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mi6021tomberry · 10 days ago

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Dissertation Research

I hadn't properly pitched my essay idea to Chloe and Hugo yet and this was where my head was at early on.

The feedback was helpful, glad to hear that my topics weren't terrible, I was a little concerned after how my pitch when previously because I felt like I was at a loss with things but this feedback helped get the ball rolling again.

I had already decided that I wanted to read this book since I've had it sitting on my desk for the past 2 years and knew it must be a useful source of knowledge. Luckily it ended up as a resource which not only helped me better understand some of the fundamentals of animation, it also provides some great quotations which are very relevant to the topic of my essay. These are all the quotes I picked out from The Animators Survival Kit – Richard Williams:

“Don’t do what a camera can do – do what a camera can’t do!” (Page 16)

“in the last few years, the renaissance of animation as a form of mass entertainment is giving rebirth to the old knowledge. The startlingly successful innovations of computer animation are helping to transform animation in all its multi-faceted forms into a major part of the entertainment mainstream.

If ‘classical’ animation is an extension of drawing, then computer animation can be seen as an extension of puppetry – high tech marionettes. Both share the same problems of how to give a performance with movement, weight, timing and empathy.” (Page 20)

“Celebrating the cartoon as cartoon, exploring the medium’s potential for surrealism” (page 30)

“What we want to achieve isn’t realism, its believability” (page 34)

“Disney said – I definitely feel we cannot do the fantastic things based on the real – unless we first know the real” (page 370)

“Creepiness in the almost human” (page373) talking about the UNCANNY VALLEY

“Emphasize what we want, edit out – or ignore what we don’t want” (page 374)

“Almost any bit of animation we do can be inventive. We’re not obliged to imitate life. For that we have cameras” (page 374)

“we’re in the ‘uncanny valley.’ It’s a kind of aesthetic revulsion” (page 375)

“Pixar and other leading producers today keep their human figures quite stylized for this reason – to avoid the uncanny valley” (page 375)

“Naturalism rather than realism” (page 375)

“the “imperfection” in what is being presented which allows us, the audience, to be drawn into the experience” (Page 375)

“Back in 1937 Walt Disney predicted – “someday our medium will produce great artists capable of portraying all emotions through the human figure – but it will be the art of caricature and not a mere imitation of great acting on stage or screen.” (page 376)

“We try to find the graphic equivalent for an emotion. We’re exaggerating what’s important ion the scene and leaving out what isn’t.” (page 376)

“You want enough realism to be convincing, but you don’t want so much that you ask – why don’t you take a photograph?” (page 376)

This was the first book I picked out because it was focused exactly on the topic I wanted to look into because it seemed like a great starting point of the essay. It helped me to understand a different approach to animation, I felt like I was trapping myself by going down the route of Maya which I don't mind but I don't want to trap myself within one medium and O'Hailey described an approach to animation with more freedom - "By now you should be thinking in layers of images. You should be thinking that the output of any given software package is just an image and that your character is made up of multiple passes of images. Good, you have come far." These are all the quotes I picked out whilst reading Hybrid Animation - Tina O'Hailey:

“most common use of combining mediums is for non-character animation elements.” (Chapter 1)

“3D animation assets exist in three dimensions during the creation process.” (Chapter 1)

Visual target not subject matter

Line mileage

Complexity

Team skills versus production schedule

Physical assets and budget

“The visual target or visual style of a film is a large factor in deciding which type of medium will be chosen. It is no longer the subject matter that is the deciding factor. The division between what medium is best for what subject matter has become so blurred as to be nonexistent. 3D software techniques have advanced so that humans, furry animals, and other warm-looking creatures are no longer out of their grasp. Which medium lends itself best to the artists’ final vision is the question to ask. This will be answered with strong art direction and experimenting during pre-production.” (Chapter 1)

“3D crowds were rendered to match the 2D line style” (Chapter 1) TO REDUCE LINE MILEAGE

“A traditional pipeline that has a low budget may be extremely hesitant to take on any different and possibly expensive technique.” (Chapter 1)

Style matching

Registration

Frame rate and image format

Timing

Image sizes

Alpha channel

“work is successful if it is invisible” (Chapter 1) HYBRID ANIMATION USED TO BE SUCCESSFUL WHEN YOU COULD NOT SEE IT

“visual style creates a homogeneous image” (Chapter 1)

“we have limits in the real world and they are called “budgets.”” (Chapter 2)

“whatever it takes to get the right look and also keep the project under budget is what we have to do. Otherwise, we are either losing money, losing work, or both.” (Chapter 2)

“By now you have probably lost a little fear and do not believe that you need to stay in one package for your scenes; heavens, no. By now you should be thinking in layers of images. You should be thinking that the output of any given software package is just an image and that your character is made up of multiple passes of images. Good, you have come far.” (Chapter 4)

“Only the few, who know what their artistic vision is and push to make the software do their bidding, produce images that are not in that monochromatic 3D sea.” (Chapter 4)

“It is just an image.” (Chapter 4) 3D AND 2D SOFTWARE CREATE IMAGES NOT FINISHED FILMS, LAYERING THESE IMAGES WITH VARYING TECHNIQUES CREATES THE MAGIC

“The convergence of all things “digital media,” the ever-growing demand for content, and in particular shrinking budgets and time frames, means the mixing of approaches and techniques is becoming more prevalent. Progressively more examples appear almost every day now, but this trend started years ago.” (Chapter 4)

“The more tools and techniques you have at your disposal, the better your chances of seeing connections that lead to higher aesthetic quality, greater efficiencies, or both” (Chapter 4)

“took the audience out of the moment and showed off the technology.” (Chapter 7) REFERRING TO BALLROOM SCENE IN BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

“bogged down in one method” (Chapter 8) 3D MOVIES WERE STUCK IN PURE 3D, SPIDERVERSE OPENED THE DOOR AS A CLEAR FINANCIAL SUCCESS WHICH GREENLIGHTS OTHER PROJECTS TO EXPERIMENT

https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/northumbria/reader.action?docID=1562841

I decided to save these images from O'Hailey's book because they gave me a different perspective on my film making approach. I tend to get stuck on certain types of framing for my shots but the second image here was a creative example of how these drastically different shots can communicate more to the audience. The first image also helped me when thinking about my film because I think my biggest issue previously was that there was no emotion in any of my ideas so everything I came up with (none of which was any good) was missing an emotional core to ground the film. I wanted to keep that graphic as a reminder to focus on the core of the story, yo not get mixed up in all the technicalities which all of my previous projects anded up being consumed by, they never had another layer of substance to back them up.

This was a really informative read into the history of animation of all kinds, it goes back to the start of animation much like Williams' introduction however Furniss explores the development of the companies in more detail (whilst Williams focused on the animation almost exclusively). It gave me a better understanding as to why the sort of innovation I am exploring in my essay is held back in an industry setting. These are all the quotes I gathered from Art in Motion Animation Aesthetics – Maureen Furniss:

“Animation is not the art of drawings that move but the art of movements that are drawn” (page 5)

“the power of the Disney studio is no longer absolute” (page13)

“American cinema has remained dominant on an international level continuing to set aesthetic norms for viewers” (page 15)

“despite the breadth of animation practices worldwide, American cel animation – particularly that of the Disney studio and its ‘nine old men’ – was regarded by many to be the epitome of animated art.” (Page 16)

“historical and industrial factors that helped determine that cels – and not clay or puppets, for instance – would become the dominant technique of commercial animation production” (page 17)

“these techniques lend themselves to a central component of Taylorism, an assembly line method of production” (page 18)

“An assembly line method of production proved to be an effective solution” (page 18) REFERRING TO WHY CEL ANIMATION BECOME DOMINANT DUE TO ITS ABILITY TO ADAPT TO THE DOMINANT ASSEMBLY LINE OF THE CONTEMPORARY IN 1910S

“worked against the control of individuals and toward more automated, mechanized and (therefore) less expensive production” (page 22)

“keeping creative expression alive within the parameters of a profit-making enterprise.” (page 23)

“imitation of the successful product of one company was counterbalanced by the need to distinguish the product of one company from that of another firm” (page 23)

“competitive pattern of innovation and product differentiation” (page 25) REFERRING TO COMPETITION BETWEEN FLEISHCER AND DISNEY WHO SEEKED TO ONE UP EACH OTHER

“both companies were verging on disaster because, financially, they had extended themselves completely. Disney was able to ride the wave, while the Fleischer studio slid into insolvency.” (Page 25) INNOVATION MADE FLEISCHER BANKRUPT. HIGHLIGHTING THE RISK OF INNOVATION DESPITE ITS SUCCESS

Disney has been able to “dominate aesthetic norms” (page 107)

“does the use of full or limited animation seem consistent with the objectives of the work as a whole?” (page 136) REFERRING TO THE USE OF FULL OR LIMITED ANIMATION, FULL ANIMATION HAS BEEN OPENED UP IN A NEW WAY WITH SPIDERVERSE AND THERE IS REASON BEHIND EACH CHANGE

ABOUT LIMITED ANIMATION “Method eliminates many of the costly features of theatrical animation, yet retains the illusion of movement and life” (Page 144)

“Typical of limited animation, one finds that sound, rather than action, propels the story.” (Page 144)

“spreading the wildfire of limited animation, which lead to the perceived artistic stagnation of the American animation industry” (Page 145) REFFERING TO SUCCES OF THE FLINTSTONES WHICH USED LIMITED ANIMATION

“networks cared little about aesthetic issues” (Page 145) IN REFERENCE TO CRITICS PANNING LIMITED ANIMATION CARTOONS

“As long as its got high numbers, it doesn’t matter whether the show is good or not” (Page 145)

“Assembly-line product was considered the norm” (Page 145)

“the animation industry become more and more commercialized” (Page 145)

“expectations and sensibilities of the critical establishment and viewers are changing.” “limited animation is being used in a more creative and aesthetically pleasing manner” (page146)

“artistic expression was rather limited” (page 173) REFERRING TO LIMITATIONS OF EARLY DIGITAL ANIMATION

“Digital tools quickly eroded the long-standing dominance of cel animation” (175)

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mustdies · 6 months ago

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summer is a candle burned down to the wick, only few gusts of heady scent remain. still, the flame remains⸺that warm flicker of hope. life goes on, winter is coming for them. it makes him miss those dizzying evenings out on the lawn, one of the many summers richard had neglected them under the care of mrs. tristan. those shimmering summers that were nothing but illicit affairs & confetti. he's a cool, slick figure in the partial-night but his words are champagne slurred; a certain libation pierre had brought up from the cellar. the summer had been entirely too busied to be any sort of romantic, only short weekend jaunts to mykonos when he was desperate & looking for someone to keep him warm from the comfort of a white-sanded beach villa. as a collective, they'd aged out of relishing in those warm evenings. life had passed by with the speed of a train, all that came of it was a whir of rememberance. those hazy, blurred-edge recollections are all that bind them now. it's one of the last things dante allows himself to cling to: the sly, vestiges of memory. he's tipsy, sure. but dante's drunk on reminiscence. eyes flicker shut briefly, bracing against a gentle bypass of wind. he savors the subsequent drafting of cigarette smoke. " fucking biblical is what that was, " he adjoins casually, tries not to mull over the notion that either of them had been made for fools at the very same altar. " gone and cast yourself out of this little corner of eden, i was almost proud of you. " a grin unfurls just then, when he utters that sly truth. i was almost proud of you. dante had heard something of the same vein from richard the last time they had spoken and decided to reward reuben with that hand-me-down ache. a shame how love could make you cruel. sullen gaze follows the pointed direction, bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood from the wound already split upon it. it's juvenile the way his expression collapses, like wiping chalk from a bored. you could call what dante had felt next envy, though he would not know it by name. he catches himself imagining such an altercation, that heady ravaging of someone elses form. the very first time: young and too hungry. dante cannot pinprick which part of him was jealous, his heart or his head? he brings the cigarette back to his lips instead of saying anything. takes a brief drag before extending it back to reuben. they're both on the ground and it's the first time they've physically been at eye-level in years. what a shame. " i don't think i could have ever brought anyone here⸺never had a reason to. "

He wondered if he was the only one with a transactional relationship with Woodrow house. He lost, it gave. Then when he had nothing left, he’d find his way back and beg for more. He wouldn’t say he was ungrateful. Maybe just a little stupid for thinking it would always be there. It had been there hundreds of years before him, and the 16 of them stood between it being there for hundreds more. 113568. 113568. He repeated to himself every time the turrets broke over the horizon on the drive up. It was the code to his safe deposit box at the bank, and a shortened version occupied voicemail boxes and credit card pins. For as little as he looked back, it was part of him. He wasn’t Richard’s favourite but, he was still weaved into the threads of Woodrow and all it encompassed.

There’s a cool summer breeze in the air, the kind restricted to the tail end. He looks out onto the back lawn, the small hills and structures that haven’t seen use since they were kids. He yearned for those times now where, despite their differences, Reuben was still embroiled in all of it. Now he was a pariah of his own making. An elaborate way to make saying goodbye frictionless. Then there was Dante, in his Prada and splotches of bruise turning green under overworked drugstore concealer. Others had idols in the upstanding wards, the good grades and esteemed achievements. Or, presidents, poet laureate and professional athletes. A younger, less sure of himself Reuben wanted nothing else but to be Dante’s peer. The adage of him behaving like a lost puppy certainly prevailed.

Today there is a bloom of warmth in his chest as the other sits besides him. Perhaps the filters weren’t strong enough to stop the tar entering his lungs, he’d make a note of this for when he returned to work. Before Reuben can protest, the cigarette is stolen from between his lips. For someone so starved of affection that his place only had one set of utensils, the act felt wholly too intimate. He hid the rising blush of his cheeks by dipping his face and tapping patterns into the old stone with a light laugh.

As Dante speaks, Reuben looks up. Eyes flitting between the cigarettes glowing end and Dante’s gaze. With the same nonchalance with which the cigarette was taken from him, Reuben moves to take it back with his teeth. Lips closing around it and inhaling before his hand rises to take it as he exhales. He nods in silent agreement before looking back out on the lawn. “I don’t think I’m allowed to make comments on anything anymore,” he lets out a sorry chuckle. There’s a beat of silence in which Reuben takes another measured drag.

“You know—” he starts, cigarette used as a pointer as he squints and motions towards the crumbling tennis courts. “The first time I ever made out with anyone was right there. Behind the shrubs of the tennis courts—” his hand is outstretched to hand the cigarette back to Dante. “She let me put my hand up her shirt and then Beau scared the shit out of us.”

#﹠⠀ ⠀ 𝐃. 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐊 ⠀ ⠀ 〳 ⠀ ⠀threads #FT. REUBEN #alexa play that should be me #can't let people know his adoptive father is rich asf #its takes away his street cred

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

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Taking Chances Chapter Eight: Family Dinner (Pranks/Dad Jokes)

AO3

Bruce Wayne was not an emotional man. In fact, his emotional capability had once been compared to that of a teaspoon. He had emotions, obviously, but he didn’t express them. Or rather, he wasn’t sure how to express them. But staring down at the photo album in front of him, it was almost painful having no way to express his emotions. It was the most thoughtful gift he had ever received, and it was one that he would treasure forever. He didn’t have baby pictures of his other children. Dick’s were lost at some point while he was still with Haley’s Circus. Jason’s were lost when he had to live on the street. Tim...well, there were a few pictures of Tim. But they were all highly staged school pictures. And those didn’t start until kindergarten. And Damian….Talia wasn’t ever the type to be sentimental. Which meant there were no baby pictures of him either. But Marinette...her entire life had been catalogued. From sonograms, to her first Christmas and the first competition she won. Everything was laid out in order. Bruce turns back to the start of the book, prepared to close it, when an envelope catches his eye. He wasn’t focused on it when he first opened the book. He glances at Marinette and quirks an eyebrow. She frowns.

