit openly to being everything America pretends it isn’t, which is why Trump is being hammered in the polls, but they will be voting in mass for his re-election. Their core values are the same: family, Church, flag and job security, as if these are the answer to everything in themselves, no actual performance or policy is needed. The vast majority of these voters must feel that they are now being taken care of—for most that means less government, affordable education and healthcare. If Trump makes an about-turn, such as introducing Medicare for all at a price, he will be hoeing in high cotton as the presidential election nears. Blind faith in the system versus blind faith in anything other than the system may not be the best choice to have, as countries which have had revolutions understand. But both sides are gambling that this is how the voters will see it, and that they will choose their faith over the other, and then prosecute it for four years with the same religious fervour so that reality doesn’t come and bite too hard. Bubbling under the Radar Trump may support a small state, but he did a clever move extending Federal Unemployment benefits by executive order, albeit not to the previous level of 600 dollars per week on top of any State benefit. He realised that he had no time to waste, especially in the wake of the economic havoc of COVID-19. Congress went on recess so as not to deal with the COVID-19 crisis, as they knew there was going to be too much pork included in any legislation they would attempt to pass. This could be interpreted as meaning they were outsmarted by Donald Trump, and only one such victory will embolden his supporters to believe there will be many more, which they will interpret as victories for them. Trump’s base of support has closed ranks even more over his monument policy, which makes it a crime to tear down historic monuments. One cannot trash history just because times have changed. I may not like your monument, but let’s talk about it. When the first Democratic debates were held Joe Biden was not most people’s first choice, but I wondered if he had the best chance, since he was old and white and had been VP under Obama. This claim to fame would help him gain the black vote en masse, or so he thought. But this has become a moot issue since Biden scolded black leaders, claiming they would not be black if they voted for Trump. That did not go over well with a voter group which as a whole finds Trump a lowlife, but does not expect to be lectured by a senile “old honky”.Blacks also realised long ago that if they have an equally strong voice within both parties they are more likely to be heard, not taken for granted by the one they support and then ignored, because electorally not worth the effort, by the other. If Biden doesn’t get that, how many other voter groups will he risk alienating between now and November? Biden is the sort of Democrat blacks once deserted his party for being full of – a scion of white privilege, darling of War on Crime (meaning war on blacks, as is Harris), closet racist and blind servant of Wall Street and the Military-Industrial Complex. Maybe this is the real reason he is supposedly polling ahead of Trump in key Electoral College States, even Ohio. However, those with not-so-short memories will remember that the last round of polls before the 2016 election gave Hillary Clinton a commanding lead, and the DNC and mainstream media were so confident of her success they had already printed up the front pages of the newspapers announcing her victory. What makes the pollsters so confident that they will not be even more wrong this time? Trump bashing Biden’s policies and the Democratic National Committee’s platform may soon take all the wind out of Biden’s sails, precisely because it is so easy to bash Trump that it has less effect on the voters. Trump’s policy of America First is also proving consistent, and this is the one campaign promise few people expected him to keep. This does put Trump in the small category of politicians who actually keep their promises, however ironic that is. The return of no point As for the election, only God knows what will happen.It is perfectly possible that the Deep State controls the voting machines by now and the mail-in ballots too!Democrats in Florida are still protesting about the voting machines used there when George W. Bush beat Al Gore by a tiny margin. As James Baker pointed out at the time, they tested the machines before the election and had no complaints. So either there was nothing wrong with the machines, or the count was distorted by those machines. I know which one my money is on. What people are not willing to wake up and accept is that America needs another system, not the two party system, aswhich now supposedly exists. It is an illusion that Republican and Democrat are the only choices, when members of these two parties stay in Congress for decades and little if anything changes. In 1905 Mark Twain wrote his War Prayer, a short story or prose poem described as “a scathing indictment of war, particularly of blind patriotic and religious fervour as motivations for war.” In the days of the Vietnam War, when both war and politics had meaning, this was seen as sarcasm. Now it is a commentary on what the US political system has become, because people are incapable of engaging with real issues because they do not wish to know the truth about their country.

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h3l10tr0p3 · 5 years

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Headcanon: Deku, the Serial Shipper

Contains- Mentions of sexual activities, established relationship - Bakudeku; Crack pairings- TodoIna, JiroMomo, UraTsuyu, UraTenya, DenkiSero, Kirimina, platonic Kiribaku etc.

(Beware- Long post)

Jesus Christ, I just had this HC and now I gotta spill, otherwise I won't be able to sleep tonight. Here's another annoying Long Post for y'all)

Deku, as a Pro Hero and Katsuki's Duo Partner, has a pretty hectic life since the media are crazy bloodhounds, the villains are a pain in the ass, interacting with fans becomes exhausting at times, and the critics are demons wailing for his blood.

Yeah, very hectic. And on top of that, there's very little time to relax. Most of the days he sneaks some solace in the gym, if he can buy more time he likes to read and immerse himself in his notebooks and research. Fighting Katsuki to blow some steam is a last resort to shed off weeks of frustration and only reserved for off-days or desperate times - because something like that inevitably devolves into gratuitous rough sex or worse, day-long fuck-a-thon. Not that Deku doesn't enjoy it, he simply doesn't have the time to indulge and he knows Kacchan doesn't either, so they try to keep their hands off each other unless the occassion begs for much-needed violent release.

