#something something falling prey to ambition becoming the monster you hated and using it to save your people something or other

[stardivingsea]

As an Absolute shock to no one, I accidentally made my first Baldur’s Gate 3 play through into a personal tragedy.

As a shock to myself, my obsession with this game made me want to draw again so someone take this thing away from me before I stare at it too long!!

[ariainstars]

Feminism (and Not) in Star Wars

Warning: unpopular opinions ahead.

 During the last few years, I have often heard and read people arguing that the Star Wars sequels are “feminist”, that Rey in particular is a Mary Sue and, at worst, that “feminism ruined Star Wars.” So, I would like to add my two cents. 

It cannot to be denied that the end of the sequels, and with it of the saga as a whole, is highly dissatisfying. But feminism is not what caused it.

The sequels are not feminist at all. Especially not in Star Wars, where the greatest hero Luke Skywalker had ended the conflict through compassion and forgiveness. TRoS in particular is a slap in the face of female dignity and virtue, both for the male protagonist’s mother and for his love interest. 

Unfortunately, and that is one of my major issues with the sequels, many things are not being said or explained. This might be due to the fact that Episode VIII was subversive and that so many classic fans ranted and stormed against it; but that didn’t prevent Episode IX from showing, if not saying, a lot of things. 

Star Wars is all about subtext, that’s what makes it compelling. Please:

Read between the lines.

Look at what is not being said but shown.

Compare the attitudes of different people in similar situations.

  Rey

„You cannot deny the truth that is your family.” Lor San Tekka in The Force Awakens

  Rey was introduced as a positive female character but then, over the course of three films, her moral corruption was displayed under the lame excuse of a black and white morality (“I am all the Sith” vs. “I am all the Jedi”).

Rey seemed like a reboot of Luke Skywalker at first, but watching her throughout TRoS we see her fail in all instances where Luke had proved himself a hero.

  - Luke had forgiven his father despite all the pain he had inflicted on him and his friends. Rey stabbed the „bad guy”, who had repeatedly protected and comforted her, to death.

- Luke never asked Vader to help the Rebellion or to turn to the Light Side, he only wanted him back as his father. Rey assumed that she could make Ben Solo turn, give up the First Order and join the Resistance for her. She was thinking of her friends and her own validation, not of him.

- Luke had made peace by choosing peace. Rey fought until the bitter end.

- Luke had thrown his weapon away before Palpatine. Rey picked up a second weapon. (And both of them weren’t her own.)

- Luke had mourned his dead father. Rey didn’t shed a tear for the man she is bonded to by the Force.

- Luke went back to his friends to celebrate the new peace with them. Rey went back letting everyone celebrate her like the one who saved the galaxy on her own - the woman who was tempted to become the new evil ruler of the galaxy and had to rely on the alleged Bad Guy to save both her soul and her body.

- Luke had embodied compassion when Palpatine was all about hatred. Where he chose love and faith in his father, Rey chose violence and fear.

- Luke had briefly fallen prey to the Dark Side but it made him realize that he had no right to judge his father. Rey’s fall to the Dark Side did not make her wiser.

- Confronted by Vader’s disclosure of his true identity Luke was forced to face himself, to realize that he had been judgmental, arrogant and biased; and after the initial shock he accepted his origins as a part of himself. - Rey did not reconcile with Palpatine as a part of herself. (When she says to him “I don’t hate you” it’s not a sign of superior attitude. It merely shows that she sees him as separate from herself.)

- After realizing what he had done to his nephew, feeling responsible and disillusioned, Luke went into exile for years waiting for his death. - Rey also was appalled at herself, but she spent just a few minutes on Ahch-To until Luke appeared to her, this time telling her exactly what she would have wanted him to say to her on her first visit on the island. This scene was so ridiculously opposite to his attitude in TLJ that I believe he was a fantasy conjectured by her like Ben’s vision of his father.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Rey failed where Ben had been strong.

- Ben killed Snoke to save Rey. Rey killed Palpatine to complete her Jedihood. (Or at least, what she believes being a Jedi means, i.e. “being always right and winning at all costs”.)

- Ben loved Rey despite all she did to him and took away from him, and she didn’t even honour his name in the end.

- Ben knew the stories of Luke, Vader and Palpatine well enough to wanted to end the Jedi and Sith at last and start something new and better. Rey only knew scraps of old tales and wanted to have them her own way.

- Ben had been under an evil influence in his mind since before he was born; when he finally turned to the Dark because he had nowhere else to go, he was 23. Rey gave in to her Dark Side minutes after meeting her “mother” in the Death Star ruin; the same happened to her again with Palpatine on Exegol.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  On the ruin of the second Death Star, Rey is at her lowest on the same spot where Luke had won over himself thirty years before in RoTJ.

- Vader had provoked Luke to make him turn - Kylo hadn’t.

- Vader hat traumatized Luke - Kylo had protected and spared Rey repeatedly.

- Vader hardly had had a kind word to spare for his son (except perhaps when he said to him “It is too late for me, son”) - Kylo had comforted her and shown her his human side.

- Vader had lured Luke into a trap twice in order to keep him by his side. - Kylo hadn’t, on the contrary, he wanted to prevent her from running into Palpatine’s trap.

- Luke did not know what had made Vader the way he was when he came to find him, but he was adamant to save him. - Rey knew by the time of their duel that Kylo was largely also a victim, and she stabbed him to death.

- Luke always fought fair. - Rey used the distraction made by Leia’s reaching out to him to impale him - the way she had seen him impaling Han.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  It is ridiculous to say that it’s a victory of Good over Evil when a young woman uses Jedi training to kill her master’s own son, who was on the defensive, with his mother’s help and blessing. That their weird connection, which was already introduced during the first two films, is explained by way of their being a dyad (one soul in two bodies) only makes it worse. Rey will rather kill the man she belongs to, or die herself, than admit that she needs him. If that is supposed to be “feminism”, it’s a very distorted idea of female independence and strength. Just like it’s not automatically “feminism” to make a girl pose as the heroine because she wants to be a Jedi no questions asked.

Fans discussed and argued about Rey’s family for years; it was a great move in TLJ when she admitted her parents were “nobodies” and that they left her on purpose. It was refreshing to see her carve her life and personality on her own. TRoS shattered this by making her the descendant of the most powerful man in the galaxy; and what’s worse, she wound up being a usurper just the way he was, taking over the Skywalker mantle.

  The sequels are feminist only when the audience believes that it’s a happy ending if a female ends up alone with no one standing in her way. They are told from her point of view, so as viewers we will automatically believe that she’s the heroine and root for her (or not, but still believe that it’s her story). Looking only at the bare facts, Rey is much less heroic than she first seems.

  At the end of TRoS Rey is alone with two dead people behind her, on a desert planet in company of a droid and with an old, wrinkled woman as her only interlocuter, the way she began, and her mind still has hardly developed beyond that of a child. She is willing to embrace the legacy of both Skywalker family and Jedi although the fate of Ben Solo should have taught her how fu***-up both of them were.

  Rey doesn’t want to see. She’s in denial like when she pretended that her family was coming back for her on Jakku. Inside, she is still a child - everything she did was motivated by her desire to find the belonging she ardently craved. She can’t be blamed for that. But does that make her a “strong woman”, or even a “Mary Sue”, like many annoyed viewers claim? No.

