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Michael - Blog Posts
birth family vs found family
🚗 𝔾ℝ𝔼𝔸𝕊𝔼 𝟙 & 𝟚 𝕀𝕄𝔸𝔾𝕀ℕ𝔼𝕊 🏍
REQUEST OPEN!!
(1) Kenickie x female reader (1) Danny x female reader (1) Sonny x female reader (1) Doody x female reader (1) Putzie x female reader (1) Any female character x female reader (friends)
(2) Johny x female reader (2) Michael x female reader (2) Goose x female reader (2) Louis x female reader (2) Davey x female reader (2) Any female character x female reader (friends)
There may be coming more than these guys but until now these are the ones I will accept for request❤️
IT IS ONLY CHARACTER X FEMALE READER!!!!
Love: your writer
appreciation post for michael <3
St. Michael and the dragon
While this took me a whole lot of time to finish, I am very pleased with the end result, both compositionally and in regard to the colour scheme.
The idea for the ornate, white armour in particular came from an illustration of St. Michael in the book of hours of Henry IV of France, which looks like this:
Also, fun-fact: my hometown celebrates an annual little festival, which as its centre piece features a moving mechanical figure of St. Michael slaying the devil, the colour-scheme of which I also referenced for this painting.
* * *
Close-ups:
Sancte Michael Memento Mei Ante Deum
Horae ad usum Trecensem dites Heures de Michel Berthier, 1415-1420
THE LOST BOYS (1987) dir. Joel Schumacher
Vincenzo Michael EXACTO Jones
What if we all are dead. And we are in the bad place as michael's neighbourhood project and thats because 2020 sucks? And the people who died in 2020 just goes to the real bad place. SOMEONE FIND CHIDI ANAKENDRICK!
Click for better quality
Never two without three, it's Michael's turn!! :D
Just one more and I've drawn the four main archangels from the show! (too lazy to draw Metatron, besides, I don't like this guy)
Its my Birthday!!
Thank you to all my friends and family who wished me a happy Birthday
The familiar voice caught her a little off guard, though Pythia doesn't know exactly why. The tray of champagne flutes she carries, filled with a soft pink bubbly liquid trembles slightly, though she recovers quickly as she rounds to lay hues on her brother. Hues, that now hold an air or warmth that had otherwise disappeared eons ago. "Michael," A fleeting moment holds ire before its reasoning dissipates just as surely, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Truly, Pythia doesn't remember the last time that she'd felt so, light - so, unburdened by the tribulations that had so quickly torn her apart and left her rampant for retribution. "Oh," it's something of a surprise, but again, she doesn't truly know why, "let me just..--" Perhaps there's some importance in the tray she carries, unwilling to simply set it down, Pythia isn't comfortable until another server accepts it from her. He wasn't wrong. How long had passed, since the hands of time set them on opposite sides, since they'd seen each other as brother and sister, instead of nothing more than an enemy. "For old times' sake."
@fxllenpythia location: the FUNCTION notes: a rare sentimental moment between these two
Wasted time. That's what all these years amounted to. Michael couldn't remember why he and Leviathan had fallen out, there was a time that they had been close: inseparable, even. They'd fought together for so long, served their father dutifully and faithfully but... For some reason Michael had let time and who knew what else come between him and so many of his other siblings. "Of all the things you and I shared, it's hard to believe that there are still firsts." This masquerade, the gala and all its eccentricities were so distinctly fey. The eladrins would throw their parties in Eden, but they were not for the seraphim to attend. "Dance with me? I feel like we have a lot of time to make up for."
“Then do it.” It’s spoken as if she’d drawn it directly from the void within her. It’s empty and holds nothing but callous intent. She would watch him burn for all he’d condemned them to; whether by choice or blind loyalty. Once a revered general among divine armies, Leviathan existed upon the purity of orders. Of war and all that it stood for. Winning conquest was to be rewarded - and ultimately, peace was all she’d wanted. That, and all that was promised to her - to them. All that she’d fought for, stripped from the offering and once again, they were asked to kneel. Did he so easily forget who she’d been? What she’d been without the blood and death? This was not all she was; but it was what they’d forced her to become. “No, you can’t change the past, and nor can I simply forgive and forget.” And now she existed purely out of spite. “ I will never forgive you.” For all that could be said about her - cold, callous and heartless. The spire that each empty emotion was carved from, Leviathan could be all and more but one did not linger so violently in a world that sought to tear her down without first finding a level of care and determination that solidified her desire to accomplish what was necessary. She would not grieve for those given this realm without first understanding how precious it had been; but for all those who fell - who fought to hold and cherish this world, she had never once stopped mourning. She felt that ache with every moment that passed. Hues narrowed at the incessant audacity he had to even attempt such an approach, and meager footsteps drew her closer as she took in the sight of someone she once admired and revered above all, finding no sense of familiarity anymore “ -- You are no brother of mine.”
