#I’m not even picky about how you define dark or evil

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

Me, rattling my tin cup: Dark!Strawhat fics? Any Dark!Strawhat fics? Could you spare even a crumb of evil or morally ambiguous or actually pirate-y Strawhat fics? Oh, could you offer a humble begger just a single fic about the Strawhats being kind of evil?

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #usopp #blackleg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #cyborg franky #jimbei #straw hat pirates #I’m not even picky about how you define dark or evil #I’ll take overprotective! I’ll take pushed to their limit! #I just need them all kinda fucked up please. #I’m on my knees. I’m begging.

[soulmate-game]

Can you do a prompt of Marinette being the daughter of the Joker and Harley but Harley left him before Marinette was born and when Joker found out about his daughter He decided to kidnap Marinette so she can become like him (Ace chemicals) (Daminette)

Woot, my first ask in a while! Let’s see how I can do this oddly specific ask that reminds me of a fic that might actually exist but tbh I’ve read so many fanfics idk if my brain is remembering right

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette knew Sabine and Tom weren’t her biological parents. She had known ever since she was eight, when her mother by blood visited her for the first time, sat her down, and explained everything. Including, but not limited to, her disastrously toxic past relationship, her new girlfriend, and her recent success with long term rehab (unofficial rehab that mostly consisted of illegal anti-hero actions, but hey if it worked it worked).

Marinette understood. Well no, she really didn’t since she was only eight, but she understood that her mom— that Harley— was genuine. She had always had a knack for emotions and telling when people were sincere or not. And Harley really was regretful about not being in her life beforehand, and was serious about wanting to be part of her life now that her own was mostly sorted out.

So Marinette was not surprised when Harley really did stick it out. When Harley cooed over Marinette copying her hairstyle to show her support of her biological mom, when Harley never failed to call at least once a week even if she was in jail for punching some asshole or another. Harley never stayed arrested long anymore, she was usually found to be on the right side of the moral scale more and more often so the police didn’t bother keeping her locked up anymore. Through the years, Marinette always looked forward to her mom’s calls. Looked forward to being lulled to sleep by one crazy story or another from her mother’s past. Everything was nice. Perfect, even, for a while.

A thump sounded from her balcony, one late night when Marinette was thirteen. Blinking, the dark haired girl furrowed her brows. Who would be on her balcony? Cautiously walking towards the trap door leading to it, grasping her metal pencil holder as a weapon (she remembered all of her Mom’s stories about break-ins and random attacks back in Gotham), the teen strained her ears. Akuma attacks were only a few months old now, but she had already become in high alert for any sign of Hawkmoth or his victims. As per usual, Marinette’s paranoia began to kick in. Did Hawkmoth already figure her out? Was he here for her earrings? Would she be able to fight him?

She gently pushed up the trap door, catching a glimpse of black leather. Huh? Marinette narrowed her eyes, confused. Was it Chat? He should have been on patrol, on the other side of the city. What was he doing visiting her?

Suddenly the trap door yanked the rest of the way open, making Marinette yelp as the handle for it rugged away from her fingers. And there, backlit by the pure blue-white moonlight, was Not Chat Noir. It was Catwoman, in all her skintight black leather glory, grinning at her before pushing her cat-eye goggles up to the top of her head and crouching down by the trap door’s entrance, balancing only on the pads of her feet.

“Well hello there~” the woman purred. “So you’re the cute little kitten Harley is so secretive about. Nice to finally meet you,” the woman held out a hand, sending Marinette a sweet, if mysterious, smile. For a while, the pigtailed girl only stared before a squeal of excitement left her throat, leaving very little room for any doubt as to her bloodline. A large smile curled over Marinette’s lips, leaving her beaming widely at the catlike woman on her balcony.

“Auntie Selina! Mom’s told me so much about you! Come in, come in, come in! I’ll sneak some macaroons up for you. Or do you prefer croissants? What’s your favorite flavor? Are you really dating Batman? Oh my goodness, that necklace is so lovely! Did you steal it?”

Selina could only chuckle fondly at the word vomit, letting the smaller girl drag her down the trap door and into her very… pink room. Looking around, Selina was once again slapped with just how similar this kid was to her outgoing friend. Marinette clearly had no shame in indulging in the things she liked, such as the color pink and anything regarding fashion. But there were other things amongst the girliness of the room, like the posters of Jagged Stone and the training dummy half-sticking out of her closet door. There were a few ornamental knives hung up behind her computer, seemingly just for decoration although Selina could see that they were definitely battle ready and sharpened. A small mallet, clearly a miniature replica of her mother’s own signature weapon, leaned up against the side of the girl’s laundry basket. But then there was Marinette’s mannequin, which was surrounded by meticulously cut pieces of cloth and had other pieces pinned to it strategically. Marinette clearly had the same professionalism and love for her chosen career that had so completely defined Harley in the Time Before Joker. The same genius intellect hiding in those deceptively cheerful bluebell eyes. And for the first time, though not for the last to be sure, Selina found herself thoroughly relieved that it seemed Marinette had inherited very little from her father.

Except, as she would learn from stories Harley told her later, an apparent affinity for chaos.

“I’m not that picky, kitten. But I’m not that hungry, so don’t go too out of your way,” Selina decided to just react the same way she did with Harley’s rambles, and answer one question at a time. “Also, I am actually dating Bruce Wayne. But, if you promise not to tell anyone—“ she waited for Marinette’s eager nod before continuing casually, “— the two are maybe not as mutually exclusive as many think,” Selina finished with a conspiratorial wink. “No, I actually did not steal this necklace. Bruce has been adamant in trying to curb me of my thieving habit by buying me almost everything I so much as glance at sideways. It’s sweet. Naive, because I like stealing for the fun of it, but sweet.”

Marinette giggled, bouncing in place happily. She loved a bit of innocent gossip like this. “Is Momma Ivy ever gonna visit? I don’t think Mom told her much about me yet, and I still gotta give her the shovel talk!” the fierce look that overcame Marinette’s face made Selina laugh again. Oh yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Pam has been trying to sneak over, but the laws regarding Metahumans in Paris suddenly got much stricter a few months back and have caused some problems. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened, would you?” Selina did not miss when her seemingly innocent question caused her niece to close off almost instantly. Bluebell eyes took on a familiar guardedness, and scanned her with the same soul-searching intensity that Harley had when she was channeling her Psychiatrist side. Selina found herself in a slightly concerning spot though—

Because she couldn’t predict Marinette at all. She was left to simply stand there as Marinette searched for some unidentifiable thing in her eyes, completely unable to read the younger girl’s face and with no idea of what to expect. The side effect of having chaos so thoroughly entwined in both of her biological parents, she supposed.

“Nope, no idea.”

Selina knew that was a lie, but knew equally as well that she would not be getting a better answer anytime soon. So, she let it go and the two of them once again dipped into innocent chatter.

Later that night, when Selina left and the sun threatened to rise at any minute, Tikki flew up from her hiding spot under Marinette’s pillow to land on her holder’s shoulder. Marinette giggled and looked over at her little friend.

“Tikki?”

“Yes, Mari?”

“Why was I chosen to be your holder?” She asked suddenly, flopping back into her bed and staring at her ceiling. The little goddess hummed, smiling knowingly before flying down to cuddle in the crook of Marinette’s neck.

“Because you are born from luck itself. Even when bad things happen, you have the luck and determination to get out just fine, and stronger than before. And despite the destruction and anarchy in your blood, you have the willpower to reign it in and keep control of yourself. That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good. And that’s a large part of who you are, I could feel it in your soul the moment we first met.”

Marinette closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek. “What if I lose control?”

“... You’ll just have to get it back. It’ll be hard, but as long as you have people to support you, you will be able to do it. You aren’t evil, Marinette,” the small God seemed to sense the true question her holder was asking, and did her best to soothe the doubt the girl felt. “Just remember the reasons you fight against chaos. Remember everyone you love, and you’ll be okay. And you have me, I’ll always help you.”

“... thank you, Tikki.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was uncanny just how often Marinette’s hunches were right. Her intuition was something to behold, truly, because it only took three days in Gotham before Joker snatched her right out of her room at Harley and Ivy’s apartment. At least Marinette had sixteen by then, so she had had enough experience as a hero in Paris and with generally unpredictable situations and people who were absolutely nuts for her to not immediately panic. Too much, anyway.

Because there was definitely a little panic there.

See, Marinette knew herself inside out by then. After her own battle with her toxic feelings towards Adrien and doing her best to heal from those before she turned out like her mom, she knew she was by no means mentally indestructible. Mental illness ran the high risk of being inherited, and Marinette was well aware that her own personality was scarily similar to her mother’s at times. She got attached quickly, felt affection and love for others very strongly and, as she found with Adrien, could easily become obsessive if she didn’t watch herself. At least Harley was the perfect person to help with that, and Marinette was serious about helping herself too. She did everything she could to keep an eye on her mental health and keep her behavior in check so she didn’t do anything too unhealthy with her relationships again.

But she knew, she knew she had a soft spot for family. She got attached too easily. And being in the same room as her biological father, despite being tied up by her hands and feet and knowing just how many unforgivable things he had done in his life, Marinette felt vulnerable. She didn’t want to hurt him, despite everything. She still loved him, despite every reason not to, despite her first meeting with him being with him shoving chloroform over her face and hogtying her to a metal chain dangling over a vat of acid.

Geez, she’d need more than just her mom as a therapist after this for sure. Even if her mom had a PH.D, Marinette felt like she’d need several psychiatrists to sort through her emotional turmoil right then and make sense of any of it.

Marinette licked her lips, aware that the only kindness that Joker gave his daughter was sparing her from the discomfort of being gagged.

“Don’t,” Marinette said, surprising herself with the amount of steel she was able to put into her voice. Somehow, she managed to make the single word sound more like an order than a plead. “Joker, put me—“

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” The clown walked over, tutting and waving his finger in the air in almost playful admonishment. He gave her a dramatically fake pout. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to refer to your father by his first name?” Neither of them mentioned that Joker was definitely not his real name. They both knew the point was moot. “Say it with me now— ‘Daddy dearest, I am more than willing to be dunked in acid for you,’ go ahead, say it.”

Marinette’s jaw clenched. Familial love or not, she would not tolerate being ridiculed like that. She dealt with enough ridicule when she was fourteen and fifteen during school, before she put Liar Rossi in her place. She had spent the past three years as a hero in charge of the war against Hawkmoth, in charge of protecting all of Paris from an emotional terrorist.

