#and listening to nomad on loop the entire time
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very beginner artist here so go easy on me pls
akito pretty much sang all of yobanashi deceive by himself and both akito and kano are my favorite characters from their respective series so this was bound to happen
#akito shinonome#kano shuuya#project sekai#kagerou project#i was channeling my inner ena kinnie while drawing this#and listening to nomad on loop the entire time
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Again, cool response to the last question, so I'll let you pick from these options:
And there are things I have fan-fixed in my head to the point that I have to remind myself that the fix-it isn’t part of the actual canon: favourite one of these?
Or
Your/a favourite part of actual canon. Like, maybe something little but it's just so lovely and fitting to you and you're just happy that it exists?
I’ve been a little down on Trek lately, so I’m going to type as fast as I can to brain-dump, in show order, the first things that pop into my mind that I absolutely love in Trek canon:
Kirk calling Nomad his son, the doctor
Christine Chapel’s snark to Roger Korby about schtupping the androids
Mark Leonard’s performance in Balance of Terror
the Horta (a great mama)
“Edith Keeler must die.”
Captain John Christopher, United States Air Force. Serial number 4857932.
Tribbles
the lesson of The Cloud Minders that we must have empathy and listen to others when they tell us about their lived experience in an environment unlike our own
the cheap-ass animation of TAS
Q
Bynars and Minuet
Beverly Crusher’s frustration in Arsenal of Freedom (and the episode’s Good Ship Lollipop joke)
Picard shooting the other version of himself in Time Squared (to clarify: out of respect for those times when we have to stop ourselves from getting caught in loops/doing stupid stuff and we summon up the courage to break a bad cycle and move forward)
K'Ehleyr
Picard out-lawyering the Sheliak
Rachel Garrett; Yar and Castillo
Lal (but I can’t watch the end anymore, it hurts too much)
the Shakespeare and “Set a course for Betazed. Warp 9.” comedy in Ménage a Troi
Best of Both Worlds, I and II (Shelby inclusive)
every conference table discussion in all of TNG
Beverly’s jump in Remember Me (such a damn good episode)
the reveal in Future Imperfect (which one? all of them)
The Dancing Doctor tap dancing with Data
Darmok. And Jalad. At Tenagra.
Ro Laren
Troi saying, “You could have easily been right” to Ro in Disaster
Hugh, Third of Five
the fact that The Next Phase has so many plotholes and they’re forgivable because the episode is so fun and great
Scotty on the holodeck version of the TOS bridge and Picard joining him
Rascals!
Deanna’s “Ancient West” outfit
the Jefferies tube music and make out session in Lessons
Attached. Oh, my heart.
the Enterprise with three nacelles … and that absolutely perfect last shot of the series
“You exist here.”
Sisko’s casual, everyday affection for Jake
“Old Man”
Rejoined. Lenara Khan. The love. That kiss. The emotional stakes. All of it.
the three Ferengi hitting their own heads to try to fix their universal translators so the 20th century Earth military people mimic the movement to try to communicate
every second of Trials and Tribble-ations including Sisko working overtime to stop fuckmaster Dax, tossing the tribbles, Sisko meeting Kirk, “We do not discuss it with outsiders,” and so much more
Kira blaming Bashir for putting the baby inside her when … you know … behind the scenes
The Sons of Mogh helping with the harvest in Children of Time
Far Beyond the Stars — some of the best if not the best science fiction I have ever seen
the monster fakeout (and kindness) in The Sound of Her Voice, even though the end makes me cry
“Computer, erase that entire personal log.”
Solok
Sisko and Kassidy discussing their comfort levels about a simulation in which the reality was segregation
Janeway waterfalling off the sofa to be closer to Mark on the screen
“Warp particles!”
the lizard babies
the two Janeways in Deadlock
Remember (a painfully good Holocaust episode that doesn’t get enough credit and, yes, I know the path the script took and I’m glad it ended up as a B’Elanna episode)
“I don't know what I'm seeking.” “Then I believe you are ready to begin.”
“The child you spoke of, the girl. Her favorite color was red.” Also, Tuvok’s meditation lamp in the window for Kes.
hot damn, Counterpoint, yaaas
everything in Relativity
“The Yankees, in six games.”
