#sideburns are a war crime

[gravehags]

satan baby

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: yule with the papas, secondo and terzo fighting over caroling, gift giving, and maybe...kissing

Words: 1,877

Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year.

a/n: it's been a while my children. eat up and merry christmas to those who celebrate. a little present from me to you.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“This is Secret Santa, you’re only supposed to get a gift for one person,” you sigh, currently inundated with a pile of presents on your lap and by your feet. “What’s all this?”

“Correction, bella, this is Secret Satan where you get as many gifts for whomever you like, sì? And you’re our star this year.”

Terzo smiles warmly at you as you fidget with the fabric of your festive dark green velvet skirt. You’ve all gathered in the Papas’ private living room, the mantle of the roaring fireplace positively bedecked with greenery and a massive tree opposite. A couple weeks ago you and Copia were put in charge of creating the orange garland, a not insignificant task given the height and breadth of the noble fir. Speaking of Copia, he is sitting in a deep leather armchair, stroking his mustache thoughtfully and giving you a funny look. When you give him an exaggerated wink his lips curl into a smile and his eyes dart away as his cheeks flush.

“Another cup, signorina?”

Primo is currently standing next to the hot plate on the side table, stirring the large cauldron of mulled wine. You really shouldn’t, you already are feeling a little woozy and warm but what the hell. Christmas, right? Or Yule, rather. You nod eagerly and Primo doles out a hefty amount of the dark liquid into a mug with little rats on it, passing it to Secondo who passes it to you as Terzo hands you yet another gift to open. So far you’ve unwrapped a beautiful homemade perfume from Primo and a garnet jewelry set which you are sure is quite old and quite expensive from Terzo. Copia still clings to the small present on his lap that bears a tag with your name on it, unwilling to see it in your hands just yet. One of these presents alone would be more than enough to dazzle you but the Papas insist on spoiling you. Who are you to object?

“This one is from me,” Secondo says, smiling slightly sinisterly over the rim of his mug.

“Ominous, but okay,” you say as you unwrap the box with caution. When you gingerly open the lid and see what’s inside, you let out an undignified screech. Primo, Terzo, and Copia exchange alarmed expressions as you reach in and lift the stuffed creature from its confines to marvel at it. It’s positively hideous - a large round potato-like head, red vestments, even a glittering pectoral grucifix. You’re beaming.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Copia says, outraged and red-faced.

“He’s perfect,” you coo, holding him against you in a tight hug. “Look at his stupid little face!”

“Ah, sì, he looks just like you,” Terzo says with a grin.

“He–it–looks nothing like me. No mustache. No sideburns. Eyes are all wrong!”

“He’s beautiful,” you say, cradling the monstrosity in your arms with all the grace of Mary. “Thank you Secondo.”

“I made him myself, you know.”

“A man of many talents!”

“A man of many war crimes,” Copia growls from his spot, flinging himself backwards in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Don’t speak about our son that way!” you cry, pressing your palms to the ears of the small stuffed man.

“Our son?” Copia cocks his head with interest and the brothers all look at you in silence.

“Y-yes. He looks - mostly - like you and I am his mother. Therefore we are his parents. So step up.”

When you reach out to hand the stuffed cardinal to the real thing, he sighs and takes it in his hands. 

“He is infernal,” Copia says, placing him sitting up on his lap. “But I accept him as mine.” The sight makes you scramble for your phone to take as many pictures as possible.

“What a beautiful family moment,” Terzo says, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. “Copia, I think you’re the only one left who hasn’t exchanged presents!”

Handing the doll back to you he hesitates to reach for the gift still in his lap. Primo, ever wise, interrupts to ask if anyone wants dessert while you reach down and grab the present you’ve brought for Copia. Terzo and Secondo haul themselves up with much grumbling and follow Primo out of the room to help.

“I thought you said you were only bringing a present for one person? Primo was who you drew, sì?”

“Yeah I know but,” you scoot your chair closer to him, “you’re special. You’ve been on my side since day one. I couldn’t not get you something. You mean too much to me.”

Copia blushes the fiercest shade of red you’ve seen yet as you hand him the heavy package.

“Grazie, cara mia,” he says quietly, mismatched eyes boring earnestly into yours.

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t opened it.”

With a smile he begins unwrapping the festive paper. When he finishes and sees what is inside his heart jumps.

“Dolcezza,” he breathes and you blush just as fiercely as him at the nickname, “this is wonderful.”

It had taken you a lot of time and a lot of money (worth every cent as far as you are concerned) to locate an antique facsimile of William Blake’s art. Admittedly, you had used a lot of the Ministry’s excellent resources to find it but all the effort was worth it for this moment. When Copia looks up at you, you swear there are tears in his eyes.

“I have never before received a gift such as this, cara. Thank you.”

When you reach out and cover his gloved hand with yours and squeeze firmly, it’s as if his whole body sinks into itself. Softly, he picks up your hand and brings it to his lips - a sweet echo of his action from the first day you met. It takes everything within you not to knock all the items out of Copia’s lap and climb in it yourself. In all honesty, you’re moments away from doing just that when the Papas return to the room with much clamor. Your heart sinks as Copia drops your hand and clears his throat, and you return to your chair from your half-risen position. When Copia looks at you and points to the small box next to him, you mouth the words “later” with a smile before accepting a comically large slice of yule log from Secondo. The rest of the evening is relatively quiet apart from the dueling rendition of “Carol of the Bells” that Secondo and Terzo fight over while Primo sleeps contentedly in his comfy armchair. When the Papas begin loudly arguing in Italian you signal to Copia and begin gathering your things in a large brown bag. Without a word the two of you slip out the door and when you hear a crash and Primo’s deep bellow ringing out you skitter away down the hall.

“Looks like we made it out just in time,” you giggle as the two of you finally slow.

“Eh, sì, it always ends like this,” Copia says with a huff and an eye roll, “they can’t help themselves.”

Copia is unaware of where he is standing but oh, you certainly are. This looks like a perfect place to stop.

“Not trying to be pushy but I think you were going to give me something?” you say, cocking your head and setting down your bag. 

“Ah…yes,” he sets down the book you gifted him and thrusts out his hand with the fastidiously wrapped present within it. “For you.”

You take the gift and open it delicately and slowly and see him chew on his bottom lip slightly. 

“If you don’t like it I–”

“Hush,” you say simply as you open the box. Inside, resting on dark red velvet is a simple and small golden grucifix on a delicate matching chain.

“You always wanted to be a part of the Ministry,” he says quietly, fussing with his gloves, “and I hope this lets you know that we accept you. We’ve always accepted you. I–”

You remain silent as you set down the box and put the necklace on while Copia watches. When you finish your hands don’t return to your sides but rather come up to cradle the Cardinal’s cheeks. He’s frozen as you stand just like this, thumbs brushing against his sideburns and a look on your face that he doesn’t think he has the capacity to describe. Your cheeks positively glow, your eyes seem lit from within and your lips are curled into a soft smile. They part momentarily for you to take a deep, steadying breath - inhale, exhale - before you lean forwards and gently place your lips on his. The ground shifts beneath him, the world is spinning as the fingers of your right hand begin to slide along his jaw and you tilt your head. You hesitate only for a moment, pulling back slightly before Copia grabs you insistently by the back of the head and pushes his lips back against yours. He tastes of mulling spices and his mustache tickles your upper lip, as you always knew it would. When you finally need to catch your breath he barely relinquishes his grip on you, making you laugh and kiss his chin.

