#true to creed fashion

[veryinnovative]

breaking bad au but it's walter whitified minerva mcgonagall and her protégé (+former student) barty crouch jr

[imaybeleith]

had a fnaf lore thought today about Henry and William and Will’s motives for killing Charlie and Sammy being a bit more in depth than they are in what we’ve been provided in canon

we all know part of William’s motive was because he was jealous of Henry still getting to have a family after losing his own, but also consider Henry’s part in this

when William lost CC and Elizabeth, he was torn to shreds obviously, but Henry must’ve gone into shock too, leading me to believe that he would be running on autopilot trying to take care of everything in order to let Will grieve over the death of his two youngest

from Henry’s perspective this is a pretty normal way of different people dealing with grief and loss and shock and whatnot, but to William? he’s angry. he’s so angry because he lost the kids he loved so, so much. he’s angry because he feels at fault for it. but he also feels angry because Henry has spent less time comforting him and trying to sympathize and more time trying to deal with lawsuits

this is the deepest and most destructive pain Will’s ever felt in his entire life, grotesque and heart wrenching, and all he can see is Henry being more worried about legal issues than caring for his best friend. Henry’s trying his best to balance everything and not break, and he knows Will is too incapacitated to handle business, so he’s doing what he thinks would be helpful. But William’s mind isn’t wired that way. Rather he takes it as betrayal, and thus begins war.

Henry’s kids are dead. “Who would do something like this?” and Henry doesn’t know he knows. Eventually he confronts him, he’s devastated, but not quite in the way William was. he didn’t want to exact revenge. He was just in shock. And once he’s broken Henry down to his core, ripping into him about how he “didn’t know how to care and didn’t want to bother”.

Henry is destroyed, and all William can think about is “finally, some real sympathy from a real friend”.

tl;dr I don’t know I just think Henry and William’s arc should be more intricate and emotionally driven than what it’s shown to be in canon past the basic “oh no you were my best friend but I’ve been struck by tragedy and now I’m jealous that you have something I don’t so I have to destroy the thing you love because if I can’t be happy then neither can you” trope because despite their limited appearance in the actual shown canon events their backstory is vital to the plot of the series and I would love to see that elaborated on in depth

[loganbcrnes]

Celebration fuck

Logan Howlett x GN!reader x Cable (Nathan Summers) x Victor Creed No warnings in this, just horny dirty sex. Reader's ethnicity and body type etc is not mentioned, but Cable does call reader Sweetheart. I didn't think i needed to mention this, but i will anyway, this involves Logan/Cable and Cable/Victor as well. Not beta'd Enjoy!

The 3 men were doting on you, feeding you lots of different expensive chocolates. Tonight was your 2 year anniversary of being together so the four of you decided to do something special together. It was after a tough mission with the X-men. Victor thought it’d be a nice idea to have a small romantic getaway at a cabin in Canada, you immediately agreed as you have always loved the mountains.

Nathan walked over to the stereo and put on some soft romantic music. You didn’t like to drink alcohol often, so Victor made some sweet fancy cocktails for you. After severely bottles of root beer and liquor later (even though the 3 men couldn’t get drunk) they felt more at ease.

——

Nathan collapsed onto the couch and tore his shirt off. “Fuckin’ hot in here”. He said as he scratched his burly chest a little.

Victor was a little bit giggly, he always got like this after a dozen drinks, you were beginning to think that alcohol does have an affect on them, because a man like Victor doesn’t just giggle.

Logan remained composed, but his mind was swimming like mad. H ewas horny as hell, the build up to this moment was slow. He wasn’t complaining, it’s nice to have some build up to the main event, but now he was beginning to become impatient.

Already shirtless, Logan went over to you and coaxed you to undress as far as you were willing to go, which ended up being your underwear. It was some fancy underwear you only kept for certain occasions, this being one of them.

“Well now, don’t you look so sweet looking”. Nathan said, licking his lips.

“Well, why don’t you come and have a taste then?”. You asked. You leaned back on the big couch in the living room, spreading your legs a little.

“Mmm, damn right you do, Baby. I’ll let Logan have a go first, you know I like having the sloppy seconds”. Nathan winked. You chuckled at his comment.

Logan shook his head at the comment and pulls you into his arms, placing his giant hands onto your ass. You both moved in an almost slow-dancing fashion as the soft melody of music sang in the background. Logan was a passionate and rough lover, his intense desire to give pleasure to his partner. Most people assume, he just fucks for his release, and leaves without a thought for the other person, but it simply isn’t true.

With the years of experience, it’s taught him that the best kind of sex is with a person he trusts and where both parties are experiencing pleasure. It should be the bare minimum, but it isn’t for a lot of people. You have never had sex with them where you were left unsatisfied.

Logan began sniffing up the side of your neck as if starving for your flesh. He greedily squeezed your ass, and then shoved you onto the enormous couch and climbed on top of you, pinning your wrist to the side of your head. He started licking and sucking on your neck, leaving marks that will show for the next week, but you couldn’t complain. The sensitive places gave you so much pleasure. His ran his hands all over your body, feeling every curve and muscle as they tensed and relaxed under his touch.

Your nipples stiffened from the cool air, Logan drifted downwards to lick at your armpits and inhaling your scent. You felt a growl against your sensitive skin. He moved towards you nippled and continued to suck on them. You wore a look of pain and bliss as they continued his actions on your nipples.

“Filthy lil’ slut, ain’t ya?”. Cable said. You weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or Logan, but you released a moan anyway. You looked to your right to see cable with his legs spread, soft squelching sounds coming from him as he stroked his cock quickly. Logan drifted even further downwards towards the area you want him to be at the most. He kissed your thighs, his big hands squeezing the fat, while holding them open. You down at him, his huge body in comparison to yours, you felt so dominated and taken care of. All of your worries slipped away whenever you were with them, because it meant you could count on them.

Logan looked up at you as he dipped down to lick and suck on your hole, You threw your head back, the pleasure building up as he licked the sensitive areas. “Mmm, taste so sweet, darlin’. Can’t get enough of ya’” Logan mumbled as he continued with his tormenting actions.

“Slow down, Sport. Don’t want it all to end so quickly.” Nathan said while he grabbed Logan’s ass and gave it a squeeze and played around with his balls from behind. Nathan leaned down to kiss Logan’s back. “Fun watching you two play, but I want to shove my face in your sweet ass Lo’ while Victor here can have a turn fucking Sweetheart over here.”

Logan paused his actions, and turned around to look at Nathan. “Fine”, was all Logan said, he turned to give you a kiss, while they moved to the other side of the couch, to give Victor space with you.

Victor walked over to you, his cock swaying, you looked over his body, the hair on his chest going down to his pubic area, it was dark and coarse. You spread your legs even further apart as you grabbed the lube from the small table beside you. “Gonna have some fun with you, Frail.” Victor smirked, as he sat in between your legs. He grabbed the lube and spreads a generous amount onto his fingers.

“Ready?” Victor asked as he positioned his finger to your hole. You nodded and pressed yourself toward his finger. Victor’s finger slipped easily into your sex. Your head fall back onto the couch with a moan. Nathan grabs an extra pillow to put under your head so you can see everything that is happening.

“Fucked this pretty hole this morning, Sweetheart will be nice and open for you.” Nathan said. Victor growled as his finger spearing in and out of your body rapidly, getting you ready for his thick canned shaped cock.

“Mm please, I’m ready”. You said, grabbing onto Victor’s thick biceps. Victor pulls out his fingers with a squelch. He started adding more lube to his cock, slicking it up so you’d be wet as possible.

“Look at you, such a good little cockslut” You hear Nathan say. “So eager…”

You turn to face Logan and Cable and watch as Logan is on his hand and knees while Cable is eating his ass. You moan at how hot the scene is, not being able to stop staring.

Victor aligns his cock at your sex, He places a hand on your check so you would look at him. “Ya’ ready?” he asked. You nod and wrapped your arms around his neck and bring him down to a kiss.

Victor’s cock head nudges at your rim, You cry out as it enters you, back arching off the couch. Victor keeps going until he’s fully in. “God, you feel fuckin’ amazing, Frail” Victor said, with his eyes closed. Victor began to move his hips, pulling out until the head is only inside of you and then thrusting back in.

“You’re doing so well, Sport, make sure they cum first.” Cable said somewhere in the room. Victor began to increase his movements, the sound of wet slapping skin filled the room with the stench of sex. Which made you even more hornier. You grip Victors shoulders as he slams into you, holding your thighs to the side of your head. Getting deeper and deeper.

Victor fucked you hard. Using your body like a rabbit in heat. You moaned, rocking as you took every thrust. You watched as Victors muscles clenched at each thrust, his chest hair becoming sweaty and wet. Excess lube kept squirting out of your already fucked out hole, causing the couch to become wet.

“Jesus, fu-ck”. You screamed out, all you could do is lay there and take the fucking. Victor’s exponential

You look down at where his cock was disappearing into you, his pubes brushing against your sex with every thrust. It was so hot, you felt like you have left the planet, the pleasure building up to the point your close to coming. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m close, please!, oh God”. You continues to scream.

“Tell me how it feels, Kitten.” Victor said, not slowing down his pace.

“So good! Oh, God, aah—ha—ah, fuck, it’s oh, so good!”.

“You want it harder, Frail?” Victor asked. “’Cause y’know I like it hard”.

Tears streamed down your face, every inch of your body quivers like a leaf in the wind. “Yes!, yes, yes”.

“Alright, Frail, you asked for it.”

And then Victor starts to increase his thrusting. Without missing a beat, he starts to pound into your body, getting deeper and deeper, you never thought was possible. His thick cock stretching your hole wide open sloppily,

With every slap of skin on skin, a moan breaks out of your mouth. You turn your head to see Cable fucking Logan. Logan has always been loud in bed, but when he’s the one getting fucked, he’s even louder. You love the sounds he makes, low toned moans, sprinkled in with some light moans, and a whole lot of growling.

Cable noticed you staring and smirks. “Can’t wait to watch Logan fuck your greedy hole after this too, Sweetheart.” Nathan says as he grips Logan’s hips tighter as he goes harder.

You moan loud as you feel yourself come towards the end. The fiery pit in your stomach building up until it explodes. You cum hard and when Victor pulls out, your cum dribbled down onto Victor’s cock. Victor growls as he slides into you again, reaching for his own high. When that comes, hot cum shoots inside you, filling you up to the brim. A man like Victor cums a lot. It goes on for about 30 seconds and you both catch your breath.

Once Victor has emptied his balls inside of you, he slips out. “Fuck”. He groans. He drops to the side, while you catch your breath. You roll onto Victor and pull him into a kiss.

Victor pushes you to the side and gets up. He looks down at you, “Always look so good when you’re fucked out, Frail.” Victor smirked and leaves to go clean himself. You feel empty as you lay there. Watching Cable and Logan calm down from their own overwhelming orgasms.

