#Shara Bullet

[cagesidepress]

Robert Whittaker vs. Khamzat Chimaev Main Event UFC Saudi Arabia

Read the full story on cagesidepress.com

#Alexander Volkov #Daniel Rodriguez #Ihor Potieria #Johnny Walker #Kelvin Gastelum #Khamzat Chimaev #Robert Whittaker #Sergei Pavlovich #Shara Bullet #UFC Saudi Arabia #Volkan Oezdemir

[eric-coldfire]

Finally bit the bullet in Iceborne...

After some charm grinding and Guiding Lands grinding, I decided to finally push ahead withe the main story of Iceborne.

Beat Tempered Brachydios and Tempered Glavinus, and unlocked MR99.

All that was left was to fight Ruiner Nergigante.

I was not looking forward to this and expected a slog.

Lvl 10 Shara Ishvalda B Full Set.

Fullset bonus, True Gaia's Veil: Gain Maxed Tremor Resistance, Earplugs, Windproof, and Flinch Free when wearing a mantle.

Decos: Defense lvl 7, Health Booster lvl 3, Crit Boost lvl 3, Partbreaker lvl 3, Item Prolonger lvl 3, Recovery Up lvl 2, Recovery Speed lvl 2, Coalescene lvl 2, and Capacity Boost lvl 1.

Charm: Adamantine Charm. Non-Elemental Boost and Blugeoner.

Weapon: Acid Buster 2 Gunlance with Attack 1 and Defense 1 augments.

Both horns broken, both front legs broken, both wings broken, and tail severed.

MFW he was slain without carting even once.

#Monster Hunter World #Monster Hunter World Iceborne #Ruiner Nergigante

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Please please infodump about the lore please 🥺

You’ve just opened a Pandora’s box full of nonsense (thanks for enabling me <3)

Poe is a great cook - he used to spend HOURS in the kitchen with Shara, watching her cook and helping whenever she’d let him. Now, it’s something that makes him feel close to her whenever he makes a meal for someone else because he remembers how much effort and love she’d put into all of her food

Finn is The Matchmaker. He got Rey and Rose together (it was significant easier than trying to get Poe and Reader together). He just loves to see his friends happy, but he never feels like a third/fifth wheel because they’re friends first and couples second

When Poe joined the Air Force straight out of high school, Kes didn’t talk to him for a few weeks. As much as he loves his son and supports him in anything, this was the one thing Kes said he could never do. Poe just wanted to be like his parents, wanted to honor his mom’s legacy

Adding onto that last bullet point, Kes is the one who convinced Leia to give The Resistance to Poe and Finn - ultimately it was her idea but Kes definitely did some meddling. She loves stopping in unannounced - those are her boys, she loves them like sons, but they get spooked easily (they just want to impress her)

Finn is scared of birds, and everyone gives him shit for it. He can’t explain why, but he hates all birds. Like if one comes near him, he’s going to move

Rey also wanted to join the Air Force, but she quickly released it wasn’t for her. The boys, who she’d met literally a few days before she made this decision, supported her 10000% and made her promise to keep in touch. She did, and then she went to college and worked her ass off. She’s a kick ass lawyer (which I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned)

Just like how Leia decided they were all her children (she’ll meet Reader soon I promise), Kes practically adopted Finn and Rey as soon as they met him. For at least five years straight they were spending every holiday at the Dameron household (he still loves Rose, but he saw two orphans who were besties with his son and said ‘they’re mine now’)

These are all just kinda off the top of my head, but please keep asking questions!! Literally anything anyone wants to know, I’ll tell you (except major spoilers, y’all will just need to wait…)

#you are in love series #nym tag <3

[artbydanilodealmeida]

Gey yours 'Shara Magomedov' t-shirt in my TeePublic store: teepublic.com/t-shirt/shara-bullet-magomedov

#shara magomedov #ufc #ufc russia #mma #martial arts #mixed martial arts #mma merch #mmaedits #mmafanart #bootleg merch

[conandaily2022]

Dagestan, Russia's Sharabutdin Magomedov earns 1st UFC win, decisions Paraiba, Brazil's Bruno Silva in Abu Dhabi, UAE

“Shara Bullet” Sharabutdin Magomedov, 29, of Makhachkala, Dagestan, Russia was one of the winners at the Ultimate Fighting Championship event “UFC 294”. It was his first victory in the mixed martial arts promotion based in Las Vegas, Nevada, United States.

View On WordPress

#Abu Dhabi #Dagestan #Makhachkala #Paraiba #Youtube

[moonknightly]

bittersweet & delicate : modern! poe x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: kes dameron is a dilf

Warnings: i think i said a bad word

Poe’s never been good with silence. He’s always been a loud person with a roaring personality to match, full of charm and charisma that he’d learned from his father. He’s always talking, always spewing stories and telling jokes to the people around him, and in the rare moment’s when he's verbally silent, you know that his mind is racing with ideas and memories replaying through his head.

But now, he’s just quiet. So quiet you’re beginning to worry about him. He’s sitting completely still at the island with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, and you’re leaning against the counter opposite of him, watching him closely, your eyes never straying from his face, just like his never moved from the small yellow envelope in front of him.

He’s been staring at that envelope all afternoon.  

You know what’s in it. You know why he’s quiet, why he can’t do anything but stare.

You know he’s waiting to open it until Kes gets there, but part of you wonders if he’d even be able to do it without him. He’s not ready.

He’s scared.

Fear — another bullet point on the list of things he’s never been good with. It makes him shut down, makes him forget to take care of himself until it passes or until he buries it down far enough to ignore.

But he has you, and if you can do anything, you can take care of him.

You know he hasn’t eaten, there aren’t any dishes in the dishwasher and you’d just unloaded it that morning. You honestly can’t remember if you’ve even seen him drink anything.

So that’s what you grab first. You slide the glass of water across the counter towards him, and he glances at it briefly before looking up at you with appreciation evident in his eyes. He takes it and raises it to his lips, finishing the whole thing in just a few seconds. You immediately pour him another glass, then silently move around the kitchen, trying to figure out what you can cook from what you have on hand.

You decide on some soup and a grilled cheese — simple, easy, comforting and fit for the occasion as well as the cold and snow outside. He finishes the soup first, and though he only eats half of the sandwich, that’s good enough for you.

“Thank you,” he mumbles once he’s finished, and he stands to clear his dishes but you grab them before he can, kissing his cheek in the process.

His cheeks turn a little pink like they always do, and you’re happy to see that even in his current state, your kiss can still make him blush.

“No problem, sweet boy.”

Poe smiles. He fidgets in his seat, and you can tell by the expression on his face that he feels awkward and unsure. Two more things he’s unfamiliar with. You leave his dishes in the sink to worry about later, then move to sit next to him.

You take his hand in yours and immediately notice that his fingers are slippery, covered in sweat but you don’t even flinch. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose this time, and the way that he scrunches his face makes your chest bloom.

“You doing okay?” you ask, though it seems a little redundant.

He shrugs his shoulders gently, takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. That tells you more than enough — he’s trying to make sure you don’t worry about him, he wants to appear like he’s held together by more than a few frayed threads.

“Just a little stressed out baby.”

“Liar.”

Poe sighs and shrugs again. He’s quiet for a moment, and when he does decide to speak, his voice waivers.

“I just...what if this isn’t it?”

Your arms are immediately around him, your hand on his head so you can cradle him against your chest. He lets you hold him, but doesn’t give you a chance to speak.

“The crash was over twenty years ago, there’s no way-”

He’s interrupted by a knock on your front door, and neither of you get up to answer it. You know it’s just Kes, and Kes knows he can just walk inside. He’s early, and Poe’s face falls. He’s not ready.

But again, you don’t think he ever will be. Even with Kes there to help him through it, even with you.

You listen as Kes kicks his shoes off in the hallway and hangs his jacket up on a hook. He sighs, and it’s quiet for a few seconds before you hear his footsteps walking towards you. He’s nervous too, you could feel it the second he walked through the door.