  Leia 

“If you will not turn to the Dark Side, then perhaps she will.” Darth Vader in Return of the Jedi

There is something I find much worse than Ben’s patricide or Luke’s panic attack at the Jedi temple. Those were actions spurred by the moment and provoked by Snoke, and both men regretted it immediately. Leia’s behaviour shows an unpardonable attitude for entire decades. Being a trained Jedi herself, she could have taught her son - instead she sent him to his uncle. This seems a practical choice since she was politically active while her brother wanted to start a new Jedi Order, but from the novels we learn that Ben heard his parents arguing and talking about him like he was a monster ever since he was a child, and that when he was sent away this seemed to confirm to him that something was wrong with him and had to be fixed. (From the novels we also learn that he actually had no ambition to become a Jedi and wanted to be a pilot - true Skywalker and also Solo that he is -, but he had no say in the matter.)

 After the tragedy at Luke’s temple and the rise of the First Order, Leia fought with the Resistance for years knowing that her own son was on the other side. What if she had met him and been forced to kill him (or if he had come into the situation, as we see in TLJ)? In TFA, she sent his own father to bomb Starkiller Base knowing well that their son might be on board. Leia had felt Snoke’s influence on Ben’s mind when he was still in her womb; so, she knew he had been manipulated for decades, but when she heard of his fall to the Dark Side, she automatically assumed he had made the choice to be “evil”. Only after he had been a part of a criminal organization for years Leia sent her estranged husband to him. She only reached out to him when she was on her deathbed, and I still am not certain whether she wanted to help him, or to make him stop fighting against the girl she had adopted in his stead. 

Would Padmé have left her own son in the dumps? Never. Padmé refuted Obi-Wan’s disclosure about Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side adamantly, and went to a volcanic planet alone, with a highly advanced pregnancy, to see a terrorist and murderer because she still saw the good little boy he had been in him. And she would have gotten him out of that hell had Obi-Wan not interfered. If you don’t believe me, watch the scene again: Slowly but surely, Anakin’s expression changes totally on speaking with his wife. Padmé was literally reaching out to him, and she was succeeding. Love, as always, was stronger than anything else in him. And Padmé believed in her husband until her very last breath. “Obi-Wan, there is still good in him.”

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian of the eponymous tv show, is an outcast who earns his living with dubious business and has killed his fair share of people. But had anyone attempted to do to his little protégé what Snoke did to Ben Solo, I don’t doubt he would have marched on the Supremacy and strangled him with his bare hands. (At least, he would have died trying.) Han would probably have done the same, but Leia deliberately never told him of Snoke’s influence on her son’s mind ever since before his birth. By the time she finally does, as we witness in TFA, their son has been Kylo Ren for six years. 

Leia, the princess, the general, the war heroine, had feared her son before he was even born because she sensed that he was like her own father. But she had no qualms and no fear accepting and instructing the granddaughter of her worst enemy. Why?��

Because Rey doesn’t waver. She has no doubts. She is not conflicted between both Sides of the Force. In Leia’s eyes, Rey is pure Light Side, so she embraces her wholeheartedly as the child she always wanted. As far as I can remember, Leia has never, the way her brother did, offered love to anyone who didn’t fight on her side. And Rey, who had angrily confronted Luke for his moment of terror which “created Kylo Ren”, did not consider for a moment Leia’s responsibility towards her son. Despite training with Leia for a whole year, she never tells her about Luke’s failure which pushed her son into Snoke’s clutches. Nor does she realize that Leia’s love for her is not unconditional but that it is parallel to her Jedi training. Rey literally becomes both a little girl and a Jedi with Leia, down to wearing pure white for the whole of the last instalment of the trilogy. 

Most fans admire Leia for her rebellious, spirited nature. Nothing wrong with that, but it’s not necessarily such a good thing if one spends one’s whole life fighting instead of learning how to preserve peace. Leia is adamant that the side she’s on must win. Like every Jedi before her, she does not know, want or even consider that what the Force actually needs is Balance; and that both her father and her son were not evil because they were strong on both Sides, but that this meant they might have found balance, had they not met opposition to this in everyone they knew. 

Leia never approached her relationship to her father (at least as far as I know), never tried to understand him better and forgive him the way her brother had. Considering what Vader had done to her and her friends, she can’t be blamed for pushing away her memories and living in terror of the Dark Side. However, on the long run her incapacity or refusal for introspection is not a strength but a weakness. The one who paid the price is her son, and with his fall to the Dark, the whole galaxy again became prey to the terror that she herself had always fought against in first line. 

Vader had been right after all: Leia did fall prey to the Dark Side, though unknowingly. Not only did she give up on her son, she actively helped evil come back to the galaxy by believing to do the right thing: she trained Palpatine’s granddaughter, taught her to deny her own fears and weaknesses, gave her justification for her actions, helped her killing her own “evil” son. If that is not the Dark Side’s influence, I don’t know what it is. Leia denied her son’s potential for good and given up on him long before his fate was sealed, and in the same way she closed her eyes on Rey’s potential for evil. The same “bad” son had to prevent the girl she had taken under her wing from becoming what the old devil Palpatine had in mind, at the cost of his life. 

 Conclusion

 I am not an advocate for feminism on principle. If females can be independent and self-assured, if they shed the cloak of “damsel in distress”, on the downside this also means that they can be or become villains just like men. Many people tend to believe that a woman is naturally better, kinder, softer than a man. The Star Wars saga never bowed to this cliché.

 The idea that a woman does not necessarily need a man is positive on its own, but it becomes poisonous if it undermines female trust in men. Star Wars has a long story of lonely, unhappy men (all three generations of Skywalkers), who were denied their natural right to be needed by their women and to keep their families together. One of Anakin’s dilemmas was that he saw Padmé as being too good for him and wanted to prove to her that he was equal to her in his own way. Ben, ironically, felt that he was not good enough for Rey because he was tainted by his larger-than-life heritage, so he wanted to “let the past die” and start something new and fresh with her.

 A man naturally wishes to protect others, in particular wife and children. But in all three generations, we find these men whose personalities are split in two and cannot reconcile the two halves of their self: Anakin / Vader, Luke / Leia, Ben / Kylo. Due to the similarity in his two names, I expected the last of the Skywalker blood to finally heal the wound in his personality and become one. Had anyone wanted and needed both, Ben and Kylo, he might have. But Kylo was an aberration to everyone including Rey. Kylo was a villainous figure and as a male, he was aggressive and arrogant; but at least he made his own decisions and had chosen his own name, things Ben Solo never got to do.

 This is not to say that the sequels are against strong females or prefer the guys over them: no, the guys f** up at least as often as the women do. But to pretend that Leia’s and / or Rey’s portrayal is unrealistically positive and that “feminism ruined Star Wars” is either extremely short-sighted or a mockery of femaleness.

 It is true that women have more and larger roles in the ST, but I can’t see anything wrong with that. Not any more than with the fact that in the OT there was practically only Leia (the few other female characters almost had no impact on the story), and that there were few females in the PT, too. The Jedi Order consisted almost only of men, and you hardly hear anyone complain.

 I know that many fans dislike Anakin and Ben, but please let us consider why.

 One reason is that in an action movie we usually value coolness in a male protagonist above everything, and that the Skywalkers are hot-headed by nature. Most fans prefer Darth Vader, Han Solo and the likes to the Skywalker men.