After a couple of minutes, Victor cleaned you up a little, so Logan could have his turn. “Ya’ lookin’ pretty, Bub.” Logan said to you in an extra gravely deep voice while sitting down beside you. He patted his knee so you could take your place in his lap.

You wrap your arms around him and nudged your face into his neck. Inhaling his sweaty musky scent. Logan spanked your ass. You both make out for a few minutes, until you began to get aroused again. Cable takes a place beside you. “Feeling good?”. Cable checking in with you.

You nod. Couldn’t form any words due to how fucked out you already were, and it was only the beginning. Cable chuckled as he began to insert his finger into your wet hole. “Did you break them? Looks like you could’ve fucked them unconscious”.

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor said, filling a glass with some scotch. “Not the first time that’s happened”

Victor is right, you’ve lost count how many times you went unconscious due to how overwhelmed you were. They stopped immediately of course, but it was always a good laugh afterwards. The sex was that good.

“Logan…” You whine. You reached down to grab his thick cock, wanting to be be filled once again.

“Yeah, Kitten. I know, ya’ just want to be filled with cock all the time, don’tcha?” Logan chuckled, as did the other two men. You whine, hiding your face in Logan’s neck.

“You heard them, Lo’. Nathan smirked. “Hop to it.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

“Aah-ah!” is the noise that leaves you mouth a few moments later when you feel Logan’s cock enter you.

It still aches a little, though not as sharply. It soon goes away once Logan sets a slow rhythm.

“Are they still tight?” Victor asked. You hear him on the other side of the couch.

“Fuck, yeah still tight. Feels fuckin’ amazing.” Logan moaned. His head falling back against the couch.

“Doing so well, Patch. Ya’ better fill them up. I wanna eat them out after this.”

“Cause’ ya’ do, gross little shit.” Logan grunts and Cable chuckles at the remark. Knowing fully well, Logan can be just as gross.

You claw at Logan’s shoulders. “Please, fuck me, fuck me!”. Whine desperately.

“Your wish, my command, and all that…”

Logan grips your hips and began thrusting into you. His balls slapping against your ass as he quickens up the pace.

“Fuck, fuck. Ahh!” you moan as your head falls back. It’s so easy to fall back into incoherency. It’s so easy to disappear out of your head and onto only your body. No thoughts, head empty. Leaving only sensation and the burning desire to reach your high.

All you can do is sit there while Logan penetrates into you. His hips meeting your ass as his big balls slap against them. He switches position by laying back onto the couch. He forces your body up and down onto his cock, the squelching and wet noises would make you blush if you weren’t so fucked out.

“Look at that. Baby all gone again.” Nathan chuckles, squeezing his cock.

“They fucking love it.” Logan said.

And you do. Its amazing. Your skin itching to burst, your body feeling heavier heavier as the sensations overfills you.

“Fuck look at you. All gone, but still squirtin’ like that.” Logan said.

Oh, does that mean you came again?

“They’re perfect, aren’t they?” Logan said, as he continued fucking into you.

“Sure are, Sport. Now hurry the fuck up, I want my turn before they pass out completely.”

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll stay awake. Plus ill show you idiots how to really fuck their throat next time.” Logan said, as he squeezed your ass while he thrusts up into you.

“Well, you now have my attention.” Nathan mumbles.

“Shut up, Logan. Less talking, more fucking. Before we all die of old age.” Victor rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Excuse me for enjoyin’ myself.”

Logan changed positions once again, he repositions your legs over his shoulder and began to thrust. He watched as his cock disappeared into you, wet noises fill the room once again. The air was thick and hot.

Victor came over and kneeled down in front of the couch. He began sucking on one of your nipples while he played with the other with his fingers. You arched your back at the intense pleasure that ran through you. Your nipples being so sensitive.

“Mmm, lemme use that pretty mouth of yours.” Cable said. He patted your cheek to open your mouth wider. He kneeled over you so he could slip his cock into your wet mouth. His balls barely nudging against your eyes “That’s it. You know how I like it.”

You reach your hands up to fondle Nathans fat balls as he sped up the speed.

“Fuck, that’s hot as hell. Love being used like this dontcha?”. Logan growled out. You could tell he was close to the end, because the speed of his thrusts were shortening.

Cable began caressing Victors hairy chest, bringing him in by the neck to kiss him.

You continued to lick and suck around Cable’s cock. You fucking loved having their cocks in your mouth. To feel the heaviness them, swirling your tongue as you watched them squirm in pleasure. The feeling was incredible.

“Shit, I’m close, Baby. Where do ya’ want it?” Nathan pulled out so you could answer.

“My mouth, face whatever.” You kept on rambling, unable to form any cohesive sentence. The three boys chuckled at how pathetic you looked.

“Sure thing, Baby.” Nathan began jacking off, wet sounds filled the room, until he spilled his release over your face and tongue. The taste of bitter salt filled your senses. You hated the taste, but you were so far gone and incredibly horny, you didn’t care.

Cable threw his head back with a groan. “Fuck, I will never get tired of this.”

Logan finally reached his release, you could feel the cum covering your wet walls. You moan when Logan slips out, he watches as the cum drips out of you.

Logan sat back against the couch, he reaches for a cigar and lights it up.

“You good, bub?” He asks. You nod your head in response, unable to form any words. Your throat feels so raw from the blowjob.

Nathan came over to your side, he wipes you down with a warm towel. Afterwards he offered from fruit to fill your stomach a little.

“So, how was that for an anniversary?”. Nathan asked. He grabbed himself a cold beer from the table and sat beside your head.

“I could definitely get used to this every year”. You responded, on the verge of falling asleep. All you could hear were your boys chuckling.

[iasirene]

A Marxist analysis of Effie Trinket

Effie Trinket is quite the character. She was created by Suzanne Collins as the archetype of the average Capitol citizen. Obsession with manners and appearances, ignorance and indifference to the plight of the Districts, and viewing the Hunger Games as a grand cultural spectacle to be celebrated, while ignoring its true brutality. Despite this, Effie has become a huge fan favorite among fans of the series, myself included. However, I view her with a more critical lens. In Marxist terms, Effie represents a class group called the petite bourgeoisie. Effie enjoys a position of privilege within the Capitol. She has wealth, the latest fashion, and access to exclusive events and parties. In spite of her privilege, let’s just say she is not living in the Corso. Effie is not, and will not ever be, in a true position of power over anybody. She is not a Crane, a Creed, a Heavensbee, or a Snow. Her last name is Trinket. “An ornament or item of jewelry that is of little value.” That’s exactly what Effie is. Not that she has no value as a person, but her position in society is based on servitude. She serves those at the very top while being blind to the suffering of those below her, i.e. The Districts. Effie’s complacency within the larger Capitol system can be understood through the Marxist idea of false consciousness. This means that members of a capitalist society do not see/justify systemic oppression, including their own. “This is the way things have always been.” “Some people are destined to be rich while others are meant to be poor.” In the world of the Hunger Games, Effie demonstrates this in her role as an escort. Her bright and cheery personality, her garish fashion sense, and her being very out of touch with the Districts. She’s genuinely surprised at the level of poverty she sees when she goes to District 12. Although this quote is from the movie, I believe it highlights her misguided way of thinking: “I don’t even think they let them have dessert, but you can!” While it appears that she has “power” over the people of District 12 by reaping their children year after year, she is simply a mouthpiece for the Capitol’s larger authority.

Effie lives and breathes her role as an escort, fully buying into the Capitol propaganda that she has been fed her entire life. She is not an outwardly cruel or violent person, but she serves a system that is built and continues its existence through violence. Effie’s obsession with the spectacle and pageantry of the games prevents her from seeing their true nature, it allows her to ignore the ugliness and focus on the beauty (it could be argued that this is a form of detachment to protect her own psyche). That is her false consciousness. Another aspect that aligns Effie with the petite bourgeoisie is her disposability. Her role as the glamorous Capitol escort is not guaranteed, but Effie does not see that which enables the Capitol to further exploit her and her labor. This is not to say that her character is a faultless, innocent victim. She is not, though she is merely a cog in the machine, that cog still moves. Her role as an intermediary between the Capitol and the Districts allows the games to continue. Who would watch the games if there was no spectacle? No glamor or beauty? Why do you think Snow changed everything? As mentioned previously, although Effie fully embraces her role within the Capitol and swallows up every bit of Panem propaganda, that is not enough to save her from being imprisoned. Her loyalty to the regime does not spare her from its oppression. Reflective of how in our own capitalist society, “hard work” does not save you from poverty.

Through Katniss’s perspective in the novels, we do see her warm up to Effie despite her initial (completely understandable) disdain: “.....Haymitch, Peeta, and I are ignoring her, but she made a real effort for us. Now, I wish I had thanked her for that.” Effie may not have become a Capitol rebel like Plutarch or Cressida, but according to Katniss’s POV, she demonstrates a small change from the woman we meet at the 74th reaping, but it must be noted that this is only because she was personally affected by the Capitol due to her growing attachment to Katniss and Peeta. She does not change because she genuinely questions her role within her society. Despite this, I still like her character. She’s complex, she’s morally grey and I love making up headcanons about her. In a way, many of us who live in the imperial core (the West) are like Effie-simultaneously victims and oppressors. We may be oppressed by our capitalist governments, but our exploitation of the imperial periphery (the Global South) allows us to live comfortably in comparison. But the question remains: are you willing to challenge the propaganda of your youth? Or will you retreat back to your own Capitol bubble?

[silverskye13]

(about the latest drabble): I'm sorry, Welsknight's code of honor says what

Gotta love Chivalry!

Welsknight in RnS is trying is ready best to be a good knight, but he has no church to swear fealty to [unless he builds one himself] and no Knightly Order to train and be ordained with [unless he builds one himself] so unlike Helsknight, who sought out a church in hels and got knighted the Ye Olde Fashioned Way, Welsknight follows the rules of Poetic Chivalry. The more he and Helsknight have fought it out, the more Helsknight's tenets have been incorporated into Welsknight's idea of Chivalry [and Helsknight's tenets themselves are based on Chivalric Laws anyway] but still, their personal creeds are a little to the left of each other.

With that little rant out of the way, the Chivalric Laws I'm using for Welsknight are augmented from Léon Gautier's Ten Commandments of Chivalry:

Thou shalt believe all that the Church teaches and thou shalt observe all its directions.

Thou shalt defend the Church.

Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them.

Thou shalt love the country in which thou wast born.

Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy.

Thou shalt make war against the infidel without cessation and without mercy.

Thou shalt perform scrupulously thy feudal duties, if they be not contrary to the laws of God.

Thou shalt never lie, and shalt remain faithful to thy pledged word.

Thou shalt be generous, and give largesse to everyone.

Thou shalt be everywhere and always the champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.