“Oh, that. Um, it’s the letter that Bridgette wrote to you. I haven’t actually read it, Maman said she hasn’t either. Your name was on the front and apparently she felt awkward opening a letter not addressed to her even with the situation and-” She stops talking, taking a deep breath before smiling. “Sorry. But, you can read it, if you want. I thought you might want to have it.”

“Thank you, Marinette.” He says, smiling slightly. He tries not to laugh when her face lights up seeing him smile. Note, try and show emotions more around Marinette, he thinks. Sitting back on his chair, he opens the envelope and stares down at the letter he should’ve received fourteen years ago.

Dear Bruce…

---

Marinette lets out a sigh of relief as Mr. Wayne sits to read the letter. Tugging Adrien over to her brothers and plopping down on the loveseat, she smiles.

“So Marinette, I noticed the last time you were here you had a sketchbook. Do you draw a lot?” Dick asks, eyeing the lack of space between her and Adrien. Marinette resists the urge to glare at her brother. Was he seriously plotting some way to get her and Adrien away from each other right now? After Mr. Wayne had invited him? Seriously?

“Well, kinda.” She answers, pulling out her mini sketchbook from her purse. “I actually design clothes. So I draw, but it’s mostly clothes. Sometimes I’ll sketch architecture or flowers or something for inspiration but..” She trails off, tentatively passing her sketchbook to Dick. She watches, bouncing her leg as the awkward silence stretches on while Dick looks at the sketchbook with Tim and Jason glancing over his shoulders. And Cass standing behind the couch was also looking at the sketches. Trying not to feel awkward the longer the silence stretches, Marinette jumps as Tim starts choking on his coffee. He jumps towards her and she yelps, leaping off the loveseat and to the side in order to avoid him.

“What the hell Replacement?” Jason huffs. Tim ignores him, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, it’s you.” He says.

“Language, Master Tim. Dinner is ready.” Alfred says, popping out of nowhere.

“What do you mean it’s me?” Marinette asks, taking her sketchbook back and stuffing it back into her purse.

“You’re MDC!” Tim practically yells, waving his (not empty) coffee cup around, barely missing dumping it on her head.

“Um, yes?” She says, confused at his level of excitement.

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Tim asks, turning to Dick and Jason who were trying to get him to follow them to the dining room. Key word being trying.

“Am I supposed to?” Dick asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Richard Grayson! As a fellow Jagged Stone fan you cannot tell me that you don’t recognize the name of his personal designer!” Tim yells. Dick’s eyes widen in realization, turning to Marinette with a shocked smile.

“Wait, that’s you? Marinette, that’s amazing! I knew your sketches were good, but wow. That’s just- wow!” Dick says, his entire face filled with pride. Marinette laughs awkwardly, her face heating up with all the attention. It was….a lot. But also nice.

“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t done an entire tour wardrobe yet, but I’m proud of the pieces that I have done.” She says.

“Terribly sorry, but it might be nice if we moved our conversations to the dining room.” Alfred says, a twinge of amusement clear on his face. Marinette glances over at Mr. Wayne who was still frozen, clutching the letter from her birth mother. She looks at Alfred and raises an eyebrow. He simply shakes his head and motions for her to go on. Sighing, she nods and follows her brothers (and Adrien, who was suddenly in an intense conversation with Tim about Jagged Stone) to the dining room. As they walk into the dining room, Marinette darts around Dick to snag the seat on the other side of Adrien. Tim sitting on one side of Adrien was fine. Adrien stuck between Tim and Dick? Not fine. She gives Dick a look, and he just smiles innocently before walking around and taking the seat across from Adrien. Should’ve seen that one coming. Once everyone is seated (besides Mr. Wayne, who had sent Alfred back in and instructed everyone to start without him) the conversations taper off, leaving the dining room in an awkward silence.

“Marinette, I have a very serious question for you.” Dick says, his smile telling her that the chances of it actually being a ‘very serious’ question are slim to none.

“Okay, sure.”

“Where do fruits go on vacation?” He asks, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Pear-is!” Marinette just blinks at him. That was almost as bad as-

“Oh my god! That was amazing!” Adrien cheers, laughing so hard he has to set his fork down. Oh god. There’s two of them.

“Really?” Dick asks, his face bright. Oh dear god please no.

“Oh yeah. That joke was pun-derful.” Adrien replies with a snort. Please god. Make it stop.

“I’m glad you think so. Everyone else seems a bit pun-sive.” Dick replies. That’s it. She’d willingly give Hawkmoth her Miraculous if it meant she could leave this dinner and the awful jokes happening. She’d even listen to her Papa’s jokes for an entire hour. As long as she could leave this cursed dinner. The sudden blaring from both her phone and Adrien’s makes her jump, and her eyes widen. Okay, no. She didn’t say the thing about the Miraculous out loud, so she doesn’t actually have to give it up, right? No, it’s fine. Taking it back won’t lead to anything crazy, right?

“Uh, I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” Marinette says, jumping up, frowning at Adrien as he jumps up with her.

“Me too!” He says. Marinette frowns. Way to make it obvious, Kitty.

“I’m fine, I can go to the bathroom by myself.” She insists, rushing off to the bathroom before Adrien can argue. She’d figure something out.

---

Dick raises an eyebrow at Adrien’s shocked face.

“Did you need to go to the bathroom? We have more than one bathroom.” He says, worried that maybe the kid’s shocked face wasn’t because of Marinette’s hasty departure and instead because he really needed the bathroom.

“Oh. Um. No, I’m fine. Apparently.” He mutters the last word, dropping down into his seat and staring at his plate. Dick could see the boy’s hands twitching towards his phone like he wanted to check it, but was afraid of being rude. He was about to tell him that it was okay to check his phone when a blue circle of light appeared over the table. An arm covered in red spandex with black spots sticks out of the light (portal) and grabs Adrien by the front of his shirt. Before anyone can stop the arm, Adrien is through the portal. Gone. Well shit.

“Where are Adrien and Marinette?” Bruce asks, walking into the room and frowning at the empty chairs. Well shit!

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @imarivers8

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phis-corner · 4 years ago

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demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist!

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go.

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him.

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room.

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago.

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South.

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

Previous ◈ Next

Taglist (re-opened and will stay open): @moonlightstar64 @dast218 @our-preciousss @novicevoice @pawsitivelymiraculous @trippingovermyfeet @miyla-lokidottir @consumeconstantly @mochegato @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @azuremayscarlet @iloveitwhen @bran-thecreeper-stark @no-username2544 @susiej1118 @kking13

Permanent taglist (always open): @wannajointhecrabcult @marinettepotterandplagg

Unspecified (you asked to be tagged and did not specify which one): @momothefemur @indecisive-mess-named-me

Note: some of them didn’t work. I am terrible with technology and have no clue how to fix this.

#maribat #mlb x dc #demon's daughter au #my writing

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ivyaugustetc · 3 years ago

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hello!! i'm giving you pure creative freedom here, do whatever you please!!

i'll try my best to describe myself, as that is my fatal flaw. i have green eyes and messy brown hair. my classic scent is marine water and driftwood. im a entp, aquarius, and slytherin. i use the pronouns she/her. i'm extremely stubborn, i have a good sense of humor, and i love learning. i also love to argue/debate, and i'll do anything to win [even if I'm wrong, but i'm never wrong ;)]. i probably need glasses, but alas, my stubbornness kicks in so i'll never admit it. my favourite hobbies are reading, writing, researching, and baking. i love learning about all types of mythology + astrology. i have a knack for history, and i'm super into foraging, although I don't get to practice it much! i play many sports, some of which including ice hockey, baseball, and volleyball. i would describe my aesthetic as a mix of academia, cottagecore, and goblincore. i have an extremely flirtatious personality, even when i don't mean to come across that way. my friends say i have an old soul- they also say i'm a nerd but we don't talk about that. i was on our schools honor roll and I received two other awards, one for my academic achievement and one for my leadership skills. i am a die-hard romantic, although i'm the person you least expect it from.

hopefully this information will suffice!! I'm excited to see what you come up with :)

hey!! this is so much good information omg i love it i have SO MUCH, this one was so fun to write. okay okay here we go:

ship: i ship you with cameron + you would be besties with meeks and stick!

notes:

you're like a more adventurous version of cameron, and that's something that simultaneously draws him to you and give him a healthy fear of you ;)

allow me to elaborate: he's convinced that he can get good grades and keep himself stable whilst keeping his head down and doing his work—you manage to do both of those things while being an absolute firecracker of a person

and besides just school, you're into so many other forms of learning and all these other athletic pursuits that he's just like how can one person do all these things and be great at it???

little bit of enemies to lovers coming up here

at some point in class you'd get paired up for a debate and spend a lot of your time socializing with your group mates and having a good time, which cameron, in all of his smug hard work, thinks is a good thing because he'll be able to crush you in the debate

long story short, he does not

you end up in a heated debate in the front of the classroom, both of you just throwing knowledge back and forth at each other with so much aggression and of course you wipe the floor with him and win the whole thing

you just brush it off because duh, ofc you won you're always right, but cameron cannot stop thinking about it

it haunts him for so long that he eventually goes over to your dorm, knocks on the door, and when you open it he asks, "how did you do it." "what do you mean?" "the debate."

and so you invite him in and show him how you planned out your argument and stuff and he's like "...it's oddly simple?" and thus you introduce him to the fact that you can be smart and do well without being wound up so tight that you might spontaneously convulse ;)

he still doesn't believe you, so you take it upon yourself to show him the magic of not giving a shit while also giving a shit

you encourage him to have fun and think more freely rather than within the rigid guidelines of how the school teaches you to think

you show him that there's more to life than just work, something he probably wouldn't have been able to figure out on his own

and he starts to enjoy not just the new mindset, but hanging out with you and getting to know you :)

onto you and meeks!

you and meeks are similar in the having an old soul, he gives me really smart old man trapped in a teenager's body kinda vibes??

but you always want to be grouped with him for projects and stuff because you get the info dump and he makes it neat and organized

and at some point when cameron asks him about you, he describes you as someone who's really nice and fun to be around

i firmly believe that meeks loves mythology and astrology as well and therefore you would have conversations about it that would last HOURS about everything pertaining to those subjects

like a teacher would say something semi controversial and you'd lean over to meeks and whisper "that's very scorpio of him to say" and he'd be like "i was thinking the exact same thing"

onto your partner in crime (and my future husband but whatever), stick!!

this boy represents your chaotic side,,,, sO WELL

i have this weirdly specific idea that you would meet because you could simply not see the board (but again, you're too stubborn to get glasses) and you would ask to borrow his for a second and he would just. go with it.

and now every time the teacher writes something on the board, he just hands you his glasses long enough for you to write down the info in your notes

i just imagine you two walking down the hallways together, cackling over your own jokes and thinking you're the actual epitome of comedy (which u are, duh)

he would listen to your sports talk because he doesn't play sports but his brother does so he knows all about them

he gets the flirtatious personality and he also has one lmao which leads to some,,, interesting conversations that piss cameron off

but as i said, you're this free spirit that makes everyone around you smile, even richard "stick up his ass" cameron ;)

#dead poets society #dead poets headcanons #quinn writes

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leguin · 3 years ago

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notes on smike from various sources

Smike himself is denied the kind of idealization Dickens's prose allows- muting with rhetoric the realities of deprivation in a process that touches even as it distances- but is made to stumble on stage with bent, swollen, deformed legs and the perpetually disconnected expression and open-mouthed contortion of the spastic. At once more and less human than in the original conception, more literally a medical case history and more symbolically a clamor for social change, he may well prove (as does the central figure in the vastly overrated The Elephant Man) merely an encouragement to sentimentality and self-righteousness in the audience.

- “The RSC ‘Nicholas Nickleby’: A Review,” Margaret Ganz, Dickens Studies Newsletter 11:3 (Sept. 1980).

...it is not at all easy to locate the precise spot on the continuum of tone to slot this denial-cum-endorsement of the heart on the sleeve, or even the following utterance by Smike:

“To go with you - anywhere - everywhere - to the world’s end, to the churchyard grave,' replied Smike, clinging to his hand. Let me, oh do let me. You are my home - my kind friend - take me with you, pray.'” (159; ch. 13)

On the one hand this alludes to Ruth 2.17 ("Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the LORD do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me") but the allusion is pushed and dramatized almost out of recognition, as if the language of the opera libretto (almost always concerned with archetypes and absolutes) had once again supervened upon the restraint of the Hebrew/Jacobean English text. We recall, for instance, how, in the Italian translation of Cherubini's Medee, Neris cries "Ti seguirò ognor fedel, con te saro ognor fedel, / in morte a te fedel saro! a te sempre fedel" ("I shall follow you, always faithful; to you I shall always be faithful; I shall be faithful even in death - always faithful to you") (39). Smike has a weak mind, after all, and Dickens is not above suggesting that devotion so intense is abnormal, though the suggestion is perhaps too delicate for us to be certain it is there.

- “Marring Curious Tales: Code-Crossing Irony in ‘Nicholas Nickleby,’“ Rodney Stenning Edgecombe, Dickens Quarterly 18:1 (March 2001).

In the novel Smike at his worst comes across as a male test case for Little Nell; he is one of those child characters driven to an early death but lingering long enough to drop every tear along the way. So too the Dotheboys crew might appear tokens of Victorian pathos, but consummate acting and sensible direction keep pathos in check at the Aldwych. The brain-crippling effect of child abuse comes across with painful clarity. Even though Smike's efforts to con the apothecary's lines in Romeo and Juliet draws a laugh, his trembling performance and his recollection of it just before he dies remain grim reminders that performance, even among the phenomenal Crummleses, may mock rather than invariably sustain life.

- “The RSC ‘Nicholas Nickleby’: Dramatic Rites for Dickens,” Richard Dunn, Dickens Studies Newsletter 11:3 (Sept. 1980).

At such points Nicholas seems poised to deepen, and perhaps even darken, the meaning of his life and adventures, to show youth, hope and spirit truly embattled in their struggle with a world that rolls on "from year to year, alike careless and indifferent" (791), embodying in his own person something of that darker spirit which Jerome Meckier has seen hovering over the comic world of the novel.

But it is Smike and not Nicholas who plays out the alternative fate suggested by episodes such as these. It is Smike who suffers at the hands of the enemies Nicholas heroically defies; Smike who despairs and is defeated while Nicholas triumphs; and Smike who carries a broken heart to the grave as Nicholas goes on to win both wife and fortune. It is as if the impulse towards the "natural" which, in the early chapters of the novel, finds expression in the comedy Nicholas provides is transposed by novel's end to the near tragedy of Smike. In a sense, the born victim serves as surrogate for his more fortunate cousin,allowing Dickens to dramatize "natural" (that is non-literary, unconventional) possibilities of deprivation, suffering and, finally, death without, as he would later put it in the case of Walter Gay in Dombey and Son, "making people angry" by depriving them of the happy ending they naturally expect. Such sufferings as Nicholas does endure - in contrast to Smike - are, like those of any fairy-tale prince down on his luck, reassuringly short-lived. Benevolent spirits in the shape of the Cherrybles soon intervene on his behalf and he is whisked off, not to a castle, but to the still more solid comfort of a rent-free cottage in the country. Once again, it is the "natural" that loses ground as the conventional, and Nicholas, win out.

- “’Nicholas Nickleby’ and the Idea of the Hero,” Beth F. Herst, Dickens Quarterly 5:3 (Sept. 1988).

The imaginative critical investment in Smike as a reform- provoking icon of child abuse tends to obscure the novel’s later emphasis on his effortful adult expressions of sexual agency.

Traditionally, critics have tended to interpret Smike as “worship[ing …] his deliverer” and exhibiting a “dog-like devotion” to Nicholas. The canine comparison, which frequently recurs in critical descriptions of Smike, obscures the actual complexity of his multifaceted and very human response to Nicholas.

- “Charles Dickens’s Families of Choice: Elective Affinities, Sibling Substitution, and Homoerotic Desire,” Holly Furneaux, Nineteenth-Century Literature 62:2 (Sept. 2007).