Janeway going after Seven in The Voyager Conspiracy
“This is Lieutenant Reginald Barclay at Starfleet Command.” “It's good to hear your voice, Lieutenant. We've been waiting a long time for this moment.” “The feeling is mutual. Unfortunately, the micro-wormhole is collapsing. We have only a few moments.” “Understood. We are transmitting our ship's logs, crew reports, and navigational records to you now.” “Acknowledged. And we're sending you data on some new hyper-subspace technology. We're hoping eventually to use it to keep in regular contact, and we're including some recommended modifications for your comm system.” “We'll implement them as soon as possible.” “There's someone else here who would also like to say something.” “This is Admiral Paris.” “Hello, sir.” “How are your people holding up?” “Very well. They're an exemplary crew, your son included.” “Tell him, tell him I miss him. And I'm proud of him.” “He heard you, Admiral.” “The wormhole is collapsing.” “I want you all to know we're doing everything we can to bring you home.” “We appreciate it, sir. Keep a docking bay open for us.”
“Nice hair.” (Live Fast and Prosper)
Janeway and Jaffen in Workforce
the spot-on legal concerns of Author, Author
“Set a course. For home.”
(Nothing from Enterprise or Prodigy only because I haven’t watched enough of Enterprise or any of Prodigy)
Burnham and Georgiou forming the delta with their footsteps
the CGI on only the shields protecting Burnham from space
“Are we in session? Because I didn't know you were practicing again. Because if I have your undivided attention for fifty minutes, I can think of a whole bunch of other things we could be doing.”
“That's as depressing a trait as I've ever heard.” “I don't give a damn … I still don't give a damn.”
Cornwell beaming in, phaser aimed, taking command of Discovery
Cornwell phasering the fortune cookies
Cornwell’s voice breaking: “So my Gabriel is dead.”
Detmer’s little bounce when Emperor-as-Captain Georgiou takes command
Pike beaming aboard and instantly being all like MOJAVE to prove to the audience he’s the guy from The Cage
New Eden. Everything. Oh my God (pun intended). The visuals. Owo’s backstory. Pollard patching Pike up after he’s shot. The light at the end. Oh my God, yes. That episode. Yes.
Number freaking One beaming aboard and having her lunch briefing with Pike (Chris and Una’s decades-long friendship wasn’t canon yet, but it shows here so beautifully)
Gabrielle Burnham
“In case the shit hit the fan.”
Michael Burnham on truth serum
Book
Laira Rillak, everyone!
Q&A
season 1 Raffi Musiker
Fleet Admiral and Commander-in-Chief Kirsten Clancy
“You owe me a ship, Picard.”
“You need a feather in your hat.”
Riker greeting Picard
Hugh greeting Picard
the separate trio of Raffi, Clancy, and Deanna all telling Picard he’s shit
Rios singing in Spanish
President Annika Hansen
everybody finding each other in the Confederation Universe
Liam Shaw — a character with incredible highs and lows
Majel Barrett as the computer voice when the crew gets to the Enterprise D
“Somehow I figured you might.”
everything in Ghosts of Illyria
Spock and La’an’s mind meld
Spock and T’Pring in Spock Amok
“You cannot resign. The loss to Enterprise would be unimaginable. To me.”
“If you’re going to steal a starship, do it correctly.”
Neera Ketoul
La’an normalizing needing to eat all the time as a teenager (especially important for girls to hear)
Pike and Una visually checking in with each other so often that it’s in their cartoon versions (that whole episode, actually, including, “Riker!”)
That’s scrolling through episode titles and jotting down stuff I love off the top of my head, fam.✨
Thank you so much for this ask, anon! ❤️ I needed this positive energy in my life.
#i love asks#things i love in trek canon#an incomplete list#i’m sure i’ll think of something else the minute i post#thank you so so much for leading my thoughts this way#anon
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FUCK all these emojis crayon, shooting star and glowing star for rin and poor little meow meow hayate
Yeehaw here we go (long so under the cut)
Rin Yukida - His second and final loop
Rin! The longest loop, five years in total, works as Nomad's assistant and later, in the last year of his loop, becomes romantically involved with the flat assed catboy.
🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?
Advice that I would give to Rin would be to trust Nomad in the same way Nomad trusts (trusted) him. His loop came to a quicker end than it needed to (would it even have ended at all?) because he wasn't sure he could trust Nomad to keep his cool (understandably) and refused to tell him about the invitation he received from Cullen. While Rin was entirely in the right not to tell him-let's be honest it wouldn't have turned out well-it, at the very least, would've not have ended in his and Nomad's deaths. I guess the deaths of the Facility scientists from quirked up white boy event were tragic too (not really)
🌠 SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?