For the sake of RnS, which has vague gods and saints in hels, but only the gods and saints players make everywhere else, for Welsknight, all tenets about God and Church are Hermitcraft the Server and what it represents. The laws and teachings of Hermitcraft are its pledges to creativity and fairness and prosperity. He will defend it to his dying breath, because it's his home, and the living, breathing part of the universe that he and his friends create in. And any enemy of Hermitcraft is his personal enemy as well.

[I like to imagine the reason Welsknight didn't get involved in the HC x Empires crossover was because he was busy making sure the Empires crew wouldn't start a war he personally had to finish lol]

He really is trying his best.

The problem with Chivalry though, is it is inherently about crusades. Chivalric poems, while filled with a good bit of manner and courtly love, are also filled with the ideas of self sacrifice for a ruthless Good, a Good that roots out evil, with tragic grace. A Good that, ultimately, crusaded against whole countries, because Good wouldn't abide by Evil. Chivalry needs something to fight for. Otherwise it's just a basket of nice, convenient morals, a horse and a suit of armor. So you can imagine, in his own subtle, misguided way, Welsknight is actually quite happy hels exists. What good is a knight without something to fight for? Or better yet, to fight against, because it is very convenient to define yourself by everything your enemy isn't.

And his enemy isn't kind to him. His enemy must be a liar, because what he says about his worthiness as a knight can't be true. And his enemy must be cruel, because he seeks him out to hurt him. And his enemy must be relentless, because he hasn't given up yet. And his enemy is Helsknight, and everything Helsknight stands for, and apparently, Helsknight stands for quite a lot, including other people, and other people can be fought.

(He and Helsknight, despite every kick and scream to the contrary, really are a lot alike.)

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Just finished grinding Assassin's Creed Mirage! WOOHOO! ୧⁠(⁠ ⁠ಠ⁠ ⁠Д⁠ ⁠ಠ⁠ ⁠)⁠୨

I think it's a deffo wonderful game and a refreshment after the RPG trilogy (it does have RPG elements to it, but still), and it also have some things that are lacking. It reminds me of the good 'ol days, but deffo not on par with the good 'ol days.

Here're some of my thoughts and reviews!

🕌 Sleepy's Assassin's Creed Mirage Review 🗡️

(Spoiler Warning ⚠️ Including the ending ⚠️)

Disclaimer, this is just my personal opinion. You may agree and disagree. I’m just gonna talk a lot because I LOVE Assassin’s Creed with all my heart. Here goes.

VISUALS

(+) Basim Ibn Ishaq, the handsome man that you are… HOLY SHIT (yes I’m adding him as the first plus point of this game what of it). Man's fine AF. 

(+) Baghdad’s really beautiful, nuff said. The color palette is PERFECT - displays the warmth of the atmosphere really well, but also just enough greens and many starking hues of flowers. 

(+) The waters and environment textures are CRISPY.  The detailed patterns on the clothes, the engravings and the state of the arts is really cool. I haven’t really looked a lot into the 800’ Baghdad arts, but I can see lots of good details and art styles. SHOUT OUT TO THE ARTISTS!!

GAMEPLAY - Now here’s what I have a lot to comment on.

(+) Stealth -> I think they did quite good with the stealth. One of the many complaints that I saw on the previous RPG trilogy games was the fact that the main characters/players had no reason to be stealthy, because they can just barge in and defeat the enemies easily. Ubi has marketed the game to be more stealth focused and intentionally made Basim a less of a fighter (make sense, since he came from a thief background, unlike Bayek, Kassandra, and Eivor who are actual trained warriors since they’re kids). However, this brings me to the first lacking point.

(-) Combat -> The combat feels janky. I feel like I’m really fucked up in combat situations if I don’t upgrade my sword and dagger. Like I get it, Basim is not meant to be much of a fighter, but in the beginning parts (or… even the middle parts of the game, let’s be real), I feel like combat is HELL. I forgot the Youtuber who said it, but he said something along the lines of “I’m an assassin, I want to feel like an assassin and want to feel like a badass and can take down many enemies with ease.” And that actually rings true with me. When I’m in combat and countless soldiers are fighting or following me (and I don’t have the smoke bomb with the forgetting effect), I’m most certainly FUCKED. 

(+) The fighting style is cool though, it's stylish and the finishing moves are sick af. It could deffo use some work. 

(-+) Parkour/Movements - It’s alright. It’s most certainly better than the previous RPG trilogy, but it’s definitely not Unity or Syndicate. Sometimes Basim can do something that I didn’t want and I’ve lost count on how many times I got caught and died just from a mis-movement. I literally don’t understand why they don’t use the Unity parkours and combat styles. Unity’s parkour is smooth, swift, and stylish. It feels GOOD. 

(+) Stealing - I’m a loot goblin in games, and believe me, I think I’ve spent like hours just stealing from the entire population of Baghdad that by the end of the game I’m probably richer than the Taxmaster and the whole entire Abbasid Caliphate. It’s fun, it’s easy, but it can sometimes be hard enough to miss. I just hope there’s more variety/difficulty in the stealings in different places – Like maybe in the Round City the diamond thingy is much smaller, or in like for stealing merchants (who has particular fashion/silhouette or have wallets/pouches with different colors) can be harder to steal from but have more rewards and money. 

(-+) Map - OKAY. I love the fact that Mirage has a significantly smaller map than that of Odyssey and Valhalla. It’s focused and it’s much more centered. HOWEVER. For a game this caliber, and with this good of a graphic? It’s much too small and it’s too divided between two parts. Hear me out – The graphics are really cool, but I feel like the map is too divided between – either a densely populated city, or just barren lands of desert. I think the map could be much much bigger with much more collectibles and much more variety in the terrains. Like, for example in Black Flag (The S tier game. Argue with a wall), there’re more than one major city, while in Mirage the map is so very centered (Yes I get it it’s the Round City), but I’d love it if there’s another major city that we can travel to, like Damascus, for instace. + I love the Tales of Baghdad. MORE TALES OF BAGHDAD PLEASE. 

STORY - nOW THIS… I never liked the stories post - Origins and here's why : 

(-) LET 👏 THE ACTORS 👏 DO 👏 MOTION 👏 CAPTURE 👏 - My biggest complaint for the RPG game styles is always about the facial and motion animation. The cutscenes feel DEAD. The eyes are DEAD. I almost can't feel anything. Ubi is rich af, why not use facial capturing? AC3 was the first AC game to use motion capture, and holy shit… it's one of my fave games. Yes. All games, not only AC series. The emotion in their faces, the gestures, the small glances, the little movements - they all decide every character's personality. The reason why I love every AC since AC3-ACOrigins is because the actors pour all their voices, faces, even body movements into the interactions between characters, because they make the stories feel alive. Let the actors be actors. I can rant more but this is already a long post so I'll stop. MOTION 👏 CAPTURE 👏.

(+) I love Basim's origin story. Dude's a 17 year old street thief who got a bit over his head and ended up becoming a fugitive because he killed the fucking caliph himself. That was crazy HAHAHAH anyway even though I think the beginning felt a bit rushed I love it. I just wish they could milk it more.

(+) I love the side characters! Especially Ali (I think he's hot 👉👈 and he's the absolute freedom fighter). Anyway, even though they don’t really do much, they all feel alive and do lots of things (except Roshan prolly HAHAHAH but there's a reason I guess)

(+) Roshan. Mentor and reminds me of Al-Mualim. I particularly love the fact that after all that wise words throughout the game, she literally threatened Basim if he actually went to the underground temple. And when she showed up covered in blood??? And THE TWIST AT THE END??? "Roshan bint La-Ahad". SHE'S ALTAIR'S ANCESTOR. THAT FUCKING SHOCKED ME YOOOO. She's just amazing. 

(-) Pacing - I feel like this is because they’re speeding things up (which is a good thing), the pacing is pretty standard in the beginning, but the ending is a bit too high of a rollercoaster mount. The ending went from 0-100 real quick. I feel like we need a more of a climbing storyline. This is why I kind of don’t agree with the ‘centering’ storyline instead of a linear story. Centering styles of story has no climb in the intensity, and because of that we can’t feel the character developments because he’s supposed to stay the same even though we’ve killed like 3 bosses already. And then when all the underlings are dead, finally the boss racks up Basim’s curiosity super duper high that it becomes too sudden.

(-) Weak Villains - The villains since Origins are always hidden and unknown, unlike the previous games where the Templars are literally KNOWN by the people. I want more villains like Haytham tbh, where he literally doesn’t care about the precusor sites and only wants stability in his reign as a Grandmaster. Or if the villains do care about the Pieces of Eden or have a prior interest of the First Civ, at least let them have an actual personality and character, let them be a menace and a threat since the beginning of the game instead of being the NPC’s we kill to finish the game. Let them challenge our beliefs as an Assassin/Hidden Ones. Let the villains actually have an impact to the main storyline. Imagine in the end Basim and Qabiha really went to the underground temple together, and got confronted by Roshan. That’s where the conflict in Basim climaxed! Imagine the emotion! The drama~! 

(+) How the stories interlinked with Valhalla. Basim is a sage, and host of Loki who sought revenge to Odin (who wronged him). So I don't think Basim nor Loki are evil per se. They're just gray. Now the stories aren't just about Templars vs Assassin, it's more focused towards the First Civilization. It's a bit hard to keep up but it's nothing a bit of reading/looking up some lore videos wouldn't solve.

MISC

We need more outfits! The outfits are far too few for us to choose from! 

Wonderful and mystifying music. Nuff said. Brendan Angelides and Layth Sidiq nailed it. One Republic and Mishaal Tamer’s “Mirage” in on repeat on my Spotify right now.

I love gear chests hunting and all the collectibles. I just wish the map is bigger and there’re more collectibles T_T I’M A LOOT GOBLIN OKAY.

I learn history of Baghdad LFG. I play largely for the stories and not the gameplays, so if there’s a codex entry or any new historical sites I always read it. Learning history doesn’t hurt! 

How I can really relate to the real world. I live in Indonesia where 90% of the people is Muslim (I’m a Christian), so when I here familiar words like Alhamdullilah, Assalam’ualaikum and Wa’alaikumsalam, or see the people praying, the Adzan sounds throughout the city, the people praying towards the Ka’bah, it kinda feels like home! Just hope that they add more funny shit to it though, like “Yaallah Basim! Istighfar!” Or “WALLAHI.” Or more Arabic sayings so we can immerse more to the world.

MAKE BASIM DO THE 5 PRAYERS (maybe when we pass time or after a big mission we come back to him finishing a prayer).

FINAL VERDICT - 7.8/10 -> It’s a focused game, and it really did come back to some of the original elements of AC before the RPG trilogy. It’s not too long and casuals can play it without feeling like we have to grind like Odyssey or Valhalla. Deffo would recommend playing it!

Once again, BRING BACK MOTION CAPTURE ‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

If you did play it gimme some thoughts in the comments! Thank you for reading! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

[lokischocolatefountain]

Unveiled || Chapter 1

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: PG 13 for violence. Subsequent chapters’ ratings may vary

Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: Saving a life was noble. You didn’t expect applause or praise for it. But kriff it would be nice if you weren’t treated as the scum of the Earth for it.