And gee, wasn’t that what Joker was, too? Sure, he was a terrorist in the classic meaning of the word as well, but he was nothing if not a skilled manipulator. He knew the human mind just as well as Harley or any other psychiatrist did, he just used his knowledge for different means. He had emotionally abused Harley for years, he emotionally abused and manipulated people all across gotham on a daily basis. He was just another Hawkmoth, but with more physical violence in place of magic.

With these thoughts strengthening her resolve, Marinette narrowed her eyes at the man who donated half of her DNA. She let her anger boil into her irises, hitting him with one of the few traits she knew she inherited from him.

Her ability to intimidate others on the tip of a hat.

“No,” she growled back at him. She took a deep breath. It had taken her a while, but she refused to be ashamed of who she was regardless of her blood relation. She would have no problem using the very things she inherited from Joker against him. She might have gotten most of Harley’s personality, she might have inherited her mother’s habit of falling in love hard, fast, and obsessively, but she also had Joker’s defiance. His bone-deep inability to be stopped from doing exactly whatever the fuck he wanted.

And then, there were Marinette’s own traits. The ones that were completely her own, developed over her life organically. Like her refusal to bow down to bullies, her creativity, her ability to take even the most chaotic situation and see some sort of balance and sanity in it that she could use to her advantage.

That she WOULD use to her advantage. The shadows she saw move out of the corner of her eye gave her the chance to do exactly that, she just needed to buy a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

“Excuse me?” Joker growled right back, his own intimidation, honed over more years than Marinette had been alive and thus much more potent than her own, reading its ugly head as he stalked towards her. His face was pulled down into an ugly snarl, his shoulders tensed and back straight as he glared right at her. From his spot on the metal walkway, he was easily able to reach over the railing and grab her chin in one pale, viciously strong hand. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here, little Marionette. I’m your father. Half of your life came directly from ME. That makes you my puppet. You exist to follow my orders,” his right grip suddenly let go, leaving behind the beginnings of a bruise as his entire demeanor changed from angry to cheerful. He spread his arms as if gesturing to the whole chemical plant victoriously, and an unnaturally large smile curved over his lips and bared yellowing teeth at her. “But that’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time, you haven’t learned any better yet. That’s why we’re here. We need to cleanse you of all those icky bad habits you’ve learned up until now, all you need is a little,” he bounced in place with a wicked smirk to illustrate his next words— “jumpstart. A little acid goes a long way to enlightenment you know, you’ll see my side of things in no time. And with my blood in you, you’ll make a better sidekick than that idiot Harley ever did. I can sense it, you’ve got a real talent for Chaos in you, it’s exciting, Heheeeheheee! Now then, we should probably speed things along before our family reunion is cut short. Hang in there, my little Marionette,” the man actually had the gall to spin in place while humming a tune cheerfully before all but dancing over to the lever that held Marinette’s length of chain in the air over the vat of chemicals below her. “Everything will clear up in that little head of yours in just a second!”

There! Right as Joker pulled the switch to lower her into the bubbling vat underneath her, Marinette was able to finish untying her hands. She couldn’t contain a small yelp as gravity flung her body forward, leaving her upside down on the chain for a brief moment. That was when the chain started lowering rapidly, and Marinette was barely able to rip the rope off of her ankles in time to swing off of it and onto the metal walkway that came up right next to the giant metal container of liquid death and insanity. Joker had barely enough time to shout in rage before the windows near the ceiling shattered, admitting the city’s vigilantes themselves. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, and evening Black Bat all landed on the same metal platform above Marinette’s head that Joker was still on, buying the teen time to start running. But she didn’t go towards the exit right away, instead heading right up the stairs into the thick of the fight. Robin briefly separated from where Joker was managing to hold his own, goons flooding from side doors to inhibit the heroes in their attempt to bring their boss down.

The katana-using vigilante kept one eye on Marinette the whole time, suspicious of why the girl would come back up if not to help her father. But that wasn’t what she did, instead she flipped and kicked and punched her way through the quickly growing sea of Joker thugs until she reached a small pink purse that had been abandoned near the lever that had nearly sent her into liquid insanity. Three thugs surrounded her right as she snatched the purse up and slung it over her shoulder, but Robin barely had the chance to head over before she was heaving the men, who were all easily three times her size, over her shoulder and was slamming elbows into soft spots and the side of her hand into pressure points. By the time Robin got to her side, all three men were unconscious and bound to wake up in utter agony.

Marinette glanced up, getting ready to haul Robin over her shoulder as well before she realized who he was. She let her shoulders relax just a tick, sighing in relief before returning her eyes to scanning their surroundings. She shot him a brief grin.

“Good thing my adoptive mother, Mom, Momma Ivy, and Auntie Selina all made sure I knew how to take down a small army on my own, huh?” She asked rhetorically before they were both unceremoniously dragged back into the giant brawl.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Nettie-pie!”

“Marigold!”

Harley and Pamela Quinzel-Isley shoved down anyone and everyone who dared block their direct path to their daughter. The girl of the hour stood next to the bat clan, a shock blanket held tightly around her shoulders as she did her best to finish her statement to both the vigilantes and Commissioner Gordon.

“You untied yourself… from a ship-grade knot in high quality rope… with a phone charm?” They heard Gordon ask incredulously, to which Marinette could only give a lopsided smile. That was when her mom and stepmom crashed into her, enveloping her in a nearly suffocating hug.

“Gah— mom— momma Ivy—“ Marinette flailed in their arms for a bit before finally getting her head free and continuing her statement as if she didn’t have two of the most dangerous women in the city still giving her a bone crushing hug. “That’s better. Yes, Commissioner. You see, I realized when I was in the car with Joker, while I was pretending to still be unconscious, that one of the charms on my phone had pretty sharp corners that I could use like a serrated edge if I had enough time. So I carefully detached it from my phone, and held it in my palm. It took almost an hour, but once Joker noticed I was awake I kept him talking so that he didn’t notice what I was doing even as he tied me up to that chain. Really, it’s just lucky that I was able to get it worn down in time,” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle. “But regardless, I think Batman and his partners,” she nodded to the listening vigilantes just to the side of her. “Were close enough that I would have been caught anyway, I just wanted to make sure they had less work to do. The sooner I freed myself, the sooner ‘Daddy Dearest,’” she grimaced as she mockingly used the same term Joker had tried to get her to say earlier that night. “Could go back behind bars where he belongs.”

“Oh my little Nettie-cake,” Harley cried, finally pulling back from the hug long enough to wipe her cheeks. It was clear that she had been crying for a while, and her colorful pigtails were mussed and tangled from where she must have been tugging on them in worry. “You were right. I’m so sorry, I never should have let you come to Gotham when I knew he was out of Arkham.”

Marinette was quick to shake her head frantically, pulling her arms out of Ivy’s hold so she could grasp Harley’s shoulders firmly. “No. No, Mom, I’m fine! And besides, we knew I couldn’t stay secret forever. I really like staying with you and Momma Ivy! Everything turned out fine though, and he’s headed back to Arkham. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Nettle,” Pam argued, distracting herself by running her hands through Marinette’s bangs. She had only known the girl for two years, but that was more than long enough for her to consider the teenager as her own. “He took you right out from under our noses. You were supposed to be safe in our home, and he still got to you. That’s not okay. We weren’t able to protect you like we should have been. Maybe you should go back to Paris early.”

“What?! No way!” Marinette argued, eyes wide. “This is the first time I’ve been able to ever visit you guys in Gotham, I’m not letting some psycho sperm donor keep me from enjoying time with my family! I came here knowing full well that it was dangerous. I’m not gonna just run away after one bad experience.”

Harley snorted, and then devolved into uncontrollable giggles. “Heh— psycho sperm donor. Good one, sugar!”

Marinette smiled and rolled her eyes good naturedly at her mom’s usual immature antics. Seeing as Gordon had walked away muttering to himself a short while ago, Marinette pulled herself the rest of the way away from her moms and turned to the vigilantes. Without a second’s pause, she bowed to them just like her Maman Sabine taught her.

“Thank you for helping save me. I know it’s probably a shock that I’ve been kept secret from you guys all this time, but I hope you don’t lump me in with the likes of the green-haired half of my DNA. I’m staying with my Moms in their apartment, if you guys decide to patrol by our place like I suspect, I’ll leave some baked goods and coffee out for you on our patio. It’s the least I can do for you all after tonight. And don’t be too hard on Auntie Selina. Me and Mom swore her to secrecy, even from you guys.”

Batman jerked a little at the mention of Catwoman’s real name, jaw twitching for a second. Behind his cowl, his eyes narrowed. Marinette laughed, easily reading his body language and expression.

“She never told me who you are, but she didn’t exactly hide it either. It was easy to put the last pieces together on my own. But don’t worry, SHE swore me to secrecy too. I won’t tell anyone.

“How the hell are you related to the Laughing Asswipe from Hell?” Red Hood blurted out, his confusion clear even from behind his hideous helmet. Marinette burst into giggles, and both Pamela and Harley smiled knowingly.

“Mom gave me up for adoption when I was born, so I spent my whole life in Paris up until now,” she admitted. “Mom didn’t visit me for the first time until I was eight, and she and my adoptive parents are so awesome that it must’ve suffocated the worst traits from his DNA before they had a chance to develop,” she guessed out loud with a good natured smile.

Batman grunted. Marinette knew that one run-in wasn’t enough for them to trust her. After all, she was still the biological daughter of their arch enemy. But she didn’t mind, she understood the caution even if she didn’t fully agree with it. They weren’t outright hostile, despite the fact that Robin had never stopped glaring at her since they fought back-to-back against the mob of thugs earlier. She could live with their suspicion, as long as they continued to not be outright rude or mean to her.

At least she could empathize with Adrien now, whenever she figured out how to break it to him that Hawkmoth was definitely Gabriel and couldn’t be anyone else. Hopefully she could help soften the blow for him a little.

Harley and Ivy were starting to herd Marinette towards their car and take her back home, where they could continue to smother her in care and make sure she didn’t have even a scratch on her, when Robin’s voice stopped them all in their tracks.

“You are a surprisingly capable combatant.”

Marinette froze, blinking in surprise for a second before turning to stare at Robin in shock. The rest of the Bat Clam was doing the same, nobody expecting Robin of all people to be the first to directly complement Marinette. He tutted, crossing his arms, but never moved his gaze away from Marinette’s eyes.

“But your form could use some work. Most of your style is incredibly improvised, which I can appreciate since you do it well, but you would benefit from more structure in your fighting. I will set up a time and place for us to spar. We start in two days, if you think you can handle it.”

