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themurphyzone · 3 years ago

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Pinky the Snowmouse Ch 2

AN: I’m glad people like this idea so much. Sorry for calling you ugly in the last chapter, Brain. You’re adorable and I love you.

Ch 2: A Jolly, Happy Soul

AO3 Link

Brain laid on his back in the cold snow, staring up at the snowmouse that was now moving and talking so fast that not even his logical mind could comprehend anything he was saying.

��Happy birthday! Or happy early or belated birthday! Sorry, I don’t know when yours is!” the snowmouse exclaimed as he danced around with his stick arms in the chilly December air. He pirouetted and sashayed with ease, like he hardly weighed anything at all.

“Surely, I ate a bad food pellet. Or a piece of moldy cheese. Perhaps indigestion or a nutrition deficiency,” Brain murmured. He didn’t bother getting up. His mind was overstimulated and he just needed the snow to numb his neurons.

“I’m alive! I’m actually, really, truly alive!” the snowmouse trilled in a strange Cockney accent. “Egad, I can dance the Macarena and sing Joy to the World! Joy to the world, narf narf narf narf! Oh...well, I could sing if I knew the rest of the lyrics. But I do know the continents! There’s Antelope, Liverpool, Gobbledegook, Aloe Vera, Recess, Narnia, and Char-ooh, are you making a snow angel? That’s brilliant! I’ll make a snow angel too!”

The snowmouse flopped down next to Brain, spraying snow everywhere as his limbs and tail flailed in every direction.

Brain inclined his head towards the strange entity, shielding his eyes from the onslaught of snow. He expected the snowmouse to sink into the ground, leaving no trace of his existence behind.

But the snowmouse didn’t disappear.

“Well, there’s my angel!” the snowmouse said, blithely hopping to his feet. “Lovely, isn’t he? Anyway, let’s see yours!”

The snowmouse had left an imprint behind. Brain could only stare at the newly formed snow angel. He didn’t move. He hadn’t yet determined if the imprint was real or if it was just an illusion.

“Er...do you need instructions?” the snowmouse asked. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is swish your arms and-”

“I don’t require instructions for such a frivolous concept!” Brain snapped as he leapt to his feet and pushed past the snowmouse. “And certainly not from a geographically challenged lump of frozen water.”

He grabbed the string that was attached to the windowsill and hauled himself up, intending to go back into the lab and continue his plans for world domination. But a stick arm grabbed hold of the string just above his head, stopping him in his tracks when he was just a few inches off the ground. He clung to the string, glaring at the snowmouse who refused to leave him alone.

“But I can play and move and talk just like you,” the snowmouse said quietly. His earlier playfulness vanished, an odd tinge of hurt in his tone.

“Because you’re nothing more than a hallucination,” Brain replied. “Either from sensory deprivation or dehydration. Both conditions could potentially cause vision disturbances.”

The snowmouse wiped his eye, several ice crystals collecting on the tip of his finger. But it was the high-pitched, broken whimper that made Brain pause when he was halfway up the string.

Could hallucinations make those noises? It sounded agonizingly real.

And the snowmouse was still holding the string, which made it strangely easy for Brain to climb up without exerting himself too much.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to slide to the ground instead of going inside, but perhaps the snowmouse deserved a chance to prove his existence.

“Listen, I’ll give you an opportunity to prove that you’re corporeal if you’ll stop crying,” Brain sighed. He hoped that would do the trick. He’d never been great at stopping tears.

The snowmouse dabbed his eyes with his scarf, looking rather confused. “But I’m not in the military.”

Perhaps the migraine he was currently developing was proof enough.

“That’s a corporal, and this test has nothing to do with the military,” Brain explained. He pointed to the string in the snowmouse’s hand. “Tug that as hard as you can. If you’re real, the string will follow the laws of physics. If you’re not, the string won’t react at all.”

“Tug o’ war with the window latch! This’ll be fun!” the snowmouse exclaimed, his twig tail perking up, even though it lacked the proper musculature to behave like a real mouse tail.

It seemed his emotions changed as easily as water. Flowing from joy to sorrow, then back to joy.

The snowmouse took hold of the string. “One, ninety-six, three hundred and nine!” he called, yanking the string so hard that there was a distinctive snap, and the end that was attached to the latch fell to the ground.

Though part of Brain wanted to blame it on the wind, logically he knew the wind couldn’t have caused that snapping noise. And the frayed tip could only result from a sufficient, deliberate force applied from the opposite direction.

There were no other possibilities to explain what he’d just seen and heard.

Which meant…

“You’re actually real,” Brain said breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off the frayed string. He touched several of the individual fibers that stuck out in every direction, and they weren’t an optical illusion.

“Told you so!” The snowmouse twirled around on one foot as he tried to catch snowflakes in his mouth.

"How are you alive though?" Brain asked. Nobody else's snow structures came to life. So why his?

"How?" The snowmouse stopped twirling and grinned at Brain. "That's easy! You made a wish on Christmas snow!"

What a ludicrous concept.

"I don't believe in wishes," Brain scoffed. "And Christmas snow isn't any different from any other kind of snow either. The only difference is that you've proven you can affect the real world and I intend to find a logical explanation for it."

"But it's true that Christmas snow makes all your hopes and dreams come to life!" the snowmouse said, leaning in so close that Brain had to step back to avoid the frosty breath against his face. “Don’t you have something you want more than anything else?”

“I desire the world, but wishing on stars isn’t going to help me acquire it,” Brain admitted.

The snowmouse tilted his head. “Have you ever tried wishing on a star?”

Several times, when he was younger and more naive. When he believed that moronic Disney tagline of wishing on stars to make his dreams come true.

Though he wanted to dismiss the foolish notion entirely, part of him wondered if he still had that childhood naivety somewhere. But there comes a time when everyone realized how cruel and harsh the world could truly be, and that innocence was forever lost. He was no exception.

“I want that explanation, snowmouse,” Brain sighed. A change in subject was in order. It occurred to him that the snowmouse had no name either. And if he was going to be alive, then he needed one. But that could be remedied later.

To figure out how the snowmouse was alive, he figured his best option was to retrace the creation process.

“I rolled the main body first,” Brain said as he gathered a handful of snow into a pile. “Then I added a tail and legs.”

The snowmouse tossed his own snow onto the mound, and Brain shooed him off. He didn’t want anyone disturbing his replica.

Next came the head and ears. The snowmouse clapped his hands together. “It’s a very nice snow leopard! I’m calling her Stripes!”

It didn’t resemble a snow leopard at all. Just a rough facsimile of the living snowmouse in front of him.

“This is where your silk hat blew over with all your non-snow components,” Brain said.

But the snowmouse wasn’t paying attention. “Lalala! Stripes the snow leopard was a happy, jolly leopard!” he singsonged as he wrapped his scarf around the lifeless mound of snow.

“Cease your nonsense! I’m pondering,” Brain snapped.

The snowmouse’s song trailed off into a soft hum, which wasn’t as disruptive, so Brain let it slide.

“Zort! She needs a hat!” the snowmouse declared, and he removed the black silk hat from his head.

And then he froze, the hat hooked on his fingers, just inches away from the so-called snow leopard’s head. His gravity-defying tail fell limp, his blue eyes nothing more than a pair of pebbles.

Cautiously, Brain prodded the snowmouse’s belly. No response.

“Snowmouse?” Brain asked. “If you can hear me, say any of your nonsensical phrases.”

But there was only the howling wind and engine noises from the slow-moving cars on the road.

The once-lively, dancing, jolly to a fault snowmouse was silent and still.

It was...uncanny. Disturbing. Quiet.

An odd pang of loneliness crept into his chest and remained there. Though annoying, the snowmouse wasn’t bad company.

The snowmouse didn’t become inanimate until he took off the hat.

With trembling fingers, Brain lifted the hat off the snowmouse and examined it thoroughly. Could there be a degree of truth in that incompetent magician’s claim?

He stared at the old silk hat with the pink flower. Then he looked at the unmoving snowmouse. Though the hat would be a valuable asset in world domination, he didn’t know how its magic worked. If it was unreliable for Hinkle, he wasn’t sure if it would work for him.

And it just seemed to belong to the snowmouse.

Brain placed the hat back on the snowmouse’s head, and a flurry of snowflakes swirled around his form. The tail lifted, the pebbles became a pair of blue eyes, and his arms cheerfully waved.

“Happy birthday!” the snowmouse exclaimed as he did several pirouettes in a row. To Brain’s relief, he was skipping around without a care in the world. “Happy Valentine’s! Happy Opposite Day!”

Brain took the scarf from the replica and threw it around the snowmouse’s shoulders. “I figured it out,” he announced. “The hat’s animating you.”

The snowmouse’s eyes brightened. “Really? Narf! I thought I was animated by a bunch of overseas studios!”

For the sake of his sanity, he was definitely better off ignoring some of the things that came out of the snowmouse’s mouth. Apparently, magic hats didn’t grant intelligence along with sentience.

But he could finally move onto naming his creation.

“You’ll need a name,” Brain said. “I can’t keep calling you snowmouse.”

“How ‘bout Sam? Or Olaf?” the snowmouse suggested.

Brain shook his head. “You don’t resemble a Sam. And I refuse to call you Olaf.”

“Hmmm, okay...call me Oatmeal then!” The snowmouse placed his hands on his hips, like he was actually proud of being named after a breakfast food.

“Absolutely not,” Brain said. Since the snowmouse couldn’t come up with anything suitable, the responsibility of a name fell to Brain.

The snowmouse’s simple nature would make him unfit for being named after any part of the brain. And Brain didn’t really care for winter-associated names either.

A physical attribute would have to do.

As the snowmouse waited for his name, he rocked back and forth on his heels, the pink scarf and flower swaying with the motion. Pink was for innocence and playfulness.

“I’m naming you Pinky,” Brain declared.

“Pinky,” the snowmouse tested his newly-bestowed name. “Pinky. Pinky! Egad, you’re very good at this naming business...er, I never got your name?”

“The Brain.”

Pinky grabbed Brain’s arm and shook it vigorously. “Well, thank you very much for naming me, the Brain!”

Brain pulled away and clamped down on his still-vibrating arm with his other hand. “You don’t have to tack ‘the’ on every time. That’s reserved for more important functions. Just Brain will do.”

“Okay, Just Brain!” Pinky giggled.

Brain rolled his eyes. “Now that we’ve taken care of important matters—umph!”

