#fear of death by snu snu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wherethegoldenleavesfall · 7 days ago

Text

@breadandlottery

Okay first off, thank you so much for allowing me to ramble on this topic. I have AuHD as well. Many of my favorite characters, I headcanon having ADHD, autism or both. Example would be the Doctor from Doctor Who.

Seong Gihun is no exception.

He is definitely extroverted but I say he is pretty introverted too.

As there are scenes where he quietly watches his surroundings in season 1.

Autistic traits:

Hyperempathy: Gihun is known as being very empathetic. Hyperempathy is empathy on steroids. Feeling overwhelmed by others pain and fear, and strong sense of responsibility, and difficulty of setting up boundaries, and poor care of self. End of season 1 and all of season 2. Hyperempathy leads to severe burnout and a high chance of meltdowns.

Note: Hyperempathy is only one side of the coin. There are different types of empathy such as cognitive, emotional, and compassionate empathy. Gihun shows all 3. Additionally, having low to no empathy does not mean you are an evil person.

Poor Motor Coordination: Gihun trips over nearly everything. He is pretty uncoordinated especially in the first game.

Difficulty in regulating emotions: We see this in the first episode a lot with Gihun's gambling at horse races. Gihun showed severe anxiety in the first episode. Yes the gambling addiction is one part but only Gihun alone has a pretty extreme reaction.

Poor social cues: His interaction with Sangwoo's mom in first episode, Sangwoo's discomfort at he is a genius he graduated from SNU business school. That is echolalia at its finest. Gihun takes comfort in that as an anchoring statement.

Stimming: Gihun does hum, move excitedly in place ie flap hands, and he did picked up a random kid and swung him around in the first episode we saw him. In episode 7, Gihun became so anxious that he forgot which side, the real glass was on.

Hypersensitivity: Gihun is pretty sensitive to taste, vertigo, temperature ie only one who mentioned how cold the rice was, light put a hand over his eyes in first episode pre first game, textures, and sounds flinching at gunshots even in season 2. The latter is a traumatic sign of PTSD. That is a conversation for another day.

Gihun's reaction in episode 1 to the first game showed a complete freeze with tremors.

Special Interests: I see animals and engineering as topics of interest he enjoys learning about.

Both ADHD and autism

Executive dysfunction: Gihun always picks last and overthinks his choices a lot.

Making plans actually has a lot of steps involved. Seeing that a plan is needed, the acknowledgment of a plan, the steps of a plan required, the actions of what to take, actually acting on the plan, and other steps.

He does think things through but he is pretty paralyzed in deciding who will his partner be in game 4 and in game 5 what number of vest should he choose.

Even then he is adaptable and can make good and/or bad choices in the moment.

Forgetfulness: I am surprised you did not mention how he forgot the real glass panel in the fifth game. To be fair, we are not in a literal murder death game like he is.

Timeblindess: picking and deciding things at the last moment. Deadlines are horrible 😢.

Focusing issues: Gihun's focus and attention span are all over the place in season 1, and as you detailed hyperfocused to an insane degree in season 2.

Spontaneity: as you detailed above impulsiveness can ruin. Good out of the box thinking can be seen especially in the moment.

Hyperactivity: no mention of hyperactivity, he has a lot of energy.

Poor Performance academic: Stems from poor time management, inability to focus in class, restlessness, and poor self regulation.

This is not an attack on Gihun at all.

He is the "slacker/terrible student" to Sangwoo's "gifted/star/burnout student". That above view of them impacted both of them heavily.

First off he is very smart in interpersonal skills, technical, outside the box thinking, and improvisation in the moment.

South Korea is heavily stigmatized towards those with any type of disabilities.

https://ssir.org/articles/entry/developmental-disabilities-south-korea

His school years was likely a traumatizing time in his life. Coupled with likely being compared to Sangwoo at the time. It's a wonder he is not a cruel at all. Or that he still has faith in humanity.

Of all the above led to him believing he is completely stupid and grossly incompetent.

From this post that I reblogged shows it best https://www.tumblr.com/wherethegoldenleavesfall/775675876175233024?source=share.

That's all I have right right now. If I think of more, I will add them. What do you think?

@wherethegoldenleavesfall, more thoughts about Gi-hun and ADHD, since you asked!

Here I had some half-formed thoughts about Gi-hun potentially experiencing food insecurity as a kid. I mention this because food insecurity correlates to higher rates of ADHD. Interesting meta-analysis here for reference.

Thoughts on this in no particular order:

Smoking and Gambling- Both incredibly common addictions for people with ADHD, the incidence far exceeds that for non-ADHDers.

Food, again- Absent-minded eating (seriously was Gi-hun the only one shoving those little broken off pieces of dalgona in his mouth? So cute.)

Forgetfulness- Like he knows his daughter's birthday, but he forgot his daughter's birthday.

Forgetfulness 2- Always leaving his umbrella behind as a kid... as someone who sometimes needs to walk back in the house 4 times before I have everything I need to go to work with or whatever, heavily relatable.

Impulsivity- Gi-hun's pretty impulsive, like he just kinda does whatever. Also Plan A, B, and C failed so, uh, plan D put me back in the game, coach.

INTENSE focus- Pretty much all of the beginning of season 2. He's not eating, he's not taking care of himself, he's single-mindedly focused on his hyperfixation.

Delayed processing- The flashbacks. ADHD brains don't filter the way regular brains are, which means a whole mess of static and noise and superfluous information is absorbed along with the important stuff. Takes a while to put the pieces into place sometimes.

Intuition/reading people- The broken brain filter again. What seems like intuition is sometimes just the brain subconsciously noticing things other people may not notice because it notices LITERALLY EVERYTHING on some level. This is why he *gets* people so well.

Cool in a crisis- Not well-versed in the science here but people with ADHD tend to be pretty cool and level-headed in crisis situations. Gi-hun remains pretty in control in a real crisis, especially if other people are around (although can lose his shit over random non-crisis things which is also so very relatable)

#squid game #seong gihun #auHD thoughts

35 notes · View notes

arc-misadventures · 2 years ago

Note

FMK Nora. Jaune/Ren/Oscar... Good luck

Nora II: FMK

Nora: Hmm… Well this is tricky…

Jaune: Well, I’m worried now…

Ren: You’re worried now?

Jaune: I’ve grown accustomed to, Nora’s antics. So, I don’t get as easily worried as I did before.

Ren: That makes sense. So, what’s so worry about her this time though?

Jaune: She’s thinking… About what I do not know, but that scares me. Nora, usually acts, and doesn’t overly plan out her actions. Sure there is some planning to her madness. But, nonetheless, when she puts her mind to it, she can create great things…

Ren: Or, destroy them with reckless abandon with ease…

Jaune: Precisely…

Oscar: …

Oscar: I-Is it always like this with, Nora…?

Ren: Yes, but you’ll get used to it eventually.

Oscar: Oh… Oh no…

Nora: Okay! I’ve got it!

Jaune: Yay! Now we can all die together!

Oscar: Haha! Very funny, Jaune.

JR: …

Oscar: V-Very funny, Jaune…?

Nora: Okay! First things first; I kill, Ren…

Jaune: What did you do?

Ren: Nothing, I didn’t do anything!

Jaune: Which is precisely what you did wrong!

Ren: There’s no way that’s why she’s so upset!

Nora: That’s exactly why I’m so upset you jerk!

Ren: Oh… Uhhh…?!

Oscar: Is this what you meant by fearing, Nora, Jaune?

Jaune: Oh, you’ll know when to fear, Nora boy. Oh you’ll know…

Oscar: O-Okay…

Nora: Okay… After that, I would fuck cute boy, Oz!

Oscar: W-W-WHAT?!

Nora: I’m gonna fuck him so hard, and rough he’ll be begging for more from his new, Mommy. I’ll ruin him for any other girl! So he’ll only be mine!!!

JR: …

Nora: When he’s legal.

Jaune: Oh, okay.

Ren: Seems reasonable.

Oscar: Are you kidding me?! She’s threatening to break me?!

Jaune: So you’d die death by snu snu. What’s not to like about that?

Oscar: Say what?!

Ren: Tis there not a more nobler way to go~?

Oscar: Are you guys planning my funeral?!

JR: Yes.

Ren: Joking aside, do you think, Nora, would break, Oscar if they did it?

Jaune: You were joking around? I was being serious: Of course she would break him like a twig of twigs!

Ren: Oh…

Oscar: I need an adult…

Ren: So, since, I get killed, for some reason… I guess that means you’re going to marry, Jaune?

Nora: Yes! I get to marry, Jaune, and I finally get to live out my life long dream!

Jaune: I thought her life long dream was dying under a tower of pancakes?

Ren: I thought so too, but this whole thing with, Oscar has thrown a grenade into that.

Oscar: So… Uhhh… what’s this dream y-you were talking about?

Nora: Well, if I marry, Jaune I get a new mom, and that that actually love me! And, I get a whole bunch of sisters in my life as well!

Ren: Oh, so she’s marrying you for your family.

Jaune: If that’s it, then I don’t mind. My family already loves her to bits. Hell if we didn’t go this route my mom would probably adopted her, you too if you want.

Ren: R-Really…?

Nora: Then, we would have loads of sex, and make a really, really big family! One that would rival, no surpass, Mom’s family size! And we would eat loads of pancakes, and live happily ever after!

Oscar: Oh, that sounds… nice?

Ren: I think you better go, and do that.

Jaune: Why: Because that sounds like a lovely idea, or because it would save, Oscar’s pelvis?

Oscar: My what?!

Ren: Mmmm… Both…?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Sure, why not. A moment, Nora?

Nora: Hmm? Need something, Fearless Lea… Whoa?! Hey, why are you picking me up?! Put me down!

Jaune: Nope.

Nora: Grrrr! Where are you taking me?!

Jaune: The bedroom.

Nora: What, why?!

Jaune: To consummate the marriage.

Nora: …

Nora: FUCK YEA!!!

Ren: (Sniff) There goes a real hero…

Oscar: Is it always like this with you guys?!

Ren: Yes, get used to it, or go mad from the insanity of it all.

Oscar: Oh…

Oscar: …

Oscar: Shit…

#rwby #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #oscar pine #jaune x nora #nora x jaune #nora x oscar #oscar x nora #rwby nora’s arc

152 notes · View notes

smh0217 · 4 years ago

Text

Amazons AU

*Jaune, Neptune, and Ren have been captured by a tribe of Amazonian women after their ship crashes on their island*

Amazonian!Winter: After lengthy deliberations, I, and the others, have decided the fate of you men. We sentences you all to death...

Jaune/Neptune/and Ren: *gasp*

Amazonian!Winter: by snu-snu!

Jaune/Neptune: Yeah! Woo-hoo!

Ren: *Whimpers in fear as he sees the short orange haired Amazon woman with a huge hammer eye him lustfully*

Jaune: Goodbye, guys. I never thought I would die like this. But I'd always kinda hoped.

Amazonian! Winter: The Amazonians will be divided into three groups.

Amazonian! Winter, pointing to a group consisting of Elm, Raven, Goodwitch, and Harriet: The one called "Neptune" will be snu-snu'd by the strong women.

Amazonian! Winter, points to a group consisting of Ruby, Weiss, Neo, and Fiona: He that is called "Jaune" will be snu-snu'd by the petite women.

Amazonian! Winter, pointing to a group consisting of Nora, Blake,Yang, and Emerald: And Ren, as the most attractive male, will be snu-snu'd by the most beautiful women of Amazonia.

*Ren gasps in fear.*

Amazonian! Winter: Initiate snu-snu!

Amazonians, chanting: Snu-snu, snu-snu, snu-snu!

Ren: Um, H-how does one exactly die by SNU-SNU?

Amazonian! Winter: It is a death by exhaustion and a shattered pelvis.