It took a while for what Robin said to sink in, and another few seconds for Marinette to decipher what his semi-aggressive, order-phrased proposal really meant. And she smiled.

“It’s a date.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Woo! This started off a little rough, but I really like how it ended up! Thank you, Anon!

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #eventual daminette #pre daminette #daminette #Bio!dad joker #bio!mom Harley Quinn #Joker Sucks #Request #Oneshot #Fanfiction #crossover

[welcome-to-the-cafe]

Shang-Chi (2021) Review Pt. 2

This one will be about the less character-relevant stuff, such as casting, props, settings, and design.

Easiest first: props and costumes.

A bit cool, a bit silly, and bit too "Chinese-themed".

The old Ten-Ring troops had normal armor for the time and age. The new Ten Ring troops looked like the Snake-Eyes fodder ninjas but with tassled helmets. Like I appreciate what they were going for, but...it look dumb dude. And what they were doing with only one hook sword? The electrified thing was cool, but y'all didn't use the bladed hand guard, the combo hook move, the spiked pommel...wasted potential smh. And then the electric arc crossbows....again I appreciate the idea, but that was silly, especially after we showed the Ten Rings sniper with a normal ass gun. Or, just go full sino-futurism and give me the chainsaw spiked club, the electrified monk's spade, taser three section staff.

The villager's clothes were too...saturated, and monochromatic. It kinda reminded me of Mulan (2020) actually, the white people's ancient Chinese clothing. In contrast, in the he TianLongBaBu wuxia series I've been watching, people dress in...normal earth tones. Oh also, too many fucking sandals, where are my black loafers and thick white socks, with rope bindings? Like the kind modern Shaolin monks wear?? The villager's weapons too. Only Xialing's was kind of interesting, the rest are vanilla staffs and sword+shield. Boooo. Where's the dragonscale fangtianhuaji? The dragonscale guandao? Ok I'm done. Just disappointed.

Wenwu's costumes were pure drip in every scene. Zero complaints.

Shang-Chi's letterman's jacket was my favorite costume to be honest. He should not have changed in the village. The final costume seemed a bit too...modern, but not quite to the level of the Black Panther suit. It just seemed like Western superhero top with a vaguely Chinese pattern on it. Or it looked kindof...southeast asian? Wish it had no sleeves.

Katy should've kept her Macau drip. The "traditional" robe just didn't look right.

Xialing looked the best in her inverse Bruce Lee colors crop top and sweats. Like damn.

Ying Li's robes' green is too saturated in my opinion, unnaturally. Same with Michelle Yeoh's character. Now that I think about it, I hardly ever see bright green in traditional Chinese clothes...or modern Chinese fashion. Her pristine white/biege wushu outfit is also meh for me.

Death Dealer's dark blue + yellow colors are quite striking, but a bit odd and out of place with the rest of the Ten Rings' getup. Perhaps it was intentional, since he's the elite trainer? I wish it was more modern, a la Snake Eyes' suit. I would also like to complain about his opera face makeup though; why only the top half? Is that even a real opera face design? It's kind of a dumb half-ass reference I think. Like, Noh masks are used all the time for creepy effect, why not Beijing Opera?

Next, CGI animals.

Morris the Hundun/Dijiang was cute, but I half expected him to suddenly go nuts and devour Slattery, since the Hundun is one of the primordial evil beasts. But Disney needs their marketable mascot. I even saw a Lego piece for him before the movie was released!

The trip through the other world was a bit too safari-like. Like wow, the Ninetails is just chilling by the road, and a herd of Qilin conveniently pass by. The execution of these creatures were fine, though the Qilin eyes were too "dead".

I don't have problems with the Lions' design, but they were completely unnecessary, and lowered the stakes for the final battle for me. Those two lions could literally tear apart all five of Wenwu's trucks in less than a minute.

I stated already, the big evil monster, the little soulsuckers, and the dragon are completely unnecessary to me. Even when I saw just the wood carving of the soulsucking bats, I felt disappointed. Xialing and Shangchi spent way too long riding the big dragon and not doing kungfu :/

Onto settings.

I just recently visited Bay Area! The hilliness of SF was nicely showed off by the bus fight.

Macao seemed well-grounded and normal for a modern Chinese metropolis. Was portrayed better than Tokyo was in Snake Eyes in my opinion. The bamboo scaffolding scene reminded me heavily of Rush Hour 2's Hong Kong fight, and I could hear Jackie Chan assuring us "don't worry, Chinese bamboo, very strong!".

The Ten Rings compound was...eh. No defining features to locate it anywhere real so whatever. But the interior was weirdly homey?

The Ta Lo village is what I really want to complain about: why they gotta throw Chinese people back to the Xia dynasty like that? Straw huts? Really? And there was a total of like 7 buildings there, across a tiny area. That is not a village, it's a medium-sized temple complex. Kung Fu Panda 3's hidden panda village was loads more impressive, with interesting geography. This was on a flat plane next to a pond. Combined with the costuming, it's like hello, it's hokey Western orientalism again.

Casting.

Tony Leung. Perfect. Outstanding. Phenomenal. Sexy as hell. I have recovered fully from Lust, Caution. I see on Tiktok that westerners are thirsting after him, and I am very satisfied. The "Killmonger-Loki" Effect is now the "Wenwu-Killmonger-Loki" Effect. I only wish he were younger, because I hate the "daddy" kink. Mr. Leung, you are a hero to Asian-American men. Thank you.

Awkwafina. Yeah she is pretty good as the unabashed ABC friend. But lately, I feel she has been over-used as the main Chinese-American actress. On some social media, I have seen Black users complain of her 'blaccent' and vow to boycott Shang-Chi in protest. I'm inclined to defend her, as it is probably what she grew up with, and the boycott feels like another attempt to draw moral hierarchical divisions between minorities. Similar sentiment is "yall didn't come out for Black Panther, why should we come out for Shang-Chi?". I don't have any data as to whether 'we' did come out for Black Panther, but I generally disapprove of POC factionalism.

Simu Liu. I'm glad that Westerners are thirsting over him too. I'm glad he's very enthusiastic and affable, and well-liked in the Asian-American community. He's us! And he got a shirtless scene! But the catch is...he doesn't fit the current Chinese standard for "hot guy actor".

From the majority angle: that's toxic af. He's hot enough, why are we being so picky with dumb Asian beauty standards? Will we ever properly support ourselves? Like damn, this is the first Asian-American lead in a goddamn Marvel movie, and this is how you treat him?? By the Heavens.

From the other angle: his eyes are small, his jaw kind of round, head kind of wide. Not the most masculine, but definitely not feminine. He's a normal Chinese-American dude. Chinese dude, Harbin, Heilongjiang born. Compare that to Chris Hemsworth, Chris Evans, Paul Rudd, Chris Pratt, Sebastian Stan, Chadwick Boseman, Anthony Mackie, etc. These are among the finest western specimens; why did the pick the Asian hero to be played by the 'normal-looking' dude? Was Jackson Wang not available? Or Ludi Lin? I personally have a suspicion that his appearance most fits the stereotypical look of an Asian man to Western audiences, and that's why he was cast.

He's received hate for this, from Reddit r/aznidentity, the sub that I frequent, which currently is cheering Shang-Chi's box-office success. That's toxic af, and must be heartbreaking for him. Unfortunately, it's part of the larger conflict of Western and Eastern media, representation, markets, and culture. And that's a big fish to wrangle in part 3.

#shang chi #simu liu #awkwafina #kevin watches #asian american #tony leung

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, TARYN! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CASSIEL.

Admin Jen: You entranced me with your vision of Cassiel from the first moment, Taryn. The way you introduced the themes of beauty and power, explored the entanglement of the two, and linked it all to Cassiel was so compelling, and I loved the way you expanded on it later on and tied it into your future plots. There is such tangible power to your portrayal, and every single portion of the app burns with it -- not just in a manifestation of Cassiel’s hunger, but in a captivating expression of its intensity and prowess, the way it bleeds into every aspect of who she is. I can’t wait to see her wreak absolute havoc on the dash! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS

Taryn

AGE 

21+

PERSONAL PRONOUNS

She/Her

TIMEZONE

PST

TRIGGERS

REMOVED

HOW DID YOU FIND THE GROUP?

Admin referral.

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER

Cassiel

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

Beauty fascinates me, and it has in a various number of ways for several years. I’ve written about it in plenty of variations, but never seen a character that investigates so deeply the query of what happens when beauty is not only undeniable, but perfect and absolute to the point of literal personification. I see Cassiel and her beauty as the cup that fills to the point of surface tension: she exists in the incorporeal space above limit, law, natural reason, always on the edge of overflowing. When you talk about her beauty, it’s no longer about the simplicity of being beautiful, but of the concept itself, the embodiment. What I kept coming back to when thinking about Cass was the adage Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and stems that flowered from it: could one replace the word power with beauty in that statement and have it be wholly, undeniably true? Why or why not? Where do we rank beauty among the concepts that we agree, in society and heart and literature, reign above all others: power, love, hate, goodness, evil. What is its place, or does it have one at all? Which of the others are its twins, which are its enemies? Is it merely symptomatic of one of the others; if so, can it be corrupted? Literally, what is beauty?

Even moreso, what is it to exist in a state that embodies any of these notions so completely? How does it grow or gnarl the soul, what are the effects and blessings and curses of living in this strange way? 

I know that’s a lot of questions rather than answers, but I think that’s almost my point: Cassiel is not just a character I already feel I know intimately and love for what I see, but a vessel through which I get to explore things I can’t (and don’t yet want to) answer. That’s super exciting to me — a character I not only adore now, but gives me the license to question.

WHAT FUTURE PLOTS DO YOU HAVE IN MIND FOR THIS CHARACTER?

It makes sense to me that on the whole, Cassiel’s plot points should be very interaction- or dynamic-driven. That certainly isn’t to say that Cassiel isn’t self-motivating or responsible for her own actions — because she certainly is — but that in the narrative defined of her character so far, the crux of what drives, propels, and motivates her always seems to be something external. Where she once craved adoration and veneration, now her appetites have swelled to power and worship — a goal that, while perhaps somewhat singular and inward, is still defined by its far outer reach.

So on that note! The plots I’ve expounded on below largely hinge on varying relationships and interactions with other characters because I’d love to explore that thematically: that as selfish as she is, Cassiel needs others.