“Why,” he whispers, thumb running against your cheekbone. “Why me?”

You lean forward and rest your head against his chest, close enough to hear the thud of his heart.

“It was always you,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his back. “Always. From the moment you kissed my hand the day I was hired to the moment you comforted me when I was sad and lonely. From the moment you shared your rats with me. From the moment you put me to bed when I was drunk. All of it, Copia. All of you. That’s why.”

When you pull back to look at him, there’s definitely no mistaking the tears in his eyes this time and when he frantically pulls you in for another kiss, you can feel the wetness on your own cheeks. When you pull away with a giggle he looks concerned.

“Amore mio, what is it?”

You point upwards to the healthy sprig of mistletoe hanging from the rafter.

“You had no idea did you,” you say with a grin, chin resting on his sternum.

“Who would? Who could even see that and in the dark I–” his words cut off as you gasp from the short sharp smack to your ass.

“Copia! Not in front of our child!” you chastise, reaching into the bag and pulling out the accursed doll.

“Ugh, I had forgotten about him,” Copia grouses as you take it and peck him on the cheek with it.

“What should we name him?” you muse, adjusting the doll’s pellegrina.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something suitably horrific,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead which you lean into eagerly. “Until then…shall I, eh, walk you back to your rooms?”

“Please,” and with one last long, lingering kiss with the odd cardinal doll squished between the two of you, you pick up your bag and continue the long walk back to your cozy bed with the Satanic cardinal you hoped would soon be in it.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Torquil, Guilherme, and Ferdinand

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, suicide, verbal abuse, and neglect.

Torquil Aitken

Nickname: Torrie

Occupation: Private First Class and a vehicle driver of the Rebel Army and a volunteer for transportation services (formerly)

Hobbies: Performing his accordion and singing traditional Scottish songs at social gatherings, upgrading and fine-tuning cars and tanks, and fostering kittens and puppies

Likes: Guilherme (especially his calm and compassionate nature), his mom’s cooking, and archaeology

Dislikes: Being told to stop joking around, seeing his friends bummed out, and animal torture

Favourite food: Kedgeree and gummies (preferably gummy worms and sharks)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Gender: Male

Age: 28 (in 2022), 34 (in 2028), 36 (in 2030), 38 (in 2032), 40 (in 2034), 47 (in 2041), 49 (in 2043), 50 (in 2044), and 53 (in 2047)

Design: He's a 5’ 3” (160.02 cm) Scottish-American mesomorph with robust musculature, a subtle roundness of his belly, and semi-broad shoulders. He sports medium-length coppery red hair with gentle curls, styled in a shaggy crop with sideburns, and often wears it tied back into a bun. He has tanned pale ivory skin, brown freckles, dull jade-green eyes, a cleft chin, and a metallic gold prosthetic left arm. He sports a prominent scar that stretches from the right side of his forehead, organically zigzagging down to the middle of his left cheek. He dons a metal dog tag necklace with his name and the standard Rebel land troop uniform, which varies depending on his deployment location.

He carries a maroon duffle bag containing his accordion (a family heirloom), a versatile toolkit for mechanics, and a rocket launcher equipped with homing missiles. Torquil wears a pink lavender waist pack on the left side of his rosy brown belt, containing a flare gun, 12 Gauge rounds, and two bags of gummy worms and sharks. He often shares these treats with his friend Guilherme, particularly when he's starting to feel anxious or overwhelmed. He would share some with Ferdinand, but he isn't a fan due to their chewy texture, which bothers his jaw.

Personality: He's a cheerful, happy-go-lucky extrovert whose charisma stems from his fun-loving attitude and ability to make others laugh with jokes tailored to their sense of humour. His carefree and enthusiastic demeanour gives way to a more serious and concerned attitude only when he senses that something is deeply wrong. As a confident individual, he exudes swagger in his step and rarely shows fear in the face of adversity, but it can sometimes tip into recklessness and overconfidence. He'll stop at nothing to protect his comrades, but can't resist charming the ladies and indulging in the occasional bout of mischief. He’s naturally curious and gets excited by things he finds to be cool.

On the battlefield, Torquil's preferred war machine is the Type-4 Girida-O, his absolute favourite, but he occasionally switches to the T-2B Melty Honey when he's feeling particularly confident. The only vehicle he refuses to drive is the Type-5 Iron Iso, due to its rarity on the battlefield and the fear of destroying it too quickly. He honestly fears Ferdinand due to his overly serious and ill-tempered nature, yet he admires his exceptional skills on the battlefield and values his wise mentorship. Guilherme is his reluctant partner-in-crime for whom he holds deep affection and secretly harbours romantic feelings.

Backstory: Torquil Aitken was born on November 15th, 1994 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States. His father, Vernon Aitken, was a renowned archaeologist driven by a passion for adventure and a desire to share his discoveries with the world. His mother, Elspeth, is a veterinarian who also works part-time as a convenience store clerk. His parents loved him dearly and did everything to ensure he would lead a successful, resilient, and optimistic life, instilling in him the fearlessness to tackle any challenges that came his way.

Vernon would share with him his archaeological endeavours and contributions to the advancement of ethical archaeology. In contrast, Elspeth taught him the value of treating animals with kindness, while emphasising the importance of companionship, love, and living a healthy lifestyle. Additionally, he often assisted his mother with meal preparation, with dinner being his favourite meal to prep. Torquil was a mildly quiet and worrisome kid who was anxious around strangers, but once they had earned his trust, he would become a talkative jokester when he felt comfortable around them.

Sadly, just four months after he turned 13, Torquil's father met a tragic end. Vernon and his team of fellow archaeologists were attempting to escape a sudden mummy uprising in an ancient tomb within the Ajirabian Ruins. In their frantic bid to contain the mummies, debris dislodged by dynamite fell and crushed him. This was devastating news for Torquil and his mother, plunging her into a state of melancholy. However, Elspeth knew she couldn't give up easily, so she did everything in her power to raise Torquil on her own.

After losing Vernon, Torquil adopted a more extroverted, carefree, and fun-loving demeanour reminiscent of his father. As he now lives with his mother, Elspeth, who is struggling financially, he took it upon himself to find a way to support both of them. Leveraging his interest in fine-tuning cars and tanks, he came up with a brilliant idea: volunteering for businesses that required transportation services. By making deliveries and carrying materials, he earned a steady income, allowing both him and Elspeth to stay afloat financially for a while.

At 33, Torquil's life took a dramatic turn when a friend informed him that the Rebel Army was recruiting new members. With minimal persuasion, Torquil saw this as a thrilling opportunity to witness tanks up close and eagerly volunteered. However, his mother was hesitant to let him go, fearing the dangers of warfare and the possibility of losing her son. She worried about his safety and whether he would return home alive. Torquil reassured her, confident that he would be fine.