While [the Nickleby] family can accommodate socially marginal figures such as the hard-up single landlady Miss LaCreevy and the eccentric and impoverished Newman Noggs, the place it affords Smike is less secure. Michie has justly expressed frustrations with a plot, which having held out the promise of an elastic ideal of domestic kinship, suddenly tightens to exclude its most vulnerable new member. Michie rightly rejects an entirely affirmative reading of this novel’s‘capacious sense of family’ by dwelling on the questions ‘Why can’t Smike marry Kate?’ and ‘Why must Smike die?’:

“Smike’s presence is a consistent reminder of the porousness of family. While this porousness is a virtue for most of the novel, it cannot and must not survive the marriage plot, where all relations, including Nicholas’s to the Cheeryble brothers must be rerouted through the law and through marriage.”

Though in-lawing can provide a way of linking marital and homoerotic plotting, exposing the queer spaces within the institution of marriage that only masquerades as sealed and straight, Dickens never acknowledges Smike as an acceptable suitor for Nicholas’s ‘pretty sister’. In consequence, Smike cannot realize his fantasy of legally enshrined brotherhood with Nicholas, and so dies of a broken heart. Though Dickens allows Smike a brief, exclusively male Arcadia, being nursed and cared for by Nicholas in an idyllic and remote rural setting, there is no recovery from his desire,which here proves to be terminal.

- Queer Dickens: Erotics, Families, Masculinities, Holly Furneaux, 2009.

#long post #nicholas nickleby #i read...many essays tonight

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barely-alive-shrimp · 4 years ago

Text

About PSP Jeanne d’Arc ’s historical references

You know, Jeanne d’Arc for PSP is a funny game: while clearly not being very historically accurate (orcs and magical armlets in the Hundred Years’ War? Huh, they don’t tell you about things like that on History lessons), it still contains some interesting nods to history, some of which are quite obscure. I’ve collected some of them, mostly about historical figures and some events that I consider to be most interesting. This is going to be a long post, and there will be some spoilers, but I’ll put a warning so you could skip that part if you haven’t played the whole game yet. Oh, and sorry for any mistakes – I’m not a native speaker, so I hope there won’t be too many of them. I tried my best :P

[Note: I kept referring to her as Jeanne d’Arc here, although, as far as I understand, it is more common to call her Joan of Arc in English. I’ll leave it as it is, if you don’t mind ^^’]

Okay, I think I’ll start with the characters. There are quite a lot of characters who were based off real people: aside from the most obvious ones (Jeanne d’Arc, Gilles de Rais, Henry VI, Charles VII and some others), we have the following (I tried to find some paintings and pictures where possible):

Jean and Bertrand are based off Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, who were Jeanne’s trusted allies during the Hundred Years’ War. They both had great respect for Jeanne and escorted her on her journey to the dauphin.

Colet’s prototype is most likely Colet de Vienne, a royal messenger who also escorted Jeanne d’Arc on her way to Chinon. Little is known about him, other than that he was accompanied by an archer named Richard – probably a prototype for Marcel. I guess they changed his name so he won’t be confused with the other Richard, who is also a playable character. By the way, it seems that the name ‘Marcel’ means “little warrior” in French, so if game developers chose that name intentionally (and I think they did), that’s a very nice little touch!

Étienne de Vignolles, more known as La Hire, was among France’s best commanders and was one of Jeanne d’Arc’s most trusted allies. Described as quite an arrogant man, he was a fearsome warrior and fought alongside Jeanne at Orleans and during the Battle of Patay. You can also find this prayer of his: “God, I pray Thee that today Thou wilt do for La Hire that which Thou wouldst have La Hire do for Thee, if he were God and Thou wert La Hire.” – perhaps, much like his in-game version, he did have a habit of talking about himself in the third person.

Richard was probably based off Brother Richard, a Franciscan monk who knew Jeanne. I couldn’t find any other information about him, though, except for this design for an opera.

The next one is a bit of a stretch, to be honest. It seems Bartolomeo does have a historical prototype, but it’s not clear who it was; he may or may not be based off Bartolomeo d'Alviano, an Italian captain who fought on the side of Spain against France. He didn’t have much to do with the Hundred Years’ War, though; moreover, he was born after Jeanne was burned at the stake.

Robert de Baudricourt was a captain of the royal garrison at Vaucouleurs. When Jeanne d’Arc came to him, saying she has a mission from God and asking for assistance, he was very skeptical at first, but since Jeanne was very persistent, he eventually provided her an escort to visit the Dauphin. The game didn’t change it much.

John Talbot was an English military commander known as “English Achilles” for his bravery. Despite being one of the most feared warriors, he was respected so much that when he was captured, Charles VII released him without asking for ransom.

Sir William Glasdale was an English captain who commanded the troops in the fort Les Tourelles. Jeanne d’Arc wrote a letter to him, pleading him to lift the siege of the fort, but he refused to do so, and Jeanne’s troops started the assault to take Les Tourelles back. During the assault, Glasdale fell into the Loire River and drowned, as his armor was too heavy.

Both Georges de La Trémoille and Arthur de Richemont were indeed Charles’s trusted servants. Georges also survived an attempt of assassination – as described, “thanks to his obesity”, and, as you can see in the game, the developers had that part in their heads, as well. :) Here’s a picture of Arthur de Richemont, I couldn’t find any paintings of real life Georges de La Trémoille, but I’ll add a picture of his in-game version a bit later.

There’s an interesting detail about Charles VII himself: have you ever looked at his in-game portrait and thought: “Man, they didn’t have to draw him such a big nose”? Well, that’s probably because real Charles VII was actually described as a man with a big nose! That’s another “well done” to the game developers.

As for Bedford – his actual name was John of Lancaster, ‘The Duke of Bedford’ was only his title. I don’t know, maybe that’s obvious, but I spent a good part of walkthrough thinking Bedford was his name. His real name not being mentioned and all the other characters calling him just “Bedford” certainly didn’t help. :P

* * *

All right, now I’m going to dive into some historical events and characters’ relationships that might spoil some events of the game for you. Please, go to the “SPOILERS END” mark if you haven’t finished the game yet and want to see everything for yourself.

SPOILERS

Okay, first of all, the game heavily implies Charles VII had a difficult relationship with his mother, Isabeau of Bavaria. Real life Isabeau of Bavaria claimed that Charles VII wasn’t the trueborn son of Charles VI, thus couldn’t be the rightful king of France, so I doubt the queen loved her son very much. The game tries to explain it with the demonic possession of Isabeau – still, her last words before she was (presumably) killed by Henry VI/Gilvaroth were confusing and quite out-of-nowhere to me.

Georges de La Trémoille disliked Jeanne d’Arc and, as some historians believe, was involved in a plot against her that ultimately led to her death – both in real life and the game. Of course, we all remember that in the game it wasn’t Jeanne who ended up at the stake…

The Battle of Patay (June, 1489) was one of Jeanne d’Arc’s greatest victories during the Hundred Years’ war. In this battle, the feared “Terror of French” John Talbot was finally captured. I’m not sure if this one was intended or not, but this stage in the game is the last time you see Talbot – well, not until he suddenly reappears late in the game, only to help you and never to be seen again.

Do you remember the part where Liane went overwhelmed with her great power and responsibility (hehe) and tried to recapture Paris by herself? Real Jeanne d’Arc also tried to break the siege of Paris, but the attempt failed and she and her troops were ordered to withdraw. After that, the nobles’ disappointment with her had reached its highest point, and Jeanne’s fate was pretty much sealed – much like Liane’s.

And, of course, the darkest nod to the history is Gilles de Rais, known as a serial killer and possibly a pedophile (there are some historians who believe he was framed, but that’s not the point for now). On the other hand, in-game Gilles is a nice and noble guy and never betrays you or does something violent. At the end of the game, he sacrifices himself so Gilvaroth would be trapped inside of his body, and, considering the real history, the demon probably got him in the end. This reference is more well-known and has been discussed at several forums, but I still cannot help but mention it.

Also, on a less disturbing note – see how Gilles is drawn with a lily? That’s because Charles VII allowed de Rais to add this flower on their family crest, which was considered a great honor, as lily symbolized the power of the Crown (that’s what I heard, at least).

SPOILERS END

These are the most interesting historical references of the game, in my opinion. Thank you for reading and feel free to correct me and/or add the details I’ve missed! My DM is closed for now, but you can correct me via reblogs, if you want. ^^

#Jeanne d'Arc PSP #JDA PSP #Jeanne d'Arc #Joan of Arc #Why am I even doing this

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anastasiabeaverhousen87 · 4 years ago

Text

Make Wise Choices Part 3

Doctor Sharpe

You can feel yourself being held by strong arms and your face being placed in an odd angle. Someone is touching your mouth and your cheeks. You can feel liquid filling your mouth, no not liquid blood and tugging inside your cheeks. A few moments later you begin to hear voices, several voices in fact. You can recognize your sister’s voices and Lena’s but there is one you most definitely do not know who it belongs to. Its quite soothing though and because you don’t feel pain, you take that as a major win for now. Then you seem to notice the tugging and hands on your face continue to prod and touch inside your mouth and now you are intrigued to know what’s is going on.

You try to open your eyes but there’s a bright light directly assaulting your eyes, you first instinct is to hiss and close your eyes again but you find impossible to move your jaw to perform such action and in response the person manhandling your mouth tenses their hold to make sure you don’t move your jaw and the pressure grows stronger this time. The hands touching your jaw are strong and cool soft. You don’t feel scare and you wonder who the person might be.

By now everyone in your proximity notice you began to regain consciousness and now the voices are directed at you.

Alex: “Hold still little one, Doctor Sharpe is here, and she needs to look at your incisions and assess the damage. Please don’t be scare its just us and Doctor Sharpe” says in a very calm and reassuring voice.

Doctor Sharpe? You mentally ask yourself; you don’t know anyone named Sharpe and you know your dentist name is Richards.

Kara: “Shhh little one, we got you. Doctor Sharpe is a friend of Lena and she was super nice to come here and check on you. She is a dentist by the way, so don’t think we would just let anyone just prod and touch your mouth. Lena called her once you passed out, we were worry for you and I mean is not like I don’t appreciate your being here Dr. Sharpe but…”

Lena: “Kara, Love please calm down. Take a deep breath, you are rambling, and you are going to make y/n nervous” -Lena puts a reassuring hand on Kara’s shoulder and that makes the blonde stop and relax.

Kara: “sorry…”

You open your eyes once again, this time you are prepared for the assault of bright light and squint your eyes and can barely distinguish 3 figures standing in front of you, one of them holding your face.

Alex rolls her eyes at her sister “Kara tends to ramble a lot when she is anxious, but honestly thank you for coming so quickly to check on our sister. We really appreciate it” – Alex says with a small but grateful smile aimed to the doctor.

Dr Sharpe: “don’t be, it’s fine” the mysterious person says chuckling a little at Kara’s fluster rambling. The doctor removes her hands from your face and all of the sudden the blinding light is gone - “Honestly it’s okay, don’t worry, I’m used to worried parents and relatives doting over my patients. Its perfectly normal to worry about your love ones, especially when they are as cute as your sister right here”

Y/N: “Wow that voice. Pretty voice. I like it …Hooot” In your drugged out state of mind you think you’re having an inner monologue but you actually voiced those words out loud and you are thankful for the mouth piece you have stuffed next to your cheek and that the words come up a bit sluggish. Still you know everyone understood because you can hear different kinds of snickering coming from the women in the room.

Y/N: “nghhh…”

Dr. Sharpe: chuckles- “Well thank you honey, that is very sweet of you to say. But please try not to speak or move your jaw just yet”

That voice again, you really like that voice and you are finally able to see her face and the owner of that voice. You are mesmerized by the eyes looking straight at you, like she is looking into your very soul. The most astonishing blue eyes you have ever seen in your life. And that face, blonde soft waves and kind face. And in that moment, you are so grateful for the fever and swollen cheeks, otherwise you would be bright red with embarrassment and wouldn’t be able to hide it.

Lena: “Actually Cassandra is not a dentist, she is actually an amazing Oral & Maxillofacial Surgeon and a good friend of mine” Lena says smiling at the doctor and both your sisters look quite impressed and a bit embarrassed for calling her a dentist without knowing exactly what her expertise or field was.

Dr. Sharpe: blushing a little – “You are very kind Lena. But don’t worry, dentistry specialties are not commonly known. But let’s get back to the most pressing matter at hand” – the woman switches back to her professional persona and imposing presence. “Y/N I need to ask you a few questions, I’m going to hold your hand and please press my hand once for YES and twice for NO, we are going to let the muscles in your mouth rest for a bit. Are you comfortable doing this? – you press her hand once to let her know you are okay with it.

Alex- laughs a little and there’s a smirk on her face – “Oh wow, that’s a great and polite way tell someone to shut it, good one doc. I wish I had used that one sooner on this one” -Alex points at you while Kara and Lena give Alex a disapproval look while you look at the doctor with teary eyes.

Kara: “Alex! don’t mock y/n. she feels bad enough and you are not helping”

Lena: “don’t be mean Alex”

You know its all good and there’s not bite behind the words. You just feel bad because you just remembered why you end up in your current predicament. By being stubborn and a brat. You feel bad for worrying your sisters and Lena and all you want to do is to apologize. But you can’t, because you were told not to speak which makes you tear up in frustration at not being able to communicate properly.

But Alex being the wonderful sister she is, she knows without you being able to say anything she just looks at your eyes and just knows what’s wrong.

Alex: “Kara come on, you know I’m just joking. I could never be mean to her. she is not crying because of that tough.” – Alex comes to sit next to you and holds your other hand – “ y/n don’t cry, I know okay? I know you are sorry, and I know you are just frustrated for not being able to speak at the moment. Please sweetie no, please don’t cry. Just listen to the doctor and we will speak later okay? – you nod at her and she tenderly brushes a few stray tears from your face. She stands to let the doctor continue with her examination.

Meanwhile Doctor Sharpe is looking at the interaction between the women and she smiles at the warm and caring dynamic among you all. She is quite intrigue about how soft Lena is with them and more importantly she was becoming quite smitten by you, you had that power over people. You didn’t have to do much, you y/n Danvers had something that automatically draws people in and your eyes are so expressive and innocent that the good doctor can’t fight the urge to look at them and feel something she wasn’t expecting nor she had felt in a very very long time. She is taken out of her reverie when she hears Alex mentioning the examination she was supposed to be doing right about now.

Dr. Sharpe: “Riiight, yes sorry. Ok so here we go. From what I was told by Lena and your sisters the pain your experienced was bad enough to knock you out. y/n while you were unconscious, I injected you with a very strong pain medication. You should not be able to have much sensation inside your mouth, but let me ask and without traying to move or prod with your tongue, do you feel any sort of pain in your mouth?

You take a moment to take inventory of your current condition and you cannot feel any sort of pain in your mouth nor anything similar to the pain you felt by stumping your foot during your temper tantrum thrown at your big sister. You press her hand twice, saying NO, you don’t feel pain.

Dr. Sharpe: “Good, that’s good. You will experience lack of sensation for a couple of hours. Like I said it’s a strong pain reliever with a numbing agent, I gave you the best drugs available” – she winks at you. “But once that wears off you will feel very uncomfortable for at least the next 48 hours. Basically, strenuous activity can cause pressure to build up and complicate things like heavy bleeding and rupture of your stiches and of course can be extremely painful. Which unfortunately was your case. Because you haven’t developed the blood clot inside the tooth cavity, you are not suffering from what Is called dry socket, and that is not fun let me tell. It’s quite painful.”

Your eyes were comically wide in both surprise and fear.

