#ichorean

[cleamaesta]

6. Are they dominant or submissive?

9. Do they get embarrassed easily when it comes to nsfw things? Or are they shameless?

not as spicy sunday ;; accepting

6 -- -- she definitely leans more on the dominant side of things, as she does even out of the intimacy sphere, in her everyday life. she's just one to naturally take control and lead ( and to thrive in how it feels and what it can bring both parties involved ) but she is not that bold or shameless to just take the reins of the situation and go, and not to listen or give attention to her partner's cues or desires -- especially if any of them do involve a reversal of roles. actually, i think she would find a sort of thrill in a matching dominance to playfully butt heads with, and in the long run, she wouldn't settle for anything less. in general though, dominant -- but depending on partner and the trust they have, she wouldn't mind adopting a temporary submissive role. get the best of both worlds™.

9 -- -- i don't think she gets embarrassed that much. as an artist, i guess concepts such as nudity, for example, are hardly a bother or something worth blushing over. that does not mean she takes the vulnerability that may come with nudity itself for granted or less worthy of praise or attention, for example; that's not inherently sexual in her opinion. a constant with her : she'd never want to be seen as anything less than perfect in her partner's eyes-- and it applies in intimacy too, in nudity, in the amount of vulnerability shown too.

but she's usually so direct and that is just not something she'd be particularly embarrassed about when exposed to or being told about. same goes for the act itself in its theory and different concepts. well, unless it's some facet of it that may be considered particularly scandalous to the early-1900s french standards (and even then, she would not conform under the time's most rigid rules either... not down to the T, at least -- she wears no corset, walks barefoot, shows neck and cleavage, her blouse is a model for males-only judging by the buttons side and is NOT buttoned up in the chest area -- she's unmarried at 29yos and is a paintress in a wealthy family).

that being said, it doesn't mean she is completely shameless either. she's grown comfortable with most subjects. that doesn't make her immune to the occasional tease or display getting the best of her, especially those specifically meant to make her flustered -- when her hands are tied and she cannot find a clever enough way to respond or react. for example, she would think public kissing totally out of the question, and THAT is quite a tame concept compared to nudity haha ! probably anything past hand-holding in public would get her incredibly flustered and a blushing mess. raunchy jokes, risky innuendos or flirting discussion out in the open, in public ? that gets you an embarrassed eyeroll for sure... a pinch if you get a laugh out of her reaction or lack thereof -- which is funny, because one would think the girl more embarrassed at the simpler carnality of it all than the teasing itself, the mind-work !

real clea's plausible lack of experience could exacerbate this behavior a bit, unless she's with someone she loves and she fully trusts to be perfect for her, one she can speak her mind with about such subjects; it's all about the context ! she may as well loosen up then, especially if riled up enough; she may get a bit red in the face, but you'll never catch her completely without any inhibitions. some things are meant to stay private. painted clea would just be SLIGHTLY more laidback on the matter. less pressure, less contexts.

[atlasveiled]

 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 || accepting

@ichorean asked: ❛ You’re getting better… but not good enough to beat me. ❜ (from dualliste, naturally)

A bright laugh left Rooks lips as he ducked under the next swing, pivoted to avoid another, as always enjoying his bout with Dualliste immensely. He loved a challenge, loved to spar — heart racing, adrenaline and endorphins surging through his body. The air is alive with his static, sparks skittering across his form, all part of an intricate system that gives Rook an edge in battle — electroreception like an early warning system.

It worked different for nevrons than humans. Usually he would sense the electrical impulse released with every minor muscle movement but for them it worked closer to some form of constant echolocation. Dualliste was at least wearing metal armour which gave him a better sense due to the conductive properties.

"Was that an actual compliment, Dualliste?" Rook teased the much larger being but he can't help but feel a surge of pride. He darts forward to get in close, sliding to avoid getting struck — a very narrow miss, he's starting to tire — jumping up to grab onto that arm and swing his body around.

Like a squirrel in a tree he scurries and swings his way around Dualliste, another laugh given — sue him it's fun.

[cleamaesta]

@ichorean : ❝  a  heart’s  a  heavy  burden.❞ (from dualliste)

howl's moving castle II 𓇢𓆸 accepting ;;

A leg dangles lazily from the spot she's chosen as her perch — that soft tendril of red chroma and paint that, from below and in the right light, looks so much like part of an intricate spiderweb made of blood and gore. It's gruesome, it's dirty, but there she is — reclined, gently leaning her back against it, as it's solid enough to fully support her weight and movements. That macabre material is now her hammock, and like a cradle, it rocks slightly as she observes the fresh bodies of the latest expeditioners being turned into stone.

She has told him she feels nothing for those men and women; and yet, minutes earlier, her eyes had fallen briefly on each of those forms. And when he noticed, he had put her mind at ease, denying the presence of the mocking image of her brother among those newest victims — the additions in that pool of death the moat now serves as. It wouldn't even matter much, in the end; the cursed gift of immortality would render his death meaningless anyway.

Two older bodies are entwined in the red, solid ichor, not too far from her chosen spot — one's hand clasped in the other's, still and cold as the statues they now have become. Hollow, despite that last, everlasting contact. The sight has made her muse, half out loud, half not, on two of those faux creatures she would have truly liked to see crystalized for good as well. The two who had proven much more useful "alive" than dead: her own disgusting copy, the one the wayward nevrons call "la régente", caged in the skies — and her lover, imprisoned underwater. One, forced and bent to serve her orders; and the other, altered and changed in everything but the heart, probably cursing his fate and Clea, for eternity.

Among those who serve and revere her, the Dualliste is perhaps the only one who's been graced by their tale before. Overall, it's a good one to recall — for it speaks of resilience in the face of godhood and death, and it always ends with Clea's own involvement and triumph. Thus his comment; her victory had come from the deceiving of hearts indeed. Cruel in its necessity. ❛ Indeed. One seems to scarcely be of any use in here, ❜ she says, her eyes pried away from the stone-caged lovers. Well, not in that forsaken pit, that's for certain. ❛ It surely hasn't helped my copy and that man, nor these two. ❜

Her foot stops dangling, the oscillation now almost irritating — to the point it bothers her, and deeply. She stills completely while eyes travel downward, to the creature of black and gold. And then, to its core of flames peeking from the slits of his armor. A heart ? Has her cruelty extended to him too, back when she first conceived him as he is now ? Has her mother bested Clea, in the art of emotions ? Does it matter ? ❛ It weighs heavy, ❜ she assures him, ❛ Always heavier than the day before. ❜

For it certainly aches with pain and regret whenever she looks upon the butchered memories, at the way her childhood haven has become infested by wicked desires, sins and grief. The past joys are now soiled, and her heart, too, is set to be made into a weak spot. How free he seems to be... in his apparent obliviousness. Apparent... only if the fire that animates him counts for nothing.

And while her heart had once begged for both mind and soul to think harder, and find another way — to inflict less pain to others and to absorb none of it with each drastic decision taken inside that canvas — a burden heavier than heart's wishes had always snuffed such cries out. Violent and desperate, the image of her brother's a constant reminder of her true mission. Enough. Enough moping. A little sigh, and Clea slowly rises from that hammock of condensed paint. ❛ Enough. Let's get out of here. ❜