Guilherme Carvalho

Nickname: Guil

Occupation: Private and a sniper of the Rebel Army and a fortune-teller (formerly)

Hobbies: Writing and sketching around in his journal, honing his cardistry skills, and crocheting

Likes: Lupine creatures, nu metal and post grunge music, and the unique meanings that each tarot card has

Dislikes: Panic attacks, incurable diseases, and people exploiting his kindness for their own selfish gain

Favourite food: Coxinha and limonada suíça with condensed milk

Sexuality: Homoromantic graysexual

Gender: Male

Age: 31 (in 2022), 37 (in 2028), 39 (in 2030), 41 (in 2032), 43 (in 2034), 50 (in 2041), 52 (in 2043), 53 (in 2044), and 56 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a 5’ 1” (154.94 cm) Brazilian ectomorph with a lean figure, a mediocre musculature, sloping shoulders, and left hand that has six fingers. He has wavy chocolate brown hair styled as a textured quiff, umber skin, and sunburst green-hazel eyes. His neck bears heavy scarring on the right side, and he has two distinctive facial moles: one located above his eyebrow and another near the centre of his chin. Like Torquil, he dons a metal dog tag necklace with his name and the standard Rebel land troop uniform, which varies depending on his deployment location.

He carries a chestnut-hued satchel bag containing his crocheting tools, four yarn balls in different colours, and a treasured family heirloom: a worn, handmade Spanish blue leather journal passed down from his great-grandmother. He uses it to record his thoughts, observations, and insights, often accompanied by sketches of the people and environments he encounters. Guilherme wears a navy blue waist pack at the back of his dark teal belt, holding a deck of tarot cards that he often shuffles through to calm his nerves when feeling anxious. A faded greyish-green bandolier is slung over his right shoulder, which securely holds his rifle's ammunition.

Personality: Due to his compassionate and nurturing nature, he has a habit of prioritising the needs of others over his own, which can sometimes lead to self-neglect. He’s a shy, resourceful, melancholic individual that listens actively and shows genuine interest in others' concerns, but his patience wears thin when his paranoia takes hold. He strives to remain calm in high-pressure situations, but when overwhelmed, his composure can give way to ruthless and reckless behaviour. Guilherme is often taciturn, but will become a skittish loudmouth when impatient and extremely paranoid. He's an incredibly observant person who often notices details that others miss, and has a habit of fleeing from situations he deems particularly grim.

Despite being a down-to-earth sharpshooter, he's surprisingly prone to anger when his rifle jams, particularly in high-stakes situations. When feeling anxious or awkward, he exhibits one of two behaviours: rubbing his hands together or picking at his skin. He deeply admires Torquil's confidence and courage in battle, which inspires him to be more fearless and push through daunting situations. He regards Ferdinand as a wise mentor and strives to prevent him from lashing out at Torquil when he inadvertently provokes Ferdinand's frustration.

Backstory: Guilherme Carvalho was born on April 3rd, 1991 in Salvador, Brazil. Guilherme was deeply scarred at a young age when his father took his own life with a hunting rifle in front of him. Compounding this trauma, his mother was largely absent from his life, leaving behind a legacy of secrets and mysteries surrounding his family. His anxiety stems from his childhood experiences growing up in a violent and cruel environment, where he had to find ways to survive. Fortunately, his aunt and great-grandmother provided a safe haven for him to stay in until he was mature enough to venture out into the world on his own. He remembers his aunt as strict and grumpy at times, but deeply loving, while his great-grandmother was incredibly compassionate and would often regale him with stories of Spanish mythology and her own life experiences.

He was formerly a devout Catholic, often praying to God for hope in a better future and the strength to persevere. Additionally, he would pray to Menina Izildinha for good health, protection from harm, and deliverance from diseases for himself, his aunt, and his great-grandmother. To earn a living, he turned to fortune-telling, using tarot readings to predict the future, and also created handmade crochet items like scarves, ponchos, sweaters, and hats to sell on the side.

However, he lost his faith in Catholicism when his great-grandmother died from a hemorrhage after a devastating fall. Shortly after, his aunt passed away from a debilitating disease with no available cure. These losses left him consumed by sadness and loneliness. But then, he inherited his great-grandmother's journal and began using it to record his insights and observations, and sketch the people and environment around him. He would also adopt a lop-eared rabbit with a harlequin fur coat named Janaina. Journaling and the companionship of his newly adopted bunny brought him some solace, alleviating some of his sorrow and isolation.

As an adult, he continues to explore his surroundings, still haunted by questions about his family: What happened to his mother? Does he have any brothers and/or sisters? Driven by a desire for answers, he embarks on an odyssey to find more members of his family. After a long and arduous search, he finally finds his lost sister, Geovana. As they spend time together, he learns that she's a successful surgeon.

However, his life takes a dramatic turn when he stumbles upon a propaganda flyer promoting recruitment for the Rebel Army. Feeling unfulfilled and without direction, he makes the difficult decision to leave Janaina in his sister's care and joins the Rebel Army two months before the Great Morden War. Once he joined, he was frequently picked on by the others for being timid and a person of colour, which caught the attention of Torquil. Torquil offered to be Guilherme's friend, which he hesitantly accepted, and they have been on relatively good terms since then.

Ferdinand Hofbauer

Nickname: Ferdan

Occupation: Specialist and a Gatling soldier of the Rebel Army and a landscape architect (formerly)

Hobbies: Attending classical opera performances, rock balancing, and collecting taxidermy

Likes: His beloved house pets, fine art enthusiasts, and baroque architecture

Dislikes: Winter, individuals who are lazy and mischievous, and needlessly wasting functional technology and edible food

Favourite food: Homemade apple strudels, Wiener Melange, and bosna

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender: Male

Age: 38 (in 2022), 44 (in 2028), 46 (in 2030), 48 (in 2032), 50 (in 2034), 57 (in 2041), 59 (in 2043), 60 (in 2044), and 63 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a 5’ 7” (170.18 cm) Austrian endomorph with a partial beer belly, decent muscles, and broad shoulders. He has straight jet black hair styled as a crew cut, warm beige skin, blue-grey eyes, and a finely chopped goatee. A cut scar crosses his left cheek, and he has a prosthetic right leg that almost seamlessly blends with his skin. He has a shimmering silver-grey glass eye in place of his right eye, marked by a scar from a severe stab wound. Like Torquil and Guilherme, he dons a metal dog tag necklace with his name and the standard Rebel land troop uniform, which varies depending on his deployment location.

Ferdinand always carries around two photographs: one with his deceased wife from before the Great Morden War and one with his two best friends from the Rebel Army. He wears a harvest gold waist pack on the right side of his brownish-black belt, equipped with his silver-plated night vision binoculars, a pack of cigarettes, an almond-hued lighter, and five cans of root beer. He often shares a couple of these cans with his closest friends, Torquil and Guilherme. He's always armed to the teeth, carrying a heavy minigun with a back-mounted ammo supply and a machete sheathed at his left hip.

Personality: He's quite serious and overprotective of his two best friends, Torquil and Guilherme, due to a deep-seated fear of losing them, stemming from the tragic loss of his pregnant wife. He’s a by-the-book individual who carefully follows protocols and expects the same from others, maintaining a stern expression while trying to avoid distractions. He’s a strategic thinker that rarely complains, preferring to keep his true emotions hidden behind a stoic mask. He has a fearsome temper, triggered only when people neglect their duties or stir up unnecessary trouble.