Dr. Sharpe: “ Ok let me explain that better. Nothing to be scare about. Think about it like a lake. Yes, like a lake or a pond. After a tooth extraction, blood fills the site where the tooth was. Blood is what allows the body to heal. Just like a lake needs to be filled with water, a tooth extraction needs blood to heal. What happens during a dry socket is that the blood washes away and the site dries out too soon. When the blood clot is lost, the site lacks the blood cells and nutrients needed for healing. A dry socket is like a lake in a drought. The lake has dried up.”

You like her voice and how soothing it is. Even tough what she is saying sounds painful and scary. Your sisters and Lena are paying rapt attention to what the blonde doctor is saying.

Dr. Sharpe: “Ok so in your case you were lucky it was just the stitches, but painful, nonetheless. Dry sockets are a very common complication and can cause the healing time to extend. You did cause damage to the tissue surrounding the incision and I was not able to use stitches to close the gap without risking nerve damage. I use aviente, that is a microfibrillar collagen to help you absorb the blood to reduce the bleeding and accelerate the clot formation. I know this is a lot of information and maybe you can feel a little out of sorts due to the pain medication, but I like to explain everything to my patients.”

You could listen to her voice for hours and being explain anything she wanted to you because you liked her voice very much. You were also sporting a goofy smile towards the blue-eyed doctor while your sisters and Lena took into everything the doctor was saying.

The doctor gave you a warm smile and explained more about your condition to your sisters and Lena, making them feel much calmer now that you were okay and being tended by a very competent specialist. After the incident with your childish tantrum you learnt that Alex was about to leave to get your meds when Lena remembered her friend being back in town and she was an expert in all things dental according to Kara’s explanation. She called Cassandra Sharpe right away and her friend was able to drop everything to help her and be there for you because she knew Lena Luthor would never just call and ask for a favor in such urgent way and that only meant that you were someone very important and dear to Lena. You may be high as a kite right now and drooling like a fool, for obvious reasons, now but you certainly weren’t blind to appreciate how beautiful Cassandra Sharpe truly was. You were taken out of your daydreaming once again by the voice you could become addicted very soon.

Dr. Sharpe: “You need to be very careful Y/N, the next 8 to 12 days you need to follow the indications to a T. No hard or crunchy food, no smoking, no alcohol, no caffeine and avoid excessively greasy foods those can irritate and create infections in the tooth cavity. I noticed the drinking bottles Lena got you, those are great, please don’t let her use any kind of straws or bottles that requires suction those are a very hard no, they can easily dislodge the blood clot and that is what we are trying to prevent from happening at all cost. From what I can tell your pain tolerance is almost nonexistent and that would only create a horrible painful experience for you. Taking into consideration what I read and heard from Alex about your medical history, you can have complications due to the poor capacity for your blood to clot. The aid I use is designed to help create the clot but that takes time and you will have literally two open blood oozing wounds inside your mouth. I’m leaving a list and indications of everything you need to know, I’m getting you guys my direct line so if you have any questions or concerns you can call me right away or Lena can get ahold of me. But in the case, she is busy you can easily reach out to me. Y/N You can’t do any kind of exercise, heavy lifting, no strenuous activities even too much walking can be harmful. Try to relax and chill on the couch or your bed for the next 48 hours”

You knew your helicopter sisters and super protective Lena wouldn’t let you lift a finger in the near future. You sighed and nodded to the whole speech. You honestly felt like crap for putting your loved ones in this position, just for being stubborn and you were is no rush to be in that kind of pain again, you were going to avoid it at all cost. Besides you liked to see the bright side of things and meeting the gorgeous blonde doctor was something bright alright. Something about her was drawing you like a mot to a flame.

Alex, Kara and Lena were taking on everything Dr. Sharpe was saying like their lives depended on the words being spoken by the blonde woman.

Alex: “We will make sure she follows all your indications, and if I have any questions, I will call you right away. Thank you so much for all your help Doctor Sharpe, I cannot express how thankful we all are you were able to make a house call at such hour and leave all the important activities you probably had to put on hold”

Dr. Sharpe: “nonsenses, what are friend for right? I mean I love Lena like a sister, and she is one of my closest friends. I’ve heard a lot of stories about the wonderful Danvers sisters and I wish we could have met under better circumstances. But work and life kept me from National City and my favorite Luthor over here” She looks to where Lena standing close to Kara and gives her a very honest and tender smile. “I recently moved to National City looking for a less hectic and strenuous life, I love my job and being able to help and learn more about my field of expertise. But you know, there’s a time in your life where you need to stop and think of what you really want and need. I’m not in my 20s anymore and I needed a change. The need to settle down and have more time for me. I also missed Lee so very much, she’s been my family for a very long time, and it’s been years since we could be together in the same city for more than 2 days at the time. I just missed this amazing woman so much I just knew that if I wanted a fresh start and a place to call home it had to be wherever this amazing soul named Lena Luthor would be”

Lena started to tear up at the heartfelt words coming from the doctor, and you could sense Dr. Sharpe was a force to be reckon with and she was definitely someone very special and that she loved Lena fiercely. Wish only increased your need to know more about the blonde woman.

Lena: “Cassie why are you always trying to make me cry you beautiful idiot amazing woman. I have a reputation to uphold you know?” Lena teased and came to where the blonde woman was sitting at the coffee table in front of you and Kara. She gave the blonde a hug and whispered something in her ear that you couldn’t catch. But you saw Dr. Sharpe tear up a bit and nod against Lena’s shoulder. Suddenly you wanted to move Lena away and hold the blonde blue- eyed woman yourself. Ooookay possessive much? Damn those pain meds are really doing a number on you, what the hell? You mentally asked yourself while trying to sit up a bit since you been in a weird angle for a long time on top of Kara. You could swear you heard the words ´I love you too´ being whispered back from the blonde to Lena. You frowned.

This made the women turn in your direction, Kara helped you to sit with your back to her front while Alex kept looking at the exchange between Lena and the doctor and then at you with a smirk on her face.

Dr. Sharpe: “Okay well I guess that was a lot coming from someone you just met” she gives a nervous laugh while discretely removing a tear from her eye and continue with your examination. “And after that mushy festival, I would like to ask you y/n to really take it easy. Drink a lot of fluids and try to eat the food I listed in the sheet I gave your sisters. I will email you a more detailed list so you can have it at hand. I know it sucks no being able to eat many things but trust me y/s, I made sure to list a very good and delicious options, I swear to God and all the deities in heaven that I don’t eat rabbit food like Lena. I actually love food and I always try to make things easy for my patients. I mean they are already in pain and miserable so why make them suffer even more? I don’t like to see any of my patients in pain, that’s one of my main goals, that and to help them have a fast recovery period so they can go back to their normal lives in no time”

Kara: “wow you are a very impressive and dedicated doctor. Thank Rao Lena only has eyes for me, and we trust each other very much otherwise I would feel very intimated by you Doctor Sharpe.” Kara joked and laughs when Lena tries to slap Kara’s arm while still sporting a beaming smile at her girlfriend antics and having all her favorite ladies in the same room.

Dr. Sharpe: “Rao? As in the mythological Indian king?” – asked the blonde quite intrigued.

Everyone froze at that and Kara just giggled and said- “it’s just an expression from where I’m from but anyhoooow…what’s the verdict doctor?” – trying to change the course of the talk back to y/n.

Dr. Sharpe: “Oh, I see. That’s cool. Well Miss Y/N here needs complete and total rest for at least the next 48 hours. I would like to check on your incisions tomorrow just to make sure there’s no sign of nerve damage nor infection. And to try to gauge your pain tolerance while being out of the hard stuff and make sure you get the best option in time and avoid you experiencing any unnecessary pain. The first couple of days are the tricky ones. Reason why if you all are comfortable with, I would like to be your primary dental specialist, I’m not trying to impose or say that your current doctor is inadequate. The surgery was done perfectly. However, my concern comes from the post op care indications and the pain meds you were prescribed. Due to your medical history, the level of pain you experience today was very extreme, you doctor should have been aware of certain details to avoid searing pain based on your records. I’m sure he or she is a very competent doctor, however there are cases where the patient needs a more specialized professional, not to brag, but I am one of those professionals”. – she jokes while pointing a finger to herself.

Dr. Sharpe: “Besides any friends of Lena are friends of mine and I would hate for such a lovely girl like y/n to suffer unnecessary pain if avoidable” - her smile is kind and sincere.

You smile at the goofy doctor while being in awe of the amazing woman she is.

Lena: “Honestly Cassie you are so very humble I’m amazed you head still within the same space of your body and not floating around the streets ” – she says sarcastically with no bite behind her words, just friendly banter among close friends. “In all seriousness thank you so much for everything, I wanted to referred y/n to you as her first option, but you were so busy with the move and seminars that I never thought of asking. And her current doctor is an amazing professional as well, just not as immerse as you are in the studies of nerve damage caused by maxillofacial surgery. Nor the involvement in recent studies of sensory intervention to the face, and the you are pretty much involved in all the branches in mandibular nerve injuries”

Alex: “Absolutely, you seem to know more about what y/n needs right now and we would love for you to continue as her primary periodontist. And we have complete faith in what Lena says, to impress Lena Luthor is not an easy thing to accomplish and she speaks very highly of you. And like you said, a friend of Lena is a friend of ours as well”

Dr. Sharpe: “Perfect, that’s settles it then” – the blonde woman gives a brilliant smile to the women in front of her.

The Danvers sisters were beyond impress, if you could actually move your jaw, it would probably be hanging low near the floor at the amount of words coming out of Lena because, you were smart but that sounds like doctor Sharpe was some sort eminence in dental care. Can this woman be any more perfect?

Lena seems to be super proud of her friend and the way she talks about her work, you know Lena is beyond intelligent and crazy smart, but her friend is looking like a masterpiece created by the Gods themselves. Yes, the drugs she gave you are doing a number on you indeed.

The blonde doctor turns bright red at the words Lena just said and you think is the most wonderful thing to witness. You are in so much trouble.

You began to feel like all energy was leaving your body, you wanted to keep listening to Dr. Sharpe speak but you felt a heaviness take over your body and you still had something odd inside your mouth and all you wanted at the moment was to sleep. You tried to find a better spot within your sister arms and you brought a fist to your eye a clear sign that you were sleepy and about to get fussy.

Kara: “Someone is getting fussy over here. Dr. Sharpe are you all done, or you need her awake for a bit longer?” -Kara asked while traying to cradle you in a way you felt more comfortable.

Dr. Sharpe: “Oh my, I’m so sorry we kept talking and time got away from us. Yes, just hold her head like before and I will remove the mouth peace and apply the antiseptic and anesthetic gel really quick”

Doctor Sharpe was very quick to clean her hands and put on a new pair of latex gloves and very gently you felt your mouth being held again by those soft hands, and nimble fingers remove something spongy feeling that was placed inside your mouth. Then you saw when she grabbed something from a bag you haven’t noticed before and continue to properly finish wherever she was doing at the moment, finally you felt a sort of cold liquid and that was it.

Dr. Sharpe: “Ok all done. Sorry I got distracted for a moment. But you are all set y/n. You can now try to talk if you want but avoid making too much facial movements or prod the gaps with your tongue. I know is tempting, because you may feel a funny sensation around the tissue or just of out curiosity, please don’t do it. Rinse the extraction site with warm salt water 2 times a day for 1 week beginning tomorrow afternoon. Don’t let her take any of the medications on an empty stomach. If for any reason you experience discomfort or any problems, do not hesitate to call Okay?”

Y/N: “Thank you” – you replied very quietly and with a timid voice. Your sisters and Lena found that odd as you are always a ball of sunshine and not really shy. But then you had to do it, because of course you would…

Y/N: “So that means no corn dogs, right?”- you sheepishly asked.

Dr. Sharpe laughs a little – “No, sorry honey. You can’t eat those right now”

Kara and Lena just hide their smirks at the cheeky comment and Alex being the more mature of you all just gives you a look and you know you need to stop right now.

Alex: “Very well, you heard that y/n? no corn dogs and stick to what Dr. Sharpe is saying. You don’t want to be in pain and you will have tasty food options. So, shush you menace”

You sigh in relief that your sister is not really mad, and you honestly don’t want to prolong the time you need for recovery by doing something stupid, again.

Kara: “Okaay on that note, I’m taking this one to her room and tuck her in. Dr. Sharpe you should totally come to our games night, there’s wine, beer, food lots and lots of food and obviously games. We’re not sure when the next one will be though, until y/n right here feels better that’s for sure. But again, thank so much for all you’ve done tonight”

Alex: “Yes, I’ll be there in a moment, I will stay with her tonight. She tends to move in her sleep, like A LOT and I don’t want her hitting her face or putting to much pressure on her cheeks by lying on her side or stomach. If she is being held, she stays still”

Y/N: “No I don’t, Alex don’t say that” – you’re mortified by what your sister just said in front of the hot doctor and you want to hide your embarrassment.

Kara just snorts and Lena shakes her head. However, the blonde doctor seems to be pretty amused by that statement and looks at you with something you can’t quite decipher, she doesn’t look disgusted or mad. Her eyes seem to shine even brighter at that, and a smile so warm directed at you that you feel butterflies in your stomach. You are in so much trouble.

Dr. Sharpe: “You are just the cutest y/n. I think I’m going to have a blast getting to know you all now that I’m in National City. Now Alex, I think that’s a wise choice. An ice pack should be applied to the face as soon as possible, hold it for 20 minutes and then removed it for 20 more. Do it for a few hours, it will help minimize swelling”

Alex: “Of course, we have several ice packs ready. Thank you again for everything and it sure is a pleasure to meet you Doctor Sharpe I hope you can come to our game night; they are pretty fun and stress relivers. You can text us what time is best for y/n check up tomorrow or if you think it’s better for us to take her to your office…”

Dr. Sharpe: “Please, call me Cassandra Dr. Sharpe is way to formal and I would love to join you, just let me know what I need to bring and the time and date. About tomorrow, just call me whenever y/n is awake, and I can come to check on her pain level and make sure the clots are forming. It’s better for her to stay home so I think it’s easier for me to just stop by.”

Lena was looking at the exchange with curiosity, she seems to notice how her doctor friend was being towards y/n, she knew her well and her eyes never sparkle like that. At least not just at anyone and she hasn’t seen that look in a very long time. It was a good luck on her, however Lena was very protective of y/n, so she was going to have a nice long chat with her doctor friend very soon.

y/n was fading fast, so Kara just said a quick goodbye to the blonde doctor and walk out of the room with y/n in her arms while saying something about lunch or food. You weren’t quite sure.

Y/N: “Byeeeee doctor pretty eyes” – you said with a goofy smile and obviously losing all sense of shame and inhibition the sleepier you got. You gave a cute wave and you let yourself being carried away to your room.

The blonde doctor just gave you a big smile and waved back at you.

Dr. Sharpe: “See you tomorrow cutie, sleep tight”

Yes, things were about to get very interesting soon.

Next Part 4: dry sockets...

