#Alisha rules the world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

exhibitionisms · 5 months ago

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i'm really aching for some discord plots, so i'm making a shortlist of requests with the muse bolded that i would prefer to play; give this a like if you're interested in any of the below, and i'll dm you! if you'd prefer, you can also just shoot me the name or number for the plot, that's cool too. thanks y'all!

1. unlikely lovers. muse a (lyrica okano fc, can be flexible) and muse b are about as two different as people can be. muse a is a rowdy rule breaker, a loud-mouthed punk who only looks after themself because that's all they've ever known. muse b is in a different stage of life, and though he didn't particularly feel like anything was missing, that all changed when he saw a stranger being hassled on the street one night. we can decide together where this goes but i'm seeing an age-gap, nothing unreasonable there but enough that it's felt and could be a point of contention. is it possible that two people who were so different could get along, and maybe even help each other grow? give me drama, and angst, and smut, and unexpected fluff that leaves them both unsure of who they ever are anymore! (vibes xxx . xxx) 2. the 'it' couple. muse a (maluma fc, can be flexible) and muse b are both celebrities in their own right, ideally both musicians. muse a has been in the game for a long while, and is known as the playboy of his genre. he revels in it, until his scandalous behavior sparks calls for 'cancellation'. his publicist hatches a plan to pair him up with a rising star, maybe a pop princess or internet sensation - someone who the public believes can do no wrong. being associated with him would add fuel to her fire and help her career, while being with her would help his image. we can decide how they both feel about this and where we go from there, but i just need the forced proximity, the pr stunts, the inevitable messiness and jealousy!!! gimme gimme gimme 3. worlds collide. muse a (alisha boe fc, can be flexible) is heir to a criminal dynasty, who has been trained her entire life to follow the family business. give me someone who makes her think twice. this could be someone from a rival gang, someone she grew up with, or a random civilian she meets by chance who shows her that there's more to life than crime, give me secrets, dramatic reveals, plots and manipulation. but also love, passion, things that bitches write books about! (vibes xxx . xxx) 4. you again? muse a (tanaya beatty fc) is a woman who has dedicated her life to public service - hospitals, soup kitchens, criminal reform, you name it. muse b is a criminal who has been plaguing their city for years, who couldn't care less who the hurts as long as he gets what he wants. she saw the good in him. he was attracted by her strength and her resolve. the two fell in love against all odds, but the story didn't end there; a tragic event occurs (we can plot what this was together) and led to one of them leaving the other. now it's been over a decade, and look who's back in town ... but is that a ring on muse a's finger? i want angst, denial, love, drama! gimme it all! (vibes xxx . xxx . xxx)

5. it's different with you. muse a (cillian murphy fc, can be flexible) is the typical asocial dark cloud type of guy, the one who goes to parties out of obligation but stands there stiff as a board the entire time. the kind who is more at home working at his desk than having dinner at a table. muse b is the type of person who lives life to the fullest, who is always looking for the next adventure. give me a slow burn, and unexpected love that takes them both by storm. perhaps they work together, or met through some kind of hobby or second party. neither of them expected for this to happen, and neither of them were looking for anything like this; all that they know is that they've never met anyone else like the other before, and they don't want that feeling to go away! (vibes xxx . xxx) 6. rat boy learns to love. muse a (devon bostick fc) is a typical burnout stoner musician, only he happened to luck into some success. life is good, bro is happy. give him a challenge! give him someone who can make him think twice and grow up a little bit. give me the angst of maybe both of them having their flaws and issues, the childish adventures blowing his money and wild sex you only attempt when you know no one can touch you. we can talk details, but you know the vibes! (vibes xxx . xxx . xxx) .

#discord 1x1 #indie rp #discord rp #1x1 rp #plot bunny #i'll be y'alls best friend if u give me any of these

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whisperstemptations · 8 months ago

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formerly, kiissme. penned by, Y V E. 30s. she/her. SMUT CENTRIC but not exclusively. low activity. semi-selective. most muses are 30+. no minors engage and will be blocked on sight. no personals, pls. discord on request. under construction.

wanna interact? opens ! — memes ! — muse list ! — wanted plots ! — wanted opposites !

be sure to read the rules. ( when I write them )

Where in the world is (👉ﾟヮﾟ)👉 y v e ?

@whisperstemptations ( fandomless multimuse - you are here! ) @ofashesandthorns ( got / historical / bg3 - margaery tyrell ) @qveenofnoise ( stranger things / fandom based - jane bardot ) @quinntessentialmuses ( joe quinn muses, wip. ) @corrodedmaster ( stranger things based - eddie munson, wip. )

mobile muse list under the cut !

💋 — FAYE BROOKES, OG, 36, bisexual, journalist, karen gillan fc. 💋 — FAYE BROOKES, CEO, 46, bisexual, publisher, lotte verbeek fc. 💋 — FAYE BROOKES, 30s, bisexual, historical lady, eleanor tomlinson fc. 💋 — FAYE BROOKES, 40s, bisexual, historical countess, lotte verbeek fc. 💋 — SHEILA BROOKES, 59, hetero, english teacher, michelle fairley fc. ( non-romantic ships ) 💋 — PATRICK BROOKES, 64, hetero, construction foreman, gary lewis fc. ( non-romantic ships ) 💋 — JERRY BROOKES, 60, hetero, pub owner, john hannah fc.

💋 — ALYSSA MITCHELL, 30s, bisexual, criminal lawyer, amy manson fc. 💋 — KEITH MITCHELL, 30s, hetero, detective, sam heughan fc.

💋 — LYDIA COLLINS, 40s, bisexual, bookshop owner / author, laura fraser fc.

💋 — CHARLIE CLARK, 30s, hetero, music journalist, matt smith fc. 💋 — NATHAN COLE, 30s, hetero, craftsman, joseph quinn fc.

💋 — ELLIE MATTHEWS, 30s, bisexual, graphic designer, felicity jones fc. 💋 — LIAM JACKSON, 40s, hetero, CEO of family oil, josh henderson fc. 💋 — JADE HART, 30s, bisexual, assistant to FAYE BROOKES, kat dennings fc.

💋 — FELICITY HARRINGTON, 40s, bisexual, actress, natalie dormer fc. 💋 — ALISHA KNIGHT, 40s, bisexual, heart surgeon, freema agyeman fc. 💋 — JEONG-EUN KWON, 40s, hetero, CEO of father's company, hyun bin fc. 💋 — BRYAN ALEXANDER, 40s, hetero, college professor, chris evans fc. 💋 — SANTIAGO BARRERA, 40s, hetero, artist and professor, diego luna fc. 💋 — RICHARD LIVINGSTON, 40s, hetero, duke / royal, henry cavill fc. 💋 — KURT BAKER, 40s, hetero, private investigator, dan stevens fc. 💋 — CHERYL ABBOTT, 20s, bisexual, young actress, sydney sweeney fc. 💋 — SCOTT WEST, 40s, hetero, talent turned talent manager, idris elba fc. 💋 — ABIGAIL CHAMBERLAIN, 20s, bisexual, preacher's daughter, lili reinhart fc.

💋 — CARVER ASHFORD, 50s, hetero, architect, timothy olyphant fc. 💋 — JASON ASHFORD, 30s, hetero, chef, joe keery fc.