Ren: Oh gods…

#RWBY #Amazons AU #Jaune Arc #Lie Ren #Neptune Vasilias #Winter Schnee #Death by SNU-SNU!#source: Futurama #incorrect rwby quotes

181 notes · View notes

aforrestofstuff · 4 years ago

Note

TOP 5 FAVE W O M A N MOMENTS

I gotcha, anon. Sorry this is so late! I took forever trying to gather these panels and despite my efforts, they are mostly potato quality. Thanks for your ask, though! ❤️

In no particular order:

1. Fubuki putting the fear of God into Do-S

It’s not often we get to see Fubuki tear shit up, and I think this is the one of only few times we’ve seen her use her signature move in the manga (not counting that one omake where she fucks up all those little spiders). It was up until this point that I thought of her to be super... weak? Like, I thought this whole time she was just using her status as Tatsumaki’s little sister to wrangle up a bunch of hooligans as her underlings but I’ve found that to be a fat fucking lie. She’s super badass in her own right. She even resisted Do-S’ love magic whip thingy because her will is just that strong.

Fubuki doesn’t need to be Tatsumaki’s little sister to be feared, she just needs to be pissed off.

Personally, we don’t give Fubuki enough credit in terms of strength and raw “fuck ‘em up” power. I know she didn’t win this fight (technically), but Do-S is a demon threat monster and even some of the S-Class have a hard time with demon threats (cough cough, Zombieman and Pureblood). And, not to mention, Fubuki was also fending off her entire crew—who were taken under the influence of Do-S’ super BDSM love spell magic—this entire fight!

Darkness Blade was also involved somewhere but this ain’t about him. Moving on:

2: Do-S would’ve straight up merked Amai Mask’s crackheaded ass had he not been an actual freak of nature

(Sorry for the microwave quality pictures but we’ve all read the manga right? Just use your imagination.)

So, prior to Murata reworking the entire “Amai Mask commits homicide via his own damn hands” segment with Do-S, we had Do-S basically surrendering herself to Amai at the sight of him dicing up her love slaves at the speed of light (the merc squad). I did not like this AT ALL. I thought Do-S was a kickass character and for her to have this stupid death scene was really disappointing.

Thankfully, Murata thought the same thing. She still fucking died, of course, but she gets a little more... er, dignity? Idk, she’s just badass.

Amai Mask pretty much slams her skull into the wall, gives her like 13 concussions, and when he thinks he’s in the clear—BAM! Elastigirl powers, bitch! Do-S wraps herself around Amai and utilizes her freaky ass Alien-esque snake tongue to drill into his eyeball as her last stand before death. And this is why I think it’s valid that Fubuki had such a hard time dealing with her, because if it were any other S/A-Class hero (besides Zombieman, Superalloy, Genos... and maybe even Metal Bat) that got their brains drilled into via snake tongue, they would’ve died. If it were Child Emperor, Puri Puri, or even Atomic Samurai at the other end of her attack, they would’ve been FADED, man! It’s only because Amai has those bullshit monster invulnerability powers that he survived.

In conclusion: Do-S got done dirty the first time around, but Murata has since redeemed himself by giving her some wicked elastic powers and nearly dealing the final blow to Amai before dying. She’s also rlly sexy uwu

3. It is written somewhere in the Geneva Conventions that using Captain Mizuki’s thighs as a means of destruction is considered a war crime

First of all: holy fuck I’m horny.

Second of all: UUUH??????? This is 100% just Murata’s death by snu-snu fetish in action but I’m not complaining. Mizuki is super badass. I’m not a fan of this trope that women in male-dominated media have to give up their femininity in order to be taken seriously, so I was expecting at least one female character in OPM to be a mirror reflection of this shitty trend (judging by ONE’s track record of being allergic to women). However, OPM is all about taking tropes and putting them in a meat grinder. Mizuki is super feminine, bubbly, and positive! And that doesn’t make her any less of a fearsome opponent to these monsters, which is something I can really appreciate.

Overall, OPM has very few female characters (which is bad), but the treatment of the few we have is very good when compared to other media of the same medium. I’ve said before how I enjoy the fact that both sexes are treated as equal opportunity fanservicing, and I think it’s fitting to reverberate that here.

Mizuki is hot as hell, but she’s also strong, fun, and a ray of fucking sunshine. Her and Mumen would be great friends, now that I think of it!

4. Shadow Ring said SIKE

UNDERAPPRECIATED QUEEN RIGHT HERE ^^^^^^^

She’s so badass in the entirety of the surface strike sequence we get before the heroes enter the Monster Association base (take a shot every time I say badass. Try it, you’ll die).

I was super impressed by how strong she is?? And the whole time I’m reading this fight sequence I’m just like.... why aren’t we seeing more of her. She should have just as much screen time as Stinger! She was even noticed by Ninja Extraordinaire, Flash Flash; and she played a pretty big part in getting the S-Class to open their eyes to the combat prowess of the lower classes. If it weren’t for her, I fully believe the strike team would’ve had a much harder time penetrating the monsters’ defenses.

Also she’s cute as hell. All of the other female characters in OPM are over the top supermodel sexy (again, not complaining), so it’s refreshing to get someone that goes against the status quo (which as I’ve said before, OPM is kinda all about). Whenever we see her unmasked in those little volume extras Murata makes, I just want to squeeze her cheeks like an annoying aunt.

I forgot to mention this in the Mizuki section, but I think it also applies here: her teammates never point out the fact that she’s a woman. There’s no commentary on it, no snide “oh hurr hurr you’re a girl under the mask?” comments, just women kicking ass and male counterparts kicking ass alongside them, which is another thing I appreciate. It’s not often we get women in manga just.... existing. It seems there’s always gotta be a good reason for writers to insert female characters into their stories (WHY), but not here. Shadow Ring’s sole purpose in the story is to kill monsters and look cool while doing it. She gets the same treatment as all the other himbos around her.

I am completely aware that my say on the subject of gender equality in media could be completely invalid because I’m a cis dude but those are just my THOTS

5. Lily being 14 and always ready to murder

Lily stole my wallet and kicked my ass :(

#asks #ask game #Fubuki #do s #OPM #one punch man #captain Mizuki #metal bat #child emperor #zombieman #shadow ring #flashy flash #atomic samurai #Amai mask #Tatsumaki

106 notes · View notes

kaisooficrec · 6 years ago

Note

AUs with a mature and confident Kyungsoo? Like, avoiding the meek or insecure characterisation that seems really popular of late. ty ty ty lovelies!

Anon you really pleased us with this ask ♡♡♡ Confident Kyungsoo is so hot :-) You can find all previous confident!soo requests over here. Don’t forget to leave kudos & comments to the authors ♡♡♡ enjoy!

Heaven - series of multiple oneshots where ksoo is part of a gang but is in love with jongin who doesn’t agree with his ways. hs au to college au, i love this so much! !

Catfish - ytber!jongin finds out someone is using his identity to catfish someone (kyungsoo) and decides to team up with him to take him down

lately all i want is you on top of me - basically jongin’s workout bum got sent on accident to his friend’s friend - kyungsoo. and kyungsoo’s like, gay-bending jongin and jongin now has a crisis but is also very much turned on. so good and funny, verseau is the besttt. rimming, masturbating, dirty talk, fingering, too many good kinks whew!

Kiss and Cry - ksoo is a badass retired figure skater who took on jongin as a trainee to prepare him for the worlds (favvvvvv fic)

Push the Pedal Down - boarding school au where ksoo is kind of an outcast but jongin can see behind the angry glares

begging you to keep on haunting me - hybrid au, bodyguard au. jongin is a famous dancer but he’s also a swan hybrid and received a death threat. fearing, he hires the best bodyguards also hybrids to protect him day in day out. they all are hot especially kyungsoo. sexy mature and intense kyungsoo FML

Interning - i loooove ksoo in here! ot12 office au, he starts off as the cold-hearted asshole but learns to work with and appreciate his teammates. and jongin. a lot. :)

Say Hi! - omegle au ksjdnkqdjn sexting with a stranger :-)

spreading inside of me - teacher au. both are professors at SNU and meet during a lecture w their colleagues, this is funny and the author knows a lot about the academic work that college professors do haha. boi but that smut yum (D/S, slut-shaming, bj) wow

Carpe Diem - witches of salem au, jongin doesn’t feel at home in his hometown and everyone is lying to him, except for soo

Space Booty - space au in which pirate!ksoo saves jongin who was going to be sold as a sex slave

Romantic In Theory - ksoo is a fliiiiirt!! he meets street dancer!jongin in his hometown after coming back from college and, bam

Puppy Love - jongin volunteers at a pet shelter where ksoo works as a vet, and during night time he’s a bartender at a strip club. one night ksoo goes in and is not so secretive about his attraction towards jongin

Bite Me - vampire au where vamp!nini messed up and human!kyungsoo is really really mad at him

Omega Nini - hs au in which omega!nini and alpha!soo like each other and are to be future mates, except nini’s behavior is problematic

Infinity Times Infinity - space au, jongin is the son of a high ranked commander and goes to school with ksoo who’s dad does shady business. they come from different worlds but connect with each other on a school trip

BITE - vampire + wolf au, vamp!ksoo just wants to fit in and be happy with his mate, omega!nini

Juice Pouch - vampire au (night people) where they take over the government and human!jongin makes a deal with vampire!ksoo to protect him and his baby

Shape of My Heart - kyungsoo is THE shit akzjdc assassin!jongin found himself in a difficult situation where he has to take care of kyungsoo who didn’t ask for any of this

Amidst Antenuptials and Elevator Kisses - arranged marriage au that turned out pretty good (the smuuuuut ugh yes)

The Apocalypse Killed the Video Star - zombie au in which idol!jongin founds himself having to survive on his own until one day the famous Ilsan Slayer founds him and saves his life (enemies to lovers yeeee)

- Admins Macaroon & J ♡

#kaisoo #kadi #fic request #dika #r:confident soo #j #admin macaroon

116 notes · View notes

rkxdowoon-a · 5 years ago

Text

Glass Half-Empty | Solo

Date: 10th May, 2020 Location: Royal Entertainment building, Dongdaemun-gu, Seoul

tw hecktons of negativity

It’s been a year since he’d gotten that call. A year since he’d passed his audition and joined the ranks of Royal’s trainees. He’d signed a contract to one of the hardest entertainment companies to be scout for in all of Korea, learned how to (finally) dance and sing, made so may new friends and grown as a person. All in twelve short months.

So why does Dowoon feel like he hasn’t actually achieved anything?

On a day like this, he really should be spending it with the friends he’s made, reminiscing and joking about everything that’s happened so far. But he can’t bring himself to do that. Instead of being at lunch, he’s in the gym, walloping a punching bag. (or at least, he’s trying to.)

Dowoon’s face is set in a frown as he punches and kicks at the bag. Really, what had he achieved over the last year? Nothing. Nothing except a stupid SNS ban over a joke. A joke that should have gotten lost in the twitter searches. Dowoon clenches his jaw and slams his fist into the bag.

Alright, he admits it. It was stupid joke, but it should have only been him that was punished. Not Yena, or the rest of the company. Just him. As he attacks the bag more and more, Dowoon can’t help but wonder if the whole debacle is still being held against him.

Is that why Eric is getting more opportunities than him, even when his brother only joined Nova a few months ago?

The spike of jealousy that washes through Dowoon distracts him enough to lose his focus, so when the punching bag swings back towards him, he doesn’t react fast enough to stop it barreling into him and knocking him clean onto the ground. He lays on the mat, winded and staring up at the ceiling. And before he can stop it, the tears are building in his eyes as everything overwhelms him.

He has a year left on his contract and he hasn’t achieved anything worthwhile.