HUNGER THAT DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE. I don’t particularly care for ascents that are made without meeting a loose-fitting rock, or grasping a serpent tail when you think you’ve reached a vine. Though I can imagine an end where Cassiel takes her seat upon the throne she now paws at, I’m almost more interested in the steps taken to reach that conclusion.

( A ) In the same way that Cassiel named the Cherubim without anticipating all outcomes and consequences, I feel that her current pursuit of power is half-abstract and in some way not fully formed. She eyes Caelum’s throne because it is the most readily available sight, but I don’t believe Cassiel has considered strategy for what might be done after ascending a throne (whether that be in the seat itself or directly at its side), nor even if Caelum’s rulership is the most viable for her position/wants/needs. She is clever, ambitious, ruthless in many regards; she has the hunger and shrewdness to potentially make her way to the highest seat, and has proven her resourcefulness via her renewed place among the Virtues. But what does she know of rulership? Of queendom, of subjects? Nothing. She knows undeserved and total veneration, which is another thing entirely. I want to see this reflected in her initial actions as the roleplay opens: half-blind movements and machinations, a kind of elegant stumbling towards an ill-defined end.

( B ) I think Viktoria is right in some way to await a misstep, to judge her as over-eager and insatiable. Much like my view of Cassiel’s beauty as the lifted bit of water that rests above the edge of a cup, I think that same surface tension is an apt way to describe her ambition currently: overfull and ready to spill over for the first tremor. An appetite so large and desperate will consume the other things around it, in this case Cassiel’s tact: she is going to pitch herself into the first opportunity that opens itself wide enough, potentially at detriment to her overall plan (or reputation), though not necessarily. The actual action of this plot is vague and undefined because it’s not really something I can craft (instead something that should come up naturally within the game/other characters), but I’m not so picky about what it is so long as it affords the space for Cass to leap without looking in her pilgrimage back to greatness.

ONE TASTE IS ENOUGH. Once you’ve fed a hungry woman, what does she grow into? Again to draw from my overfull cup metaphor, my thought is that once a measure of her starvation has been sated by the initial jump mentioned above (whether it has positive, negative, or neutral results), it is essentially poured from the chalice that is Cassiel’s soul. Having executed her first (in-game) move or scheme, there is now a space inside her no longer occupied by desperate, demanding hunger which once filled everything to the point of bursting — allowing a space that gives her the ability to think more clearly, with greater nuance. This is when her machinations begin to build in true.

( A ) She starts to examine what it is she is aiming for, both in what is required of Caelum’s rulership and if that specific seat is best suited for her and the final result she craves. Viktoria is a good candidate for this, should they be willing to mentor her further, but I think the better option is to have Cassiel observe others in positions of power — Zadkiel, Damien Ward, Michael. She excels at endearing herself to others, which would likely be the course she takes, though the roads with Zadkiel and Michael are perhaps more winding than Damien’s. Zadkiel is going to have his own plot/bullet point, so I’ll expand on that later. Michael is a convoluted and dangerous relationship, but one that I feel Cassiel will seek out when she comes into her violence: he, technically, is responsible for all that was taken from her. Though cozying up to the King may be arduous or out of the question to do perfectly, helping to fracture the trinity of Michael/Gabriel/Raphiel from the inside. If he will not love her, then no others shall love him.

( B ) Her action, even by way of inaction, becomes very purposeful: in essence, after a potential failure, Cass will begin to lay out the strings to the final nest she plans to take. I do want to see Cassiel forge her way onto a new pedestal, one raised even higher than the pillar she sat upon previously, and that is the overarching narrative I’d like to take her on as a character — but I can’t say I’m 100% sure that it will be Caelum’s throne or the right-hand of it. Though Cassiel is experienced in crafting and stoking veneration, and therefore the authority that comes with it, the ladder of power and the games one plays to climb it are new to her. As she makes this climb, I expect she’ll find rungs she did not anticipate before, possibilities and avenues she could not have realized previously. Perhaps her attention will shift to the Tridium, her envy taking her by the leash and leading her to overthrow Gabriel in order to debase Azazel and remove her as the Moon. Maybe she will band with Viktoria and the Horseman. Mayhap she’ll create a new allegiance and look to usher in an Age of the Lotus, where everything must be drowned in mud before it can emerge beautiful and petalled (and what is she, if not the pinnacle of these things?). In plain, my goal is to see her shoot for the stars — which burning sphere she lands upon is not the most important part.

A WINGED BEAST. I love, love, love her connection with Azazel, and I want to see it go absolutely nowhere good. Particularly, I want to use their dynamic to open up the dark spot her petals have closed over and kept concealed since she was created, the truth buried below all others: that she is an animal. That she could have only ever been an animal, nothing more or less graceful despite her wings, for the way she has lived as One Thing and One Thing alone, like mindless predatory beasts who know only bloodlust and the pursuit of satiating it. Cassiel has weaned on, lived, and hunted for that one thing — adoration above all else, above all others — and so Azazel stands as the highest adversary and natural enemy. Because of that, it is her alone that could drag out the latent and feral nature of Cassiel, and I want to see it arise in a way ugly, cruel, and wild. I see a kind of genuine savagery at her core, animalistic in the sense that it’s natural and arcane, esoteric and terrifying in the way we used to recall angels of the hundred-eyes and bright blaze. Let Azazel have another victory over her, be it immense or mild, and drag the carcass of Cassiel’s defeat in front of her to see how the frenzy starts. I want to see Cassiel lose all composure, both as a delightful creature and as an Angel of Virtue, and bare her teeth — perhaps even literally. She wields a sword well, but a weapon is too refined for the kind of rage — teeth and claws are better suited for something so furious. Aside from this manifesting in potentially a literal and physical attack on Azazel, I imagine this moment further alerts Cassiel into not what she is becoming, but what she has always been. Unlike Arianne, who I think shares a great deal thematically with Cassiel, I don’t believe Cass is quite as vindictively-natured as the human. If she is cruel, it is not usually for the direct purpose of watching another suffer; it is merely that the act of cruelty is natural to her in the same way that a predator sinks its teeth into a doe without remorse. To offer a quote to sum it up, Peter Beagle in The Last Unicorn: “‘Cruel?’ She asked. ‘How can I be cruel? That is for mortals.’ But then she did raise her eyes, and [...] with something very near to mockery [...] she said, ‘So is kindness.’ That is essentially what I mean when I say as an angel, Cassiel is animal and savage and cruel and immaculate all at once, but in a way entirely unlike the humans. I don’t even necessarily feel this contradicts or cannot cohabitate with her saccharine nature, that which remains iridescent and lovely. She exists in multitudes, some of them made of spun-sugar and full of wonder, others death-touched, and that is what I see Cassiel fully coming into as Azazel’s opposition drives her mad: I am wild, and wild things know no Kings. Let her eye turn to Michael with new understanding.

THE LITTLE DEATH, MANIFESTED. I see this as potentially contingent from the previous bullet, seeing as this kind of rage needs a catalyst, but as a fun little aside (maybe more of a headcanon??) I’d love to see Cassiel kill a mortal NPC in the middle of sex — unintentional, perhaps, though not necessarily. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen The Boys, and please do if you haven’t omg (and tiny spoiler ahead!), but there’s a scene where a superhero character has sex with a regular human while on a mind-altering substance. She ends up crushing his head in the middle of cunnilingus. That’s essentially the vibe here. 

LAMB BLOOD ON THE ALTAR. Just like with Azazel, I adore Cassiel’s connection to Zadkiel.

RUN. Zadkiel exists, undeniably, as a keystone to Cassiel’s better nature. She has changed from who she was, certainly, and the shift has seized from her much of that which might be called goodness — still, ebbing portions or ghost-limbs of it remain. As does the loose thread of guilt, which Cass knows only Zadkiel’s hand can find and tug. To that end, and what I feel is most likely for the very start of game play, is Cass still trying to run from him and avoid any interaction.

TURN. The benefit of the sheep is that it can be sheared a hundred times, though slaughtered only once — so Cassiel must hope that this is one more coat she can shed before Justice, showing him a pink skin and claiming I am borne anew. I am remade. I have risen again, like God’s own son. Likely after realizing she is not yet ready to take on Michael’s throne and therefore needs aid, Cassiel may attempt to endear herself once more to Zadkiel, the angel once so dear to her. 

HOLD. This is definitely equally up to how Zadkiel’s player feels and wants to portray their relationship, but I have a very strong feeling that Cass adores/adored Zadkiel to the point of — possession, maybe? Particularly if their relationship starts to repair in any shape (even through Cass’s falsehoods), I could see her teeth growing sharp over the relationship/bond he has with Isolde; a matter of jealousy, a repetition of what she is subjected to feel in Azazel’s presence: second place. Singular-minded as she can be, this could derail her overarching plans for the momentary sabotage of their relationship, or of the Priestess herself. Another aside: Cass shifting herself to match Isolde’s visage when speaking to Zad? Phew.

THE KNIFE YOU HAVE CHOSEN. It would be a mistake to assume that a thing you chase your whole life is not hunting you in turn — the man that goes into the jungle with a gun is not safe from the tiger it follows; the wielded blade does not blunt itself for the hand holding it. For all Cassiel devotes herself to the attainment of idolization — for all that cunning and guile — it has to be said that she, too, is in some capacity ruled by it. To that, I have a couple thoughts on how her obsession bites back:

Cassiel at the dais of another, sprawled at their knees, arms draped over their thighs, head in their lap. I love you as I never did God, she says. I worship you as I do myself and none other. Child, they purr. Angel, that’s blasphemy. Yes, she agrees. Give me my sin again. I’d like to see her have someone she wholly, thoroughly venerates in a way that surpasses her previous affections for God. They don’t, and perhaps could not, rival her love for herself — but it could be challenged. I love the idea of the duality within her: the capacity to put herself before all others, ever and always, and the flaw in her mechanism which sees Cassiel naturally inclined to offer herself as a devotee, made as she was as His creation, His pet. That isn’t to say such a thing comes about easily, that her soul yearns for someone to kneel before, nor even that God had her heart in such a manner — I lean to the idea that he never did, and her place as Cherubim was merely situational; that Cassiel would have had her seat aside any All-Knowing Being, no matter who it was. But to think that perhaps there is an individual who would ignite this impulse again after having laid dormant for so long, or perhaps never truly emerging, is delicious. I feel it would have to be a complicated, consuming relationship, something braided with romantic love and lust (or what angels can feel of these things). They would also have to be exceptionally wicked or brilliant, carrying attributes that Cassiel wishes for herself, and an individual who she wishes to make a proper mate and to rule beside or jointly. Then, ideally, I want to see them discard her. Perhaps they outgrow her, or never truly returned the affections she gives so endlessly, only using her for their own ascent — it doesn’t matter. But I think it would be a delicious parallel to have her worship at the altar of another, only to be ripped into nothingness the way she allowed the Cherubim to be.