He was hushed with a twig finger over his mouth.

Pinky tilted his head from side to side, taking in their surroundings curiously. “Where are those pretty bell sounds coming from, Brain?”

Brain shoved Pinky’s finger off his mouth. His ears twitched at the sound of bells and carols in the distance. Despite the below freezing temperature, the sound was joyful, welcoming, and somewhat cacophonic.

“It’s from the town square. It’s just your typical Christmas fanfare for when they light the tree once darkness falls,” Brain said. With the overcast sky, it wouldn’t be long before dark. Most cities had a giant Christmas tree as decor for the holiday season. It wasn’t anything special or unique. The reminders for the event were posted all over the place.

“Narf! A Christmas tree lighting!” Pinky gasped, clasping his hands in excitement. “Have you ever seen such a beautiful sight before?”

Brain had passed by the tree many times in the past few weeks during his nightly quests for world domination. It was just a large tree with added baubles and lights. No different from any other Christmas tree.

“They light the tree every night throughout December. I doubt it’s worth the excitement. But the light from the tree is so great that the lampposts in that area don’t need to be turned on for visibility,” Brain said.

Though he had far more pertinent matters to attend to, Pinky was far too enamored by thoughts of the Christmas tree lighting. Brain had the feeling he’d be dragged into this while kicking and screaming.

“Then what are we standing around here for, Brain?” Pinky cheered as he pulled away from Brain and recklessly darted towards the street. “Follow me! O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, lalalalala!”

“Pinky, stop!” Brain shouted, running after him at a speed he never knew he was capable of. His fingers closed around the back of Pinky’s scarf and hauled him back, just before a plow could smash into him at full force.

Breathing heavily, Brain watched as the plow barreled down the street, steadily pushing snow as it disappeared around a corner.

He crossed his arms and glared at Pinky for his lack of awareness. The only sound was the distant sleigh bells.

“Um....on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t follow me.” Pinky ducked his head sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“First sensible thing you’ve said in your entire existence,” Brain sighed, clutching his chest as his heart rate went back to normal. “If you want to survive long enough to see the lighting, I suppose I have no choice but to come with you.”

“Pretty lights, here we come!” Pinky perked up and took off running, thankfully staying on the sidewalk this time.

Unfortunately, Pinky was too caught up in Christmas festivities to notice something so vitally important.

“You’re going the wrong way!”

End AN: Decided to split this chapter so that Pinky’s introduction and the events at the city square are separate.

I just think it’s cute how Frosty’s first words are ‘happy birthday’, so I kept that intact. Similarly, he can’t count either. Sam the Snowman is the name of the narrator of Rankin Bass’ Rudolph. And I had to include the gag where the weird kid tries to name Frosty ‘Oatmeal’. I just find it funny. And I have no idea where Olaf is from.

Some elements of Christmas Carol and Polar Express kinda snuck their way in (sue me, but not really cause I’m not doing this for profit.) The 1984 Christmas Carol movie and Polar Express are my favorite Christmas movies, mostly with Brain thinking he ate something bad that caused him to hallucinate a snowmouse coming to life.

Also borrowed a gag from the Phineas and Ferb Christmas Vacation special (also a favorite!) with Pinky nearly getting run over by a snow plow. I can’t help but laugh at that Frosty gag every time I see it.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #pinky the snowmouse

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velmashaircut · 3 years ago

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Sims 4 Big Brother Challenge

(Under the cut because this is long)

I’ve never done a challenge on the Sims before so when my brother introduced me to the Big Brother Challenge, I was quite intrigued. I’ve decided to give it a go because it looks fun and I have nothing else to do.

My brother sent me this format to use which is great because I have no idea what I’m doing and this page basically explained everything I need to know. I don’t have any mods or cc so I’m just going to stick with eight sims and I’m going to be doing all the challenges suggested in following order. So the line up will be: painting, chess, social, athletic, music, outdoors and then the grand finale. And the winner of the grand finale will be rewarded with 500,000 simoleons!

Anyway, here are the contestants! I gave them all a backstory to add some flavour to them. I also tried to make some of them as eccentric as possible just for the fun of it. I play on Xbox so I can’t take screenshots of the sims and put them into this post so please excuse the low quality of pictures I’m taking on my phone.

Contestant One: Fall the Designer

Fall entered Big Brother because her fashion company was going off the rails after a few bad investments and being recorded falling off the runway during her own fashion show. After being mocked by half the internet through memes, many of her models and designers left Fall’s company Falltastic. Big Brothers prize money will be just enough to salvage Fall’s career, PR manager!

Contestant Two: Levi the Yodeller

Walmart Yodelling Kid all grown up. Levi is a professional yodeller and every Friday at 5:23 you’ll see him on a small hill in a nearby park yodelayheehoo-ing to his hearts content all whilst disturbing all morning joggers in the vicinity. Levi joined the show so he can use the prize money to move to Scandinavia where he can live in the woods with all the reindeers he desires.

Contestant Three: Nathita the ‘Vampire’

Nathita has convinced herself she is a vampire after deciding Edward from Twilight is her comfort character at the ripe age of 15. She drinks tomato juice and pretends it’s blood of her annoying neighbours. She went on the show as a final, desperate plea to convince Stephenie Meyer to write a Twilight spin-off in Edward’s perspective. If Nathita wins, she’ll use the prize money to hire her favourite fanfiction author to write a 100,000+ paged twilight fanfiction starring Edward and herself. And yes, it’s oc x canon.

Contestant Four: Aden the Privateer

He was originally a full blown pirate guilty of multiple smugglings and pillages against small Caribbean countries. However, the producers of Big Brother told Aden he had to stop committing these heinous crimes if he wanted to be on the show. Therefore Aden became a privateer so he could do the previously mentioned legally. Why Aden audition for Big Brother? So he could hide from a pesky pirate hunter who’s been chasing after him for the past four years. And money. Don’t forget the 500,000 simoleon prize money too.

Contestant Five: Taz the Performer

If you’ve been to any bratty nine year olds birthday party in the past three years, there’s a good chance you saw Taz there, as she is, undoubtably, the best kids magician money has to offer! Both kids and parents love Taz and her magic tricks. However, instead of spending every Friday performing for spoilt kids in some public park, Taz has bigger dreams, like becoming the next Houdini! The prize money from Big Brother will be enough to show the world Taz’s true potential - pulling the coin behind the ear trick!

Contestant Six: Canto the Sound Cloud Rapper

Canto was a kid every teacher would have dreamed of teaching. Smart, kind, creative and well-behaved. However, after he discovered SoundCloud, those attributes were thrown out the window when Canto dropped out of high school to pursue a music career. If Post Malone can get famous off of SoundCloud, why can’t he? His SoundCloud name is: Can To a.k.a. Notorious Top. He changes it every week to stay ‘fresh’. He entered Big Brother to launch his career and finally be able to collab with Lil Pump, his dream.

Contestant Seven: Vikky the Cowgirl

Don’t let her title fool you, Vikky hates everything about the ranch life. Its so stressful and tiring, she feels like she’s about to have a ranch-induced heart attack. Every since she was a girl, her parents dreamed that Vikky would take over the ranch when she was older and pay their debts, which contrasted with Vikky’s dreams of travelling the world. As much as this sounds like a stereotypical horse girl film, Vikky’s struggle is real. So much so, she has to win Big Brother so she can use the 500,000 simoleon prize money to not fund her dreams; but instead save her families farm so she can be free. Hopefully this story ends the same way as those horse films do…

Contestant Eight: Kenji the Time Travelling Butler

1873, England. Kenji was a humble butler to the affluent Lord Black who resided in Liverpool. One morning, Kenji discovered a mysterious package on the front doorstep of his masters home. The package was made out of a material Kenji could not identify, and the label was even more difficult to comprehend ‘For the Lord of time and space’ Kenji pursed his lip, whatever could that mean? Curiosity got the best of the butler; he opened the package to see a small, jewellery-like box. Kenji’s curiosity only grew as he removed the boxes lid to see only an expensive looking pocket watch inside. He picked up the pocket watch and as soon as he did, there was a blinding light and - “Where am I? Is this Lord Blacks mansion? It looks a bit more rustic than usual…I’ll have to notify the builder about that…Who is that strange man, and what is he wearing? Am I contestant for Big Brother..I...what does that even mean…? Where is Lord Black, this is his property! Get your hands off of me - why are you taking me inside the mansion? Is Lord Black in his study? I demand to know what is going on this instant!” Somehow, Kenji has been sent to the 21st century and forced to participate in Big Brother! How and why he got put into this hell hole is beyond him, all he knows is that he has to win the prize money so he can get this now broken pocket watch repaired so he can go back to his time, and find out what Lord Black has been up to…

The first competition to be held in the Big Brother mansion is the painting competition! Which of the eight contestants will win? And which will lose? I’ll post an update soon.

#sims 4 #big brother challenge

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isthisthingeven0n · 5 years ago

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my number neighbour : part two

brief summary: after a few months of talking back and forth, it’s finally time to meet one another in person. and what a better time to meet than on new years eve in new york city?

word count: 2.4k requested: yesss by so many people! i’m so glad to continue this story :) warnings: literally none. i just love this so much

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

P A R T O N E

when this goes live i’ll be out at a party with friends so I hope you all have a wonderful new years celebrations whatever you may be doing! and thank you for such a memorable year. none of this would’ve been possible without you guys supporting and here’s to 2020 - maybe Ilya will finally notice me lmao. Love you all, stay safe. x

“Okay, so who is down for Miami?” David asks as he draws a line down the whiteboard, making a note of potential locations for everyone to go for New Year's Eve.

Looking around, David makes a note of those holding their hands up. “And those for LA?” Jason speaks up, and David copies down those names again with a small sigh.

“What about Hawaii?” Corinna suggests and a few voices cheer in agreement. “Or Vegas? New York?” Her voice pauses as she raises an eyebrow to David who clears his throat, making a small note at the bottom of the board for these new potential locations.

“Yeah, those sound good.” David mutters to himself, unable to shift his eyes from New York and it does not go unnoticed by the others.

“I think New York sounds like a good option.” Jeff states, smirking as he glances to Jason who gives him a knowing nod. “I heard there’s someone there too that would like to meet you in person.” He adds, and David smiles to himself as he continues to face the whiteboard.

Eventually, David turns around with a smaller smile. “Yeah, she, Y/n is wondering what my plans are.” David shrugs his shoulder, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal when internally, his systems starting shutting down when you asked.