Ferdinand is a wise and hard-boiled individual with a penchant for surveilling his surroundings due to his hypervigilance. He lives with chronic depression, but he prefers to keep it private due to concerns about the stigma surrounding mental health. He sometimes finds Torquil's overconfidence and playful nature grating, particularly when it leads to slacking off and distractions. In contrast, he’s deeply concerned about Guilherme's fragile mental state and makes a conscious effort to offer comfort and support him during his darkest moments.

Backstory: Ferdinand Hofbauer was born on August 26th, 1984 in Kufstein, Austria. His father, Herschel Hofbauer, was a distinguished police officer who had once aspired to be a therapist. However, he changed careers after noticing the alarming rise in crime rates. Tragedy struck when his wife died during childbirth, leaving him a widower. Recognizing the importance of both parents in a child's life, he remarried, hoping to provide a mother figure for his son. His stepmother, a public opinion analyst, presented herself as a charming and affectionate person, but beneath this façade, she was a hedonist who was verbally abusive and neglectful towards Ferdinand, viewing him as an obstacle to her husband's affection. In contrast, his father was a simple man who cherished the lives of the innocent and his family above his own, finding joy in the small things in life during his quiet moments.

At the age of 14, Ferdinand began exhibiting signs of child verbal abuse and neglect, which deeply concerned his father. When Ferdinand revealed that his stepmother was responsible for the mistreatment, Herschel was consumed by strong displeasure and even regretted remarrying. He made the difficult decision to divorce Ferdinand's stepmother and severed all ties with her, prioritising his son's safety and well-being above all else.

While attending university to study architecture, he met the love of his life, Franziska. They went on numerous dates and grew closer, and after completing their college education, Ferdinand proposed to Franziska. After getting engaged, they married a year later and spent their honeymoon in the Caribbean, where they began thinking about starting a family. Four years after landing their dream jobs–Franziska as a landscape architect and Ferdinand as a law clerk–they decided it was time to start a family. Franziska became pregnant, but tragically, her life was cut short. At just five months pregnant, she was brutally mugged and killed by an unknown assailant on a snowy day while out getting lunch. Ferdinand, who was at work, learned of his wife's passing via a phone call from his mother-in-law, leaving him utterly devastated and heartbroken.

After his wife's passing, he quit his job, feeling lost and aimless, as Franziska had been the source of his happiness. Struggling to move on, he became withdrawn and distant, and developed self-destructive habits: chain-smoking, frequenting bars, and getting into trouble with the law for public indecency and starting fights. Seeking comfort, he adopted two pets: a Russian Blue cat named Franziska, after his late wife, and a Styrian Coarse-haired Hound named Benedikt. This decision brought some solace to his sorrow.

Amidst the turmoil of the Great Modern War, Ferdinand stumbled upon an advertisement for the Rebel Army, recruiting new soldiers. Seeing an opportunity to find purpose, he decided to join the army and become a soldier, hoping to do something meaningful for once. Once he joined, he met Torquil fixing up his Type-4 Girida-O and Guilherme sketching in his journal at the campsite where he was staying. Not wanting to be potentially bullied for being a loner, he decided to approach them, and they quickly became best friends, remaining close ever since.

[mormontdacey]

im sure it’ll make sense down the line but it’s hard to imagine the most inhumane and heartbreaking mass casualty war crime being planned by a horny elderly toll plaza manager and lord sideburns lannister the legacy obsessed control freak of casterly rock

[ljf613]

Why would LuZhao be problematic?

LuZhao is problematic because I headcanon Lu Ten as a nonbender (my headcanons are, of course, The Actual Canon) and bender x nonbender ships are Bad.

Also, that many sideburns cannot be allowed in one ship.

Ask me why your ship is problematic

[fire-lady-ilah]

“Crown Prince Lu Ten is unavailable to see you.”

Zuko felt frustration boil inside of him. It was bad that he was stuck in this world — even if the world itself seemed fine, after all, Uncle was Fire Lord here. It was even worse that, since nobody knew who he was here, he couldn’t just demand an audience with Uncle. And now they were saying he couldn’t even speak with Lu Ten?

“Fortunately, Prince Consort Wei is available and more than willing to pass on any messages to his husband.”

Wei?

Zuko found himself being led into a sunny office where a man was waiting. He barely noticed as the man bowed his head, making the flame with his hands.

It couldn’t be.

“Zhao?”

— an excerpt from the dimension travel story I’ll (probably) never write, in which Zuko, instead of learning the true meaning of fire from the dragons, finds himself transported to a world where Iroh never laid siege to Ba Sing Se, Lu Ten never died, and the war is already over.

Oh, and Zhao is married to Lu Ten, apparently.

My submission for day 3, prompt: Royal Consort AU, for the Zhaozai Palooza — both an art piece and a hint of writing.

@zhaozaipalooza

[zhaozaipalooza]

Your Weekly (LATE) Drabble! - His Name

BRO

Whoever started the Moon Spirit!Zhao prompt owns my heart mind and soul 🤍

In appreciation, have some of the one and only Zhaozai (with next week’s theme sprinkled in)

- - -

The moonlight is humbling.

A radiance that doesn’t sear through paper-thin retinae, smudged red rings and white toadstools dissolving between hard blinks... Agni’s was a blinding grace that disarmed the onlooker, left them clumsy-footed and batting away sharp pinpricks.

This glow is a gentle bathe. Catching on pale fingertips, a mesmerizing dance in and out of stolen crevices where shadows frolic instead of burn in stark lines against the sun. This glow entices him. This glow emanates power as secretive as its host, and he’d tangle his hands in the roots and tug, if only he could slip close enough.

The admiral is changed - and far from granting him permission.

He’s found atop a courtyard pond as fish dart underneath rippling foam. His feet brush the surface instead of capsize, only the pads wet, a lotus twining his skin as if the touch gives it life. Palace attendants have to usher him past corridors to the summoner’s chambers, seat him and comb the crusted salt from his pearlescent hair, and attempt to cut the flower loose - the spirit relents, a ringed hand motioning for get out.

His lips thin as wine turns in the glass before him, no force between it but the table and a cloak of heat. The Firelord is oriented a sailing cutter’s length across, a sea of ice churning at their feet.

“This must have been difficult for you.”

Before the spirit’s lips part, insofar so muted that the seam between top and bottom is adhered, Ozai finishes, “... deserting your post. A man of your status, allying with the enemy.”

A snow-white brow quirks. “Like master, like pupil, I suppose.” Before the Firelord can cluck, a dry tongue that rakes the back shelf of his teeth, Zhao finishes,

“Did you enjoy allying with the Dai Li to repel the two-year siege? You advised them to strike the general where he was weakest. He returned days later, an heir without a progeny...”

“Please.” Mincing words wasn’t remotely their preference; blunt edges couldn’t throw off sparks. “We’re not strangers. Your mind is mine, and mine yours. The throne is worth its weight in blood as much as gold.”

“Ozai,” he hisses, a name only feared and praised. The wine freezes, micro-movements gripped in suspension.

Zhao’s voice is clawed. “I knew him.”

“Everyone knows a dead man.” Airy, curt. “They pass on. You and I will not.” He rises in a smooth curtain of silk, extending an arm for his - the lotus shrinks back, fastening to the elbow. “You and I...”

He rips loose. “His name was Lu Ten.”

“What happened in the North wasn’t my choice, but what I do with my fate is. I know more than I did. People pass on, but their spirits...” Zhao scrambles for the words, finds only silence, thick and painful.