But sometimes, you just want instant relief. Sometimes Deku just wants to kick back and relax like a normal person, go on the internet, without everyone hounding him for a piece of his mind.

So he does.

Under Anonymity.

Et viola @allmight9000 comes alive on several media platforms including Tumblr and Twitter. At first, Deku masquerades around as a hardcore All Might fan fighting anyone who dares to diss the retired Symbol of Peace . But since his retirement, his popularity has gone cold, not many heated debates take place around him anymore and as sad as this makes Deku, he decides to discover new venues.

Now, Deku knows there's this dark void of fanfiction lurking on the net and there's no escape from it should he ever set foot into it. He is also aware of the dark things that beckon him from the sewers like Pennywise the Dancing Clown (eg. All Might/Endeavour, Hawks/Endeavour, All Might Bowl, All Might/ Hero Harem, All Might/Midnight, All Might/Aizawa/Present Mic and so on), things he should rightfully keep a safe distance from. But this is fucking Deku we are talking about- ofcourse he dares to dip his foot into the murk of fanfiction.

For science, he thinks, and takes the plunge.

It all goes downhill from there.

One day, Katsuki comes back from his shift to find Deku face-planted into the sofa, he hasn't eaten lunch, hasn't bathed and is claiming trauma, repeatedly insisting that he has sinned and he is going to hell for it, then he shakily holds up a 367k word fic of Villain Might/Endeavour. Katsuki has to slap him back to his senses. Later that night, Deku calls up Toshinori and asks him for forgiveness, when Toshinori asks him worriedly, 'For what?', Deku assures him he DOES NOT wanna know.

After obsessively going through various tropes and completing every Enemies to Lovers / Mutual Pining / Unrequited Love fic there is (and there is a lot, Deku hates himself every day for it), waiting torturous weeks for dead authors to rise from the ashes for a teeny tiny update, Deku finally gives up his small lake of unfulfilling All Might ships (because frankly it's hard to find a fic that suits his tastes and convincingly fleshes out a love story around a man who has pointedly avoided romance for the better part of his LIFE or a find a fic which is COMPLETE) and sets out into the sea of Ships.

Bad Idea.

Very VERY Bad Idea.

(We know it, he knows it. Katsuki is the only one who is blessedly oblivious because he chooses not to wade into Deku's mental shit and compromise his own sanity.)

Strangely, Deku has come to take an odd satisfaction of returning to fan mentality of shipping two people without restraints (rarely more than two)-it's simple, senseless, easy. It gives his head a break from all the overanalyzing it does and gives him a small dose of endorphins when he cant work out, eat out or fuck out the frustration. He was adverse to it first, since these are strangers trying to ship two random people (people he is friends with), and it was unsettling to find so many people shipping them when they've BARELY had any interaction in canon real life! What's the premise of shipping them at all? He just didn't find any allure to it back then. So he kept his reads under fluff and under mature ratings because he feels uncomfortable reading smut about his friends.

But Deku had a 'Oh my God they were ROOMMATES' moment when Jirou and Momo announce that they are dating to the U.A. Alumni, that too after reading a really fluffy Creati/Earphone Jack fic which accurately referenced their public sightings together and spun it into plot-points quite masterfully. ( the author did a real good job on it) And the most horrifying thing about the fic, Deku finds, is the fact that NO ONE, not even the AUTHOR knows how correct they were in their estimates! No one except Deku.

That realization shakes the foundations of Deku's beliefs and morality as he wonders how many fics out there , sfw or smut, requited or unrequited love, enemies to lovers or lovers to strangers, fluff or smut have come so so close to the truth, been so damn close - like an alternate course of their love-story? and WHY IS NO ONE GIVING IT MORE KUDOS?

This is how Deku ends up being the most irredeemable Shipper of the universe- with a mission in hand:

To curate proof of all valid ships and to supply aforesaid proof of it to the world (as subtly as he can of course, so as to not compromise his own identity or the privacy of the Shipped.)

He begins to scour through the net for paparazzi photos, indulges in gossip, pries out information of who is dating whom from his Hero contacts, authenticates it, creates folders and subfolders of photographic 'proof' (they are just teasers really) and whenever anyone writes a fic that comes anywhere close to the real thing he makes sure to tag them in his tumblr/twitter post with photos which basically pour gasoline over their fiery passion to continue dreaming and writing fics around those Ships. Like:

You wrote a fic of Fluffy Iron Fist x Real Steel? Here you go- an obscure pic of them leaving her apartment together

Uravity x Ingenium and Uravity x Froppy? A love triangle that could possibly end in heartbreak?!! Damn, sistah, who knows? (She's confused too, imho) So here you go- Uravity getting tipsy with Froppy and Uravity snuggling to Ingenium under the rain.

One-shot of Chargebolt x Cellophane getting frisky in an alley? Honey, I gotchu. Here's a pic of them arriving at a villain scene together with dishevelled clothes.

All Might x Endeavour Slow Burn? My dear friend- here's a picture of the Symbol of peace roasting marshmallows with Shouto on flaming Endeavour merch. Please don't make me block you.