A/N: Gonna make this the SADvent calendar instead of the advent calendar. At this point, I have to admit that I won’t be posting everyday. But I’ll still post when I can. When I have internet and am able. Lot of shit happened. My friend and I got fucked over in three different cities in a very short period of time. We were humiliated in Venice, robbed by an intentionally dysfunctional system in Riyadh, and almost sexually exploited in New Delhi. It’s a round the globe horror story. But some good things happened too- we made friends through our shared trauma and I got to meet my internet friend I’ve been moots with for a loooong time. So in true fanfic writer fashion, here’s a fic I’ve been writing posted during some of the most difficult days of my life

“Go!”

He screamed loud enough to break through the sounds of the intensifying battle. You ignored his heart-wrenching screams and dragged him with all your strength, your own weapon slung over your shoulder and reachable should you need it to defend the wounded Mandalorian. You were a warrior, trained through years of life or death battles. It was why you were sent to the Mandalorian covert on Navarro to train with them. But this was an impossible one. Even for you. Even for the man you were dragging past enemy combatants using your own body as a shield.

You settled him against the walls of the cave you’d dragged him into. You reached into your armor and retrieved the bacta patches you had with you. You took a look at the patches and then at the large gash on his neck that went up who knew how far. The hope you had for saving his life dwindled. But you couldn’t give up. The motto of your teachers back home rang loud and clear in your head.

No soldiers left behind. No life collateral.

“Not s-safe. Not safe you— Listen to me,” he choked out as you leaned in close and inspected his wound.

“Shut up, Din! Shut the fuck up!” You spat as you retrieved more medical supplies from your pouch. You’d done this many times in training. You could do this. You could fucking do this!

“My helmet…” he whimpered too soft to be audible if you weren’t so close to him.

“It’ll be okay, Din. I got you,” you reassured as your brain finally comprehended the exact risk he was in and you knew what you had to do.

“This is gonna hurt at first, alright?” You warned more than asked as you inserted the needle. It was the last thing you did before he lost consciousness in your arms. The last thing you did before making the big mistake that would change the course of both your lives.

———

“Din.”

He looked up at you from his bed, resting after a long session in the bacta tank. You imagined him underneath the helmet, the only face you knew in the covert other than that of the children who were yet to take the creed. His features came to memory, bloodied and bruised and at the edge of life itself. His strong nose, his messy black hair and blood. So much fucking blood. That he was alive at all was a miracle.

“Din?” You called again when he did not respond.

“Why are you here?” He asked, his voice stoic, emotionless as it came through his helmet. It was how it always was. Something about wearing a helmet filtered out part of the humanity of voices. But there was something about the way he spoke this time that was chilling to you.

“I…I just wanted to see if you’re doing well.”

He snorted, turning away from you as though your mere presence disgusted him. Rage boiled through your veins as pain shot up through your legs as a reminder of the blow you’d taken in the process of saving his fucking life.

“You know what? Fuck you, Din. I know you’re hurt and shit, but you have no right to speak to me like that.”

“Get out. Right now. I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

You flinched at the way he spoke. The coldness of his voice and the words themself. You turned away from him and walked out of his room, bearing the pain in your leg as you trodded on to your own room. You didn’t expect him to thank you. No, that was not why you saved his life at the risk of ending your own. But you didn’t expect him to behave so appallingly either. You raked through your addled mind for clues on what you could possibly have done to deserve this. Did you say something before the battle? No, it couldn’t be. You’d exchanged few words before battle and he was…nice. As amiable as could be for a man who spoke in grunts and sighs more than he did words.

You crashed on your own bed, whimpering when the act shot another piercing sensation throughout your body. It did nothing to alleviate your anger for Din, reminding you of what you’d done to yourself for him. For someone you thought a friend until now.

On a strange planet, fighting for space and acceptance, Din was one of the first people to be amicable to you. Well, you took his grunts and sighs as a sign of friendliness. For all his stoicism and his beskar like facade, he never did snap or show signs that he wanted you to fuck right off. So you stuck by. Stuck by when training, when you ate your meals and he sat by listening to your idle chatter. Stuck by when he took a hit and needed saving.

Perhaps he had a concussion.

That should be it. For a man clad fully in beskar, he had a soft heart. Never did he speak to you or anyone else in the harsh manner he just spoke to you. You shivered as images of his dark messy hair and blood so dark it matched returned to your mind. His closed eyes and his limp body collapsing on you as you attempted to remove the shrapnel that has somehow gotten underneath his helmet to his skull. A sharp pain shot through your leg again and you let out a cry. It was a mess pop emotions. You were happy it did not hurt as much as it did on the battlefield yet annoyed that your body was outside your control.

You jumped, both from the pain and from the opening of the door. You looked up, hoping to find the nurse droid that visited you every now and then to check your vitals. The gleaming gold helmet on a tall, strong stature told you that this was no small visitor. Despite all the beskar and the strong shoulders that carried an entire covert, she was very human.

She said you name, in a way that was gentle, calming, yet told you that she could be relied on.

“Did we win?” You managed to ask through the spasms of pain.

“We did,” she said, stopping in front of you. “You did well, warrior.”

You snorted. “I succumbed within minutes of the battle.”

“You did. So did a few others. That does not make you any less of a warrior. You were valiant.”

Despite disagreeing, you nodded. You were in no mood to start an argument with the leader of the community that was housing, feeding, teaching, and caring for you. No matter how much you disagreed with their way of life.

“So, do you visit everyone who got a little scratch of their leg?”

“I do, yes. But my visit is not just to check on your wellness.”

“Oh?”

“You saved one of ours. Din Djarin.”

You said nothing, feeling too embarrassed to acknowledge it even though it was true. It would sound too much like boasting if you accepted. In poor taste in your dismissed it. It was best to take a sip out of the mandalorian pog soup and remain silent.

“Do you know what this means for his future?”

You tilted your head as you considered her words. What the kriff was she expected to say to that? What if it was a rhetorical question and you’d just acted like a womp rat in the snow about it?

“You removed his helmet, soldier.”

“To tend to his wound,” you quickly interrupted. “You— you didn’t see what— you weren’t there! He would’ve died if I hadn’t done that,” you sputtered, shaking your head in disbelief of the implication in her words. The Mandalorian were quite strict about wearing their helmets. Once a child took the creed and wore their helmet, they would never take it off again. But there were exceptions. Right? There had to be. Receiving emergency medical help had to be one of them.

“I know.”

You waited, not for long, for her to proceed. For her to reassure you that it did not count because you had no other choice but to remove his helmet to save his life. With no words coming from her, you shot up from the bed, pain be damned and dragged yourself to where she stood.

“He would have died!”

“I know,” she said, more sternly this time.

“Go on then, tell me how you are going to punish him for the audacity to be alive.”

“He became an apostate the moment his face was seen by a living thing.”

“An apostate?”

“He has strayed from the way and will be cast out from the covert. He is Mandalorian no more.”

You shook your head frantically. That was some bantha shit! “No. No, no, no. No,” you sputtered. “That is not fair. Look, it’s not his fault. He was unconscious when it happened— when I did it,” you said, thumping your chest. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He told me to go away. He was ready to die. Kriff— you can’t— This is not fair,” you screamed, your voice breaking at the cruelty of it all.

“This is the way,” she said in a manner that was too cold for you to consider calm.

“Oh, for void’s sake, spare me the kriff about the way. What kind of way of life is it to cast someone out for being alive?” You spat, all your reservations about rudeness and your sense of cultural relativism flying off into a blackhole.

“There is only one way for him to remain in the covert and he rejected the proposal. Said he could not possibly do that to you.”

“What is it? Does the way ask for a human sacrifice? Is that what it will take to keep him from being excommunicated from everyone he knows and loves?”

“I understand you think us barbarians, soldier. I will discount it on account of your efforts to save one of our own. And for how you have protected us. There need be no blood. Only the establishment of a riduurok so that he will have been seen by the only being he is permitted to show himself to.”

“What is a riduurok?” You asked, even though you had a sinking feeling about it.

“Marriage.”

.

.

.

Masterlist

[auroramoon-draws16]

Listen, buddy, it’s my post, I’ll say what I want.

Ahem.

So my next crossover idea includes Spider-Mans and Desmond Miles.

Assassin’s Creed x Spider-Verse

So you know how we love throwing Desmond, a man we barely spend enough time with in the games, only for him to be zapped into the past tense and sliced into little murder meat appetizers?

Well in true Desmond Miles fan fashion, we throw him not only into one universe, but a whole ass multiverse.

Is he a spider person? Hell no, my guy is an Assassin with morales and sick bartending skills.

Why is he here? The webs of the multiverse are a little too literal and he is very much wrapped up into it.

This whole thing is fucked up, but by whatever fucked up spider gods that allowed this to happen, he’s gonna be totally chill while internally freaking the fuck out.

Per the Desmond Miles experience™️

Oh, and to help actual children who need help, time to be the father he never got or got to be.

Funny how the Eagle adopts the Spiders

[felixravinstills]

oooh ummmm. au where felix (somehow... i have no clue how) becomes president, where festus and artemisia are his first gentleman and lady.

ask game

5 facts about the au (for the uninformed, Artemisia is my oc)

this can be in the Si Deleamini, Deleamur universe. Marius decides to step down from the presidency after a couple years, and Felix takes over. (important reminder: the Games were abolished in that universe)

in true Felix fashion, his first order of business is legalizing polygamy.

In my worldbuilding, the Capitol has always been big on lineage, but with the legalization of polygamy and how that potentially affects inheritance actually heightens with (stipulations about blood heritage for inheritance for clearer lines of inheritance)

How Felix's administration treats the Districts largely depends on his advisors/staff and what issues come to his attention, I think Felix (in my mind) believes in nobilesse oblige, but I also don't think he's that attentive/hands on

Capitolites and potentially District officials will quickly learn that the best way to get the president to pay attention to anything is to get the attention of the first gentleman or lady. This, of course, means the most regulated District is D7 (due to it's connection to the Creeds)

BONUS: The Ravinstills (+ Festus) probably attempt a dynasty. Diana Ravinstill 4 President (again?). Toxic yuri with Alma Coin on a national scale?

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built for Love Part 3 (MBJ x Black Famous OC)

Warnings: angst, emotional distress (there will be more explicit warnings on the next chapter and beyond!)

A/N: I don't know what to say here except this is 4k words of our favs in a mopey sad phase lol

“Anything else for me, T?” Charlotte asked her agent as they sat in her office and reviewed her schedule for the upcoming months. Charlotte was finally back home in LA after filming Creed and a guest spot on a tv show, and was looking forward to a couple months of quiet before the Creed press tour. If she could push that off further, she would.  

Her nails tapped lightly on her phone as she texted her brothers, the siblings coordinating their surprise visit for their dad’s birthday later that week. 