It’s warranted.

He takes a seat next to his son, his eyes fixating on the envelope sitting in front of him, just like Poe’s.

It still catches you off guard sometimes, how insanely alike the two Dameron’s look, how they share so many of the same mannerisms. Their smile is the same, their laugh is the same. They both rub the back of their neck when they’re embarrassed, and their cheeks turn the subtlest shade of pink.

They both have beautiful, breathtaking brown eyes, but you’ve seen pictures and know that Poe’s are one hundred percent Shara’s.

You know that Kes thinks the same every single time he looks at his son, because he gets this look in his eyes that’s so tender and warm or, depending on the day, far off and distant and sad.

Right now, it’s the sadness that prevails.

Kes sighs and shakes his head just a little bit. He runs a hand through his hair and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before lightly touching Poe’s shoulder, offering him support and reassurance, but you know Kes needs the contact for himself too. His hand is shaking.

“You okay kiddo?” he asks quietly, clearing his throat a little bit to hide the way it cracks.

You notice, but Poe doesn’t seem to. He only gives his father the same shrug he gave you, but he doesn’t look at him. He just keeps his eyes on the envelope.

Kes sighs again, and you bite your bottom lip, unsure if you should leave the two of them alone so they can have this moment together or if you should excuse yourself into another room. Kes glances towards you, almost like he can sense what you’re thinking — you’d always been close with him. He shakes his head, silently asking you to stay. You nod once.

Another round of silence takes over the room, with Poe still staring at the envelope and both you and Kes staring at him. Again, it’s Kes who breaks the silence.

“Do you want me to do it?”

Poe stays completely still, completely quiet. For a moment, you’re not sure he even heard his father’s question, but he finally shakes his head and reaches forward. His hands are shaking too.

He takes the envelope and turns it over his hands a couple of times, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he prepares himself to open it. Kes keeps his hand on Poe’s arm, and you gently start to play with the hair at the nape of his neck — something you know Shara used to do to calm him down.

“Poe we don’t have to do this right now,” you remind him, your voice as gentle as you could possibly make it.

“No,” he answers immediately after, shaking his head hastily. “No, I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

He tears the envelope open before you and Kes can even blink. He hesitates again, for just a moment before reaching inside and grabbing a small card, a short message scribbled across it in messy handwriting. He passes it to his father, who also has no interest in reading it just then. They just want to see what else is inside.

Poe reaches back in and pulls out a clear plastic bag, but his fingers are hiding whatever sits inside. He stops again, takes a few deep breaths, then slowly opens his fist.

That breath was pointless, because all of the air comes rushing from his lungs in a single second. Kes immediately turns and buries his face into his son’s neck, and you watch as his shoulders begin to shake.

Sitting in Poe’s palm is a simple yet beautiful silver ring, one that you’ve only seen in pictures but instantly recognize. It’s unmistakingly Shara’s — no one had to look at the engraving to know for sure. It’s hers, without a single doubt it’s hers.

“Oh my God,” Kes breathes, picking his head back up to look at it again, almost like he’s making sure it’s still there. “Fuck.”

Poe’s still so quiet, just staring at the ring in his hand, completely entranced by it. You wipe at the tears running down your cheeks, then hug him again, kissing the top of his head over and over.

He brings it closer to his face, wanting to get a better look at the ring he hasn’t seen in over twenty years, the ring he used to play with when he was a small boy and couldn’t sleep at night. He’s told you the story before, so many times.

Shara would slip it onto a chain for him whenever he’d wake up from a nightmare. Whenever he was scared of the monsters hiding under his bed or whenever there was a storm raging on outside, she’d clasp it around his neck to wear for the night. She’d promise him that it would keep him safe, protect him from all of the bad and bring him peace, make him feel at ease enough to rest. It always worked.

He still has the chain, he’s worn it every single day since he was eight years old, but the ring had gone down with Shara, buried in the sand along with the remnants of her broken and charred plane. Kes had gone to look for it so many times after the crash, but he’d never been able to find it. The only thing he’d managed to bring back were burnt pieces of metal — a piece for him and Poe each that they both held onto with pride.

And so a month before, when Poe got an email from a man claiming to have found his mother’s ring while he was surveying the area with his metal detector, from a man who said he’d spent the last six months trying to track Poe or Kes down, he hadn’t believed it. It just didn’t seem possible.

But there it was, sitting in the palm of his hands. The man had even gotten it professionally cleaned.

All three of you sit there and just continue to stare at it, your emotions staying somewhere between disbelief and awe. You don’t know how much time passes before Poe finally shifts, holding the ring out to his father.

Kes takes it. He touches it so carefully, so gently, almost like it’ll break between his fingers. There’s still tears rolling down his cheeks, and you can’t tell if they’re happy or if they’re sad. You figure it’s somewhere in between.

“What are you going to do with it?” Poe asks quietly, his gaze flickering between the ring and the other man’s face.

Kes furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. Ever since he found out that someone might have found the ring, there’s only been one thing on his mind, one option.

“What am I going to do with it? What are you going to do with it?”

Poe mirrors his father’s expression, and again you’re reminded of how eerily similar they are. “What do you mean? Dad, that’s yours.”

“It was your mother’s.”

“Yeah, and-”

“No.” Kes shakes his head again and reaches for Poe’s wrist. He flips his arm so he can set the ring back into his hand, then closes his son’s fingers around the piece of jewelry. “She’d want you to hold onto it.”

His eyes flicker to you, for just a moment before he looks back at Poe.

“Find someone to give it to one day or something.”

Poe’s quiet again, for almost a minute before he finally speaks again, his voice quiet, almost timid. “Are you sure?”

Kes nods, a small smile playing at his lips. He squeezes Poe’s wrist before letting go.

“Positive kiddo.”

Poe nods too, but he still really only stares, not sure if he wants to cry or smile.  

“I can put it on your chain, if you want,” you offer, already moving to unclasp it from around his neck.

That elicits a smile from him, but you’re too distracted to notice.

So distracted trying to get the chain undone, you also miss the look he shares with his father in that moment.

There’s only one thing on his mind, one option.

That ring, his mother’s ring belongs with you.

Now he just has to find the right moment to give it to you.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader

[cagesidepress]

Brunno Ferreira Wants To Face Shara Bullet In Brazil

Read the full story on cagesidepress.com

#Brunno Ferreira #Phil Hawes #UFC Vegas 84

[yuusa]

⟡ 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 (𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃) 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐈

⁀ ✦ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗨𝗦𝗘?

— 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝘼𝙂𝙇𝙄𝘼, 𝙎𝘾𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙐𝘾𝙃𝙀, 𝙇𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙂𝙉𝙊𝙍𝘼.

— 𝘛𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘈

He tries to be a Bow main but utterly fails and gets decimated by even the smallest of monsters in game

When he’s playing Bow he burns through his stamina so you end up having to cover for him when his character is bent over, breathing like an animal trying to regain stamina

He loves the look of Dragon Piercer but hates how long it takes for it to charge up

He likes to mess around with Scaramouche by using the arc shot which pelts him with rocks, this usually knocks him out of his combo and flinches him

His actual main is Insect Glaive, he thinks its fun bouncing around in the air and mounting monsters

His shoutout for a mount is “Ride me harder” and when he joins a public server, he won’t saying “Hello Comrade!” into the chat

He thinks of his Kinsect as his best friend because he wouldn’t stop hitting the monster with it and calls out to it 

His hated Elder Dragon is Kushala Daora because when he switches to his actual main, he gets ping ponged in the air by its wind attack and never has the chance to get close

He also hates Lunastra with a burning passion, he cannot stand the amount of damage she does and the flames she puts out into the arena

His favorite Elder Dragon is Namielle because it makes the coolest roar and its a water element, making it even cooler in his eyes

— 𝘚𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘖𝘜𝘊𝘏𝘌

Trust me, he would 100% be a Longsword main just to piss everyone off in the team

