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_Blog Rules

general

this blog is an independent, semi-selective portrayal of an original character primarily situated within the dc vertigo hellblazer universe, though his backstory and lore is written for an original setting.due to most topics explored on this blog, i prefer adults (18+) to interact and follow / write with. minors are free to interact at their own discretion. i don't interact with queerphobic / conservative blogs and i don't entertain "pro-fiction" pedophillic and incestuous content in my space.i prefer to rp with mutuals with pre-established dynamics (plotted out in dms). i usually dm people beforehand if i'm interested in building a plot with your muse and am open to being dmed for possible dynamics as well, as long as communication runs both ways. i don't do follow for follow.my blog upkeep consists of ic solo posts and reblogs. most solo (ic) posts i make on the blog are closed unless they are specifically interaction-based or tailored for a muse— if you have to wonder whether it's okay to reblog, it's probably not! the easiest way to tell is directly asking me :)my replies span from lit to semi-lit, but i practice mirroring. length may be inconsistent sometimes depending on life/health but I always try to reply. on the off-chance that I go heavy on length in a reply, don't worry too much about matching it ! this blog is also medium to low-activity, and will fluctuate depending on how much free time i have availablei don't have any preferences on reply formatting, and if requested i can trim reblogs! i will mostly use a tag for long threads that will be mutable. you are welcome to do whatever you find enjoyable :3 i enjoy all plots and am open to most genres if discussed beforehand as claude is a versatile and (mostly) neutral character to interact with

boundaries

the main blog will remain SFW. but keep in mind most topics explored are mature as per the warnings— and Claude himself is 39 years old. There is an age-requirement for him to consider advances and he's not likely to start any on his own most of the time. I (and he!) won't entertain anything involving minors or anyone significantly/uncomfortably younger, muse or otherwise.that being said, he is strictly not open for (reciprocated) romantic/sexual interactions. he is already partnered, with most exceptions having to go through communication with me first. i won't be receptive to interactions if they're primarily shipping-focused.

content warnings

claude's character is meant to fit into the psychological thriller / horror genre as a standalone, but is primarily based in the hellblazer universe. as a result, the blog will contain discussions of mature topics, which include but aren't limited to:• canon-typical themes / depictions of blood, violence, gore, and death.
• depictions / mentions of alcoholism and addiction.
• depictions / mentions of suicide attempts and self harm
• prevalent character explorations of disordered thinking/unhealthy coping mechanisms due to severe trauma
• depictions / mentions of celestial and divine horror, religious trauma and guilt
• depictions / mentions of severe internalized homophobia
• depictions of mental disorder symptoms (specifically disturbing repetitive intrusive thoughts and compulsive actions stemming from OCD)
• depictions / themes of cults & cult violence.
• mentions / references to CSA and kidnapping.
• mentions / references to past SA
• depictions / mentions of dissociation, c-ptsd, depression, and suicidal ideation.these are themes that are intrinsic to his character, but won't necessarily be heavily expanded on in most threads unless given express permission/plotted and discussed for it beforehand. i also tag for most major content and trigger warnings, along with phobias with tw (x) or cw (x) and will add any tags if necessary.

_Mun Info

you can call me plag ! i'm an adult, agender (they/them) and aroace. i love angels, knights and anything to do with them. that and. john constantine (i also rp him!) im a big hellblazer fan and i dabble in most creative hobbies (art, animation, comics, etc) and you can contact me through dms (or on discord if we're mutuals)! im happy to respond when i get on !i'm prone to bouts of inactivity/having late replies depending on my mental health and availability in life. you're welcome to dm me if you think i've forgotten a thread along the line / poke me to reply but i don't guarantee instantaneous replies and don't expect them from you!in the effort of transparency, this is an oc that's shipped with a canon character (John Constantine), but feel no obligation to make references / include the relationship if you play him. It is self-contained in my own universe and doesn't cross over into other verses unless given explicit permission.However I do like seeing Johns interact with my guy so I might rp with you guys in general because i'm crazy. ALSO all assets used here are edited and created / drawn by me.