 Another reason is that the filmmakers have deliberately manipulated our emotions. The prequels are told from everybody’s point of view but Anakin’s, and the same goes for the sequels with Ben, despite the fact that the trilogies are about them, not about “the Jedi superheroes saviours of the galaxy” or “the almighty and untainted Skywalker family”. So, as viewers we automatically identify emotionally with anyone but them. We never get to really know the “villain’s” point of view, we only see how other people react to them; and since these reactions are much more often negative than positive, we get to the conclusion that both of them are inescapably evil, that they chose to be so, and that they deserve their terrible fate.

 My suggestion: rewatch both trilogies again and this time try to look through Anakin’s or Ben’s eyes. (And possibly also read the novels and the Kylo Ren comics.)

  You could be surprised.

[the-fae-folk]

Will you please tell us a horrifying tale in celebration for Halloween? We'd love to hear your stories!

A horrifying tale? Be careful what you ask for. This is the story of The Good Son and The Woman who wished to live forever. 

My name is Adam. Because I was the firstborn. My mother was a religious woman, at first. When my father died there was something in her that broke. Something that changed. There was an apothecary at the edge of the town. Every day she would visit it, asking for special mixtures and foods that would extend her life, keep her from dying like father. We had little money for food, and often we went hungry when she spent that money on her tinctures and cures.

I found other ways to support our family. I had a job of my own, working at the mill, and it was enough to feed us. We grew older, and my sisters found husbands and families. I stayed with my mother, because she was growing old and more frantic by the day. When I could take off work we would take trips up to sacred springs and holy sites, anything that might halt her march towards death. I had started to wonder if my mother had gone mad. But I said nothing.

Her limbs grew frail, and she trembled with every breath. Though she was a grandmother now, my sisters had children of their own, she refused to stop. Refused to give up her quest.At last she sought the Good Neighbors. Their woods were dark, yet I knew they were there, watching. My mother lit a candle and waited in the dark. When midnight came, it brought a figure into the light. He wasn’t human, but elfin. Pale and beautiful, with long graceful arms and legs, and head of cascading red hair. He wore no clothes at all, and held no shame for this, he had no reason to. Perhaps he could have been mistaken for a human, a beautiful human maybe. Except his eyes were black as the night without moon or star, and his mouth was filled with needle like teeth that glinted in the firelight.My mother went with him, leaving me alone in the dark without the candle. I knew she had gone to bargain for her desires, for her immortality. I shivered in the cold, and knew that despite how quiet it was here, I was not alone. When dawn came, my mother returned. I asked her if she had become immortal, but she said they could not give her what she wished; that they had traded her information of a people far away who could grant immortality. I asked her what she had bargained away for this information, but she would not tell me.

So we traveled. The road was long, and my mother was now old. I had to carry her much of the way, but she was light in my arms, so it didn’t matter. Past the forests, past the fields, past the mountains. On and on I walked, day after endless day. Till at last I reached a place where day did not come. A vast desert of black sands, a frigid wasteland, blanketed in eternal night.My mother hobbled on and on, calling for those she was seeking. The Ever Folk, she called them. But there was no sign of them. I urged her to rest. To sleep. We could look for them in the morning. She agreed, and we laid down upon our blankets, which were not enough to keep away the deathly chill of the desert sands.

I awoke to whispering. Something had crept into our camp while we slept. I turned over and bit back a scream. They had come. Legs like spider folk, elongated limbs connected to a mostly human torso and a pair of horrible clawed hands tipped with red. Their heads were human shaped, but they had no face. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, no ears. Just horrible stretched skin where other things should have been. No hair adorned their heads, just strange symbols painted in blue paint on grey dead looking skin. The Ever Folk had come to find us.

When I woke my mother, she too was afraid of them, but had come too far to back down. She bargained with them, seeming to understand their strange whispering. What did she want? To live forever. What would she give up in exchange for it? Anything. Anything and everything.As she made offer after offer to the faceless monsters, begging and pleading for an escape from mortal death, I shrank in fear from the ones that approached me. Their horrible clawed hands stroked my face, whispering things I couldn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. I backed away from them, tears inexplicably falling from my face as I shook my head. “No no no no no.” I sobbed, over and over again. I had no idea what I was saying no to, but I knew that the thing before me was disappointed, it withdrew, and I felt relieved.

Finally my mother smiled and stepped back. The Bargain was struck. She had her desire. The things crowded around her, alien in the pale light of stars and the waning crescent moon. They reached out with horrible elongated spider like limbs, they caressed her face. Their fingers traced her wrinkles and the bags beneath her eyes, they traced the shape of her mouth and the dimples she had gotten so long ago when she was still happy. They caressed her face..and they took it. They took her face. One moment it was there, and the next it was gone. She was faceless as they. I don’t know how I know what it was they did next, but as I watched I simply knew their purpose as they worked. From her heart they pulled out every happiness she had felt or could yet feel. They grabbed away her ambition and her love, her imagination, her desires, her dreams. Left behind was her guilt, her sorrows, her agony. She remained with despair and her sense of self. Only just beginning to understand what she agreed to, she tried to stop it, to take back her words. But it was far too late for that.

They took hold of her body and twisted it, elongated it, crafted it. They mutilated and warped her beyond recognition, pulled at her and shaped her as they were shaped. She screamed. On and on, she screamed, writhing in awful pain. I don’t know how she screamed without a mouth, but it was the sound of someone dying. I wanted to run to her, help her as the good son I had been would have done. But I couldn't move, my feet would not move. Finally her crying subsided and instead of my mother, before me stood another of the Ever Folk. Ever living. Ever undying. Ever hating. Ever suffering. Ever in pain. Ever guilty. Ever wishing that they could die at last, and knowing that they never can.

I found my feet at last. I heard them behind me, whispering in the dark, my mother’s whispers among them. They wanted me. They wanted me to join them. To live forever as they did. They wanted my face and my joy. I did not listen, I did not stop. I simply grieved for my mother as I ran. Grieved for her pain, grieved for her foolishness, grieved for her wasted days searching for what shouldn’t have been hers.

It was a long time before I stopped running. Somehow, despite the endless days the journey had taken to arrive at the desert, I had found my way past the mountains and the fields. Before me stood the dark forests. Despite their ominous appearance, I felt hope. Perhaps I could return home. Have a normal life. Forget what I had seen.

But the night I spent treading through the forest was the longest night I have ever lived. It seemed to go on, far longer than the endless night of the desert, twisting the paths and making the forest go on forever. I knew the Good Neighbors didn’t want me to leave, wanted me to stay and speak with them. They wouldn’t let me go until I did as they wanted.

So I lit a candle. He was there the moment the flame had been set to the wick. He wanted to know where my mother had gone, so I told the story. Told what I had seen and felt. When I finished, he smiled.

“So she has gotten her heart’s desire, though perhaps it is not what she thought it was. It seems that the information I gave to her has been put to good use.”

Remembering that my mother had refused to tell me what she had bargained away for the secret of the Ever Folk, I asked him then. I asked what it was she had given up. In that moment his smile was more horrible than it ever had been up until that moment. His pitch black eyes seemed to glow with a red aura, like magma deep beneath the dark earth. His head tilted slightly, like a beast examining its prey with curiosity.

“She bargained away…”he paused, savoring the moment with a lick of his lips. “Her first born child’s freedom.”