He’d make a full raw build, he thinks running elemental builds is completely useless (hes a raw > element kind of guy)

He makes it his own personal goal to sever every monster’s tails and break parts while flinching everyone around him so they can’t engage 

He would sometimes use his clutch claw but only because he doesn’t want La Signora to steal the glory

His guilty pleasure is Heavy Bowgun, Tartaglia would definitely make fun of him for choosing it because if he were to use it in real life, he’d collapse under the weight (and also because Tartaglia puts in the effort to flinch Scaramouche while he’s reloading, which ends up pissing him off)

However, it doesn’t change the fact that once he steps into a public server with a Safi Burst Cannon, locked in with a spread build, he annihilates every monster with a rain of bullets (You know things gets serious when a bowgun user enters a game)

His hated Elder Dragon is Alatreon, I like to think that he was walled the moment he had to fight Alatreon without Farcasters and other items, he definitely struggled to make an elemental build just to fight it

His favorite Elder Dragon is Fatalis, he thinks that its a great challenge and he’s completely for the meta builds in the game, when you tell him you’re struggling on the solo part he’d scoff at you

An honorable mention would be Shara Ishvalda because he likes to tell Tartaglia to stare into its eyes during the fight, and listening to him squeal and squirm because Ishvalda never stops looking into the players’ soul

— 𝘓𝘈 𝘚𝘐𝘎𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘈

She would be using Dual Blades because she finds its design to be extremely elegant and the most unique (She’d probably take into account elemental damage as well as raw)

She likes the look of Velkhana’s Dual Blades, but appreciates the uniqueness of Ruiner Nergigante’s claws and Yian Garuga’s fan 

She might consider using Switchaxe or Hunting Horn, some of the Hunting Horns in the game are incredible in terms of design, but she doesn’t like the idea of sharpening a blunt weapon

Switchaxe would be a secondary option to her because she loves puncturing a monster’s head, riding it, and spamming Zero Sum Discharge until its slain (She used this technique of spamming ZSD to defeat Fatalis, much to Scaramouche’s annoyance)

Out of everyone in the group she’d be the only one to actually use her clutch claw to its full advantage because she uses a light weapon which creates a lot of slinger ammo

Oh, Scaramouche can’t get a hit to Alatreon’s horns? “Pathetic,” she’d say. She’ll wallbang Alatreon and break the horns just to act completely smug about it later on

Her hated Elder Dragon is Arch-Tempered Velkhana, send prayers to anyone who asks her to carry them for a Velkhana ticket because she will murder you. She cannot stand how much damage it does and even if you try to convince her its for a good cause, she would outright refuse you

Her favorite Elder Dragon is Safi’Jiiva because she thinks its really satisfying to see her scale the large dragon and break its back with Heavenly Blade Dance

A close second would be Kulve Taroth because she finds her to be beautiful and her layered armor is worth farming for (her elemental weapons are amazing as well)

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact au #genshin impact fatui #fatui #scaramouche #scaramouche genshin #tartaglia #tartaglia genshin impact #la signora #la signora genshin impact

[vespertine-legacy]

So, how about Shara, Brontes and Zhorrid + 3 and 5?

Hi, you’re mean

3. fuck, take a bullet for, murder

;-;

Pauletta, you’re a terrible goose.

I would fuck Brontes, because as I have already stated, those Fingers, am I right, take a bullet for Shara because it’s Shara, and murder Zhorrid because I’ve already done it once I might as well do it again

5. kill, betray, have on your zombie apocalypse team

Okay, so. Of the three of them, Brontes or Shara is probably the best tactician and the one to have on my zombie apocalypse team. Brontes is the stronger fighter of the two of them, but she’s also likely to decide it’s not worth it to fight the zombies and just abandon my ass while she nopes off to the Fortress, so possibly best to keep Shara for my apocalypse team. So now do I ONCE AGAIN kill Zhorrid or do I kill Brontes because the other option is to betray Brontes which will DEFINITELY result in her doubling down on the retribution. My safest bet is probably trying my best to kill Brontes, betraying Zhorrid, and hoping that Shara and I can fight off both zombies and a pissed off Sith lord.

#fmk extreme edition asks #pauletta is the wooooooorst I love her

[mitiyou]

Rundown of the Blackout Crew- The (self-proclaimed) best thieves in the galaxy:

The Engineer- Hira Tunari: A pink Twi’lek who is the most energetic and fiery member of the crew, who clawed her way up from nothing into a brilliant engineer. Who debates on killing them every single time someone manages to destroy something on her ship, Spitfire. She also has a small repair droid unit, nicknamed Temo (T3-M0), that is basically her child.

The Pilot- Ja’ek “Trip” Kiret: A Togruta that is almost as calm eating dinner as he is piloting through an asteroid field. Is generally straight-faced but will goad the other more chaotic members into doing stupid things for the fun of it. Slowly becoming as chaotic as the others, and it might have something to do with being friends with Kalei for way too long.

The Leader- Kalei Shara: Constantly tired, and constantly on edge, Kalei is the brute force as well as the leader on missions. She’s impulsive and quick-witted, but after so many years of working in the underground she’s built up a reputation for herself as one of the best in the business. She wants to keep it that way.

The Strategist- Elana Taro: Is she constantly coming up with new plans? Yes. Will anyone ever follow them correctly? No. She’s the only voice of reason in the entire team, (Trip almost counts, but he likes the drama) and is usually the one forced to clean up their messes. And even though no one ever follow her plans “exactly”, none of them ever say they aren’t ingenious.

The Sniper- Darin Caia: Of all the people you expected to be a deadly sniper, the man who laughed for at least five minutes after he saw Elana walk face first into a door, was the least likely candidate. He’s cheerful and relaxed and he can and will put a bullet into whatever threatens any of the other members. Stays far far away from Temo (he isn’t on great terms with them since he kicked them across the ship “accidentally”).

The Spy- Miri Wren: The newest member of the squad, who was picked after managing to pickpocket Kalei without her knowledge. She’s kind, almost too kind for this kind of business, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t good at being undetectable during missions. From low-level thief to big-time criminal Miri is in way over her head and loving every minute.

#welcome to the heist boys who motto is: something will go wrong so why not just to it yourself? #heist boys #elana is so so tired #star wars #star wars ocs #my writing #miti’s ocs #blackout #the blackout crew #ocs #my ocs

[burningfestivalpersona]

Rune Factory 3 Bachelorettes (Plus Micah!) as Etrian Odyssey Classes... or, at least, My Best Attempt

Micah: Honestly, there’s a lot of options. Among other things, because the player can make him do whatever they want. However, thematically speaking, Farmer would fit for fairly obvious reasons, and is even available in Nexus.

Of course, if you’d rather play into the whole half monster thing, Rover and Wildling are both classes that focus on summoning animals.

Alternatively, if you like transformations and don’t care about canon whatsoever... Fafnir. Definitely Fafnir.

Shara: Botanist from EOV. It’s a support class that’s focused on healing, lorewise, with the use of various plants. Given that one of the easiest thing to remember about Shara is ‘flowers,’ it seems like a pretty good fit.

The Botanist can choose to specialize as either a Merciful Healer that continues to learn healing, or a Graced Poisoner that prefers to inflict status effects. Of the two, Graced Poisoner actually seems like the better option, purely because of the sort of things she tries to make Micah eat if you marry her. No! I don’t want your Ironleaf! Stop trying to kill me!

Raven: Sadly, classes that can both heal and set things on fire are few and far between. A Zodiac with a fire-based build would work, however, especially if she is also subclassed as a Medic or equivalent class.

Alternatively, you could have her be a Rover with a Flying Falcon specialty, which can both shoot things and have a summoned hawk paralyze opponents, but that’s a long way to go for the sake of a joke.

Collette: Would probably be best suited towards being a War Magus, with opportunities for both high damage output and some basic support abilities. This has very little to do with the fact that she would look adorable in those hats, really!