Hurriedly, Dowoon flips onto his stomach and buries his head in his arms, biting his lip hard to keep the sobs in and shutting his eyes tightly to stop the tears from falling. This is wrong. He shouldn’t feel like this! He should be happy that he’s made it this far, especially when he was on death’s door this time two years ago. He should feel proud of himself for improving so much in such a short space of time. And it goes without saying that he should be overjoyed for his little brother, given the complete injustice of the MGAs.

But all he can feel is hopelessness and fear. Fear that he’s squandered his time in Royal so far. And as much as he tries to squash it down, he’s resentful. He gave up his place in SNU to be a trainee, and look at all the good it’s gotten him.

Just as he thinks he’s about to lose the fight to keep himself from crying out loud, a firm tap to the shoulder has Dowoon hesitantly raising his head to looking to the concerned face of Hongjoong. Of course.

“Dowoonie, are you alright? It looked like the bag did a number on you. ...How many times are we gonna have this conversation?”

“Ah...A-Ah, it’s fine! I just got the breath knocked out of me, that’s all!”

The other’s expression is somewhat skeptical, but without arguing, Hongjoong holds out his hand to Dowoon. And he instinctively takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He sniffles and wipes his hand across his face, quickly assuring his friend that it’s just allergies. After all he doesn't want to worry the idol, yet again. In fact, he’s mortified that Hongjoong has spotted him like this again. Instead, he lets the older boy lead him out of the gym, only half listening to his scoldings as he gets lost in his own head again.

There’s no point crying over what can’t be fixed, is there? He has one year left in Royal. All he can do right now is resolve to try even hard to achieve something meaningful within the next 365 days.

He is Royal’s peony, after all. The bringer of honor and symbol of good health and a happy life.

(And maybe someday soon, Dowoon will see his achievements for what they are. Progress.)

Word Count:734

#Ch: Solo #;; solo #( Stamina )#[30/30]#(!!!!!)#(We did it beans! Stamina completed AND first year as a trainee survived yaaay~)#(Tho I'm so sorry of sad Dowoonie orz. He is a lost boy rn...)#tw negativity

2 notes · View notes

religion-is-a-mental-illness · 7 years ago

Text

Objective analysis of bible indicates Lucifer was the good guy?

From: https://sguforums.com/index.php?topic=20959.0

I was just pondering the mythology of the bible and stumbled upon something that I thought would make for interesting debate on this forum. According the text of the bible itself, Lucifer was the good guy and God was the evil one. Here’s the logic, based on the bible itself. Lucifer was an angel who was pissed that angels, who were divine, immortal and created first by god were created as slaves of god while humans were favored with free will. Lucifer claimed that angles should be treated at least as well as humans and convinced many other angels of this as well. God told them to shut up and obey, Lucifer launched a rebellion to overthrow the Tyrant who was denying angels their rights and lost. He and his supporters where exiled from heaven and ended up on earth. Since history is written by the victors their dominion was renamed, “hell” and the supporters of Lucifer labeled as “demons” and Lucifer himself was made into the epitome of evil. BUT what exactly did Lucifer do that was evil? Let’s examine the evidence. 1. Convinced Adam and Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge. Counter point: God created Adam and Eve to be stupid and amusing pets. He built a nice zoo complete with landscaping, food, water, ECT. But insisted we remain stupid and ignorant of the truth. When Lucifer told Eve that knowledge is not evil and that Truth is a good thing, she used her free will and logic, (given by god) to come to the conclusion that eating the apple would be a good thing. God flips out that his asinine rule was broken, (today we call those who try to forcibly keep truth from their subjects dictators and tyrants) kicks out Adam and Eve and proclaims that their descendents will be punished for all eternity, (thus inventing original sin and showing himself to be a giant dick who holds insane grudges). 2. Goads God into the Story of Job. Background: Job was a god fearing, righteous man who exalted god daily for his healthy family, bountiful crops and livestock and wonderful home. God boasted to Lucifer of how much Job loved him. Lucifer said it’s because god had given Job such a sweet life. God proceeded to kill Jobs family, destroy his crops and livestock and demolish his home. Job still exalted god, thus proving his loyalty and faith. Counter point. Kim Jong IL calls Barrack Obama and tells him of his top general, a man called Ming, who loves Kim Jong IL immensely and tells him everyday what a wonderful leader he is. Obama tells Kim it’s because he has bribed the general with a fine life, of a large house, riches, women and power. Kim calls in General Ming and his family. Before the general Kim Jong IL shoots the man’s family, then announces that his bank account is gone and his home burned to the ground. General Ming drops to his knees and begs Kim Jong IL to forgive him for whatever he did to displease the dear leader. He exalts the Dictator like never before because he is convinced the tyrant has gone insane and will now kill him. Kim Jong IL is pleased and calls Obama to gloat that General Ming has proven his loyalty despite Kim destroying his life. Replace Kim Jong IL with God, General Ming with Job and Obama with Lucifer and you have the story of Job. Now I ask you who is the bad guy in that story? Obama? Or Kim Jong IL? 3. Lucifer tries to get Jesus to save himself rather than be crucified. Now let’s look at the story of Jesus dieing for the sins of mankind more closely. Jesus was sent by his dad to be tortured to death by humans because the first humans had used their god given free will to choose knowledge over ignorance, thus disobeying god. God, the eternal prick that he will soon be shown to be, held a grudge for millennia against the descendents of Adam and Eve, until one day he decides he can forgive humans, BUT only if he stages a dramatic murder of his son at the hands of the same humans he can now forgive. Rather than just declare humans forgiven, he decides to stage a snuff show that he will lord over humanity for eternity, guilting us into obeying him, (we have too because Jesus died for our sins at the command of his insane father) For pointing out the insanity of god’s actions and telling Jesus he doesn’t have to die and shouldn’t, Lucifer is called evil. Now where in the Bible does Lucifer ever kill anyone or do anything we would consider evil? I can’t think of any. But do you know who is the biggest asshole and bloodthirsty murderer? God, let’s examine the evidence. 1. Kicking out Adam and Eve from paradise for eating from the fruit of knowledge. As explained previously, knowledge is something all should strive for and not shun because their dictator tells them to avoid it. 2. Tower of Babel At one time all people spoke the same language. They decided to get together and build a tower so high it could reach heaven, (a foolish idea since humans have gone into space and not found heaven thus it is not a place the builders of the tower could ever have reached). God was so angered by what he saw as arrogance by the people that he smashed the tower and scatted them all over the earth, making them speak different languages so that they could never again understand each other enough to work on another tower. Note that the misunderstanding the results from different languages results in countless wars that kill many tens of millions of people. Counter point. You work in Japan, your toddler child who lives in New York tells you he is building a boat with his friends that he will use to cross the oceans and reach Tokyo. You fly into a rage, smash his boat, and then kidnap your child’s friends and leave them at different end s of the city and make each child unable to understand, (inevitably leading to misunderstanding and hatred) other children. You are left secure in the thought that your child will never be so arrogant to try to build a homemade raft to circle the earth again. Now what would we think of such a parent? We would put their child in protective service and probably put the parent in jail or at least in a psychiatric hospital because they are obviously crazy and in need of professional help. But when god does its suddenly ok and the fault of the kids for attempting to work together to accomplish an impossible task? 3. Noah’s Ark and the flood. God gave humans free will to decide for ourselves whether or not to obey him. Most people chose not to. So God decided to kill everyone on earth, including millions of innocent babies, as well as every plant and animal. He then decides to spare one family, a family that does obey him, because then the descendents will be more likely to obey him. Now when god speaks to Noah, Noah is aware of whom god is, because obviously some people do believe in god and obey him. The millions of god fearing and god obeying people who are not part of Noah’s family? Well fuck them too, they can die with all the innocent babies god suddenly feels like drowning. When god is done drowning the world, (why the need to kill all those animals, why not just send a plague to target the wicked, thus sparing all the faithful and the babies?) he promises to never drown it again, (though he could destroy it in some other way). What amazes me is that the story of Noah is told to children as an example of god’s love. WAIT A SECOND! God commits the greatest act of genocide in history, kills more people than Hitler, Stalin and Mao combined and then we are told that Lucifer is the evil one? 4. Killing the first born of Egypt So the Israelites are forced into exile, go to Egypt where they are enslaved by the Egyptians. God sends Moses to free his people. Pharaoh refuses and orders the first born son of each Israeli family killed. Before that can be carried out, god sends the angel of death to kill the first born of every Egyptian family. Not just Pharaoh’s son, but every first born son in Egypt. This act of genocide is commemorated by the holiday of Passover. Why is god punishing innocent people, many of them children for the barbarity of one man? And why is it ok when he does it? 5. Ordering genocide in his name Specifically I am referring to ordering the Israelites, now freed from Egypt, to attack and kill the Canaanites, including every man, women and child, even the dogs! Not only does god love to commit genocide but apparently he loves to make us humans do it too! Of course, some religious folks will say, “Any thing god does is by definition moral, evening mass murder or ordering mass murder in his name”. Let me get this straight, killing scores of innocent men, women and children is ok, as long as god told you too? Isn’t that what Osama Bin Laden says he’s doing? Or what about the 12 crusades that were launched in the Middle Ages? Those were ordered by the Popes who are supposedly infallible because they have a direct line to god. 6. Allowing rape, slavery, exploitation of women and all the other nasty shit that’s in “his good book”. In the bible you’ll find examples of rape, incest, slavery and massive chauvinism all justified. Oh and let’s not forget the story of Abraham, ordered to sacrifice his own son. Lucky for him god chose to send an angel to stay Abraham’s hand at the last instant but really, why not just look into the man’s soul to determine the depth of his faith, isn’t god suppose to be all knowing? Must he really order his follows to kill their own children to prove something to him? So examining the evidence from the bible itself we have god, acting as the genocidal tyrant who gives us free will and the choice to obey or not, then kills us en mass for choosing wrong vs. Lucifer, the angel who’s only sin was to disagree with god and who thinks that all sentient beings have an inherent right to self determination and should use logic to think for themselves, (the basis of western civilization). Who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy? Seems pretty obvious to me. Moreover let me put this hypothetical before you. If you did a survey of a thousand Americans and told them of a General Lao, a tyrannical and petty, grudge holding dictator of some Asian country and Commander Tzu an opposition leader who believed in self determination and logical thinking, (i.e. democracy) and who launched a failed coup attempt to unseat the despot General Lao, and asked them, “who do you support and who should the United States support?” What do you think the results would be? Every one of them would say “Commander Tzu is the good guy and General Lao is the bad guy.” In fact many might say the US should send military aid to Commander Tzu. Now what would those same people say if you told them that all the atrocities committed by General Lao were actually described in the bible as committed by God and the actions of Commander Tzu were committed by Lucifer? Do you think that could give people some pause, perhaps give them some reason to think for themselves instead of blindly accepting propaganda and living instructions from some ancient “magic book” written millennia ago? No, that's probably too much to ask. After all, Lucifer is the epitome of evil and God is all love and compassion, it says so in the bible;) Please note, I am not arguing that Christians should abandon their faith and start worshiping Lucifer instead, (after all we are talking about mythology here, I would no more argue that someone should worship Ares over Zeus because one Greek god is an asshole and the other a cool guy) but rather that blindly accepting what’s written in some book as divine truth and deciding to live your life by it is foolish. I find it amusing that so many fundamentalist Christians have no idea of what horrors lie within “the good book”. These same people will point to me, a secular humanist who believes that humans must ban together to create a society in which all people have access to the basic necessities of life as well as a good education in order to ensure equality of opportunity so that we may all maximize our potentials and thus maximize aggregate happiness in the world, as an immoral person for not accepting what is in their magic book, yet they, who claim that “every word in the bible is literally true” are virtuous for blindly following orders from the greatest genocidal dictator of all time.