Rin spent most of his time outright refusing to interact with The Game as a whole. It didn't interest him, and after a while, he realized that was the safest thing for him to keep doing as the World Representatives started going stir-crazy and made rash decisions that ended in some of their deaths (like the representative of Utopia). If Rin were to have a wish, it would be one he would make near the end of his loop, as he's working with the Summoners (led by Shiro) and the Wisemen to finally put an end to the game once and for all. He'd wish for the game to finish, for there to be no victors, for the people that had been hunting him and orchestrating the whole thing to be stopped once and for all. And so a finger on the monkey's paw curled inward.
🌟 GLOWING STAR - what do they think about when they look at the night sky? is there someone they want to star gaze with?
Which Rin :)? Tee hee <3 I'll keep answering with this one. Rin doesn't get to see the stars often in Tokyo thanks to the light pollution, but farther out of the hustle and bustle of the city, or in overworld shifts with little interference to the night sky, he finds the sight to be unnerving. A vastness leading out into so much Nothing, and while beautiful, the eeriness of staring into an endless, ever-expanding void makes him not stare at the sky too much. He does, however, enjoy watching the stars with his dad when he gets a chance, as he likes listening to his dad talk about astrophysics and astronomy.
Hayate Nishimura - His first and only loop
Ahhh Hayate, poor little meow meow. If he fused with Shuichi Togo he'd just be Izaya Orihara from Durarara!! and that's not on purpose. He is estranged from Mononobe, and is the only wanderer unable to use Boundless Tail due to interference from his father and Lil' Sal.
🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?
Hayate. Any advice he would get would fall on deaf ears, depending on who was saying it to him. Even then, he would not take most of it to heart. However, even if he wouldn't listen, the piece of advice I would give him is. I'm not sure. With Hayate's circumstance of not being able to trust his only family, feeling abandoned by his guardian and the little spirit tasked with keeping an eye on him (which takes a more sinister tone in his loop) asking him to trust the people he knows isn't right. He can't-and shouldn't because it's a waste-trust those that don't trust him back, like Mononobe. But, if nothing else, I would tell him to trust that no matter what happens around him, Shuichi and Ryouta are people he can rely on no matter what. They'll go through life and limb to help him, and for the former, he does. Months in a bunker together with nothing to do but read and play tic tac toe creates a strange bond between people. The fractured tale of Judas and Cain.
🌠 SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?
This also depends on When Hayate would make a wish. At the beginning, he would most likely wish for his father's death, and if that wasn't possible, for his father to never get a moment's peace ever again. Mononobe failed his child by sealing his only method of self defense in a world that actively wants him dead or worse. He left this amnesiac alone without someone to guide him, all because Mononobe thought Hayate was a threat, was dangerous. Every parent makes mistakes, misjudges things, and Hayate is the shining example of the results of that.
Were it later in the loop, Hayate would find himself wishing that Shuichi and him could find a way out of this (euphenism) mess. He just wants to go...home. If he can find it. He would wish that the game would end, it didn't matter how at this point.
🌟 GLOWING STAR - what do they think about when they look at the night sky? is there someone they want to star gaze with?
Hayate, at first, hates seeing the stars. They remind him of his dad, of the mark on his hand that he can't get rid of, of the fact he's tethered to the annoying little beast sent to monitor him that bears a star mark as well. After a while, however, when he becomes close with Shuichi, he starts associating the stars with Duo, with Atlas. A map of the stars, of everything, the celestial bodies out of sight yet so close within the golden sphere. He'd watch the stars with Shuichi and Duo, in silence, watching as Atlas mapped the constellations for them, his tired blue eyes seeing the sky in a warmer, kinder light.
#what if I blew up. what if you also blew up#tokyo afterschool summoners#housamo#aswtwl#放サモ#東京放課後サモナーズ#tas
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Red Zone // Steve, Tony, Sam, Sharon, et al.
[Start date: August 4, 2019]
All Avengers and affiliates:
I've just been made aware that a group of highly-trained, possibly enhanced operatives infiltrated the CDC in Atlanta less than an hour ago. Our most recent intel confirms that they've stolen the smallpox sample housed there and are currently headed westward. Our best guess right now is that they're planning to use it as a bioweapon.
Agent Carter and I are preparing a jet to track the operatives and recover the smallpox sample. This is an all-call to anyone who can assist us. Wheels up in 15; we will rendezvous with anyone who can't be here by then.