“How long ago did she ask you this?” Jason questions, sitting upright as David focuses on his feet.

“About three hours ago.” David mumbles, unaware of the shared looks of excitement and adoration for his newfound interest in his number neighbour.

“Well,” Jason rises to his feet, standing beside David in front of the whiteboard. “we can’t disappoint Y/n, so those interested in going to New York?” Jason speaks up, and David lifts his eyes to see the majority of hands raised.

Jason pats David on the shoulder, trying to distract David from overthinking the fact he’ll be able to meet you at last. “New York it is.” David says with a smile as he turns around, rubbing off all the other potential locations and circles New York.

Rushing around your apartment, you kept swearing under your breath.

“What’s got you all flustered?” Nick questions as he leans against your doorframe, seeing your room having been turned upside down.

You remove your head from the dark depths of your wardrobe as you let out a long sigh. “I’m looking for this one dress. It’s that ivy lacy one, you know?”

Nick chuckles to himself, nodding. “Your slutty but not slutty dress?” He rephrases, watching as you rest your hands on your hips. “But super flattering and makes your ass look great dress?” He forces a smile, seeing you roll your eyes.

“That’d be the one.” You respond before returning to your wardrobe. “I just can’t find it!” You groan and Nick appears by your side.

“Probably because you lent it to your best friend.” He trails off as realisation hits you.

“FUCK!” You yell, collapsing down into the wardrobe in defeat. “Of course she had to go and move to Liverpool.” You shake your head, burying your fingers into your hair.

“Why’d you want the dress so bad anyway?” Nick helps you sit upright, removing you from the dangerous void your wardrobe is. You glance up at him, and watch as it clicks into place in his brain. “No,” He raises an eyebrow and your prolonged silence answers for him. “he, he’s coming to New York?!” He yells and you laugh happily.

“I think so?” You say with a hint of confusion in your tone. “Well, I invited him and his friends,”

“You invited the vlog squad?!” He yells once again, gripping your shoulders tightly. “If you don’t get me a chance with Corinna or Zane I’ll move out.”

You roll your eyes. “You have such a varied taste, Nick.” You joke, ignoring his rambles of how perfect he’d be for any of his friends. “But, he didn’t respond about it yet.” You add, and Nick’s shoulders drop in disappointment.

“He’s missing out if he doesn’t come. New Year’s at ours beats any shitty attempt LA has to offer.” He speaks proudly, ignoring the look you give him.

“Nick, you passed out two minutes after midnight and barely remember any of the party.” You remind him, chuckling as he glares over jokingly.

“Well, I’d remember more if David came so I could finally meet the guy who has you digging up a dress you’ve not worn in two years.” He states and you can’t argue back, knowing it’s true.

You didn’t intend for this to happen, but when you first FaceTimed him, he seemed like a genuinely sweet person. He was kinda shy which you liked, but as your conversation went on the more grounded you both felt talking to one another.

Since the first FaceTime you two had, it became almost daily. Eventually, he told you more about his line of work and it clicked where you knew his voice from. You introduced David to Nick, and Nick screamed down the phone which made you laugh hysterically. Since then, Nick has been a cocktail of love, support and amazement that your number neighbour is David Dobrik.

The sound of your phone pinging made your ears perk up as you resurfaced from old jumpers and darted for your phone.

You manage to narrowly beat Nick, and you squeal as you read David’s message.

“Well?” Nick asks eagerly as you type a response before turning back to face your flatmate.

“We’ve got just over a week to find me a new dress.” You say with a smile as you laugh, feeling Nick lift you off the ground as he hugs you tightly.

Fidgeting, you’re barely able to stand still as guests start arriving. You agreed to take a few shots with Nick to help your nerves, but your body seems immune to anything besides growing anxieties.

“Hey, he’ll be here soon.” Nick smiles softly to you and you nod in response, knowing if David would cancel, he’d have the decency to message you first.

A loud knock starts on the front door, and you remain blissfully ignorant as you stand with your back turned, talking to some old friends.

“I gotta admit, I blacked out last year.” One friend tells you, causing you to laugh remembering the whole ordeal.

Sipping your drink, you shake your head. “You and Nick were clearly shot buddies last year then.” You say, watching as she retells the events she can remember, hoping to not repeat them tonight.

As your friend reminisces on 2018 New Years Eve, Nick opens the front door to see David stood with a bright smile and camera in hand.

“Holy fuck.” Nick mutters as David chuckles.

“Hey, Nick.” David speaks up and Nick stutters over his own breath. “I brought some friends with me. This is Zane, Carly, Corinna, Matt and Jeff.”

Everyone waves politely as Nick barely manages to raise his hand to wave back. “It’s good to meet you guys.” Nick manages to force his words out, oblivious to David’s eyes darting around the room in search of you.

“Can we come in?” Corinna speaks up, smiling to Nick who chuckles under his breath before moving aside.

Across the room, your friend's attention is immediately diverted. “Hold on,” She holds your arm, staring straight past you. “you never mentioned him bringing hot friends.” She says with a humourous scoff as you remain cemented on the spot, too afraid to turn around.

“She’s just over there,” Nick moves to stand by David, able to fully compose himself. “you can’t miss her, she’s a stunner in that red dress.” Nick comments with a slight wink as David smiles.

“Thanks, Nick.” David says before Nick walks off in search of Corinna to try and swoon.

Taking a deep breath, David pushes back all the nerves that have built up over the past week. Now is his chance, he flew to come see you, just you. After all this time this is the moment he’s been waiting for since you replied to that first dumb message. Yet, it feels fake, but for once it isn’t a prank.

Walking toward you, David watches as you begin to turn around.

Mentally, you were psyching yourself up for the moment, not sure what to expect.

Neither of you was aware of the eyes pausing, having heard the stories about you two - the number neighbours whose friendship has the potential to blossom. You were the Twitter thread’s idea of fate working its magic.

Facing him, you opened your mouth to speak, but David mirrored your exact actions. “I, erm, hi.” You manage to force the words out, glancing out of the corner of your eye to see Nick facepalm.

David chuckles softly, realising you’re even cuter in person. “Hi, Y/n.” He says softly before bringing you into a hug.

Being in his arms, you began to relax your body from the tension you were holding in. It was comfortable, it felt right being close to him after almost two months of speaking through a screen.

“Oh my god if they don’t end up together I’m going to scream.” Carly comments as the others nod in agreement as you two walk-off elsewhere in the apartment, engaged in conversation.

Whilst talking to one another, hours passed by like minutes. You felt like you had known him your entire life, and the feeling was evidently mutual.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.” You repeat for the tenth time, and despite your nerves having died down, there is still a small part of your system that is in a permanent state of shock.

His hand slipping down toward yours, David smiles to himself as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I’m glad you invited me. Otherwise, I’d most likely be in some bar in Vegas.” He comments, hearing you scoff lightly.

“How painful that would’ve been for you, Dave.” You joke, hearing him laugh in response.

“So painful. Having to accept free drinks and see Zane drunk,” David sighs heavily. “it’s a hard life.” He comments with a shrug of his shoulder before returning his attention back to you. “But I’m really glad to be here, really.” He squeezes your hand lightly, watching as a smile ghosts your lips playfully.

“I’m glad you came. I mean, I knew we’d meet eventually but, but I’m glad you came for New Years.” You lean against the kitchen counter, looking out from your windows at the hectic citizens thriving below.

David focuses on the features he couldn’t see crisply on video or through photos. He couldn’t see the small dimples or freckles dotted across your face. The iPhone camera never did you the full justice, you’re more beautiful in person than he could’ve anticipated.

“Well, if it means one less single for 2020, I’m all for it.” He comments but as he listens to the words leaving his lips, your hand drops from his. “Wait, I, I meant,” He rambles, but you shake your head.

“I didn’t wanna assume,” You start, both of you stuttering and struggling to find the right words.

“Oh god,” Corinna cringes, looking up to Nick who winces at the sight. “they’re hopeless.”

Nick rests his hand on Corinna’s shoulder for a second, a lightbulb moment occurring. “I’ve got an idea.” He says with a smile. “With Y/n, actions speak louder than words.” He states, glancing to his phone to see the time. “The countdown will start any minute.”

Moving through everyone at the party, Nick walks toward the pair of you. “Oh, hey Nick.” You welcome the interruption, breaking the awkward silence between you and David.

“Hey Y/n, David.” He says with a smile. “Okay, everybody!” Nick claps, offering his hand to you to join him on the kitchen counter.

As you stand beside him, David moves back into the crowd, finding Jeff who looks at him with excitement, only to see it quickly fade. “What happened, dude?” Jeff questions, seeing David looking like a lost puppy.

“I think I fucked it up.” David states, sighing heavily.

“I’m sure you didn’t, David.” Jeff says, patting his back lightly. “I mean, look at her, she can barely take her eyes off of you.” Jeff mutters, motioning up to you as you desperately try to not stare at him.

“So, it’s nearly midnight so everyone pair up!” Nick cheers and everyone rummages through the crowd whilst David nears you, helping you down.

His hands rest on your waist. “I, have you got a kiss at midnight?” David questions, slowly feeling his sense of confidence return around you as you smile to him.

“Is this your way of asking me, Dobrik?” You ask in return.

“If you say yes, that is.” He retorts playfully, watching as you nod.

“I’d love to.” You tell him before moving into the crowd as the countdown begins.

One minute left of 2019, of the decade.

“Do you feel like it’s been worth it?” David turns to face you, wanting to drown out everyone else and focus just on you. “Do, do you regret answering my dumb message when I sent it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “Of course not.” You say as if it were obvious. “You, you coming into my life happened at an almost perfect time. I, I secretly look forward to our calls, knowing you will find a way to make me laugh at something stupid.” You ramble, feeling your heart hammering against your chest.

“After tonight, would you like to go on a date with me?” He questions, but the one thing he’s been wanting to ask you all night is drowned out by the countdown.

“THREE, TWO ONE.”

As everyone reaches one, you rest your hands on David’s cheeks, pulling him closer into you.

The sound of cheers and confetti surrounds you as David deepens the kiss, his arms resting on your wait pulling you closer.

“Happy new year love birds.” Nick yells to you both as you pull away, smiling like idiots.

“Hey, Dave?” You ask, looking up at him. “I’d love to go on a date.” You reply, before kissing him softly. “Happy new year.”

The rest of his friends walk over, joining in the celebrations as the party continues.