I went cold in that moment. She couldn’t, I wasn’t a baby anymore, she wouldn’t..she was my mother. But I knew that she would, and she had. I ran. I ran. I ran. But behind me they came. Spilling from the dark like living shadows. It is not hard to understand why some people mistake the Faeries for demons, sometimes the two can be very similar. Their horrible laughter filled the woods, shrieking and baying like hounds and birds as I fled.

Ahead of me I saw the edge of the woods, the light of the dawn rising over the edge of the distant mountains. Freedom was only steps away. But around my legs their shadows wrapped. I fell to the ground and scrabbled at it with my finders, which bled as I dragged them against root and stone, desperate to get away from the force behind me. I tried to scream, as my mother had done, but their shadows filled my throat, choking me and silencing any screams I might have made.

There are many dark fates in this world, many come from our own choices. But worse are the fates that others choose for us. My mother had become a monster in body there on the desert sands. But as I was dragged back into the dark, into the Deep Woods, I knew that she had become a monster long before that. And where my mother had longed for eternal life...I longed for death.

[castellankurze]

freestyle rewriting the heresy yet again

because stuff occurred to me last night after that post about the traitor primarchs

if you wanna do the greek tragedy right every traitor primarch should have a primary flaw and a lesson that they fail to learn which overcomes them in the end

Fulgrim is obsession, or ‘perfection is the enemy of the good.’  Fulgrim has been good at everything his whole life. he turned Chemos from a dying shitpit into a vibrant and peaceful world, and when called up to become a warrior and commander he became a damn good one.  He even built up his legion from almost nothing after disaster nearly wiped them out.  But now he’s actually competing with people on his level and it gets to him.  He trains himself almost religiously, struggling to cut away the imperfections.  He expects his legion to always improve; uniformly, to Fulgrim there’s nothing more disgraceful than failing to better yourself, no matter the circumstances, no matter how unreasonable it may be.  It’s what leads him to letting Fabius tinker recklessly with the legion geneseed.  To steal a line from the stewniverse “if I’m not perfect then who am I?”

His friendship with Ferrus is something that should be cast as the anchor on Fulgrim’s flights of fancy.  Ferrus is prosaic and hardworking and responsible, gruff and bluff and earthy; he acts as a balance to Fulgrim’s mounting fanatical belief that he must be the best at everything at all times.  Ferrus’ death can thus be cast as the loss of reason amidst the insanity of the heresy, and it’s what snaps Fulgrim’s last ties to sanity leaving him to plunge himself and his legion wholesale into the service of Slaanesh.

Perturabo is cold logic, or ‘humans aren’t rational.’  Perturabo believes that the ideal being is a Renaissance Man, the great thinker, expert in all fields, unburdened by such petty things as ‘emotion’ or ‘bonds’ or ‘human interest’.  Perturabo believes mankind is best served by shutting up, sitting down, and working.  Human error is a failstate and not to be countenanced.  But people don’t function like that, fundamentally can’t function as if they’re datasheets on a page, and Perturabo gets irked when they don’t.  Because even Perturabo doesn’t function like that, not really - he’s like one of those rationalists who claim they can operate perfectly logically, then throw a screaming tantrum when faced with a conclusion they don’t like.

Perturabo alienates everyone around him - his brethren, his legion, even his homeworld.  To his eyes, they all fail him by not meeting his standards; they’re all too human, too soft.  Perturabo’s insistence that he is incapable of failure is what tragically leaves him wide open to manipulation by Horus, who drives him and the Iron Warriors further and further into their self-dug bitterness and isolationism until Olympia itself revolts and the last nail is pounded into the coffin.

Konrad Curze is vengeance, or ‘fear exists to be conquered.’  Curze took control of Nostromo through savage terrorism, cowing the populace and the gangs and the murderers who preyed on people through shocking acts of murder and barbarism.  He’s so good at it, though, that he never acknowledges the critical flaw - when he leaves Nostromo, he takes away the object of people’s fear, and he never setup a system to govern them without the threat of retaliation.  The Night Lords become staffed with psychopaths and murderers, their unity as a legion slowly fraying.  Curze himself sees torturous visions and nightmares, but it’s all without context, and he doesn’t particularly like wearing the device the Emperor made for him to curb the worst of it because he feels like it makes thinking difficult, so he just does without, becoming more erratic and unpredictable.  In the end he lets himself be done in, with the line ‘death is nothing compared to vindication’ which can arguably taken as a recognition that he had become the kind of monster he once hunted.

Angron is, of course, rage or, to quote tumblr, ‘the hate you feel will warm your heart but leave you cold in the grave’.  Of all the primarchs he’s the one with whom you can most do the cycle of violence thematic.  He’s taken as a slave as a gladiator, leads a revolt, he’s ‘rescued’ by the Emperor on the brink of a crushing defeat, and becomes a rampaging one-man slaughterhouse loosed upon the galaxy.  Angron’s response to his mistreatment is two-pronged: a total rejection of any authority deemed untrustworthy, fueled by his upbringing and the Emperor’s high-handedness, and a colossal hate-on for anything and everything.  Angron wallows in his hate, because for him hate and violence are easy.  The result is that he’s something of a foil for Perturabo - Angron doesn’t think, because he doesn’t like to think.  The World Eaters become a riot of bloodthirsty killers, the librarians and chaplaincy first sidelined and then, at least in the case of the former, eliminated, because they’re not savage enough.

If the plot device of the battle cybernetics (’Butcher’s Nails’ in the BL series) is kept, it’s primary use is as a plot device to show the cycle of abuse - Angron has it forced on him as a child, he forces it upon his legion in turn.  I’ve never been a great fan of the Nails as a plot device (especially in the BL series; it makes things too easy) because it’s not like they’re necessary to push someone into a Khornate rage, but they can work as a tipping point to help push the legion over the edge, especially back by Horus’ manipulations.

Mortarion is resentment, specifically, ‘bitterness is a poison.’  Like how Angron wallows in rage and Curze wallows in the fear he causes, Mortarion wallows in bitter hatred.  He hates the aliens who ruled Barbarus, especially the one who raised him, he hates the poisons of his homeworld itself, he hates the Emperor, and most of all he hates himself.  Mortarion falls into the trap of constantly comparing what we might have been to what we are - if he’d been found by humans. if he’d landed on a different world.  if he’d taken the Emperor up on his offer of aid.  if he didn’t need to wear a damn rebreather.  Nevertheless he surrounds himself with the trappings of his home, poisons and toxins and rad-weapons because they’re his, dammit, and fuck you for trying to take them away from him.  Mortarion keeps slogging onwards with what he’s got because there’s nothing else to him.

Magnus the Red is haughtiness, or ‘ivory-tower intellectualism.’  When you’re willing to learn and Magnus is willing to teach, he’s a great guy.  When he’s willing to learn and you’re willing to teach, he’s a great guy.  But Magnus has been either student or teacher for most of his life, and he has trouble defining a relationship outside those bounds.  He’s that guy who’s an expert on anything he’s studied for five minutes, even though you know he never heard of it six minutes ago.  And if you’re better at him than something, well, it’s something he’s never studied.  Magnus can be exasperating, and, in considering the fate of his legion, dangerous.  The Thousand Sons have a very strong ‘for me and not for thee’ streak to him, delving deeply into study of the warp and sorcerous practices that scream Bad Idea and ignore any attempts to warn them off of it, because they know better.  They’re not going to fall into any traps.  Even the Council of Nikaea, what should be taken as a dire warning to shape up, does little more than throw Magnus into a extended snitfit about the Emperor’s unwillingness to see things his way.