fxllenpythia​:
“Then I sincerely hope it plagues you. Night and day.” For fault, in her mind, did not lie with she - nor those who had fallen. Rather with their father and all those who sought to use force against them to begin with. “I hope everything you have, falls to the same inferno that you damned us to.” And truly, she would like to see noone suffer more than Michael himself. Perhaps an eternity before, such a confrontation would prickle emotion hot enough for tears to spring to life, for something to catch in her throat, but long gone were her reservations about how she might feel coming face to face with them once more. “I do, because nobody else is willing to.” Willing to fight for what was rightfully theirs - to carve their own fathers betrayal into the flesh of the world poisoned because he saw greater perfection in creatures no more worthy than the dirt they walked upon. “Everything I have suffered - we have suffered, is because of this realm. These people. These creatures that would have Ulthar turn from us. Betray us so fervently. Do not stand there and accuse me of being a puppet when all you have ever done, is bend to the will of another. When was the last time you considered how this realm, and all others, would be if you hadn’t bent the knee in blind faith to one who would never offer you the same loyalty?”
-
“If it would turn you from this course, I’d walk into the fire myself.” Leviathan had destroyed themself for this goal, Sathanas, Astaroth, Leviathan - the list of the damned generals went on. Michael had torn the grace from even more, had returned countless to the cosmosand in that action he’d called himself righteous. His sibling levelled their anger upon him and was justified in doing so, so much pain for one decision, for refusal that their divine father had taken as a slight. The army that had won so much for him had lost its use if they were not willing to serve in complete, blind obedience. “I cannot change the past, Leviathan.” Michael wouldn’t dwell on what could have been or what should have been, all that could be done was to press forward. He’d once begged his father to let him descend upon this realm so that he could cut down the fallen, and if there remained no other course: he would do exactly that. “I’m asking you,” sincerity rang in Michael’s eyes, “as your brother: don’t do this. Walk away.”Â
“Then I sincerely hope it plagues you. Night and day.” For fault, in her mind, did not lie with she - nor those who had fallen. Rather with their father and all those who sought to use force against them to begin with. “I hope everything you have, falls to the same inferno that you damned us to.” And truly, she would like to see noone suffer more than Michael himself. Perhaps an eternity before, such a confrontation would prickle emotion hot enough for tears to spring to life, for something to catch in her throat, but long gone were her reservations about how she might feel coming face to face with them once more. “I do, because nobody else is willing to.” Willing to fight for what was rightfully theirs - to carve their own fathers betrayal into the flesh of the world poisoned because he saw greater perfection in creatures no more worthy than the dirt they walked upon. “Everything I have suffered - we have suffered, is because of this realm. These people. These creatures that would have Ulthar turn from us. Betray us so fervently. Do not stand there and accuse me of being a puppet when all you have ever done, is bend to the will of another. When was the last time you considered how this realm, and all others, would be if you hadn’t bent the knee in blind faith to one who would never offer you the same loyalty?”
fxllenpythia​:
End this. As if choice were a gift unto herself. No longer did such desire to see the mortal world end offer itself a decision she made on her own. A champion of those long gone who wished for only what they were owed - what was promised. Those cast into shadow, beaten down in borish effort to carve their wishes into the very seams of blasphemy itself. “Does it not ache, to want something that should be so easy, only to have it stripped away from you, Michael?” She asked, rather pertinently. “You do not wish to fight me, and yet you have never stopped. How many of us have you murdered?” The blessed had always held the upper hand. Whatever playing ground the seraphim had raged war on, the fallen never held the favor of their father and in Leviathan’s mind, it was exactly that which should have forced reason into the golden hands of the blessed. “Why? What gives you conscience enough to plead with me now? Does it weigh heavy, knowing you and you alone, have carved what could have been a menial disagreement into the beginning of the end?”