181 notes · View notes

kates-sweet-escape · 6 years ago

Text

Dance with me [SN | F]

pairing: Shownu X Reader (Gender neutral)

genre: Fluff with a hint of Angst

word count: 3.6k

summary: Your life is shattered into a million little pieces when a chance encounter with a stranger changes your life forever.

trigger warning: This story contains hints towards abuse and suicide. If any of these themes are triggering for you please don’t read the following story.

cover: Made by me. Picture credit to 1st Look.

song: “Livin’ it up” by Monsta X

lyrics: “I was searching for something that would excite the ordinary everyday. This miracle that we’ve met makes it rain on my parched soul.”

This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t…

You kept repeating that thought inside your head over and over and over again like a magic spell that would suddenly turn your life around and make it seem less like a failure.

But you knew that wouldn’t happen.

Because in reality there were no magic spells. No time travels. No nothing.

Instead, you had to face the fact that you’d just failed your final exam for the third time, immediately resulting in you getting expelled from Seoul National University. Which meant you’d just wasted three years of your life working relentlessly for a degree you would never be able to get.

Not now. Nor ever.

You let out a deep sigh as you imagined the disappointed expression on your mother's face who’d always wished for you to become a successful lawyer. She’d told the whole neighborhood about it when you’d gotten into SNU Law school, bragging about how smart you were and how you’d turn your family’s fate around and make them wealthy enough to stop worrying about how to put food on the table for you and your little brother. You’d been a scholarship recipient, defying the odds by being one of the few people in your year to make it into SNU without rich parents and an armada of tutors and teachers stepping on each other just to help you out.

And you’d been able to maintain your scholarship throughout the past three years. Your grades had been excellent. Your behavior had never been off. Not even once. When everybody had gone out to party you’d stayed home to study, your nose buried in the books until the break of dawn. But all that seemed to be of no use because you failed the final exam. Three times in a row. And you had no idea why.

You couldn’t even really remember taking it. Everything was a blur. From the moment you got up on exam day until you left the classroom. You couldn’t remember the questions or the answers you’d given. You couldn’t even remember the faces of the students that had taken the exam with you. Not even one.

And that had been the case every damn time.

So you haven’t been all that surprised when you’d received the notice from SNU that you’d been expelled due to insufficient academic performance. But opening that letter and looking at the black ink on the white paper that turned your worst fears into reality had still hurt like hell. And it still kind of did.

You looked down towards the big box at your feet that you’d brought with you all the way to the Han River Bridge. You knew what was inside but you were hesitant to open it. You didn’t want to look at all your textbooks, notes and cue cards that you’d put together so carefully over the past three years. Because in the end, all that hard work hadn’t paid off. You’d still failed. You’d still let your family down.

God - You’re father would be furious once you’d go back home to Busan. He’d scream at you, calling you a disgrace before eventually kicking you out. And your mother and little brother would only be able to watch since they knew better than to get involved once he’d gone into full-on rage-mode. And you wouldn’t want them to get involved anyway. You’d always been the protector of your family, taking on your father’s outbursts of anger so that those two wouldn’t have to put up with his temper tantrums. So you were used to it. Used to being called all sorts of names. Used to getting kicked out of your home temporarily. And even used to getting hit once or twice. So it wasn’t anything you couldn't handle.

Yet you already dreaded the day of your return, if you were completely honest.

You rested your hands on the railing and looked towards the glistening water of Han River. You knew that people were sitting on the shore, drinking beer, chatting away and looking at the beautiful lights on the bridge in awe. But to you the water down below looked like a dark, black hole even though it was illuminated in all sorts of colors. It would be so easy to just climb over the railing and just let yourself fall into this black nothingness. Maybe it would hurt when your body hit the surface of the water. You had read in some newspaper that it was similar to your body hitting concrete. So it would most definitely hurt like hell. But at least the water wouldn’t be cold in this hot summer night.

And then everything would just be over in a split second.

But unfortunately, quitting on life like that wasn't your style.

You’d always been the stubborn type. The one to fight your way through any situation. No matter how bleak it may seemed.

You father called it stupidity. Your mother called it bravery.

And you? You didn’t know what you’d call it.

“Move it!” Your head snapped towards the loud voices that were coming closer. They were accompanied by thumping footsteps that sounded a lot like a large group of people running. And just as you were leaning back slightly they came into view.

Seven young men were running in your direction. Followed by what looked like a small mob of people dressed like waiters.

The group of young men that you estimated to be around your age was lead by a guy with silver blondish hair. He wore black dress pants and a grey button down while carrying a blazer in his hand. He was tall and skinny with long legs that seemingly helped him to get ahead. The smile on his face was blindingly bright and he seemed to have the time of his life, judging by the laugh that echoed through the night.

He was closely followed by someone significantly shorter than him who didn’t look nearly as pleased or amused as the guy with the silver hair. Instead, he looked rather angry, gritting his teeth as he looked back for a second, the fringe of his purple hair sticking to his forehead. “This was a stupid idea!”

“Kihyun - loosen up a little.” Another tall guy with the face of a model caught up to the two runners that lead the group. His words were barely audible because he heaved like a dying animal as he sped up his steps to catch up to them.

“Less talking - more running.” Two shorter guys with pitch black hair were next in line. One of them had a very unique nose. He was holding the hand of the other guy, who had a ridiculously symmetrical face, practically dragging him along and preventing him from falling several times.

“Hate to admit it but Changkyun is right.” The blonde guy who was second to last seemed to be jogging instead of running, his blue eyes glistening with amusement. He suddenly turned around to run backwards, taunting his pursuers with an annoying smirk and an offensive hand gesture. It was more than evident that he could have gotten ahead easily. He had massive thighs and was obviously in shape. Running seemed to be a piece of cake for him. Just like for the guy who was running right next to him.

He had dark brown hair that seemed to have been carefully styled while a black suit was accentuating his height and broader frame. He looked comfortable. Happy almost with the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Running seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary for him. His skin didn’t turn bright red. He was hardly sweating even though it was a hot summer night and his breathing seemed to be very steady. His whole body just screamed athlete. The upper two buttons on his shirt were undone, giving you a good look at his toned chest and the bronzed skin while the subtle gold chain around his neck added a nice touch.

He was handsome. In the classic way. His face was very masculine and well structured with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. But his rather plush lips evened out his harsh facial features, smoothing them over and giving him and almost gentle touch. And his warm, dark brown eyes were… transfixed on you.

You couldn’t help but stare back at him, completely caught off guard by the way he looked at you. Or rather the way the look in his eyes made you feel. You’d never met him before. He was a complete stranger to you. Yet you felt oddly calm looking into his eyes. The stress and anxieties seemed to just leave your body, taken away by a cleansing wave of comfort and security.

Who the hell was this guy and what on earth…

“YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE YOU THIEVES!”

You realized that the group was still headed your way. And that they’ve gotten a lot closer to you while you’d been staring into some stranger’s eyes. If you weren’t gonna get out of their way quickly, they’d probably run you over. So you did the first thing you could think of. You took a huge step back and hopped onto the cardboard box that you’d brought with you, just to get out of their way. You weren’t gonna let yourself get stomped to death by a bunch of guys. No way in hell.

Only seconds later they were passing you by, their laughter now mixing with the sound of the cars that were driving across the bridge.

They seemed so happy. So carefree. So… unbothered.

Unlike you.

But they also seemed to be in a lot of trouble, judging by the fact that they were being chased.

You let out a deep sigh. You’d never gotten into trouble. Not even once. You’d always been cautious. Scared to make a mistake. Scared to do something reckless. You’d always been good. But for what exactly? Your life had turned out this way anyway. You should have gone out. Have fun and make friends instead of keeping to yourself and learning for exams. You should have…

You let out a yelp of surprise as you suddenly felt a hand grab your wrist. Strong fingers were wrapped around it tightly and you could feel the warmth of skin on skin before you were suddenly dragged off your little box and back onto the sidewalk.

You looked up just to see the smile of the handsome stranger that had been staring at you so intensely just seconds ago. From up close he was almost breathtakingly beautiful, with his almond shaped eyes and his straight and flawless nose.

When did he stop running? It must have been when your mind had started to wander. Otherwise you would have noticed immediately.

You tried to take a deep breath to calm down that heavy beating heart of yours but instead of some hot summer night air you seemed to only breathe him in. His cologne had an exquisite smell. It reminded you of leather and fresh cut wood with a hint of flowers.

Unique. Just like him.

“Are you ready?”. That’s all he said. Nothing else. No explanation on why he’d suddenly grabbed your wrist. Or why he wanted you to come along. He just stood there on the bridge right next to you, a complete stranger. He was oddly close, only standing inches apart from you while seemingly being absolutely unfazed by the fact that the group of waiters was catching up fast. He acted like he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

But what answer did he expect?! You knew absolutely nothing about him. Not even his name. Why would you even consider-

“Yes”.

Wait. Did those words really just leave your mouth? Did you really just go insane? Yeah, that was most likely the case judging by the fact that you just...

He smiled at you and suddenly all the thoughts inside your head went quiet. You knew how stupid it was to trust some random stranger. How dangerous it was to even consider following him.

Yet you felt like you could follow him anywhere without having to worry about a thing.

How strange.

“Then let’s go”, he said before he started running again, taking you along to a destination that only he knew.

Coming along with that stranger that you now knew as Shownu had been the best decision you’d ever made your entire life. At least that’s what you thought when you were sitting in the booth of some club, surrounded by the guys you knew nothing about except for their names and the fact that they were excellent dancers. Well, you looked towards Kihyun, at least most of them were.

Your body was buzzing with energy from dancing for the past two hours and your clothes slightly stuck to your skin with sweat. The music was loud enough to almost make you go deaf and the deep base vibrated through your body. It felt like it was making its way straight to your heart, helping it to continue beating despite all the hurt and disappointment you’d felt ever since opening that godforsaken letter.

For the first time since you’d been expelled, it felt like you could breathe again. Like some sort of burden had suddenly been lifted from your chest, allowing you to take one deep breath after the other, pumping oxygen into your lungs while igniting a spark inside you that turned into an all consuming fire of resolve and determination.

Getting expelled wasn’t the end of the world.

Quite the contrary. It was a new beginning. A fresh start that allowed you to finally figure out what you truly wanted to do with your life. It was the key to a future that you would decide on all by yourself, without taking your family into consideration since your father would disown you anyway.

You felt like crying. Not because you felt an all-consuming sadness. But because you felt an overwhelming sense of relief instead.

All your life you’d been forced onto an already set path. You’d given up on all the sparks of passions you’d felt. You’d given up on friends and hobbies. On love and a social life. Or just on the idea on a life for yourself in general.

You’d been this empty shell that your parents had used as a puppet to fulfil their own dreams and aspirations instead of taking some time to even ask you once what you wanted to do with your life. They’d used you. Molded you into something you’d never wanted to be, making you lose sight of yourself in the process while justifying their actions under the pretense of doing what was best for you.

But had all of this really been the best for you?

When you thought of everything you’d sacrificed and all the times you’d thrown up before taking an exam, you highly doubted that.

“So, are you the next addition to Shownu’s collection of lost souls?” Changkyun’s low voice still sounded so unfamiliar that you could easily hear him over the loud music. He was sitting across from you on the other side of the round table right next to Wonho and Minhyuk.

Shownu’s collection of what? “Excuse me, but I don’t really get it.” You looked at Shownu in confusion.

Changkyun shrugged as he grabbed his glass of soju, drinking the last remaining amount of the alcohol in one shot. “Well, he picked all of us up from the street like some stray dogs. Just like he did with you tonight. So we-”

Jooheon rolled his eyes before he reached across the table and stuffed Changkyun’s mouth with some snacks he’d ordered previously. “Why don’t you just shut up, Mister Theatrical.” Jooheon looked at you and smiled so that his eyes turned into small crescent moons and deep dimples appeared on his face, completely transforming his face. “What Changkyun was trying to say is that we all have our story. So we understand.”

Okay, now they’d really lost you. “You understand what?”

Hyungwon brushed back some of his hair. “You standing on that bridge.”