Sam Wilson
---
Steve looked up from the message and quirked an eyebrow at Sam.
"You didn't sign it 'Captain America.'"
"Let's see if I earn it first," Sam said.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this jittery with nerves; he usually handled them better, but now he couldn't settle, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he continuously looked from Steve to the Quinjet and back. It wasn't just the stakes of the mission that had him on edge, but the hard fact that this was going to be his big reveal as Captain America.
"It's not too late for me to give this back to you," Sam said. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the shield magnetized between his shoulders. Steve smiled and shook his head.
"I got an upgrade," he said, raising his left hand to indicate the circlet around his wrist. "It's yours."
Sam breathed a laugh and shook his own head, still a little incredulous, then saw Sharon exiting the Quinjet and walking toward them.
"We're all set, Cap," she said to Sam. Then the smirked at Steve. "What are we supposed to call you?"
Steve shrugged. He still hadn't thought of a call sign. He probably should have posed the question in that massive text chat since everyone seemed to know about his night job now.
---
“Well, clearly he’s outgrown the campy patriotic superhero stuff,” Tony said over the comms. He’d invited himself into the channel since he was already en route with an armor. “Has to have a bite to it — I’m RSVP-ing, by the way, if it wasn’t obvious — yeah, think dramatic Oscar-baiting one-word movie titles. Dissident. Maverick. Rogue. Nomad. Something like that.”
---
Matt felt the burner phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, smirking as he listened to Steve's text.
"On our way out for that HYDRA mission. You still in?"
Oh yeah, he was in. Foggy was going to be pissed with him for leaving the office early, but the offer to go out and punch Nazis was just too inviting.
[That depends, do you do pick ups?] He sent back.
---
"Isn't Rogue one of the X-Men?" Sam asked. Sharon laughed in response.
"I like Maverick," she said. "Very Top Gun."
"Great," Steve said. He was newly occupied with his phone. "Throw them around, see what sticks."
He finished typing out a message and then looked up at Sam and Sharon. "We have someone to pick up out of Hell's Kitchen."
[ Steve's text to Matt ] We'll be there in 20. Let me know on which rooftop we can drop a line.
---
[Matt | @Steve Rogers ] I'll be there. How about Fogwell's Gym?
---
[ Steve | @Matt Murdock ] perfect
---
Sharon and Sam exchanged a glance. They'd long ago figured out that Steve had been running with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, but none of them had talked about it in any detail.
"That's a team of six," Sam said. "Against an unknown number of possibly enhanced people with a potential bioweapon."
"Six of us fought an alien army," Steve said.
"I'm pretty sure first responders were also there," Sharon said, but then she looped an arm through Sam's. "More people may come. And even if they don't, we're some of the best of the best."
She tugged on Sam, and he followed her with a laugh toward the jet. Steve smiled and fell into step behind them.
"You riding with us, Iron Man?" Sam asked over the comms.
---
"You riding with us, Iron Man?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got my own ride. I’ll race you there,” Tony said, and not entirely in jest. If he did get closer before the others, then he could have JARVIS start gathering on-site intel on the place and how many hostiles awaited them.
“By the way, for future reference, I’m worth like, at least twelve super people.”
---
[Peter I @Steve Rogers] Suiting up, just warn me when you are in NYC and I’ll hitch a ride. You don’t even need to land.
---
[ Steve | @Peter Parker ] We're en route toward Hell's Kitchen. I'll leave the door open for you.
---
[Logan I @Steve Rogers] Just send me coordinates to meet up with you. I had some enhancements added to my bike.
---
Sam and Sharon took the helm for final flight checks.
"We know you are," Steve said frankly to Tony over the comm. Sam saw Sharon playfully roll her eyes, and he snorted lightly in response. If Steve sensed their silent ribbing, he didn't address it, even when Sam leaned over to smirk at him.
"I have Daredevil, Spider-Man, and Wolverine confirmed to rendezvous at Fogwell's Gym in Hell's Kitchen," Steve told Sam, completely straight-faced for about half a second before he cracked a smile.
Sharon released a blunt, "huh," and Sam turned back around to face her.
"What's up?"
"Unless one of you weighs 350 more pounds than I'd thought, we're over on weight," she said.
Steve's frown was almost audible. "Will it slow us down?"
"Not at all. Even once we're full up, this jet can still go supersonic with no problem."