-
“More than I care to count.” The blood of their siblings stained both of their hands, Michael wasn’t alone in his march against the rebellion just as the rebels weren’t alone in the slaughter of their own kin. Lately Michael had thought often to Leviathan - to Lucifer and the others, had he tried harder, pleaded more or used more than just his blade then perhaps things would have ended differently. Now, if he were to wade through the ichor of those divine-blooded that he had slain then Michael would have surely drowned in it. “You don’t have to do this,” Michael searched for the words…. Silently prayed for the sort of tongue that could bend the ear of even a greater demon, but naturally, he came up short. “This realm has done nothing to you, these people, its citizens. Spare them your wrath, abandon this - can’t you see that you’re being used?”Â
End this. As if choice were a gift unto herself. No longer did such desire to see the mortal world end offer itself a decision she made on her own. A champion of those long gone who wished for only what they were owed - what was promised. Those cast into shadow, beaten down in borish effort to carve their wishes into the very seams of blasphemy itself. “Does it not ache, to want something that should be so easy, only to have it stripped away from you, Michael?” She asked, rather pertinently. “You do not wish to fight me, and yet you have never stopped. How many of us have you murdered?” The blessed had always held the upper hand. Whatever playing ground the seraphim had raged war on, the fallen never held the favor of their father and in Leviathan’s mind, it was exactly that which should have forced reason into the golden hands of the blessed. “Why? What gives you conscience enough to plead with me now? Does it weigh heavy, knowing you and you alone, have carved what could have been a menial disagreement into the beginning of the end?”
fxllenpythia​:
The presence of another seraphim breeching the otherworld didn’t surpass observation. The subtle feeling that lingered somewhere within the very marrow of her bones as he approached quickly subdued as creatures among them alerted her all the same. He was hers - to torment for however many eternities would allow them, and beyond the reproach of Michael himself, none other dared to wander too close. For whatever fate he may bring down upon them, or to avoid her own wrath; it didn’t matter. He wasn’t welcomed so much as he was lured further into the realm that now belonged to Ayi’ing and Pythia now. Shadows of the forest held her within cold embrace as she watched him call out. Repent the name in which he deserted her so easily, an embodiment that suffered the betrayal of those so willing to cast aside their own brethren for the creation of mortals. “I was wondering when I might next be seeing you, Michael.” Her voice sounds from all directions, an echo that surpasses being as she materialized some feet away from him, “Always so bold. Do excuse the mess, we’re still… renovating.”Â
-
Stood before him the words that Michael wished to conjure wouldn’t come to him. The seraphim was not an expert when it came to expressing regret, or hope, these mortal conventions felt beyond him in this regard but so many of their brethren hung over his head now that he had no other recourse. To look upon Leviathan was to remember the millennia of war that they’d fought together, the cacophony of divinity that rained down upon them, dripped in blessed ichor as Michael stepped over the bodies of his own siblings to push forward. His only hope was that Leviathan was as tired of the losses as he was. Crimson divinity was seeped into Michael’s flesh, try as he might his hands would never come clean. “End this, Leviathan.” They worked with their oldest enemy now, a God responsible for the deaths of so many of their kind. “I don’t want to fight you.”Â
The presence of another seraphim breeching the otherworld didn’t surpass observation. The subtle feeling that lingered somewhere within the very marrow of her bones as he approached quickly subdued as creatures among them alerted her all the same. He was hers - to torment for however many eternities would allow them, and beyond the reproach of Michael himself, none other dared to wander too close. For whatever fate he may bring down upon them, or to avoid her own wrath; it didn’t matter. He wasn’t welcomed so much as he was lured further into the realm that now belonged to Ayi’ing and Pythia now. Shadows of the forest held her within cold embrace as she watched him call out. Repent the name in which he deserted her so easily, an embodiment that suffered the betrayal of those so willing to cast aside their own brethren for the creation of mortals. “I was wondering when I might next be seeing you, Michael.” Her voice sounds from all directions, an echo that surpasses being as she materialized some feet away from him, “Always so bold. Do excuse the mess, we’re still... renovating.”Â
@fxllenpythia​ location: The Otherworld notes: sibling talks