💋 — ALICE ASHE, 40s, bisexual, brothel madame, natalie portman fc. 💋 — VIOLET DARLING, 30s, bisexual, escort, lily james fc.

💋 — TRIXIE HOLMES, 40s, bisexual, corporate lawyer, january jones fc. 💋 — ROXY WRIGHT, 20s, bisexual, OF content creator, josephine langford fc.

💋 — JOHNNY BARRETT, 50s, hetero, rock legend, jeffrey dean morgan fc. 💋 — JOY BARDOT, 30s, bisexual, law secretary, brianna howey fc. 💋 — JANE BARDOT, 20s, bisexual, aspiring singer, danielle campbell fc.

💋 — LUISA GUERRA, 30s, bisexual, influencer / business owner, melissa barrera fc. 💋 — DANIELA GUERRA, 20s, bisexual, investor, camila mendes fc.

💋 — MARK SPENCER, 40s, heterosexual, college dean / headmaster, tim downie fc.

#💋 — pinned !!!!

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mer-acle · 12 days ago

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I'm bored so heres two random alisha facts I probably should've told you about hehe

Alisha is 5'1. Like. she is barely 155 centimeters. So short hehehe (annabeth was taller than her by the sge of 13. It is really a cruel world)(alisha really has the old sibling curse am I right)

alisha sucks at drawing. Terrible at it. Drives too reckless and fast. Sharp turns etc. Traumatized percy with it. Hit a tree once too. (Read: thalia) honestly her driving skills, or lack of it, is a running joke and I adore it

Awww Alisha is a short queen, love that for her (I say this as the older sibling lol)

Hehe I love that. Omg Thalia haha that's hilarious.

(I am also in favor of that bc I too am a terrible driver lol I always say I'll be in my driving element in the zombie apocalypse cos no more rules and less other idiots)

Aw poor Percy haha

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ednaeflowers · 2 months ago

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@crystallizedflowers : ❝ you're always taking care of my hair, edna. can i try braiding yours for once. lailah , alisha , and rose taught me something called french braids and i wanted to try it on you. ❞ he pauses , only realizing after uttering the words does mikleo realize how ridiculous it sounds coming from him.❝ or not i can't force you or anything. ❞ but those beautiful amethyst eyes are looking at edna with all the love and adoration in the world. his words might not always be the easiest but his heart? mikleo's heart had always lived on his fingertips when it came to her.

she doesn't know where to begin, so she starts with staring blankly at him for a moment. this is actually a lot to process: first off, when did he find the time to visit those three? second: why did he learn how to touch-up hair when he's always wearing the exact same ponytail? third: why did those three teach him that anyway? fourth: she thought he was away, exploring another new place surrounded by dingy old ruins? fifth: did he learn how to braid hair just for her—

edna immediately ceases the thought.

reaching up, she touches her hair absently, staring at his ponytail swaying behind him. his hair is much longer and wavier, so of course she gradually developed a habit of playing with it; it just never occurred to her that he would like to touch her hair in return. hers is much shorter in comparison, leaving not much to work with—though, that never meant she was opposed to getting her hair done at all. lailah and the other girls have touched her hair before, but she figured she could be lenient because she got along better with them, especially when they're at a hot spring and she'd need someone to help dry her hair. onii-chan often patted her head and spoiled her with hair ruffles, so he had always been the special exception to the touch rule. nevertheless, edna has never minded her hair being touched as long as she knows who is touching it.

meebo, though... she is at a loss: after all, he has never expressed interest in her hair, of all things, nor has he ever been this openly thoughtful to her either. back then, she got used to hearing not-answers from him whenever he replied or retorted back at her—but now: now, he is actually being clear with what he wants. now, she actually feels a skip in her chest whenever he looks at her like this. now, they are facing each other with different feelings, and it's remarkable how the old familiarity is still there within their relationship, but also changed: no matter how the world evolves, water and earth still exists all the same.

if sorey asked if he could touch her hair, she would've simply allowed it—but it's different with mikleo. very different. he and sorey grew up together, but her first impression of him was vastly different from her impression of sorey. unlike sorey, meebo retorts to everything, and can get surprisingly temperamental, and seems more sensitive, and while he tries to fit into the role, she thinks it's actually sorey who's more reasonable and rational. he was always by sorey's side, so it's strange to see him facing her now with such an earnest, harmless request, his attention solely given to her.

what she finds most ironic is that if he had asked her this question all those years ago, she would've easily let him, thinking that it would mean nothing in the long run; that it was just something akin to once-in-a-blue-moon type of morbid curiosity from his part. it's because she feels this way for him that it's also why edna is now struggling to show him her different sides, the sides of herself that she doesn't want to show anyone, not even to onii-chan. she doesn't want to show the real edna. no one should see her. she's what edna doesn't want to revert back to.

still.

still: she finds herself untying her ribbon, letting her hair fall down. it reaches somewhere near her shoulder blades, last she remembers. she enjoys having her hair up, only taking it down to sleep, but she hardly sleeps anymore, so it feels different already. he probably feels surprised too. after all, it's his first time seeing her hair naturally down. does she look weird?

❛ here. ❜ she hands him the ribbon that she's treasured for so many centuries. it is offered on her open palm: a sign of easy, obvious trust. already seated on a boulder, she turns around and lets her back face him. she has her umbrella placed aside, she has nothing set up to ambush or attack him: she has none of that as she simply sits there, her back open and exposed to him. she hasn't trusted someone like this ever since onii-chan left home. perhaps there was lailah, one of her closest friends, but the trust with her was invoked by their longtime sisterhood. the trust for mikleo stems from something else: something a lot closer to the heart, something that is woven from many days of waiting, something that only exists within the lapse of the waves meeting the shore.

❛ i'm going to hit you if you mess up, tug too hard, or give me tangles, ❜ she warns, but she's certain he knows it's an empty threat. after all, why would she show her back to him then, completely unarmed? he wouldn't hurt her. she is sure of it. not to mention, it has been a while since he's last stopped by. the time together would be nice, even if he's being a dork again. she has always been simple; when it comes down to spending time with someone, it doesn't matter what they do as long as they are together. living alone for so long, edna values that foremost.

( maybe in another universe, it would be easier to just admit that she missed him. )

her eyes soften, staring at the scenery as she waits patiently for him to start. ❛ if it turns out decent, then i'll let you be my hair stylist, meebo. it should be the highest honor you'll ever get, even more than manservant. ❜ seraphim can't appear in mirrors, so she has to depend on him anyway. maybe he can be reliable sometimes. just sometimes. she also has no idea what a french braid looks like, so maybe she'll keep the umbrella on standby, though. she doesn't mind an image change, but she needs to know she won't end up looking like a bird's nest by the end of this. ❛ and if you were taught by three people, then i already have high expectations. no pressure. ❜

#crystallizedflowers #°˖✧❀ ❛ turtlez mail. ┊ asks. ❀✧˖°#°˖✧❀ ❛ peace on the mountains. ┊ main verse. ❀✧˖°#[ me quietly sobbing in the background ]#hello i finally come back to offer you pain 💛

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umitvar · 6 months ago

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{ alisha boe, 28, demi female, she/them } we are so glad to see you safe, CROWN PRINCESS ANETTE OLDENBURG of NORWAY! it’s dangerous out in the world these days, but i hear that you are SHARP and OBSERVANT enough to handle it. just don’t let your DETACHEDNESS bring you down! stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU ARE A HIDDEN BENEFACTOR, SECRETLY PAYING OTHERS TO LEARN SECRETS.