But all David can think about is how grateful he is to some dumb trend on Twitter, that he’s able to start a new year with you.

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gmrajuastrology · 2 years ago

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#Black magic removal in Sheffield #Black magic removal in Liverpool #Black magic removal in Manchester

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maanling · 5 years ago

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HC: THE LUPIN FAMILY GENEALOGY.

[ I didn’t think this would get so lengthy so I put most of it under a “read-more”! Please don’t feel obliged to read all of this -- I just felt like rambling about the Lupin family history ]

The first known records of Remus’s ancestors are from 15th-century Scotland, when muggles Radulph Creich and Rhona Brothaigh wed. Unbeknownst to either of them, Rhona carried magical blood in her veins that did not become apparent until their youngest child Mairi (b. 1489) reached the age of nineteen.

Mairi, only just married to Carrick Lippincott, tried her utmost best to hide her powers for two whole years, but was eventually found out by her husband, who tried to have her imprisoned. By then, their family was already expanded with two children, named Greer (1508) and Dunbar (1510), who never saw their mother and were raised by maids. Carrick, who was nearing his fifties and would be unlikely to find a new wife, hoped that his children could live as ordinary heirs if only he were able to suppress the magic that they possibly got passed on from their mother. However, both son and daughter displayed signs of their powers at the ages of twelve and fourteen, respectively.

Greer, like her mother, tried to hide her magic, but Dunbar saw his own potential and wanted to explore his skills and their limits. He travelled a lot, experimenting with spells, and eventually found out about the magical community that existed amongst the ordinary people. Dunbar began attending several courses at Hogwarts at the age of 26, which was not uncommon at that time, and was sorted into Ravenclaw house. Gradually, he became further removed from his father and sister, taking on the surname Lupin as a shortened version of Lippincott to ensure he would no longer be associated with the muggle name. In 1540, he married Florence Fawley (b. 1520), an early ancestor of the Fawley pure-blood wizarding family, and moved to Glasgow.

Florence and Dunbar got a total of seven children: Hilda (1542, Ravenclaw), Agnes (1545, Hufflepuff), Symon (1547, Ravenclaw), Gaufrid (1548, Ravenclaw), Morogh (1553, Gryffindor), Jonet (1555, Gryffindor) and Lycidas (1559, Ravenclaw). Morogh Lupin lived together with several Gryffindor friends after graduating, including a woman named Mariella Carmichael with whom he fell in love and had a son, Coire (1585). Although he never married Mariella, Morogh openly acknowledged his son and gave him his surname.

Coire Lupin, sorted into Ravenclaw like many of his aunts and uncles, became renown for his elaborate theories on arithmancy, even teaching the subject at Hogwarts for two years. He married a Dutch witch named Antonia and lived in the low countries for several decades before moving back to his family home in Glasgow in 1621. The pair had five children on the continent: Lourens (1610, Slytherin), Dierdre (1611, Ravenclaw), Angus (1613, Ravenclaw), Lyall (1615, Ravenclaw) (not to be confused with his later relative), and Alida (1618, Ravenclaw). Their move back to Scotland had been partly because of the unrest caused by the muggle Eighty Years' War, but also because their eldest son was to attend Hogwarts.

Lourens Lupin showed no interest in his father’s field of study, but was rather fascinated by darker forces and ways to counteract them. This interest led to his untimely demise in 1637, when he interrupted a druidic ritual involving black magic and was killed on the spot. Lourens left his modest estate in Glasgow to his wife Elspeth and their three children Lourens II (1630, Slytherin), Finnea (1633, Gryffindor), and Ranulf (1637, Slytherin).

Ranulf Lupin lived quite a solitary life with his wife Nairne, who sold potions for a living on the local market or to the occasional traveller. Their wish for children lasted many years but was not fulfilled until they attempted a fertility ritual, and were finally blessed with twins in 1685. Rafe and Laire (both Gryffindor) were eager and adventurous, yet their frail health prevented them from doing many energy-draining activities. Rafe passed away aged 20 due to a flying incident and a pregnant Laire was abandoned by a man who had promised to marry her. Ranulf, a proud man, did not recognize her son Eachan (1707) as his grandchild until he was on his deathbed.

Despite trouble with her parents, Laire loved and protected Eachan and ensured he never had to wish for anything. The shy boy was sorted into Ravenclaw and proved an apt yet quiet pupil. After graduation, he married Isobel MacLennan, the daughter of a renown bookbinder that specialized in educational spell books, and was taught to continue this family business. The two got a total of eleven children, two of which passed away during or shortly after childbirth. Their second-youngest son, Lorne (1750), soon became the odd one out as he was the only one of his siblings to be sorted into Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw.

Lorne was a talented duelist and was often punished at school for engaging in battles against classmates. He strove to make a living off duelling, but his parents believed there would be no money in it and discouraged him to do so. Determined and stubborn, Lorne signed up for the auror program, introduced by the ministry only a couple of years before he was born. That very same month, he eloped with a witch named Paisley, promising her riches from his future job. Although his duel technique was "worthy of sincere admiration", his temper was a failure and he was not admitted into the training program. Paisley reminded him that he could always find another job, which utterly harmed his pride and caused him to turn quite bitter for the rest of his life. They got four children: Tavon (1771, Gryffindor), Wynfreda (1774, Gryffindor), Murdoch (1780, Gryffindor), and Neilan (1785, Ravenclaw).

Although practically all his ancestors resided in Scotland, Murdoch moved to Liverpool in 1815, which had become both a muggle and wizarding hub due to the increasing industrialisation. The magic community still very much had to live a life of secrecy and found that Liverpool was a suitable location for magical trade. Not soon after he had set up his trading business, Lupin Purveyors & Co. ( “ supplier of the freshest ingredients & latest spell books ” ), he wed Viola Firmstone. The pair was blessed with six children: Karter (1818, Gryffindor), Remington (1820, Gryffindor), June (1823, Ravenclaw), Eloise (1825, a squib), Godfrey (1830, Gryffindor) and Tidus (1835, Ravenclaw).

Godfrey Lupin continued the family business along with his older brothers, but despite the fact that Liverpool had grown as a trading port for the wixen community, Lupin Purveyors & Co. did not make the family incredibly wealthy. Godfrey figured that their connection with Diagon Alley in London should be strengthened in order to flourish, for their main clients were now only owners of smaller shops in Liverpool and its surroundings. He owled frequently with several stores in the busy shopping street and managed the advertisements for their company. By 1860, the purveyors had grown somewhat in status. One year later, Godfrey would meet Meriel Hopps, with whom he fell hopelessly in love, and get two children: Ives (1862, Ravenclaw) and Leopold (1866, Ravenclaw).

Even though neither sons wanted to take over the family business, having more ambitious goals in life, Ives Lupin owned the business for five years. In 1889, he got into financial trouble with Gringotts and was forced to sell Lupin Purveyors under a new name. Leopold, in the meantime, still lived in Liverpool, but worked as an Obliviator at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in London. He was married to a Hufflepuff named Cindy Shires, with whom he had three children: Fiona (1890, Ravenclaw), Harris (1892, Ravenclaw) and Elsie (1904, Hufflepuff).

Harris soon followed into his father’s footsteps and became an assistant-Obliviator in 1914, shortly before the start of the First World War. He was sent to the front-lines, tasked with obliviating muggle soldiers whenever involvement of magic occurred. He came back home in 1917, having lost his left leg as the result of a severe hex by an enemy wizard. Shortly after the war ended, he married the witch Coralie Bicknell. They pair had two sons: Bryce (1923, Gryffindor) and Lyall (1928, Ravenclaw).

The youngest son grew up with a fascination for ghosts and creatures, and eventually became “a world-renowned expert on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions”. While Lyall was chasing a particularly violent boggart in the Scottish Highlands, he met Hope Howell, the daughter of a muggle pharmacist. He saved Hope from said boggart and eventually married her after she fell pregnant of their son Remus (1960, Gryffindor). The pair moved into Lyall’s apartment in Liverpool, where they lived for five years.

Remus’s youth started off happily enough, until he was bitten by werewolf Fenrir Greyback at the age of five. The boy would be cursed for the remainder of his life and rarely got in contact with strangers until he began attending Hogwarts in 1971. During the Second Wizarding War, Remus fell in love with the younger auror and metamorphmagus Nymphadora Tonks, both of whom were part of the Order of the Phoenix. Even though he tried to talk her out of starting a relationship with him, since he was older and dangerous due to his lycanthropic condition, they married and got a son named Edward “Teddy” (1998).

#I realize that most of these names are Really Extra but I'm gonna give the excuse that these people are wixen #they are extra by nature #it's just me rambling and procrastinating #☾ *¸• a bad moon on the rise. ┊ 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠.

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thesilentinquisitor · 6 years ago

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About Evren

Basics

Name: Evren Tanith Anubis

Aka: Lady Anubis, Lady Inquisitor, the Emperor’s Jackal, the Silent Inquisitor, the Bone Witch. Aunt/Auntie Evren to many. Known to the Neverborn as the Fourteen-Eyed Jackal and the Crowned Devourer In Golden Chains. Evy or Eve to some.

Originally: Evren Tanith Burakgazi.

DOB: 21st December, 989.M1 (Sagittarius). Appears to be in her late twenties or early thirties.

Gender + Sexuality: Agender/demigirl. Poly-panromantic greysexual, with slight preference towards women when it comes to relationships and men when it comes to casual flings.

Origin: Liverpool, UK, Terra. Mixed Egyptian and Turkish, identifies as English.

Rank: [30k] Grand Inquisitor. Officially, she is the seeker of traitors and rebels, acting as a scalpel to cut out the cancer before it grows large enough to warrant calling in the Space Wolves or Night Lords. Unofficially, she seeks out artefacts, creatures, and people of great power and destructive potential and contains them, sometimes neutralising them or turning them to the use of the Imperium. These include Chaos or Warp-powered artefacts, xenotech, creations from before the Age of Strife, items from alternate universes, and things of stranger, more obscure origins. Her mission and means are highly secretive, with few beyond the Emperor and Malcador the Sigillite being aware of her true mission.

[40k] Loyalist Renegade/Inquisitor: After the Tomb Jackals were banished and wiped from the records at the end of the Heresy, they spent several centuries engaged in a Repentance Crusade in the Eye. However, they soon emerged and began engaging with the Imperium again, albeit under false names with false histories. Evren uses a fake Rosette to pass as an Inquisitor of Ordo Hereticus or Malleus.