_Angelic Abilities

Most of these abilities are unintended / untrained, as Claude has no knowledge of his powers actually existing, with no way on how to use them effectively. When/if he does gain wind of them, he becomes very formidable in his own way.MAGIC NULLIFICATION: Claude’s body is so effective at snuffing out magic and all traces of it to the point where it remains undetectable in him. Due to all magic registering as muted and barely present, he struggles to control the flow and life of magical energy, but is an unknowing expert at completely suppressing all aspects of it. His body is one of three keys to limiting the god Ouroboros into a physical form— a vessel, and so most magic that interacts with him is immediately dulled / rendered useless / ineffective when in proximity to him.At his least trained, the severity of these effects ebb and flow depending on the emotional state of the host, most consistently dulling the object on touch. At the height of his potential, Claude manipulates the flow of life, isolating and controlling everything— he is the absence of magic.ANGELIC PRESENCE: Standing next to him is... unsettling at best. There's this underlying sense of vertigo that fills the room whenever he enters it, and by focusing your hearing, the slight noise of static fills the air. His gaze is similarly hard to hold for long, imbuing the sense of being judged underneath those eyes.His divinity serves as a deterrent against the infernal, though his aura is less overt than most his kind due to the nullification. Where most angelic touch would immediately corrode anything devillish/unholy, his has seemingly no effect... but is really akin to slow-acting poison— the effects hit you later. His blood and feathers are similar, but are more useful for cloaking your presence. On humanoids, his touch is said to have a comforting, almost calming effect.IMMORTALITY: Claude isn't really... allowed to die. Most attempts at killing him fizzle out at the last breath he takes, where for some unspoken reason, he's ripped out of his deathlike state. His organs restart, his heart starts pumping, and his blood starts flowing seemingly of their own accord, regardless of whether he wants to or not. Believe me, he's tried. At the most, his body always manages to hold on until help arrives, nonwithstanding if that level of resilience is actually feasible.The only way possible to cause his permanent death is decapitation via the GODSLAYER, which is locked securely in his domain, wieldable only by his father, the Great Divine Paladin. For now, that is. This isn't to say that he's completely invulnerable, as he's affected by aging and degenerative health effects due to heavy alcohol usage and smoking in his early years. His body isn't also particularly strong in that it's resistant to major damage, just persistent, and is on the weaker scale for most angelic bodies due to lack of combat proficiency and generally being underweight and physically ill.

ENHANCED SENSES: Claude has alarmingly precise vision. He's able to spot minute expression changes in a crowd from his corner office 11 stories up, equivalent to a hawk's range of sight, and can often be seen squinting off into the distance for that exact reason. His favorite thing to do is people watching— almost four blocks away.His reflexes are also inhumanly fast, spurred on by his intense anxiety and caution in public spaces, and is able to intuitively notice something flying at him before it hits him. Usually not applicable if the threat is terrifying enough to make him freeze, however, which considering his civillian status is like. genuinely all of them. His bite and grip force are also much stronger than average, but have in-built limits that he's not able to bypass just yet. So that also is a bust. Sorry claude.REGENERATION: His body is capable of stitching together most major injuries if given the time to, but not regrowing entire appendages. The blood crawl across the gaps as if alive, grasping hold of one another to knit and combine as though the body is composed of oobleck instead of flesh. All injuries leave little to no scarring, unless reopened repetitively and consistently, or inflicted with weapons designed to maim the divine (i.e angelic / blessed / infernal steel).[DISCLAMER. the content downwards contain mentions and depictions of disturbing content, including potential decapitation and dismemberment. if you are comfortable with the topics listed, proceed downwards!]If dismembered, the appendage must be reconnected / held close to the stump until the tendrils grab ahold which then healing can begin, and yes, this applies if he's decapitated. In the case of that, he's in an unconscious/semi-lucid state by default to preserve his consciousness, but can be shocked awake with enough effort. If enough time passes the separated body gains consciousness to shamble in the general direction of the body. This also applies if he's cut in half. Gross.