All Might x Midnight? Here's a pic of my mom, me and my Dad AllMight. Midnight, Who binch?

Celsius (Shouto) x Gale Force Stripper AU? Oh, hey, look I'm totally that one lucky guy who was in the right place at the right time, okay? I dont know these guys personally, OKAY? Not. At. All. But I have some Opinions™ about your fic? and pics to support it. Just wanna show you that maybe...i mean...MAAYYYYYYBEEEE...the stripper is Galeforce, not Celsius? Yeah? Don't worry though, You're doing good. Love the slow build, keep up the good work!

Deku becomes a sensational fic-writer-enabler and often gives inspiration to writers who are looking to write for a new fandom. Deku's got their backs.

He sinks so deep into this Shipping business that one day Katsuki catches wind of it. It was becoming painful to keep ignoring Deku's descent into madness. Katsuki was okay with it as long as the nerd did his job well and fucked him even better (which Katsuki will never admit to enjoying, even at gun point. Pull the trigger, you coward). So, yeah, Katsuki could have accepted all of Deku's weird stalkerish behaviours (even if they weren't fixated on him all the time anymore and the 'Kacchan, sugoi!' comments had plummeted drastically....who needs the shitnerd to validate his worth, right?! Right...it didn't make him pissed AT ALL. because admitting that would mean he enjoyed it, WHICH HE DID NOT, MIND YOU)

What Katsuki couldn't accept was Deku accidentally using his official Hero twitter handle to post a very platonic (but in the eyes of rabid fans- borderline homoerotic) pictures of him and Eijirou and posted it as #Ground_Riot. The fucking flood of Zeku-haters and pro-GroundRioters had the comments section on FIRE. The post goes VIRAL.

Deku, fucking DEKU, the man who is secretly ENGAGED to him, is promoting GroundRiot like NO ONE's business and HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE DID WRONG.

Katsuki finds Deku happily puttering around their shared apartment completely oblivious to the PR hell that has been licking at his heels. He immediately attacks Deku's account and is completely gobsmacked. Lo and fucking behold- every fifth picture in his blog is fucking GROUND RIOT.

Not just that, apparently, THIS MAN, his fucking FIANCE, is not only a renowned peacemaker in inane Ship wars, but is hailed as a Soothsayer of Ships for always correctly prophecizing "Ships that will Sail into the fucking Sunset', he is basically some minor god in the Hero fandom who is extorting excitement out of fic writers and fans alike so that 'the crime of incomplete fics' can be eradicated once and for all. And Deku's fucking commited to it.

(perhaps more commited to Ground Riot than his own betrothal because there isn't A SINGLE POST of ZEKU on his blog)

There's even a post where he answers an ask from anonymous. The question: "Are you also anti-Zeku? I have never seen you post anything related to that ship. Is it because you think it won't Sail?" And Deku answers shortly how he isn't explicitly Anti-Zeku, but doesn't like the idea of reading fanfics of that ship. He clearly witholds his opinion if the ship will sail or not. Katsuki also finds the chat which started all this shit.

Chat-

Hey! @allmight9000. I wanted to write a GroundRiot fic? Could you give me some inspiration?

Aww, sure! It's my favourite Ship tbh. I love GroundRiot. I have a whole gigabyte of inspirations in my laptop. I'll send you some when I get back home, okay?

Yup!!! I am actually a hardcore Zeku fan. But recently my friends got me into Ground Riot and I am addicted!! But Zeku will always have a special place in my heart <3

I see. :)

Do you wanna try it out? I know you mentioned you don't like it. But I know some REALLY good fics.

No thank you ^_^ I make it a point to not read those fics. I just can't visualize it working, you know?

Oh...np. Each to their own. But I really hope one day you try reading some if you can?

I don't think so ...😅...uh...but..Any preferences for your inspiration though? or genre youre interested in?

Fluffff!!

Haha, okay! Look out for the new post on my twitter!

YASSS!! Love ya!

You too!

Katsuki sees red, he's about to flip his shit when he decides to give Deku one LAST fucking chance to explain WHY THE FUCK is he promoting Ground Riot when he should be shipping Zeku and demands of him if he really wants their Fucking Ship To Sail Or Not.

Deku gets defensive and says of course he does. Katsuki asks why he has been trying to push him onto Eijirou all this time if he wasnt serious about it. Deku doesnt want to answer. Then Katsuki gets fruatrated and asks WHY the fuck didnt he post Zeku.

"Because I don't want to support it"

"We are literally fucking engaged, you moron. What the FUCK do you mean you don't support it?!"

"I support Us, Kacchan! I just don't wanna support Zeku-shippers! Those two things are different!"

"WHy dont you wanna support them?! tHere is No Difference!"

"There is! I am not obligated to do anything for you. But if I admit to shipping Zeku out loud to the shippers, then I'm obligated to post pictures of us and I know that if I start posting that then my blog will literally be a flood of just Us all over!!"

"What is WRONG with that?!!"

"WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ENGAGED IN SECRET! NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW! you said it yourself! That you don't like the useless yapping of reporters about your love-life where it isn't their business!"