“... I hear him, in the cold morning wind. His laughter in the waves. His power in every storm. They don’t leave. Spirits - they become a part of something greater. They govern all nations, not just their own. Even your rule won’t reach every leaf on every tree. I am one, just without crossing over, without leaving this world and moving to the next... I see them. I don’t know if they see me.”

His eyes are hard. Icy as the rock that shines off the sun, phases of a whole brilliance. “You don’t see them. You can’t see anyone but yourself.”

Their gap narrows... Ozai clasps him without effort. The protest is little, but there, balled knuckles that bend the wine in his cup to gleaming points.

“I see opportunity. I take it.” Hunger winds around the golden ribbons of each iris. The Firelord’s stare is bottomless; no amount of power would be enough.

A nail grazes a lip. A tip of speared wine lights on the back of Ozai’s neck. His tone is unruffled. “And I see worlds beyond our own, in you.”

“Only you. Always you.”

Zhao’s fingers, laced with a fragile control, twitch.

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

A piece for LuZhao ~

—

“My aunt Ursa loves this play to pieces.”

He hopped down from the edge of the stage, easing some anxiety that he would slip off and Zhao wouldn’t leap out in time - though the prince didn’t know it. “She goes on and on, until Azula gags and runs out at the lovey-dovey scenes, and Zuko’s head falls into my lap. I’d stay still so he could sleep, and sit through the rest.”

“Sad.” He stared at the darkened lanterns, the sun sinking overheard. “Sounds like you envied the princess.”

“Oh, no.” The royal dug into velvety sand with his bare feet, smiling, “I loved her stories most of all.”

The crowd had deserted a performance met with flowers and encore, and Lu Ten had slipped through the back door, jumped him with a bright mask strung with feathers. Zhao’s heart had nearly stopped - not when he scared him, but when he tugged off the band and threw back his head, laughter overflowing from deep in his belly, his father’s laugh. When Lu Ten’s eyes lowered to Zhao again, he’d gone white, and he was speechless. Though the prince didn’t know it.

“Pff, no way.” He followed him when he took the steps onto stage left. “You? But you’re a soldier. What’s there to like in something so... sappy? It’s a waste of time.”

“On the contrary, friend, it’s a gift.” Lu Ten skimmed the wooden boards as they creaked underfoot, retracing the performers’ exact positions, dust flying with each sweeping step. He was careful to maneuver around strewn flowers. Zhao crushed the cool petals freely, releasing their aroma on occasion, until he noticed Lu Ten’s hesitance and did the same. “Here-” He looked up just as a mask was shoved into his hands. The fanged red one, with a feathery tuft to cap the actor’s head. Zhao crinkled his nose, sensing the rest of his plan. “... No.”

“Come on! You don’t think being a soldier and being an actor ever intersect? Don’t you know fighting and performing take quick thinking, light feet, a heart full of hope?” Lu Ten struggled to disguise a handful of blue streamers under his robe, then gripped Zhao’s hand in his own. The older boy barely found the voice to cry out before faux orange flames slithered down his sleeve, and he shivered - his cheeks went hot. “Lu...!”

“Think of a girl! Think of the cutest girl you’ve ever seen.”

“I-”

Lu Ten popped the band around his ears, settling a blue demon’s tusked face on top of his own. “Now I’ve caught her! She’s my prisoner in the underworld, and she’ll be mine forever! You, the brave Dragon Emperor, must decide your fate and hers. Is destiny your friend today - or is it your doom?”

“Shouldn’t you be the-”

And the prince flew forwards - Zhao, just reaching to itch at the feathers clumped under his ear, staggered back and threw out his arm. Paper ribbons flew wide, his heels instinctively diving around flowers to avoid trampling them.

Ohh, Agni. He caught his balance, bubbled with enthusiasm gleaned from literal years spent absorbing Lu Ten’s every word. “You’re a bigger fool than you are a god, wretched spirit. Don’t you know you only pull the tides because they recoil from your touch?” Their footsteps thumped on the floorboards, displaced air rustling the tied lanterns. “Don’t you know the moon wanes at the hideous sight of you because she turns her face away? Or are you as blind as her to the truth?” Zhao exhausted the ammunition left, red streamers colliding with blue and rolling out over the stage. “There is no damsel!” He cried triumphantly. “You failed to find whom I truly gave my heart to.”

Lu Ten leapt for him, shouts and winded breaths mingling as they pinwheeled to a stop. “Ohoho...” Were they breaking character? Was this in character? Abort, abort! Lu Ten cracked a grin behind the mask, though Zhao didn’t know it. “I never guessed you were so well versed, Mister Stage Fright.” An arm gently pinned his throat. “Speak! Who is she, then? One more prisoner should sate my lonely company. More so than yours, Noren.”

“The... the lonelier company is mine, always.” His eyes glittered, peeling the band loose. The red dragon’s face rattled aside. “I knew immortality when I knew love. You, of all champions sent to slay me, only fuel my true form... So I ask, if I must die at your hands, to see yours. Just once.” His hand rose, curled, uncertain, fingertips drawn to the ingrained lines in Lu Ten’s mask. Zhao was driven by their adrenaline, assured by the single shield of anonymity between them. When that too fell away with a swipe of Lu Ten’s thumb, he paled; all words shirked his throat.

Your true form.

“I...” Zhao shot a wild look around. “I thought we were- I thought you were, er, the mortal girl. The Dragon Empress, right? It’s dark out, so I couldn’t tell-”

A chuckle interrupted the whistle of his breath. “... I guess I wore the wrong mask.” Though, this once, the prince knew better.

“Yeah... just a misunderstanding. You get it, don’t y-”

He shut him up, the sunset converging on the horizon with the moment the world ebbed away. The taste resembled sea salt, tea leaves, earth and warmth.

[yellowsubiesdance]

i don’t think i’ve ever seen good sideburns, and i think it’s finally time that as a society we stop allowing sideburns to exist freely

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.  

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part.  I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.  

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.  

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

Tag List:

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[ashkazora]

Lance deserved long hair. Long cascading locks, heavy n reach the waist long hair, finds loose ones in the asscrack long hair, best friends find His hair in Their asscracks long hair. His canon hair was not it and it's frankly biphobic how he was the only one who didn't get a new hairstyle at all. Also a corruption arc n evil powers i wnt his eyes to glow n his hair to float as he's killing someone it wld be hot n sexy n i wld be the "You are doing amazing sweetie" lady as he commits atrocities

You know what anon? ur so right. Lance deserved either long hair or an undercut. or both. We don't talk about his canon hair and sideburns jhdsfjhdahgj

It's actually so sad the show didn't give him a corruption arc like it's what he deserved. And he had the perfect set up! Kuron singled him out, Pidge and Hunk isolated him, Keith left, Allura was focused on someone else - it's perfect for him to be manipulated into committing some war crimes.

"I can fix him" well I could love him the way he is. And make him worse.

[writebecauseyoucannotbreathe]

Problematic ship asks, if you're still doing them. This one likely won't be hard but I think it will be funny. Lu Ten × Zhao

Sideburns are a war crime. I know because I am the expert on war crimes. Trust me. And both Zhao and Lu Ten have sideburns so if you ship this pairing you have literally committed two war crimes and I will dni, block, and call the fandom police on you and they'll beat you up with tie belts and shoe laces to save the children from war.