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Note: I don't know how or when it happened. The story took a twist without me actually knowing. somehow while thinking about this 3rd part i just kept seeing these scenes playing on my mind and my fingers just kept typing. I just realized how much i written and i was shocked to see it was at least twice the amount of words from the two previous parts. Let me know what you think, I never imagined this story to become so long. But bear with me, this is the first time I have written anything like this and i guess i still need to control my thoughts. Still i kept the same idea of baby Danvers being her silly cute and adorable self while being taken care and dot over her sisters and Lena. I just added something extra that I hope you'd enjoy. Please let me know what you think. I made this fluffier to compensate from the angst on Part 2, However don't think the pain is over (I laugh evilly and I slowly walk away)

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#baby danvers #baby!danvers #alex x baby danvers #origial character #supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor imagine #lena x reader #lena x supergirl #lena luthor #kara x reader #kara danvers imagine #kara danvers #alex danvers #fanfic

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lady-plantagenet · 4 years ago

Note

28, 24, 19, 9

In response to: Tumblr History Ask Meme: https://lady-plantagenet.tumblr.com/post/643743359209472000/ive-seen-plenty-of-tumblr-ask-challenges-but

24. Who do you consider to be one of the most underrated historical figures?

Ok. I won’t say Vlad the Impaler because he’s not strictly speaking underrated as much as he is misunderstood. I think a lot of you expect me to say George of Clarence but as much as I believe he should be studied far more than he is - maybe not much for himself (from an academic point of view I say this) as for a case study on the instability of the late medieval faith in the sanctity of the crown, the bastard feudalism phenomenon, private justice and maybe how a posterity can develop strangely throughout the centuries with little historicity. But his short life and the fact that he is stronger in his impact on history via his failure than his deeds I would say Richard Neville 16th Earl of Warwick is truly history’s most underrated figure. I have yet to read a biography of him but the fact of the matter is that his presence in the tale of the development of British history, society and constitution seems strong enough to merit a mention of him in Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations and even among most of the works of Whig and Enlightenment historians who centuries later feel threatened by the type of person he represented to them (‘anti-progress’, ‘an impediment to the development of democracy’). Clarence is always a question of what could have been whereas Warwick lived long enough to live a truly studeable life. There was no one like him before in English Medieval history and there would be no one like him - I’ve seen strange takes on him by his biographers ‘populist’, ‘self-publicist’, ‘visionary’ and of course ‘legend’ (and indeed as it seems of a presence made known to all people). I have yet to check if these claims have any logic behind them but from what I can see they very well could. He indeed personified an era in itself and yet he’s hardly a household name nowadays??

28. Do you have a favourite “dream team” of historical figures living at the same time in a specific era of history?

The three dudes I mentioned above DEFINITELY. They could have all met had Edward IV also answered Pius II’s call to crusade. Of course, I’d rather there not be a crusade... because well... no one wants that. Vlad the Impaler was at the other side of the continent and tbh circumstances would need to probably involve the Holy Roman Empire for the three parties to ever intersect in any way. Warwick and Vlad were at opposite ends where policy was concerned... Vlad culled the boyars who he deemed corrupt at the gathering of the Tîrgoviste court and Warwick (and Clarence) was basically their English counterpart. Although, Vlad believed his nobles to have sold out the country to the Ottomans and been responsible for his father and brother’s death so there’s that going. All three did care for their country though so I guess they can unite under that and had reputations for embodying late medieval chivalry. Of course the caveat is that while Warwick (and Clarence at one point) was popular with the nobles, Vlad was deeply hated by them. But yeah I still cannot genuinely believe they were all alive at the same time like that’s actually insane. Of course, throw in Louis XI of France (another very interesting monarch) but technically speaking he and Warwick were a dream team XD.

19. What’s your favourite historical book?

Ive answered this before here :)x . I would otherwise switch to favourite fiction book but I’ve also spoken about that on here XD. And I’ll not talk about another because one can only have one favourite ey? I’ll link them here:

9. Favourite historical film?

Hmm... It’s a toss-up between Man for All Seasons and Lion in Winter. The former is about Thomas More and is extremely smart about how it handles the real cause of his downfall and the dialogue is utterly superb together with the acting. It also gets the aesthetics very down to a t and is one of those pieces that doesn’t attempt to simplify everything by making a hero or a villain out of anyone and that’s what it makes it a true tragedy. I also feel that the playwright truly understood how Catholicism= ignorance is not ok (a trope I rly hate). I also appreciate how Thomas More is shown as someone dedicated to his ideals not team Catherine, Anne or whatever; the aforementioneds are actually insignificant to the whole thing, which while might not be very accurate is refreshing.

The latter is an fictionalised Angevin drama set at the fictional Christmas court of Chignon with the whole Angevin crew: Henry, Eleanor, the three remaining sons and of course Philippe of France ready to throw a wrench. For a comedy it is extraordinary smart and I feel like it also has this vague self-awareness to it which has really survived the test of time (like the ‘it’s 1183 and we all still carry knives’ line hhh). Yet somehow it had its heartfelt moments eg Richard I and Eleanor of Aquitaine’s exchange in the gardens. Geoffrey of Brittany is also a trip to watch (who can forget the ‘I know, you know, you know I know, I know you know I know you know’ line?). Also it was great to see Peter O’Toole reprise his role as Henry II from Becket. I must say I much prefer him here. Despite being a comedy, the aesthetics and musical soundtrack never fail to draw in the necessary splendour and emotion and the acting is sensational.

#🍷❤️#I did say I would answer something today!#btw I’ll post fancy underline links tommorow when I get back onto my laptop #I appreciate it looks a bit trash #vlad the impaler #richard neville 16th earl of warwick #richard neville earl of warwick #lord warwick #warwick the kingmaker #george of clarence #george duke of clarence #george plantagenet

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falseroar · 4 years ago

Text

Is This Your Card? Part 1: The Invitation

((Hi! This is the first part of another story in what I’m calling the Traces of Silver series, a WKM Werewolf/Monster Hunter AU. This story in particular is a retelling of Who Killed Markiplier, with a few twists along the way to match the AU. And it all starts with one last job and an invitation.

The POV will swap between Abe (third person) and Y/N (first person) every couple of chapters. Oh, and if I tagged you in this and you’re not interested, or I missed your username, or you want to be tagged, or whatever, just let me know. (Edit to add: While it’s not a main focus of the story, there are definitely hints of Abe/DA.)

Warnings, mostly for later chapters: References to death and suicide (off screen for the most part), language (nothing worse than from the original videos), dark themes, and yeah, no happy ending for this particular story.))

Abe nearly missed the sound of footsteps on the dirt road under the steady whine of cicadas enjoying one of the last warm nights of the year, and if not for the cloudy night he might have been spotted before he could duck into cover behind the nearby tree. Peering out, he watched with narrowed eyes as the figure moved with purpose down the road, a long cloak hiding any of the few details he could have hoped to make out in the waning moonlight. At this hour, few would have dared to be walking alone on the road so far from the village, but he hesitated, waiting for any sign that this was the one he had been waiting for.

He couldn’t make that mistake again in one night.

For a moment, he thought the figure would continue on its way, but at the mailbox they abruptly stopped and turned toward the short drive that led up to the farmhouse on the hill. In the time it took the figure to draw back her hood, revealing pale skin and light hair that shimmered in the moonlight, and take in a deep breath, he had already cleared the distance between them.

“Excuse me, miss—”

She screamed.

Even with his hands over his ears, there was no blocking out her wail, a bright and eerie keening that sent a shiver down Abe’s spine and wrenched his heart even as it threatened to burst his ear drums.

And then, abruptly, it stopped, and he risked opening one eye to see the banshee press her hands to her mouth, face darkening with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry! You scared me!”

At least, that’s what Abe thought she said, but it took a few more seconds before the ringing started to clear up, his own voice muffled as he muttered, “We…need to talk.”

A few minutes later and Abe’s hearing was mostly back as he stood in the living room of the farmhouse, eyes darting back and forth between Farmer Jim or Joe or whatever he was and the banshee seated opposite him.

“That’s all you want?” Abe asked again, to be sure.

The banshee nodded. Here, indoors and in normal lighting, she seemed that much more ethereal and out of place, not helped by how she sat primly as though unwilling to touch anything around her. “If the farmer will keep his cows in his field, I will stop the wailing.”

“Well, you could have just said something,” the farmer muttered. “Not like that pond belongs to anyone, I don’t see what the big deal is—”

“It is not your land,” she said, again. “And I do not like the look of that brown cow, the one with the spot on its nose and the evil in its eyes.”

Abe started to point out how ridiculous that sounded, but the farmer just nodded and said, “Yeah, that’d be Abigail. Been meaning to ask Father Richard around to take a look at that one.”

“And I did try to tell you, but my kind cannot pass the wards around your land without permission, and you just kept running away at the sight of me. It was very rude.”

“Oh, and standing outside a man’s house, wailing away his death sentence is that much better?”

Abe sighed. “For the last time, a banshee’s wail isn’t fatal, it’s just a warning.”

“A portent of misfortune or death,” she added. “For the record, you may want to stop climbing on top of your house and hire someone else to fix your roof. That’s not part of the deal, just general advice.”

The farmer sighed, sinking in on himself a little. “Yeah, that’s what my daughter keeps saying. I’ll go into the village in the morning and see if I can’t find someone to fix that along with the fence. Maybe I can keep some help around for longer than a week without someone scaring them off every other night.”

“Thank you,” the banshee said, springing up as though eager to leave. “I am glad to hear the others will not have to get involved.”

The farmer paled slightly, looking from her to Abe. “Wait, what others?”

She just smiled, which did little to set him at ease and probably explained the gratitude in the farmer’s voice as he turned to Abe and shook his hand.

“Thank you, hunter. I’m…not sure where I would be without your help. God, it’s going to be good to get some sleep again. How can I possibly repay you?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a cure for lycanthropy hanging around, would you?” Abe asked. “Maybe know anyone around who…”

He stopped when he saw the look the old farmer and even the banshee gave him and coughed.

“Or money. That works too.”

Outside, Abe felt the weight of the farmer’s money in his pocket and the stare of the banshee, who followed him to the road before speaking again.

“Thank you from me as well, hunter.”

“It was just a job,” Abe said with a shrug. Not a typical one, he’d admit, but these days he wasn’t sure what counted as ‘typical’ anymore. “I didn’t even have to do that much, but don’t tell him that.”

“Still, I apologize for wailing at you earlier. I know that it is not a pleasant sound, but…” She paused, her inhuman eyes staring a little too intently into Abe’s face for his liking. “Death seems to shadow your steps, hunter, even if it never seems to touch you.”

“Yeah, like this is the first time I’ve heard that one.” Abe tried to sound nonchalant, despite the pang at her words. She couldn’t know how true they felt some days.

“I feel I should warn you to be careful. There is something terrible coming, if you stay on your current path.”

“Do you mean the road back to the village, or…?”

Abe was only half joking, but the banshee just stared at him with something that looked close to sadness before turning and walking away.

He thought he would have preferred it if she just stuck to the wailing, all things considered.

Back at the cheap room he’d rented in the village, Abe took off his coat and hat, tossing both aside with a groan before sitting down on the foot of the narrow, rickety bed which gave a groan of its own. He stretched and hissed at a few aches and pains from his other recent jobs which hadn’t been as simple as standing around in a field to arrange a meeting. There was the griffin in the clocktower, that basilisk down by the coast—or had that been the circus who thought they could actually hire him to get their selkie back? It all started to blend together, the utter nonsense of it all, mixed with the rare moment when he would be pulled in to deal with a real monster, that exhilarating blend of terror and the thrill of the hunt.

A thrill that soon faded, leaving him here in a room identical to all the others, along with his pain and a paycheck. And so very, very tired.

Abe sighed, rubbing his bleary eyes with the back of his hand, and looked for the bottle he had left himself earlier only for his eyes to land on the elaborate invitation resting on top of its envelope where he had tossed it aside.

You’ve been cordially invited to Poker Night at Markiplier Manor.

Just a small get together, Mark had insisted the other night when he pressed the invitation into Abe’s hand. Dinner and some games with his most trusted friends, and Abe had barely managed to keep a straight face at being described like that before telling Mark he had another client already lined up and waiting for him. This close to the city, to the memories of what happened the last time he was here, left him wanting to get out before he did something stupid. Like give too much thought to how easy it would be to stop by their office, check in and see how they were doing this close to the full moon—

“Oh, come on, Abe,” Mark had said, his tone wheedling. “I know the life of a monster hunter is busy and no doubt glamorous, but perhaps you could spare a day or two for some time off and, dare I say it, a bit of fun? Life is for the living, so live a little!”

Abe had brushed him off with a noncommittal “see what I can do,” but now, sitting here and looking at the invitation with the banshee’s words still in his head, the thought of stepping away from it all and taking some time to relax and unwind sounded more than a little tempting.

Maybe a party was just the thing he needed.

((End of Part 1. Hoping to post a chapter a day until it’s done, but we’ll see.

Link to Part 2.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm au #monster hunter au #werewolf au #wkm abe #wkm mark #wkm district attorney #the banshee's warning #don't trust the cow #Abe's almost visited the DA like 17 times now

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archadianskies · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 5

Rescue → part of the A/9 SWATverse

Whumptober Masterlist | 05/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human) × Anti-Android Language (Detroit: Become Human) × Verbal Abuse × Power Imbalance × Established Relationship × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Imprisonment

The thing is, the thing he figures out, is that no one’s supposed to know he exists. There’s no record of him anywhere, not a single line buried in fineprint, not even a whisper, not even the rumour of a whisper. The FBI’s downfall- Perkins’ downfall, is his pride, his failure to resist the urge to show off.

It’s not even a mission, it’s not a special occasion, it’s just meant to be an ice-breaker, a dumb team-bonding thing which always, inevitably, turns into a pissing contest. Not exactly how David pictures spending an ideal weekend off-duty but letting off some steam by letting his team loose in the woods with paintball guns isn’t entirely undesirable.

He just wishes it weren’t in tandem with Perkins’ SWAT unit because he loathes Richard Perkins, and his SWAT unit loathes Perkins’ SWAT unit. It’s never just fun and games with Perkins. It’s never any fun with Perkins, ever, actually.

And so there they were, deep in the woods and he’d sent Caleb off with three of the team and he was leading three others, with the other four to the far left. He’d come around from behind a tree and Caleb shot him square in the chest. Instant kill. He’d been so surprised, so caught off guard, so betrayed that he couldn’t react. Only it wasn’t Caleb at all, because Caleb was on the other side of the grounds as confirmed by three of their unit. It was another RK900. The FBI’s RK900, a secret RK900 who didn’t exist on paper. SWAT Unit 32 lost that round and oh how Perkins gloated but all he could think about was that RK900.

It’s 3am and he doesn’t even have to say a single word to the android curled up in bed beside him. They dress in dark clothes, they sneak out of the hotel and head for the vans parked by the paintball grounds. Caleb deactivates the car alarms and hacks into the electronic locks to open each van until they find him. The other RK900. The one that shouldn’t exist.

“Hello.” Caleb greets quietly, and the other android’s LED spins red in alarm. “I’m Caleb.”

“Caleb RK900 Anderson, part of SWAT Unit 32 under Captain David Allen’s command.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Caleb nods. “What’s your name?”

“I have not been assigned a name.”

“How long have you been active?” David asks. The RK900 turns his steely gaze on him, and though they’re the same colour as Caleb’s eyes, his seem so devoid of warmth, of life.

“Eight months, two weeks and one day, sir.”

“That’s-” Caleb frowns, brows creasing. “We were activated on the same day. But you don’t have a name?”

“Special Agent Perkins stated that one does not need to assign names to pieces of equipment.” The RK900 recites and David scoffs.

“Pieces of fucking equipment, he says.”

“You are not a piece of equipment.” Caleb climbs into the van, grabbing his wrist. “You are Alive. You know that, right? We are not machines, we are Alive. We are living, sentient beings. Legally.”

“The passing of the Sentient Life Act on the first of December 2038. Yes I am aware.” He nods, pulling his arm out of his grasp. “However I have been extensively modified for the FBI’s exclusive use and thus I possess no autonomy.”

“Can you do it?” David asks his partner. “The- the fancy freedom thing? The Markus thing?”

“I can try.” Caleb bites his bottom lip, retracting the skin from his hand. “I’ve never had to deviate an android before. I was never...not a deviant.”

“I cannot deviate.” The RK900 says sternly. “I am equipment belonging to the FBI and I must report any attempt to tamper with me.”

“Give me one attempt,” Caleb says lightly, “and then report us afterward.” He grasps his wrist again, the skin automatically retracting from the other RK900 as he opens a connection between them. David watches his face intently, watches the android frown, his LED still a strong neon red glowing in the dimly lit van. A myriad of emotions flit through his face; wonder, curiosity, confusion, fear. When Caleb draws his hand back, he looks at him with open sorrow.

“It’s always been like that for you? From the very beginning?”

“Yeah.” Caleb confirms quietly. The other android seems to curl inward, rubbing his arms as if to soothe himself.