"Probably some leftover gear I missed," Sam said. "I'll unload it when we get back."
---
Sam was really hesitant to respond to Captain Falcon's message about the mission - none of the Avengers really knew he was staying at the compound, and he thought it might we weird to just Show Up without warning. Still, he suited up and talked to Karolina about joining. They only had a few minutes to decide.
He wanted to walk right up to the team very confidently at the quinjet and say 'we're ready for the mission!' but then once he saw Sam, Sharon, and Steve getting ready, he panicked. Somehow in that moment, he looked for a place to hide, which led to an alternate entrance.
So instead of making a grand entrance for the first time as Sam Alexander, Black Nova of the Avengers, he was stuck inside the storage compartment with Karolina.
"Oh man...I think we're heading off soon. I'm so sorry, I panicked. Everything was happening so quickly!" He hid his face in his hands out of embarrassment.
Worldmind assured him that this sort of thing happened a lot to Richard when he first started on his own, but that wasn't very comforting.
---
Karolina gave Sam a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Hey, it's okay Sam. As long as we're on the plane, we're good."
She shot him some fingerguns. "Plus, hiding from adults? kind of my specialty."
It was hard to see him in the dim light of the storage compartment, but she resisted the urge to use her powers. The adults would absolutely notice if she suddenly went full rainbow brite inside the plane, and she didn't want to risk getting kicked off the mission. She wasn't exactly a trained superhero like the rest of them were; they probably wouldn't want her coming along if they knew.
Karolina already couldn't help but feel out of place next to Sam, in his shiny Nova uniform. It wasn't like she had a superhero costume she could throw on when they got the call, so she'd just gone in her yoga clothes. She'd have to try and get a uniform if this whole hero thing worked out; punching Nazis in leggings and a sweatshirt full time seemed kind of lame.
"You know, I've never really done a mission like this before." She said. "I mean, I used to beat up bad guys with the other Runaways, but they usually came to us."
---
[ Steve | @Matt Murdock @Logan @Peter Parker ] ETA 2 minutes
With final checks completed, they departed the hanger and jetted for Hell's Kitchen. Steve shot off quick ETA texts to Peter, Logan, and Matt, then headed back to the bay door. They were violating several air traffic regulations with this maneuver, but it was the fastest way to pick up the rest of the team and get going. At Sam's signal, Steve opened the rear bay door and dropped a braided steel ladder out the back.
---
A light thump on the roof moments before a red and blue clad figure crawled in from the top of the opening and across the ceiling. “I always am up for punching Nazis. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”
---
Matt could hear the jet from almost five miles out, as it flew into Manhattan. Whatever military grade rig the Avengers traveled around in didn't seem to be much quieter than a regular plane, and the ETA text Steve sent him as they were closing in on Fogwell's gym made the vigilante laugh.
The vibrations from the engine seemed to shake the air itself, vibrating the glass in the surrounding buildings as it came to hover above Daredevil. Another costume had shown up to wait with him, no doubt answering the same call from Sam. He wasn't much of a talker, it seemed; the two of them exchanged a curt nod, but otherwise waited in silence.
Matt climbed into the jet and greeted Steve with a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for taking me along," he grinned. "This should be interesting."
"Thanks for inviting me to the party."
The vigilante nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized there was someone on the ceiling above him- Spider-man, if he had to guess. He should have picked up on the that, but the background noise from the jet must have been messing with his radar sense.
"Fuck, kid, you scared me."
---
"Thanks for coming along," Steve said to both Matt and Peter. He nodded to Logan as he also boarded the jet, then pulled the ladder up and secured the bay door. "Iron Man flew ahead to scout out what we're up against."
He scanned the occupants of the jet. If they hadn't all met, they had at least all heard of each other, or so Steve was fairly certain. And it was a solid team. He returned to his seat and invited the rest of the team to buckle in as Sam gained altitude and hit the throttle, heading westward.
---
Matt buckled in with the others and spent the majority of the flight trying to tune out the roar of the jet engines in his ears. God, he never remembered how much he hated flying until he was stuck having to do it. At least he'd get to punch some Nazis at the end of this.
He tried to focus in on his teammates, and the steadiness of their heartbeats. Sam and Steve were as calm as ever, though he supposed that was to be expected from seasoned heroes. Spider-man was a bit more jittery, and Logan...well, Logan was pretty much impossible to get a read on.