BIOGRAPHY

you are quiet. you are a pair of eyes always watching, taking every little detail in. information is everything to you, for you cannot afford to get caught unprepared a second time.

you take in the threads on the clothes of the ambassador sent to your attention, the state of the paper that's held in their calloused hands. how the sigil is pressed onto the paper, wax having dripped and then dried down.

you watch the maids that come and leave, the cooks, the guards. you do what you must do with calculated ease and decorum, yet in your head, you calculate the next move. when to push your bishop, and when to protect your king.

you wait for your rightful place on the throne. it is coming. you will do what you must to be prepared for everything and more. this is what you were born for, and you believe you deserve it. you deserve to rule, and you will do it well.

anette is the oldest child of the oldenburg family, born and raised as a royal through and through. many call her the perfect example of a princess, and many others, when not within her earshot, liken her to an emotionless statue. there are more colorful terms that have reached her ears, but she carefully listens. not the one to act out at the simplest glimpse of disrespect, she calculates, thinking of a step ahead. from a young age, anette is taught that this is a cutthroat world, and for a while, she is arrogant enough to believe she is prepared for it all.

until — her father disappears. leaving behind that god-awful letter that throws everything off balance. for the first time, anette has trouble schooling her expression. asks everyone to leave, with only the most trusted ones left behind. she reads it, over and over again. then once more. mulls over it in the middle of the night, in the morning, trying to find a secret message, anything to make some sort of sense out of it. she can't. something bitter swims in her stomach, and she tries to push down the worry she feels for her father. thinking he must have planned for all of this. and that he never thought to tell her at all.

it's up to her to sort out this mess, and it's all a very precarious game of tightrope. in the past three years, she has managed to set out an intelligence network of her own. paying those with specific sets of skills, for more knowledge, and for more secrets. her quiet eyes also watch a figure, and anette's reason for her sponsorship lies less with her agenda to rise to the throne, but how she is so intrigued by her person. she keeps this close to her heart, and pretends she has nothing to do with it all.

information keeps flowing in. the news of her father returning reaches her ears — and for the second time, it is quite the shock. her advisors tell her that maybe, she will get the answers she needs. beneath the hurt, there is worry, and relief — and then the reality of all that happened hits. she does not trust her advisors in this very instance. deep down, anette has an inkling this is going to make everything more complicated.

#─ 𝐴𝐵 𝐼𝑀𝑂 𝑃𝐸𝐶𝑇𝑂𝑅𝐸 𓍢 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 / ANETTE.#theopulent.intro

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wits-writing · 2 years ago

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Five Miscellaneous Favs of 2022

Felt like doing quick looks at five pieces of media that caught my eye during 2022.

Not a ranking nor limited to any specific medium, just five things I loved last year that I wanted to talk about with a focus on things I felts were lesser discussed overall in the year.

Because while I could talk about how great Everything Everywhere All at Once, Cyberpunk Edgerunners, or RRR were, I also wouldn’t be bringing that much new to the table by discussing them.

Let’s start with something that hit towards the end of the year:

Matilda the Musical:

What a delight this turned out to be!

The engrossing stylized visuals of this film adaptation of the musical stage adaptation of Roald Dahl’s original children’s book grabbed me from the word “go.” A stage director moving on to direct the film adaptation of their own theatrical work, as is the case with Matthew Warchus here, can and has led to mixed results in the past but here those theatrical instincts shine. Each musical number manages an appropriate scope to get across the emotional impact of the scene and make sure the viewer can appreciate the stellar moments of choreography from the ensemble of child performers. A visual language that lives up to the nature of Tim Minchin’s music and lyrics for the story.

Major highlight of the cast is Emma Thompson as the despicable Miss Trunchbull, performed and presented in a way that makes her the perfect villain for a movie that’s essentially “Baby’s First Antifa Uprising: The Musical.” An authoritarian running her school as a surveillance state who will change her own supposedly sacred rules on a dime in order to never appear as if her power is starting to slip.

Representing the kinder adults of the world in this movie is Lashanna Lynch’s Miss Honey. Any take on Matilda as a story will live and die on how much you buy into the found family aspect of the relationship between the title character and Miss Honey. This film playing into that handily as Alisha Weir’s Matilda finds the first adult to see what’s remarkable about her love of learning in her teacher and Miss Honey finds a reminder of what it means to stand up for yourself and others in an unfair world in her new student. A mutual sense of inspiration beautifully summed up in the new-for-the-movie finale song “Still Holding My Hand.”

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Mad God:

Okay, time for a bit of a mood shift…

According to my Tumblr Rewind for 2022, my personal blog’s most popular post of the year was a screencap from a Slash Film interview with Mad God director Phil “You had one job!” Tippett.

This one:

And in that post I described it as a “beautifully blunt” summation of why Mad God paints such a bleak picture of its world and those inhabiting it. Later in that same interview he specified by relating it to how when there’s a tragedy, American news media shoves it in people’s faces on repeat. A process that normalizes the pain and horror of these events and limits people’s ability to imagine a world without any of that. A depressing downward spiral where terrors can never be escaped, only recreated ad nauseum until the end of time (and even beyond that.)

Anyway, I found Mad God to be a ton of fun and it was easily my favorite animated movie of the year!

Probably feels bizarre to go from the previous description of the movie’s world to calling it “fun.” But that’s the balance Tippett managed to strike after the multi-decade process of getting it made. A sickening, compelling contradiction to entice a niche stripe of viewer, because this was certainly anything but a movie made with broad appeal as a concern.

A playfulness comes through in moments like the mindless homunculi that keep this dystopian society running trudging along until a piece of the machinery they work around splats them against a wall, Wile-E-Coyote style. Monster designs that genuinely disturbed me exist alongside ones that are oddly charming in their unconventional designs and mannerisms. The most purely playful elements of the movie take the form of easter eggs to VFX filmmaking history that are featured among the apocalyptic landscapes of some shots, like a statue of Robbie the Robot that features in one shot.

Some stories get by more on a vibe than a carefully constructed narrative and Mad God’s vibes are unlike anything else you’re likely to see.

Bee and Puppycat: Lazy in Space:

Speaking of vibes-based entertainment but on the opposite end of the spectrum.

Bee and Puppycat finally returned this year with a new season on Netflix with an abundance of lo-fi chill at its disposal!

The season, subtitled “Lazy in Space”, has three episodes retelling the story of the original Cartoon Hangover season in the new animation style followed by 13 episodes of original material.

In a universe filled with gorgeous pastel space-fantasy scapes, what keeps the series compelling is everyone in the main cast trying to live the best life they can. One bizarre circumstance after another happening in the periphery of their personal journeys. Exemplified by the show’s approach to doling out information with regards to worldbuilding, everything delivered in pieces tangential to what the focus of a given episode is actually about. This goes doubly for the backstories of the titular characters. Even when we’re given an episode to explicitly flesh out Puppycat’s mysterious past, it turns out to be a nonlinear narrative more concerned with the roots of his attitude than in being a lore-dump. Meanwhile, everytime we get new information about Bee there’s always another layer or three yet to be dug into beneath her unassuming appearance and general ADHD tendencies.