(...) the mysterious thing you look for your whole life will eventually eat you alive. — Laurie Anderson explaining her attraction to Moby-Dick. Admittedly I’m running a little short on time now so please forgive the sloppy explanation, but essentially what I want to see here is another instance where her obsession with receiving ardour bites back. I don’t have a super specific instance for this to happen, though I’d think the best bet right now is through Cade — in the depths of despondency, how far would she go to feel idolized once more? What landmine would Cassiel, in her mania, step upon when running to a false dais? Let’s see, pretty please.

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WITH KILLING OFF YOUR CHARACTER?

It depends on how I’ve managed to grow Cassiel, and what I see for their arc going forward. I find it a little hard to say from the far-off place at the starting line, but at the moment I would say if there’s a point where Cassiel dies, it would be far in the future -- and most likely, after she has attained a new title or power.

IN DEPTH

DRIVING CHARACTER MOTIVATION.

I feel like I ruminated on some of this in the Plots section (SORRY), but to say it plainly, there’s a marked severance to Cassiel’s motivations before Michael’s mutiny and after, one as clearly demonstrated as the differentiation she has in favour and position between then and now. Prior to Michael’s usurping and the culling of God and his Cherubim, in the early centuries of her existence, Cassiel was likely an angel most lacking in motivation, plan, or plot — and perhaps that’s why even the angels fell for her, even virtuous and zealous Zadkiel. She knew no want, and therefore could not ask for anything, even within herself: all that she might have required or lusted after was delivered to her, any ache balmed before it could bloom, every cut mended before it could be administered. But as it is with all creatures, even those beloved above all but Him, there is a thing in the center of a soul like a hard pit in a stone-fruit — and if borne empty, it will fill in time. One cannot exist without want. So, naturally, she grew to crave what she was being fed: veneration, adoration, love. But to say that that was all young Cassiel desired would not be true, because she had those things, and one does not covet the treasures already held safe in your chest. She was given mere reverence and devotion, so the want could only be something worse: to be the best of them all, second to only God himself in the reception of affection (and where God was cold, she was all sweet-passion warmth; there could be no comparison). She had to be the most revered, the pinnacle of adoration. And for a time, she was that too. So her motivation, than, was preservation: to retain what was had, to bask in glory. To only ever see beauty, and to live as the embodiment of it.  Which is exactly what makes the fall so bone-deep in its lashing: her singular driving force was taken in hand and cracked over the knee. 

After Michael and the Angels mutiny against God, preservation became synonymous with survival. Now, what motivates Cassiel is what drives any losing dog in a fight: fear, envy, spite, desperation. To hope to preserve what was once had is not only futile in her current state, but foolish; clever and terrifyingly lovely as she is, the Angels know what treason she committed against her own brethren. In the eyes of her winged brothers and sisters, she has lost that intangible loveliness which saw her reign above the rest: she, too, could commit sins. Cassiel, too, could be ugly as the rest of them. The mortals, though more easily swayed, can also be duly influenced by the masses around them: they have turned from her too. She cannot preserve what has been smashed: but the pieces of that driving force take a new shape, like a beautiful mirror shattered into a thousand sharp blades. And though her aim, like the red circle on a target or the heart of a stag, is power (currently and most specifically, Michael’s) that does not make it the force that sends the arrow. The lust for power, for those not settled with merely a beautiful existence, is for the desperate. It is for those who have known failure and will refuse to meet it again; it is for the ones you have glimpsed the way down, and fear the impact should they topple entirely. It is for the girls who know what it is to rule a heart, but are no longer satisfied with just one organ. In order to feel safe, they need it all. Cassiel can no longer be second to any: not God, not Michael. To be secondary is to be fallible. And beauty, she will prove, stands above all.

CHARACTER TRAITS. 

( + ) ADAPTABLE, INTUITIVE, CHARMING ( - ) DELUSIVE, SELF-SERVING, COVETOUS 

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE.

( A NOTE: I’m not entirely sure this is 100% how this scenario would go down — like maybe Zadkiel would have known about Cassiel’s involvement prior to this — but it was felt like a good way to get her voice across! )

When she stands in the banquet hall, it is with the silent quality that befits the scorned and the betrayers (how lucky, then, that she meets at the crux of both, like the brass hinge of a door). Heads do not turn as she takes leave from the great hall as they once did, keeping instead to their new King and celebratory revelry as once-loved Cassiel exits alone into the torch-lit hallways. For all the noises they once made in my honour, she thinks, now they will not even look up with enough haste to track my shadow. Cassiel passes slowly through the corridors of the Archangel Castle, stretches of cold, white marble bearing no life upon it: all that exists in Caelum tonight does so in Michael’s celebration. Even the former Cherubim — what remained after Michael’s tedious, torrid culling — sat in the great hall, miserable as they looked excepting Cassiel. Better to be witnessed in their anguish than found missing, assumed scheming in absence, it seemed. Yet for all their ugly despair, the grim-set mouths and brows so creased with concern they appeared grimy, the new King nor his audience had not once admired Cassiel for her smile, not for the delight she had sent out, like a winged messenger to the field of wounded soldiers: Do not worry, I am here. I am alright. I am still, despite it all, yours. Beautiful. Eternal. She, who had smiled and smiled like endless payment from a bottomless purse, having been charged for a crime that was not her own, and found herself offering restitution nonetheless. As charitable as she is lovely, they should have said. As virtuous as she is a delight.

But they say nothing. They do not even speak it with their eyes. So Cassiel wanders through the palace, disoriented by the lonesome way she must walk, without the arm of another to warm her or cling to. It is not with intent that she finds her way to the throne room; though intent means little in the world of the divine. And none knew this better than Cassiel: righteous acts, ritual acts, and acts of hostility all left the same signature. The fire lit in repeated offering will eventually devastate the brush around it in the same way a single act of malicious arson will. Intent pales in comparison to the impact, mortal or divine. And so all that matters is this: Cassiel arrives. She is there. And soon, she has a hand upon the gilt seat of a God, now a king. A gentle, single caress. It sighs with emptiness.

Down below, music begins. The sound, though muffled by stone, is light and deceptive with a beat kept by tambourine and wound through with panpipes. It crashes and crawls as a serpent through brush, dragging its body across the span of angelic shoulders and up the marble spires until it reaches the slender ankles of high Cassiel above. O, that that song had teeth. It would sink them pit-deep into that lovely ankle. She feels it wind around her as vine to hot rock, seeking, imploring. One palm flattens against the arm of Dead-God-Now-Michael’s golden throne, shivering at its smooth, near-wet chill. Her free hand raises slowly, slim fingers gliding over her collarbone until the full palm rests against the soft skin of her chest. They feel so alike, she and that lonesome, beautiful thing — slick, silken — chilled, lonely, without flaw. Cassiel tightens one hand to the cold edge of the arm, the other slipping deftly beneath the crease of her collar to the smoother skin of her breast. Was is the same there? Did they feel alike everywhere? How gorgeous, how frightening, to touch —

“Cassiel.” 

She turns, straightens, sharp as a flower breaking its neck in a stern wind.

It is Zadkiel. Dark, tall, great-winged Zadkiel, usurping the whole of the entrance in his breadth. Her fear of being caught abates. In the glow of the great fires, they are bronze – no – gold. His skin alights in the way the great blessed tools do, a warning; she is radiance to the point of glow, shining that a beautiful thing might find her in the dark. Like calls to like. 

Zadkiel, she thinks, has not forgotten me. He has followed.

“Zadkiel,” she says his name and is as raw as the meat newly cleaved from the animal, uncooked, bleeding on the plate. Cassiel makes her way to him, fists clamping as shells into his tunic, making the fabric into cotton pearls within her palm, held tightly and with a reverence that says I believe something good will come of this. He always wanted goodness. It was all he could stand.

Around her, her aura shifts; perhaps not the look of her, but what she knows Ever-wholesome Zadkiel requires. His emotions and entire self countenance was a barrage of full, pure colours: red as the poppy, blue as the sea, yellow as wheat. He moved from start to end with sureness, a bullheadedness and a potency that saw the earth moved on either side of him, as an ox yoked in the plowing fields — one could see the line he left in the dirt, straight and true. In what he felt he felt fully and tangibly, and to call that simplicity would have been a mistake. So she gave him, simply, what he requires: a reminder of the divinity they once served. Shine, goodness, a visage not innocent but one above reproach.

“Zadkiel, isn’t it awful — I couldn’t stand to be in the same room — we had to leave, you and I, didn’t we? For us,” She repeats it again, stuffing their existences into the same velvet satchel, her wings closing around them to craft one white-feather world of intimacy. The bottom petal of her lip juts, a flower blooming in the depths of winter. “Today is so hard for us.”

How sweet she could have seemed, stuck to him then as all beautiful things that last so little, like early mornings and mortal life. How dearly she wanted him to pull her head down upon his shoulder and vow to protect her here and evermore, to remind her she was no less dear to him now than before.

But Zadkiel, dark, tall, great-winged Zadkiel, who usurps the light with his breadth, has not moved. His arms do not move to hold her.

“I know of what you did.” He burns like the darkness, his eyes unblinking, and Cassiel feels the jaws of something open up wide within her, beastial teeth scraping against the lining of her stomach, dark feathers brushing her ribs. “I know you betrayed us.” 

Run, the feathers say. Fight, the teeth implore. 

Her pout recedes as she pulls away, the gleam around her dimming into something less blinding, more reminiscent of the light on the water than the ray directly from the sun. Her eyes narrow back from their peeled, opened stance, returning from the look stolen from does and maidens.

“Ah.” Her hands clasp at her stomach, wings receding from their huddle to position behind her, her eyes a torch in the dim — she looked as though she touted an oil lamp within her stomach, with the bowl kept still and fire burning above. “So you and I,” she says, shrewd and slender. “Will have the most difficult evening of all.” 

EXTRAS

WRITTEN AESTHETIC: Swans locked at the neck in violence, the iridescent guts of an oyster shucked for its pearl, the fall of fabric to the floor; the nude body left standing, a gentle finger extending to break a shimmering bubble, the bleat of a lamb as it is laid down for sacrifice.