Okay, what the hell was going on? “I fear I don’t…”

“Come on.” Shownu suddenly grabbed you hand, forcing you to get out of the booth. “Dance with me.”

“But” you pointed towards your water “I still didn’t get the chance to drink anything and…” You gave up as soon as you noticed that he wasn't listening to you. You just followed him unto the crowded dance floor, his hand still tightly holding yours before he pulled you closer to him.

Being this close to him was still very new to you even though he’d danced like this with you before. Even when the others were around he’d always made sure to dance with you. Sometimes with your back leaning against his chest or like now with his chest touching yours. He let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in even closer.

It was obvious that he didn’t give a sh*t about what people thought of him because otherwise he wouldn’t have held you this close in public. And you kind of wished that he’d care a bit more because you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks while you prayed to God that he didn’t feel the loud thumping of your heart against his chest.

Shownu started to move to the music that seemed to be one with his body before he leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear before he started to speak softly.

“I am very sorry about the guys.” His tone was very careful, almost as if he was afraid of your reaction. “They can be a little… blunt sometimes. Especially Changkyun and Hyungwon.” He pulled you even closer, pressing your body flat against his while all his movements came to a halt. “I am really sorry.”

“About what?” You tried to push yourself away a little to take a look at his face but he held you too tight. “I don’t even really know what they were talking about.”

“About you…” Shownu cleared his throat. “About the fact that you tried to kill yourself.”

His words left you dumbfounded for a second. What? How did they come up with that nonsense? When did you ever…

You couldn’t help but laugh when you finally caught up to things. Gosh, those idiots. “I didn’t try to kill myself.” You chuckled as Shownu suddenly lifted his grip a little to look at you in utter confusion. “Is this some sappy drama? Do all the people go to the Han River Bridge to throw themselves off of it?”

“But you were standing on a box and…”

“Yeah - A box full of things I planned on throwing INTO Han River!” You couldn’t help to smile like an utter idiot. Somehow this was very funny to you. Maybe because of the absurdness of this whole situation. “I never planned on killing myself. Not even for a second.”

“Oh God…” You laughed even more as you saw Shownu’s cheeks turn bright red. “I am such an idiot.”

“Yeah.” You patted his shoulder. “But at least you are a nice idiot who dragged somebody along just because you thought that person was suicidal.”

Shownu forced a smile, making it look a little odd. “Well… I am the type of guy that can’t leave people alone that seem to have a hard time.” He nodded towards the table, his awkward smile tuning into an honest and warm one. “That’s how I ended up with those dorks.” He looked you straight in the eye. “They’ll tell you their stories one day. When they are ready.”

God, what was it with his eyes that made you feel so at ease while your heart started beating even faster?!

“You make it sound like I’ll be around for a long time.”

He nodded slowly. “I’d like that.” He suddenly broke eye contact, looking around instead. “Well only if you’d want to. I mean I forced you along so I-”

You had no idea what gave you the courage to grab him by the collar of his shirt before pulling him in for a kiss. Him, a complete stranger you knew nothing of but his name, his kind and big heart and the fact that you felt so safe with him that you’d follow him anywhere if he’d just ask.

His lips felt incredibly soft and you felt his warmth all over as he pulled you in as close as he could, not leaving any room between his body and yours.

When he kissed you back you just knew that this was your new beginning.

He felt like warmth and home. Like security and understanding.

But he tasted like vodka, energy drinks and endless possibilities.

And you were addicted immediately.

When you let go of him you were out of breath. You felt your blood rushing through your body while feeling a little light-headed. But you weren’t afraid. Not even concerned.

You knew this was where your life would start to feel like yours again. And even if there wasn’t any magic in this world, this moment kind of felt like it.

So instead of answering, you wrapped your arms around Shownu’s neck and kissed him again. Because something told you, that you’d really be around for a very long time.

#monbebenet #monbebe #shownu #son hyunwoo #fanfiction #monsta x #monsta x fanfiction #shownu fluff #shownu fanfic #shownu fanfiction #shownu scenario #monsta x fluff #monsta x scenario

43 notes · View notes

glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 7 years ago

Text

[22] Glitch in the System - The Haunting of Chateau Guillard

By E. An excuse to write something spooky happens. _

When they returned to the chateau, Widow was the first to notice that something was amiss.

“Sombra,” she said, body rigid, expression indicating the scent of prey. She dropped her bag on the sprawling front porch as the sound of the boat that had ferried them over puttered away back toward the mainland.

“Yeah, I see it,” the hacker responded, placing her luggage by Widow’s. The door to the chateau, locked tight when they’d left, was ajar.

“Did we leave it unlocked?” Sombra asked, knowing full well they had certainly not left it unlocked. It looked as though someone had jimmied it open. To be fair, Sombra thought, the uninspired 19th century security keeping the place safe was more than a little lackluster.

“We did not,” was Widow’s terse reply, her pursed lips making her look more annoyed than concerned.

“Come on. Let’s walk around the terrace,” Sombra suggested, lowering her voice and listening for anything out of the ordinary. The chateau was quiet, unlived-in, and too far from any population of humans for noise to carry. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the island it was built on as the wind rippled it against the shore.

Widow nodded, wire-tight like a cat ready to pounce. Neither of them were armed, so it would be wits and situational awareness until they figured out what was going on or managed to make it upstairs. Sombra hadn’t touched her machine-pistol in over a week. Frankly, she kind of missed the feel of metal in her hands.

They stepped up onto the terrace, newly cleaned since their arrival, and assessed the situation. Nothing outside had been disturbed, but when Sombra peeked over the railing, she saw something decidedly out of place.

“Hey spider, look,” she whispered, pointing down at a small dinghy floating in the water. It had been tied to a stake someone plunged into the small amount of land rimming the chateau, inconspicuous and away from the primary dock they used.

“That does not look like a particularly intimidating craft,” Widowmaker replied, leaning over to get a closer look.

“There’s a lunchbox in it,” Sombra agreed, frowning. “A purple lunchbox.”

“At least it’s our aesthetic.”

Sombra snorted. “So probably not assassins. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” Stepping slowly closer to the kitchen window, she leaned around the edge of the wall to peer inside. It seemed to be undisturbed at first glance, but after a moment’s surveillance, Sombra saw something move.

“There’s someone in there,” she whispered, watching them wander around. “It’s a fucking teenager.” She squinted. “With a flashlight and a camera.”

“Excuse me?” Widow asked, incredulity lining her features.

“Wait, no. There’s a whole bunch of them.” Throwing caution to the wind, Sombra knelt before the window and watched as four teenagers wandered around the kitchen. They were clearly unaware that the electricity worked, shining their flashlights over the unfinished interior, pulling open cabinets and shrieking each time one of them attempted to scare the others.

“There are children,” Widowmaker said, peering over Sombra’s shoulder. “Wandering through my house.” She sounded half annoyed, half in awe of their temerity.

“Seems that way,” Sombra said, trying to keep the amusement from her voice. This was rich. “They’re going into the foyer. Come on,” she said, running around the terrace to follow them. Widowmaker sighed, following at a much less expedient pace.

The reluctant duo crouched under one of the exterior windows, its slightly ajar state providing them with the perfect opportunity to eavesdrop on the teenage interlopers.

“They keep saying fantôme,” Sombra asked, their rapid, giggling young French slightly beyond her comprehension. “Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?”

“It seems they are in search of una fantasma,” the spider translated, frowning, watching the teens as they traipsed around uninvited through her home.

“No way,” Sombra hissed, turning so fast she almost hit Widowmaker as her head whipped around. “Do they think the place is haunted?”

“It does appear that way,” the spider replied, deeply unamused by the situation.

Sombra gave Widowmaker a pointed look.

“What,” the spider asked, deadpan.

“I have an idea,” Sombra replied. “It’s a really good one,” she said as Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, looking decidedly unconvinced. “I just need to get to our bedroom.”

“Come here,” Widowmaker said, standing up and holding her arm out. “Is now really the time for snu-oh!” Sombra yelped as Widow grabbed her around the waist and they shot into the air after her grapple. With grace and more than a little strength, the spider hoisted them over the balcony to their bedroom, setting Sombra on the ground before the hacker had a chance to finish her sentence.

“You brought your grapple to Paris?” she asked, partially impressed and partially indignant. “Even I left my translocators at home.”

“Semper paratus,” Widow replied, shrugging. “I always have my grapple.”

“...always?”

Widowmaker smiled.

“Noted,” Sombra said, grinning mischievously.

“Shall we begin?” Widow asked, brushing some dust off the tips of her boots where they’d scraped against the side of the chateau on their ascent.

“Adelante,” Sombra grinned in response, opening the door for Widow and stepping into their bedroom after her.

Sombra unearthed her rig from where she’d stored it under the bed, snapping it easily into the ports along her spine and hands. As she was slipping her translocators around her waist, she heard the telltale sound of a gun being loaded behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, straightening her hoodie back over her gear. It felt odd being without it, but it grew cumbersome in some of their more intimate encounters, and aside from playing pranks, she’d not needed it at the chateau.

Widowmaker looked through the scope and tested the gun for integrity before flipping it over her shoulder. “For hunting children,” she said nonchalantly.

“Seriously, Lacroix?” Sombra asked, narrowing her gaze. Widowmaker looked back at her, confused. “Holy shit Widow, we’re not going to kill them.”

“We’re not?”

“No.” Sombra sighed, rolling her eyes. “We’re going to scare them.”

“Death is scary,” Widowmaker replied, her lack of comprehension both horrifying and hilarious at the same time.

“Dios, araña,” Sombra shook her head. “Just follow my lead.”

Bolstered by the assumption that they were alone, the teenagers were not subtle as they explored the chateau. They weren’t careful, either, and after Sombra and Widowmaker encountered the third upended can of paint, Sombra wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop the sniper from wringing their necks even if she’d wanted to.

“Where did they go?” Sombra mused, keeping an ear out for laughter or the sound of running feet. On cue, Widowmaker activated her visor and slowly scanned the chateau.

“Basement,” she said, doing another sweep. “Four of them.” She paused, deadly quiet. “Near my wine.”

“We’ll keep your sauvignon safe, spider,” she said. “I swear to fuck if they let Toulouse out,” she threatened low, tiptoeing past their sitting room and making her way into the kitchen toward the basement entrance.

Widowmaker disengaged her visor and walked over to the stove, pulling open a cabinet beside it. “Here he is,” she said, and Sombra looked over right in time to catch Toulouse’s sleepy stretch of white socks and a toothy yawn.

She breathed a sigh of relief and yanked open the temperamental door. “Después de ti,” she gestured, and Widowmaker stepped past her into the cold stone staircase leading into the basement of the chateau.

The teens were easy to find. Between the sound of their nervous giggling bouncing off the walls at odd angles and Widow triangulating with her visor, they managed to cut around them using the old servants’ passages Sombra had found when they’d first arrived at the chateau.

“Wait for it,” she said, one hand on Widow’s arm to keep the sniper from stepping out before her and clotheslining the kids in her anger. She activated her camo right as they were about to turn the corner, and as they passed by her position, stepped out behind them.

Reaching out toward the shorter of the boys in attendance, she flicked the baseball hat he was wearing off his head and onto the dusty old stone floor.

The boy whipped around looking angrily at his friends. “Who did that?” he asked, camera waving around in search of the culprit.

“Did what?” replied one of the girls, a dark-eyed child no more than fifteen years old.

“Knocked my hat off,” he replied, still angry, but a shadow of concern crossing his face. The camera’s ON light glowed dimly as he leaned over to snatch his hat from where it had landed.

Sombra took the opportunity to step by and tap the girl on the shoulder.

“Who just touched me?” she asked, indignation shifting slowly into fear.

“Would you two stop trying to scare us?” the taller boy said, scowling at the dark-haired girl and the boy with the hat. “It’s not working.”