Horus is, of course, ambition, and ‘pride goeth before a fall.’  When the Emperor retreats from the Crusade to, you know, run the Imperium, Horus takes over the campaign trail personally, spending long years heading up the Imperium’s conquest of the galaxy, and as the awards and adoration and adulation and accolades and other a-words pile up he starts getting it into his head that he ought to be the rightful ruler of the whole shebang.  While recovering from wounds on the planet Davin, he’s introduced to the powers of the warp through the warrior lodges there, and so strikes a fateful bargain to sway the greater power of the Imperium’s war machine to his side along with his brothers and topple the Emperor.  He becomes a creature unlike any seen before or since, a font of Chaos power such that even the four great powers seem more held than holders of his leash.  Drunk on power - both the political and very, very real kinds - it’s not until things fall apart aboard his flagship that Horus realizes how very, very badly he’s fouled up.

Lorgar is zealotry, or to be more accurate ‘you can’t externalize self-righteousness.’  Lorgar frames his mindset as a search for truth, but really what he wants is what everybody wants: to be on the right side.  Lorgar’s problem is that he fundamentally cannot internalize the idea that morality is what you do, or to quote Horus Rising ‘we must be mighty because we are right, not right because we are mighty.’  Lorgar grows up steeped in the old faith of Colchis, but when he starts having visions and the existing power structure rejects him, he overthrows it because he knows he’s right, the universe told him he’s right, and when the Emperor shows up he feels validated, and doesn’t even notice how Emps is a little put off by the displays of veneration.  When he goes on the Crusade he turns it into a literal religious crusade, stopping at every planet to fully convert it before moving on.

Eventually the Emperor shows up to kick him into gear, because the Word Bearers are the S L O W E S T legion by far and their ties to other legions are fraying and maybe put down some of the religious stuff.  Lorgar cannot reconcile this discrepancy between the image of the God-Emperor he believes he understood perfectly and the actual Emperor telling him to cool it and basically dissociates himself into next month.  Eventually this one dude named Kor Phaeron who Lorgar’s known since they were kids suggests maybe Lorgar should go back and look at the old faiths again, at which point Lorgar starts digging into a new, and to him, even bigger ‘truth’ than the Emperor.  Then a dude from the Sons of Horus arrives and shit goes buckwild.  But for all the work he’s done, Lorgar still can’t see himself as anything but a vessel for truth, effectively sheltering himself under the Horus and the Chaos gods instead of the Emperor, and when things go sideways on Terra he all but collapses because he can’t understand how shit’s gone south again.

Alpharius, finally, is the inferiority complex, or ‘don’t define yourself by your relationships to others.’  Alpharius is not only the last primarch, he’s the last primarch to be publicly discovered, so late in the Crusade that the Emperor’s already handed the reins over to Horus.  As a result, everyone else has an achievement list as long as their arm and people won’t stop fucking comparing Alpharius and the XX Legion against the others.  Alpharius is an A+ tactical commander, but this shit makes him mad as hell.  He names the XX the Alpha Legion to emphasize how badass they are and drills the shit out of them at the chapter, company, and even squad level until they know their shit backwards and forwards.

For Alpharius, there’s no question of whose side he’s on, because Horus is his big bro and he doesn’t care for the Emperor.  Ironically, despite his keen strategic mind, Alpharius is unable to recognize the bigger picture of how Horus and the other traitor legions are...maybe getting a little sketchy?  He just knows this is gonna be his chance to get back at the folks who shit-talked him and his boys.  Instead of joining the march on Terra, the Alpha Legion goes across the galaxy, harrying the Ultramarines, the Space Wolves, and the Dark Angels.  But unlike Alpharius, Guilliman can stay focused on the big picture, and though delayed it’s ultimately the word of the reinforcements coming in that causes Horus to throw down with the Emperor.  Of course the Alpha Legion goes on their merry way, until the fight at Eskrador where Alpharius finally gets to stick it to Bobby G - he dies, but he’s lured the Ultramarines into an untenable position and ultiamtely they’re the ones who have to retreat.  But afterwards, the blind spot comes back into play, and the Alpha legion ultimately fragments and goes sailing into the Eye of Terror and the other warpstorms along with the other traitor legions because nobody knows enough of the Plan anymore.

this post got longer than i meant it to be but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ what can i say even though it’s been almost a decade now since i stopped seriously following 40k books i still have The Thoughts about the little plastic dudes

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KITA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CORIOLANUS. Admin Minnie: Kita, I genuinely don’t think we’ve had a Cyrus like yours join us in Verona. The way you capture both Cyrus’s beauty and his ugliness both. All that entitlement, all that arrogance, all that charm — you’ve grasped it masterfully. You understand Cyrus on a deep, personal level; but that’s not why I was so excited to accept your application. Ultimately, it was this line that really won me over: “But mostly, I am here because of this: if I do not stand witness to a falling star, if I do not love him as he is–, then I fear no one ever will.” I’m already in love with your Cyrus for who he is, and all the potential he has to ruin my life! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER Alias | kita Age | 20 Preferred Pronouns | she/her Activity Level | I think I can be fairly active. I am a full-time student, so my priority will always be there, but I always aim to get my replies done within a week. 6/10 or more? Hopefully more. Timezone | EST 

(also English is not my first language so pls be kind)

IN CHARACTER Character |

Cyrus Vicente Sloane ; CORIOLANUS FC: Lorenzo Zurzolo

Alt fc: Wolfgang Novogratz

What drew you to this character? |

oh Gods, where do I begin? Of all Verona’s monsters, Cyrus Sloane has to be one of the worst. At once, spoiled rotten, cruel and innately duplicitous, Cyrus is an arrogant princeling whose tyranny knows no bounds. And yet, as soon as I finished reading his biography, I knew it was over. He materialized in my mind like some sort of phantom, flashed that winning smile at me and visions of him haunted me ever after.

I saw his head across Brigette’s lap on a lazy summer afternoon. Sipping champagne out of long-stemmed glasses, wearing filigreed gold masks to cover their ugliness inside, the two of them are tyrants, fickle and fiendish things about to wreak terror on a city that has only known it.

———— “do you love me, cyrus?” she pouts. he smiles. when he kisses the petulance from her lips, there is no answer needed.

I saw his lips tilt upward into a smug grin as he and Lawrence meet up in a dingy bar. When the time comes, he throws his head back with laughter, he leans in, whispers something just loud enough for the other man to hear. This is a dangerous game to play, Lawrence knows. Nothing, after all, is ever given freely. But one look at Cyrus, at that indigent boy who seems not at all concerned with his traitorous tongue nor the consequences of it, and his fears are momentarily assuaged.

———— “all of this is just talk between friends, signor vernon,” cyrus says, waving off worries with an unconcerned shrug. lawrence pauses, raises an eyebrow, “is that what we are?”

I could wax poetic about why Cyrus is the way he is, why he plays at being charming, demands to be worshipped. But, in the end, it boils down to this: the rot in Cyrus Sloane is that he could not find it in himself to be forgiven. The anger he has in his heart, the revenge he plots– it is all because he cannot find anyone to blame but himself.