Delivering all that in a balance between high concept scenarios and low-key, chill presentation will keep me coming back to this show for any and all future seasons.

Goodbye, Eri:

2022 could reasonably be argued to be The Year of Tatsuki Fujimoto

Aside from Chainsaw Man Part 2’s manga beginning and season 1 of the anime hitting it big, the mangaka released two one-shots through Shonen Jump in the past year; one was Just Listen to the Song which was written by Fujimoto with art by Oto Toda and the other was Goodbye, Eri, wholly done by Fujimoto.

And it was the best comic I read the entire year.

The story of high schooler Yuta taking the gift of his smartphone as the first step on his path to becoming a filmmaker. His first project being a documentary about the last days of his mother’s life, followed by a narrative covering his artistic evolution as he’s called on to do the same for his classmate Eri.

But a plot summary doesn’t get across why this was the best piece of sequential art I read all year. Fujimoto’s talent at using manga as a form to deliver stories elevates Goodbye, Eri as the narrative framing at hand reflects the premise itself. Every single panel is in the aspect ratio and point of view from Yuta’s camera with Fujimoto’s art emulating novice camera work along the way. One of my favorite recurring details is certain panels clearly meant to represent Yuta having shaky hands as he’s filming.

Like any comic, art and writing feedback into each other to maintain this narrative conceit, as characters will stop on occasion to ask if they should redo a lineread or we’ll see bits that were filmed but not included in previous sequences. It’s playing around with the diegesis of the story to craft Goodbye, Eri’s main theme about how we choose to remember our lives. What bits do we hang onto and what sort of impression do we want to leave other people with after we’re gone.

A Paranormal Evening with the Moonflower Society:

You know the feeling when you find the right band/album at the right time in your life?

That was my experience with Tobias Sammett’s Avantasia two years ago as songs from their album Moonglow were in my youtube recommendation. Even after listening to a decent chunk of the band’s discography, Moonglow remained my favorite. Tackling themes of alienation and creating one’s self while running a full gauntlet of the many forms of Metal. I find a lot to love in the rest of the Avantasia catalog, but none of the albums as complete works topped what this one had to offer for me.

Set all that up for the sake of saying…

A Paranormal Evening with the Moonflower Society exceeded Moonglow and became my favorite album of the year (and possibly my favorite piece of media from 2022, period.)

This even being a possibility was something that gradually built up in my mind as the singles began to roll out. The first release, “The Wicked Rule the Night (feat. Ralf Scheepers)”, was a good hard metal track but it wasn’t until the second single, “Moonflower Society (feat. Bob Cately)”, hit with its amazing animated music video, directed by Jess Cope, that I knew I was in for something special.

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The narrative set out by the music video, along with the lyrical content of the song itself, put into focus what Paranormal Evening was about. Especially in how it interacted with its predecessor in Moonglow. If that album was about alienation then this one was going to be about choosing where you want to belong. Whether it’s a conventional path or one that seems off-putting from the outside but could ultimately offer wonders in a future once thought unimagineable. A theme set even more into focus with the third single from the moment I saw its title, “Misplaced Among the Angels.”

A central conceit that reflects Avantasia’s virtue as a group, Sammett assembling performers from across all walks of rock/metal to create something beautiful with each album. New and returning guest performers for the group enhancing what Paranormal Evening has to offer.

I have lost count of how many times I’ve listened to A Paranormal Evening with the Moonflower Society. Enjoying it more with each playback. Each track lifts up the others and puts me in a state where the album closer “Arabesque” hits as hard as any song I’ve ever listened to has!

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If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

#Wit's Writing #movie review #tv review #comic book review #misc writing #matilda the musical #mad god #phil tippett #goodbye eri #tatsuki fujimoto #bee & puppycat #bee and puppycat #avantasia #a paranormal evening with the moonflower society #tobias sammet

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epfcmoberlyfieldhouse · 8 months ago

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EPFC NORTH MARCH 2024 EVENTS

Events happening at Moberly Fieldhouse is located at Moberly Park, 7646 Prince Albert St, Vancouver, BC V5X 3Z4 unless otherwise indicated.

Workshop with EPFC International Online via Zoom | OSTRANENIE MAKING STRANGE: CREATIVE WRITING FOR FILM (SESSION 2) Friday, March 1: 2 - 4 PM PACIFIC | In this writing workshop for filmmakers and writers we will explore the possibilities offered by the use of written and spoken texts in films and art works following specific prompts and creative stimuli. Whether you’re a filmmaker looking to find personal ways to express that idea you have in mind, or someone who’s trying to write something new, this workshop is for you! Workshop Facilitator: Andrea Márquez, Zooming in from London! Free workshop! Space is limited! Sign up by sending an email with CINEMATIC WRITING in the subject line to: [email protected]

BEATS + TREATS Sunday, March 3: 1 - 4 PM An afternoon of live music TREATS and creating BEATS!!! There will be a record player to spin your favourite vinyl; guitars, bass and drums to rock some tunes; and our NEW in-house DAW Launchpad to share your beats with the world!!!FREE! FUN!! Some lights Snacks (aka Treats) provided. No experience needed!! Let’s make beautiful music together! Free event!

KITE CLUB | Sunday, March 10: 10 AM – Noon | Join us for the March edition of Kite Club, a new monthly offering from EPFC North! Bring a kite, make a kite, draw a kite, fly a kite in solidarity with the children of Gaza who, in 2011 “set a remarkable world record, flying 12,350 kites simultaneously at Al-Waha beach, symbolising their resilience.” More info at Kites in Solidarity on Instagram. Materials provided. Free event! All welcome!

WINTER MEDICINE CABINET Sunday, March 10: 1 – 4 PM Stewarded by Alisha Lettman, the Moberly Community Garden is a community resource where participants can learn special skills and knowledge, and care for a shared source of food, medicine and pollinators for their community. Workshops led by Alisha will pair learning special medicines and gardening skills with community giveback, allowing members to care for and grow the shared land and its gifts. Free event! All welcome! Moberly Community Garden is located at Moberly Park, 7646 Prince Albert St, Vancouver, BC V5X 3Z4.

ART CLUB Tuesday, March 12: 11 AM – 1 PM PACIFIC Our 39th Zoom instalment of our international collaboration with Art Club Frome in Somerset, UK! Zoom on in for relaxed art-making on a secret theme to be announced at the start of the session. The only rule is MAKE. Free online event! Everyone welcome! More info https://www.facebook.com/ArtClubFrome/

SoVa A – Z: A 16MM COMMUNITY FILM PROJECT BEGINS! | Saturday, March 16: 1 - 4 PM Exciting news!!! We’re making a collaborative community documentary on 16mm film celebrating our South Vancouver neighbourhood and YOU are invited to be part of it! Learn more at this fun workshop and planning session where we’ll talk about the project, share our favourite SoVa people/places/orgs/events, and even learn how to use a beautiful vintage Bolex camera. Free! Fun for the whole family! Everyone welcome… No filmmaking experience necessary. Refreshments will be served. Support generously provided by the City of Vancouver Park Board Neighbourhood Matching Fund and the Vancouver Latin American Film Festival.