Claude Krueal was born guilty. Blue and silent in the delivery room, umbilical cord wrapped round his neck thrice before the doctors cut it out. His mother lays exhausted, barely able to crook her neck to see him before he’s carried out— he’s small, too small. Most importantly, he’s LESS THAN DIVINE. Before he learns how to walk he’s run through multiple procedures, multiple exams, multiple agonizing attempts to understand how he could disappoint the city this fast, and by the age of 6 he’s sent to church with scriptures recited over him in a prayer. For him to be better. Do better. Be born better. Make up the mistakes of your birth. Make up for what you’re short on. He believes this religiously. It’s all he knows.He is a sensitive child that cries first at the ant that falls behind, crumpled up near a carpet with a sugar cube crushed in his fist. When his mother arrives, a stern woman with a smile seldom seen in years, he drops the cube, running to cling at her silk gown until she carries him, and he stares over her shoulder at the tapestry of a knight adorned in armor and wonders for his turn. He is in church for half of his life, barricaded with hands stretched out, words with no meaning leaving his mouth, the other spent coloring and drawing on parchment of the snakes that climb the walls like vines. His father returns soon after, hands worn with scars though soft enough to hold, and he puts him on his shoulders while walking through the fields, and he struggles to see past all the wings. By 7 Amelie is born, and he finds them beautiful, hair flaxen like seed, and holds their tiny hand all night long till he’s hushed away to bed. They are blinding, like the sun, and while stumbling against a wall he hears the doctors whisper excitedly of the halo blinding the surgeon, the knife slipping and falling, but the melodious cry of one blessed, and they sound happy, so he is happy.He sees less of his sibling around, and the older he gets the more quiet he is. Now he roams around the barns when his studies allow him, watching them spar in the grounds with the knights while he clutches his aching arm, running away from the horses when they neigh and staring at the cats from far enough they wouldn’t hiss, and when he creeps through the halls, the marble is blinding. He spies on his mother from cracks in the door, hearing her play the piano till he pushes through to sit next to her, and though he’s seen more of her, she’s less of herself. His father returns soon after, face gaunt with this look in his eyes that’s hard to meet, and though Claude watches, it’s his sibling’s turn to hold his hands. By 14 Grace is born. His mother is irritable and sour and he is scared of her. Something has happened to her. She shrinks at the snakes on the vines and mutters to herself words he shouldn’t know, words that shouldn’t scare him, but they do— God is watching, God is listening, and God hates me. She doesn’t carry him anymore. She doesn’t even look at him. Over the years she’s been wilting into this thing he’s still running after, snapping at everyone and screaming and wailing so loudly he can do nothing but watch. He wonders where his father is.He makes her worse. He comes home and she tries to kill him. She tries her hardest to but nothing works, she’s not strong enough. The knights pull her off him but he just stands there, watching her with this look on his face that makes him sick. His hand’s stretched out but nobody sees it. When he notices him staring from the corner his lips purse like there’s something to say, but he runs far away before he can say it. Grace is brilliant. She’s just like his sibling but with a face he can recognize staring back at him, brown mousy hair just starting to come in with beautiful wings. He loves her by default, but grows sick of the house. He gains a penchant for sneaking out, weaving between knight boots and bodies shutting him out like it’s second nature. The mystery of the hedge maze wasn’t interesting so he tried the public, jumping over walls, running around town and breathing in air that wasn’t recycled by the halls, and there’s a festival in town.The knights accompany him, circled like vultures while he looks up at the blue sky colorful with streamers, and shivers at the snakes curled up on the embroidery. There’s a nice shadowed area in the corner of his hawk-sharp vision that’s a break from all the sun, he’s sweating in his tunic and robes and the cape is so heavy on his shoulders, so when the soldiers aren’t looking he bolts, feeling the wind in his hair and wings while his feet drum against the cobblestone. He makes a wrong move and his ankle twists at the landing, and when he falls, someone catches him.