Sombra raced past them again, casting a glance at a sullen Widowmaker still hidden in the alcove with her arms crossed, and began knocking on the wall, slowly walking closer to them until she was near enough to the dark-haired girl to breathe on her neck.

“Laisser,” she whispered, breath heavy on the girl’s skin. Before she could react, Sombra slapped the flashlight out of her hand.

“I’m out of here,” the girl said, turning on her heel and marching as quickly as she could down the hall they’d arrived through.

“Virginie, where are you going?” the other girl, a tall, willowy blonde called after her. The boys shrugged. One of them picked up her discarded flashlight and they hurried after her.

Sombra reappeared next to Widowmaker, not earning so much as a small jump from the spider. “You see?” she said, her grin encompassing her entire face.

“Yes,” was the spider’s response. Despite the shortness of her answer, Sombra could see a shallow, mischievous smile begin to grow.

“I’m going to nuke the camera. You want to take the upstairs and I’ll flush them out?”

“Oui,” she replied. “I will hang around the foyer.” Activating her visor, Widow turned right out of the corridor they were sequestered in and returned to the main floor of the chateau.

“Time to crank it to 11, chiquita,” the hacker said to herself, cracking her knuckles. “Just like back home.”

She followed the group easily, occasionally shuffling something behind them, moving a few objects perceptively as they turned to look. They argued with one another, convinced that someone in the group was pulling a prank meant to frighten the rest of them into admitting they were scared, but none of them able to explain how, precisely, they were doing it so adroitly.

As the boy with the hat argued with the taller boy about the overturned table they’d just passed, Sombra tiptoed up to him and ran a hand along the camera. Had they been looking, they would have noticed a flash of purple light as she erased their footage and destroyed the ability to create more. Sombra had been duped by a kid with seemingly inconsequential knowledge before; she’d be damned if she let it happen again.

Stepping back, she sighed, and casually tipped an old candle onto the ground like a petulant cat with a glass of water.

“Did you hear that?” the taller boy asked, looking nervous despite his previous mocking of the girls.

“Hear what?” Sombra replied, and this time as the four turned to the sound of her voice, she reappeared, purposefully glitching her camo so that only her eyes and the vague outline of her body appeared in and out of focus. “Bonjour.”

This time all four of them screamed, backpedaling so fast the dark-haired girl tripped over the taller boy, splayed out on the ground, conveniently right into the base of Sombra’s translocator.

“Hey,” she said, grinning as she appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, in front of the fallen intruder. She waved mockingly, blowing her a kiss.

As the four teenagers ran from the catacombs, she pressed the side of her earpiece. “Incoming,” she said.

“I’m in position,” was the spider’s response. Laughing and deeply pleased with herself, Sombra reactivated her thermoptic camo and raced to beat them upstairs.

Their fear lost a bit of steam on the cumbersome stairway to the kitchen as they made their way back to the foyer. Despite what they clearly perceived as a ghostly encounter, the boys at least seemed more excited than worried.

“That was wild,” the shorter boy with the hat said, his laughter nervous as he leaned over with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. “Bet I got it on camera.”

“Wild?” the dark-haired girl replied incredulously, shooting daggers at the boy. “That was an honest to god ghost, and it could move things,” she said, shuddering. “Big things. It could hurt us.”

“You’re overreacting,” the taller boy said, although the tremor in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“Well you can’t say I was seeing things, can you?” she retorted indignantly, hands on her hips. Her blonde companion was conspicuously silent, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow as she waited for the chateau’s ghost to show itself again.

The boys looked down, neither willing to contest what they had all seen. Sombra held both hands over her mouth, holding back a wicked laugh at their expense.

Widowmaker took this moment of contemplation as her cue and descended from the ceiling, silent as an actual ghost, plucking the boy’s hat from his head. As he reached up, confused, she zipped back into the alcoves, safe under cover of darkness.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around. “Who keeps taking my hat?”

“No one, dipshit,” the taller boy said, looking ill at ease. The girls, for their part, were done with the chateau, begging to go.

“Enfants,” came Widow’s singsong voice, the deadly edge inflecting it sending chills down Sombra’s spine. “Je te vois.”

“Jean-Claude, let’s go,” the dark-haired girl hissed, nails digging into his arm.

“Tu veux jouer?”

“Where did that come from?” he asked, looking less and less like defying her wishes as they edged together toward the door.

“Ici.”

The four teens looked up to see Widowmaker, in all her dark and deadly beauty, descend in a flash from the ceiling above them. She landed with a sudden, rough impact against Jean-Claude’s body, sending the other three flying and him with a crack to the floor.

“Please leave,” she said, standing from the boy’s prone body. Reaching down, she grabbed him by the collar and lifted him high into the air. “Now.” She pushed him away roughly and he struggled to keep his balance.

“Shit,” he cursed, suddenly becoming the biggest proponent of leaving the chateau as he shoved past his companions and out the door.

With that final act of brutal haunting, the four teens ran screaming from the chateau, echoes of “Aller!” and “Des fantômes!” lingering long after they’d frantically pushed their boat into the water. They heard the splash of oars as the terrified children paddled away as quickly as they could, watching until their boat was well out of sight before grabbing their discarded bags and closing and locking the doors behind them.

“An exciting homecoming, indeed,” Widowmaker mused, sighing down at their luggage.

Sombra grinned, rising up on her toes to give Widowmaker a kiss. “Can we do this more often?”

The sniper smiled slowly back at her. “Can I kill one next time?”

“Maybe.” Sombra paused. “Yeah ok, sure.”

“Deal.” Lifting the hacker into her arms, she carried her upstairs.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

#spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #widowmaker x sombra #sombra x widowmaker #sombra #widowmaker #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fandom #fanfic #glitch in the system #glitchfic #amélie lacroix #olivia colomar

38 notes · View notes

sentimentalica · 6 years ago

Text

THANK YOU FOR NOT WEARING PERFUME

The poster "THANK YOU FOR NOT WEARING PERFUME" makes it clear that this area of the hospital has other and more clinical demands for hygiene. Anti-bacterial gel dispensers loom at every entrance, where the duty of decontamination provokes fear of bringing any dangerous microbes into this establishment. One is even encouraged to wash hands before entering the unit where the very few patients rest, the kind that lingers in between life and death and the kind that have so many tubes in and out the body that the general memory of them once being active Homo sapiens with erect posture and bipedal locomotion, is undergoing a great deal of torture. My mother has just been transported here from the cardiac intensive care unit. I´m starting to understand the few available waiting rooms they have to offer as spaces of laborious distress, feverish uncertainty and acidic hope. As if the sanitisation here promise something that cannot be promised. The second nurse that knocked on the door sits down with us. Me and my family are piercing her with ambiguous desire for truth. We read her body language, voice intonation and pauses between words with such a suspicion that even the slightest deviation in any of these languages could turn us into birds falling off a stick. We´re scared, and even though we realise quickly that the nurse simply cannot consolidate us from the dire pain, we turn to her as if mother earth has re-incarnated herself into the nurse´s veins and we are witnessing the beginning of the world. For a moment I believe that she has secret powers that can be utilised if one manage to crack a certain code. A code that would absolve my mother´s artificial coma and further alleviate the pharmaceutical burden of hollow cylinders. I fantasise about my mother´s return to the real world where I would ask her how the deep sleep was, and tell her that the three weeks she´s been gone, nothing much has really happened. Christmas will come again next year. A week ago, one of the first doctors had brought us all in for a serious talk in a small office with dark windows. Apart from her low voice and general scepticism in regards to survival rates of heart ceases, all I detect is her sharp hair cut(right under the chin) and narrow thick glasses that reveal bad eye sight and not bad judgment, as I would have preferred in this case. I want her to simply be mistaken, and that she´s one of those doctors that always make you get a second opinion from someone else. Her age is close to my mothers and for a moment, I consider my stepdad by my side and think that if this goes terribly wrong, he must find another woman. I almost forgive myself for having that thought at the same time as I wonder if that will happen and who she might be. Hospitals ads so much pressure to life, and what life even mean outside of this building. I recall my grandfather after my grandmother died, where he would juggle at least three women at the same time at the age of 76. The last one he dated I think was even blind, so the bachelor scheming made it easier for him. Silver lining, even towards the end.

Out in the hallway, I sit down and try to fathom the severity of the dramatic timespan; from waking up to 21 missed calls and a taxi ride to the hospital on Christmas day at 7 in the morning to camping here not knowing whether the gozzip magazines help or make the perspective on life worse. All the white coated labourers that are rushing, sometimes slow paced in and out of string opening doors, wearing comfortable sneakers. One of the first encounters with a nurse was a young and blonde woman with this particular dialect that somehow render spoken Norwegian into a high pitched cantata. If she would have brought on terminal illness as a diagnosis, even the worst kind possible, I would have taken it as an optimistic verdict. As she shifts her weight from one hip to the other, I notice a round shaped snus box in the bulging pocket of her hospital pants and a funky piercing on her left ear cartilage. From her earlobe to my brothers blue eyes checking her out, I can tell that everyone is sort of moved by her more as a character than a nurse conveying crucial information. She´s not exactly Elle Driver from Kill Bill, but the fantasy of a nurse, and not just the uniform makes a lot of sense to me in this moment. She speak of my mom´s current condition with youthful grace and maternal sincerity that make me google professions in the health care field, as I wished it was me in there, taking care of her body and not someone unknown. I feel useless in this room which is half-hearted installed with standardised christmas decorations, itchy pillows, flavourless cookies and sour coffee. The view from the window is blocked by a crane and a man in orange workers clothes. His face will become my most graphic memory from these three weeks. The sky has never looked so grey and insignificant, it has compressed any imagination of a possible heaven. The blonde nurse asks if theres anything else and we all say no and thank you so much, where she replies; oh of course, I´m just doing my job. I look at my stepfather who hash´t slept for 2 days, still wearing the same clothes as he wore the morning he followed my mother in the ambulance. I listen to my sister who talks more or less to her own self-conscience about how she never wants to drink aquevit ever again, and that showing up at the hospital after a party is lethal to your nervous system. Especially on a day like this. She wants to hold my hand and rejoice into sisterhood which I quietly recoil from, not knowing exactly why, only that her touch feels like a forced contract I haven´t felt compelled to sign. A knock on the door in this room is characterised as an angst driven sigh catalyst- but many of the knocks are in fact from muslim women that are looking for empty seats and a place to crash. My mother is not the only patient at this hospital, and no one will ever, I retell myself over and over again, will be the ONLY PATIENT in a hospital. Over the next couple of days, these women as a tight knitted group and us as a tight ruptured family is at occupational war in this unit. Firstly because there are not enough chairs, and there´s only one tiny waiting room which holds so many conflicting emotions, that even to consider both parties in one space would create cumbersome discomfort. The prerequisite for potential grief is a self-centred affair that I cannot simply explain. As if the skin is eroding and extra coats become necessary, and you still feel cold. The brain feels like clouds of cotton, and not like the woven fabrics circumnavigating these female bodies as they humbly nod every time their scarfed heads pop into the glitch of the door and realise that today, this room is also occupied.