It was foolish to tread so close to Pythia’s temple, to the spires of necromanteion that the aspect knew to be just beyond his reach. This was the Asphodel’s territory, shared with and saddled next to the court of Drow that had come to take over. Beneath his feet Michael could feel the magic of this realm waning, felt it crying out as the drow pillaged the world of the unseen. Michael had been made from the cosmos, crafted for the mortal world, he did not know what sort of repercussions these efforts could have, only that there would be. Still, that was not the purpose for his venture, he’d failed Pythia once - Lucifer along with the others. If he’d been more adamant, or more understanding, perhaps there might have been a way to persuade them. At the time Michael had only seen their treachery, if he had any hope of saving this realm he would need to persuade them to step down, or stop them for good. “Leviathan!” Michael called out into the pitch of the forest, “I know you’re there.” He said, quieter this time.Â
seraphimichael​:
For centuries Leviathan had been beyond his reach, their being nestled somewhere between physical and metaphysical. They had rooted themselves in the hearts of witches, the great liar, the great schemer, the manipulator that had been doomed to the Inferno along with several of their siblings. Michael and the legions of the divine had driven back Lucifer and the others once before, he would do so again. Pythia had returned in physical form and with this he would hunt them to the very ends of the earth and send them back where they belonged. He did not care if this meant cutting down every witch who’d made a pact with them along the way.
Michael had followed them here, either led into a trap or to Leviathan’s demise he did not care. Still, his fallen sibling had baited him and because he had never lost, he’d pursued them just the same. Michael’s irises split into a dozen as his power leeched forth and peered into the dark ruins, it had once been in fashion to line such places with bones and even now they stayed scattered at his feet.
Lightning crackled between his hands and all at once he struck the place where Leviathan had just stood, the pillar exploded as part of the ruin began to crumble. Another fallen vestige of mortals, another totem of a dead and dying time. Empires had turned over and over, this city had been sacked and burned more than any other, yet still they built bones upon bones. Leviathan’s dread voice a cruel mockery of all the time he’d spent in pursuit of them. “I’ll rest when you’re dead.” Michael spat, his blade in his hand once more as it still hummed with power.
The crack of lightening split her brothers features, illuminating images of their true form within the flickering vestige of power. It tickled amusement within the breadth of her chest. The ire that Michael continued to hold onto was personal - pieces of it calling to razor sharp edges that would do little more than wound. Each and every tie to the world of blood magic ensures that it would take worlds over for them to be rid of her. Hundreds of thousands would meet their end before Leviathan ceased. Where such anger painted Michael with determination and what would undoubtedly be an ungratifying endeavor, she pushed. "You'll never know such peace as death," perhaps a promise, that as long as he lived within the claymade body of Adam - she would remain to see him bested. Taunted. "This world will end before that happens."
A crackle of fire engulfed her hand and her form turned to ash, blistering away in the breeze of the storm carried by the two. Voice carried across the earth, twisting and contorting the distinct familiarity of another - one long gone, a child baring the mark of Nephilim. The cries of Omarosa's soul splintering the space surrounding Michael as corporeal form found her once more, feet behind her brother. "You're blinded, Michael. You always have been."
Blind love and devotion to a father that would so surely overlook them for the lesser creatures gifted the realm of earth. Blinded by loyalty and unable to see the puppet he'd become. Darkness drifted from fingertips like smoke, seeking to cloud the vision of all that lay before him, her voice a ghastly whisper in his ear, "There is no end to this. I will never stop and you will always fail." Still, his fallen daughters screams reverberate against the broken ruins, another promise palpable in the air.
@seraphimichael​ location: we’re in the colosseum baby.
Moonlight filtered through ruins in much the same way the cosmos scintillated the vast abyss above. Just enough to offer something beyond the premise of total darkness; a bleak, cold existence. Lithe fingertips that ghosted across crumbling echoes of a lifetime ago, Pythia felt near giddy as the dread and fear of all that lingered from the past flowed through her. The aches and pains of those that would never see beyond these walls; humans caught within the snare of their own kind and forced to cut teeth against stone to garner even a single day more. “Michael,” the eerie drift of her voice carried across the stagnant air as if it’d been whispered upon the greatest of winds. Harrowing, the echo reverberated against the stone and kissed promise of the greatest haunting the mortal realm had ever known. “Oh, Michael..” The singsong sweetness to her tone near sickening as she slipped through the broken gate and laid onyx hues upon the one she’d avoided for so long. Not unaware of his plight to remove each of the fallen from this world like the stains he deemed them to be. Saccharine lips turn upward and yet any who bore witness could pledge that nothing but venom would pass beyond her tongue, even as she meandered closer, not unlike a long lost sibling relegating a near stranger. “You look weary, brother.” Or perhaps rather, he felt as much. “Or perhaps it is the mundane vessel you continue to hold onto.”