In Capetown, he learned to make weapons out of fleeting sweet-faced grins and honeyed lies. Barely into manhood, he won the hearts of his countrymen, had the ear of a kingpin, sat poised for an easy throne. But, though he had everything one could ever dream of, he still gave it all up in order to return to the place of his first and most terrible failure. Look, I have no doubt that he tells himself that he hates his mother. I have no doubt that he even believes that. However, I know that if you cut him open, you would see that he only hates that he does not hate her, not really. He hates that he cannot fault her for anything that she has ever done.

He had always idolized her, had always thought her the paragon of perfection, of stoic and unbending strength. He had never even blamed her for being cold to him– after all, his mother was never anything but pragmatic. She must have had her own reasons to toss him to the wolves. He blames her only for this: for propping up a mirror to his nature, for casting a light on a part of him that he would rather have never acknowledged… for reminding him that he was weak enough to be unwanted, that no matter how hard he tried to be beloved—he would only ever be left behind.

Yes, he is a sharp and cutting thing, hard to look at. He burns so bright, my icarian boy. He fashions himself so easy to be loved and flies so close to the sun, taunting it to shoot him down. He will ruin Verona, if he has his way. He will almost certainly burn himself up to do it. And I suppose I have applied— in part, to try and stop him, to save him from himself. But mostly, I am here because of this: if I do not stand witness to a falling star, if I do not love him as he is–, then I fear no one ever will.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1— Nothing short of a prodigy in politics + war, this princeling figures some form of leadership to be the most natural application for his talents, and, as it seems, he seems destined for it. Impressed by Cyrus’ verve and natural aptitude for diplomacy, Cosimo has promoted the young man to an emissary and holds Cyrus in high regard. But, while Cyrus seems content in his position and its upwards mobility, he does not intend to take orders forever.

In his biography, there are inklings of a betrayal from Cyrus to the Capulets written throughout his biography. His position to Lawrence as an informant is an obvious clue of lack of loyalty, but it definitely goes far beyond that. Cyrus pays no mind to any man (nor God). He is only concerned with his own interest.

While the possibility of Cyrus becoming a Montague is tantalizing, I think Cyrus hates the Capulets for what they have done to him, but he hates all of Verona the same way. Trading loyalties to the Montagues, to another mob family with a rigid hierarchy isn’t how Cyrus sees himself. He wants to be King, not just a soldier with a different perspective of the Castelvecchio Bridge. Right now, Cyrus does his best to play at peace. But, as the war in Verona streets escalates, the number of neutral sanctuaries decreases, I intend to make Cyrus prove himself loyal to a side, once and for all— whichever one that may be.

———— “Do you not trust me?” Cyrus grins. With his teeth bared and the whites of his eyes glittering in the dark, he looks like the Cheshire cat. You think you have never trusted him less.

2— Earnestly, I think that Cyrus probably wouldn’t betray the Capulets for the Montagues. However, I didn’t say Cyrus wouldn’t betray the Capulets altogether. In fact, for his goal (just like… enacting revenge on all of Verona), I think it’s more likely than not that he will betray them at some point. A thread I’ve been following through the biographies is Cassian’s ties to certain neutral parties (olivia + mona in particular). I could be misreading, but Olivia has her eyes on him. Mona knows his secrets. Like snakes, they cut through the grass, wrap themselves around the prey and they squeeze. Pressure mounting, Cassian might crack sometime soon. And Cyrus— well, he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

In the biography, it is explicitly stated that Cyrus seeks to overtake Cassian. Though Cyrus plays the part of being his dutiful student, he has no real affection for his mentor. Ever since he has been in Verona, he has tried to get closer to his mentor. However, when he spots Olivia’s watchful gaze on the man, I think Cyrus will jump at the chance to act– to finally show that he is not someone to be underestimated. I think this is a perfect opportunity for him to stumble.

I would love to see him team up with Mona and Olivia to amp up the pressure on Cassian. And moreover, I would love to see Cyrus’ loyalties be swayed to them entirely. In my eyes, Mona Chen is someone who thrives in duplicity, whose mother (and father) has not been kind to her and someone who Cyrus knows- will never bow to anyone. It is those things that Cyrus respects. It is those things that will make Cyrus vulnerable to her.

Perhaps Cyrus just passes information about Cassian to Mona and Olivia at first. he offers his assistance from time to time. But maybe things go deeper. Maybe he sees Mona as the coming storm, as someone who will brings the winds of change. Maybe Cyrus can be even convinced to follow her entirely. In any case, this is a perfect opportunity for Cyrus to make a misstep, for him to reveal too much about himself and having that be his undoing. Mona is a woman who deals with secrets and has no problem weaponizing that. It would be awful for him, if she had some dirt of him.

———— “You cannot think that I will let you crush my mentor,” he says, “at least, not without my help.”

3— What is Cyrus without his mother? What is a list of plots without Cyrus and Vivianne on it?. Honestly, I don’t even know where this is going to go. I just know that it’s going to hurt so exquisitely. If you asked Cyrus about his mother, he would laugh. I have your love, he would say, why do I need hers? There is no hard feelings between the two of them, he says. What she did gave him a better life. I mean, just look at him. He was spoiled in Capetown, given everything he ever wanted. And now that he is back in Verona, his good fortune has only followed. Right?

In the years since Cyrus left Capetown, Vivianne has only thrived. She has married Cosimo, become the underboss of the city’s best crime family (fuck u, montagues). She has even found a surrogate daughter to replace him, one that she loves in ways that she never could with him. It is clear that the problem was never with her. To a layman’s eye, Cyrus is nothing but an indigent boy who aims to make Verona his playground. Reveling in every waking moment in the city, he’s a reckless and terrible thing, content to leave caution to the wind so long as he conquers these streets. But the truth is– he has no appetite for ambition without her as an audience, no desire to prove his happiness and success if the news will not travel somehow to her ears.

He hates Vivianne. But what he hates most about her is that—while he would have done anything for her attention, she never seemed to care for him. ———— “You have the world, Cyrus,” she says, calm as ever. He laughs. ”Does it matter? I would have given it all up if you had just been there.”

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | not yet.

IN DEPTH In-Character Para Sample:

//// I WROTE THIS LITERALLY ALL TODAY BC I WANTED TO GET MY APP IN PLS DONT JUDGE TOO HARSHLY

Mass had only ended an hour or so ago. The candles lit for the service still smoldered from having been snuffed out. But Cyrus held no pretensions—sanctity had left this house of worship far before that.

There was nothing holy about this place, he ascertained.  

Perhaps there never had been.

Of course—he would not deny that, as a child, Cyrus had found the Cattedrale di Verona impossibly beautiful. A feat of architecture like no other, it had filled his chest with wonder to see the golden mural that arched across the vaulted ceiling, the reverential way sunlight passed through the stained glass. However, he had long since learned that the spectacle was only a clever ruse. Just like most things in Verona, beauty existed only to hide the rot that so often lurked beneath.

As he walked through the empty pews now, he felt a visceral disgust with himself. How had he not seen it? While he sat in these very seats, knelt on this very floor, sought out something bigger than himself, looked in every corner to find out why the room always felt so empty, he had been blind to the cracks in walls, the chips in the paint. The priest had said once to him that “in god, he would find all answers”—but there was no salvation to be found here.

Even when he had needed it the most, he had never found any salvation here.