0/10 lacks azulaang

[2o2o-kit]

An American’s Thoughts on Horrible Histories Songs

Born 2 Rule: Iconic, really set the stage for Horrible Histories, not my favorite George III song though that prize goes to Hamilton, (also I was always taught George III was mad in an angry way)

Wives of Henry VIII: This song walked so Six can run, still iconic

Making a Mummy: Kind of forgettable, but if we are going by the pattern as seen in the first two, I predict the next big history musical will be about making mummies

The Tudors: I don’t know why but I love this song’s intro, but I find the dance moves cringe worthy

Georgian Lady: It’s great when you can read along to it, but Martha is still iconic

I’m a Knight: I love the whole Monty Python inspiration, this always makes me smile, just pure wholesome knight energy, one of my favorite season 1 songs

Caveman Love: It gets better the more you listen to it

It’s Not True: Probably my least favorite Horrible Histories song, still better than most songs on the radio

The Plague: The plague was made for musical theatre, besides this check out Spamalot and Something Rotten

British Things: Drags on a bit, but haha Britain, you are not perfect, (but America is far from perfect)

We are Greek: It’s king boring, but lyrics are still pretty clever

Burke and Hare: I’m not a fan of this TBH, maybe it’s because I’m not a huge fan of true crime and stuff like that, it’s not that catchy either

Literally: Nothing like an 80s rock parody, it’s also one of the funniest songs

Charles II: This was the first HH song I listened to and I’m glad, because it’s a banger, and this is probably the closest you will get to a kid friendly Eminem

Spartan Musical: This is so camp and just you have to watch to understand

WWII Girls: Katy Wix needs to be in more songs, I love the costumes in this

George IV: I’m obsessed with this one, Jim’s vocals in this are perfection, definitely one of my favorite of the whole series, I wish I could belt like that

Blackbeard: The acting in this is perfection, I still laugh while watching it

Victorian inventions: I’m not a big fan of this type of music, but it’s still funny

Hieroglyphics: Idk why Mat did a Texas accent, and I’m not sure but it’s not bad, but it’s not as great as the other songs

Cowboys: The accents are good but I could go without all the farts

Boudicca: This is an inspiration

Funky Monks: I’m not a big fan of this one, it’s funny but I wish they had more singing in this, but Terry is great as always

Pachacuti: At first I was bit nervous to watch it because of the brown face, and yes it’s in there and I also thought it would be too cheesy but that’s the point and makes it so much fun, also what’s a northern accent

Dick Turpin: For most people it’s the guyliner that makes this a thirst trap, for me it’s all the tricorn hats 😍. When I first watched this video I recently developed my tricorn fetish and this song was just... The music to this is great too, I listen to this daily. And imagine me learning that this thirst trap’s name is Dick

Monarchs: Iconic, super helpful, now I can name all the English monarchs, thanks

William Wallace: Better than Braveheart, seems like a lot of fun to film

Work! Terrible Work: Hey look theatre reference, this so is definitely not a mood booster, but those sideburns (and I’m not really into sideburns)

Ra ra Cleopatra: Martha is killing it, and I love all the Lady Gaga references

Richard III: Thanks for talking about the horrors of Tudor Propaganda and the lyrics in this are amazing

Evil Emperors: If you claim your bad, don’t make such a catchy song that can easily be confused as another thirst trap, love the parody and Caligula and Nero and some of my favorite HH characters

Suffragettes: This song proved how hard these ladies worked, also I want to sing this song with others, who’s in?

Ain’t Stain Alive: Okay just like Pachacuti, I’m sure this song can’t work today, but it’s great, so catchy and the screams, also the behind the scenes of this is iconic

Age of Stone: I like how it explains the time periods but I’m not really a big fan of how it was presented

English Civil War: The choreography is on point, Lawry needed to be in more songs and I love the song they parodied, it’s Cool from West Side Story

Celtic Boast Battle: I don’t know, I find it a bit too much but the ending is perfection

RAF Pilots: Now I’m not big on war history, epically WWII, but song is perfection, I love the coloring used for this, the music is just awesome, and this along with The Captain from Ghosts and Molly McIntire are proving the WWII is gay

Nature Selection: I’ve been using this phrase a lot during the pandemic,

The Thinkers: Alright, no strong opinions

It’s a New World: A jam, love the shade of how the pilgrims treated the natives, and it’s a great parody altogether, also I need a New New Castle now

Mary Seacole: So catchy I love it, and the dancing is great. I wish they didn’t cut out that one lyric about Florence because that’s important

Victoria and Albert: It’s kind of slow, but I can see why others like it, maybe it’s just because I’m alone

Blue Blooded Blues: I don’t really like Blues music, even though I’ve lived in cities known for their blues, but James Cape™️, GAAAYYYY!!!

The Luddites: Definitely one of my favorites, I love the cinematography, the costumes are my type, and nothing like historical heavy metal, ironic right, and Jim has the vocal range

The Borgia Family: I love everything about this, the music, the accents, costumes, this is better than the Showtime series, wish Ben got a solo in this song though, (also is it just me or do the Borgias remind you of the Trumps expect the Borgias are more like able)

Mary I: It’s okay, Sarah in this is great and it’s a great parody but I always thought of Mary having a deeper voice (I know weird)

William Shakespeare and the Quills: I love Shakespeare, but I’m not a big fan of this type of music, also I low key wish Shakespeare was sexy in this one

Georgian Navy: Please forgive my star spangled ass, but I’m not a fan of the British military during the Georgian era, and yes I know Nelson didn’t really fight in the American Revolution, but I’m not a big fan of war history

Flame: Will get stuck in your head, but who cares it’s an awesome parody, Jesse Owens in amazing, we love Jim’s Nero, and Mat you said you were all nude (I feel cheated)

Death’s Favorite Things: Hilarious, and a mood for me

Rosa Parks: Now Rosa’s story is something we get drilled in our heads in America, which is good, this song is so catchy and I love the costumes, but the ending did say ‘segregation was ended in America,’ but technically...

Vikings and Garfunkel: Aww so peaceful,

Charles Dickens: I love the music on this and the cinematograph, but there is something about it that I’m not a big fan of it, but I’m not sure what

Crassus Minted: A freaking underrated banger, just like the real Crassus

Joan of Arc: I’m sorry but this song is a bit cringe worthy but still way better than the new seasons

Alexander the Great: I mean is there any other song that can truly depict Alex

Owain Glynwr: Wish they had more Welsh history on the show but Tom Jones parody I never knew I needed

Transportation: The dancing in this is amaze, and I’m obsessed with Ben’s accent in this, how is his Midwestern accent better than mine, and I have a Midwestern accent, (stop making me like Henry Ford!) and I love whenever they do musical parodies

Henry VII: This song makes me want to be Henry VII, he made the monarchy great again

Matilda Stephen and Henry: There are more ABBA references in this than a production of Mamma Mia, and it’s brilliant,

Australia: I’m surprised they got away with saying Hellhole in this, but still very catchy, low key wish Thomas sang this in Ghosts

Cousins: It’s silly and I like it

Love Rats: Lyrics make me want to remain single, video is having me crush on actors that are old enough to be my parents

Final: Supersweet, but I can only watch it once because it makes me emotional

[monochromemedic]