“Just the MGM Productions Gala in two weeks,” Tamika answered as she scrolled through her calendar. 

Charlotte wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What’s that?” 

She waved her head. “Nothing big. Just a gala and party MGM throws for their Q3 and 4 movies. All the actors, producers, and writers are invited. They’ll premiere the trailer for Creed so you’ll walk the carpet with Michael, takes some pictures and likely go on stage when the trailer is shown. Seating chart has you and Michael next to each other. Nothing special but should be an easy and fun night.” 

Charlotte’s heart fell into her stomach as she heard his name, a nauseating feeling consuming her. The gala sounded like torture. How could she spend an entire evening glued to his side when he likely hated her? Would he even want to speak to her? she would not want to speak to her if she were him and now, he would have no choice.

However, she knew those concerns could not make their way to her agent. So instead, she simply nodded. However, she could not stop the quiet question that fell off her tongue, her own desires to know if Michael had raised an issue about the event were too powerful. 

“H-Has Michael heard about this?” She coughed lightly. “You know, reviewed the seating chart and everything?” 

Tamika nodded slowly, her eyes slowly but surely taking in the anxious and concerned look on the young woman’s face. 

“Yea… been emailing with his guy all morning. He said Mike ok’ed everything. Why? What’s wrong?” At Charlotte’s silence and anxious fidgeting, Tamika sat up in her chair, her arms folded against the cool glass of her desk. “Anything happen between you two that I should know about? Something that could bite us in the ass later.” 

Charlotte immediately shook her head. “No, no of course not. We’re good.” 

She knew that was not the truth. Radio silence for months hardly equated to good. She had considered reaching out to him, her regret urging her to open their text thread and type out a message only for her guilt to cause her to delete it once more. A vicious cycle she had been stuck on for weeks after the wrap party. At first, she felt his absence like a gaping wound that would not heal. It ached and throbbed so persistently she could not dare forget it. 

But in true Charlotte fashion, she threw herself into her work and her next project. It was just two months but the late nights and early mornings of tv consumed her life and energy, leaving little to no time to pine after Michael. And so eventually, that wound seemed to heal. Until today. Today, she felt as if she was bleeding out again with nothing around to stop it. 

Tamika rolled her eyes before turning back to her computer. Charlotte could tell she did not believe her. However, she appreciated that she did not push her for an answer.

“Ok well… whatever’s not going on between you two, fix it before October. You’re gonna be spending a lot of time with him to promote the film and films sell better when the cast actually likes each other. Got it?” 

“Understood.”

****

Rambunctious laughter filled Michael’s basement as he and his boys gathered for their monthly poker game. Even though he always lost money, it was one of his favorite nights. Just a night when he wasn’t famous or an actor, he was just a guy unwinding with liquor, weed, and good conversation.

“Nigga… you’d think you’d be better at this shit by now,” Steelo called across the table to Michael who merely shook his head. 

“I know, I know. I’m tryin’. Ain’t my night, I guess.” 

“Nah you ain’t doing shit. This the worst you’ve played and you the worst poker player a nigga has ever seen. It’s embarrassin’,” his trainer and friend, Calliet, told him. “Somethin’s got you preoccupied. Tell us so we can get on with the night.” 

Michael scratched the back of his head. Was there anything he could say that did not make him look like a desperate love sick puppy to his boys? Because the only thing consuming his attention these days was one person he had not even spoken to or seen in months: Charlotte. He tried and tried to push her out of his mind by fucking his way through models and actresses, hoping someone would make him feel even an ounce of what he felt when he was by her side. But none of them held a torch to her. So he tried to avoid thinking about her at all costs, locking his emotions away in a cage for as long as possible. However, when he found out about their upcoming event, the bars on that cage had gotten more fragile with each passing day. 

“Anything to do with seeing Charlotte in a couple weeks?” His brother asked with a smirk on his face. 

Everyone around the table laughed at how Michael’s entire being shifted as soon as her name was mention. 

“Ahhh there we go. It’s a woman… it’s always a damn woman,” Calliet sighed deeply. “What happened?” 

Michael tossed his cards face down on the table, his hand rubbing his eye for a moment before he shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know? And that’s what’s tripping me up. One minute she seemed like she was all in a-and wanted to be with me. And the next, she pushed me away. Said she didn’t deserve me… whatever the hell that means.” Michael paused. “I dunno. It was fuckin’ weird. She seemed almost scared? Or like the idea of dating me had her in a panic.” 

He tried hard not to think about that night even though it often played in a loop in his head. It played so clearly in his mind like it was a movie. He could still see the tears in her eyes a-and the tension in her body, and hear the brokenness and panic in her voice. Despite his efforts to push it out of his mind, it persisted and he dissected and analyzed it ever since. 

Michael stood up and went to the bar in his basement, pouring himself another glass of scotch. He leaned over the back of his chair, watching the men continue to play. He knew there was no point in him continuing the game. That was just a recipe for him to make himself poorer while his friends got rich of his terrible poker game.

“Sounds like she’s playin’ you bro,” Michael’s brother chimed in. 

“Yep. And honestly, that shit sounds like too much baggage,” Steelo interjected. “You aint got time for that. She might be great but there’re plenty of women out here to fuck and date. No sense in being sad over one of ‘em.” 

The other men except for Calliet and Ryan chimed in with their agreement, though that did not surprise Michael. The rest of his friends were in the same place in life in terms of relationships: single and doing them. Their lives were all about the hustle, which meant love and relationships took a backseat. And he would admit, he was like them before he met Charlotte. However, she made him want more. And though there may be more fish in the sea, there was none like her. And he did not see a future as clearly with anyone else as he did with Charlotte. He knew that for certain. 

Calliet let out a low chuckle. “No wonder y’all niggas is single. “As the only married niggas here, you want our advice?” He gestured at he and Ryan. At Michael’s nods, he placed his cards down. “If you want her, you gotta fight for her. It seems to me like she’s scared - for whatever reason. Maybe you just be there for her and see if she comes around.” 

“You want him to wait around for some pussy?? Nahhhh,” his boy Tyrell threw his cards down in annoyance. “He can do better than that.” 

“Aye, watch yo fuckin’ mouth,” Michael’s tone cut the humorous vibe in the room immediately, his anger evident to everyone.  

Tyrell raising his hands in surrender as the other men snickered quietly. “My bad. No disrespect. I’m just sayin’ you got plenty of options, bro. She really worth chasin’ after?” 

“You told me day 1 she was your future wife, on screen and off. I got the texts to prove it,” Ryan waved his phone in his hand. “If you really believe that shit, then she’s someone worth chasin’. ’N I don’t know what’s holding her back but I watched y’all every day for months. She’s feelin’ you.” 

“Then why won’t she just say that shit?” Steelo argued. 

Michael just watched the men debate back and forth, his love life once again the subject of a riveting debate amongst his friends. He could not even get a word in.

“Who the fuck knows? But it doesn’t matter. She didn’t say that she doesn’t wanna fuck with you. She said she aint deserve you. That sounds like two very different things to me. Seems like somethin’ she’s gotta work through, not that she doesn’t want something with you. I ain’t sayin’ put your life on hold but you ain’t gotta close the door on it just yet if you ain’t ready. Just talk to her.” 

“I dunno,” Michael finally spoke up. “Hearing no once was more than enough for me. I never felt for a woman like I feel for her. And she just pushed me away.” 

“Look. I ain’t saying chase the girl. But you don't gotta close the door on it either just because your pride is bruised,”  Calliet added on, he and Ryan offering the sage advice Michael truly needed to navigate this situation. “At the very least, next time you talk, time as passed, you could get some clarity on why she wasn’t ready and if the feelings were mutual. Get some closure. But who knows, it might be a yes. And if she was worth the risk then and those feelings haven’t changed, she should still be worth it now. Then at least, you’ll have a definitive answer and you can stop being this mopey-ass nigga who I can’t stand. Moping around the gym n shit.” 

Michael bowed his head and laughed with the rest of the group. They were not wrong; he had been “mopey” since returning to LA from Creed but it had gotten significantly worse since he found out he would be seeing Charlotte earlier than expected.  

“Aight aight. I’ll think about it."

“My man!” The boys seated around him clapped him on the back. 

“Hit me up tomorrow, fellas," Stello called out across the table. "I'm taking bets on whether this nigga actually tries again." At Michael's surprised expression, Stello merely laughed. "Sorry man, I've never known you to chase after a woman or even give them a second chance. Relationships are the one area you play it safe." 

His words stuck with him as he slid back into his seat to continue playing. His streak of terrible luck continued as he milled over what his friends said. Steelo was not wrong, there was a part of him that wanted to write Charlotte off for pushing him away. But something stopped him every time he tried. He could not tell who was right: his married friends who told him to not give up or his friends who had known him his entire life. But he knew he only had a week to figure out what path he wanted to take. One certainly saved him potential heartache but it could also rob him of a love that was one of a kind. The other was a risk but a life with Charlotte was a pay off he could not pass up without thought. As Steelo pointed out, Michael took a lot of risks… just not with his heart.

***

“You sure you’re good, squirt?” Her dad asked as they chatted at dinner.

Charlotte glanced up from her plate, her entire family eyeing her with concerned looks. 

“Of course, of course,” she assured everyone, immediately fixing her frown into a half-hearted smile. She hoped it was big enough to draw attention away from her and onto someone else. 

“You sure? You’ve just been quiet all weekend.” 

She rubbed her eyes, annoyance settling in her as her family questioned her words. She understood why. There was once upon a time where she told lie after lie after lie to hide how she was doing. And now, if she seemed even a bit off, they did not believe her assurances that all was well even when it was. She would not believe her if she was them either though. 

“Just tired, dad. Two back-to-back projects has just been more exhausting than I thought. That’s all.” 

“Yea pops, you know how Charlie gets when she’s in the zone. All quiet and moody with all that method shit.” 

The table erupted in laughter, Charlie reaching over and gently hit her brother, Jackson, across his arm. While there was a significant age gap between her, the youngest, and her two eldest siblings, she and Jackson were only a year apart and had grown up virtually glued to each other’s hip. 

“Jack! Language!” Their dad chastised him, though there was no real bite in his bark. 

“Thank you, dad!” Charlotte, forever a daddy’s girl, threw her brother a smirk. “And method, yes! Moody, never!”

At her side glances her entire family shared with each other, her jaw slightly fell open in shock. 

“Seriously??” 

“In your defense,” her eldest brother, CJ, interjected. “I think it’s more so the characters you choose. Loners… moody…or depressed. And that just ain’t you, not when you’re yourself at least.” 

Charlotte could not particularly disagree with her brother’s assessment. It was not every character she had played since she became a professional actress. But she could not deny there was a theme across many of them. She had been drawn to characters who were alone in the world in some way: whether literally alone and without family or alone to contend with pain and struggles no one else knew about or could help with. They were all internally tortured by something. And well, that was a feeling Charlotte knew all too well. 