It was the two extra heartbeats Matt picked up on that really caught him off guard. There were only six of them in the cabin, and yet he clearly heard the telltale sounds of eight people on board the jet. They were fluttery, nervous sounding, and coming from the other side of the wall- cargo hold maybe?
"Ah, fuck." Matt muttered. This could be a problem.
He unbuckled himself and made his way towards the front of the plane, where Sam was driving. Keeping his balance was a bit difficult, given their current speed, but he found his footing fairly quickly.
"Hey, oh Captain my Captain," Matt said, leaning casually over the back of Sam's seat. "You've got two stowaways in the cargo hold."
---
Sam jerked around and raised his eyebrows at Daredevil.
"Um. Excuse me?"
He glanced at Sharon, who immediately unbuckled and strode back to the cargo hold. She drew her sidearm on her way there, and she could hear someone else -- probably Steve -- coming to join her. She wasn't too worried about two stowaways given her present company, though, so she opened the cargo hold.
Inside, she saw Nova and a teenager she didn't recognize.
"Hi." She returned her gun to its holster and propped his hands on her hips, trying and failing not to smile. How very on-brand. "Were you planning on staying in here the whole time?"
---
They were about 20 minutes out from the eastern California border when Sharon swore loudly and turned in the copilot's seat to face the rest of the team.
"Social media feeds and local news stations are starting to report a rapidly spreading illness." She locked eyes with Steve. "Like 28 Days Later rapid. No one's sure yet what it is or how it's spread, but people who were complaining of flu-like symptoms this morning are now covered in purulent red rashes, in a whole lot of pain, and experiencing symptoms similar to anaphylaxis."
She watched Steve raise his chin slightly, as he often did when he mentally transitioned into full battle-readiness. Illness was one thing she knew could be a sore spot with him, but he hadn't had so much as a head cold since 2011, so as far as they knew, he was in the clear.
A lot of them might not be, though. And Sharon, for one, hadn't expected a biological weapon to already be in play, if that was what this was.
"Tony," Steve said, "what do you see on your end?"
___
“I wouldn’t get super excited about whatever’s spreading on the ground,” Tony said. Social media highlights and headlines flashed across the HUD, lingering only long enough for Tony to get ahold of the situation, which didn’t take long. “I think that’s just previews. I was able to tap into their communication channels and I’m using that to triangulate their current location.”
Tony sent them the coordinates he had.
“From what I gather, the plan is to launch the sample onto the thermosphere, just past the Kármán line, then use the Earth’s rotation to spread the contagion. The entire planet could be vulnerable in a matter of hours.”
---
With a definite location to aim for, Sam poured on the speed toward the coordinates Tony had provided. None of them were particularly surprised that the bad guys were hiding in a mountain, but the plan Tony related was more than a little rattling. As they approached the coordinates, Sam was almost underwhelmed by the face of the compound as it came into view: it wasn't much larger than a standard storefront. He was nevertheless willing to bet that a good portion of it was underground.
"Ste--uh" -- Sam wracked his brain for the field names Tony had thrown out earlier -- "Nomad. Grab the gas masks out of the hold. Let's stay ahead of this."
He landed about two miles away from the compound, then stood and turned to face the team: his team, for the moment. Sharon stood to his left; Steve, bizarrely, was among their motley crew, waiting intently for Sam to call the shots.
"Nomad. Winter Soldier. Wolverine. Iron Man. Secure all the bioweapons and personnel you can find. Bonus points if you find an antidote. Thirteen will lead Daredevil and Spider-Man in evac until hazmat arrives. Nova and Lucy" -- he made deliberate eye contact with each of them -- "you're with me on air support. If Iron Man's team calls for back-up, you're on point to back them up."
(God. He hoped that was the right call. Both of them could fly faster than he could, and he'd be damned if he separated them.)
"Y'all ready?"
---
“Almost,” Tony said over the comms, adding a small pause for suspense. “First I’d like the record to reflect that I came up with Steve’s new field name.”
Hopefully that would add some levity to this whole thing. Tony could tell Sam was nervous — or, at any rate, he expected him to be.
“Now I’m good. Team Iron Man and the Ironettes, I will be seeing you on the ground.”
---
“If you are all done being fangirls about each other . . “ Logan rolled his eyes at the comments. “If we run into any loose or exposed bio-hazard should leave it to me.” He’d yet to find something that could slow him down for long.