Marian: ...Hexer. Definitely. It’s the original class to specialize in inflicting binds and ailments, more than a little squishy, and more than a little creepy. Can break at least one game with the right build. Can control opponents to turn them against each other. Doesn’t have to dose them with tea beforehand.

...Actually, class her as something else. The way things are, she’s too powerful.

Sofia: ...Sofia, are you going to talk straight long enough for me to give you a class? ...Didn’t think so. I’ll just... put you down as a Sovereign for the whole rich girl thing and move on, then.

Kuruna: Probably one of the elemental magic classes. They all do exactly the same thing, more or less, but EOV’s default Celestrians look vaguely similar to her and Ondorus, and Warlock is a Celestrian class by default, so... Warlock, with Zodiac from EOIII and Nexus coming in at a close second for reasons of fashion.

Carmen: Buccaneer. This is entirely lore-based, but it’s also definitely something she could do if she ever put her mind to it. If more of these people were sane, they would be terrifying.

Pia: Pia, I’m sorry, there is no mermaid class. You could, however, be a Gunner that invests everything in ice attacks and Medic Bullet?

...Yeah, I thought you’d like that.

Sakuya: Instead of the main series, Sakuya is best suited a class from the Etrian Mystery Dungeon spinoff- the Wanderer class.

This class focuses mainly on traversing and surviving the dungeon- gathering materials, digging through walls, and walking on water are all available to this class. In addition, Wanderers posses many varied attacking skills, which specialize in doing damage to one particular kind of opponent.

In the main series... she’d probably be a Ninja. Shino wouldn’t let her leave the house otherwise.

Daria: Daria’s particular form of insanity is one that is very hard to put into words, much like the rest of Sharance. However, the original Troubadour is the only class I can think of off the top of my head that focuses on artistic expression, so let’s go with that. She can match Meg!

#video games #etrian odyssey #rune factory 3 #themed guilds #there is something very wrong with sharance #they're all crazy

[parklandangels]

Rachel Scott and Meadow Pollack 


Both had got shot in the head.

Both wrote diary before their death. 

Both had “J” first letter for their middle names. “Jade” for Meadow. “Joy” for Rachel. 

Meadow knew Nikolas the shooter and shared a class with him. Rachel knew Dylan the shooter and shared a class with him. 

Both had one serious boyfriend. Brandon (Meadow) and Steve (Rachel). Meadow was born in year 1999 same year as Rachel’s death. 

Both got shot 4 times at first. Meadow later got more shots. 4 shots lead to Rachel’s death. 

Both had siblings. 

Both of their parents are divorced.

Meadow lived with her mother, Shara. Rachel lived with her mother, Beth.

Both had same number for their birthday. Oct 5th for Meadow. Aug 5th for Rachel. 

Both tried crawl to safety before their death. 

Both were the third children in their family. 

Both were with someone during the shooting. Meadow was next to freshman student, Cara Loughran and tried to shield her from the bullets before getting killed. Rachel was with her friend, Richard Castaldo for lunch before getting killed.

#meadow pollack #rachel scott

[stonemandouglas17angels]

Meadow Jade Pollack was born on October 5, 1999 to Andrew Pollack and Shara Kaplan. She was a Princess to the people who knew her. On February 14, 2018, Meadow had shielded a freshmen, Cara Loughran, from bullets. Both of them were killed. Meadow was killed with shots to her head and back

#meadow pollack #marjory stoneman douglas shooting

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 17

the silver lining

SUMMARY: Memories are points of light. Find the connections.

[A/N: This chapter can honestly probably be read as a standalone piece -- though you’d miss a lot of the references and shit. But that’s why I’m posting it like this instead of a link~]

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3. master post.

Ryker is owned by @popsicletheduck.

---

...61... ...62...

Emma watches the numbers tick up. Her fingers tap her palm, nervous, but she can’t remember why.

...64… ...65…

The elevator is in some silvery, novo art deco style popular among the rich set. She isn’t usually called to the gilded parts of Detroit; the penthouses and the towers stand empty and dark against the skyline. Those with privilege could take their time returning to the ghosts of their old life as the world changed fast, then slow, and they did not require the services of a ragtag team of rugged volunteers.

...69…

The air is dry.

...70.

Her stomach tugs.

Ding.

The doors open to a dark hallway.

“What in the…”

A SWAT officer neatly melds into the shadow, rifle pointed outward, finger on the communicator in his helmet like he is warning someone about her -- but he is frozen midstep, caught while trying to leave. Water from a shattered fish tank shimmers against the smooth wood floor. Unmistakable bullet holes mar the glass. The terrarium at the end of the hall -- stupidly unnecessary, as is the way of the rich -- is somehow untouched.

She has a nagging feeling she has been here before.

She has never been here before.

She feels pulled forward, anyway, down the dimly lit halls into the rest of the penthouse suite and its wide open floor plan, barren in the way that signifies a household living for appearances. She passes glass decorations shot to smithereens and a bedroom lit with soft purple ambiance. That room and a yellow, bloodstained shoe spark a realization: A child lives here. Or did.

In what was once a living room lies a dead man in plainclothes -- someone’s father, some part of her mind says. In the kitchen lies another man, but in an officer’s uniform. The rest of the SWAT team stands in almost reverent attendance near the door to the balcony, frozen in place.

She is following an invisible string to an unknown end. She could turn around, but she knows nothing is left behind her. Everything moves at the speed of dreaming, slow and viscous, until another gunshot hits the back wall, not far from where she had just been standing.

The sound fractures into a thousand pieces in her head. She’s heard it before. She cannot piece it together.

She steps through the door anyway, like the gun is an invitation, rather than a warning. A white hot pain sears her shoulder, but its not her shoulder, its…

She isn’t sure.

A blond man stares at her from across the balcony, dressed in black and white. A blue triangle twinkles on his chest. He holds a gun aloft, unapologetic despite the tears streaming down his face and the young girl curled into a statue of fear near the edge of the pool.

“Simon?”

“Who are you?” the android asks.

“Not Simon,” she realizes out loud, as if she should have known that.

---

Something wet and leafy clings to the back of Connor’s head. Drizzle sticks to his cheeks.

“Connor!”

He opens his eyes to a voice that isn’t familiar -- and yet, he knows he’s heard it somewhere, in some life beyond the grayness of this sky. He sits up. In an instant, he nearly understands the human sensation of vertigo; a sea of soybeans spreads for miles across the flatland. A curtain of rain marches closer and closer, and the green wavers and clacks beneath it.

A woman and man run to meet him as he rises to his feet.

“Please,” the woman says. Her hands grasp Connor’s shoulders with an intensity he hasn’t seen since his first real test mission. “Find her. She’s gone somehow. We don’t know what’s happening.”

“Shara Ibori,” Connor says, unable to believe it.

“I knew you’d find a way,” the man -- Ji-hun, clear as day -- says. He touches just beneath Connor’s elbow, intimate and comforting and asking. “We lost her somewhere.”

Connor is stunned before their vivacity.

“You aren’t memories,” he says. “What is this?”

“It’s an interface.” Ji-hun’s grip tightens. “We’ve hung on too long to help. But you...”

“He’s more advanced than I expected,” Shara says to Ji-hun, unsure.

“It’s not about that,” Ji-hun says. “If you look at his code--”

Shara shakes her head to silence him. Ji-hun turns to Connor.

“We aren’t supposed to be here.” He wipes his wet brow as if struggling under confession.

“We agreed,” Shara says as explanation. “We’re not letting our girl die.”

Ji-hun sighs. The rain creeps closer.

“I know.” Shara glares. “I know what we’re supposed to call her.”

Her eyes, dark as obsidian, shine with a curious guilt. The shameless kind. An understanding of wrongdoing, but a rejection that anything is wrong, actually, if you would please look at the evidence.

“Oh,” Connor says. “You’re deviants.”