“So what’s next, movie star?” CJ asked her. 

She shrugged. “Ummm got a gala next week a-and then I’ll be back in LA for a while. Then we’ll have the Creed press tour and that’ll take up most of the fall.” At the mention of the movie, her thoughts drifted back to him. Though it did not take much these days for her thoughts to land her on his doorstep again. All roads led back to Michael. “B-but that’s it. Enough about me. We are here to celebrate dad.” She squeezed his hand, grateful to push the attention away from her and back to their father’s birthday. 

She barely heard the rest of the conversation that carried her family through dinner, only joining in when spoken to or to laugh along with the rest of the group. Her moodiness, as of late, had little to do with her characters and a lot to do with her impending dread at laying eyes on a certain actor again. She knew she would have to eventually but she thought she had more time to avoid him and her feelings about how they ended. That wound was reopened and all of her regret, shame, and pain flowed from it like blood. 

She knew she needed to let him go. She had given up her shot and she would need to find a way to live with that. But knowing she needed to move on and actually doing it was harder than it seemed.

However, it was her dad’s birthday and she knew her family worried about her too much so she tried to force herself to display the cheerful and upbeat disposition she knew her family was looking for. However, at the end of dinner, when she and her siblings and their spouses retreated to the basement, her facade started to fall.

“Open the windows, CJ,” Charlotte called over to him as he pulled a joint out of his bag and she grabbed liquor from their dad’s bar. “Dad’s gonna kill us if he smells weed.” 

“Us maybe,” Jackson mused. “But not his baby girl. He probably thinks you’ve never done drugs. His perfect little Charlie.” 

“Don’t be jealous,” she stuck her tongue out at him playfully. 

“She drew the genetic lottery… Youngest daughter? Best position to be in in the family. You got all us, except Tiffany,” he referenced the eldest Bennet sibling who could not attend their dad’s birthday weekend, “wrapped around your finger since birth.”  

She laughed and flopped onto the couch next to her best friend from college and sister in law, Lauren.  “What can I say,” she took the joint from her brother. “A gift and a curse.” 

Charlotte fell silent as she let the two couples guided the conversation. She rarely engaged, only laughing when necessary or moving to ensure the blunt made its rounds throughout the group. CJ and his husband, Allen, were both attorneys, which meant they tended to stir up lively debate amongst the group. Charlotte rarely engaged in their debates unless the topic was interesting. But Jackson and his wife, Lauren, while not attorneys, loved to go back and forth with them. 

So, she just let them fall into their usual banter while she tried to stop herself from falling into a sea of thoughts about Michael. All she could think about was what she was going to say and do when she saw him again. Should she apologize? Pretend like nothing happened and act like old friends? Take her cues from him? She had no idea. All of them sounded like equally terrible ideas and none of them were actually what she wanted to do, which was admit she fucked up and that she loved him. But that seemed like a terrible idea in its own twisted sort of way.

“Charlie!” Lauren shook her knee lightly to get her attention. Charlotte broke out of her quiet trance to turn to Jackson who had clearly been talking to her. 

“Now don’t hate me, C,” he started to say, causing Charlotte to immediately groan. She sat up a little straighter, her mind already ready to be annoyed with her older, meddling brother. 

“Oh no, what did you do??” 

“I may or may not have given your number to a guy at the office. AND,” he raised his voice to drown out Charlotte’s immediate protests, “Before you say no, it is one date, C. He is really cute, he’s a sports agent, really well established in the industry, and he’s sweet. Don’t fight me on this.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes, frustration at her sibling’ meddling already boiling over. She immediately turned to Lauren, who raised her hands in surrender. “Did you know about this??” 

“I told him you weren’t gonna go for it.” 

“And yet… here he is… still presenting it.” She scoffed. “You need to listen to your wife more, big head. I don’t need a fucking matchmaker, Jay. I’m good and happy being single.”

She prayed her tone sounded decisive and sure; however, she knew it betrayed her by the skeptical looks on her family’s faces. She desperately wanted it to be true, desperately desired to be satisfied with the waves of loneliness she felt. She used to consider loneliness to be like an oasis. She felt protected and safe in its waters. It’s waves crashed but she welcomed it because loneliness was the only sure sign that no one was around to hurt her again. 

However, now, she felt as if she was drowning in it. Drowning in the frigid, dark waters, desperate for a lifeline and helping hand, someone to pull her out and hold her close. She tried to pull herself out of it, to find her way back to the oasis again, but each wave just pushed her right back down. And she knew one path to escape the waves altogether, but she could not force herself to do it. She was still not sure she was ready. 

“Well now we’re fuckin’ lyin’,” CJ muttered, causing Allen to gently hit him on the shoulder and tell him to hush. “What? She is lyin’.” 

“Alright, alright,” Lauren interrupted. “I think your brothers… and I, are just worried about you. It’s been two years. It’s great to be single and happy if you truly are. But I’ve known you for a minute, Charlotte. I don’t think you are. You don’t want to be alone forever, do you? What happens when the next guy shows interest? Are you just gonna push him and anyone else away forever? You fought like hell to leave so you could be happy. Pushing people and love away isn’t gonna make you happy.” 

Charlotte scoffed at herself, a wave of bitterness hitting her. She hated how Lauren was always right, a habit that incensed her since college. She was not wrong. That was all Charlotte knew how to do, push men who wanted her away, even when she wanted them back. 

“It’s all I know how to do,” she muttered, unable to hide that bitterness and anger at herself in her voice. 

She glanced up at the ceiling as she felt tears sting the back of her eyes. 

“Fuck!” She cried out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. She pressed her hands into her eyes to stop the tears from falling. Her family knew she hated to cry in front of people, hated when they saw her cry.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jackson moved from his perch across the room to sit on the other side of his sister, his arm wrapping tightly around her. “My bad, C. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want you to be happy.” 

“No, no. It’s not you o-or the date. I j-just hate this! Hate that I found someone amazing and I’m so fucked up, all I can do is push him away. And I t-thought it was for the right reasons but fuck, I am just miserable without him,” she cried out, finally voicing the feelings that plagued her for months. She had not meant to share that with her family or anyone. But in this heightened emotional state, she could not hold it in any longer. 

“Wait, you met someone??” Lauren’s eyes grew wide, an air of excitement settling over her. “Who was he??”

Charlotte’s eyes fell down to her cup. She was not ready to have this conversation. She had never told her friends or family about the feelings between she and Michael, or that she rejected him. She knew none of them would understand. She knew they would merely hear that she turned down THE Michael B. Jordan and think she was a lunatic. But she also knew she would not get an ounce of peace if she did not tell them now. The cat was most certainly out of the bag. 

“Michael…” 

“Wait - Michael B Jordan?? Wallace from the Wire??” 

“Your co-star, THE Michael B Jordan??” 

“Oh shit, y’all hooked up??” 

Charlotte let out a disgruntled groan as the room erupted in shock, exactly what she was trying to avoid.

“No, no. We didn’t hook up. But we got close during filming, spent a lot of time together. We kissed a-and at our wrap party, he told me he loved me. And I… fuck, it was like Shaun was right there, like I could still feel him and h-hear his voice reminding me that no one could ever love me.” Her head fell into her hands. “And I… couldn’t take it. So I pushed him away.” She wiped a stray tear from her face. “I dunno. Guess somethings never change. I’ll always be that girl he said I was.” 

“You always underestimating yourself, Charlotte.” Jackson shook his head. “You are a far cry from the woman who moved into my spot two years ago. That woman could barely fuckin’ look me or - shit - anyone in the eye. You didn’t get out of bed, you barely ate… for months, you were a shell of the woman we knew. And then you put in the work, you found you again. You’re healing and yea that shit takes time. But it’s progress. The Charlotte who was with Shaun and this Charlotte today are two different people. You gotta start celebrating every step forward.”  

“He’s right. And maybe this is the next step in your process. Finally taking a step back into the dating pool. You know the signs, you know what to look for now. You just have to trust your gut,” Allen offered her with an encouraging smile. 

“It’s not that easy, y’all. He… broke me,” her voice fell to a soft whisper. “And I just barely put the pieces back together. And Bakari is… perfect,” the word came out in a strangled sigh. “B-But if he… if he breaks me, I… just don’t think my heart can handle it again.” 

“Do you honestly believe Michael is like him?” 

She immediately shook her head. She would not claim to know Michael that well. But he was nothing like that Shaun, that much she knew. 

“I think he is the furthest thing from Shaun ever honestly. I just don’t think he’d ever do the things Shaun did.” And she truly believed that. Over a year in therapy taught her every sign she missed and when she meticulously examined her interactions with Michael, she did not see a single one with him. 

“OK then. He might hurt you, that’s true. He might break your heart. But that’s fucking life… that’s love. But if your gut is saying he isn’t Shaun then, at least, you can take the plunge knowing he won’t hurt you like that. He won’t break you.” 

“You gotta stop letting him win, Charlie.”

She shook her head. “He already won, Lo. Game’s been over. Probably what keeps him warm at night. Where ever he is, he knows he got what he wanted all the same.” 

“No.” Lauren answered defiantly, refusing to listen to her best friend’s defeatist attitude. “If the game was over, you’d be dead. That’s the endgame for him.” The tension in the room thickened as Lauren spoke, the words were harsh but Charlotte knew they were true. “And you aren’t. You’re here and you’re fucking killing it. Every day, you win by just living your life, being you and loving. Everything he took from you or said you couldn’t have and didn’t deserve? Those are his words, his lies. And every time you believe him over the people who actually love you,” she gestured to their little circle. “And what you know to be true about yourself, you give him power and he keeps taking pieces of you. Keep doing that and you’ll never be happy and you’ll never be free. Then he will win.” 

She glanced at Jackson who merely shrugged. “You and I both know she’s always right.” 

Charlotte let out a pitiful laugh. “I know and I fuckin’ hate it.” She sighed deeply. “I just… even if I deserved him, it’s too late. I have to see him next week a-and h-he probably never wants to talk to me again.” 

“That asshole stole so many good things from you, Charlie. And if there is anyone in this damn family who deserves a good thing, it’s you. If Michael is really what you want, then don’t let him take that too. When you see him next week, shoot your shot. See what happens.” 

“And if that nigga ain’t interested anymore… fuck him,” CJ called from across the room, everyone rolling their eyes at his bluntness but nodding in agreement.

“And you move on.” Lauren added more tactfully. She rubbed Charlotte’s knee gently. “But stop torturing yourself and all of us and just try, sis. Please.” 

Charlotte tearfully laughed, wiping her eyes. 

“I really hate you guys,” she whispered, tearfully laughing as she wiped her eyes. 

“We know.” 

Charlotte’s head gently fell onto her brother’s shoulder as he placed a quick kiss on the top of her head before transitioning the conversation to a lighter topic. She sighed to herself. 

Shoot your shot.