It dawns upon me that the sharing is caring concept doesn´t abide to this floor. The women eat out in the hallway, seated a part and not longer as a family. They´re spread out on one wallflowerish line, filling the X and the Y of the corridor. The smell of spices lingers in the clinical air, carried seamlessly by light human traffic. Everytime I go to the toilet I try to look at their faces for some compassionate contact. It´s difficult to put on a smile for them, although I deep down know, that this will be my only facial and gestural path to redemption. My step brother has just arrived with two bags filled with Big Macs and chilled fries from a drive in nearby, and that particular smell of burgers in itself puts me off next to the more oriental affair enclosed in styrofoam- both at combat and both appealing as its food produced outside of this institution. The Big Macs bring me back to my fast-food forbidden childhood and as I pick one up and unwrap the ordeal, I add some ketchup to make it more colourful. I take bites without chewing while my oesophagus cracks and forces by nature the happy meal further down into the stomach where it will stay as long as it wants. A late afternoon in the hospital, my father rings and as with all the consecutive correspondences over the phone during this period; the calls are being held in the hallways while walking up and down the architectural alleys. While I try to feel his far away presence perceived only as a cold digital voice today, a woman from the segregated group approaches me, and as I feel annoyed by this interruption I give her the time of the day as I already feel bad for my white middle class family being superior to the waiting room as camp site. I remove the shaking phone from my ear for a reluctant second, as I am sure this device could need a break too, in order to hear what it is she wants to say. The woman reaches out her frail hand from under the loose garment, as Mother Theresa would do it, and touches me on that part between the elbow and the shoulder cap. This area of the arm a parent deals with quite a lot I am sure, especially when dragging a difficult kid around who refuses any form of behavioural obedience. She simply says; stay strong. I nod and accept the kindness and attention of this comment directed at me, and once uttered, I conform to the idea of the universal notion that we all, during difficult times, must stay strong. I once saw this imperative "stay strong" tattoed on a strippers but cheeks. The openness that emerge from empathy sometimes doesn´t fly with strangers, as this memory of the stripper didn't fit as an incident to be shared with this elder woman.

A week more, and we find ourselves in a new hospital. The main nurse this time belongs neither in the sexy Kill Bill category or holy Mother Theresa. She has this idiosyncratic tick, involving her eyes slightly rolling backwards whenever she is saying something that is stuck between a thought and the tongue. Her eyeballs go completely white while this is happening, and as freaky as it may sound, she does return with her eyes directed at either the grim edge of the sofa or the empty kleenex box on the table. She tells us about the 50/50. A number I relate to bidding, and not to the status of a human being. She also tells us about the possible outcomes of my mother´s condition if she survives. The word "vegetable" is mentioned. My sister is asking if my mom would be a "vegetable" if she wakes up from the artificial coma. The nurse correct her, and says vegetative is the right word. Being a long time fan of words and their meanings, the difference between vegetable and vegetative has never been so irrelevant to me. Another doctor arrive with a crew of the "rolling eyes" nurse, a skin headed anaesthesia supervisor and another nurse with a pony tail lowered to the bottom of her neck. The third member of this interchangeable staff strike me as someone who might be dating the doctor secretly. The mood is clay in here- and by that word I mean terribly dark grey and mouldable. Like the material I despise more than over cooked spaghetti. The patriarchal doctor begins to formulate something we have already been told million times, and before he can continue my mind wanders off to his fancy Mercedes(maybe in chromatic silver?) and a swiss villa on the West side of Oslo. He probably has two healthy daughters that both study law and goes skiing on the weekends. I have forgotten the name of this doctor. I imagine him in the shower, longing for a mistress and a new carpet. But before I get to build my bitter and societal judgmental story around him as a figure, he says: "It doesn´t look good." And as I think to myself that there are a lot of things in this world that doesn´t look good, this one better. Denial is not a bad status, I tell you. It´s just impossible to sustain unless you want to make the leap of becoming delusional. Mixed emotions at stake, as I for a second wants him to be my dad and adopt me into his high educated life that must include a jacuzzi and a rottweiler longing for emotional cues that would enable him to be tamed like a golden retriever. I connect that fleeting disruption to me just wanting to get out of a situation that simply can't be escaped. I apologise with my eyes. I look at my sister trembling in her denim jumpsuit and red knitted sweater. She tells me that this outfit was a joke between her and my mom. I give her a hug, and one, that will last longer than expected because anything that would make the interior of this space worthwhile would be of a human interactive kind. She's way older than me, but right now, she is a 6 year old girl sobbing because my mom is late and haven't been able to pick her up on time in those solitary hours at the end of the day in kindergarten. I gel my hands twice with the anti-bacterial liquid and ask to enter the room in which my mom is situated. The sky behind her is pinkish and baby blue, making my moms pale appearance more outstandish. Contrast, in life, can paint a far more interesting picture. I whisper something into her ear that I thought at that point she would hear, but like with most one-way monologues, the wall is your squash field, waiting for a bounce. They have given her 10 litres of water due to severe hydration, so my mother is simply not recognisable where she horizontally has taken up a hospital bed. After holding her hand for a while, another nurse enters in a jolly mood, and I immediately get hopeful as I´m sure one cannot be this smiling if they don´t think she will make it. The nurse tells me that she probably can feel that I´m here and says her name out loud as if a response is expected. It´s New Years Eve and I´m wearing a mustard coloured dress. As the nurse leaves the room, I point with my finger to my mom´s closed eyelid and slowly lifts it up to get a glimpse of her eye. Like Medusa´s left or right eye in the painting by Caravaggio, it looks stirringly dead.

"We have tried everything, but we will give her one more day, as we need to see how she react without any traces of narcosis in her body." We are back at the cardiac arrest unit. The three rounds of different epileptic medicines are not working, because my mother doesn´t have epilepsy. The "We have tried everything" doctor´s hair is remarkably long and heavy, bundled in a thick braid. I want to grab it and pull myself up to the tower with it like the princess in the Rapunzel fairy tale. Maybe the view up there is better than this one. At least up there, a 360 degree angle awaits. Why is it that some womens hair stop to grow at a certain length? As we depart from the last seated waiting room, another family outside is ready to take over. They have worn blankets, bleak fast food and insecure faces, that evidently, we no longer look for.

0 notes

diveronarpg · 6 years ago

Photo

Congratulations, ASH! You’ve been accepted for the role of IAGO. Admin Sidney: With such a clear vision, you’ve brought Ivan to life and I could not be more pleased with the result! He’s wicked and petty and all the things that make up a good, horrible villain. But what struck me the most, perhaps, was your clear plans for his future within Verona, for all the inevitable destruction that will ensue as he pulls those puppet strings like a master of the performing arts. So many praises to you, Ash, and I simply cannot wait to see Ivan (and interact with him) on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

Out of Character

Alias | Ash.

Age | 25.

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I think everyone can attest….that I never leave, so I’ll say my activity is 9/10. I’m always reachable on discord to plot, and I usually get out a reply or two (at least) every other day.

Timezone | EST.

Current/Past RP Accounts | *gestures grandly to my Tiberius and Calina blogs*

In Character

Character | Ivan Ahmad ‘IAGO’ Rahal.

What drew you to this character? | I like to think I’ve been intrigued by Ivan since the first time I saw his name mentioned – via Grace’s bio. The thought of such a terrible twosome, an empty man yet full of such tangible chaos, fueling the fires of his hellcat friend and creating a reign of terror on Verona (just because), definitely drew me in to want to know more about the pair and more about Ivan. So it’s safe to say I’ve been awaiting his bio for a long time – and the moment it was released it was like catching lightning in a bottle, inspiration and ideas pouring in faster than my fingers could type, so I couldn’t resist applying.

Upon reading, I think what really sold me on Ivan is just how…diabolical he is. A snake hidden in plain sight. The one you feed mice to and allow to lovingly coil around your arm only to be surprised and dismayed when it wraps around your throat and suffocates you slowly. A demon forged of the bowels of hell and somehow escaped and walks among mere mortals causing power lines to snap and spark as he passes, glass displays to shatter with his sharklike stare, earth to rise beneath his feet with his every step, destruction left over his shoulder with a devilish grin. He toys with people like a far too full and languid tabby cat with a ball of yarn. He tears lives to shreds without batting a lash, he turns friends into foes with carefully crafted fibs, pits spouses against one another with evidence he’s fabricated, if for no other reason than because he can, if for no other reason than to delight in watching it all crash and burn around him. He places no stake in things like love or loyalty, not even family, as he turned on his own, his venom sinking and infecting them all slowly but surely.

But he seems to have a sort of complex: doing the devil’s work only to appear like an angel in the end. A savior to his family, a hero to his country, an honest man to his friends, an ally for justice to his coworkers. But he is every bit the serpent in the Garden of Eden, wearing one set of onyx scales to camouflage with the shadows only to shed such skin for something far more beautiful and iridescent when the right set of eyes falls upon him. This is probably what I find most intriguing about his manner and motive – why would a boy so driven to indulgence and pride in his sins want to come out smelling like roses, come out to be revered as something holy for the plights of wickedness he caused himself? It’s definitely something I intend to unpack and explore with Ivan, where does this thirst for the beauty in corruption truly derive from – we’ll have to find out.

But a sinner under the veil of a saint, a plague under the guise of a prophet, I fear what kind of damage a man like that can do on the unsuspecting.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

“–I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible.” – Beautiful to him, of course. Ivan looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment and sees Verona as a vast life-sized game board. He sees all the pieces lined up, soldiers and captains, kings and queens, emissaries and associates, and he intends on making a new game with the rules ever shifting to benefit himself at every turn. He wants to see the Capulets and Montagues not only destroy themselves but each other, and he thinks all they need is a little push. A little aid, a little whispering in the ear, a little devil on their shoulder whispering of darkened desires that they have always considered but never acted on. I want him to try and turn Montagues against their own, have him be that danger that they flirt with from across the bridge, give them kernels of information to send them on a wild goose chase only for it to turn up fruitless. I want him to sow seeds of doubt within the Capulets and attempt to crumble their foundations from the inside. I want him to seek out neutrals and send them with a poorly-disguised pointed finger in circles as they search for the answers they seek most out of Verona. I want him to weedle so deeply under Pandora Phan’s skin that when he whispers of just how capable she could be, how she could be the catalyst of Roman Montague’s ruin – she believes him. I want him to pester Chiko just enough, that his fellow war dog takes a semi-automatic to the cathedral’s stained glass. I want him to goad Halcyon to her brink so she’ll see that she’s doing God’s will to free him from his bonds. I want him to cause as much discord in this city as possible, and I want him to do with with a lazy grin and a two fingered salute.

“–it’s a well-known fact about you: you’re like death, you take everything.” – It all starts with Odin, and it will end with Odin. Perhaps Odin just had one of those faces. Like the keen wide-eyed sort that made them a target to rob, a target to swindle and steal from, a target to dupe and con. He had one of those faces that made Ivan’s teeth ache and inspired him so creatively all in the same breath. It’s something Ivan saw in him since they were children. And I imagine that breaking up Odin and Delilah was his greatest scheme in a long line of schemes, his grand finale, his masterpiece. I see Ivan taking all the crayons in their scuola primario class, hiding them in poor unsuspecting Odin’s backpack so he’d get time out, only to find them later to garner praise from the class. I see him letting the dog out only to snatch it by the leash just in time to save it from a speeding vespa. There’s chaos for chaos’ sake and then there’s vendetta – what is it that Odin has done that has left Ivan with such a dire need to put his poisonous touch on everything he loves? Is he jealous? Does he detest the ichor that pumps from his heart, that he’s always looked to as something gilded and pristine while he had to fabricate such an image? Did he hate that Odin got the job, the promotions, the beautiful wife, the happy endings, while he didn’t get to have any of those things? Or does he hate that all these things have distracted his friend, drawn his attention away and so he’s not needed, not as important? Mostly – I want to see if Odin will finally get wise, see that his best friend has been playing him like a finely tuned violin all this time.