Something bad happened. He recalls the scent of blood in the air, and the awful taste of it in his mouth and it running down his back. Everything hurts, but more than that everything is cold. His wings are numbly wrapped around him while he closes his eyes again, trying to focus on the sound of cicadas buzzing in the summer heat instead of the crunching of bone and blood curdling screams, the screech of a metal carriage crumpling to the ground, and the sound of a fist meeting someone’s face. When he opens his eyes again it is to his father, this time stained in red all over, enough for it to coat his tunic, and he is so high up Claude can do nothing but make a noise he’s not sure of, and only then is he embraced, scooped up with just one arm with wings curling around him, draping his coat around him. And only then is he warm again.When the doctors get ahold of him they tell him his wings are hurt and need him to rest for a while, but Claude doesn’t feel like flying anymore. He doesn’t feel like anything. He holds himself close because everything is cold now, wings bent against his back like a sick thing while he watches his sibling stare at him from across the hall. He’s sure the look in his eyes scared them, because they tear up, and run away before he can start walking. The maids scutter away from him the same way they do finding roaches in the carpet, though he catches scraps of conversation since his ears still work, words running in and out but not registering anymore. He stops at his mother’s door and hears the faint sound of her crying, but he’s sure she doesn’t know. His father still isn’t back.The grass gets a little greyer and air a little colder for the next two years, and his wings hurt a little less. The girls are prettier and sweeter to him, though he grows irritable and sour, and he wonders if they’re scared of him. There’s not much that matters beyond making it better the only way he knows how, but he avoids home. The fields and trees outside speak to him better than the halls, now colored with frost every time his mother walks down the halls. There’s a point where something happens, where she catches him and they scream at each other for what seems like forever, and the next time he sees her is when he’s banging against the door until he hears a gunshot, and his shoes slip in the blood seeping under the door.By 16 his mother is dead, and he hears his father sobbing at the casket, sword digging into his stomach. His sibling is holding his hand, and he feels it shaking a little, before he feels his sister put his hand in her mouth. The funeral goes by quick, and when he passes a statue made in her honor he reads the words, “Maria Krueal, beloved Wife of the Divine Paladin.” and has a sick feeling in his stomach. The next day this infant is given to him, and while he still wants to remember the feeling of Maria’s embrace, Evelyn Krueal is held in his hands instead, named by courtesy of his mother, who had just turned 17.The next four years are a blur. At 18 he holds his 2 year old son while frowning over his studies, grimace forming while a headache comes on at the sound of church bells. At the door outside his nursery, he hears talk of the power Evelyn holds, and for one awful second he thinks, why not me? The next two are spent plotting. There are books in his mother’s library that speak of a world far beyond his own, far beyond the walls and the bells, and far beyond the snakes on the vines. A place of soaring towers and “technology”, and most important of all, no magic. So he studies. Day and night and evening and noon until he’s able to send an application through the Church for formal education and when he receives a letter back he is ecstatic.At 20 he sets foot in America after a long and gruelling journey and is respectable enough to call himself a lawyer at age 23. When he lands himself in the mailroom he makes himself accustomed to stealing, stealing everything he can. All he does is steal until he makes his own firm off the back of another, and at 27 he’s made it big calling himself CEO. He lives among wolves and parades himself as such, running through relationships in the years that blur together with his son as the only constant in his life. All he's done is lie enough to himself to believe it, and when he looks in the mirror, he's able to tell himself that he's made it.Our story starts 12 years later, with this aching dread in Claude's heart that something must be wrong. Because despite the highrise apartment and the peaceful silence and the warm bed with a model next to him, this really can't be all there is to life anymore.