History

Abilities:

Flawed Perpetual: Requires energy and biomass to regenerate lost body parts; she must eat an arm’s weight to get an arm back. Large healings leave her weak and sleepy from hours to days after; regrowing more than 50% of her bodyweight will cause her to fall into a coma. Will regenerate from the largest part remaining or the one with her head. Other parts die after an hour and are usually consumed to regain biomass. Never ‘dies’ but will lose consciousness if sufficiently injured.

Living Cancer: Thanks to her mother’s hasty dying pact and Malal’s sick sense of humour, Evren can best be described as a sapient infectious cancer. Her cells are constantly regenerating and can revert back to stem cell level to allow her to regenerate limbs or organs. Her cells replace any foreign organic material inside or added to her body - grafted-on limbs will change into copies of what she lost - which means she was never able to bear a child, even before she removed the required organs. Given sufficient time and material, she can convert corpses into copies of her or, if a live cell sample is placed in a nutrient broth, grow a new body from scratch over a period of roughly two and half months.

Gamma-level Psyker: biomancy/physiokinesis/chloromancy, telepathy, telekinesis, kine-shields. Studied and mastered necromancy from the post-Heresy-era onwards. Has an incredibly precise control over her magic and a long list of memorised spells, though her range is middling to poor. Good at sensing fluctuations in the Warp.

Biomancy: Her first and strongest discipline. Though she was first trained as a healer, Evren has turned what she learnt to the causes of torture and interrogation, shaping flesh and bone like wet clay. She knows dozens of methods for instant killing, as well as how to keep a victim alive long after they should have died. Her speciality is the draining of energy from victims, leaving them dried-out husks.

Chloromancy: An offshoot of biomancy devoted to the control of plants. She can create fully-grown plants from seeds in seconds, even if said seeds are inside someone’s stomach at the time. Evren’s presence enlivens plants - grass lengthens in her footsteps and flowers bloom where she uses her magic.

Necromancy: At the price of another life, Evren can bring back the dead - either has barely-sapient drones or exactly as they used to be. Those too damaged or rotten to be brought back properly are made into corpse-constructs - shambling creatures made from mismatched parts, sometimes with dozens of eyes or arms for legs - or as disposable troops. Can also summon, banish, and sense ghosts or spirits - not via any natural ability but the use of charmed props and equipment.

Daemonology: Has studied the lore of daemons, so can summon, banish, restrain, and otherwise deal with daemons. After her pact with Malal, she can access their Chains of Binding, which can make most daemons her slaves.

Strengths/Weaknesses:

+ Biology, genetic manipulation, botany: Excels in the sciences of life. Can create new species of plants, animals, and bacterium in her lab, for everything from relieving famine or curing diseases to bioweapons. Has an almost instinctive knowledge of cell function and makeup. + Occult knowledge: Widely read in the nature of magic and the Warp. Has memorised many spells, curses, and cantrips; draws protective sigils and wards with ease. Knows secrets that would drive many insane, which has had an impact on her sanity. + Resistant to pain and torture: Both thanks to experience and her ability to use biomancy to shut down her pain receptors, she can resist most interrogation techniques. When put under great stress, she will put herself into a coma. + Stealth and terror tactics: Can become all but imperceptible thanks to a combination of magical and mundane techniques. Trained in tracking, assassination, sabotage, recon, torture and interrogation, intelligence gathering, and item/personnel retrieval. + Shapeshifting: Disguising herself as others, of any height, weight, or bodyshape, is easy for Evren thanks to her biomancy. She deeply dislikes changing her skin tone and avoid it whenever possible. ~ Evren has autism, what was formerly known as Asperger’s Syndrome. - Suffering mentally: Her traumatic life experiences and knowledge of the universe has given Evren a depression and PTSD, both of which seem resistant to treatment. She suffers from panic attacks, nightmares, and is psychologically triggered by enclosed spaces, the colour yellow (especially hooded robes), pregnant women, and the sight of certain religious artifacts. She uses various meditation techniques and marijuana for her anxiety. - Cannot see into the future through dreams, visions, or third-party methods: she cannot scry, cast runes, or use the Tarot. To seers, her future actions are shrouded in darkness. Some report hearing the roar of static and feeling the attention of something dark fall on them, heralded by seeing dozens of blank, white eyes in the darkness. Others see dozens of extremely disparate futures to the point of being overwhelmed. - ’Perpetual’ nature causes her body to reject all non-organic implants, such as the Black Carapace: organic implants and transplants can be accepted via biomancy. - Must have a source of energy/food or healing abilities slow. Must have a source of energy/food or her healing abilities slow until they cease to work entirely, due to the high energy demands of her body, leading to wounds remaining open even after an ordinary human would have healed. Starves at the rate of one unenhanced, though her enhancements allow her to consume many things considered inedible. - Weak to things that destroy cells/atoms, i.e. atom bombs, strong radiation, gauss flayers, fire, being thrown into the Sun. Deeply fears Necrons for this reason. - Highly affected by Blanks. Cause painful rashes/skin peeling, bleeding from the eyes/nose, intense migraines, and seizures depending on closeness/length of exposure. Her healing factor is deadened to the point where one could kill her with a knife and a bit of patience. - Bad at spelling and mental mathematics, to the point of dyscalculia.

Personality:

+ Loyal, protective, generous, loving, charitable, friendly, patient, determined, optimistic, intellectual, courageous, devoted, flexible, playful, artistic, imaginative, trusting, forgiving.

- Liar, braggart, snobbish, patronising, glutton, literal-minded, coddling, depressive, zealot, hoarder, hypocrite, merciless, sadistic, vengeful, spiteful, stubborn, nosy, impulsive, selfish, clingy, melodramatic.

- Evren’s motivation in life is the protection and wellbeing of humanity; to this end very few actions are considered ‘too much’ or ‘too far’. Like the SCP Foundation before her, she will inflict pain and death on hundreds or thousands to save millions or even billions. - Highly curious, she is full of questions at all times and loves to explore. - Friends and family mean a lot to her; she values her brothers’ happiness highly and possesses an undying loyalty to the Emperor, even if she often doubts him. - She still has great faith in humanity and believes that most people are good - Has a 'better the devil you know’ attitude, used to enduring horrible things if it meant keeping humanity safe from even greater horrors or even annihilation - She has a deep-seated disdain for religion and identifies as a misotheist, having never met a 'god’ worth worshipping. Secretly she dreams of toppling the gods and perhaps even taking a little of their power for themselves - she’s sure she would use it better. - Due to the fact it was the last time she felt 'normal’ or 'like herself’, Evren is obsessed with the culture of the 1980s to 2020s and has gone out of her way to preserve artifacts from that era, including her favourite popular media. She enjoys cartoons and anime. - Despite, or possibly because of, living through the millennia-long suppression of magic by the Foundation, Evren is openly, unapologetically proud of being a psyker and campaigns for the better understanding of her fellow magic-users. - Secretly, she is somewhat of a coward and flees from anything she is sure can kill her, though she once managed to explore a Necron tomb with her Legion. - Often overwhelmed by her duties, she is full of doubts and often second-guesses herself - Is a hopeless romantic, in love with love, but treats sex casually - to her, it’s just another fun thing two or more people who like each other can do together

Likes/hobbies: Magic and studying magic, archaeology, history, exploring ruins or nature, tomb-raiding and grave-robbing, botany and gardening, cartoons comics, horror books/movies, making clothes and jewellery, puzzles/riddles, cooking, coffee/recaff (the more elaborate, brighter-coloured, and highly-flavoured the better), Turkish and Egyptian cuisine, dancing, singing, playing the piano.

Hates: Chaos-worshippers, the Chaos gods, religion in general, not being able to know things, traitors and backstabbers, letting down a friend, enclosed spaces, going hungry, wasting food, offal, eye contact, people who take advantage, corrupt officials, people who don’t care for others, Astartes who look down on humans, almost all Commissars not named Ciaphas Cain, the fact she has to remove all her body hair to wear her bodyglove comfortably. After the Heresy, she despises Iron Warriors and Word Bearers to the point where she’ll drop anything to kill them; it’s her dearest dream to sacrifice Erebus and Kor Phaeron to Malal.

Looks:

Height: 5′7″ (original) / 8′3″ (current). Can and will change her height with biomancy.

Eyes:

Golden with hints of brown. Dark rimmed irises like a wolf (or a chicken). In the 40k era, they turn white with black sclera when channelling the power of Malal.

Wears kohl eyeliner in the ancient Egyptian style, eyeshadow in shades of blue or red with a streak of gold. Long lashes usually enhanced with mascara.

Well-groomed, s-shaped eyebrows with a ‘hook’.

Possesses a unique, prototype in-built ‘prey-sight’ that allows her to see into the infrared spectrum and track targets by body-heat. Unfortunately, it also reduces her ability to see detail such as writing/screens and people’s faces, turns the world into a blobby mess of colour, and gives her crippling migraines if she uses it for more than five minutes. Her pupils are dilated and her eyes appear glazed during use.

Has a transparent, protective nictitating membrane.

Skin:

Brown, vaguely russet. Blushes easily, freckles in strong sunlight thanks to the Jackal geneseed. Some moles – aka ‘beauty spots’ - across her body and limbs.

No scars or wrinkles save for a line of small, round scars along her spine and faint marks on her stomach as if something with five claws slashed her from ribs to hip.

Removes all hair below the neck with biomancy, to keep it from catching in her armour and bodyglove; without that, she has dark body hair and a ‘treasure trail’.

Tattoos in gold ink of runes across her ribcage, arms to elbows, and on her stomach, spelling out incantations of warding and banishment; intricate magical diagrams and sigils cover her back from shoulders to hips. These act as protection against daemons, increase her magical abilities, and make her touch painful for any with above a certain amount of Warp energies inside them. Designed to ward off danger and interrogating Chaos worshippers, she cannot touch Sanguinius or Magnus with her bare skin without causing burning pins-and-needles tingling. Touching a daemon causes them severe pain, like touching a red-hot poker.

In the 40k era, she bears the brand of Malal on her stomach; the black-and-white skull mark only appears when she’s channelling the Outcast God’s power or consumed with thoughts of vengeance. At all other times, it’s invisible.

Sensitive to touch and ticklish, especially around the - ahem - chest.

Body:

Lean but muscular with long limbs/torso. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and powerful thighs. A six-pack and strong arms. Often compared to an Amazon or Valkyrie.