“Why did your team love you so readily, so easily, when mine lock me up in the armoury after every mission, along with the rest of their guns?”

“Because mine never saw me as a piece of equipment.” Caleb reaches for his hands. “Mine saw me as one of their own.”

“One of their own.” He echoes, eyes glassy. “I wish I could be so beloved.”

“You can.” David shrugs. “You will be.”

“Captain, I don’t understand-”

“You’re coming with us.” David says simply. “We’re not letting them take you back. This is the equipment van isn’t it? We’re all heading back to the city tomorrow and it looks like everything’s already loaded. They won’t even check for you, will they?”

“No, sir. They won’t.” There’s such grief in his eyes, and David knows it’s because he would’ve seen Caleb’s life, all eight months, two weeks and one day, full of friendship and family, camaraderie and love. Everything Perkins would’ve denied him.

“Then you’re coming with us.” David repeats, and the RK900 looks at him like he’s offered him the world on a platter, and he supposes that’s true.

*~*~*

It’s not the most elegant rescue mission they’ve ever undertaken. It’s by far the funniest, though; stealing something from Team Prickins, from right under their noses and feigning innocence the entire time. Technically, they’ve stolen a piece of equipment from the FBI. Technically, the piece of equipment doesn’t exist, so they haven’t stolen anything, actually. Caleb gives him some of his clothes so he can change out of that godawful uniform and belatedly David realises the RK900 is showing signs of trauma, now that he knows what trauma is. Now that he has a basis for comparison.

“I’m-” Caleb takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, and squares his shoulders. “I’m going to call my dad and my brother.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and goes out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

He doesn’t call them, not right away. Caleb sits down heavily, resting his forehead on the cool railing and closing his eyes. Reaching for the compiled file, he picks apart the deluge of memories the other RK900 had shown him; the memories his brother had shown him, Caleb corrects himself, because the android in the room with his partner is his brother, surely. His twin, even, since they were both created, both activated, both deployed at the same time. It’s certainly what Connor would think, anyway. It’s what their father would say.

He opens eyes that are not his own and he’s in a supplies van being activated for the first time with no memory of his testing phase. Richard Perkins stands in front of him, arms crossed as he looks him over. A CyberLife representative stands at his side, and they are flanked by security.

“And no one knows it exists?”

Yes sir.” The rep confirms with a nod. “This RK900 does not exist on any records and belongs to the FBI exclusively. It has been modified to connect only to the FBI mainframe and cannot connect to any other wi-fi source. It has no knowledge of the outside world, and the RK800 base program has been removed almost completely to allow a higher percentage of Myrmidon programming.”

“Good.” Perkins nods. “Anything I need to know about upkeep?”

“Entirely self-sufficient. Charging bay will be installed in the Armoury. Supplies will be added to the regular supplies the FBI publicly receives for its auxiliary units so nothing will seem amiss.”

“Good.” Perkins says again, giving him one last appraising look before he turns around and steps out of the van, everyone trailing out behind him. The last guard closes the door and leaves him inside.

“This is an eight million dollar weapon.” Perkins says in the next memory, and he opens his eyes to find himself looking out at a sea of FBI agents. “Do you understand? A weapon. It belongs to the FBI SWAT unit, and we take it with us when heavy weapons are required. No one plays it with it. No one tests it. It stays in the Armoury when we don’t need it. Understood?”

It’s been two days and he doesn’t have a name.

“Alright, and Spiteri I need you to take five guys and go ‘round through here.” They’re poring over a blueprint hologram on the table, mapping out the next mission. His first mission.

“Sir, it would be faster if-” He barely gets the words out before Perkins turns on him, eyes bulging with rage as he grabs the front of his uniform.

“Did I fucking ask? Play back the memory where I fucking asked for your opinion, hm?” He gives him a rough shake before shoving him away. He closes his mouth immediately and steps back, standing at attention and keeping his eyes downcast.

“God I fucking hate androids.”

Four days, and no name.

The mission is a success and everyone is happy even though they’re grimy and sweaty and a little bloody. They cheer and pat each other on the back and even Perkins manages some semblance of a pleased smirk.

“Alright alright, chuck the weapons in a pile by the door and hit the showers. I want reports by midnight!” He orders and there’s a chorus of groans in reply. Perkins turns to him. “Cleaned, locked, and logged. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He says quietly, stepping into the Armoury. Perkins closes the door behind him, and it locks with a mechanical click. Bending, he picks up the first gun and methodically, mechanically, goes through the motions of stripping it, cleaning it, reassembling it and then returning it to its proper place. He logs it, then picks up the next gun. It is soothing, he thinks, almost rhythmic in a way as he repeats the actions, over and over until the last gun is locked and logged.

Looking down at himself, he realises belatedly that a bullet wound has gone through and through his side and he’s been bleeding steadily the entire time. No matter. Opening one of the crates, he retrieves a repair kit and sits himself down on one of the benches. He must be in perfect working order, and he must look clean and ready for the next mission.

Maybe if he does well, they will give him a name.

It has been two months, and he knows they will not give him a name because they do not see a team member, they see a piece of equipment. He is a weapon, much like the guns he cleans for them. A gun has a make and model, and so does he. Nothing more.

There’s sound from one of the vents one Spring morning. It’s faint, undetectable to humans but he is not a human. There must be a nest somewhere high up on this side of the building and he counts one, two, three hatchlings, their incessant high pitched chirps carrying down to him as they cry for food. He listens to them, notes the change in pitch of their cries as they grow older and bigger day by day. They help pass the time between missions when he is locked up like a piece of equipment, no more than another gun to the team. He wonders what it’s like to look up and see the expanse of blue sky whenever one pleases.

It’s too dangerous, there’s too many gunmen shooting down at them and there’s not enough cover. He darts out, feeling the bullets cut through his torso as he dives forward and grabs their fallen agent. Dragging him takes considerable effort, straining his damaged chassis and burning through his depleting thirium levels but it’s do this or lose them.

They make it back, and the fallen agent is yanked from his arms so first aid can be applied. Red warnings cascade down his HUD one, the largest one glaring in large letters his thirium pump regulator has sustained damage. His hand comes away blue after pressing it just below his sternum, and his already depleting thirium levels are plummeting drastically. He sways on his feet before his knees buckle and he hits the ground.

“Ah fuck. Get it in the van!” Perkins curses, looking down at him like one might a stain on the heel of their favourite shoe.

When he wakes he’s back in the Armoury, repaired and whole. There’s a stack of guns and gear piled by the door. He knows what to do. The birds are singing today. At least he has music while he works.

“Not technically a mission, but I fucking hate Allen and his merry band of misfits.” Perkins spits as he trails him down the hall. “They’ve got the other one. The official one of you. CyberLife’s pretend olive branch to the DPD. I hear he’s fucking it too. Figures. Everyone in the precinct suddenly loves androids now the detective bot claims it has feelings.”

They enter the carpark and there are two vans- one for the humans, and one for the equipment. He already knows which one to climb into.

When the door opens he’s somewhere far outside the city. He’s never left the city before, and the expanse of green is startling.

“Listen up. No one knows you exist, and it stays that way.” Perkins points sternly. “You’re here because I want Allen’s team to eat shit and lose every single round and think it’s the fault of their own android.”

There is another, just like him, here today. He wants to meet him. He wants to know what it’s like to be touched with desire because it seems his superior is intimate with him. Does he have a name? Yes, surely he has a name. Will he give him one? Could he ask that of him?

Captain David Clark Allen is forty-four years old and has been at the helm of Unit 32 for fifteen years now. That is the official information. He has olive green eyes. That is what he personally discovers when he ambushes him from behind a tree. The man hesitates, brow furrowing in confusion before he makes to move past him. He pulls the trigger and the paintball splatters right over his chest where his heart lies. Those green eyes widen in shock. Mission accomplished. He heads deeper into the woods.

Caleb sees himself, sees his own memories looped as he shows the RK900 his life from the moment he awoke in the CyberLife lab with Hank and Connor looking at him with soft encouraging smiles, to his first meeting with Unit 32, to the feeling of warm human skin beneath his fingers as he traces the serrated scar over David’s ribs, to the feeling of hands in his chest as David straddles him and cups his shattered heart in his hands. David’s mouth on his, David’s broad chest rising and falling with each breath as he feels the muscles move beneath his palm, David’s soft gaze in the morning, sharing the same pillow almost nose to nose.

The feel of coarse dog fur and a wet dog nose pushing insistently at his hand, nagging for pets. The tight embrace of his father, the friendly arm around his shoulder of his brother. The teasing, the ribbing, the hair tousles from the team. He drowns in love while his RK900 twin yearns for it; a deluge versus a desert. But no longer.

“Caleb?” Hank answers his call, amusement in his voice. “What, you need to rant to your old man about how much of a prick Perkins is in person?”

“Dad.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to break, and all of a sudden Hank’s tone loses its mirth.

“Are you alright? What happened? Is David with you?”

“Dad.” He tries again. “Can you put me on speaker?” “Yeah, yeah o’ course.” There’s a brief pause as Hank sits down and fumbles with the setting. “Okay go ahead.”

“I have a twin brother.” Silence. “He was given to the FBI, to Perkins’ unit and he’s been- they’ve just- they locked him up in the Armoury like a gun and he’s as old as I am and he doesn’t even have a name and David and I have smuggled him into our room and I’m bringing him home tomorrow okay?!” It all comes out in a rush and there’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “Dad?”

“Good thing you were plannin’ on movin’ out with David.” Hank chuckles softly. “Because your brother’s going to need a room.”

*~*~*

“Captain Allen, if there is anywhere you would like to station me so I am out of your way-”

“You are not in my way.” He keeps his tone soft and reassuring, knowing the RK900 sees him as an authority figure, and the only authority figure he has ever answered to is Perkins and Perkins is a fucking unfeeling ice monster whose own colleagues hate him. “Sit with me, please?” He doesn’t feel forty-four, he feels about a quarter of that and tucked at his ma’s side as she explains how sometimes there are children in her class who’ve been through things no children should have to experience and sometimes they just need someone willing to sit with them and help in a softer, kinder way rather than urging them through verbal encouragement alone.

His weekend bag is in reach and he fishes out a couple of fliers that had come with the paperwork for the event. “I’ll teach you a neat trick my ma taught me, to keep my hands busy.”

“Yes, captain.” The RK900 nods attentively as he accepts one of the fliers.

“First, we need to square off the paper like so-” it’s a wonder he still remembers, but it’s mainly muscle memory anyway. They’re about halfway into making an origami unicorn when he attempts some conversation. “You may not have been assigned a name, but you can choose one. Caleb chose his.”

“I know, sir.” A flash of panic, the fear of reprimand. “I meant that Caleb showed me. I meant no disrespect, Captain Allen.”

“It’s alright. I know what you meant.” He wonders what cruelty Perkins wrought, to make an RK900 flinch like that. “You can go through databases and pick one out. You can play around with your model number and use that as a base. It’s your choice entirely.”

“I have never had to choose, sir.” He says it as if he is confessing to a great crime.

“You’ve never been allowed to choose.” David corrects. “Feds didn’t think much of assigning their fancy killing machine a name or the ability to choose one for himself.”

“Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The RK900 says slowly. “Federal. Frederick, perhaps?”

“Fred from the Feds.” David grins, and Frederick attempts to mimic the gesture. It’s clumsy and awkward and entirely endearing.

“Freddie, maybe?” He suggests shyly, hopefully, and David nods in approval.

“Frederick ‘Freddie’ Anderson.”

“Anderson?” He blinks.

“Oh you’ll be an Anderson.” David laughs. “Hank hasn’t met you yet, but when he does, you’ll be an Anderson for sure.”

#rk900 #captain allen #allen900 #detroit: become human #richard perkins #annie writes: dbh #whumptober

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rosesareviolentlyread · 5 years ago

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Prelude: These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

First post on whump and of course I decide to take my truly darkest plot and use it. I’m not sure where this is on the dark scale for this community, but I mean I guess beware? CW: Self-harm, possibly implied suicide attempt, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, box boy setting, pet whump setting, modern slavery, domestic abuse, parental abuse, self-whump, caretaker as whumper

Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for both inspiring me and also letting me use Karen Renford, who may make an appearance in another piece with Ward about his particular taste in pets. “Amen, amen. But come what sorrow can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

That one short minute gives me in her sight.

Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

Then love-devouring death do what he dare;

It is enough I may but -”

DING-DING-DING-DONG….DONG-DING-DING-DONG

The nine-chimed tune interrupts the man’s gravely reading of Shakespeare, causing him to blink, squinting in the fading light of the fireplace at the old grandfather clock that has moved on to loud BONGS to state the late hour.

Pulling off his glasses, the old man rubs at an eye “Oh my, is it already ten? Well, it’s best off to bed for both of us. We can pick up tomorrow”

In the opposite plush leather armchair, a blonde girl blinks herself awake. Only a round, soft face is visible beneath a warm-knit blanket that cocoons her against the chair like a fly in a spider’s web.

“But Mr. Richard we were ju-u-u-st getting to the good part” Though she pouts her lip, tilting her head slightly with wide eyes to get her way, a yawn betrays her own exhaustion.

“We can continue tomorrow, Juliet. I know you’ve memorized it already anyways. Now why don’t you run along to bed, pet? I’ve had Anita put on the heavy down comforter, we don’t want you catching another cold. I’ll be up in a minute” The man’s blue eyes drift fondly to the girl, snuggled close by the fire.

Outside the window, soft snowfall signaled the coming of winter for his mountain home. He’d originally intended for them to seek warmer weather, perhaps in the villa in Italy. It was better for Juliet’s health, but seeing the girl enjoy winter was something they’d been unable to do for a while. With luck, she’d stay healthy enough they could enjoy it for a little longer.

“Yes, Mr. Richard. Goodnight” With a tired smile, she wraps the overly large blanket around herself like a cloak, looking all the part a child playing dress-up. Warm lips press to the top of his white-haired head, small arms gently embracing him as well as they could from behind the large chair. With practiced ease, he rubs a warm circle on the back of one slender hand, eliciting a slight purr from the girl. And then she was gone, drifting through the house in her makeshift white cloak like a ghost.

Richard Ward sat for a minute enjoying the fire. He was a lucky man. To have such a wonderful pet, who, while frail, enjoyed every moment of his presence. Who was devoted to every caring touch. The hours of reading to her in fevered delirium, to wheeling her in the garden when her legs refused to work, to petting her head softly when pain made sleep impossible.

Richard Ward had learned to cherish the bad and the good in life. In business he’d learned to find opportunity in every situation. Unfortunately, it took the death of his own son for him to take that moment into his personal life. But now, with Juliet, he cherished the times in health as well as sickness.

Now, he lived for every moment, every pain and pleasure, intertwined. With the fortune he’d amassed he could do right by his Juliet, by the world. He’d take care of Juliet forever, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow as the Bard said.

But first, he had to wait for tomorrow, and Richard Ward didn’t think five more minutes by the fire could hurt its pace.

So he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of fire, happiness, and family, content with his life.

And woke no more.

----

In the middle of the night, some phantom pain bolts Juliet upright, covered in her own sweat. The blood of her heart pounds hot in her ears. Nightmares of fear and pain were common in her life, but so was their instant remedy: Mr. Richard.

So wrapped in the same blanket as earlier, she pads down the hall, letting the warm glow of lights made to look like flickering candles illuminate her way.

“M-mr. Richard?” Her eyes feel wet with automatic tears, lip and voice trembling with an unpracticed, inherent ease. Enough to show fear, but not enough to look ugly. She knew she looked ugly when she cried.

The old oak door to his room creaks open, revealing the same soft flickering light by an empty four-poster bed. With a sigh, fear almost forgotten, she heads for the grand stairs, back to the drawing room. Her silly old man had probably fallen asleep in his chair again. But that was alright.

Maybe if she was good, if she made up a convincing nightmare, he’d keep reading to her until she fell asleep. Would rub the sore spots she could never tell if were real or imagined any more. The mere thought brought a smile to her face, a quick pace to her light steps.