HEADCANONS: 

She has a large collection of beauty products collected from across the lands, but has become particularly fond of the wares that prove deadly to mortals — polishes infused with venom, powders crafted from ground belladonna. While perhaps she does not need these goods, immortal and ever-capable as she is in becoming one’s ideal, she still enjoys the applications. 

Though she is more satisfied wielding her looks before her sword, she is still prideful of her skill with the latter. Zadkiel himself instructed her in its use long ago, and she does not shirk her practice.

In days gone by, Cassiel had mortals engage in an unofficial competition to bring her the most startling, beautiful, or rare animal to be made her companion, always done shortly after the death of her last. I think it’s particularly fitting that the creatures she bonded with weren’t found through a natural interaction but rather through gifting, given that all things in her existence were handed to her without work. Since the revolt and her subsequent fall from the highest pedestal, these “competitions” have not happened in as organized a capacity, instead with her remaining devoted admirers seeking out gifts and Cassiel herself whenever.

Her current companion is a white lion named Oren. He, like others, was a gift from a devotee — and an exceptional one at that. When he was brought to her, the beast’s keeper tremors at the hands, distanced from the great leonine animal who sat with blood on his maw. A thousand apologies, mistress. The beast, he’s — he mauled a doe. The carcass is grotesque — it lays outside — shall I take him away? And Cassiel knows the insinuation, what the mortal means: He has killed. He has ruined himself. Surely, you cannot want him. But Cassiel merely crouches, pouting her lips as her hands slip below his pale chin, fisting into the thick mane. Her palms grow heavy, sticky with blood. He’s beautiful. 

( As an aside, I love the juxtaposition that it creates when Cassiel meets with Azazel: the demoness’ sleek, dark gaggle of hellhounds, and the angel’s singular bright, mammoth lion. The image of the animals agitated in one another's presence, the hellhounds as mischievous smoke-hyenas that nip at Oren’s flanks while he swipes with one large paw. )

Her last companion was another male, this one a white and grey Arabian stallion specifically bred for and provided to her by an admirer.

I ran into this image and loved the idea that Cassiel has her own crest, designed some time ago by a particularly ardent worshipper (now long deceased) who worked in the arts. She still has every location where it has been inscribed or inlaid memorized.

If there’s a non-deified individual from history that was Cass hiding her wings (not possible? oh well), its Phryne: the Grecian prostitute and renowned beauty who, accused of a capital crime (blasphemy), stripped before the all-male judges to show her body -- the argument being that beauty was a sign of godly favour in Ancient Greece, and with it came a certain innate Goodness. Therefore, she couldn’t be blasphemous. Or, as a text post said: If the tits are legit, you must acquit.

#accepted #accepted: cassiel

[eldonash]

Moth to Flame| Orobas & Roland

Summary: Orobas and his maker Haxian are caught by Officer Roland. Where in the past such a thing would have ended with another death, Orobas finds himself fascinated at the radiant, good heroism Roland naturally has. Things turn south as Orobas’ darker, sadist side surfaces, but in the end, surprisingly, Orobas wants Roland to live and lets the officer also save the woman. 

Orobas wanted to over-indulge tonight. Hunt the perfect person, and share them like a little snack with his maker, Haxian. In the past, they wouldn't be picky, grabbing someone random and uncaring of the environment and drain them together in an alleyway, or a car. Either leaving them near death and gently compelled or tossing them wherever and moving on. Back then, before the internet, it was easy to elude police, FBI, and all those government names with enough suggestions. It was even easier when emperors ruled the lands, and all they had were swords and a warrior's mindset. Now, with satellites and recordings, they did have to be a little more discreet. Right now, they had a beautiful, middle-aged business woman traveling through White Crest between on a bench at a bus stop. It was controlled and casually appearing. The moonlight was peaceful, and her laughter quieter now that it's getting later, and she was in a haze of loss life. Orobas had her hand in his own, dragging his fingers over each knuckle, and admiring her jewelry. 

"I don't get the allure of diamonds," he said casually, "the crystals Morgan brought me are more beautiful than them." 

Being new to town, Roland was still getting a feel of the layout and made it a point of going out to patrol regularly. It helped him get a lay of the land and catch crime as it was happening. For a town that’s population was a fraction of Boston’s, the death rate was alarmingly high. Too many of those cases were left unsolved for Roland’s liking. He walked through the dark streets, keeping an eye out for anything that was out of the ordinary though he found most of this town to be just a little strange. Small towns had a way of being stuck in time. It was quickly turning into his new normal. He liked his coworkers well enough and it was much more comfortable sleeping in a home that was previously shared with Isabel. 

As he made his way down the street, he saw an interesting sight near a bus bench. What were these guys doing to this woman? She seemed to be near lifeless and Roland felt the need to interfere. Something wasn’t right here. “Stop right there,” he said with a booming voice, “What’s going on over here?” 

Orobas rose a lazy brow at the man lumbering over, with his plain shirt, and surprisingly a decent body for his age. The vampire's lips and eyes were stained red, and he licked them as if contemplating if having one, more would do him any favors. His stomach was already swollen and quite satisfied, but sometimes Orobas didn't just want to feed. Haxian said gently in his mind, so nosy, as he nuzzled into her neck and hid his demon face. Orobas put on the airs of innocence, legs crossed, and gently draped her fingers on his knee with precise position to seem natural. "Good evening officer, are you patrolling these parts tonight?" he asked respectfully, "is there something for us to worry about tonight? We all are-- just waiting for the bus to arrive."  

Roland’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the scene. Was that blood on his lips? The woman seemed to be out for the count. The questions coming from the man left him slightly perplexed. This woman appeared very much unconscious and he was asking if there was other trouble in the area. It didn’t make sense. Bending his knees slightly, he made himself a little shorter to try and get a better look while giving the man an answer. “That’s why I’m out here. Nothing to worry about and I intend to make sure it stays that way.” Not seeing any movement from the woman, he asked, “What’s going on with your friend here?” If she was in fact conscious, she could speak for herself. Something about their set up had a very twisted feeling to it that he couldn’t quite place. 

When he bent his knees, Orobas thought how easy it would be to push him over, break his ribs and cut--. The lust of a gruesome slaughter was always within in him, a dark blimp that gave his species all the hatred, but made him in particular so much worse. His attention was uncanny and eerie, without a blink, or a twitch of dead muscle, almost a statue resting on a bench as he examined the situation. Orobas was old enough to lure thought, to suggest things, how much of it stuck wasn’t always easy when evidence was right in front of him. “You know they both drank themselves into a fit, on a school night as well-- college kids am I right?” he forced an inhale, and sighed. “I was trying to get them home but couldn’t get them on the bus, so we sorta got stuck here until they sober up.” 

Though Roland enjoyed a good pour of bourbon, he could never understand getting so drunk that you passed out. He always liked to maintain a certain degree of control that just wasn’t possible when you were passed out on a bus bench. If they were that drunk, they may need to see a doctor. In Boston, he’d come across several college kids who needed to get their stomach pumped. He shook his head and said, “It looks like these two may need a doctor then. If they’re passed out on a bus bench, they may have alcohol poisoning.” He bent his knees slightly to give himself a closer look. They definitely didn’t look good. Damn kids and their lack of self control when it came to partying. 

This man was out here doing his best, and it caught Orobas off guard at being struck with so much kindness in the mists of hiding the fact this woman was dying. Was this the best version of a human? A soul that held lawful good as their moral alignment like a torch against the evil before them? To make Orobas question if he should be doing this at all with only a damn glance. He watched every little wrinkle in his face move when it frowned at his lie and the creak of his knees as he bent down in trust. The concern made him nauseous, like walking near the hallowed ground of a church. 

How could he be so righteous? Orobas swept out in a blink of an eye. He had a long blade, with an ivory handle and silver blade under the cop's chin and against his throat. "You are noble; you know that? It's not even your looks, it's-- this goodness coming off you that is confusing," he shuttered, pushing for an answer. "How is it you are like this so easily and naturally?"   

Before Roland knew it, the man in front of him had a knife out. Roland knew something was fishy about this and felt his own hand reaching for his glock. The question threw him off. What was so wrong with being noble and good? This guy seemed pretty twisted. He wondered if he was one of those macabre cosplayers. “Not quite sure what you mean,” he gruffed, “You know, it’s against the law to pull a weapon on an officer.” 

"Is it?" he was astonished at the reaction and absolutely delighted, he flipped the blade away. He saw the jerk in his hand to reach for his gun, and Orobas wanted to hear it go off. "So calm-- how..." it almost growled out. If he had breath, it would be rising and falling quickly to expose his emotions. The fresh blood in him hovered under his flesh to give a faint warmth to his cheeks yet twisted, monstrous darkness in him curled around in his still chest, elongating his fangs, and his eyes sinking into a grayish tint of exposed death. "How-- did you stop that reaction officer? Why didn't you just hit and disarm me?" 

Roland’s hand still stayed on his gun. The knife may have no longer been at his throat, but it was clear this individual was unstable and needed to come down to the station. If he played this right, he could manage this without physical violence. At the suggestion from the strange man that he should’ve just hit him, Roland found himself shaking his head. “I had my gun ready the whole time. I try not to resort to violence unless the situation deems it absolutely necessary. Needless violence doesn’t protect and serve the community.” He was confused, but this man seemed fascinated that he was grounded in his morals. There definitely had to be some drugs at play here. He blinked a couple of times, he swore his teeth seemed longer and his eyes seemed changed. “Sir, I’m going to need you to come back to the station with me. Whatever you and your friends are making you a danger to yourself and others.”

“So you don’t just hurt people because you like it? Or because it feels good? Or because you get mad?” It wasn’t questions to be answered, so much as Orobas cataloging what he was seeing. To anyone, he would always seem psychotic eventually, his sadism was linked profoundly to his psyche and it spilled out. Right now, he could tell Officer Roland was ready to handle him, a spring, one touch away from releasing. As the human's eyes were on him, Haxian was gone from sight. A blur of motion, and a flutter of wings as a swarm of bats flapped loudly into the night sky. Orobas knew his maker was sedated and not concerned for him. The girl's body slumped with the missing person, and Orobas let her fall with a thud. “What defines danger to you Officer?” Another question, paired with an intensity as Orobas not once had stopped looking at the other. 

Roland was becoming more and more perplexed by this man. He was clearly on some sort of drug, but it was becoming clear he was more of a threat than initially thought. His grip on his gun tightened as he pulled it out of his holster. “No, I don’t like hurting people and it doesn’t feel good. I don’t want to hurt you right now so hands in the air please.” The other man on the bench seemed to have vanished. A trick of the lights almost made it look as if a bat flew off, but that was impossible. The woman was left slumped on the bench and Roland was almost positive that blood was here. This was much worse than your standard college kid party shenanigans. The barrel of his gun was pointed at the younger man and he sternly said, “Enough of the cryptic questions, hands up.” 