"YEAH? WELL FUCK THAT!"

And Katsuki whips out his phone, takes a selfie of french kissing the hell out of Deku and immediately posts in on his twitter. Deku has hardly reeled back from that intense kiss when he realizes what Katsuki has done and he practically explodes in shame.

"Kacchan!! Our secret!"

"Your fucking fault, Deku. If I have to deal with the shitty extras at all, it better be for the right Ship, you dumbass. I'll punt you straight to China if I hear Ground Riot from your mouth ever again...capiche?"

"But I like Ground Riot...It's a valid ship, Kacchan. You cant diss on it just like that. It has wonderful scope, and the fluff in this ship is AMAZING. I think I have a soft spot for Uke!GZ and Soft!GZ now... and it is a really mutually productive ship unlike- hrmff!", Katsuki shuts him up with a smack to his mouth and sheds his shirt.

"Shut your mouth and strip, shitnerd. I'll fuck the Ground Riot out of you. Also, let's make this fucking clear that if you mention ANYTHING that goes anywhere near Eijirou's dick,ass, balls or mouth", Katsuki shivers, "then I'll wreck your dick, ass, balls and mouth. Remember that. Now STRIP"

"But what about platonically? That's a solid ship, right? Right, Kacchan? Also It doesn't mention Eijirou's- fuck!!!"

Deku gets wrecked thoroughly.

(Let's observe one moment of silence for his Shipping ass 🙏)

(r.i.p. Deku)

Katsuki later asks him why Deku doesn't read Zeku fics either, cause pretending to not like it to weasel out of obligation is fine, but it doesn't explain why he refuses fo read any either.

"A fic, especially the ones that I like, always are these perfect little stories which always have a happy ending. Can't help it, I'm weak to it, Kacchan- it's why I read fics at all, you know? For the rush of happiness and feels! It's always written with the intention that it will be perfect! And it is. But it doesn't come close to the real thing. There can be fics out there that come really close to what we really have though - but I refuse to accept that any fic could be better than the imperfectly perfect things I have with you, Kacchan. No matter what anyone insists, what I have with you is perfect to me. You are perfect to me. And that's all that matters."

Katsuki calls him an incorrigible sap and turns away to hide a violent flush that turns him red like a stop sign.

Omake:

Katsuki's #Zeku goes Viral too. But at this point no one understands what is going on or WHY. Because GZ appears to be a Zeku shipper when Deku is a GroundRiot shipper. Confusion abounds. Zac Efron memes agonize over Both ships, Captain America Japan Civil War Memes make a comeback. And for some reason, Deku keeps posting Ground Riot afterwards too and everytime he does, the next day he is seen limping.

"Did you have a hardtime with Zero-san at training yesterday?"

Before Deku can answer the one who asks him that, Eijirou comes up, winks and answers in his stead, "Very hard", and runs away to Mina's side before Deku has a shame-filled meltdown.

(The Ground Riot thing stops only when Mina and Eijirou get finally married.)

#bakudeku #katsudeku #katsuki x izuku #ktdk #bkdk #deku the shipper #humour #social media shenanigans #headcanon #fic idea #fanfic idea #too many headcanons #holy crap this was such a shit hc #deku ships kiribaku

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calliecat93 · 5 years

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Hazel si honestly a very interesting character to me. At first, I was disappointed that his backstory was ’his sister died, he blames Ozpin for it’ because it’s just to... standard a backstory. But when he questioned how many children had to die and when V6 revealed much more of Ozpin’s shadiness and why he is how he is... well... ir makes it a LOT more impactful.

It’s clear via his actions that Hazel isn’t a bad person... or at least, he has some level of morality compared to Cinder (power-mad woman who will kill anyone to get what she wants with no remorse) or Tyrian (psychopath who worships Salem and very murder happy but also good at reading people). He helped Oscar before knowing about his connection to Oz, was disgusted by Adam’s actions, gave Ren and Nora the chance to stand down at first, and tried to take the blame for the mission’s failure to spare Mercury and Emerald, and even Cinder despite having every reason to blame her. Sure he WAS still willing to kill Oscar and hurt the others despite being angry at Oz for allowing children to die, but he never showed signs of taking pleasure in it either. IDK if he would have killed any of them aside from Oscar unless he had to. We’ll need to see more of him on the battlefield though.

But I do think that it’s understandable that Hazel acts the way that he does. A big theme in RWBY is moving forward. To not allow your grief and losses to control you. Jaune had a hard time moving on from Pyrrha and it took him three volumes to do so, but he ultimately moved on and didn’t let the pain control him. Clearly, Hazel has not yet reached that place. And since we don’t know the full story, it’s hard to say if Hazel is right to blame Ozpin or not. Which is where Salem comes in. If Hazel didn’t know about humanity’s downfall and all that stuff prior to when he encountered Salem, then he’d have likely just been mad at Oz for failing a student despite being Headmaster of Beacon and that’s it. Understandable, but it could be argued that it wasn't directly Ozpin’s fault. Then Salem tells Hazel the fulls tory... well her version of it. That’s something to note. Salem is JUST as manipulative as Ozpin is. As CRWBY has pointed out, she knows how to approach to each of her lieutenants and keep them under her thumb. But as where Ozpin acts manipulatively only because he’s trying to save humanity by any means necessary and has had his trust broken too many times ot be 100% honest, Salem does it to not just to kill all of humanity, but to grow further hate at Ozpin for turning against her.