I MAKE MY OWN CANON
He didn't mean to kill him - it was was an accident he swears!
He didn't mean to kill George, he didn't see the creeper.
That's what he thought he'd say at trial when faced in front of the entire SMP, isn't that what the trial was for?
He had been coming from Kinoko Kingdom, in secret from the other members - they didn't know he visited, he was only checking on Foolish. The God had been taking a break from the mansion and Ranboo knew that without checking up on him, the God would work himself to the bone but today he wasn't there - just thinking that Foolish had taken Jr on a small trip.
George had been walking past just as a creeper began to explode behind Ranboo, none of them saw it. George died. Ranboo survived. He thought that they'd blame him for not seeing the creeper earlier.
Turns out that wasn't the crime.
The community house was blown up again. Second time running. Puffy was guilty - he knew that, he was there when it blew up. She never spoke up. She wasn't even there. Was she with Foolish? Nobody would listen to him.
Tubbo, his husband, looked so disappointed. He doesn't know about the enderstate. They'd had an argument about it. A bad one. Ranboo had tried explaining the state but Tubbo didn't believe him. Nobody else on the server had this issue so why would he? The fight hurt. A lot. After, he fled to his house at the Arctic - it's not his home. Tubbo and Michael are his home. They hadn't spoke since then - it's only been a couple days.
Sam was the judge. Dream was less protected. Tommy was more on edge.
"Ranboo, you have been found-"
Please not guilty
Please not guilty
He wanted to apologise to Tubbo
He wanted to go home
"-guilty of blowning up the community house. You are exiled until we see fit."
No...no!
This isn't how it was meant to go.
He had pulled against the restraints to try and get free before looking at Sam for the last time, "Can I speak to Tubbo? In private?"
The request was refused until Tommy stepped in, "Sam, I'll go with them. I can protect me and Tubbo, plus I want to speak to him before exile."
Request accepted and he was pulled into another room.
Tubbo was crying.
Ranboo was hugged- it hurt - tears hurt.
Apologies were everywhere.
Tommy had asked why he did it - he didn't have any answers.
It was Quackity that had taken him to exile.
He had escaped as soon as Quackity looked at his phone.
He fled to the arctic.
He told Phil and Techno what had happened.
They denied ever seeing him when the SMP came looking.
Ranboo didn't know that Tubbo came later, no armour or weapons, begging to know if they had seen him. Tubbo wanted him safe. He didn't want another Tommy situation. They told him his location. Tubbo never visited in case the SMP followed him but sometimes Michael showed up for a couple hours before Phil took him away. Michael told him about Foolish being around more often, he had caught conversation about Ranboo killing Foolish if Tubbo was hurt but didn't understand.
That was a year ago.
He is returning from exile. Angry. Hurt. The SMP had shown up yesterday and had taken Phil and Techno away from him and now he is coming back for vengeance.
Full maxed out netherite. Every golden apple in the Arctic. Strength potions. Totems. Carl.
He had never been more prepared for a war and thats what he is bringing to them. Don't mess with his family.
Imagine if Foolish somehow is roped into the Michael-Ranboo-Tubbo family dynamic.
Uncle Foolish or he even possibly becomes like an older brother to Michael.
Imagine if Foolish is able to stay in the mansion, they [Ranboo or Tubbo] say something like, “Well we have enough room and you helped build it so why not?”
Foolish Jr can get his own room and he and Michael becomes best friends then they somehow meet Michelle.
There’s parallels of Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo to the Dream team through their characters:
Ranboo:Dream
Tommy:Sapnap
Tubbo: I guess George
So, I know this would never happen because they’re mobs/objects but:
Third gen of the Dream Team -
Michael:Dream/Ranboo
Michelle:Sapnap/Tommy
Foolish Jr:George/Tubbo