CELLULOID WEEKEND: AN INTRODUCTION TO 16MM SPECIAL EFFECTS Saturday, March 23: 1 – 4 PM Double exposures! Split screens! Fades and fantastic images! In this playful, collaborative workshop, we’ll explore some old-school in-camera 16mm special effects sure to bring some cinematic wonder and analog awesomeness to your afternoon. FREE WORKSHOP! EVERYONE WELCOME! Please rsvp so we know who to expect: [email protected]

CELLULOID WEEKEND: PROCESS LAB Sunday, March 24: 1 – 4 PM | Drop by Moberly Fieldhouse for some relaxed hand-processing experimentation… Got stuff to develop? BYOF! Free event! Everyone welcome! Please rsvp so we know who to expect: [email protected]

Workshop with EPFC International Online via Zoom | HAIKU YOU Wednesday, March 27: 4 - 5 PM PACIFIC “A Japanese verse form most often composed, in English versions, of three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. A haiku often features an image, or a pair of images, meant to depict the essence of a specific moment in time.”��Poetry Foundation Now in its fourth fabulous year, this workshop for poets and filmmakers, taps into the natural wonders of the season as our inspiration to write and share haikus and then turn them into experimental short films. Free event! To sign up and receive the Zoom link send an email with HAIKU in the subject line to [email protected]

Screening with EPFC North at Vancouver Tool Library | LAST FRIDAY CINEMA | Friday, March 29: 1 – 4 PM | EPFC North is delighted to partner again with the Vancouver Tool Library (VTL) to bring to you the 2nd edition of LAST FRIDAY CINEMA!!! Have you ever watched films in a tool library?? NO? Well now you can!!! And join friends, eat delicious food and chat about life, love and the cinematic revolution. For the March edition we have a guest curator who will be announced shortly! The screening is FREE and OPEN to EVERYONE, however, please RSVP to the VTL Library at [email protected]. The Vancouver Tool Library is located at 3448 Commercial St, Vancouver, BC V5N 4E9

EGG REGGAE Saturday, March 30: 1 – 4 PM | Join us at Moberly Fieldhouse for an afternoon of Easter Egg decorating and reggae music! Free event! All welcome! Materials and Music provided.

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hazelestelle · 9 months ago

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OC Character Personality Quiz

rules: take this quiz and share 5 (or more! or less! the world is your oyster!) results from the top 50 that you feel really fit your oc(s). if you don’t recognize very many from the top 50, feel free to expand into the top 100.

@alyssalenko tagged me, thank you dear! ♥

Alisha Shepard

Mystique (X-Men) Selina Kyle (Gotham) Faye Valentine (Cowboy Bebop) Ramona Vega (Hustlers) Wolfgang Bogdanow (Sense8)

Nikolai Ryder

Arthur (Inception) Oliver Hampton (How To Get Away With Murder) Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars) Carlisle Cullen (Twilight) Sailor Mercury (Sailor Moon)

Tagging whoever has OCs and wants to do this ♥

#isa talks #alisha shepard #nikolai ryder #mass effect

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fiofo · 1 year ago

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I was tagged by @corrodedbisexual 😘 - share 10 favorite songs with names in the title

10 mutuals from recent notifications: @raiiiiiiiiiiiin @suvi-n @pelirroja-peligrosa @groguandin @theotherside-oftherain @lpanne @thekrakensdaughter @aworldwithoutbatman @fintenciate @treatsandtrickster

#tagging game #fun little distraction from work!#Spotify

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icedfae · 2 years ago

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(—) ★ spotted!! YASMIN LEVY on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the 23 year old looks like ALISHA BOE, but i don’t really see it. while the REALITY TV STAR is known for being SCRAPPY my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be SELF-DESTRUCTIVE i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song HALLUCINGENICS by MATT MAESON

trigger warnings ahead: abduction tw, fake death tw, kidnapping tw, captivity tw, drug abuse tw

what with my bloodshot eyes and my shaky hands

basics

Name: Yasmin Levy Age: Twenty-Three DOB: November 14th Gender: Cisfemale Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Reality TV Star, featured on her family’s show and the first season of THTH Hometown: New York, New York

'cause i carried on like the wayward son

biography

Yasmin Levy was the youngest of the four Levy children and it showed through her young life. She was often the devil on her siblings shoulders,, knowing that she could get away with just about anything when it came to their father, Rhys. Her partner in crime often her sister, Gaia, who was barely a year older than her. Yasmin always loved to get herself into trouble and then pull out the doe eyes to get out of it.

This continued through her teen years and early adult life. She had a way of finding the most chaos that she could within life. She was often photographed out in clubs, strung out and hanging off the arms of anyone deemed worthy enough by her.

Her claim to fame outside of the Levy name was appearing on the first season of Too Hot to Handle where she was one that was flippant with the rules but ended up making a genuine connection by the end of it all.

After the first season of the show came out, Yasmin took to becoming famous on Instagram as a model and continued her partying ways, not thinking she needed to anything else. Why would she find an actual career when she could make one off of being attractive and living life to the fullest.

Her attitude with life was one of the first times that Rhys showed his true colors to her, constantly picking fights with the youngest Levy captured on camera and edited to make the girl look out of control.

One of these fights became the catalyst for her disappearance, Yasmin sparking an argument with her sister and ended with an explosion of anger and screaming, Yasmin escaping into the night and never to be seen again.

What was not caught on camera was Rhys Levy himself grabbing her walking down the street, the drugs in her system having left her completely incapacitated. That was the last time that Yasmin had seen the outside world for eight agonizing months.

Rhys had taken her to an estate purchased in a fake name in upstate New York, somewhere boarded up and with a hidden room in the furnished basement. It was there that she spent all of her time, unknowing to her that the rest of the world was mourning her light in their life.

It wasn’t until a few days ago that Yasmin was able to escape. Some teenagers had broken into the home, assuming it was abandoned and found the secret room in the basement. They recognized who had been there the entire time and that she was in fact alive, unlike what the world thought. Her ‘caretaker’ that had been hired fresh out of prison had been arrested for the charge of kidnapping, Rhys so far deemed innocent as Yasmin hasn’t been able to open up about her time in the basement yet.

and now through and through i have come undone

things to note

Yasmin has spent the last eight months being held captive by their father, him wanting the drama and clout her disappearance would continue to bring.

Unknown to the world, Rhys was planning on getting rid of Yasmin as her escaping and returning to the world seemed like it would never work out the way he had planned ( which originally was to have her miraculously come back from the dead ).

The moment that Yasmin was taken to the police station she had pleaded to call her sister and not her parents, even if she couldn’t remember why that was so frightening to her.

She was whisked to Gaia’s in LA, with the police taking all her statements and her court ordered therapy session being transferred to an office in LA.

While she works through what happened to her, Yasmin is trying to find coping mechanisms to make it easier.

#hillzhqsintro #abduction tw #kidnapping tw #drug use tw #death mention tw #captivity tw #fake death tw

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lorirwritesfanfic · 2 years ago

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Hello Lori!! Which of your OCs is a Soldier, Poet, King? Why?