So think about it. You have this young man who just lost his twin and he is both angry and broken inside. He already blames Ozpin, and then Salem comes in. It’s debatable about how much she told him, but if she told him a warped version of the conflict’ history. Left out how she caused humanity’s downfall and say... said that Oz killed their children and not that she cause dit by attacking him to begin with. Or how the plans to use the Relics to take down the Gods and that they could bring Gretchen back with them. And how Ozpin has allowed children to die over and over again in his quest and allowed them to face the Grimm despite their inexperience. It would not be at all hard for her to twist the story ina way that makes her look at least better in comparison, and blinded by grief and hate, Hazel signed up to help her. Even if on some level he knows that it’s wrong if he has a chance to make Ozpin pay, change things even if blood is shed, and bring back his sister who lost her life so unfairly when so young, why wouldn’t he take it?

We do know that Hazel will try not to cause violence unless Ozpin is in the picture or if has no choice. Remember, he at first refused to fight Ren and Nora until they mad eit clear that they weren’t going to stand down. Otherwise, he’d have probably been more than happy to stand on the sidelines or save it for only against Qrow. We know that he isn’t evil, as demonstrated by trying to shield Mercury and Emerald from Salem’s wrath in V6. He, im my view, is a man blinded by grief and unable to move forward. Is he being hypocritical? On some level, yes. After all, he is willing to kill Oscar, who is a child who got thrust into things, just because he hates Ozpin. He’s still working for an evil witch-woman who controls the Grimm and is fully aware of how dangerous she is. Still, it is more complex than just doing it because he lost a sister. It’s because children were dying, and Ozpin let it happen. Salem likely warped things to make it look even worst, and thus Hazle clinging onto the only thing that he still had: getting revenge on Ozpin.

Grief is a dangerous thing if you cling onto it, and Hazel demonstrated that. People like Jaune were able to move on and keep doing the right thing, even though he also blames Ozpin and is equally angry. But Jaune’s still a Huntsman, and it’s his duty to save people no matter how poor the odds. Something that Pyrrha taught him. Gretchen wanted to do the same thing and unfortunately lost her life due to it. But unlike Jaune, Hazel saw being a Huntsman as a death warrant and her death proved it. Thus, he can’t move on and he likely won’t believe Ozpin’s version of events to see that Salem was only using him. Hopefully, if they do go the redemption route with him, he will, or will at least break past Salem’s manipulations. Only time will tell.

#rwby

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dceshims-blog · 4 years

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↳ damn, is that MOON DAESHIM ? the IM CHANGKYUN lookalike gotten quite the reputation around here. the 23 year old RAPPER / PRODUCER has been in london for ONE year now. people say they are only HEDONISTIC + SELF DESTRUCTIVE, but they’re actually CHARMING + ADVENTUROUS once you get to know them. don’t get too comfortable, though, no one knows HIS AGENCY / COMPANY PAID TO HAVE SOMETHING HE DID HIDDEN FROM THE WORLD.

HIYA HEY HELLO, i'm gem, i'm 21+, i go by she her pronouns & live in the cst ! i'm also a hot mess who likes hurting my characters ... hence the reason that dae's life is as big of a mess as it is. he's a new character, which means not everything is fleshed out like i would like it to be but you can find his basic information, stats, bullet point bio, personality & a few wanted connections ideas under the cut !

tw: mentions of alcohol abuse, drug abuse, car accidents, hit and run scenario, death & injuries !

basic information.

full name: moon daeshim. nickname(s): moon, dae, shimmy, daedae. ( the last one is use by his mother & mother ONLY ) age: twenty-three. date of birth: tbd. birthplace: daegu, south korea. gender: cismale. pronouns: he / him / his. orientation: pansexual. occupation: rapper, producer, composer. language(s) spoken: korean, english, japanese, chinese, thai, french & spanish.

physical appearance.

faceclaim: im changkyun ( i.m ) of monsta x. hair color: changes pretty frequently, currently black. eye color: brown. height: 6 ’ 0 ". weight: 175. build: athletic. tattoos: quite a few, far to many to name ... mostly black & grey. piercings: 7 in his left ear, 8 in his right, tongue piercing, eyebrow piercing on his left brow & scars from old snake bites under his bottom lip.

health.

physical ailments: alcohol abuse, drug abuse. neurological conditions: n/a. allergies: seasonal ailments. sleeping habits: 3-4 hours, restless, tosses & turns. eating habits: lives of of fast food & take out usually, sometimes goes to 'fancier' places. exercise habits: has personal trainers who he works out with three times a week. body temperature: hot natured. addictions: alcohol, tobacco, drugs, sex. drug use: frequent. alcohol use: frequent.

personality. ( pt 1. )

label: tbd.