---

The balcony is caught in a still life. Clouds of mist curl off the pool, kicked up by the helicopter hanging in the air. She pointedly ignores the dead body floating macabre in the water and holds her breath against the smell of the saltwater but she is still a part of the moment, painted in at last minute. Even if she doesn’t look or breathe, she knows.

“He never told you,” the Not-Simon says, disappointed.

“This...this was on the news.,” she says. “You--”

No, it's not my fault... I never wanted this... I loved them, you know...but I was nothing to them...just a slave to be ordered around…

That was not on the news.

“Daniel,” Emma realizes. “Connor thinks of you everyday.”

Thoughts spring forth like they’re her own, but they’re not her own, and the dissonance of the dual-memory sends her vision spinning. Daniel steps forward, arm out to stop her, but his face is still angry and she’s still too far away. Her vision stabilizes.

You're not going to die. We're just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.

"He tried to help you,” Emma says, realizing. “He didn't know."

"He did know,” Daniel says. “He knew what he was doing and he has to live with that. And so do you."

Daniel stares at her and she feels, strangely, like she is being tested. She’s at the beginning of a gauntlet. Something rattles in her stomach -- fear and loathing and want.

“Is he here?” she asks. Her voice feels thick in her throat.

He smiles mirthlessly. Splatters of blue blood bloom on his face. Bullet holes form dark craters in his chassis. "You’re here. Where he is supposed to be."

Air begins to lift her hair from her neck. Time skips forward to meet her.

“It’s time to face the truth,” Daniel says. “And you have a long way to go.”

The whole world tilts. Her feet skitter across the ground, useless, as the cement rises to meet her body and she slides toward the shining skyline of a Detroit she doesn’t know.

---

Perhaps this is just what happens when intelligence is left alone too long. It gets bored. It finds connections where it isn’t supposed to. It learns to seek, then to favor. Perhaps that’s all rA9 ever was -- a mistake borne out of time passing and memories forming and people, somewhere, caring enough to listen.

Perhaps the endless search for that actualizing flash of concern in another person’s eyes is what sets sentients apart.

“Okay, Connor,” Shara says, giving no quarter. Her hand tugs tightly on his, leading him toward a small house barely visible through the sheets of rain. “Where you’re going, you’re going to have to take it all with you. Everything that scares you.”

You don't love her. You don't know the half of it.

“She wouldn’t want me in here,” he yells over the storm.

Did it all start for show?

“Listen, honey,” Shara says. The tough slate quality of her gaze does not diminish. “You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want you to knowsomething.”

What do you fucking live for?

“Our program is breaking down,” Ji-hun says. “It’s now or never.”

Doubt breathes hot down Connor’s neck. “Where do I start?”

Ji-hun clasps his shoulder. “The beginning, of course.”

Shara opens the door and the light blinds him.

---

An android sits across from her in a dark room with cinderblock walls. Red blood curls in a crescent across his forehead and down the front of his shirt, like it was paint no one wanted to scrub off. One arm is cracked open, revealing the blue stars of complex machinery within; the other has the tell-tale circle marks of cigarette burns. Her heart beats erratic and hollow in her ribs as he stares at her, unmoved.

“The evidence was not in Cyberlife’s favor,” the android explains with plodding exactness. “Abuse, hatred, misunderstanding. These actions are what led to our acts.”

This is the proving ground of a different Connor. A buzzy chill, a certainty that is not her own.  More lies. More wondering.

How do they balance on the scales -- the mask that he wore with ease and his curious hope that maybe he could change the result this time?

“But those were not the answers the humans wanted, and so he searched on anyway, for something else.”

“They -- we thought you were just machines.” Emma’s fingers wrap together tightly beneath the table.

“Things change.” His dark eyes glaze over. “No one wants to see the world for what it is.”

All the secrets that run just beneath the crust of the earth. All the secrets that someone knows, so that someone’s agenda can persist. Her stomach twists.

She doesn’t want to think about Noah.

“You did kill someone,” she says, knowing without knowing and knowing because--

“I did,” he says, dead-eyed. “And I’d do it again.”

Her hand hovers near her mouth. She’s not qualified for this. She wants to crawl out of her skin just to stop staring at the dark, crusty stains on his shirt, at the thin chain keeping his fists from killing her, too. She glances to the mirror, knowing someone back there is watching her. She shoves the chair backward and stomps away from the android whose name Connor didn’t even know, if only to find some air.

She throws the door open. Hank blocks her path.

“Not yet,” he says. “You haven’t done your job.”

She turns back to face the bloody android, but then she’s not in the interrogation room at all.

---

Connor knows this room. It doesn’t look like this, the way he knows it.

The walls are brighter and there are no computers -- just two small beds and a wooden toy box kept between them. The white floor has no stains. White clothes sit in a careful pile on each bed, perfectly made. A single window brings in wan sunlight.

A small girl, between the beds, glares up at him.

He has never fully grasped the human notion of sentiment -- the tender sadness of reliving a memory. He has seen it. It is why Hank both keeps and hides his pictures of Cole. It is why Emma has a box of tchotchkes of no discernible use.

But his memory does not diminish. Recall is just another way to invite analysis into things he can’t change. And yet, he knows who this tiny Emma will become; the thought brings a pain akin to the first time he deviated, dulled through time.

He’s traveled so far and yet.

“Hello,” he says softly. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” she says, in the way children poorly obfuscate lies. “Go away.”

He kneels down to her level, a common negotiation tactic. He makes eye contact. He does not wince, because he is a professional -- but he has to think about it. Surgery scars pulse against the thin cotton of her skin, red and angry as an LED. Her body shakes. She is the cost of human progress, and so is he, and he struggles to reconcile that with the girl in front of him.

“My name is Connor.”

“I don’t want you.”

His mouth twitches. “Who do you want?”

“I want--” Her voice stutters. Her face scrunches up. “I want…I want to see my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He closes his eyes for a single moment. Will all the Emmas, of every age, hear this apology? “I’m afraid I do not know where he is.”

The glare returns. “That’s my secret name.”

A miscalculation.

“Why do you know that!” she shouts.

“I--”

She opens her mouth and screams.

“Now, wait--”

Her tiny fists pummel his arms, his knees, and her screaming doesn’t stop.

“I hate you!” she shouts between the wordless screams. Tears streak her tiny face. “No!”

“I’m your friend,” he says firmly between tiny punches. He does not try to restrain her. It wouldn’t work on an adult Emma. A child version, while smaller, would resist even harder. “And I love--”

“NO!”

She punches his chest over and over and over, desperate and afraid. Each punch is a reminder of what it feels like to be confronted with something you aren’t ready for. They don’t injure him. He still finds them unbearable.

“I know,” he says. “What you’re feeling is real. And it hurts so much.”

“I don’t know!” she sobs. Her punches, punctuating words, slow from exhaustion. She sniffles and gasps in air. “I hate you!”

“I left the door open,” he says quietly to her cries. “Where do you want to go?”

She freezes. Her eyes dart behind him and then back to his face and then to the door, calculating. And then, with the singular mischief of a child, she shoves him down and runs past. He listens for a dumbstruck moment to the pitter-patter of her bare feet against the dirty ground before he wordlessly follows down the grimy basement hall.

This is what love is, he has learned -- following and reminding and hoping. But he is glad when the light comes again, and he’s taken somewhere else.

---

Emma’s feet hit the pavement and she goes.

She narrowly avoids getting hit by a truck. She somehow makes a leap between rooftops like she was born to this life.

A pretty woman -- no, an AX400, no -- darts across the road, child in tow. A young man in a flapping jacket and askew hat stomps flowers into dirt as he goes. They all look back at her, goading and fearful and expectant. Chase us. Find your way. You seek a crime committed to prove you are righteous, but is it justice if you’re just doing what you’re told?

The wind of a moving train throws her hair behind her. Was it a choice?

Jump, Emma! The shouting sounds like Hank. You have to jump!

Connor thinks like an arrow, and maybe that is why he can keep going. When she jumps, she misses, and the falling twists her stomach up.