Have a nice day!!

Hi, dear! Sorry, it took me so long to answer this. Tbh, I had no idea how to answer it, so I found a uquiz test, answered it as Alisha, Daphne and Veronica and here are the results:

Alisha: The Poet

"There will come a poet/ Whose weapon is His word / He will slay you with His tongue" Loneliness. Strength. Joy. You are powerful, but struggle believing it. You think you're not enough. Here's the truth : you are. You sing songs and hope they carry faith, because you have run out if it, and yet you still throw your heart out to the world and hope it makes it through. You convince yourself that pain is art because at least then, you will always have something to create. You are tired of stumbling through life. You dream of a ground you can stand on. One day, you will dance. Your love is where you feel - without fear.

Veronica: The Soldier

"There will come a soldier / Who carries a mighty sword / He will tear your city down" Righteousness. Strength. Violence. You see a door and break through it. You wonder, sometimes, if anger is the only thing you can feel. Remember : love is passion too. You made your own rules and will follow them to death. You try and forget that there is only one rule, and that it is "FIGHT". You are tired of fighting. You try to forget that, too, and keep going. You dream of quiet. Your love is where you heal. God knows you deserve to. (Really. You deserve to.)

Daphne: The King

"There will come a ruler / Whose brow is laid in thorn / Smeared with oil like David's boy" Duty. Strength. Resignation. You were told to do things and you did them. The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture? You don't know. You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren't, but, sometimes, it's hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs. Your love is where you breathe. Come on, breathe. In. Out. It starts now.

I had a feeling the results for each of them would be similar to what I got. I think Veronica could be a mix of poet and soldier, but her life and personality fits the soldier better. I haven't written her as much as I wanted to, but she certainly has this anger inside her. It seems dormant at times, but it is there. When anger comes to surface again, she will fight, even though she is tired. Because she knows peace won't come so easily.

Alisha is definitely the poet. She likes to entertain people with her skills, to disguise her pain with smiles, nice food, art. She pretends not to care, but she just wants to belong, to feel accepted. Her journey to acceptance and finding inner strength will be tough, but she won't give up.

Daphne is the king. No surprises here lol. All her actions and choices led to this role, even if she denies it. She wants to be free, to feel alive, but how can she breath while carrying so much weight on her shoulders? Can she follow the path chosen for her or will she abandon the life she knows to write her own story? Is it possible to find balance? (These are questions I often think about while writing her 🤔)

Thank you so much for the ask, Noe!

Have a lovely weekend!

#lori answers #noesapphic #ocs ask #alisha hastings #daphne wang #veronica dantas #i only chose desire and decorum ocs because i have way too many ocs 😅

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dicmondskies · 2 years ago

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☆ & * . ♡ I N T R O D U C T I O N …

[ ◟ KAY. ◝ ] ⸻ have you ever heard shirt by sza , well it is ZOLA ROBINSON to a tee . the twenty seven year old fashion designer has been spotted wandering down portobello road markets just last sunday , do you know them ? would you say she is more blunt or more vital ? anyway , they remind me of fine wine and angel hair pasta ; overnight flights to paris ; crystal chandeliers , maybe you'll catch them around yeah ? ⸻ [ ◟ ALISHA BOE . ◝ ]

trigger warning: drugs, suicide, death, murder .

from the outside looking in, the robinson’s seemed to be your typical upper middle class family residing in nottinghill. clean cut, happy, successful. with mom running the most competitive dance studio in the area, finances were never an issue. the robinson children seemed smart, talented, dedicated…and the parents? to outsiders they seemed almost too perfectly in love, and maybe they weren’t, maybe rumors of their marital problems were the talk of the town when they turned their back, but even the family themselves never imagined the tragedy that were to come. the robinson’s eldest child, zola’s twin brother zaine was found dead in their family home on what seemed to be a normal friday night. the death was ruled a suicide, it struck the town, the neighborhood, everyone was in mourning. zaine was a fairly popular kid, well known to be genuine and liked by everyone, so what was it that drove him to the edge? the robinsons’ still don’t know, and as you can imagine, it’s tore their family apart from the inside out, everyone scrambling to pick the pieces of their lives back up after losing someone so dear to them.

zola would argue she took it the hardest out of her two other siblings. though, she knows her grief isn’t a competition. it was just that zola was extremally close to her twin brother, they had an unbreakable bond, they were thick as thieves. it was true what they say about twins. they can feel when something is off with the other. so why didn’t zola know what was going to happen that day? why didn’t she sense that something wasn’t right with zaine? her brothers death almost consumed her. she was up day and night, investigating his death on her own. the details didn’t make sense, and the path she followed lead her to believe someone covered it up to look like a suicide, everything in zola’s heart tells her it was a murder, though her family thinks it’s just her crazy way of grieving and that she doesn’t want to believe the truth. she soon learned not to speak about it in front of them, and she pretends she’s left the investigating behind her. she feels close to finding out who was behind her brother’s death, rumors whisper the name of his best friend keith, someone she always sensed was jealous of her brother. her close friends are worried that she’s too close to the truth, and sometimes zola feels like someone is watching her from afar.

even with the weight of the world on her shoulders, zola never let it knock her off her grind. soon, her mother started to go off the rails, and her father didn’t stick around to clean up the mess. everyone was living out their own version of depression and it all seemed to fall onto zola to pick up the pieces and glue everyone back together. her father moved out, her younger brothers and her were offered a place with him but they didn’t want to leave their mom behind, she developed an addiction issue after her brothers death, and it was too much for her father to deal with, he didn’t want to abandon the whole family, but he couldn’t watch the woman he once loved destroy herself and her family with no remorse.

zola used her grief and anger and put it all into her fashion career. zola loves to climb the ladder of success, and losing her twin only fueled the fire and passion within her. zola started making her way into the london fashion scene, starting off as an intern at a fashion magazine glam, uk! , zola charmed her way up the ranks and has now become a high end fashion designer and stylist for some of the biggest names in fashion worldwide. she travels a lot for work but likes to take the fall and winter months to come back home and ground herself with normal life. she’s super bubbly and sometimes and airhead. she gives big libra venus and leo moon vibes too, always wearing pink, always wearing something over the top and luxurious. she is the life of the party and loves to be the optimist in every situation. is super outgoing and friendly and loves to indulge in the best things life has to offer.

#nothillhqintro #zolarobinson

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cymorilcinnamonroll · 11 days ago

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Ibis - A Book of Enoch Watcher x Human Romance

In the Land of Nod fruits were plentiful, if bruised, and fragrant rains often poured. We watered our gardens, our trees, through a maze-like irrigation system that Forbearer Adam had taught Grandmason Cain, and Cain passed down to us. I recited my morning song, invoking my patron goddess Asherah:

“Oh, the fabled Cainites— whom Yah’s favored Sethites hate! Our men of renown, bound to the earth and her green yields, worshipping at the altar of strange gods. Mammon— industry; Moloch— empire; the port wine-stain feathers shaped like wings of rawhide upon our scarlet backs! ‘Industrious Cainites, cavort for us— wilt thou part the bloodied rose?’ the kings of foreign lands plead, “Dance the whip and flaming sword! Show us what sin is sweet on your tongue. Kiss away our sorrows and wipe away our tears, sweet Kohonet daughters of Cain!”