positive traits: charming & adventurous. negative traits: hedonistic & self-destructive. fears: tbd. hobbies: cooking, video games, shopping, board games, swimming, poker, going to the movies, traveling, exercising, eating out. habits: jiggles leg up & down, taps feet on occasion, runs fingers through hair often, constantly glances at his watch, rolls his eyes, cracks knuckles / bones, shifts in his seat when nervous / irritated, clenches jaw, gestures when speaking, props feet up on desks / tables, constantly checks his phone. quirks: wears a lot of jewelry, good with technology, paces back & forth when in deep thought or when nervous, mumbles to himself on occasion, constantly on social media, bites & chews on lips, night owl, addicted to texting, can play musical instruments, dyes his hair a different color constantly, addicted to caffeinated drinks, always has to have the 'best’ of everything he owns, has to have a fan on to sleep, chews ice cubes.

favorites.

season: fall, winter. color(s): matte black, chrome, army green, gold & silver. music: will listen to anything as long as he likes it, doesn’t matter what genre. movies: watches pretty much everything, mostly enjoys suspense, action & comedy. sport(s): doesn’t really care for sports, watches it if it's on at bars. beverage(s): anything and everything, other than sparkling water. food: anything from luxurious 5 star meals to instant ramen cooked at home. animal: dogs.

family.

father: tbd. mother: tbd. sibling(s): n/a. children: n/a. pet(s): tbd. family’s financial status: upper class.

extras.

zodiac sign: tbd. mbti: entp-a. ( the debater. ) enneagram: type eight. ( the challenger. ) temperament: sanguine. hogwarts house: slytherin. moral alignment: tbd. primary vice: tbd. primary virtue: tbd. element: fire.

biography.

born in daegu, south korea to two extremely wealthy parents.

his father was a very well known idol, his mother a fashion designer.

meaning that dae was in the spotlight since BIRTH, he's never known anything other than fame & fortune.

that of course, went to his head from a very, very young age & it caused this sort of god complex in him.

his nannies HATED having to work for his parents & take care of him because he made their lives a living hell basically. not because he was MEAN or something like that but because he was just picky & was used to getting what he wanted.

which did cause him to be bratty & he did have the tendency to throw fits when he didn't get what he wanted, always going to his parents whenever the nannies wouldn't give dae what he wanted & they'd end up either quitting or getting fired.

things didn't really change through the years, to be honest. he got less 'whiny' about things, but was still use to just asking for whatever he wanted & getting it as soon as humanly possible.

he was fourteen when he first started showing interest in music, though he didn't follow in his father's footsteps by becoming a trainee. he was more into producing & composing than anything.

it wasn't until a few years later that he started rapping to the music he was composing in order to try & get them bought by companies.

people thought that he was actually wanting to be a rapper instead of just a producer / composer, so when the companies kept asking him if he was interested in being a rapper, he figured why not.

that was the start of his career, his first mini-album skyrocketed his name further into fame, quickly becoming the most talked about rookie in the business.

things only got better from there, each album he dropped debuted at the top of charts, keeping his name in the spotlight CONSTANTLY.

after years of that, things started getting to him ... the stress of always having to drop something new and fresh caused daeshim to start to spiral, drinking & doing drugs almost every night as a way to get away from all of it even if it was just for a few hours.

this started the rumor mill to begin, articles of his partying ways, the clubbing & everything like that starting to pile up one after the next. as well as the rumors and scandals of his nudes being leaked & him taking home as many people he wanted to because he truly just didn't care about his image or anything like that.

it was his twentith birthday that would change EVERYTHING for dae. he'd decided to go out, celebrate by drinking & going wild for the night ... stupidly driving home from the club that night.

mid-way home he happened to get into a crash, car getting totaled as well as a clipping a few passer-bys ... causing one to pass away & the other to get severely injured as well as dae getting a laundry list of injuries as well.

he was okay enough to walk away from the incident, though not without some problems of his own... walking back to his agent's home as it was the closest thing he could get to.

he wasn't expecting his agent to instantly try and cover everything up, calling doctors to come visit daeshim at his home, sending people out to clean up the scene of the accident & make sure that the people who were witnesses or involved were paid off to keep their mouth shut.

that guilt weighed on him pretty instantly, his injuries being hidden from the media while they healed and the other people involved continued to be paid off so that no one knew what had happened.

he dealt with all of that for a few years but after a while, he couldn't do it anymore. deciding to publicly declare he'd be taking a break from making music, producing & composing... taking time out for himself & his own mental health & wellbeing.

it was only a week after that when dae found himself in london, hoping to be able to start over the best as he could.

personality. ( pt 2. )

literally the Worst.

is a rich bitch and makes sure EVERYONE knows that even if he doesn’t speak it… comes in the form of his clothing, sports cars, accessories… literally everything.

has kinda made a name for himself in the london that isn't to far off from what the media constantly talked about and that's him being a Party Animal. goes to clubs / bars every weekend ( sometimes more frequently depending on his mood. ) as well as a bit of a 'player’.

extremely hedonistic and a bit of a shopaholic. is always seen with the latest & greatest makes and models of things. always has designer clothes on. always is out shopping for something new at least three times a week, sometimes more.

can be pretty cocky at times, he knows how he looks, he knows how much money he has and sometimes he lets that go to his head & his ego. though he TRIES not to be like that just because he honestly can’t stand when other people boast about their wealth or looks on a daily basis.