Disproportionate on close inspection, with her arms almost as long as her legs; can give an Uncanny Valley effect. Long stomach/spine between ribcage and hips; has three more lumbar vertebrae than normal. Long fingers, toes, neck.

Small chest - ‘small but perfectly formed’ as she sometimes says.

Highly flexible and double jointed, capable of impressive contortionist acts. Often cracks her joints to the point of sounding like an old man; is prone to aches and pains after too much flexing, which she eases with long baths.

Possesses all Astartes organs aside from the Mucranoid, Melanchromic Organ, Black Carapace, and Lyman’s Ear; her Sus-an Membrane has a malfunction that, whenever she activates it, plagues her hibernation period with horrific nightmares.

Lacks the Black Carapace and interface ports thanks to her Perpetual nature, so she syncs with her custom-made Power Armour (Mark IV variant, replaced by a Mark VI variant post-Heresy) via a series of needles that pierce her spinal cord.

Has several experimental organs not used in the final Astartes model: Angius Ligament (lets her stretch her jaws like a snake), Tanax Gland (produces a sticky, glue-like saliva that dries quickly on contact with air), Pera Organ (a second stomach), and Runco Node (a gland in the brain that, at times of great stress, releases hormones and chemicals to dull her feelings of pain, fear, and despair; in some circumstances, Evren goes into a trance-like state where she can only think of killing enemies and lacks morality, mercy, or a conscience. She never remembers her actions afterwards and the Jackals have sworn never to tell her).

Face:

Greatly resembles her Papa. They have the same eyes, brow, nose, and cheekbones. Diamond-shaped face with a strong jaw. Beauty spot near left eye.

Eight canine teeth; all teeth sharper and more pointed than normal.

Long, flexible tongue. Unsurprisingly, she’s also a very good kisser.

Wears a brown or berry-coloured blush and lipstick in maroon, berry, navy, or black.

Faceclaim: Jessica Penne.

Hair:

Black, glossy, falls in loose curls. Naturally thick and heavy. Soft and silky.

Shoulder-blade length and worn parted at her left side with a side-fringe.

Doesn’t often change her hairstyle, but she has experimented with various styles and lengths. Tends to go between straight and curly on a whim.

In battle, it’s braided and curled into a bun under her helmet.

Clothes:

Linen tunics, tight cloth trousers, long waistcoats, and long, fur-lined (often leather) coats. Soft leather knee-high boots, leather boots, flats, and ankle boots – never heels. Doesn’t wear socks. Wears black, white, gold, shades of red but usually crimson or maroon, and shades of blue from navy to turquoise.

Gold, copper, and bone accessories – from her kills, both animal, xenos, and human. Usually hand-made. Loves rubies, aquamarine, lapis lazuli, coral, and sapphires. Likes Egyptian, jackal, space, floral/plant, and skull/bone motifs.

Wears lots of rings, bracelets/bangles, and necklaces when off-duty.

Has a large hat collection, with hats for every occasion, but she most often wears a wide-brimmed black hat with the brim tilted just so. Hat never falls off because it’s held in place with a hatpin topped with a silver skull.

Attitude/Bearing:

Due to her autism, she rarely makes eye contact, has dulled facial expressions/RBF, tends towards a monotone voice, and stims by twining her hands, playing with her hair, or pressing her palms together. Looks at people’s noses or ears, as a rule.

Stands and walks with almost unnatural grace and flexibility. Very light feet. Will casually bend her limbs backwards to reach something or turn her head like an owl.

Has a faint Liverpudlian accent and a deep voice; the accent is a deliberate affectation and vanishes during times of stress, replaced with a Terran accent.

Daemon-Princess of Malal Form Evren can ‘summon’ small parts of her daemon form into her human body, such as horns, claws, eyes, and wings; her most common trick is to summon wings, pure black and flat as paper, the feathers razor-sharp.

Soul: To psykers and daemons, her soul appears to be glowing with a bright golden light that can be almost blinding. There’s an impression of many wings, eyes, and teeth and a burning crown. Her tattoos appear as literal golden chains and the influence of Malal as a spreading darkness centred around her solar plexus.

Equipment

Mark IV/ Mark VI Corvus Power Armour: Adjusted to her disproportionate frame, the biggest change is around the joints of the armour; plating has been re-shaped and in some cases removed to allow a much higher degree of flexibility. Instead of the classic ‘beaky’ helmet it has the white jackal mask worn by the Legion’s command ranks. The inside is coated with runes and sigils of protection, purity, and banishment. The pockets and waist pouches are much bigger on the inside than the outside.

Force Sword (Asurludu): Designed and built for a user who places speed and flexibility over strength, longer and lighter than the usual model. The hilt and blade show some influence from ancient Turkic designs. The blade is decorated with an ‘evren’ - that is to say, the dragon from Turkic mythology - and the grip is bound in dark blue.

Daemon Sword: A black-bladed daemon sword with an ornate gold hilt, decorated with obsidians and moonstones, and a scabbard decorated with many eyes. Contains Snuffer Of Faith’s Candlelight, a Guardian of Contradictions who displeased Malal and was sentenced to eleven thousand year’s imprisonment within the sword. Screams and wails when wielded. Can and will devour mortal souls and daemons alike.

Various grenades: Krak, frag, flashbang, and ‘Banisher’ - produced and equipped solely by the Tomb Jackals Legion, they contain blessed salt, iron, silver, and holy water. Evren often forgets they’re there or to replenish her supply, to the annoyance of her armoury staff. She retorts that her throwing arm is so bad they’re all but useless anyway.

Dataslate: Connected to the Weigher’s central database and intranet, Evren can call upon thousands of years of information in seconds. She can also connect to others’ dataslates and send messages to their ships or voxes. It can fold in half like a book and be used in either orientation. Most files are in Esceapian or Turkish; anything sensitive is protected with instakill memetic agents that cause fatal seizures and brain haemorrhages in any who haven’t been through the right psycho-programming.

Combat Knife: Carved with runes, it has a devastating effect on daemons and other creatures of Chaos. The default combat knife wielded by all Tomb Jackals and Shadows.

Bolter: She once owned a master-crafted, artisanal-made Crusade-pattern Bolter that was destroyed just after the Heresy, during their Crusade in the Eye, and never replaced. Since then she’s owned a variety of firearms, either losing them or giving them away. Her current weapon, as of 40k, is a Godwyn Mark Vb Pattern.

Snacks and drinks: Since both magic and healing drain a great deal of her energy, it’s important for Evren to stay well-fed. She keeps a supply of high-protein, high-fat, and high-sugar rations in the form of bars and drinks, fortified with iron and calcium, as well as more normal foodstuffs such as jerky, candy bars, and bottles of water.

Inquisitors’ Rosette: Before the Heresy, this took the form of the Emperor’s personal aquila in gold, with the SCA symbol on its breast, as a badge or a pendent. In the 40k, Evren wields the rosette of the Inquisition when going undercover. Kyete acquired it, as well as the official papers and paraphernalia, from a Custodian who owed her a favour. The rosette takes the form of the stylised I bearing the winged skull of a jackal.

First Aid Kit: For minor wounds she can’t or won’t heal with her biomancy.

#[ooc post]#[evren's personnel file]#[legion documents]

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astrologerradhakrishna-blog · 7 years ago

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bendunk239 · 4 years ago

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How does Power Flushing work?

Because water is always pumped in the same direction in a central heating system, iron filings, mud, oil, and grease accumulate inside every radiator in your system. This has a detrimental effect on the performance of your radiators and your boiler, in fact, your entire central heating system, reducing the service life.

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New boiler installed?

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hellsangelsheavensrejects · 4 years ago

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Times Forgotten: All the World’s a Stage

This takes place a few months after Harry struck out on his own after apprenticing with Nicholas Christian at Ragged Angel Investigations.

Harry

The man performing magic on stage in the theater was bad news. Bad news with a bright, red, juicy arsenic cherry on top.

The theater was one of the old-fashioned kinds, complete with a pair of huge, dusty red curtains that had been drawn open across the stage at the beginning of the show. A scattering of props, some still covered with black silk sheets and awaiting their parts in the show, decorated the stage and podium– cabinets painted with arcane symbols both real and fantastical, a low, long table littered with cards and bits and baubles and curiosities, one of those long, enclosed boxes for sawing hapless damsels in half, and– Harry couldn’t see very clearly from where he sat, but he could swear he saw a summoning circle built or painted on the stage floor. The man performing was good looking in a rugged sort of way, his build slim and athletic, a shock of sandy blond hair topping his head, a pair of shrewd, intelligent eyes roving over the audience. He had a showman’s flair, an arrogant grin, and spoke with a heavy Liverpool accent, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement as he said his lines.

And he was using real magic. Harry could feel it weaving and dancing and crackling, electrifying the air around him as it took shape under the magician’s will.

Harry shifted in his chair and frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he studied the man. He’d heard rumors of somebody using real magic in public shows and had immediately set out to investigate. The discovery of the man’s name shortly thereafter had served to put the entire case in a different light.

He’d heard things about John Constantine.

A lot of things.

A lot of… highly disturbing things. Such as how he’d been responsible for the death of a little girl during a demonic summoning gone awry. How he seemed to have no scruples, no restraint, no morality of which to speak. How he was a slippery, conniving, slimy bastard who would stab you in the back the second he saw opportunity in it, then walk off with a smirk and a pull on his ever-present cigarette as if he hadn’t just shattered somebody’s entire world.

And, most disturbing of all were the whispers that he had the White Council wrapped around his little finger. He didn’t even want to think about the sort of power, the sort of mind that could accomplish such a thing. He didn’t want to believe it was possible, and yet here was John Constantine, larger than life and with his head still attached to his body. There was something to that particular rumor.

There was no way Harry was going to let this loose canon run rampant over his city, doing God knows what kind of damage. So he was going to do what he did best.

Stick his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

He crossed his arms over his chest, shifted in his seat, and continued watching the show.

John

The auditorium beyond the bright stage lights was dark, full of shadowy figures, but he could feel the attention. The power of it fuelling him, a magic all of it’s own, making it so easy to perform trick after trick after trick.

Real magic, yes, but parlor tricks compared to what John Constantine was capable of. Conjuring demons, twisting reality. Walking through Hell and coming out unscathed.

Mostly.

There was something electric about it. About standing there, in the bright spotlights, for all the world to see.