“–he tore the beauty from his face, and called it terror.” – There’s an innate ruthlessness to Ivan. This isn’t to say Tiberius and Calina aren’t ruthless in their own ways, but it holds true that they are both inhibited by certain degrees of decency, knowing that there are people they love and cherish and have to think about during their actions, even for them, some actions are unforgivable. But Ivan if void of that, gaze sliding lazily over towards his conscience with cool, callous indifference, letting it starve and shrivel as he feasts on his own depravity. There is nothing he won’t do. From splitting the marriage of his best friend to facilitating the downfall and dependency of his own family. This uninhibited nature of his actions has made him a fine soldier over the years, not unwilling to pick up one of his prized Chinese ring-daggers or lay down a line of bullets in the Capulet name (but not for the Capulet name – there’s a difference). But I would love to see something or someone finally compromise him. Someone or something that makes him think twice, makes his finger hesitate on the trigger – if such a thing even exists. Or, alternatively – I’d love to see someone attempt to try, try and crack him, appeal to the better nature they assume he has somewhere deeply hidden, only to be disappointed that as the further they delve, entranced by glittering glass-shard grins and the mesmerizing waves within the ocean of his eyes, that it’s the further they sink into the inky tar-like substance that he’s made of, that he covers those around him in.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Force feed him crackers to `til he chokes to death, he hates them.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:.

The sound of laptop keys clicking is the only thing to slice through the serenity of Cosimo Capulet’s office.

Odin had told him that the Don would eventually want to see him after his endorsements all these months. It was necessary if he wanted to make the jump from contracted black-hat hacker on occasion to full time soldier, complete with a benefits package of protection and black market weapons. Ivan had always been a rather good student and decided he’d bring a few visuals for the class as he gave his … ‘presentation’ before the syndicate’s crime boss.

His glasses are dark and tipped down the sharp slope of his nose, ice chip eyes flitting languidly back and forth. Elegant fingers typing idly, lines of cobalt blue rapidly moving in their own synchronized dance within a black text box. Codes. And they only answered to one master, only moved because he willed it so with a perfectly executed chain of embedded commands.

“I’m in,” he drawls, mouth forming a snug smirk, and the sound of hard bottomed oxfords tapping against marble tile sounds from behind him, announcing the other’s arrival, just like clockwork. His eyes lift first, only for his head to tip upwards in succession. Looking to the man that stands over him, he offers a wordless nod, a borderline-flippant salute of two fingers tapping to his temple before continuing to type. He was ancient – granted, anyone over the age of forty was ancient to Ivan, but that was neither here nor there – with eyes that crinkled at their edges and salt and pepper weaving through his hair, but he had to admit the Capulet patriarch was sharp, suit cut in slim lines and tailored angles. But the man was stern, and considerably serious – and it just so happened that Ivan positively shined in light of such solemnity in others.

“Now, what am I to call you, Mr. Rahal–”

“Ivan works,” he replied coolly, one shoulder lifting in a shrug, as if he couldn’t be bothered to raise the other in tandem, “But I almost like Mr. Rahal…makes me sounds real distinguished, like I have a waistcoat with a pocket watch hanging out.” A pause, a contemplative squint into the distance, a decision. “Changed my mind – Mr. Rahal works.”

A risen brow is all he’s offered, as Cosimo takes a seat in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk and folds his hands beneath his chin, considering Ivan openly, “And where are you in, as you said?”

“The Capital Library.” Now that caused the boss to blink twice.

Mouth curling into an impish grin, Ivan stands, resting his laptop on the desk, minimizing his terminal and pulling up a live security feed within the Montague headquarters. Long, clever fingers swipe at a crystal paperweight, tossing it up only to catch it again and again. “And that was without a single sip of espresso. Though, they have a dinosaur of a security system, which helped a bit.”

Paperweight is swapped swift for his laptop again, the movement so quick you’d think he was doing a magic card trick. “Can you do this in other places?” Ivan gives a soft chuckle, the sound low and rich like sweet syrup, “Can I do this in other places,” he repeats, all the more smugly, settling himself back in his chair lazily, and it’s unmistakable the manic glint flickering through his gaze, “I could do this feed in Hotel Emelia in a few more minutes if the Witches don’t try to sprinkle their dust and stop me.”

Cosimo sniffs, a few nods given. He was thinking, calculating. It’s an expression Ivan knew well.

“You know,” he starts, after a few key clicks, tone flattened, almost bored, “Your footprint reads like a jacked up traffic cone stuck in a pothole.”

“My…footprint?”

Ice chips harden to a shard, piercing as he stares blankly at Don Cosimo. “Your digital footprint,” the words slip out slowly, as if speaking to a dunce, someone delayed in understanding and comprehension, “It’s a trainwreck. My little brother could hack you.”

With a tap of his finger to the F9 key, the lights in the east wing of the Capulet estate went dark. All devices powering down with a life-draining hum. A shrill ‘Papa’ sounding in the distance, ripped from the throat of the principessa. Only Ivan’s teeth shone in the shadows as he grinned, a smile wicked and knife-carved, jagged in all the wrong places.

“Alright, alright – I think we’ll have a talk with Odin.” Capulet almost looked like he wished to add a ‘Dio, help him,’ but smartly trapped it behind his teeth. “Seems he might have a new soldier on his hands.”

And then there was light.

“Nice doing business.”

Extras:

And on this edition of Ash Attempts Headcanons (DISCLAIMER: Ramblings About My Son, Some Coherent, Some Not):

If you delve deep into the symbolism behind each of his given names, it is clear his parents took great care in naming him. Ivan is the Russian equivalent of the name John, a strong, biblically tied name that means ‘God is gracious.’ It’s a name his mother adored when his father’s tour stationed them briefly in St. Petersburg before he was born. A name fitting of their first born child, their first son, the first in a long line of bountiful gifts from upon high only made possible by the grace of their God. And as Ivan went through life, he made sure that in their home of weak-willed gluttons, he shined as something honorable and superior in their unworthy presence, making sure they knew how lucky they were to have him, their only redemption personified, siphoning their gratitude as sustenance. For such, it is only fitting that he is bestowed the middle name of Ahmad. Of Arabic origin, the native tongue of his Syrian parents, the name means ‘much praised,’ and was often considered one of the alternative names to the Islamic prophet Muhammad. To family and friends alike, he has never shied away from taking on the appearance of prophet – leaving no room for protest that he was an individual in contact with divinity, an intermediary to bestow blessing, someone God-touched and pristine in beauty. And it is this same beauty that makes him most dangerous, because no one expects the devil and his servants to look otherworldly.

There is something to be said about the first born child: a uniqueness that children to come simply won’t possess. There is something to be said about being the first born child – a privilege, a perk, of gracing the earth first. Because while children to come know nothing other than to have siblings, the first born knows what it is to be alone. To be coddled and cared for without interruption or distraction. To be the number one. But the moment that Amira Rahal was pregnant with her second child, a child that would soon be Omar, his younger brother, the seed of resentment had been sowed. Ivan detested that his mother was with child, an ugly festering tar-like hatred that threatened to consume him – and it did, he let it. Making his lunches became forgotten as baby Omar kicked in her womb, his stunning report card overlooked as she rushed to her doctor’s appointments. One extra child, he could deal with: but he couldn’t deal with two. And when little Alia was born, Ivan had to learn to wear the number three instead of number one he was accustomed to. He wasn’t wanted, more importantly, he wasn’t needed unless someone needed holding, or changing, or babysitting. So he’d had no choice but to show them just why he was needed. He leaves the young boy with crayons, letting him crawl and color as he aimed for the vast canvas of the living room wall, and it was Ivan who snatches the vibrant indigo from Omar, just as his parents return, salvaging the saffron gold wallpaper. He flicks the playpen latch open with a clever finger, leaving it open as his sister plays, knowing childlike wandering would overtake her as it once overtook him, and he’s sure to scoop her up and return her just in time before she can head for the open patio doors. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you,’ his mother often breathed, a relieved sigh, and he made sure she’d say it again, and again, and again.

The son of an ex-Marina Militare officer, Ivan and his family were cushioned by the luxury of having a veteran in their midst. Upon his homecoming from Lebanon, he was given the tools to create and found Rahal Securities – a private company affiliated with the Italian Military and Chief of Defense dedicated to providing security and military services that are not limited to personal security detail, convoy security, and private tactical operations. This is made possible through the enlisting of former military soldiers to take on the tasks. But Hassan Rahal took the war back with him when he returned to mother Italy, often drinking to forget realities that blended seamlessly into his dreams. His dependency on the bottle, the home his hand made around its slender neck, it threatened to ruin their family – but he’d tried his hardest to keep it in check, and like a bruise to an overripe fruit, Ivan pressed into the vulnerability, dug into it with thumbs until it tore, keeping the liquor cabinet key in far too obvious a place, letting his father think he outsmarted him every time he snuck a bottle of cognac.

He works at Studio Legale Biondaro as a Senior Intelligence Analyst – leading and aiding investigative teams with research, case building and data collection efforts for specific unit investigations including (but not limited to) the prosecution of violent organized crime, street gangs, intercity gun trafficking and narcotics dealing and gang related homicides. He also aids in concealing or ridding of paper trails to clear the Capulet should any of their associates find themselves in a legal bind. After being snubbed by the police department for their digital forensics team – Odin had been rather keen on them working side by side on the home front too – he turned lemons into lemonade, figuring it better for his own illegal activities to be much more under the radar – and to work shoulder to shoulder, sharing a floor with Odin’s beloved made quite the sway on his decision. But the top reason he continued on the path from military to criminal justice? Because he continues to be paid and sought after to help people, his redeemer’s motif continuing to permeate through.

Before returning to Verona, Ivan was in the Esercito Italiano for 6 years – from he was eighteen until he was twenty-four (timeline might shift depending on plotting w/ Odin’s player). Enlisting in the army was something he felt surprisingly drawn to for a long time. Perhaps it was the fact that he was continuing a legacy his father started, or perhaps it was because he always thought school was boring, unable to bear the thought of having to sit through another four years at Università degli Studi di Verona just to obtain another degree. After his grueling basic training he took the track of becoming a cyber operations officer, learning alongside the best how to detect and identify security threats only to take such tactics and plant them himself. He took his knack for hacking and used it to clear his own records and trails, wiping his digital slate clean from the internet so he can move with anonymity and retain the pristine image he’s crafted. He knows that information is how you can hurt people most – the more you know or appear to know can break them down, make them stutter and squirm as you threaten to hang them out to dry – it’s why Ivan made locating the Achilles Heel his favorite past time, even if he had to create it himself. His skill made him sought after for freelance work for black market businessmen and shady government characters once he touched back down in Verona – something or other about the walls of the underground whispering of him slipping past the encryption systems of the Verona mayor’s office one time or two.

Special Skills Include: Encryption and decryption, forging electronic signatures, making fake identification cards, creating false social media profiles, installation of malware and spyware, identity theft … and Photoshop.

He also specializes in Trojan Horse programming. Misleading in it’s true intent, this is a malicious cyber attack technique disguised as something mild like an email or website add that opens a backdoor to personal devices, leaving Ivan access users’ personal information such as banking information and passwords.

Ivan Rahal, the same schemer who devised and doctored fake texts and emails to show Odin to aid in his case of Delilah’s infidelity, staging photographs at their workplace to show his poor friend after asking

Always has headphones in. 30% of the time he’s listening to music, the other 70% he’s keeping a keen ear on listening devices he’s planted in offices and meeting spaces, car interiors and hotel rooms. Tiny devices he’s stuck on the side of rubbish bins and under lamp shades, beneath fire detectors and in the corner of your underwear drawer, in the underside of your glove compartment or beneath your gaudy book ends. So it’s safe to say, pay careful attention to Ivan anytime he enters and exits a room, and if you feel comfortable to carry on a private conversations after he’s gone – you probably shouldn’t.

Constantly changes the Cathedral wifi password just to be a nuisance; makes Capulets do embarrassing things to obtain the new one, like butter him with a compliment, or answer a riddle, or fetch him the tallest iced coffee they can find with a straw…and Dio forbid they forget the straw.

TV TROPES: The Trickster, Affably Evil, Big Bad Friend, From Camouflage to Criminal, Pretty Boy, Manipulative Bastard, Dragon with an Agenda, Driven By Envy, No Sense of Personal Space, The Unfettered, The Sociopath, Villain With Good Publicity

#accepted #accepted: iago

0 notes