is actually really relaxed when it comes down to it, as much as he loves to party… there’s a part of him that just loves lounging at home watching movies just as much. but usually refuses to do so alone, will invite someone to come over just so he doesn’t have to be in his ( cough…. giant … cough ) house alone.

tends to hate being told what to do. comes from having to conform to what his agent / company wanted him to do & say for as many years as he did so now he’d rather just do what he wants, when he wants to do it and because of that he can be a little bit selfish sometimes.

he wants to be able to LIVE and have fun, do what he wants on his own terms and go from there.

genuinely not a bad person, though his ego & cockiness sometimes tend to cover that side of him up. as well as the grief & guilt of what he’s done in the past causing him to be extremely guarded.

loves to SPOIL the people he knows, if he goes out shopping, he’s probably buying something for his friends in the process.

is the type of person that just loves to give people shit but does so in a loving & caring way. aka will roast you but then offer to take you to dinner or something like that.

he’s … trying. not trying his BEST, sure. but he is still trying and ig that counts for something, right ?

plot ideas.

flirtationship. he absolutely LOVES to flirt his ass off… with whoever he can because why the hell not ?

enemies. whatever the reason might be, they just don’t get along. maybe they just bicker back and forth or perhaps they actually just despise each other in general.

hate sex. lsn… i’m a sucker for this and there’s a lot of reasons someone could dislike or hate dae & well he also like sex so why not pair the two things ?

best friends. he’s never really had anyone he fully thought he could rely on or lean on, so someone he met here who he bonded with instantly would be gREAT.

will add more as i think of them !

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blazregaliadream · 5 years

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A Story Idea

Long ago, seven exceptionally powerful individuals were brought together to fight as the world's champions against evil forces. Among them was a young man from the land of dreams, wielding a staff of light and was at one point chosen by a goddess to attain new power, though on the terms that he would leave the world and join the heavens in an even greater struggle. The boy declined, having made one too many sentimental bonds to dare leave the world. The other six individuals grew to become corrupted, desiring conquest and rule for their own personal gains. Soon, the world would be at war with itself, divided into seven factions, and while the world fought itself, evil forces invaded and hid themselves within the factions, giving more influence for more bloodshed. The boy of dreams, keeping his land away from the war and focused on exterminating the evil invaders, eventually found himself with no choice but to take on the six he once fought with and in a last ditch effort, went beyond his limits, opening a portal and sealing the corrupted six in a dimensional prison where realities came, mix together, and come apart, creating a prison maze with no way of escape.

After returning peace all across the world, the boy of dreams was put into a deep sleep, his original body became unstable and was sealed into a younger body. The gods debated on what to do, coming to the conclusion that the boy too must leave, and so he was left under the care of the goddess who once approached him. Centuries later, through some unknown means, the corrupted six return, hellbent on revenge. Six new champions were chosen to fend off against them, however, the goddess knew that the boy of dreams would need to lead them and woke him from his slumber. In his sealed form, the boy is more childish and trusting than his normal self, in fact, upon awakening, the goddess discovered that he was almost like a completely different person! To make up for him still not yet fully recovered from the war, the boy was given a pendant that would allow him to temporarily access his original form when the jewel is removed, though only someone he trusts will be able to remove it. Sent off into the world, the boy begins his journey with his new allies to face his old friends.

This is the tale of the Light within the Dream, Yuko, or as he was originally known as, Yamamoto, The Light Paradox. The last chosen old champion. He is the only other magic orientated fighter among the old champions. A once caring soul who prioritized exterminating any evil that seek to corrupt, he tried his best to get along with his comrades and developed bonds he thought would last for eternity. Unfortunately, the war would leave him with a badly wounded heart and he would turn into a very bitter person to hide the massive guilt he feels, believing he had failed his comrades when they needed him most. As far as the new champions are concerned, he doesn't think too highly of them, sneering at their highly optimistic morale. While he's strictly proficient in light based magic, he makes up in said light based magic creating multiple weapons of light to use as he pleases. He also has a Meteor spell, can create dimensional holes for quick getaways and sneaky strikes, and his staff, Daybreak, has a move where it can turn into a giant cannon and fire a powerful laser beam of light. Of course, due to his body still being unstable, he can't be out for too long, so he really hates being released unless the situation really calls for him to be present in place of Yuko. (As he makes very clear in the first instance they call to him to deal with a rather fairly easy enemy)

(Picture: Yuko with Daybreak at an unknown crystal area that sits above the clouds)

Yuko is a vessel based on Yamamoto's younger years and meant to house his unstable soul. Wields the same staff, but just not as strong and has his own spin on fighting. (Yamamoto puts more emphasis with using light magic weapons in attacks while Yuko is more hands on for melee, using Daybreak strictly for distant attacks with the exception of one move or two) Yuko harbors the much more upbeat and caring attitude Yamamoto was once known for, making him the easier of the two to approach and talk with, however, when asking about Yamamoto's life, Yuko can only recall general parts of the memories, wheras Yamamoto remembers the finer details, but of course, Yamamoto isn't budging a bit on anything deeper than the surface level of what happened in his old life, as well as refraining from touching on a certain relationship he once had.