Yes, you see he understood now. There was only one reason why he came to the Cathedral now: to drink in his bitterness, to remind himself of the debt he was owed.

The Cathedral was his, just like this city was. Not in that he believed in it or that he loved it more than anyone else, but because he had paid for it ten times over. It had promised him mercy and benevolence and safety, but, when every alley had looked like fear and every corner had held another terrible surprise, it had denied him of all of it. When he was weak, they had cast him aside, and he still remembered that casual cruelty, still felt the sting of rejection and could not bear it.

With no one around to stop him, Cyrus clambered atop an empty pew and went to light a cigarette. While the puff of smoke rose ever upwards, caressed the faces of Abaddon and John, St. Michael and Magog, he laughed. How prescient of them, he thought to himself, to paint a picture of their own reckoning.

He stubs his cigarette out on the pew. It leaves a scorch mark, but he does not seem to care. He offers a rakish smile to no one in particular. He laughs.

“You would forgive me,” he says to the empty air.

(And look- look at that winsome smile, at that careless leer. You could try to fault him for something. He would dare you to. But you would still forgive him anyways.)

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Connor Kenway x Angel!Fem!Reader

At the beginning of times,God created Heaven,and with it,his most trusty Archangels,with the aim of helping him pursue utopia and bliss for the incoming races on his beloved Earth,and thus,these divine winged beings,with the righteous will and judgement,obeyed their Lord's every command,without questioning it.

Centuries passed,humanity fell out of its grace,but He was merciful and loving,and offered them a change of redemption,in the after-life,and with every pure-hearted believer who would pass away,a new bright soul would ascend to the Garden of Heavens,be judged,and so they were entrusted with the smaller tasks,being named Angels.

These obedient followers with never-ending energy all seemed to fall into the same pattern,until one faithful day,when one surprisingly stood out of the crowd for being...different. Instead of minding her own business,perfecting her abilities in hopes of going up in ranks,as was the others' ambition,she wanted to do something more,something that would actually bring her joy is such a dull place bound by unbreakable laws,so she decided to perfect her art of manipulation of the weak or the soft-spoken,or even better,jest about unspeakable acts worth censoring in such a conservative place.

God,seeing her behaviour,decided to both teach her a lesson and grant her the wish,and thus,she was reincarnated in the Medieval times,as a fire-kissed maiden with loving yet difficult parents,at a court where she was meant to become the Handmaiden of the Castle's little lady. The girl was not satisfied with only an ordinary mortal life and started acting on her own accord,studying how to become a Maester,wanting to travel the world and see all that Earth has to offer.

Years passed and our little lady became a grown woman,at the ripe age of marriage,yet mischievous and ambitious beyond her times,and decided to inform her loved ones of her on-coming trip to the nearest kingdom,in pursue of knowledge,which wasn't well-seen.Nevertheless,there was nobody in power to stop the sly vixen as she began to walk the path of maturity.

Upon her return,her parents welcomed her warmly,but it was fleeting,as they had to have her know of the potential suitor awaiting her fateful return. She protested,not wanting to bother with such trivial and insignificant follies such as 'love' and 'family' and opposed to any explanation,turning the Fool down. Little did she know that day was her last day of human happiness,as a streak of misfortunes awaited her,for a wicked witch helped the Fool charm our Maiden with a love potion,the most powerful one to be created,and so the Minstrel had her grasped in his predator claws. She didn't seem to understand much of the situation,having had no previous experience with this concerning emotion,but decided to act as natural as possible,trying to make her paramour happy with everything in her power. All seemed to go well,for most of the part,until her day of birth came once again,and sticking to the tradition,invited all her friends,also servants to the House she was serving,and a newer apparition,her beloved. They drank ale,shared hilarious tales,sang with the bards and danced together,until dusk hit and they had to return home. The girl,once again,was happy...Until her one and only spun her around,yelling at her with malice,words dripping with venom and jealousy spewing from his filthy mouth,frightening and rooting her to the spot. Has she done something wrong?

Was there anything offensive in her behaviour?

Did she insult him,perchance?

Countless of questions seemed to rang through her head as she felt the symbol of weakness,a river of tears,streaming down her pale cheeks,whilst trembling and trying to come up with a reply to the monster in front of her. She left him there without anything spoken on her part,but a breakdown in her private chambers,as she tried to understand the reasoning behind such aggressive attitude towards her.

She believed that everyone deserved a second chance...and a third...and maybe even a fourth one,possible mistake learnt from Heavens,and forgiving the man,despite her mind telling her it was wrong,she stuck by his side for more moons than she could have ever imagined.

In the meantime,the glowing blood rose started to wilt at an alarming pace,faced with unneeded toxicity and bad treatment,and with it,she began hating herself more than ever before,understanding for the first time just how weak a woman is on Earth,compared to a lustful man's strength,and as she couldn't counter or stop his actions,despite protesting vehemently... She gave up.

For the first time in her life,she felt like giving up was the wisest option there was. Give up on fighting. Give up on protesting. Give up on happiness. Give up on thinking she was worth anything. Give up on believing love and genuine emotions exist. And... She gave up on herself.

Everything fell into the same dull pattern,until one day,she was slapped awake by her ambitions,and remember that even whilst hating herself,she still wanted her life to take a different turn and her career was still more important than anything on that tainted World. And so,the red-haired girl managed to gather the strength to break the charm all by herself,and got the Fool banished from the Kingdom,never to be seen again,much to her relief. Nevertheless,regrets and despair would forever haunt her,despising how frail and weak she was,uncharacteristic of her normal self,as she endured almost two full winters turned with a parasyte leeching on her positive energies,just as mistletoe,beautiful yet deadly,is destroying another plant for it to live better.

Not much time passed,wounds slowly getting stitched together with the help of her closest friends and family,and with that,a new trip was planned for her as a surprise,and she took the opportunity without any doubt,eager to absorb even more information.

The people around her were all open-minded,wise elders and shamans willing to show her the way of healing and how to become one with nature and accept herself. Contrary to her expectations,however,no matter what you do,curses and bad intentions follow everyone around,and when one of the travelers began fighting with his ill,miserable parents,wanting to stay behind and explore just a bit more,she decided to step in and offer him company on the small island,despite twilight threatening to appear soon. Feeling blessed,his parents thanked her endlessly,while the lovely elder witch doctor advised her not to stray too much from the path,and she went to his side,weary and skeptical,wanting to go to her temporary home faster.

It was just like how a panther waits its prey,prowling around,vulnerable and clueless of any evil intent around,using the environment to its,favour,and seeing her shivering due to the cold night,he wrapped his meaty arms around her small form,despite her protests. She soon found out the rotten apple was 10 years her senior and much stronger than he appeared,conflicts forming in her head,as she was not familiar with the path back,like he was,yet struggling in his grasp helped naught. And she gave up fighting. Again.