Sounded easy enough. But where Michael was concerned, Charlotte had only played the coward, too scared to face her true feelings and his. This would require her to play a role she had not in a long time, one that she feared she had forgotten entirely: someone who was fearless. While she did not know if she had it in her, her family did. And their faith and confidence in her was enough to overcome her self-doubt. When she saw Michael next weekend, she was going to choose happiness. She was going to choose him. 

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @msniaimani @hi888888sworld @lynaye1993 @destinio1 @cawi00

Read Part 4

A/N: Ok sorry for no scenes with Els/Bakari together this chapter but for my own sanity, I had to break it up into two chapters lol we will get our Els/Bakari reunion in chapter 4. We got a little bit more of Charlotte's backstory and got to meet her family who will be around… what do we think? How is "shooting her shot" gonna go? Is Michael gonna be receptive or are his feelings still too hurt from rejection? And do you think she actually follows through this time?

[marta-bee]

Continuing on with book-Good Omens. Let me just start with two general observations.

Neil Gaiman, or possibly Terry Pratchett, or both, are just ridiculously funny. The humor shot throughout here is some of the cleverest things I’ve read in a long time. The parentheticals! Mister Dowling being so painfully British in a provincial way given the antichrist meant to be cosmopolitan and international, just.... all of it.

Those chapters are just so durned long. Any editor worth their salt would break this one into at least three or four, and boo on them, because I can’t imagine anything being quite so fun as the way the different sections weave together in such interesting ways. It just keeps going.

More substantively, let’s talk about Crowley again, and evil, and people being people. Because one of the aspects I’m finding most interesting in this opening chapter is how it’s not being good or evil that makes you good or bad. Or destructive. Or the characters I should root for or against at an intuitive moral level. I’m actually having a failure of language here, but speaking as a philosopher even so early it’s something that strikes me as a very interesting take on the concepts. True, and also real.

Take this description of one of the chattering nuns:

Sister Mary Loquacious has been a devout Satanist since birth. She went to Sabbat School as a child and won black stars for handwriting and liver. When she was told to join the Chattering Order she went obediently, having a natural talent in that direction and, in any case, knowing that she would be among friends. She would be quite bright, if she was ever put in a position to find out, but long ago found that being a scatterbrain, as she'd put it, gave you an easier journey through life. Currently she is being handed a golden-haired male baby we will call the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.

And then later:

Most of the members of the convent were old-fashioned Satanists, like their parents and grandparents before them. They'd been brought up to it and weren't, when you got right down to it, particularly evil. Human beings mostly aren't. They just get carried away by new ideas, like dressing up in jackboots and shooting people, or dressing up in white sheets and lynching people, or dressing up in tie-dye jeans and playing guitars at people. Offer people a new creed with a costume and their hearts and minds will follow. Anyway, being brought up as a Satanist tended to take the edge off it. It was something you did on Saturday nights. And the rest of the time you simply got on with life as best you could, just like everyone else. Besides, Sister Mary was a nurse and nurses, whatever their creed, are primarily nurses, which had a lot to do with wearing your watch upside down, keeping calm in emergencies, and dying for a cup of tea. She hoped someone would come soon; she'd done the important bit, now she wanted her tea.

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.

Usually when we talk about good and evil not being as starkly different, there’s an element of moral nihilism, or at least relativism, this feeling that that means everything is equally right or wrong. And again I’m struggling with language here because good/evil and right/wrong are usually thought to be, if not synonyms, at least strongly parallel concepts. So if you don’t have good and evil or they don’t function in the same way, then of course you affect right and wrong in much the same way. But this seems to be doing something quite different. Good and evil are more like warring tribes than moral distinctions, what we should root for and against. But there’s still something of morality shot through here. People may be people which means liking dressing up on a Saturday night apparently, and that may explain why they’re just as likely to dress up in white sheets or jackboots as tie-dye; but of course the result is nowhere near the same.

And Crowley gets that, probably better than anyone.

Crowley had always known that he would be around when the world ended, because he was immortal and wouldn't have any alternative. But he'd hoped it would be a long way off.

Because he rather liked people. It was a major failing in a demon.

Oh, he did his best to make their short lives miserable, because that was his job, but nothing he could think up was half as bad as the stuff they thought up themselves. They seemed to have a talent for it. It was built into the design, somehow. They were born into a world that was against them in a thousand little ways, and then devoted most of their energies to making it worse. Over the years Crowley had found it increasingly difficult to find anything demonic to do which showed up against the natural background of generalized nastiness. There had been times, over the past millennium, when he'd felt like sending a message back Below saying, Look, we may as well give up right now, we might as well shut down Dis and Pandemonium and everywhere and move up here, there's nothing we can do to them that they don't do themselves and they do things we've never even thought of, often involving electrodes. They've got what we lack. They've got imagination. And electricity, of course.

One of them had written it, hadn't he . . . "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."

Crowley had got a commendation for the Spanish Inquisition. He had been in Spain then, mainly hanging around cantinas in the nicer parts, and hadn't even known about it until the commendation arrived. He'd gone to have a look, and had come back and got drunk for a week.

That Hieronymous Bosch. What a weirdo.

There’s an interpretation I read years ago, that Crowley’s brilliance as a demon comes down to project management, not hatred or bile or the like, and that that doesn’t make him less demonic. I like that and quite agree with it; it makes him much more modern, and much more influenced by humanity I think, than Hastur and Ligur; but it’s obviously not getting in the way of him doing a good job. What’s so interesting here is this isn’t a project that requires a lot of management at all. 

Is it the deep affect of sin? The world is corrupted and broken etc.? That seems completely wrong for this book, and, for the record, my personal moral and theological intuitions. Or is it that there’s something about the demonic that’s integral to the Great Plan that it’s sort of hard-coded into humanity? The asking of questions, the breaking of things so change is even possible? Or, more uncomfortably, is this need to hurt somehow more natural than we’d like it to be? The flipside of the urge to protect, perhaps, paired with the much less admirable tendency to divide groups too large for us to really bond with into us and them, our side and people our side needs to be protected from?

Maybe. I don’t have hard answers here for myself, let alone for Neil and Terry. But what I do see is Crowley is sd about that. He’d torture and hurt because that was his job, but I think he also wanted humanity to be better than that. Which they are, some of them and some of th time, but when they aren’t: hoo boy. It hurts him. It hurts me. But damned if it isn’t also compelling. I’m definitely looking forward to how this distinction (or lack of same) develops. 

.... And on that note, I just saw Aziraphale’s name mentioned for the first time since the Garden. This seems like a good place to stop and read other things so I can return refreshed, because as I said these chapters are long. 

[blackswaneuroparedux]

How many winds of doctrine we have known in recent decades, how many ideological currents, how many ways of thinking. The small boat of thought of many Christians has often been tossed about by these waves - thrown from one extreme to the other: from Marxism to liberalism, even to libertinism; from collectivism to radical individualism; from atheism to a vague religious mysticism; from agnosticism to syncretism, and so forth. Every day new sects are created and what Saint Paul says about human trickery comes true, with cunning which tries to draw those into error (cf Ephesians 4, 14). Having a clear Faith, based on the Creed of the Church, is often labeled today as a fundamentalism. Whereas, relativism, which is letting oneself be tossed and 'swept along by every wind of teaching', looks like the only attitude acceptable to today's standards. We are moving towards a dictatorship of relativism which does not recognise anything as certain and which has as its highest goal one's own ego and one's own desires. However, we have a different goal: the Son of God, true man. He is the measure of true humanism. Being an 'Adult' means having a faith which does not follow the waves of today's fashions or the latest novelties. A faith which is deeply rooted in friendship with Christ is adult and mature. It is this friendship which opens us up to all that is good and gives us the knowledge to judge true from false, and deceit from truth.

- Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI

Never were truer words spoken than by this misunderstood and much maligned great theologian and staunch defender of the Christian heritage of the West against the forces that seek to weaken and destroy it from within.

RIP Joseph Aloysius Ratzinger (1927-2023)

[likeakiss]

licking blood from your teeth. a raised scar. the old east end. testing the cut on your lip with your tongue. a loud bang from somewhere in the distance. ringing in your ears. refusing to change. slicking back your hair. whiskey and cigarillos. shoot first, ask questions later. remembering where you came from. having to fight for everything you’ve got. violence as a language that everyone understands. exit wounds. the pig-headed belief that you’re always right. struggling to let things go.

statistics.

full name:  joaquin vidal nickname(s)/alias(es):  keen, the crooked hand name meaning:  established by god age:  fifty-seven date of birth:  april 16th star sign:  aries place of birth:  poplar, london (now tower hamlets) current location:  lambeth, london gender:  cis-male pronouns:  he/him sexual orientation:  bisexual religion:  raised catholic (not a very good catholic) occupation:  mob boss family:  david flores (father, estranged), alejandra franklin (née vidal, mother), bernard “bernie” franklin (step-father, estranged), ricardo “ricky” franklin and antonio “tony” franklin (half-brothers, estranged), emilia franklin (half-sister, estranged) “sweeney todd” (ex-wife) education level:  didn’t even get his o levels (old man equivalent to gcses) living arrangements:  a modern warehouse conversion in stockwell financial status:  wealthy spoken languages:  english, spanish

inspirations.

reggie kray (legend) harry (in bruges) tyler durden (fight club) euron greyjoy (game of thrones) maxwell roth (assassin’s creed: syndicate) reyes vidal (mass effect: andromeda) bill sykes (oliver twist)

biography. (tws for poverty, xenophobia, violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics)

A third generation Peruvian immigrant, Joaquin Vidal has never known any home but London. Born and raised in Poplar (a notoriously impoverished area of the city) life was always going to be a struggle for his family - for stability, for money, for respect - but struggle they did. Joaquin’s grandparents went about things the old fashioned way, sacrificing every last shred of their dignity to scrape together enough money to take over the lease on the local newsagent after the previous owner passed away. They managed it, just barely, but even at the tail-end of the sixties, Poplar wasn’t the most tolerant of places, and the shopfront was regularly graffitied or worse.

By the time Joaquin was born, the Vidals had come to realise that London’s streets weren’t paved with gold, as they had hoped they would be when they arrived in England. They had their shop, true, but it wasn’t enough - the family was still living on top of each other, three generations packed into two rooms, living hand-to-mouth. His mother, Alejandra, was only sixteen when she discovered she was expecting, and a wedding was quickly organised in a desperate attempt to hang on to the precious little respectability the Vidals had garnered within their community. It was only two years before Joaquin's father vanished into the night, never to be seen again.

Joaquin was still young when he started looking for trouble (or when trouble started looking for him, as he’d always insist). He was a handsome, charismatic teenager, with a swagger in his step and an appetite for violence that only comes from feeling like you’ve got something to prove. It seemed as if he was destined for gang life from the get go, smoothly transitioning from playground bust-ups and brawling in the streets to the well-paid world of underground fighting. Joaquin was a workhorse in the ring, a surprisingly lithe figure that categorically refused to stay down, and it made him a hugely valuable commodity as a prize fighter. He would do whatever it took to win, and then some.