He did so much of his work in the shadows, this was it’s own kind of high. And maybe the buzz from the half bottle of whisky he’d downed before helped, too. Making him pleasantly lightheaded and urging him on.

“For my next trick …”, he announced and his voice carried through the air without any electronic help. “I need an assistant.”

Measured, deliberate steps brought him to the very edge of the stage, out of the direct light and then he could see them sitting there. Faces turned up towards him in rapt attention. His very own congregation worshipping at his feet. He grinned at them and spread his arms. The pale skin of his forearms, revealed by rolled up sleeves of the half unbuttoned dress shirt, was littered with the first, dark lines of what would become a tapestry of occult tattoos. Before him, in the first row sat a young redhead, curves in all the right places, hair done in curls and lips painted red. That kind of retro rockabilly thing that was going around and she was looking up at him with her mouth half open.

“You there, pet.”, John smiled and swung one hand around, going down on one knee to reach out for her. “Would you do me the honours?”, his voice dripped honey and he could see her pull her bottom lip between her teeth.

She’d have those lips around his cock later, he didn’t even need any divination to know that much.

Her hand in his was warm and soft and he pulled her up on the stage with just a little push of magic, making the skirt of her pretty little dress flare and her giggle. She landed in his arms, one hand against the exposed skin of his chest and he winked at her. “‘llo there. Wha’s your name, eh?”

“Emma.”, she sighed as he put his arm around her waist and spun them away from the edge of the stage, back into the light, in a quick little dance.

“A grand applause”, John announced and stepped away from her, guiding her into a little twirl in front of his audience. “For Emma!”

And as if enchanted, the audience complied, breaking into rapturous applause as John pulled Emma back to him, her back against his chest, his arms around her, cheek resting against her fragrant curls and she shifted a little, pushing her behind against his crotch before trying to catch his eye with another seductive little bite to her lip.

His attention, however, was on the audience again. Skilled hands whipped one of the black silken sheets off of a large, heavy crystal ball, before gripping the glittering sphere in both hands. “Now, Emma.”, he purred in her ear and delighted in her shiver. “Dis is where I need your help, pet. Take hold of the sphere and lift it with me, yeah?”

It was heavy, but only for the first inch, then the strain in John’s arms shifted from lifting the weight to pouring magic into the object.

“Oh!”, Emma giggled in his arms as the crystal lifted with little to no effort up to her eyelevel.

“Dis is just the beginning, pet.”, John continued and removed his hands, spreading them outward. He could feel her gasp. And then: “Let go, Emma.”

She did so without hesitation, following his direction without question and he wasn’t quite sure if that was what made him twitch pleasantly in his skin tight jeans or if it was the way she leaned back against him.

It might have also been the renewed, thunderous applause of the audience.

“Oh, but tha’s nothin’, innit?”, John called over the roar.

He stepped out from behind Emma, keeping her in place with a touch to the small of her back.

“Coul’ be wires, coul'n’ i’?”, still, his voice carried easily, even over the good natured yells for proof that the sphere was, indeed floating.

Harry

One thing was for sure, John Constantine was one hell of a showman. There was an undeniable magnetism about him that seemed to cast its own sort of spell over the entire room; even Harry wasn't entirely uneffected as he watched the act unfold. The scent of magic filled the room, reality warping and bending and refracting with the magician at the epicenter, like the eye of a storm, as he passed a large silver ring around the levitating crystal ball. The crowd gasped and applauded. The trick was old hat, had been performed a thousand times over since the inception of stage magic, but that didn't matter.

Most people, whether they're aware of it or not, have the innate ability to sense the elemental forces of the universe. Maybe they can't put a name to it, maybe they attribute it to religion or psychology or the skillful use of mundane showmanship, but they've all felt it. It's in that shiver, that sense of awe and wonder you get when you see the distant, hazy magnificence of mountains, collossal giants that saw the Earth when it was young, looming closer and closer as you drive. When you get away from the lights of the city and can see, can really see the silver dust of stars scattered across the sky, knowing that every miniscule speck of that dust is a vast, fiercely burning inferno in systems light years away, many of them orbited by alien planets and their moons. Or when you visit an ancient architechtural ruin and move between crumbling pillars, your feet walking over the same stonework that the ancient Greeks or Romans or Mayans tread on. Or when you're driving alone on a country road and feel every hair standing on end all of the sudden, and you know, you just know, that if you look in the rearview mirror, you'll see something in the backseat. Everyone feels it. On some level, everyone craves it. And that was why the crowd lapped all of this up-- not these trite old tricks that anyone with a lick of practice and a battered volume of Stage Magic for Dummies on the shelf could perform, but that subconscious awareness that there was something here that was real.

John Constantine was the conductor, and the entire room was his orchestra. He practically had the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.

This could be bad. This could be very bad indeed if even a fraction of the stories were true. An image dropped into his mind like a lead weight, of Constantine summoning a demon, right there on stage, and Harry grimaced as he remembered the summoning circle on the stage floor.

Hell's bells. That was just what he needed. He would hope the magician wouldn't be insane enough to summon a creature from the pit of hell into a room full of innocent bystanders, but how was he to tell? He frowned, craning his neck as he tried to discern the specific design of that summoning circle, but he just couldn't see it from where he was. He was going to have to get up on stage.

Which meant that he was going to need to get John Constantine's attention.

He crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs out, and got his heckle on. “Wow. I am amazed-- nay, flabbergasted, at this unique and never-before-seen display of arcane powers. I mean-- a levitating crystal ball. Whatever cosmic epiphanies could have made themselves known to you and birthed this rare form of artistry?”

John

There was no hesitation as John reached for items to prove the sphere was, indeed floating, eliciting little gasps from his lovely little assistant. His crooked smirk and the swagger in his step never faltered.

This was his element.

He'd stood on a stage performing shitty punk music in front of a crown of demons.

Wooing dimwitted humans who wanted the thrill they'd heard about when people whispered the name John Constantine? That was child's play. Literally.

He'd pulled off harder tricks than this before his balls had fully dropped.

The mocking voice that finally carried over the the noises of his adoring public only widened the grin on his face. Teeth glinting in the bright stage lights as John swivelled his head around in a lazy roll. Magic reached out from him, searching through the pitch dark beyond the glare and he found his critic, because magic reached back.

Oh, wasn't that fun?

"I see we go' a sceptic.", John drawled while the danger of being caught by another practitioner sparked up his spine like lightning. It had been inevitable, with how he'd put himself out there and it felt like the first hot spikes of orgasm after hours of teasing.

His eyes were focused on the figure lounging out there, lit up to his eyes as if glowing from the inside. [4:53 AM] "Is Miss Emma's testimony no' enough of for you, Mister Unimpressed?", he taunted and sauntered back to the edge of the stage.

The audience was holding it's breath.

Was this part of the show?

What would happen next?

Even across the distance of the four rows separating them, John focused his eyes directly on those of his detractor. A magical game of chicken. Who'd turn away first from a Soulgaze?

"And what, pray tell", John goaded, grinning like the wolf about to pounce. "Woul' impress you, 'andsome? Want me to show you some real magick?", the k came out hard, overpronounced. "Come up here and lemme give you the ride of your life."

Harry

Magic, real magic, potent and electric and alive, stretched out from the man on stage, brushing against Harry's senses, teasing, tantalizing. He met that magic with his own, their energies entangling for a brief and unsettlingly intimate instant before he applied a little push of will, the barest hint of power that was part show of dominance, part test, part warning.

A wry smile played at his lips as Constantine turned the full power of his attention to him, which also had the effect of turning the full attention of the audience to him as well. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat or glance sideways at the people staring at him, instead holding himself with an air of deliberately relaxed, self-assured nonchalance.

John Constantine wasn't the only one who could play a crowd.

“No offense intended to the lovely Miss Emma, of course,” he said, giving her a gallant nod and a glance that may have lingered a tiny bit longer on her generous décolletage than was strictly necessary. “But let's just say I've had a bit of... experience in these things myself.” He leaned forward, eyebrows climbing his forehead as his gaze shifted back to the magician. “And I smell something funny. Very distinct odor. Smells like sun-baked horseshit.” The magician met his eyes, the challenge evident in the curl of his grinning lips, in every arrogant, audacious line of his body.

The dare came through loud and clear: are you man enough for this?

It would probably be the better part of valor to look away before the start of a soulgaze. Locking eyes with John Constantine for more than a fraction of a second would undoubtedly come with a boatload of unpleasant sensations, memories, and images, if even a portion of the things he had heard were true. He would never be able to forget them. They would never fade for as long as he lived.

If Constantine's soul was tainted enough, twisted enough, it could potentially drive him mad.

But if he did look away, if he let his eyes drop just a fraction of an inch, played it safe, he would be displaying weakness, cowardice to a potentially deadly enemy. That would come with its own set of risks.

So he locked his eyes with John Constantine's and said, “Fine. Show me yours, mate, and I'll show you mine.”

John

John Constantine knew his reputation. He took pride in it. Fostered it wherever he could. It was, after all, a great part of his little gambit with the Council. The more dangerous they thought he was, ironically, the safer he was.

And now here was this upstart with the pretty eyes and razor sharp cheekbones, with clearly enough magic to be in the Council, to know about the man most of the occult world knew as the Hellblazer, and he wasn't just challenging John's magic. He was risking a Soulgaze with a soul touched by Hell itself.

the first pull of the Gaze startled a laugh out of John and he dropped his gaze. From dark eyes to the curve of a cheek. Grinning, he wagged a pointing forefinger at his challenger.

"You", he chuckled. "I like you. You go' balls, mate."

With a flourish, John turned from the edge of the stage and back to poor, self-conscious Emma.

"I'm afraid we'll 'ave to postpone any further fun, luv.", he announced with an apologetic bow. "I go' a reputation to uphold an' pre'y boy over there needs a schoolin' in who 'e's dealin' with."

Gently, John placed a hand on the crystal sphere and guided it back down to the table before holding out his hand for Emma. When she took it he pulled her against him, eliciting a gasp and a giggle. "Mee' me backstage after the show, luv. I'll show you some real magic.", he muttered against her ear as he danced her back to her chair. Once she was lifted back down and settled again (not without a promising bite of her lip and a stroke of her hand down his chest) John turned towards his opponent once more.

"A'right, 'andsome.", he grinned, the spark of danger that still simmered pleasantly in his belly reflected in bright blue eyes. "Come up 'ere an' I'll show you a good time."