If my ocs were famous and well known what discourse would they cause in the fanbase or even ‘fanon headcanons’

Fallon: uwu little widdle bean. Stealing is ok because he’s relatable and it’s ok! His crimes don’t matter. OR Fallon shanks people and sells drugs. He’s in the mob, he’s in the mafia. He has several major war crimes. If you don’t portray  ‘Fallon would OBVIOUSLY say this slur I mean look at him. He had an ‘epic gamer moment’ if you know what I mean’ Fallon does nothing and contributes nothing to society. No one gets Fallon’s natural hair color correct or changes his hair color to a million other colors.  ‘The sunglasses symbolize this!’ Fallon is a hipster/poser of some sort of style No one draws Fallon’s sideburns. Probably does a drug Dom: Everyone thinks ‘oh i know his name is really dominic but he goes by dom because that’s what he is in bed’ REAL KINKY SHIT WITH THIS GUY. Has the most dirty raunchy fanfics about him.  Every fetish on to Dom.  ‘Dom has no sense of humor, he is a robot in his emotions except for anger’ No one remembers the small scar by his eye. everyone draws him with the most bara of muscles.  Lots of people portray his OCD as a joke or wrong type of OCD.  ‘Simp/Cuck’ Silas: no one knows what his race is but if you get the race wrong from what they think, your an ass.  The whole skin color debate is on him constantly no matter the lighting or the palette the artist is working with. Himbo to the max, no fucking brains what so ever, doesn’t know how to breath.  always give him shape canines the amount of body hair he has is probably never correct. Constantly breaking stuff. No one remembers how to spell his name. Eats fucking rocks

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Today’s Pig is Tomorrow’s Bacon

Thursday, June 11, 2020

 By Stephen Jay Morris

©Scientific Morality

       History to some is a boring subject.  The way it was presented to me in grade school was all about memorizing dates and peoples’ names you didn’t really care about.  It was about the mid term, and then the final exam.  Public school curriculum was always a tug of wag between progressive methods and conservative techniques of education.

So, who won the war?  Neither ideology won.  It became a compromise of mediocrity.  Most subjects in school were anemic because of censorship by various groups on the left or right; mostly right wing Christian groups.  That is why science classes were so flimsy.  You couldn’t teach that the world was billions of years old because it contradicted the bible.

History is not boring! You remember your own name and birth date, don’t you?  Well…I am going to lay down some history on you: my own!  My history parallels social history.  Back then I wasn’t just a spectator of history, but a participant.

In the late 60s, what was happening in the black community was a daily ritual of police brutality. If you were black and walking anywhere, you were stopped, frisked, searched, and asked for identification. Were you to show any disrespect to the cops, you would “accidentally” fall down on your face and cause injuries to your body.  It was their word against yours.

Other non-white people suffered the same injustices by the police.  And, so did white hippies!  Long hair meant you were on dope and you were a “nigger-lover.”  I had my share of police harassment.  My long hair covered my face, so my white skin privilege was suspended until I got a haircut.  “Are you a boy or a girl?” a cop would ask.  There was also penis privilege, of which mine was revoked because I had long hair.  There used to be heterosexual privilege; mine was canceled until I got…well, you know. If you had long hair, the cops would call you a cock sucking queer.  All I had to do was get a haircut and all my problems would be over.  However, for those who were Black, it was a constant, day-to-day struggle.

Enter the Black Panther Party.  The Panthers were not some ideological or political group.  In the beginning, they were a militant Civil Rights group, which ultimately became the vanguard of the New Left revolution.  They supported Third World resistance and uprising against Imperialism. They were in support of the Viet Cong and others.  Their focus was on police brutality.  The Panthers went on street patrols, armed with rifles and law books.  When they saw cops harassing someone, they would stand nearby, shouting instructions to the victim on how he should legally respond. They put a halt to police harassment for a couple of years.  It was illegal to call a cop a curse word, so the Panthers would call them “pigs.” That word was and is protected by the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights.  Once, I used that word to some cops.

In 1970, I was on my way home, walking.  I was in the alley that ran adjacent to my house, when some unmarked cop car stopped beside me.  Inside, there were two plain-clothes, white cops in dark sunglasses, with sideburns and mustaches. They looked like characters from the sit-com, “Reno 911.”  They were dressed in casual clothes, like male models out of a department store ad in the Sunday paper.  The driver asked me, “Have you seen a Chicano wearing khaki pants and a yellow shirt, about 6 feet 4, walk by here?”  Now, I was a stupid, 16-year-old militant, so in a reflex action, I replied, “I didn’t see shit, pig!”  Both of them were clearly exasperated, plus they were wielding giant flashlights that cops commonly used as Billy clubs.  They slowly exited their car and approached me.  One of them asked softly, “What did you say?”  I felt a surge of adrenaline invading my belly; I knew that I was going to get the shit beat out of me!  Just then, behind me, I heard my mom open the front door of my house. With great relief, I turned around and said, “Hey, mom!”  She didn’t say a word, but she looked concerned.  The head pig said to my mom, “Ma’am!  Tell your son to watch his mouth!”  They both got in their car and sped off in pursuit of their suspect. What was even scarier was that this incident occurred right next to my house on Martel Avenue!

That’s just one of many encounters I had with the cops.  This next anecdote took place in my high school history classroom.  My history teacher enjoyed holding class discussions of current events.  One day, were talking about police brutality and how to stop it.  Now, this was 1969 and the network news nightly showed film clips of cops bashing and whacking the hell out of student demonstrators with their batons.  By this time, I was in solidarity with the Black Panther Party, who’d proposed having community control of the police department.  I said to classroom, “We should abolish the police department!”  One girl’s eyes popped out her head and she shrieked, “Are you out of your mind?!  Who is going to protect the public from crime?”  To this, I replied, “The community peace patrol, I imagine!” Then she had the nerve to recite this bumper sticker text, “Well...if you don’t like the police, next time you are trouble, call a hippie!”  It turned out that her dad was a cop.  The bell rang and my teacher said, “What Stephen said is a valid point.  Good day.”  Wow!  No teacher had ever validated anything I said!

So here we are.  It seems a million years since the Chicago cops assassinated Black Panther Fred Hampton, and it’s been just 15 days since a cop murdered George Floyd.  His murder started a wild fire of protests and riots around the world.  There are calls now from the Black Lives Matter movement to defund the police.  I also heard some anarchists calling for the abolition of the police department.  Bam!   Some ideas never die.

So, what do I believe now? Since the police are part of the working class, they should be revolutionized toward progressive values. They should take off the uniform and not carry guns.  They should be trained in the martial arts.  They should be peace officers not police officers.  Progressive unions should represent them.  I say abolish the police department and transform it into a community peace force.

The white-wingers (formerly, right-wingers) claim they are pro-police.  They are not.  They only support the cops when they violently abuse some poor victim.   Now, should the cops go on strike for higher wages, you will not see one conservative on the picket line with them. Conservatives are not willing to pay higher taxes to support their local police.  Hell, no!  They’d rather privatize the police force and have them guard and protect the white rich and their acres upon acres of property.  Here’s one argument worth contemplating:  Abolish the police so they can never be privatized!

Okay, Boomer?  