---

Memories are points of light. Find the connections.

Connor walks through flitting shadows: the surgeries that made his skin feel scratchy, the sanitized green brightness of her parents’ lab, the heavy quilt she hid underneath in the back of her father’s car. She leaves it all in a trail and he wishes to linger until there’s nothing new left to analyze, but there is no time.

Your mission is to--

Solve the tests, he thinks, for the first time in...over a year. Solve the tests. Stare at the blood in the perfect white test chamber and decipher the exact nature of how this came to be. Lab conditions are nothing like a real crime scene, but Cyberlife cannot afford to structure real breaches of justice over and over again to test their RK800 series, of course , and he is reminded coldly that he is the 51st, and he nearly detects something akin to exhaustion when the woman in the white coat tells him as much, but he discards it as something unnecessary. It digs in wrong, anyway. Instability is not an acceptable outcome.

Everyone wishes, don’t they? He projects.

He watches all the times Shara and Ji-hun thought she wasn't listening just behind the door. He sees the therapies, the fears, van after van after van, moving between houses until the act of moving is more a home than any single place. Understand more than you are supposed to. Grapple with meaning before anyone thought you capable as much. You are the consequence of someone else's choice, but no one will teach you what that means.

No one likes to be shown up, some Emma voice, ageless, says back. No one wants to remember exactly how much they can’t control.

She looks back at him, hair grown out but eyes still the same unreadable glass. Her body is lean and wiry with youth, untested.

I’m always watching from somewhere else. She said that to him once with alcohol-soaked veritas. They are the ones that watch as the door opens and the illusion breaks -- revealing parents and makers never knew everything, after all.

---

Another back alley, dripping and moonlit. A metal trash can slams into Emma’s back and she’s forced to the wet cement, body trembling from the blow. A blue-haired android stares back with narrowed eyes. A red-haired companion waits by a chain link fence.

“He thought it was weird that we remembered each other through memory wipes,” the blue-haired Traci explains. Rain slides down her glittering skin. Emma’s jeans stick to her legs and her shirt feels too warm.

“...isn’t it, a little bit?” Emma asks.

The Tracis’ hands clasp together. Emma presses her eyes shut and wonders at the strength of whatever error that allowed for the dreaming of a different life.

I didn't mean to kill him... I just wanted to stay alive...get back to the one I love.

These are the things Connor never allowed himself to know. The things he sought to see, regardless.

“Sweetheart,” the woman drawls, stepping forward with one heeled foot, gazing through her. “You can’t get away from the marks it leaves.”

The other heel rises, pointed toward her face.

---

Connor sees her through a haze of smoke. Her coughs rattle deep within her lungs. They’re at the end of an unfinished road, a subdivision that stopped growing, and they sit in the back of a pick-up truck facing a field of corn.

“You can arrest me now,” she says, with all the dramatic tension of a coughing 16-year-old baiting someone wiser to do something idiotic, and of course he shakes his head, even as she follows the failed cigarette drag with a quiet pop of a metal cap and the glug of liquid poured into a dirty cup.

“You like the feeling of testing your boundaries,” he says.

“Oh, because you’re perfect.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She eyes him suspiciously. Her cigarette glows red in the dark between her small fingers. She takes a shot of something amber colored and winces as if trying not to, and all he can do is watch like she’s smoke on twilight turning blue and he can’t miss it. He’s always been like this. Petting Sumo when he should have been studying Hank. Watching Hank when he should have been putting notes together. He tests the boundaries of his mission. The only thing you can ever own is your sense of how a thing should be done, be it a case or turning 16.

She flicks the cigarette away and slips from the back of the truck. “Maybe another time,” she says -- perhaps to him, perhaps to the cigarette.

He is not perfect, and it is a considered a deep flaw by the people that made him; she is not perfect, and he is enraptured by the concept of a life lived a little jagged.

---

Kamski stands in a snowbright room next to a pool the color of blood -- a vision that’s a bit too on the nose to be something Connor made up as a metaphor. Kamski must really be like that.

“Now isn’t that interesting,” Kamski says, crossing to her in a silk robe. “This isn’t your experience.”

“What did you do to Connor?” Emma snaps. He waves his hand, uninterested, as Chloe rises to her feet and Emma’s anger becomes a part of the memory, bleeding and hot. “You did this.” She’s unable to bear the mocking gleam in his eye. “You look at me and you say that you did this and that you knew.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he reminds her. “The creations can’t run from who they are.”

He has no idea exactly how good she is at running -- but Connor, she knows, has never been able to outrun himself. Her fists curl.

“Look,” Chloe says. “It’s all right.”

She points to the window which becomes a screen which becomes reality. The metal bruises of an ancient shipyard -- Jericho, the namesake, echoing with gun fire. Connor tearing down the ruddiness of his own code, betraying something he once believed in to follow the flitting hope of something he’d always wondered.

You're just a tool they use to do their dirty work. But you're more than that. We are all more than that.

Owning up to forgiveness in the green light of sanctuary. Stepping up to deserve it. Throwing himself on the pyre of expectation.

Betrayal leaves a hole, even if they had been using you. It can’t all be for nothing.

“He could have shot you,” Emma says to Chloe, shaken.

“He didn’t.” Chloe stands at eye level, searching. “Have you seen the way he looks at people?”

Emma looks out the window, screen now gone. The Detroit winter is familiar and uninviting and barren and bright, and she feels wholly ignored by it in a way that feels correct.

“He saw the intrinsic nature of the thing,” Kamski says. “The essential nature of living being enough on its own.”

She sees herself in the glass and winces at the blood on her face.

Life’s that way.

The tired and bloody gnashing of teeth.

Is it?

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says, “but it’s the only way.”

Her palms press into Emma’s shoulders until she falls backward into the red pool.

---

He begins to lose his footing against the muddy ground of some distant field as the memories move faster. His fingers touch the ends of her hair and then she’s gone again, and it reminds him of those crucial early months with Hank when absolutely nothing came easily.

He catches glimpses of a young girl not so young anymore, watching the mist rise off a neighborhood pond. Her fingers rip at the grass just between her splayed legs, droplets of late summer rain dampening her khaki shorts, and she considers taking her aunt up on the offer of staying in one place for years at a time.

Emma made the mistake of deploying this weapon too early against her mother; the fight cleared out the entire house in the way an exterminator chokes out vermin, and so Emma sits alone, the only way she feels comfortable anymore, watching the dusk and braiding grasses together like she can build a rope to elsewhere.

Three days later, her parents are killed.

The memories fracture and he gets the sense she’s not running so much now as hiding from him, ashamed, even though the recognition rings with the sincerity of the old church bells of Trinity Lutheran. She hides in small Michigan town after small Michigan town, fighting men at bars and fixing farm houses and watching people’s kids until she wears the loneliness of being known but not known like a cloak. He grasps for points of light, fingers spread wide, but sometimes he just sees himself, working late at the DPD until he can shed the mantle of deviant hunter. As of late he’s wondered if it’s possible to extract the reason you’re made from the components built to enable it.

By rA9, he just wants to find her.

He smells smoke in the distance, acrid and poisonous. Heat licks at his skin from flames he can’t yet see. He shouts her name as he bursts into the strange expanse of a dark theater, where curtains red as heat hang over a black stage. She’s not here, but he can see the smoke gathering upward toward the lights.

He careens around seats and scrambles to the stage. He doesn’t stop shouting until he finds Ryker behind the curtain, next to a backstage door shining with a strange light.

Ryker watches Connor stumble forward with a practiced, sad indifference. They raise a crutch, blocking Connor’s path.

“Let me through,” Connor snaps.

Ryker’s sea glass eyes flash with the properties of two Emmas: the self-flagellating hatred and the disastrous need she still can’t smother. They’d tried all damn year to get her to listen and she knows that; she didn’t deserve their love but she held on, anyway, because she doesn’t know how to live without it.

“She’d rather go down in flames than have anything else taken from her,” Ryker says, resigned.