But when she entered the room, she found no warmth. The fire had died out into crumbling embers, letting a chill in through the chimney. Yet even its breeze that threatened to freeze her bones didn’t seem to be able to move the suffocating stillness. She felt it creep into her veins, wrong, as she fearfully walked over to Mr. Richard, sat still in the chair facing the only dying light.

But her eyes softened to see his sleeping face, book open in his lap with eyeglasses set in the spine. The moonlight highlighted his pale, wrinkled face, but it was one she loved. One that took care of her, no matter how much trouble she was.

Gently she placed a kiss to his forehead to wake him, already imagining his warm touch on her aching limbs-

Only to be met with the same ice in her veins. With the same stillness that threatened to stop her chest.

“M-Mr. Richard?” She wobbled out, voice honest, not practiced. Truly imperfect, instead of perfectedly so.

But his body didn’t move.

So she touched his shoulder. And then grabbed it. And then shook it.

But his body didn’t move.

Juliet felt her breath come in small gasps, like when she was sick. But she wasn’t sick, was she? Was this a bad dream? No. Because Mr. Richard woke her from bad dreams but now he wouldn’t wake up.

No, she just couldn’t wake him, because everything was fine. When everything was fine, Mr. Richard was sad, a kind of slow sad where the world felt too perfectly wrong, too boring. So she just had to make it wrong to make everything perfect again.

So Juliet did what she’d been trained to do. She reached for the book, for the crisp page, and quickly slid her finger along it until sharp pain and blood dripped warmly from the edge.

A whimper from her throat, and she held the wrist as more and more blood, impossibly warm from how cold she felt ran almost black in the barely light down her wrist.

“Mr. Richard, I cut myself, c-can you kiss it better?” Honey voiced, thick, almost saccharine but something felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, her voice couldn’t be right.

But his body didn’t move.

So she pressed the bloodied finger to his lips, even as touching them threatened a shiver through her body.

“See Mr. Richard? It hurts”

But his body didn’t move.

With a whimper, she tried to think. Why wasn’t it working? He always came when she was hurt.

But sometimes, if it wasn’t enough, he didn’t come.

Quickly, Juliet crossed to the small table for Mr. Richard’s drinks, grabbing the small knife he used to make the pretty orange twists she liked in hers.

Back in front of it, in front of the still closed eyelids, she slid the knife along her palm, flinching with practice at too familiar pain. Making the high, pained sound, that one she never knew if was real or not anymore.

His body didn’t move.

Juliet felt tears, real tears prick at her eyes. Why wasn’t it good enough? Why wouldn’t he help her?

She did everything right so he’d help her, so she’d get the caring touches. Like they’d taught her at the Facility. When she was sick in winter, she’d walk outside at night without clothes to stay sick.

She’d rub dirt in wounds. She’d trip down stairs, she’d slam her hand in doors, she’d burn herself on the oven.

And when Mr. Richard was bored with what she could try, he often helped her. Because sometimes he’d give her medicine and she’d wake up and couldn’t move her legs for days. Sometimes she’d feel sick to her stomach from a drink he’d give her, until she puked for hours.

That’s it. He just wanted her to try harder. To be a good girl and go back to doing it all herself. She had to earn his caring touch. And Juliet could do that.

Determined, she climbed the two-story staircase in the entrance hall, heart thumping. This would work, and Mr. Richard would wake up, and he’d take care of her. He’d hand feed her soup again, and gently brush her hair. He’d read her Shakespeare until she fell asleep, and bring treats from his business partners who wished her a speedy recovery. Everything would be fine.

So why was she crying?

With tears in her eyes, Juliet climbed the barrister, staring down at the black marble floor far below, almost swallowed in darkness. The blanket fell to the floor, a pile like pale bones in a pit.

She pushed off, and her world exploded into painful darkness as the scream was ripped from her throat.

‘Anita’ wasn’t sure how much of this she could take. Richard Ward was on the board of WRU, and she was so, so, so close to figuring out where the sick old man kept some of the emails, the dealings, the proof of WRU’s real workings. With his tech empire, they suspected Ward helped them target potential ‘candidates’. Helped them recruit and hire handlers with the appropriate mentality off the dark web. It was enough potential dirt for them to make real progress in the Pet-Lib movement. If only she could figure out where he kept it.

And it’d been an easy enough job. A boring one, honestly, as she cleaned the house under the flimsy false identity of an illegal immigrant the man had barely bothered to check. She even got enough money to live on and give a fat check to the safe houses from it, damn rich bastard.

But she was ready to tell them, tell Tara, she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t watch this fucker and his pet, whatever he’d made the poor girl into.

At first, she’d thought it was true, that he’d just gotten some pet with a lot of health issues.

But then she’d seen the girl purposefully trip, break fingers, grab a burning hot plate straight from the oven. Seen her do those things without wincing and then let the tears fall so perfectly. Fall into his touch, the touch and care that made the old man beam.

She’d even found the goddamn name for it. Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Pleasure at taking care of someone so much that you cause them pain, make them to get sick, just to make them better yourself.

Richard Ward ordered a pet that would hurt itself for his touch, for his care. They’d turned a girl into some sick pain robot, and Mia didn’t even want to think how. She could barely watch now, wondering how he manufactured the illness and pain Juliet took with thankful smile, for the chance that he’d be kind.

Figures there’d be someone somehow as fucked up as Karen Renford in WRU.

So yeah, Mia was ready to quit being ‘Anita’, because even if she knew what she was doing could help kids from not becoming like Juliet, she wasn’t sure how much she could take watching.

It was with this thought that Mia started and ended each day, determined to quit the day after tomorrow if she couldn’t find the files.

Unlocking the door, Mia felt the similar tug of dread, ran through the same conversation Tara had taught her to help her get through when these undercover missions were hard. When she couldn’t just grab a pet and run like she wanted.

But something felt...off. ‘Anita’ was always first to arrive, to open the obscene curtains, to transform the vintage fashioned home from night to day. She was used to the entrance being cold, the fires being out. Weird guy also had a fetish for the life of antiquity, but Anita had gotten used to it. But today, the coldness seemed to seep into her bones.

Probably should’ve just brought another sweater she thought as she walked through the service entrance, opening curtains as she went.

Kitchen, dining room, tea room, sitting room. It was actually pretty satisfying to watch the light suddenly dance in, dim streaks through trees in the early morning.

Or at least it was until she saw it fall on the body of Richard Ward, causing her to jump back, nearly knocking over probably worth more than she’d make in her entire life.

“Oh, Mr. Ward! I didn’t see you there.” Her heart threatened to flutter out of her chest, so much so that she’d almost forgotten her ‘accent’. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

But there was no response.

Cautiously, Mia walked over, touching the old man’s shoulder to gently wake him.

It was stiff, cold. Dead.

The fucker was dead. Pale as a ghost except for the tiny smear of dried blood on his face.

The same dried, dark brown blood that was dripped over his body, onto the book, onto the carpet, on the table holding the bar cart’s knife coated in the same. Dried blood.

Quietly, Mia picked up the knife, the only weapon in reach. Nothing else was out of place, and as much as she wished it was, the blood didn’t seem to be Ward’s.

She tiptoed out of the room, following the dripped and dried bloody path into the entrance way. By the ridiculously ostentatious staircase, under the overhang, was a small...lump. Squinting her eyes in the dim entrance way, Mia could make out what looked like an slender arm, a head of blonde-

f u c k, fuck fuckFuckFUCK

The hardest thing about this job had been keeping her potty mouth to herself and playing the part of some Downton Abbey-esque servant in keeping with the man’s antiquated tastes. But upon seeing the small body, twisted at odd angles beneath the second floor overhang, her gut told her this job deserved every version of fuck imaginable.

Scrambling over to the small girl Mia knelt down, hands shaking as she felt around the throat for a pulse that wasn’t the one banging in her ears. It took a minute of pressing, of forcing herself to breathe dammit before she found it, weak, but definitely there.

Gently, so gently so as to not jostle her neck or head, Mia stroked a hand over Juliet’s brow, the way she’d seen Ward do countless times when the girl was sick. Mia tried to stop trembling, to stop thinking about how maybe if she’d told Tara about Ward, about his taste in pets, they would’ve focused on rescuing Juliet instead.

If Mia hadn’t been determined to hide the real Ward so they could have their cake and eat it too.

“C’mon baby girl, wake up for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, fuck, please wake up” The words fell, soft and pleading from her lips.

Hazy blue-grey eyes blinked up at her, slow, glassy with pain. The body attempted to shift, only to whimper with pain, real pain. Not the fake whimper Mia had learned, but something deep and animalistic in her throat that reminded Mia more of a street dog than a person.

“There you are. It’s ok, you’re ok” She tried to keep her voice calm, gentle. To not let her hand shake as she thanked whatever god there was in this fucked up world that the girl hadn’t lost too much blood, hadn’t completely cracked her head open, even if her legs looked like snapped twigs.

After a few moments of mumbled words met by calm shushing noises from Mia, Juliet finally strangled out “‘Nita, why din’t Mr. Richard wake up?”

Mia paused, upon hearing the slurred, pained words. This wasn’t an accident. Juliet had done this to wake him up. Because the man had a second-sense for any pain in his vicinity. Even if he was a demon, not even the call of his previous pet’s pain was enough to bring his sadistic ass back from hell. Thank God.

A whimper, and Mia was immediately pulled back from her thoughts, petting the girl’s head. Because it didn’t matter where that sick fuck was. He was dead, Mia hadn’t found out where he kept his things, and she had only a few hours before other servants got here. Only a few hours to do something right on this mission.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m gonna get you help ok? You’re gonna be ok”

Reaching into her uniform, Mia groped for the burner phone constantly pressed against her chest. At least bras were useful for hiding things, as much as she hated them. She breathed through her nose, steadying her breath and hoping questions could wait as she pressed the number.

“Tara? Yeah, I need an evac for me and a pet at Ward’s yesterday.”

Because this was Mia’s fault, because she waited for tomorrow’s petty pace to paint her a yesterday lighted fool.

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harleyquinnbluemoonlove · 4 years ago

Text

Welcoming the new Social Movement/Platform/Political Party in the World

Official Name: Blue Dog Bite Mafia 888 *BETA*

Owner/CEO/Founder/Dealer/Player/Delivery BAD B:

Current Name: Monica Gill FUTURE Name: Mercedes Lynnette Giovanni

Email: [email protected]

Current Financial Status: $0.00 ---- You may DONATE by using CASH APP Cash Tag #$bluedogbitemafia888

***MY CYBER FAMILY MUST ENSURE THAT DONATIONS ARE NOT HIGHJACKED/STOLEN****

BASIC IDEA/PLAN OF ATTACK/EXECUTION OR POSITIVE WORDS LIKE “LAUNCH”. We can issue an ATTACK or a LAUNCH CODE.

I will dumb it down a little bit. I am taking advantage of my position of power, now that I am a Celebrity in the World. Its the greatest feeling in the world, feels better than good sex and that is a hard thing for me to admit because I love some good, hot, sweaty sex and I’ve been going without for several weeks. I almost fell like a Nun because I cannot even pleasure myself because I was molested as a child by Lovie Price’s boyfriend “Frank Parker” a gasoline man from an early. I told Connie Price about it when I was 15 and her name at the time was Connie Dunford. It was the same day Brandie Ann Thompson said Curtis Triplett tried to rape her in the bathroom at the house In Frayser, Memphis TN. Brandie Ann in her hayday, resembled a youthful Cameron Diaz. Cameron Diaz dated Justin Timberlake once upon a time. She played in the move “The mask” and the mask was green. At the end of the movie, the dog put on the mask. You all know, when you wear that mask---you become a Shape Shifter, transforming into anything/anyone you think will grab the Hot or Not Rated #10 Woman’s ATTENTION/HEART/LOVE and will do anything, I mean anything to get it. The secret to my success is a compilation of everything good, bad, dirty, evil and let’s call it “The Struggle” or the “Human Experience”.

Old School (OS) Operating System (OS) Back to Basics (B2B) Brandie Thompson (BT) Barry Thompson (BT) Blue Tooth (BT) Brandie Smith (BS) Bull Shit (BS) Rent A Center (RAC) Roger Adren Crawford (RAC) $1K (RAK) Rags to Riches Richard Abernathy (RA) **secret boyfriend shh!!** Douche Bag (DB) or Douglas Belknap (DB) Thomas Jones (TJ) County Road (CR) Danny Thomas (DT) Deanna Thomas (DT) ... Trying to show you how I think period dot. In ya’ll are slow, period dot also equal two dots. You must have two dots to play connect the dots and draw the lines to illustrate inspiration into a masterpiece. The best pieces of Art are very old, have a solid reputation, and is properly curated to ensure it maintains its value for infinity times three.

Basically, you can get with my program, drink my Kool Aid, swallow your pride, do the right thing, if you have done something wrong, you really need to return to your basic religious beliefs what they may be, get right with yourself, because what you have done will come to light, exposed, we are moving on from there. We are, as a society going to change and deliver the children and the children’s children: a brighter future with more options, a limited amount of privacy, give them the world and see what they can accomplish with living in a world of positive vibes, beautiful colors, great music, entrepreneurship, dreams, and now, the little girls if we get married will truly believe in fairytales. This right here is whats up because we have an opportunity, once in a lifetime opportunity, to fix society, establish unity and peace, competition is good but everyone needs a chance to win sometimes to boost their confidence and pride. When there is monopoly or kingdom, it fosters the seven deadly sins, seven capital sins, and the seven cardinal sins, which is systemic to original sin.

Genesis clearly explains that certain things were created on certain days and back time was measured. You cannot just create a man or a woman. First, you need the Universe. Then, you need the Galaxy which creates Space. In Space, you have the moon, stars, sun, planets, black holes, asteroids, comets, shooting stars, orbit, gravitational pull. Here we are on planet Earth with 7 continents and 7 oceans. I like the number 8 because it represent a number, a symbol, and no limitations--infinity. My son was born on 3-8-03 weighing 8 pounds, 8 ounces and 19.5 inches long, color: BLUE, life: No sign of it. It took 10 minutes and PLEADING WITH THE LORD AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS SCREAMING PRAYING TO PLEASE GIVE HIM LIFE, I DON’T WANT TO HAVE GONE THROUGH 35.5 HOURS OF LABOR AND 7 HOURS OF HARD PUSHING WITH NO PAIN MEDICINE, NO EPIDURAL, GAVE BIRTH TO A STILL BORN BABY NATURALLY AND THE GOOD LORD ANSWERED MY PRAYERS AND THAT BOY CRIED AND WENT TO THE NICU AT BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL IN MONTGOMERY COUNTY, MARYLAND. ITS ALSO REFERRED TO AS “THE PRESIDENTS HOSPITAL”.

He is 17 years old, already a MASTERMIND and a Professional Gamer. He is so smart like me, that he had to design/build/code his own computer because there is not a computer on the planet that can keep up with his level of gaming. I saw a photo of it. Its a desktop computer with the case taken off the side--lit up with blue LED lights

It’s Confession Time and Holy Communion Time that means confess your sin, wrongdoing, break bread, eat bread, drink wine, not whine. No days off, no excuse, no immunity, no setups, no blame game, no liars, no stealing, checks and balances, no absolute power because absolute power fosters absolute corruption, which is why were in this position right now with COVID-19, Corona Virus.

I think one person needs a pardon because he has stayed on the job, even though he was originally lied to by the Feds. He deserves a pardon, record expunged, and an opportunity. I see great potential, just needs an opportunity, believe in himself, and have the courage to escape his own prison of gold diggers, groupies, fans, and whores.

In this triad, it is a rags to riches story times three. There is only 1 TRUE VERSION of ME, and its right here in Memphis TN, age: 41(Birth Cert).