It was around this time that he set his sights on a woman known to the Jolly Rogers as Sweeney Todd. The former Crooked Hand, a man by the name of Alistair Winchester, had heard of Joaquin’s success on the underground fighting circuit, and was actively trying to recruit him to his cause. Sweeney was Alistair’s niece, and had been embroiled in the workings of the gang since she was very young, meaning she was already well established as a career assassin. Joaquin was drawn to her immediately - he knew they were made for each other.

As his relationship with Sweeney developed, Joaquin became as assimilated into the Jolly Roger lifestyle as she was, working his way up from pit fighter to contract killer in a matter of years. He would always prefer working with his hands (or, rather, his fists), but he learnt to wield a gun with precision and deadly force. As a rule, Joaquin and Sweeney were not supposed to work contracts together - they were both experts in their craft, but their dynamic was volatile and unpredictable, entirely inexplicable to anyone but themselves. People used to say that one day they’d either kill each other, or end up married - they chose the latter.

Realistically, it was never going to last between them - in fact, it’s some kind of miracle (or maybe a curse) that their marriage survived the eleven years it did. After one, final, explosive argument, the Vidals separated for good, but angry as they were, they couldn’t stay away from each other for long. Joaquin started taking contracts abroad, furthering his reputation with the Rogers while doing his best to forget about Sweeney. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t move on from her. He’s never been good at letting go.

When Alistair Winchester shit the bed and got himself nicked, it was only a matter of time before someone was called in to clean up his mess. Following the customary vote between senior members of the gang, Joaquin was compelled to return from his work overseas, not so much stepping into Alistair's shoes as kicking them out of his way. He never sought the title of the Crooked Hand, and his election came as a surprise, but who is he to spit in the face of democracy? If the Jolly Rogers wanted a show of force, Joaquin Vidal would be the one to give it to them.

He's been the head honcho for coming up on four years now, driving the Jolly Rogers into an era of prosperity that puts old man Winchester's legacy to shame. The treaty is starting to chafe at him, though, his patience for niceties running dangerously thin. No, he thinks its high time his people start making some more aggressive plays - show the Jabberwocks and everyone else who really runs the streets of London.

other things.

Before he was the Crooked Hand, Joaquin was known as Sykes, after the character from Oliver Twist. Not the most flattering of code names, but he’s never been much of a reader, and didn’t understand the connotations until much later on. 

Joaquin calls in on his mother approximately once every six months. They didn’t have the best of relationships after she remarried and started a new better family, but she’s old now, and the only surviving relative he’s still in touch with.

He's not usually much of a gambler, but he goes out of his way to attend the Royal Ascot every year, delighting both in betting on the horse races and terrorising the unfortunate toffs forced to share space with him for the duration of the event.

He’s a passionate West Ham supporter, and will thank you not to remind him how poorly they’ve been performing in the premiere league.

To date, Joaquin has never seen a cow in real life.

There isn’t a single event that could convince Joaquin to wear a tie. He didn’t even wear one to his wedding.

[apenitentialprayer]

This characteristic of God who, in revealing himself, shows himself to be incomprehensible, is not conditioned simply by the obscurity of earthly faith. This faith therefore cannot simply disappear in the face-to-face vision; on the contrary, it is then, precisely, that the incomprehensibility of God in every perception of God will reach its maximum. It would be ridiculous and contrary to all experience as well as to all true faith to interpret this face-to-face vision as a definitive grasping (comprehensio, κατάλειψις), after the fashion of an acquired science or a human philosophy. Augustine's axiom, "si comprehendis, non est Deus," applies in heaven as well as on earth.

- Hans Urs von Balthasar (La Gloire et la croix, 44-45)

His light is too intense and too profound to ever be penetrated. Whoever makes progress into it as though into a "luminous cloud" understands better and better that his true knowledge and his true vision consist in "not-grasping." It is thus that he enters and plunges deep "into the joy of the Lord." [... This] is theology in its most ancient and noble sense, which is the movement of faith, adoration, ecstasy in God. That theology will never end because God is inexhaustible.

- Henri de Lubac (The Christian Faith: An Essay on the Structure of the Apostles' Creed, pages 315-316, 314)

[chronussy-bc]

Annon-Guy: Don't know if music or songs are your forte, but say if Train, Eve, Sven, Rinslet and Creed each had music themes;

If they had Instrumental Themes, how would they sound to fit them?

Or

2. If they had Vocal/Character Themes, what kind of lyrics would they have?

Haha I listen to many kinds of music, but never actually learn about any of them, so I would say it's definitely not my forte. But I do have some ideas.

Sven: Jazz or sometimes R&B. Very fitting for the wildcard type of gentleman like him.

Eve: Classical music. This can change as she grows up, though.

Rinslet: Funk music. A mix of modern and the 1900s vibes. Bold, hot, kindly practical, always on a dangerous but thrilling business.

Train: Pop/country. There are ups and downs, but at the end of the day, the positivity never leaves.

Creed: Orchestral music. Not necessarily classical, but always delivered in a grand, overwhelming way. The type of performance that makes the audience feel spellbound and fully engaged, makes them remember the show for a very long time with strong emotions.

For lyrics, it would be like this:

Creed: "They used to shout my name, but now they whisper it." (Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde)

Train: "Well, open up your mind and see like me/Open up your plans and, damn, you're free/Look into your heart and you'll find love, love, love, love." (I'm Yours - Jason Mraz)

Rinslet: "You are who you wear, it's true/A girl's just as hot as the shoes she chooses." (Fashion - Lady Gaga)

Eve: "Anything that's worth having, sure enough worth fighting for." (Fight For This Love - Cheryl)

Sven: "My heart is breaking for my sister/And the con that she called "love"/And then I look into my nephew's eyes/Man, you wouldn't believe/The most amazing things/That can come from/Some terrible nights." (Some nights - Fun)

Hmm, if I look back, some lyrics don't seem to be much relevant to the theme music. But yeah, I have the feeling that they are both of those combined.

[wisdomrays]

THE 'ARSH (The Supreme Throne of God): Part 2

From the earliest days of Islam all righteous scholars have approached such expressions from this perspective and described God in the way that the respected Ibrahim Haqqi of Erzurum has described Him:

He is neither a body nor a substance, nor is He an accident, nor of matter.

He does not eat and drink, and is uncontained by time.

He is absolutely free from change, alteration, and transformation,

and from colors, and having a shape as well—

These are His Attributes in the negative.

……

There is no opposite, nor peer, of my Lord in the universe;

He is the All-Transcendent and exempt from having a form.

This approach is one on which the overwhelming majority of Muslims and Muslim scholars agree, and the creed of Ahlu’s-Sunna is based on this. The earliest scholars did not argue about such subtle matters and even avoided answering questions concerning them. When asked about God’s establishing Himself on the ‘Arsh, the respected Imam Malik thought for a short while and answered: “ God’s establishing Himself on the ‘Arsh is a reality and the acceptance of it is incumbent on us. However, its very nature is incomprehensible, and asking about it is an innovation in the Religion.”

However, when, in later times, certain trends of thought emerged among Muslims under the influence of foreign beliefs and philosophies, and in the face of false interpretations that imply corporeality, time, and place for God Almighty, scholars felt obliged to explain in what sense the Qur’an uses such words as istiwa and have tried to protect the masses against false ideas. They explain the meanings and implications of istiwa as follows:

Istiwa alludes to the faultlessness of the order of creation and the perfection of the Sovereignty or Domination that has established and continues this order. The fact that wherever the word istiwa is used in the Qur’an there is also reference to this Sovereignty and Administration proves this.

By reminding us of the usual Divine practice that is the true origin of everything and every event in the universe, the Qur’an implies that after God Almighty initially created the universe in a miraculous fashion, without applying any physical causes, He introduced the “natural” or physical causes into all events as veils before Divine Dignity and Grandeur.

Just as all things and events come into existence with the manifestations of God’s Knowledge, Power, and Will, they also subsist by His Authority and Subsisting, Which manifest themselves on and through the ‘Arsh.

Istiwa also means invading and surrounding completely. Thus, with this word it is emphasized that God’s Sovereignty is so forceful and encompassing that It can never be compared to human sovereignty or management.

The word istiwa also implies that although we are infinitely distant from God Almighty, He sees and knows everything perfectly from high above, yet is nearer to us than ourselves.

Reminding us of these meanings, respected scholars have tried to protect Muslims against false notions of God in connection with corporeality, time, and space and against falling into misguidance, equipping us with important arguments for thinking correctly. We are thankful to them for their sincere efforts. However, it would be more proper to act like Imam Malik if false assertions made by misguided sects are not in question, and refer the whole of the truth to the All-Knowing of the whole Unseen.

Some of the illustrious interpreters of the Qur’an have put forward the idea that the ‘Arsh and Kursiyy (the Supreme Seat) are the same and both constitute the arena where God’s Attributes of Glory and Divine Sovereignty are manifested. However, in addition to many verifying scholars, a hadith mentioned in al-Bidaya wa’n-Nihaya by Ibnu’l-Kathir and certain other reports referred to either the Prophet himself or his Companions show that the ‘Arsh and Kursiyy are different arenas of manifestation. The hadith and reports in question even state that the ‘Arsh is a million times larger than the Kursiyy. The ‘Arsh is more encompassing in comparison to the Kursiyy, to the same extent the Kursiyy is greater than the entire corporeal universe. In explaining the vastness and comprehensiveness of the ‘Arsh, it is said that the earth, the heavens, and all elevated realms such as Paradise, Hell, Sidratu’l-Muntaha and al-Baytu’l- Ma‘mur are encompassed by the ‘Arsh.

However, the vastness and comprehensiveness of the ‘Arsh should not be thought of on account of itself, but on account of its being the first arena where God Almighty’s Grandeur and Sovereignty are manifested. What gives it the greatest value and makes it unequalled among the elevated realms is that it is a mirror to overall Divine manifestation.

On account of being the primary arena where Divine Attributes of Perfection and the Names that originate in God’s Acts are manifested, the ‘Arsh also has a “relative” infinitude. In one respect, all other existent things and beings and all events start and end here. Time, space, and direction are not attributable to it. It is above all such things. Therefore, the ‘Arsh encompasses both this world and the next.

Even though we are unable to perceive exactly all these or other similar realities, we believe in the existence and features of the ‘Arsh in accordance with how this arena is mentioned in the Qur’an and the accurately-reported hadiths; we also admit that we are unable to comprehend its true nature and refer this knowledge to the All-Knowing of the whole Unseen. When we think of the ‘Arsh, we recall the first arena of the manifestation of God’s Attributes of Glory and the most luminous mirror of the Divine Names that originate in Divine Acts, and feel that we are gratified with the shadows that It sends over us from other worlds.