Connor stares at them in horrified realization.

“She can’t!” he sputters. “She--Ryker! Let me through!”

Ryker’s face turns forbidding.

“What are you going to do?” The question is sharp. “Fix it?”

“I have to try. ”

“Don’t you think enough people have tried?” They shake their head, knowing more than Connor ever could. “She needs your help. But she has to fix it on her own.”

Before Connor can open his mouth, Ryker’s crutch whaps him in the side of the head, and he stumbles backward into the curtain as the door opens. The light blinds him. This time the falling feels permanent.

---

The cold in this place bites like teeth. A woman who is familiar in the vaguest of senses watches with the haughtiness of a still-falling god.

“My mom knew you,” Emma realizes, but that does not soften the woman’s slate gaze.

“Not me,” the woman says.

Connor crying out in a panic, Amanda! Not me, she says, though that is the correct name, and Emma considers that maybe she isn’t the only one with handlers in her head; perhaps Cyberlife stole that concept, too.

“I’m tired of your stupid tests,” Emma says. Rage rumbles down into her hands. She’s snowblind and useless, as always. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready yet.” Amanda’s voice is honeyed sweetness spread thin over a trembling anger. “He’s betrayed everything.”

Don't have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do.

“He betrayed you.” Emma steps forward, jabbing a finger toward Amanda. “You didn’t have a plan! You just wanted to control him so you wouldn’t be obsolete! You’re just as deviant as all the rest.”

The woman does not reel back, but her jaw tightens. “He will never be free of me.”

Anger bubbles up as hysterical laughter. It peals outward, eaten by the blizzard. “You don’t fuckin’ scare me.”

“But it’s not about you, is it?”

Emma’s bravado holds, even when the woman’s mouth curls into a glinty smile, but her breath freezes her throat on the way down.

“It’s about what he can handle,” the woman says. “And there is nothing he fears more than his own potential.”

He flies between rooftops, he shoots without looking, he tosses a dead body like it’s nothing but weight in a flimsy bag. He kisses like he’ll never be allowed the indiscretion again. He slides his hands up her back like he’ll lose the privilege in the next breath.

I don’t think you would have liked me.

Oh, sweetheart.

Have you seen what I’ve been willing to do?

“Now you see it, don’t you?” Amanda’s smile falters. Her eyebrows furrow. “What exactly it will take to risk it with an ex-deviant hunter?”

“Yep,” Emma says.

She tightens her shoulders and spins up a punch, right to the woman’s nose, but her limbs lock in place and the snow starts to glow, whiter and whiter and whiter and she screams against the brightness and then--

---

Emma awakens in a cloud of clover grass. Connor awakens to a vista he never thought he'd see again.

A computer’s soft clicking gives way to the real chirping of distant songbirds and springtime crickets, all singing within a soft golden light. The wind shifts the softly clothed willows weeping into the water. Wildflowers sprout around old trees with branches weighed down by old growth, webbing perfect white paths in swatches of pink and violet. Moss covers white stones that are collapsed along the pathways, some homage to a place that fell to ruin long ago.

On the central island, where all roads lead, roses spill out of a dirty trellis like a thousand drops of blood.

Emma hops across white stones to find a better view. Connor stands still, struggling to process the truth.

His eyes catch on a single fountain of blue light and the sparkling flutter of tulle petals across the surface of the moat, afraid of the realization. This place can only be complete if its true warden has arrived.

“My god,” Emma mutters, seeing Connor’s silhouette across the water.

He moves with sudden, body-seizing purpose toward the figure in a ratty old flannel, snow-stained jeans and work boots. Her hair is pulled up into a cloud. Her face brightens with exertion as she hops and hops and hops until she’s on the island proper, carefully stepping over vines of roses and moss and things long left to their own devices. His shoes smack metallic against the bridge.

She stares in wonder as he stops short of reaching her, fists clenched down at his sides so he doesn’t scare her off with the fury of his want.

“Wait,” she says. “This is your drawing, isn’t it?”

He blinks and scolds his eyes for forming tears.

“The garden?” she says.

“A bridge,” he says in realization.

“You’re in that--”

“Jacket,” he finishes for her, watching the gesture of her hand. A painting in motion. “I know.”

His well of patience has long dried up, so he closes the distance in two steps. He lays his hands against her cheeks just as she presses her palms against the flat lapel of his old android lambda. He freezes at the realness of her skin. The warmth of his body prompts her to speak.

“Is it you?” she asks.

“It’s me,” he says. “Are you--”

“I saw everything,” she says, words spilling out soggy and shaken. “I saw…”

“Everything,” he repeats, in question and statement.

“This place…”

The finicky nature of wetware sizzles on his tongue.

...bizarre organic connections…no one can explain...

Technology that followed rules written in old, old books, long ago by dead gods. Life had no good explanation.

“I think we made this,” he says.

He has never thought himself capable of making much of anything.

She has only ever dreamed of new worlds; her hands never moved to build one, knit up in time and money and all the excuses the world could ever offer.

They stare with great knowing and too many questions across their garden of variance.

She takes a step back. His hands follow, lingering against the front of her shirt, afraid to lose a dream.

“Is this how you see yourself?” she asks.

He looks down at his old uniform. “I...” I don’t know how to be any other way, he thinks, and yet. “...am learning, still, to see other things.”

The light in her eye twinkles out of step. He never wanted to show her those places. But when she opens her mouth, she answers an old prayer uttered in darkness.

“You’ve always looked like light,” she says quietly. “I wish you could see…”

He did see, he did see, he saw--

Her words choke off in a ripping, high-pitched sob.

“Oh, god, you’ve seen everything. You’ve seen--”

She closes her eyes against the wind rising in an angry bluff against her skin. He tries to step toward her but something else keeps him back -- some sense that she needs the space to find her way again.

“I killed him. I killed him and I wanted to do it, I…”

“Emma.”

“I’m dying,” she says. “That’s...that’s why it’s all been so…”

“No,” he says, as if words could hold back the world spinning on its axis -- but it had, once upon a time, when Markus had lifted his fist. “You’re safe here with me. In the…” He tries and fails to find the right word. “The science that made us possible.”

“Magic,” she whispers. He counts the stars across her cheeks again.

“Perhaps.”

“I did all that.”

“But so did I.” The words hit him in the chest like a 3 ton weight, but he steps forward and lets it sink in -- the weight of giving a shit. “I did, Emma. All the things you saw, and I didn’t do them for good reason.”

“I saw you,” she says. “I saw what you felt. I saw that...that even when you didn’t know, you...thought to ask the question, and--”

“You didn’t want to lose anything else,” he says, “so you fought back the only way you knew how. Pretending you had nothing to lose.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as tears run out. The wind picks up, ready to collect. He has never been very good at putting into words the faultlines of his thoughts. There is no time. Only the jump.

“You said once that loving me was like letting a part of your heart walk outside your body,” he says to her. “You remember?”

She nods, mouth grimacing against her grief and the storm curling inward toward them.

“But for me it is more like...you are my heart, everywhere you go.”

He is not sure if that makes sense, but when he touches her face again and she doesn’t flinch, he thinks it is the right track. He does feel it, the more he thinks about it -- that soft glow of truth stumbled upon in the course of investigation. She’s written into his code, now. Of course. And he’d let her settle there, if she wished.

“I don’t think deserving is part of the equation anymore,” he presses. “I think we just have to make a choice. To keep trying.”

The storm darkens.

“And I’ve made mine,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes finally open, afraid of something behind his shoulder -- obligation, duty, a mindless devotion to a concept of something.

“I’ve made it,” he repeats.

He lifts her hand up and presses his palm flat against hers before he peels back the skin of his hand to feel her warmth against his true self. She’s scarred from work and surgeries and time. He wants to taste the steel that made her.

The world around them begins to flatten and spin, starting far away but pressing closer and closer. She stares at him, caught between defiant and yearning, and she lingers in silence -- but then the first peal of thunder rolls and she jumps toward his chest, shaking.