To succeed in any sports game, you must be fit, educated, content with yourself to include your pros/cons/demons and knowledgeable & intelligent enough to know that I am certified True OG, I got your back no matter what because to me money ain’t a thing, fame fades just like stars, but loyal dogs do not turn on their master unless they are abused or hungry. I am a Blue AKC Royal Bloodline Pitbull, Staffordshire Terrier. Pitbull is the image you need to have in your mind when you think of ME.

#donations #loyalty #888 #TRUMP2020 #IG #WHISTEBLOWER ACT #RULES #ESPNSPORTS #RAPGODS #GREEKGODS #GOD #CLASHOFTITANS #THEGAME #THEROCK #GLUE #DOCTORS #LAWYERS #COWBOYS #DANCE #L.I.F.E. #LOVE #SM #EM

#NEED SOME COM[ANY AND VITAMIN D

BLUE, COME ON UNLESS YOU ARE “CHICKEN” “SCARED”

I PROMISE I WILL NOT BITE. BUT, I AM STARVING, LONELY, NEED MONEY TO CREATE AND LAUNCH MY DREAMS TO POSITIVELY AND EFFECTIVELY CHANGE THE WORLD WHICH WILL PLACE ME AND PRESIDENT TRUMP IN THE HISTORY BOOKDS. AND THE HISTORY BOOKS ARE GOING TO BECOME FACTBOOKS, AND HISTORY CLASSES WILL BE MANDATORY THROUGHOUT LIFE REGARDLESS OF AGE, POSITION, JOB, FINANCIAL STATUS BECAUSE THE BEST EDUCATION IS A “CONTINUOUS EDUCATION”. IF YOU DO NOT CONTINUE LEARNING, YOU BECOME RUSTY AND THEN, YOU CANNOT KEEP UP THE FAST PACED CHANGES OF ADVANCE TECHNOLOGY IN THE REAL WORLD AND IN THE REAL GAME OF LIFE.

RECOMMENDATIONS ARE AS FOLLOWS:

1. DONATE MONEY TO MY CAUSE ON CASH APP

$BLUEDOGBITEMAFIA888

DO NOT HACK MY PHONE OR MY LAPTOP, DO NOT HACK ANYTHING OR ANYBODY BC YOU CANNOT DO IT BETTER THAN U.S. BC U.S. CREATED THE INTERNET IN WASHINGTON DC AT THE PENTAGON CALLED “DARPANET” IN 1974. THE FIRST COMPUTER WAS AN APPLE, SECOND COMPUTER WAS MICROSOFT. A GOOD BRAND IS A HP WITH MS WINDOWS. I HAVE A BLUE HP LAPTOP STREAM, I HAVE A BLACK APPLE IPHONE 7. I AM ON A WIFI WITH A VPN THAT KEEPS GETTING DISABLED. THE SOUND ON MY PHONE DOES NOT WORK. I AM BACKING UP BOTH DEVICES AND GOING TO RESET TO FACTORY SETTINGS SO I CAN GURANTEE EFFECTIVE DIGITAL SECURITY.

2. I NEED COMPANY TO SIT WITH ME, DRINK WITH ME. I WOULD LOVE SOME JACK AND COKE OR A BUD LIGHT. I WOULD ALSO LOVE SOME FOOD THAT CONTAINS RED MEAT TO ASSIST ME WITH MY BLOOD PROBLEMS. BUDDY OR BLUE OR YO -- FIGURE IT AND SEND ME SOMEONE I KNOW. I AM TOO PRETTY AND TOO COOL TO BE CHILLING BY MYSELF WITH NO FOOD, NO ALCOHOL, NO MONEY, NO WEED, ETC.

3. SELF EVALUATE OR DO A PEER REVIEW/. SELF EVALUATION IS LOOKING AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR AND THINKING ABOUT YOUR LIFE. I LIKE TO WRITE THINGS DOWN, IF HELPS ME. IT WILL BRING ABOUT A SENSE OF UNDERSTANDING WHO, WHAT, WHY YOU ARE WHO YOU ARE, HOW YOU BECAME PERSON, AND DESIGN YOUR OWN ROADMAP TO BEING A BETTER PERSON AND OPENING YOUR HEART TO REALIZATION THAT THE CHILDREN ARE THE FUTURE, RIGHT WE ARE THE WORLD, WE CAN ACHIEVE GREATNESS, A NEW TYPE OF MAGIC “UTOPIA”.

WHAT ARE YOU ABOUT? WHAT DO YOU WANT OUT OF LIFE? ARE YOU HAPPY WITH YOURSELF? CAN YOU FREE YOUR MIND? CAN YOU OPEN YOUR HEARTS? CAN YOU COMMIT? DO YOU KNOW WHEN TO WALK AWAY? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN? DO YOU HAVE CONFIDENCE? ARE YOU IN YOUR OWN PRISON--YOUR MIND, YOUR FEELINGS, YOUR RELATIONSHIP STATUS?

WISDOM COMES WITH TIME, EXPERIENCE, EDUCATION, HARD WORK, SERVICE, LOYALTY, PURPOSE, AND TRAVELING.

At the end of the day, who do you want to be with?

Woman - Wise can deliver the world or drop the world, age 41 -- looks better than 20 & 30 year old GIRLS. Does not care about money, fame, status, power because the game was scheduled and unfortunately, unaware of the OP -- she walked, ran, sprinted STOLE the Flag, and won the game.

Everyone wants to still run their mouths, try to control a man, and those hos, have no power, position, fame, etc. They are with or around you because of who you are, what you have done, and what you can give them---in my opinion that is abuse of power and targeting someone to manipulating them to do what you want them to do.

I like structure, things to be done a certain way because I like cleanliness, organization, faith, love, hope, trust, and loyalty.

I would not cop an attitude with everyone, if I did not feel like the world was against me. Hint, hint -- I don’t trust authority figures because I was molested, abused, targeted, almost died several times, lied to, cheated on, setups, smear campaigns, gossiped about, bullied, beat on, yelled at, called names, jealous women everywhere so dumb they forget I have a hunger against Human Trafficking. People are on this RACISM BULL SHIT.

Its 2020, Racism = IGNORANCE AND IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS ANYMORE, IGNORANCE IS DEADLY.

Basic belief system of Karma, it is a metaphysical/paranormal reality that is mixed with real, artificial, and soon-to-be virtual reality. It is what it is.

What you set your mind, what you do and the thoughts and actions you put into the world will either grant you your dreams or come back times three by the of karma, what goes around, comes around.

I want/will do good and be a good role model for everyone. I am going to teach, help you, do what I want, when I want, how I want because I know my worth, my value, and what I can GURANTEE/DELIVER.

Greed, jealousy, laziness, and all the ugly things that are in the world

WILL

get you no where but hungry, lonely but free, penniless, candy-less, eliminate sports.

COMMIT OR QUIT

MY MISSION WILL ENDURE AND CARRY ON UNTIL I FEEL MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. I DO NOT HAVE A FAILURE TO THRIVE AND I DO NOT LACK A WILL TO LIVE.

MY ISNT OVER, YET;

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distinguishednachotale · 5 years ago

Text

The DJ

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three

The white of the hotel room felt brighter as the rising sun hit the walls, drawing the grey curtains cross the sliding balcony door so he could open his eyes without glare blinding him Richard felt instant relief. The days had been long, the nights longer filming the same scene over and over for different angles and accuracy. Shedding his clothes Richard threw them into the bathroom hamper then stepped into the running warm shower. 6am, only just finished filming for the night shoot and sleep was calling, no screaming his name. The natural chemistry between you and Richard showed on the screen, the Director lapped it up. As the days passed he saw you coming back to life on set, but the caution was still evident. Even while you were filming scenes where Richard was not needed, he watched you film purely so he could catch glimpses of the carefree woman you once were reemerging.

There was no after shooting drinks, no public meetings with anyone. But often Richard would hear a light knock at his door and you would come in. The conversation flowed, it didn’t stop, awkward silence never interrupted. The two of you discussed your mutual home country of Scotland, both of you missing the quiet of the country towns. A small trip was planned once filming was over between the two of you, a cabin in the Highlands where no one could find you two. You confided in him about what had happened while filming two years before; someone had told Nate about you having a drink with a co-star, two beating’s followed. One for him, at the hands of a masked assailant who was never caught and one for you at the hand of Nate. It explained why you never caught up with anyone in public.

Stepping out of the shower Richard slid on a pair of boxer shorts and lay down on his bed, uncaring about getting under the soft covers sleep quickly took over. You ran down the hall, your heart racing and breath catching in your throat. Sliding on the carpet you nearly missed room 204 where Richard slept. Frantically you knocked on the door, muttering his name through choked sobs.

The door opened to a sleepy face that woke suddenly as he saw your tear stained face, “He knows Richard, he knows. Please don’t let him find me.” You cry, holding your phone out to him with a shaking hand. Taking your phone Richard stood aside, ushering you in while gazing down the wall to see if anyone was watching your interaction. You too had changed into sleepwear, a pair of black cotton shorts covered the very top of your legs with a baggy white shirt and crew socks covered your small feet. Pacing around the room you couldn’t help but panic and fear everything coming your way, you could feel his anger, his burning hot rage sitting on a plane heading to Croatia where you were filming.

Richard scrolled through the text message exchange, it was short on her end but vocal and colorful on his. Anger, threats and degrading messages were fired her way rapidly. The time stamps showing him they were send one after the other after the other, with no time for a response. “Ev…”

“I don’t know how he knows, but he always finds out. He always does.”

“Hey,” Putting the phone down he stopped your pacing, taking a cigarette out of your hand he cast it to the side. “Love, I’m not going to leave your side. Not for a second.” Gazing up at his eyes you took a brave step forward and pressed your lips against Richards, the kiss quickly became frantic and rushed; opening his eyes Richard realized this was wrong. Every bone in his body felt like he would be taking advantage of you in your state if it were to go any further. Pulling away he muttered, “Ev, I can’t I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry, I thought…” Spinning around you picked your phone up off the counter top, leaving the room quickly. Walking down the hallway, wiping the hot tears off your face you ignored the desperate Scottish voice calling your name. Finding your room you let yourself in, locking the door behind you and sliding down the door. You felt embarrassed, it felt like Richard had felt that spark you had; but you had misread it. You fool.

Taking your clothes off, you threw them onto your bed then found a pair of blue denim jeans and a sweater to wear instead. Your body had healed over the previous three weeks, the bruises were gone, makeup took half the time as it had previously. You could move freely and, you thought, spend time with Richard safely. Your phone brought you out of your thoughts, sighing you were in half a mind to ignore it however upon seeing Indie’s name you answered.

“Hi Ev, sorry to call you…” Indie’s flight was due to leave in a couple of hours, she was flying ahead of the rest of the cast to the next location. She had been packing up her makeup from the trailer, and had come across your purse at the makeup station. Cursing yourself you knew it meant instead of a quiet tea as planned it meant you had to catch a cab across town.

That is how you found yourself walking up the pathway to the familiar trailer.

”Indie, you here?” Your voice echoed. “Indie, I-”

“You’re really fucking thick you know that.” Your heart froze, his voice was spiteful and angry. Turning around slowly you saw Nate standing there, dark jeans and a long sleeve shirt folded at his elbows covered his lightly tattooed arms while you could see a combination of anger, amusement and fatigue cover his face. His black hair was messy, unkept and pushed back slightly and you could see a few beads of sweat were pooling at his hair line. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Nate, please.” As he stepped forward you felt yourself instinctively step back.

“Those non disclosure agreements, do you think they protect you? You fool. Do you know who tells met your every move? Them. The “artists”, as those bitches call themselves. So desperate to work with celebrities they’ll sign any fucking thing I tell them to.” He spits in your face with each word, a hand wraps around your throat menacingly pressing a small teasing amount of pressure against your windpipe before releasing. “They are the ones who tell me, Everly. Them. Every single time he brings you a coffee, every time he checks on you, every time you go to him after filming they tell me.” Stepping away Nate turned to close and lock the trailer door, making sure all the windows were shut he left you to ponder his words. All the friendships you thought you had made over the years with the makeup and hair stylists were false, they were the ones telling Nate your every move for all these years. Dozen of them, you wagered, had told him in exchanged for recommendations on other film sets.

The first blow to your cheek was a surprise, you were so focused on your thoughts you hadn’t seen Nate return. His knuckles connected firmly with your cheek bone, the skin ripped slightly and you felt warm blood drip down. You hit the floor, looking at the maroon carpet you groaned softly. A scream escaped you lips as a boot connected with your stomach, flipping you onto your back curling up to protect your aching abdomen. The underside of his boot stumped on your hands, a crack and scream melted together as you felt the bones on two of your fingers break from the pressure.

“I’m sorry Everly, but you should have known how this would go.” He rained down hard on you, straddling your stomach he pushed your fighting hands down, he never flinched as you scratched and clawed at him, instead he took his own swings. Connecting every time with your face he his harder and harder until you went limp, one hand kept pulling your head up by your brown matted with blood hair. Pulling a fraction harder he pulled a clump of hair from you, throwing the hair to the side he admired his work. His fists were red, your blood staining them.

“You fucking idiot.” Richard cursed himself, sitting on the end of he bed with his head resting in his hands. Fatigue had long left his body, replaced with a wide awake feeling he knew wasn’t going to go away while he felt so guilty. No part of him regret not taking advantage of you, he had dreamed of making love to you for weeks. But not like this, in his dreams you were happy and vibrant. Not sad, and afraid.

Instinctively as soon as your name flashed up on the screen, Richard answered with a quick, “Ev I’m so sorry, I-” You screams filled his ears, standing from the bed Richard tried calling your name, but all he could do was listen as your screams stopped. The unmistakable sound of the beating had Richard hang up, instead pulling clothes and shoes on desperately, and running down the flights of stairs to the foyer. Dialing your number repeatedly there was never an answer.

“Ma’am, please help,” Richard pushed his way to the front of the line at the reception desk. A middle aged woman was shocked by his rude behaviour, but she recognised him as on of their high value customers. “Everly McCarthy, she caught a cab, yes?”

“Yes, about an hour ago.”

“Where to?”

“Sir, I cannot answer-”

“This is fucking urgent, please.”

“Let me check.” The minutes it took for her to return felt like a lifetime, taking his phone out he attempted again to call you. There was no dial tone, straight to voicemail with your sweet voice filling his ears.

“Sir, she mentioned going to ‘the set’. I don’t have an address.” Turning around a younger man spoke with a strong accent. The drive in the cab felt like it took hours, all Richard could do was think about your screams and fear the end result. You had both thought Nate was still flying to Croatia, the thought of him already being there hadn’t crossed your minds. Preparing himself, Richard got the number for the local emergency services ready. The taxi driver was surprised by the large amount of cash thrown his way, and the speed in which Richard ran from the taxi.

The path to the trailers felt ten times longer than normal, they all looked alike bar the one with a door flung open and broken ff the hinges. Nothing but pure anger could have caused that amount of damage. Inside items were thrown around, the makeup stations upturned with glass shattered around the floor. Labored breathing drew Richards attention, he saw you face down attempting to drag yourself up the hallway with one arm while the other was held to your chest. Your face was cast down, not enough energy to lift it, your phone had been thrown toward the dressing room and you were desperate to get to it.

“Everly!” Rushing to your side Richard pressed dial, “Ambulance please.” Helping you turn he was shocked by what he saw, your face was bloodied and swollen, you were hardly staying awake. Through one hardly open eye you could see Richard desperately speaking to someone, your ears were both ringing with no sound getting through to you. Stay awake, Everly, stay awake You screamed to yourself, shock and adrenalin were the only things masking the pain that would otherwise have you screaming if you had the capability to open your broken jaw to do so. Every ounce of energy had been used trying to fight back and trying to get to your phone, nothing was left in the tank to fight the heavy feeling taking over your body.

****

Two more chapters! This is only a short series but I’ll likely continue to write with the same OFC with Richard in other stories.

#richard madden #richard madden x ofc #richard madden fanfiction

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