The magic that had connected with his was strong. The innate kind you're born with, the one where it sings under your skin. The one that so easily created a physical spark between one practitioner and another.

One of the reasons very few magicians tended to enjoy being in intimate relationships with each other. John however? Oh, John had learned all the ways that little spark could be fun. So when his pretty detractor stepped up to the edge of the stage, John held out his hand for him.

"Le's give 'em a good show.", John said, just loud enough for the first row to catch the words, changing casual curiosity into nearly tangible, excited expectation.

Then he moved into the man's space, John crouching at the edge of the stage bringing him face to face with his tall, handsome stranger. "Don' think of fuckin' with my spells, mate.", he hissed. "If you know who I am, you know i's a bad idea. If no', coun' yourself lucky an' jus' play along."

#thenewcastleincident #arc: Times Forgotten #All the World's a Stage #Pre Storm Front era #to be continued...#Discord RP archives

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random-notes-and-jottings · 4 years ago

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Following the toppling of the statue of Edward Colston in Bristol (and the daubing of slogans on the Cenotaph in Whitehall and the plinth of Churchill’s statue in Parliament Square), there have been an awful lot of poorly-argued positions flying around. One such is James O’Brien’s tweet which asserts, “Your view of the statue is your view of slavery”. Even given the limited character-count of Twitter, that is a very poor imitation of an argument. It plays well to the adoring gallery, but it’s no more coherent than “Your view of Boris Johnson is your view of people from New York,” or, “Your view of Priti Patel is your view of British Asian women”.

Those who have condemned the toppling of the statue have tended to rely on an equally poor counter-assertion: “It’s part of our history”. That is true, but it’s not an argument in itself, or perhaps not in the sense that its proponents think. Jimmy Savile is part of our recent popular history. Many of us grew up watching him on TV, and though we always suspected he was a bit of a weirdo, he was generally admired for his charity work, and plaques (and at least one statue) were put up in his honour. However, no one would now justify any public memorial to a man whom we know to have been a paedophile and a rapist. The same would go for any public memorials of Hitler. But should, say, Francisco Franco be similarly vilified? In the Plaza Mayor in Salamanca there are dozens of bas-relief roundels depicting rulers of Spain and the one of Franco was removed in 2017. And yet not one of the others (mainly monarchs from Felipe V to Alfonso XI) would pass any current ‘woke approval test’, largely because none of them lived in the 21st century. Franco’s ‘monument’ may have been removed, but the almost 40 years that he ruled Spain is thereby not magically excised. We cannot change the past. It remains a reality of history, to be debated, examined, recalled, abjured and/or celebrated. Few, if any, historical figures are irredeemably evil or faultlessly saintly.

So there is a tension between contemporary approval and “he’s just part of our history”, and no tweet is capable of resolving that tension in a couple of snappy sentences. I say “he” by the way, because very few non-royal statues are of women, and most that are are recent and therefore more likely to meet with contemporary approval. But even here there are controversies. There is a statue of Margaret Sanger (founder of Planned Parenthood) in the Smithsonian. She’s one of Hillary Clinton’s heroines and, thanks to the Planned Parenthood connection, a ‘woke’ liberal heroine. Yet she was also a proponent of race-based eugenics. In some cities in the United States, up to 5 times as many black women have abortions as white women. Surely, even the most ‘pro-choice’ person cannot think that such a racial disparity is something to celebrate?

Then we hear from Professor David Olusoga, a TV film-maker who tells us that statues are “not about history, but adoration” (and, by implication, approval). That is clearly nonsense, though an attempt at a pithy aphorism that will ensure the maximum media appearances. “Admiration” perhaps, but not “adoration” (and, moreover, “admiration” at the time of erection, not for posterity). Catholics and Hindus are usually those accused of ‘worshipping’ statues. I cannot speak for Hindus, but no Catholic ought to be ‘worshipping’ or, to use Olusoga’s term, ‘adoring’, a statue. A statue is a symbol or a token of the thing represented. 90% of the statues in a Catholic church are of the Virgin Mary and various saints, and none of them is to be worshipped — neither the statues nor the people they represent.

Even when it comes to representations of Christ himself, he is most often depicted nailed to a cross. We do not remind ourselves of the way in which Jesus was tortured and the sufferings he endured during his execution because we celebrate or approve of those sufferings. Rather, the cross stands as a reminder of what human beings are capable of — that when we meet perfect love, we are wont to destroy it. The crucifix is both a representation of perfect love and of human evil. It sustains millions in their prayer precisely because it is both. It demands reflection and meditation. Similarly, the fact that Auschwitz has not been bulldozed points to a similar idea — it is an image of something horrible, but what it represents should never be forgotten, even after the WWII generation are all long dead. And then there are the tombs and portraits of people in churches (particularly those dating from before the Reformation) — not honours given to saints, but plaintive pleas of the deceased for the living to pray for them, because they were aware of their own sin in life and believed they would need those prayers to have any hope for heaven. They were about humility, not pride.

Statues and memorials, then, are not straightforward, semiotically speaking. There is a strong case for having Colston’s statue removed to a museum (as the Hungarians did with all their Soviet era statues) or to a less prominent place, or even for its scrapping, certainly, but it does not follow that it stood as a ‘celebration’ of slavery, or its existence suggested that the people of Bristol are (nowadays) enthusiastic slavers. It might have been different if people were still bringing flowers and garlands, but that was not — as far as I know — the case. One annual protest which did take place around Edward Colston’s statue was the placing of figures of human bodies around the plinth, with labels like “domestic servants”, “sex workers”, “farm workers” and so on, reminding people that slavery still exists in this country. Colston’s statue had thus become, not the celebration of slavery that O’Brien thinks it was, but a rallying point for those who work to eradicate slavery in our own time.

Anti-Slavery Day 2018

Edward Colston is an easy target, because no one would defend slavery (pace O’Brien); but he was also a philanthropist, which is why he got a statue in the first place (1895 in fact). Should the wealthy, cosmopolitan, liberal city of Bristol be allowed to forget that it grew rich and successful partly as a result of the exploitation of human beings? Tearing down a statue doesn’t alter the fact, any more than a slave-owner giving money to charity alters the fact that his money came from slavery. One could argue that such an unhappy period of its history should be, visibly and palpably, on Bristol’s conscience; it shouldn’t be forgotten or erased (because it can’t be erased: even if you demolished Colston Girls’ School and all the other public buildings he endowed). He existed. He helped create modern Bristol. As they say, ‘Deal with it’.

Aside from a tangential contribution to parliamentary sovereignty, I do not ‘adore’ Cromwell in any way. He was a small-minded, anti-Catholic thug. But I cannot erase the fact that he ruled Britain for 5 miserable years, nor can I alter the fact that many still do admire and even ‘adore’ him. But the reason why a statue is erected is not necessarily the reason why a statue should be left in place. No one now worships Graeco-Roman deities, yet we do not crush their statues for hardcore. No one worships Bel or Baalshamin and yet most were appalled by the destruction of their temples in Palmyra by ISIS. The reason that statues are “our history” is precisely that they were erecting “in history”. They are snapshots of history. People in Bristol in 1895 deemed it seemly and fitting to erect a statue to Edward Colson. We would not do so now, but they did then. Perhaps even ten years later they would not have done so. People in the present are not bound by history, because we live in the present, but we cannot erase history, however much we might wish that the past had been better or different.

Let’s say that you are a teacher in Bristol and you have a young and thoughtful class of children (say, Year 7 or 8) with whom you wanted to examine the transatlantic slave trade and Bristol’s part in it. At the moment you have statues and the names of streets and buildings to go out and explore — in other words you have some actual history. It would be a similar story in most of Britain (think of Bold Street in Liverpool or Buchanan Street in Glasgow, etc.). Do we really imagine that the presence of a few 100+ year old statues and street names are going to make kids into racist apologists for slavery, or might the effect be rather different? We have heard, quite rightly, voices urging Britain to “confront” its dark past with respect to slavery. Seeking to “erase” the visible legacy of slavery might not be the best way of going about this, however painful those signs are.

There are also the empty comparisons with the toppling of the statues of Saddam in 2002-03, or Lenin in 1991-92, or the destruction of the Berlin Wall in 1989. The difference is surely clear. None of those Iraqis, Russians or East Germans had previously had any democratic means of getting rid of those statues or structures because they were symbols of oppression imposed upon them. Had Colston’s statue in Bristol been universally hated and become an issue in local elections then it could not have remained (Bristol has a black mayor, after all, who can hardly have been ignorant of the connection). It seems that it just wasn’t a major issue for people (which is an issue in itself). Olusoga’s (and some Labour MPs’) view that tearing down statues “IS history” is true, but not a justification. A year ago most people (Labour and Cons) wanted rid of Theresa May, and yet because we knew we had the means to bring this about (a vote of NC, General Election, etc.) we could not have justified sending a mob to Downing Street to remove her. If we were living under an absolute monarchy which still traded African slaves, then tossing Colston into the river would have been a political act, rather than a student jape. It’s worth remembering, too, that although the transatlantic slave-trade ended long ago, we live in a world in which more people are enslaved than at any point in its history. The countries with most slaves are China, India, Pakistan, followed by the Middle East, North Africa and the Sahara region. Protestors against the horrors of slavery should also be demonstrating outside the Mauritanian Embassy on Vauxhall Bridge Road. If we are to ‘never forget’ and ‘learn the lessons’ of slavery, should we not be standing in solidarity with Albanians and the Vietnamese who are the 2nd and 3rd largest groups enslaved in the UK? (And indeed British citizens, black and white, who recently took the No. 1 spot?)

When Britain abolished slavery in 1833 (and she would be criticised now for compensating owners yet not ex-slaves) the government borrowed 40% of the national budget* to do so. That debt was only finally paid off in 2015. In the view of Guardian journalists this was a shameful act and little more than ‘blood money’ (and some on Twitter have suggested that British tax-payers were still “paying slave owners” until 2015), but in the US let’s remember it took a civil war and 600,000 deaths to free slaves there. However differently we think Britain should have acted in 1833, the fact is that the Slavery Abolition Act incurred a significant financial cost. For a country to take on a debt so large that it would take 183 years to repay suggests, surely, an admirable commitment to the belief that all human beings ought to be free?

* £20m in 1833 would be approximately £16.5bn in 2013 wage terms. As 5% of GDP would mean £100bn (in 2016). The Treasury’s statement is here.

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