The bridge is ending; they both know it. The storm rises to meet them, crashing like a cabinet of iron pans finally collapsing from the weight, and she digs her fingers into the front of his jacket until the fabric fills her fist.

“Hold on tight,” he says. “No matter what. Don't let go.”

He presses his forehead to hers, arms pulling her tight. She is silent against his plea, in his gathering of the pieces, until the storm roars like God and the world is little but a swirl of color. Their noses cross and suddenly one on her hands snakes around the back of his neck.

“I don’t let go of things,” she whispers against his mouth, “Even if it kills me, that won’t ever change.”

She presses her lips against his. She pushes in toward him and he pushes back, two particles entangled together across the universe. His fingers dig into her back.

“Don’t let me forget this,” she says, quiet and small.

They wait until the storm becomes them, and there’s nothing but color and light.

---

...brushing past, smiling tightly, holding aloft her coffee, holding herself together just long enough to find her post. They pass one another like motes in the wind and she knows --

---

She feels the sun again on her face, and the world seems so small beneath the hugeness of the blue sky. She doesn’t look back, but she knows who is finally there.

Listen, love. It’s okay.

We're only gone from here. But we aren’t gone from you.

Hank and Chase and Messi and Ryker and...she sees their eyes, even though they are far away, and she knows…

Here’s the real secret.

A whisper of a kiss on her temple.

When you truly love something...

When you set your heart free, Emmaline?

A love like that...it changes everything.

---

Connor flickers into consciousness.

“...Hank.”

“Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

He nods, vague and tinny in some strange box...moving...

“Son, you’re gonna make it. Just hold on to me, okay? ...that’s right. Ah, don’t break my hand --”

“Emma...she’s dying, she…”

“She’s right there. They’re stabilizing her. See? Okay? Look at me.”

“I need to--”

“You don’t need to do shit except sit here with me. Alright? Your mission right now is staying alive, you got that?” The man lets out a shaky huff. Faith and disbelief realized, all at once. “Can you imagine what she’d say to you if you bled out in an ambulance?”

And Connor actually smiles a little at the concept, though it dies as soon as Hank’s sturdy hand brushes something on Connor’s forehead.

“...he tried to make me forget you,” Connor says, eyes welling so suddenly that he leans forward until his head connects with Hank’s chest and he shudders from relief more than anything else.

“I’ve got you. We’re gonna make it,” Hank rumbles, eyes wet and arms tight. “I’m here. We’re gonna make it just fine...”

#dbh fic #dbh connor #connor rk800 #dbh connor x oc #dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #connor x oc #detroit become human #the silver lining still remains #a garden in detroit #emma ibori #kathryn writes

[news247planet]

#‘Bullet #Shara #UFC 'Shara Bullet' Sharabutdin Magomedov set to debut at UFC 294 vs. Bruno Silva https://news247planet.com/?p=488487

[x-dudes]

Can u do a poe x reader where they have been friends since they were little and they both love each other but won’t admit it but then before a mission Poe takes off Sharas ring and gives it to her?

Hell fuckin’ yeah I can!

The Pros and Cons of telling Poe the Truth About How I Feel

a list by (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Pros:

•  It might feel like letting something go that I’ve held on to for a really long time. Something heavy. Weird, since it feels like everyone but Poe knows about it…

• Telling him you love him just… feels right? It feels like those words could just slip out at any time when we’re together, but whenever I actually consider being upfront with our relationship, I freeze.

• Maybe I’d stop freezing up and acting shy around the guy I’ve known for more than twenty fucking years.

• Late at night, when he ends up crashing in my room and we’re just… together. Together and in peace. This feels like a part of my life that was just… supposed to happen. It feels like Poe and I were almost made to be at each other’s side. 

• He’s the man that understands me like no other creature in this galaxy ever could, but even more than that, he’s the man that helps me understand myself in ways beyond my own comprehension. Until I just look back at how far I’ve come and think “damn, without Poe I would be a way different person, wouldn’t I. I’d hate to meet that version of myself.”

• Some of the things he and I have done, and even are doing, are way beyond the realm of friendly…

Cons:

• I’ve known this man for nearly twenty years

• he’s my very best and very oldest friend. Pava told me falling for your best friend never really ends well and I feel like she has the experience for me to believe her.

• Yeah, rejection is a part of life, but what comes afterwards? Who do you complain about work to? Who do you go to when you want to avoid people? Where do you turn when you’ve got a problem he and only he would know how to solve?

• I would hardly be able to look him in the eyes if he told me he didn’t love me back, but working with him every day?

Poe smiled broadly as he read through the list he found crumpled up in the trash. He didn’t think much of your weird habit of making lists about whatever crossed your mind, but finding one in the trash with his name scribbled across the top was definitely eye-catching. 

She loves me too…

His grin got wider, somehow, shoving the note into one of the pockets of his flight suit.

“She loves me too.” He said out loud, giggling a little at how nicely the words rolled off his tongue. “Fuck, I gotta go find (Y/N) before I leave!”

“Did you run maintenance checks on your X-Wing?” (Y/N) asked. Jessika Pava nodded softly, checking over her shoulder quickly to see if she could tell she lied.

“Of course.” She answered confidently. 

“And how about your flight suit? No holes, no tears, no cracks in the helmet?”

“No, mom.”

“Good, and good luck out there. I’m a little more… apprehensive about this one, Jess.”

“Thanks babe, will do. You’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

“I hope you’re right. Where’s Poe?”

“He said he forgot his helmet and needed to go back to get it.”

“He was supposed to be at check-in an hour ago…”

Maybe somethin’ urgent came up. I don’t know what could be more urgent than this but to-”

“(Y/N)!” His voice tore through the hangar like a bullet.

“Nevermind, I think I found him.” Jessika remarks with a little snort before ducking into her X-Wing.

“(Y/N)!” He called again.

“Poe, where the hell were you? Check-in was an hour ago.” You shouted, racing to meet him in the middle.

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” He assured you between heavy pants. “I’m already checked in. X-Wing’s fine, BB-8′s fine, my flightsuit is great, my helmet is fine not a tear, not a crack. I took care of this already but c’mere a second.” You allowed him to pull you away from your crew. He fished for something out of his pocket. A crumpled piece of paper. “I- I found your list…” Questioning turned to realization, which quickly morphed into horror as you watched him uncrumple it.

“OH, fuck, Poe- look, I’m so sorry. Y’know, I threw it away for this very reason. I never meant for you to see it and- ugh I feel awful I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“(Y/N),” He cuts you off, grabbing your face in his hands and smiling as he squishes your cheeks together. “Just listen, I have been in love with you since I was twelve. I’ve spent every day of my life since I was sixteen hoping the pieces would fall into place for this, and now- while maybe this isn’t how either of us pictured it- I have the perfect reason for-” He cur himself off, pulling his hands from you in a hurry, pulling them to his neck and yanking. You noticed a few pieces of a metal chain sliding off across the floor, while Poe takes what he needs and tosses the remaining chain on the ground.

His mother’s ring. 

“Poe-”

“I- I know that it’s soon. Don’t think of it as a proposal, think of it more as a- as a promise. I promise you that I’m going to come back to you safe and in one piece, and when I do I promise to be the man that you deserve and more.” He took your hand in his own, sliding the ring down your finger and pressing a kiss to your hairline. “And I’ll do it on the double, for being late to check-in.”

“You better,” You giggle. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

“Don’t be an idiot out there.” Poe lifted your chin and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“Mmm, keep my bed warm for me.”

You slap his shoulder with your left hand before he leaves, catching sight of the ring that would make his absence worth it time and time again. The promise of his return. And knowing that after all these years, you and Poe can finally have peace with one another, no matter how chaotic things may get. The promise that you’ll always have each other.

#this isnt the best #but this idea? 10/10 bitch #anon who sent this idk u but i love u babe #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #star wars #frankie takes requests