Orobas rose his hands slowly, eyes wild and excited. The white ivory dagger glistened between them, but he didn’t make a move to drop it. “You know, if you deal with me-- she will die.” The statement was truthful, her chest rose in pathetic attempts to keep oxygen in her dwindled bloodstream, but every second would matter. “Tick tock, tick tock, slowly, and slowly, she dies,” he hummed it like a tun. Then something flickered over his form. A blur of motion and he screeched, a ‘nails on the chalkboard’ sound that threatened to make his eardrums bleed. It exposed his fangs even more, and further transformed his features in an ashly haunting corpse. The monster, who was always well dressed, and hidden under the facade of amusement parks and loyalty rose up, the faintest flutter of wings above. Orobas Ash, in truest exposure, someone uncaring, cruel, and true evil would let her live. “You see I have changed a bit,” his head tilted, cohesion forceful but spoken with a dark tone. “Go on officer-- forget me and save her.” 

Normally, Roland would have prioritized the man who was clearly a danger to society, but something compelled him to go toward the woman who was quickly bleeding out. This crazed man was definitely someone who took the macabre stories of the town a bit too seriously, he could tell as much from the bite marks on the woman’s neck. He tried to fight his body’s draw to the woman and said, “You stay right there while I get her an ambulance.” He quickly knelt down and examined her further, she was bleeding a lot. He spoke into his radio, “I need an ambulance on the corner of 5th and Main as quickly as possible.” He ripped the sleeve from his own shirt and used it to press down on her wound to try and slow the bleeding. 

His gaze lingered on the thick curve of his neck as he turned to speak into his radio, the way he still remained calm, collected-- even without the compulsion was still confusing Orobas who wanted him to scream. The desire to cut his hand and press it to her lips to see if she’d turn into a monster was almost impossible not to want. But the officer deserved to save her, and Orobas had promised he’d stop taking so many lives. He watched just for a second more, before the shadows swallowed him up. His steps swift, and familiar, as he moved between the darkest spots and found himself in step with Haxian. “He might remember a bit of you,” Haxian warned, and Orobas shrugged. “I might just want to see him again.” 

#x: moth to flame #x: roland

[sephcnes-blog]

DANIELLE CAMPBELL —— Well, if it isn’t PERSEPHONE BLACKWOOD, the HUFFLEPUFF superstar. For those of you who don’t know HER, you can spot them sitting with the other SEVENTH years. Most people think that they’re EXPRESSIVE and NURTURING, but they can also seem pretty ENTITLED and VAIN. Sometimes people call them the EBULLIENT. Sure, they’re a MUGGLEBORN, but that doesn’t define them.

hello hello it me your girl rhia coming at ya with a new muse that i’ve already fallen in love with lmao. this is kinda long so i’m sorry about that but anyway if you wanna read her full bio & stats, those can be found HERE, along with her pinterest HERE, but the real fun stuff can be found under the cut ! 

BACKGROUND

Born February 10th, 1960 in Edinburgh, Scotland.

In the Muggle World, the Blackwood name is one that everyone has at least heard of. Persephone’s father, and many men who came before him, were all well noted politicians.

Her mother, is also a politician, though she is one of less caliber. She met Persephone’s father, Edmund, through her work. The two have never really been in love, their marriage is based on appearances alone. There’s an unspoken agreement between the two that they remain together, they may see others outside of their marriage. 

Being the youngest of the two Blackwood sisters, Persephone was brought up receiving everything a young girl could ever want with just a pleading look. Her sister, however, got the short end of the stick, burdened with responsibilities that Persephone never had to deal with.

The two sisters somehow managed to remain close for a good portion of their childhood. Whenever Persephone’s magic manifested, it was always Thalia who took the blame.

Although she had originally made the conscious decision to do this, she resented Persephone in a way for it, wishing she had a normal sister who wouldn’t do such things. This resentment caused a rift in the girls’ relationship.

As she reached age eleven, Persephone was greeted with a man with a pointy beard and half moon glasses, who wore funny clothing unlike anything Persephone had ever seen before in her life. He explained to her, and her family that she was a witch and she would go to Hogwarts to study magic there.

Her parents were Catholics, and were shocked when they heard the word ‘witch’. To them, any form of witchcraft was considered evil & Satanic, and how could poor little Persephone be capable of such awful things ?

Thalia knew better than her parents and knew what the old man said to be true. Though their relationship at this time was complicated, she still stood up for her younger sister.

Reluctantly, Edmund & Amelia allowed her daughter to attend the school, as long as she came back for breaks & was able to maintain she was at some other elite boarding school.

LIFE AT HOGWARTS

Her time at Hogwarts was not how she expected it to be, at all. Persephone walked through the Great Hall expecting her name to have some substance when interacting with the other students. However, to her disappointment, her blood-status held her popularity down. 

She became acquainted with the term ‘mud-blood’ early on, and had to learn how to be humble.

Thankfully, her house was one that she felt she could belong to, where she wouldn’t be judged simply because of where she came from. These people, along with a few others outside of Hufflepuff, would become her real family.

There are only a few places on the Hogwarts grounds where Persephone can be found. Most of her free time is spent either in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout, or with Professor Kettleburn aiding him with whatever magical creatures he has stashed away. The petite brunette has never been good in any sort of practical magic, such as D.A.D.A. or even Charms, but she finds that she excels in classes such as Potions, Herbology, and of course Care of Magical Creatures.

Made herself an easy target for harassment & bullying by being so open about her blood-status at the beginning, but she remained confident & never let anyone get her down. 

Breaks are always hard for Persephone, because as much as she would love to stay at school, she is forced to return home to her parents and stay there.

PERSONALITY

likes: order, cleanliness, art, painting, money, kindness, compassion, daydreaming, romance, fashion, drinking, partying, attention.

dislikes: chaos, dirt, messes, dishonesty, betrayal, cheaters, laziness, selfishness, bullying, silence, vulnerability.

Whenever the name Persephone Blackwood is ever mentioned in a conversation, there’s a certain image that pops into people’s minds, of a petite brunette well-groomed to perfection. When out of uniform, her style is with the most recent & popular trends. in uniform, although she is less fashionable, she still manages to find a way to accessorize as much as she can. Her face is well decorated, and never wears the same hairstyle twice. appearances are extremely important to her, and would never step outside of her bedroom looking anything less than perfect.

Given that her parents are locked in a loveless marriage, one would assume that Persephone despises the idea of falling in love, but in fact, she’s quite the opposite. She’s a dreamer, and fantasizes about falling in love constantly. She is of the belief that there is someone out there for her, just waiting to fall in love with her. she has a picturesque idea of how love should be, and anyone who falls short of that immediately gets cut out of the picture. Unfortunately, this means she has racked up quite the list of ex-lovers.

Coming from Scotland, she’s got quite an accent, although it’s dulled out a bit after years of travelling with her family, either for work related reasons or vacations.

Although she can be quite entitled & vain at times, she is a fairly easy-going person & gets along with most people ( as long as they can get past her flaws ). The only people she never could see herself getting along with, are those who bully or belittle others, or with previous exes that ended on a poor note.

Persephone is often known for her optimism & cheerful nature. there is rarely an occasion when those around her see her without a smile etched on her features. Those who truly know her, know that she isn’t this way because she’s naturally a happy person, quite the opposite. She spends her time at home being unloved by her parents, whose religion say that she is evil & worship the devil, as well as ignored by her sister because of their childhood together. Even at school, there are times she can’t help but be weighed down by the darkness from those who wish she never existed. Those who are closest to Persephone understand that she acts in such an upbeat manner as a way to cope with these feelings.

She loves art & painting with a passion, though most who know her would never guess it. She uses magic in quite a lot of her works, although hardly anyone has ever seen these creations. Although she does have a very outgoing personality, she can be a very guarded person, and wouldn’t show these to anyone unless she really trusted that person since her paintings are often a very personal thing to her.

Persephone is quite the picky eater, and has been ever since she was a little girl. For an entire year she wouldn’t have anything but chicken nuggets for dinner, no matter how hard her parents tried. Although her palette has expanded a bit since she was a young girl, she has trouble with certain foods. She won’t touch anything with tomato on it, or any sort of beef. Thankfully for her sake, she gets along with the house elves quite well and they make sure she gets exactly the foods that she prefers.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

the entire list can be found here, but i figured i’d put a couple of my faves here as well. and of course, i’m open to plotting anything really.

best friends; these two/three are inseparable, and are always seen together side by side. these are the people she trusts most in her life and would literally do anything for. (possibly 1-2 people for this plot idk she isn’t the type to have a ton of close friends, just a couple that she’d trust)

pen pals; someone seph doesn’t know the identity of, but relates to them on an emotional level. someone she relates to, and writes to whenever able.  

exes; ( up to plotting, could either be a bad break up for the angst or just two pals who didn’t work but persephone is the type to have quite a list of exes so um yeah )

ex best friends; the person seph used to be closest to in the world, but lost due to (reasons to be plotted). now when they see each other in class or in the halls, its as if they never knew each other. any conversation shared is filled with an awkward tension.

fake relationship; ( not sure how or why but i love me a fake relationship plot so i’m adding it anyway. could be to piss off her parents or maybe her bc her family is pressuring her to find someone of worth. or maybe even something she can fulfill on your charas side idk just give me all the angsty plots lmao )

anyways, sorry this was long asdhkfhk if you do wanna plot with persephone give this plot a like and i’ll message you either here or on discord ( probs on discord though bc i feel like its easier ??? idk if u have a preference lmk ! )

#novum:intro #━━ ⟢ ғɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ sᴘᴀᴄᴇ ⦂ ⋰ * ✧ OOC.

[ilonavic]

Hello, sweeties! Thank you for your questions! @lithialetheia @lunedin and @queenofkadaara (I am always baffled people are even bothered to ask me these to be honest, I’m not very interesting, anyway let’s start!)

6. Favorite band?  I have favorite artists, that aren’t bands, like Sia and Lana del Rey, but if it has to be a band I’m going to say Mumford & Sons. I’m sorry for being boring and mainstream, but their music really speaks to me and calms me, their music almost defines my personality in a way. And I know all the lyrics to their songs... not obsessed. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

8. Top 5 favorite characters. ;) Because I honestly love analyzing people in general, their psychology, personality. But fictional characters are sometimes so complex and well rounded, I love obsessing over them and analyzing them. 