Hours passed,midnight stroke and Mother Moon was high on the sky,illuminating the place gracefully with her pure,silvery light,watching over the sinful,as on their way back,he gripped her noodle-like arms hard and forced himself onto her,the feeling of teeth smashing into her own and the disgust,making her want to have a star fall on her at that moment and crush her to death forever. No amount of struggle proved to be successful,but she cried no more.She just followed behind,at a fast pace,wanting to arrive at her new chambers faster and bury herself under the ground,feeling a strong,burning feeling of hatred towards herself and that shameful monster claiming to be human. Alone,once again,she began breaking down,yelling at Heavens and at the Lord to take her back or stop her suffering once and for all. Just what had she done so wrong in her life that she deserved all of this? Was her behaviour in Eden so bad? Was entertainment forbidden and punished like the Never-ending 7 Circles of Hell? Desperation was clouding her mind and judgement,and she soon accepted that she was not meant for a normal human life. Being forever by herself seemed to be a much better option regardless,and thus,a life of solitude and eternal hate awaited her. She began behaving worse than she realized,not talking to her friends that much anymore,not bothering with her difficult family who seemed to only want to apply even more unwanted pressure about how she is going to be the outcast and the laughingstock of the whole Country and she wouldn't behave like a normal woman,marry and bare the lordling's children,as it was expected.

She wanted to end it all,for it was too much pain to hold on to,her heart feeling heavy with over-flowing waves of torment,her lungs felt drowned,no amount of breathing seemed to make her feel alive anymore and she began wondering how lovely death seemed now,that all hope was lost for an unsightly creature like her. If she couldn't accept herself,why would anyone else bother with her eternal damnation and suffer along-side her,carrying her problems? Nobody deserves such a pitiful fate,so better end it all before any more misfortune starts stalking her.

For the rest of the year she kept her stoic facade,devoid of any emotion or compassion,only allowing herself to crumble the sturdy walls around her when alone,with only the shadows threatening to consume her.

~But miracles do actually happen,even to the less fortune of souls~

Seeing how much sadness he brought to the one pure soul he created,now tainted by Humanity's malice,He felt pity,and allowed a private parley between them. She would be able to became and angel and join the ranks once again,if only she can successfully finish a mission,one that required guiding another unfortunate soul to the light,one from a modern time of War between states.

The first step,now that she was back to her celestial self,was to observe the person and see if he truly was worthy of redemption. Flying on a cloud,she propped herself comfortable,at the first hour of the day,before the Sun even got the chance appear on the sky,watching the Native American’s life and memories,and with it,the familiar feeling of sorrow settled itself into her heart,and looking down at him,she was shocked to see him kneeling on the ground,his head on the ground,sobbing and cursing at the wind for his bad luck,yet praying with all his might to any existing deity that might give him a sign to keep on going...a reason to live. His mother dead,his father killed by himself,his mentor having died,and his many loved ones,away... Maybe,just maybe,despite everything he had lost,even himself....mayhap there is still something worth fighting for.

She remained stunned,gazing at him with pity,her dark eyes,like the infinite void,sparkling with interest and other unknown emotions towards this complete stranger ; he looked up,his kind chocolate eyes glistening with tears of hopelessness,until he widened his orbs,and much to her surprise,his gaze bore into hers.

So much time she spent observing him from up there,that she didn't realize the sunshine was bright enough to make her glow,having her position discovered. Scared,she fled back to Heaven,and contemplated her next move. Frankly,she wanted nothing to do with that pitiful assassin,for he too was in the same desperate situation she was in... On the other hand,however,there was something that made her think of him with no end.

The look in his dark eyes that held warmth,like when you go home after a cold winter night.They are hazelnuts and gingerbread men,hot cocoa and cinnamon,they are the comfort and warmth when you wrap yourself in a blanket and stay reading in front of a fireplace,drinking a hot beverage with extra honey,and outside it's freezing and snowing.

His eyes...The dark coloured eyes that she held herself as well,and she despised,she fell in love with.

His eyes...The one colour she hated most,and wished for any other one,she found genuinely mesmerizing and enchanting.

His eyes...So deep and caring,carrying a heavy burden of sorrow and pain.

His eyes...The ones she grew to love with all her heart.

His eyes...Him...The pitiful knight is shining armour that stood there,still hoping and searching for happiness,not having given up yet. He was strong,stronger than anyone she had ever met,either in her angel or human form,and she felt genuinely attracted,without wanting to. In truth,she was scared. Scared of what might happen if she lost him. She wanted nothing more than to make sure he did not suffer the same fate she did,made sure to use the small amount of magic she held,to make him smile for the first time in ages. Be it a lovely playful kitten,or a travelling crystal butterfly,a picturesque sunshine or a magnificent flower,she did it all for him.

That is,until one Archangel began to notice and expressed his displeasure towards her ridiculous behaviour,which only seemed to irk her to the point where she walked up to God himself,to request one last wish,before she would disappear.It was rather selfish and uncertain,but the Lord only smiled down at his little angel,patted her head and sent her down on Earth at the next sunrise,descending to Earth with a divine and elegant glow that would put even Mother Moon to shame.

In front of her,kneeling and staring up at her in wonder,he tried to make words come out of his mouth,but his chipped lips only seemed to form stutters,as he bit on the lower one,trying to stop himself from letting more tears stream down his chocolate-coloured cheeks.

She remained silent,knowing words would betray her,and smiled gently at him,touching his rough face with her pale,delicate hand,and seeing him lean into her warm touch with such glee in his eyes,much like a pitiful puppy who found a new owner,made her look away,suddenly feeling timid and a rosy blush threatening to cover her angelic features. She knelt to his level,her white wings fluttering,and putting her hands together,she made a small snowdrop form,letting him witness the beauty of nature by letting him have it,as a sign of purity and innocence.

Touched to tears by her kind gestures,he felt himself hug her tightly to his chest,not wanting to let her go anymore. He finally found the sign he was looking for and he was willing to brave anything is his path to make sure his Angel remained by his side,happy. He started planting soft kisses all over hear rosy face,forehead and fire-kissed hair,her angelic giggles becoming lullabies to his ears. His own face became redder than any Red Lily he had ever encountered thus far,and seeing this,she felt herself grin at him and kissed his forehead,as he kept radiating with happiness.

"I choose to throw away my immortality and powers,strip away my wings and ranks,only to be by your side,for as long as Earth will have us.Will you accept me,my darling brave warrior of justice?" she said with a playful grin and she cupped his mesmerised face,that held only love and wonder. "I can only thank Thee,Mother Moon,for sending your most beautiful and compassionate of daughters down here,to me.I vow to protect you,my sweet Cherokee rose,with every fiber of my being,no matter what dangers might occur." Connor vowed,placing his own hands over hers and gazing into her shiny eyes,overflowing with emotion. "Then,my sweet assassin,protector of righteousness,prithee,take care of me and teach me what love is,for I have faced so many misfortunes,I lost count,and let us seal this promise with a kiss" saying that,she looked down,allowing herself a moment of timidness,then leaned in,placing her lips over his,kissing him softly,as she felt his hands shaking just the littlest bit,getting the courage to reciprocate just as gently,almost afraid to break her,as if she was just a lovely mirage and he was actually on the verge of dying.

"I am yours,and you are mine,I swear it by any Gods existing on this World,and I never intend to let go of my beautiful butterfly.Thou art the greatest gift humanity could ever receive." managing to smile,bright and genuine,for the first time in his life,he kissed the firey girl,watching her immaculate white wings slowly dissipate into thin air,then embraced her,playing with her hair,kissing it,vowing to himself to become a better man and make her the happiest person walking the Earth. ​​​​​​​ And so what seemed to be the tragic story of two different people from two parallel worlds proved to be the emotional reunion of two soulmates looking for each other,and only seeing the black,white and greys of life,until discovering the light at the end of the tunnel,and with it,a vivid palette of unlimited colours.