The journey of Yuko/Yamamoto and the new champions challenges Yamamoto to overcome the grief that's plagued him for years on end as he is slowly reminded why he fought for the world he once looked upon with a shining smile while confronting his old friends, putting an end to their corrupted ambitions, and ultimately resolving the centuries old hate among the old champions who seek to bring Yamamoto misery for him sealing them away so long ago.

#blaz shares ideas #blaz is nuts #story concept #blazregaliaemblem

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doomonfilm · 5 years

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Review : Brightburn (2019)

I’ve always been a sucker for movies about individuals with super powers. Be it established comic book heroes translated to the screen, or entirely new characters created to tell familiar (and sometimes new) stories, there’s something about these modern-day mythical figures that intrigues in a way that the average story structure cannot. As a Marvel fan, the ‘What If...?’ realm with the super-powered always fascinated me, as there seemed to be an inherent (but unspoken) ‘moral’ code that went with this level of power. That’s why I was hooked when the ‘what if Superman was evil?’ premise was presented to me via Brightburn.

Tori (Elizabeth Banks) and Kyle Brewer (David Denman) are a young couple in Brightburn County, Kansas attempting to start a family, but facing infertility issues along the way. One night, a mysterious object crashes in the woods on the edge of their farm, and Tori discovers an infant boy among the wreckage, whom she adopts and names Brandon (Jackson A. Dunn). Over the next ten years, the couple raises Brandon, but as he becomes a young man, everyone begins to take note of changes in Brandon’s behavior, including his obsessive drawing of a symbol and a more aggressive nature. As secrets that the couple tried to keep from Brandon become unearthed, a change begins to take place in him that nobody can prepare for, putting everyone in danger as Brandon seeks to fulfill his newly-discovered destiny.

Taking a look at the Superman mythos under this lens is refreshing, as other directors (who shall remain unnamed) have done their best to try and make Superman a dark character. With Superman being such a modern-day folk hero, using him to study the opposite side of the absolute power and nature vs. nurture debates can be stifled, but using a similar character with inverse characteristics allows the examination to occur without many of the pre-conceived opinions and notions present. Ultimately, it is fertile grounds for debate to toil over whether an alien with powers of this level and a base-level lack of empathy for humans could eventually be shaped and molded into a hero figure, or if his superior nature would always put him at odds with those lesser than.

Though this movie is being marketed as a horror film, I did not find it to be one... I would say it is more of a violent suspense film. The narrative is not full of twists and turns, but it is not meant to be, as the premise is the primer. With the information given in the premise, our mind is forced to dwell on the ticking time-bomb that is Brandon, and knowing that he can turn a bad situation infinitely worse in a heartbeat carries the suspense of the film. Brandon’s tendencies are clearly psychopathic, but seeing as he is not ‘one of us’, it puts the definition of pscyhopathy (in this case) in question... can we truly expect a non-human to value human life the way we do? Essentially, those in the world of the film (and us as viewers) are held hostage by the hopes that what equates to a pre-pubescent God-figure chooses to regulate his own urges and behaviors, for our sake.

The special effects for this film are pretty impressive... the superhero powers are portrayed effectively, and the violence that Brandon implements is executed well enough to make me watch most of these sequences through my fingers. The movie is well-shot, and the lighting throughout (especially in the night scenes) ratchets up the tension further. Color is used wisely throughout the film, as most of it relies on a flat interior, green (read natural) exterior... the two real colorful presences are Tori’s art (possibly to symbolize her as a loving presence), and the red that follows Brandon around (in his costuming/symbolism, the ship hidden in the barn, and the wake of his destruction). Speaking of Brandon and red, the Brightburn costume design was simple, but wonderful, with the hood/cape combo being a nice touch. The button in the credits featuring Michael Rooker was also a nice closing point, but for more feelings about that, see the final paragraph.

Jackson A. Dunn and his quite, brooding sense of power he communicates through his stillness and his piercing stare make him a silent monster on the level of Jason Vorhees, only with the skills of Superman in tow... it’s surprising how well the young actor is able to ground his performance, considering most young actors would probably run a bit wild with the character. Elizabeth Banks has always possessed dynamic range, and her ability to project unconditional motherly love (even in the face of the obvious) plays well. David Denman plays the powerless dad to a tee, easily communicating a man that is used to being at the head of the power table now at his wit’s end and acting desperately, though trying to hold it together. Meredith Hagner brings a lighthearted energy to most of her performances, displaying the love of a family member while managing to keep the distance of an Aunt and counselor, keeping her from direct involvement into the problem. Matt Jones brings his loveable, true-to-life characteristics to his performance, becoming an audience connection point in a film full of the unbelievable. Emmie Hunter and Becky Washington both play solid shades of those who sense and fear the threat that Brandon is. Appearances by Michael Rooker, Steve Agee, and other supporting cast round out the world of the film.

For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed Brightburn, but I do hope that it is a standalone project. While highly entertaining to me, it certainly falls more into the world of the pulp-film or cult-classic more so than the establishment of another ‘cinematic universe’, and hopefully it encourages others to tell similar one-off stories as well, similar to films like Chronicle.

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