I accompanied the morning ritual to Asherah as dawn broke with the clash of my cymbals, naked at her altar enriching her sanctuary of beauty and fertility. My magick rippled throughout Nod, blessing both harvest and land, and I went to my palatial bedroom connected to Asherah’s inner chambers to ready for the morning.

“Sweet Lady, give me patience to deal with my little cousins, Istehar and Naamah,” I sighed, making a Tawu over my heart with thumb and middle fingers interlocked in an X. Lazily, I admired my wing-shaped birthmark in the mirror as I clothed myself in a gray layered dress, stitched with pomegranates interred within black, Egyptian glass beads. My aerial port wine-stains were shaped like an owl’s, spread from my elbows in fine feathery traces up to the nape of my neck. It was the fabled mark us Cainites bore; but to keep off misfortune or to attract it, I was never sure.

“I hate early mornings,” I sighed, “I have a feeling in my bones that the foundations of our world will shake. Perhaps High Priest Elizander is gambling heaven and earth with that errant angel again? I hope papa has not lost more money over craps or scarab races with them, dear Lady!” Papa owned a great temple and ten-thousand-cubit estate on the outskirts of Ken ha Gadol; it was the Kingdom of Nod’s finest palace, save his brother’s matriarchal sanctuary the Kohonet, ruled under the thumb of the wizened Rahab.

“Oh crap, I was distracted! I forgot the last part in my invocation for rain,” I sighed, preparing myself as I sang an old song I had learned from Nod’s High Priestess, Rahab, Queen of the Kohonet:

Mammon, empire! They are men of renown, the Canaanites! Men of giant stature, men of sages and might— their women of beauty, science, and song! As comely and brave as bulls the maidens all, as sandstone skinned as the great wind-worn sculptures in the desert!

I was summoning the old gods of the blood, as was my duty as Lady of Ken ha Gadol, and the spirits scraped at the back of my skull like a crow pecking pomegranate seeds. My patriotism swelled, and with war gathering on the horizon I shrilly cried the last verse in a toga that held both a ripe fig and bottle of wine, ready to loose red juice and blood at any moment, beating my breast in a frenzy that would make the First Architect Cain proud:

Life in Nod is sweet, as sweet as gristle on bone. Scorned of all Creation the Canaanites are, yet blessed by the Sitra Achra! Watch our demons cavort! Sing of our many conquests! Name the line of Kohonet priestesses and kings! Atop snowy Mount Zephon, watch as we topple the sky!

Only the Assyrians could rival our cruelty; the Egyptians, our majesty; the Minoans, our mystery.

I sent breakfast to Elizander as I wandered out to Asherah’s orchard at our palace at the base of Mount Zephon. Alisha of Chavah’s seed I was, she who was Samael’s beloved; I was a Kohonet-trained priestess, formed in the crucible of sisterhood, of blood, bark, and wine. Under Queen Rahab my birthmark had blossomed, and the secrets of Asherah— as well as serving the nation— had been drummed into my head like the thump of a war-drum.

“How is breakfast, my Alisha?” papa asked while a servant brought us garlic, herb omelets, challah, and dates. I drizzled honey on a loaf, drinking it down with some saffron tea. The fine brick walls of our home had high ceilings with windows made of costly Egyptian glass that, when opened, let drafts of sweet oasis air in. “Wonderful, papa. Say, does the High Priest have need of me today?” I asked, yawning.

Papa smiled. He had a face scarred by a Sethite prince’s sword, but was otherwise greying and handsome. After mama’s passing, papa took a harem, yet never remarried—she had been his one true love. I tried to stay clear of his consorts.

“Keep an eye on the Watcher atop Mount Zephon, Elizander says.”

I nodded, my mood souring. Things were changing, east of Eden: Watchers made camp atop mountains by the smatterings of cities and towns that ringed King Ahrand’s country, his holdings, like glimmering rubies. Cymballed Naamah led them, alongside peerless, virginal Istehar, with their lovers Azazel and Samyaza. Oh, how I despised my impish, coquettish cousins!

The Watcher of our town, Baraquiel, had set up camp on Mount Zephon, above the ornate, carved cave where hoary High Priest Elizander so divined. We entertained my Uncle, King Ahrand and Cousins Naamah and Istehar often; I did not have to work the land: I could have gone into the Kohonet like smiling Naamah and gorgeous, virginal Istehar if I wanted.

“Sister Alisha, come dance with us! Your hair is the reddest of us all, like flame across an amber night. We shall teach you the secrets of Lady Lilith and her starry Lilim, where there are men of pleasure and Watchers to delight our every wicked craving. Why, just yesterday Azazel crushed malachite into a fine powder to paint my bronzed lids, and for Istehar, Samyaza fashioned a bracelet of onyx and polished jewels to affix over her tanned wrist," Naamah had burbled; they were always begging me to join them.

I shook my head, remembering their incessant prattling last week— oh, goddess forbid I had to play hostess to them again!

I sat idly by after having finished harvesting palms, fruits, and nuts, as my labor on the estate farm was done for the day and my midwife’s herbs dutifully replenished; Elosha, my childhood best friend, was to give birth the town over next week according to her moon chart. And without warning there came a great wind racking up golden dust in the damp soil, shaving scruff from the wheat. I looked beside me to find that I was not alone at my favorite fretting place; the Worry Rock, as I called it. No, there was an angel, an angel of might and of

handsome mien to boot; he wore skin in midnight’s particular hue, eyes that shone like lapis lazuli, and was decorated with luxurious curls of white-turquoise hair that fell to his waist in braids. The angel held an astrolabe in his hands, charting the early morning stars that had stubbornly refused to set.

“To what do I owe the honor, introverted Watcher?” I teased. Our town misfit angel, Baraquiel, kept to himself; it was said he abhorred women and had refused every temptation Samyaza and Azazel had lured him to the Kohonet with. As for us humans, Baraquiel would only talk in whispers to High Priest Elizander. The fact that I was, in my dirtied state, the first woman he had probably laid eyes on in years, mattered very much to me.

I had my vanity, after all.

“Rain is coming today. Lightning strikes. It boils my blood, stirs my wings to ride aback the wings. That is the problem of sin, comely daughter of Chavah— Azazel’s wings are withered, having strayed too far from the Father, and Samyaza rots not long behind.” I crossed my legs, admiring his wings— ibis, like I saw on trips to Egypt with papa. “And yet, Samael and Lilith are still whole, and they have flown long after leaving Yah’s paternal court,” I pronounced.

Baraquiel winced. “Do not speak to me of the ways of God: you are a heathen. What would you know of my Father?” His inquisition rent my heart into ire and iron, and I rebuked him.

“Quite a lot, actually: I’m a Kohonet-trained qodeshah. I tend the sanctuary of Asherah, and nurse her sacred groves. I midwife babes, heal the sick and heal the lame with my sacred herbs and unguents, dancing for our kingdom’s rains.” Baraquiel smiled. His teeth gleamed sharply, his

midnight skin shining starlike with dew. “Isn’t qodeshah what Father’s humans call whores?” I winced. “That is not the heart and soul of our practice, Baraquiel. Indeed, we tend to the men

once a year at the Festival of Atargatis, turning away neither ugly nor old, sick nor poor from our patient breasts. That is how Lilith and Chavah love: given freely, humbly, like mothers— their suitors as if their own kin. The Sethites gossip a lot, but their lies about Cainites are rumors: they hold neither sting nor vinegar.”