1. Eredin: Not because he is good, but for the reason that he isn’t “good”. He is a well-layered characters, unfortunately not as well portrayed in the games as he is in the books where we meet a complex person, instead of a “wholly evil bad guy villain”. Though, he isn’t a particularly benevolent guy either, I still appreciate his character a lot because there is soooo much potential to him, making him so fun to write fanfictions about. (I appreciate caranthir too a lot) 2. Yennefer: As before, she is so complex, a very well written character, who breaks out of typical norms for female side-characters. She is more than just Geralt’s love interest, she’s an entire persona of her own, with her own dreams, ambitions and goals. I love her for being so strong, loyal and clever.   3. Dorian from Dragon Age: Such a well written characters, he is witty, funny and charming, but underneath all of that lies even more depth to him.  4. Avallac’h: Of course he is going to be on this list... He ma hubby. He is a very unique character, unlike any clichée character we usually read about. Intelligent, pragmatic, you never really know who he actually is, creating fascination and always keeps us on a hook, wanting to know more, and understand him better, but he never tells us, which is perfect to me. Bravo, Sapkowski. 5. Cully wully: I love him, end of story. He’s such a good man. nuff’ said

9. Tattoos I want? I’ve had a few in mind for years now! They are of course animals as I have always been extremely fond of animals, but foxes and owls are very special to me. Foxes were my first favorite animal in ANYTHING, maybe it started after Disney’s Robin Hood, I don’t know? x) I would like something that defines me, small, discreet but also colorful and joyous, and close to nature. I have a few in mind, maybe flowers, trees, ravens, birds (owls) or something about snow. 

12. Ideas of a perfect date. I honestly hate dating. I’ve done it a few times, and it has never been good, comfortable and perfect. It’s always nervous, there’s always tension on how to act, what to do once the date is over, and to actually like the person. As it happens, I’m extremely picky and has never gone beyond a first date. I hate being romantic, it makes me uncomfortable. So I don’t know. A date that makes you question whether or not it actually is a date, because it feels just like chilling and hanging out comfortably with a friend where there’s no pressure. :)  

16. Favorite movie?  It will always, and has thus always been, my first favorite movie, and still is, The Pianist by Roman Polinski starring Adrien Brody. The acting was beautiful, the story is tragic and the music is stunning. I like tragic novels, with glimpses of beauty to it anyway. I think tragedy and sorrow makes a movie more defined, deeper, layered and complex, reflecting reality very truthfully. 

17. A fact about my life.  My closest friends don’t know the first thing about my past, my childhood or my family. I’ve realized they don’t actually care, and if someone does care, they feel like hearing someone else’s story is a burden for them to carry, and thus it becomes too heavy for them to hear about it. So they don’t really know me. Which is a bit empty to be honest, it feels a bit lonely when the people you love knows nothing about you. But I guess it’s like this for most people, no one will ever know everything about you, it might feel lonely, but it’s okay. 

18. Phobia. I really do have a phobia for paranormal activity. People use the term “phobia” too lightly sometimes, but I can’t explain my fear for this. I can’t even speak loudly to people about it, I get a lump in my throat, tears begin to fill my eyes just discussing this fear, I go stale, it’s so scary and I can’t handle it. But I feel safe anyway, because I’m somehow protected by either angels or some god, because I have prayed to never see anything again. I did see a man once, but I HOPE it was just my imagination, though I have never seen it since, and I don’t feel threatened in any way because I am protected by someone, dunno who.

20. Torture question from Ali: Eredin, Cullen or Avallac’h? THIS IS LIKE CHOOSING BETWEEN YOUR FAVORITE CHILD. To tell the truth, I love them equally, but who I prefer ONLY depends on the specific mood or phase I’m in, sometimes I’m in a Avallac’h-phase and then the choice would definitely be him, sometimes Eredin etc. Right now, I’m in my Cullen phase, so I feel like the answer to this would be kinda impartial... But I think I’m going to go with Avallac’h. He’s kinda my first love in terms of obsession of fictional characters. x) He was the first one from the Witcher I immediately became intrigued by and crushed hard on. I’m not currently in any Avallac’h-phase, but he always comes back to me, but NO ONE gives me as much inspiration for stories and fanfictions like Eredin does though. Cully wully I think is a sweet, kind and a good-hearted person with a really nice face I’d like to marry. (he also has a dark past which makes him more complex than you think) 

Thank you girls!! <333 and goodnight 💤

#and adopt his dick #vic out #ask #tag #lithialetheia #queenofkadaara #lunedin #me #<3333 #thank you #sorry for long post

[swan1974-blog]

Swan and Sam

Sam says,So, what is on your mind now, Daddy? Swan says,I'm glad you asked. I was thinking about talking about it to you, anyhow. Though I doubt Film Swan could be changed, I might try to get him to be a little less narcissistic, a little less egotistical, though how much like at least a little bit. Sam says,Sounds like a good idea. Interesting! Do you know what I think? I think Film Swan would argue that plenty of people like him, though-he is, after all, the successful, mysterious head of a highly lucrative record company with many popular bands under his thumb, always in the public eye, and lusted after by many women, so he could easily poke quite a few holes in that argument. Some people are looking through rose-tinted glasses, unable to see just how bad and manipulative he is. Again, he's famous, he's wealthy and seems pretty respected in the music business, women fawn over him, everyone wants a word from him, he could easily argue that he is well-liked despite the mantipuative evil monster he is. You're hundred percent better than him. Swan says,So he could be a good father like me? Sam says,Wait, what?! Oh my GOD! I can't even BEGIN to imagine film Swan as a father. he'd probably be too egotistical to have a kid, I don't think he considered kids, but if he did, yeah, he'd probably be on a satanic level when it came to protecting his kid-who he'd probably groom into a mini swan. I can sure see that. Swan says,You know, I'm pretty protective of you, don't you think? Hmmm... He may not be the most terrible father ever, but he'd probably still manage to groom her into another mini-Swan, might baby and spoil her, give her everything she ever wanted. Evil runs in the family, y'know. He'd probably make her immortal like himself, on top of that. Can you see that? Sam says,I sure can. How would he protect his daughter's virginity from guys and how would he dealing with guys who date his daughter? He'd probably be very overprotective. Swan says,I agree. He'd probably be very picky about who his daughter would bring home, but pretend to be very calm and accepting. But, he'd be secretly waiting like a hawk for a single sliver of a slip-up. Should they screw up, he'd ruin their lives-have his bodyguards beat the daylights outta him, probably frame him for crimes like he did Winslow, something drastic. Nice isn't his game. Sam says,Sure isn't, is it? Swan says,I'm not even close to that overprotective of you. I think he'd consider me too much of a goody-two-shoes,not a selfish demon like him, too concerned with the people around me,especially you. I am not focused on the money and the fame. I'm more concerned with spreading kindness and sympathy to others. Sam says,You have acted like him once, after I died. What would he think about you creating the shows. They're very emotionally-driven. Swan says,He hates emotions. Oh, he'd gag. He's not me, that's for sure. I can't imagine Film Swan wanting to have anything to do with children, and be so bewildered as to why i would create/produce children's entertainment. I'm not heartless like him. Considering Film Swan sold his soul to the Devil himself, which is terrible. My connections to Christianity probably wouldn't sit well with him, Because he doesn't care about good, only evil. It probably add to his opinion that I'm a goody-two-shoes. Well, to be frank, I can be evil, too. Again, I doubt he'd be too fazed by me being too evil. He can be a whole lot worse than I am than I can ever even imagine. Film Swan strikes me as the type that's desensitized to violence, and would hardly bat an eye at it. He is like a serial killer. Sam says,I have an idea. Since Film Swan's biggest sin is Vanity/Pride (being the chief reason he sold his soul in the first place), to make him less full of himself, it'd have to be something to really insult his appearance, Such as perhaps tell him that he's still been touched by time and age despite the deal? What do you think? Swan smiled at this idea and says,Oh, yeah, I like that idea. It would really work. I could use lots of time motifs, a maze of mirrors that reflect Film Swan's true rotting, aging appearance, ways to make his paranoid about his looks. He wouldn't think he looks good. The intense Ways are the things I described to make him appear old, and he is really very old. Also I will be the older ugly version of film swan in a mirrored reflection symbolizing rot and decay of mortal appearances. Sam says,That is genius. Oh, that'd defidently freak him out. Wouldn't that freak you out. Swan says,Oh, yes. Sam says,Me too. Swan says,Can I ask you something? Sam says,Um, yeah, sure. Swan says,I don't think I taught you correctly about sexuality. Sam says,Oh, Daddy, you made mistakes, but I now understand more than you will ever realize because of you. You don't fit the stereotype of someone who steered his daughter away from premature sexual activity, but by helping me simultaneously accept my sexuality by being understanding and caring and be selective about who I shared it with, I think you did. That’s the kind of father who deserves applause. Don't you think? Swan smiled a huge grin and says about Sam's compliment,Thanks, Sam, you're the sunshine in my dark cave of a life. You somehow always find something positive to say about everything. Now speaking more of purity, Pure Demisexual defines itself, that sexual pure attraction can only happen if a deep emotional pure bond exists. The difference between "normal" sexuality lies in the fact, that people who are not demisexual can feel a sexual attractions towards somebody before actually knowing them. For pure Christian demisexuals this is impossible. Therefor Christian demisexuality is actually closer related to asexuality than it is to "normal" sexuality where you can feel a sexual attraction to people regardless of knowing them. But ONLY to people you have a deep emotional bond with. While most people get attracted to random people on the street or to "hot" actors in movies, demisexuals don't develop any attraction. A demisexual is a pure Christian person who does not experience sexual attraction unless they form a strong emotional connection with someone. And you know what? I'm supposed to be sexually pure which demisexual comes from. Demisexuals don't do premarital sex. They don't feel sexually attracted to people they don't know. Demisexuality in this sense Christian. You see, Purity and demisexual are alike Like staying a virgin until marriage. It is important to understand. So what do you think? Tell me honestly. Sam says,Sounds good to me. Swan says,Can I ask you something? Does this mean if dove and her sisters lose their virginities, I'm not saying they will, this may come off as odd, but they will regenerate their vaginas and be virgins again? Sam says,That is a bit strange to think about. You'd think it'd be too late to turn back, but Dove and her sisters have always been virgins, and they cannot lose their virginity as long as they remain virgins. Swan says,I thought so.

#swan #phantom of the paradise #paul williams