 Take a listen to this song I wrote in 1980 about the Los Angeles Police Department:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpIzWoS0Vto

[fire-lady-ilah]

Sideburn Squad + June Headcanons

(Under the break, because there’s a lot.)

All

Lu Ten have been friends since they were children. Lu Ten was 5 and Zhao was 7 when they first met and became friends at the Royal Fire Nation Academy for Boys.

Zhao became friends with Cadet Jee when he joined the military at 18. At that point, Jee was 3 years his senior at 21, though he had joined only the year before. They met in firebending training, where Zhao had already been moved up in level by the second day under Admiral Jeong Jeong’s appraising eye.

Zhao is a much better firebender, but Jee absolutely demolished him at pai sho. And poker. And mahjong. And any game, really.

Lu Ten remains in the palace until he turns 18 but at 17 he meets a young bounty hunter of the same age at a bar he snuck out to. He arm wrestles her (loses) and challenges her to a drinking contest (loses again) before deciding to acquire a second best friend.

At 18, Lu Ten is assigned to the same training camp as Zhao (which is very nice for the two young lovers) and, well, if a bounty hunter is found in the neighbouring town’s inn more often than not, who’ll complain?

Lu Ten becomes fast friends with Jee (who is now 23 and very much feeling Too Old For This Shit) after a few games of pai sho. Jee and June enjoy having company while Zhao and Lu Ten are doing their disgusting couple thing.

Lu Ten

Lu Ten loves to paint and paints portraits of each of his friends for their birthday, along with whatever other obnoxiously expensive gift he gives them.

Zhao’s depicts him in some, er, rather passionate situations. (Their friends see one with him doing firebending training in the middle of a kick. The other one is given in private and leaves him a blushing, stuttering mess). He also receives a book of poetry written in the Water Tribes, something that’s definitely banned in the Fire Nation.

Jee’s depicts him deep in thought, sat at a pai sho board with a cup of coffee steaming in his left hand. He receives a bag of very high quality coffee (wait, wasn’t this type only grown in Air Nomad temples at very high altitudes?).

June’s depicts her with a slight smirk on her lips as she let a man think for a moment that he was winning their arm wrestle. She receives Earth Kingdom perfume of the highest quality (and if her arms shake as she takes it, remembering faint memories of a noblewoman holding her to her chest, Lu Ten doesn’t mention it). She makes a remark about Nyla hating perfume but she doesn’t reject it.

Lu Ten is also fiercely loyal and protective of his friends. He’s the first to rise and physically put himself between them and the threat, fire curling around his fingers as he restrains himself from clenching them. He never throws the first punch (his father taught him better than that), but he isn’t above using his sharp tongue to make them throw it (Azula may have been encouraged by her father, but she looked up to her older cousin as much as Zuko did).

He also acts as an older brother figure to June specifically, despite being the same age as her. No one is good enough for his bounty hunter adoptive little sister, except maybe... maybe someone he trusts.

Zhao

Zhao is a poet and it surprises everyone and no one. Strangers, should they somehow find out, cannot imagine it. His friends can’t imagine him not constantly pouring over books of poetry, scrawling his own in the corner of tactical notes, and quoting it endlessly in conversation and impassioned speeches. Thus, they’re also unsurprised to find out that he has a set of poems (some from the greats, some from smaller poets, even some of his own) dedicated to each of them. Not only their surface personalities (Lu Ten, brave and loyal. Jee, tired and always watching. June, cunning and sharp.) but who they are underneath (Lu Ten, crying at his first kill. And his second. And his third. Jee, losing all composure the moment someone smelling of sake grabs June’s wrist, a hand leaving a pink— mild but threatening— burn on their throat. June, curled tightly up to Nyla after a rough day, hair always gelled in front of the side of her face).

He isn’t protective, not in the way his friends are. In the face of danger head on he shrinks back. But he is vindictive and more than friendly with the concept of revenge. He sees the way an up and coming lieutenant eyes his Lu Ten greedily and braves his feat of ladypedes to fill the lieutenant’s bedroll with them on their next expedition. A commander yells at Jee and lunges fast enough to make him flinch and oh no, did his house really burn down overnight with all his gold stolen? He didn’t know he lived so close to base. Every man that brushes up against June a little too long finds his coin purse mysteriously missing by the end of the night.

Jee

Jee is quiet and has the patience of a saint, most days. But even he can only stand babysitting royalty in silence so long. So what if he’s the one that sneaks alcohol onto base and drags his friends into the storerooms, drinking the two younger men under the table? They need their egos a little beaten and Jee needs a drink.

As the oldest, and also the only member from complete peasantry, Jee has to teach his friends a lot of basic skills.

How Lu Ten didn’t even know how to make his bed in the barracks properly, Jee didn’t know, but he taught him anyway. He didn’t laugh at him, he just guided his hands into making the crisp fourth-five degree angles the inspector wanted.

He taught Zhao how to throw a proper punch (no, not like that. Sure, the form is perfect for firebending and for martial arts, but if you want to really win a brawl you have to do it like this). The boy was a little too obsessed with honour for his liking. He understood the status that being born “honourless” gave him, but he was from the lowest of the low. They didn’t care for honour, they cared about survival.

June is most similar to him, but he sees the nobility in her facial structure and the way she doesn’t hesitate to spend most of her money on drinks. She may work for it, but she’s never known the ache of an empty stomach. Still, he teaches her how to barter (no, not threaten, barter) and how to find the best cut of meat for Nyla. The shirshu takes a shine to him almost immediately.

He may be the Dad Friend (he rejects the title verbally and yet wears it with pride), but he isn’t the first to jump in their defence at the slightest insult. He only reacts when he sees something truly dangerous, even if he knows his friends can handle themselves. And if he’s quicker to lash out on drunks that touch one of his friends, they don’t comment.

June

June proudly proclaims herself the primary holder of the group brain cell. She spends the least time with the rest of them, but she’s also uncannily perceptive. She sees the way the already tipsy teenager held himself with a straight spine and clothes made of a little too fine of fabric. She sees the way he leans in at the slightest hint of friendship and she can’t help herself from doing the same. She recognizes the way Zhao’s eyes glint whenever someone insinuates that he’s inferior, even if he bows his head as a subordinate. She watches from the top of a building she shouldn’t be on as he chases Jeong Jeong like an eager child, desperate for approval and love. She makes eye contact with Jee, the only one that sees her watching, and something like an agreement passes between them.

She takes her bounties all while she hangs around the training camp. It’s longer than she’s stayed in one place since she was just a child and her life was a lot more stable. She takes her first life when someone confuses bounty hunter with assassin and tries to pay her a near boatload for her Prince’s life (she takes their gold too. She isn’t above robbing a corpse).

She’s protective too, though she would never admit it. She mocks Lu Ten with a smirk on her lips at his temper, but she slips into the shadows to drag the very man that threatened their group into the alleyway, a poisoned dagger to his throat. Someone may threaten her family, but they only get that chance once, she makes sure it never happens again.

Even after Lu Ten dies and her group fractures, she keeps tabs on them. She finds a stowaway on Prince Zuko’s ship and she finds a friend again in a bar soon after. They have a drinking contest and an arm wrestle but it isn’t the same, just the two of them. And in the end, it’s just June.

[zhaozaipalooza]

the SHOTS (so controversially yet so bravely) fired today

@fire-lady-ilah bless.