Baraquiel twisted one of his intricate braids, laden with bronze beads. “So, then, would you not turn me away?” I blushed, and Baraquiel looked at me hungrily, like a lion waiting to pounce.

“It is many moons until the Festival of Atargatis…but I would be happy to show you Asherah’s grove.”

“You want me, Alisha. It is etched in sinful Cainite daughter’s bones to tempt angels. Why I signed that pact with damnable Azazel is repugnant to me. ‘Take a wife,’ he said, but the Kohonet was stifling— all those oudh-clad ladies barely clothed? Not like you, Alisha. That dress— it suits you well. Stately. Modest. Good for farming— good, in fact, for flying.”

“I do not want you!” I blushed, but I was certain he always saw me admiring him from my palace chambers as he made his daily walk to High Priest Elizander, where they gambled over dice; playing craps with a cantankerous, wheezing elder was not how I imagined I would spend eternity, if given the chance. Once, Baraquiel and father had raced scarab beetles. Papa lost and refused to see Baraquiel again; I could surmise papa forfeited quite a sum of money. In the morning Baraquiel appeared jolly at Elizander’s door with casks of fine Minoan wine, and by then it was not hard to guess where papa’s money went.

Baraquiel smirked. “You are a qodeshah, my Alisha. A heathen. It does not matter what you want, does it? It only matters what Azazel and Naamah deem you fit for.”

I scowled. “You are coarser than sand, Baraquiel, and are ignorant of our ways. I’ll let it be known that I have never done a dance with a Watcher.”

“Not even shy Samyaza?”

“That lunatic is just pining after closed-leg, prissy Istehar! I can’t stand the lot of them! Naamah is spoiled, and Istehar is a shrew.”

“And I cannot stand my fallen brothers. So what does that make us, dearest Alisha?”

“In a pickle.”

“I like to eat pickles; they are one of humanity’s finest creations. That does not sound so bad.”

We were leaning against each other by now, some sort of animal magnetism drawing us together, or simply us bonding over both being irascible, ornery bastards. I was not too sure which it was.

“Where does an angel get pickles from, Baraquiel?” “Elizander makes them. You really should talk to him more. He is wise. In fact, just yesterday he told me how to ingest Syrian rue so as to experience strange visions.”

“You’re doing drugs with an old man?” I laughed. “What did you mean, then, when you said ‘my dress was made for flying’?”

Baraquiel smiled. “Shall I show you, Alisha?” He lifted me gently but sturdily into the air as we set off flying. The air was sweet, warm, and thick, the clouds damp but not clinging, and his great ibis wings spread out like war flags.

“I could get used to this, Baraquiel.”

“Call me Baraq.”

We took to playing craps with Elizander.

Over time, I built up stamina to visit Baraquiel’s camp atop Mount Zephon. Always, we went flying, and over time, he fell from the stars for me like Lucifer struck down from heaven, in love with a comely daughter of Cain. We worshipped Asherah and danced for Samael, and made love for Lilith and Chavah. I found myself with child by the third month, and Baraquiel dropped his pickle mid-bite out of sheer joy.

“I will have to be a little more careful when you fly, then.”

The rains came that night with a loud thunderstorm, filling Nod’s wells for years to come. The canals were brimming with fertile waters, freshly churned soil, and loam. Baraquiel, the angel of lightning, was like a weathervane, the winds responding to his moods. We made plans to marry, and Rahab blessed us on our first journey to the Kohonet together. Naamah was ripe with her second child, and Azazel lingered at the edges like a black ink-stain, scheming.

That night, Baraquiel’s feathers began to fall out, one by one, like snow atop Mount Zephon.

By the fifth month, my husband had Elizander cauterize his dead ibis wings from his back.

“Where I’m going, as father to the fruit of my seed, I won’t need any marks of my old pact with Yah,” Baraquiel simply said, caressing my swollen womb as I cried over his lost bit of heaven.

Samyaza had finally had enough of Istehar refusing his advances; she asked him the Secret Name of Yah, escaping his assault by flying to the stars. Yah, taking pity on one of the Cainites for what might have been the first time in eternity, changed Istehar into a constellation. They came to call her the Star Maiden. Samyaza hung himself the next morning, and Yah made his death a starry tomb; you may know him as Kesil the Hangman. What it took for an angel to die, I did not wish to know.

The Nephilim, our children with the Watchers, grew fast if they were conceived out of lust, not out of love. Baraquiel and I heard rumors every day that they were giants, full-grown in a year, and Azazel and Naamah were setting their scions and the Kohonet’s other half-angel offspring as lords over our enemy the Sethites. And then the Nephilim turned on Nod.

First the Nephilim ate the cattle. Then they ate the sheep. Finally, the goats and pigs. When even that was not enough, the Nephilim turned on man. Azazel and Rahab had lost control, and the Land of Nod fell into misrule and infamy. Elizander, papa, his consorts and servants, Baraquiel, Elusha’s family and I fled to Egypt, carrying as many riches as we could to start life anew, and just in time at that, for Raphael was sent to bind the Watchers hand and foot in Dudael.

After that, Samael sent a flood, a great drowning of his son Grandmason Cain’s land, to wipe the Nephilim off the face of the earth.

All but one.

I gave birth to a girl with ibis wings, lapis lazuli eyes, amber skin, and red hair: Sarai. Elusha was her godmother, and we cut her wings like the Sethites circumcise their children.

Baraquiel has taken to dyeing his white-turquoise hair with henna. We work as scribes and gardeners, and I serve as a priestess of Qadesh— the name of Asherah in this foreign land. Every year I serve my goddess. I turn away no man, young or old,

Greek or Egyptian or Sethite, African or Assyrian. But it is a bitter service, and all I can do is think of Baraquiel, my dear husband, as the strangers ruthlessly spear into me from above.

One day, in our large house by the Nile, Sarai was playing with seashells, and I looked over at Baraquiel— still beautiful, but more mortal than he had ever been— and I squeezed his hand, asking him “Was it worth it? Leaving Heaven, leaving your holy post atop Mount Zephon, taking a heathen bride?”

Baraquiel smiled like it was the most obvious, pleasing answer in the world. “My darling, beautiful Alisha, is it worth it to spend months brining a pickle? Does rendering the common, humble cucumber into a treasure for the tongue not take some patience sacrificed, and tempers tried? Are you not my greatest service of all?”

And with that, we kissed, drank wine, and called over our darling little Sarai to enjoy a plate of dates. She pecked her papa on the cheek and told us stories about her doll. When I looked into Baraquiel’s eyes I saw the crackle of joyous lightning.

Love, true love, is often hard to find. But I lived in the Land of Nod once, wiped from the face of the earth, and I myself won a husband from the stars. Strange, us forgotten Cainites. Foreign in our magic, sinful in our ways.

Proud people, though, the memory of Nod.

And for Asherah?

I dance.

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