---
Matt made a face when Steve handed him the gas mask, but accepted the item without comment. Cutting off his sense of taste and smell was going to put him at a disadvantage out there, but he guessed anything was better than being dead.
"Nothing like a bioweapon to keep things interesting." He sighed.
"Thirteen will lead Spidey and Daredevil in evac until hazmat arrives."
"On it." Matt said, popping the billy clubs from the holster on his leg. He snapped the two ends together with practiced ease, and activated the cable mechanism inside. Between buildings would probably be the fastest way to move down there.
"Spider-man and I can swing down- I'll take Agent Thirteen."
“First I’d like the record to reflect that I came up with Steve’s new field name.”
"I dig it, not much of a Nomad when you have a team though." Matt laughed.
---
"Nova and Lucy, you're with me on air support. If Iron Man's team calls for back-up, you're on point to back them up."
"Aye aye, Captain." Karolina said, giving Sam an awkward salute. As nervous as she was, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the sound of her codename being used by actual superheroes.
She pulled off her bracelet and let the familiar warmth of her glow calm her nerves.
"Sorry if I'm blinding everyone in here." she added, trying to keep the glare to a minimum.
---
Sam was a bit nervous. He knew his helmet would filter everything, but bioweapons were serious... He would be staying in the air with Karolina and the other Sam, so he was comfortable at least. Worldmind scans better while he's in the sky anyway. He can keep watch and scan for threats the ground forces may not pick up on.
Honestly, the most comforting part of all was seeing his heroes in action again. He trusted Sam's plan. He trusted the smaller teams.
"We won't let you down, Captain Falcon, sir!" He smiled.
---
Sam smiled back at Nova and tried not to think too hard about the last time he'd flown with Riley. How blasé they'd been.
"I know you won't," he said. He dropped a hand on each of their shoulders as he followed Nova and Lucy (LSD in his head, but he could rib her on that later) out of the jet.
"Let's hit the skies."
---
Sharon looped an arm around Daredevil and watched Sam and the teens take flight, then tightened her hold on instinct as he rappelled them both toward the center of town.
"Hazmat should be here in about twenty minutes," she said over the comms. "Then we can back up the ground team."
They could have used hazmat twenty minutes ago, by the look of it. People covered in scarlet rashes were pounding on locked doors begging for entry, presumably because their families or landlords had locked them out. Others were laying across benches or tucked into alleyways, too sick to stand. Possibly unconscious.
Sharon quietly decided that everyone was alive until proven otherwise.
"Spidey, can you head to the hospital, find out what you can? Daredevil and I will try to shelter these people."
---
Steve raised an amused eyebrow at Matt as he pulled on his gas mask and they disembarked the jet.
"Sam technically isn't a captain, but here we are," he said to Matt.
Behind them, the jet automatically shimmered out of sight as the retro-reflective paneling kicked on. He could barely see Karolina against the clear, brightly-lit sky, but both Sam's were clearly visible shades above them. Much of the team were people he'd only worked with once or twice in the field, but the gist of it was familiar. He wasn't reassured by that, necessarily, given the circumstances they were working against -- but he felt competent. Capable. Like he was doing what he was supposed to be doing instead of skulking around looking for trouble.
He nodded at Tony as they approached him, then at the double steel doors beyond.
"Lead on."
Between the four of them, opening the front door was almost insultingly easy, as was dispatching the guards who'd been waiting for them. Almost, but it seemed unlikely that a group that could break into and out of the CDC in the time they did it wouldn't have had at least an inkling who was going to pursue them.
"Cap," Steve said, "it's a set-up."
Sam was silent for a fraction of a second longer than Steve would have expected, but when he answered, he was definitive.
"Support team, get back to the ground team. Nova, Lucy, and I will land when y'all rendezvous. What's it looking like in there?"
"Too easy," Steve said. They were making suspiciously good time now as they drove deeper into the compound. "We're following the breadcrumbs for now -- "
"I'm losing you," Sam cut in, and the connection was indeed garbled. "Keep going. We're right behind you."
They made it to a reinforced door deep in the facility, the minotaur in the labyrinth. For the hell of it, Steve tried to open it, and -- confirming his suspicions immediately -- it opened. The door was barely ajar before something exploded at their feet, emitting a cloud of scarlet gas. Immediately after that, a booted foot came down hard on the back of Steve's knee, followed by a backhand to the face that felt like getting hit by rebar.
Had to be Rumlow; Steve remembered the gear from over a year ago. Rumlow meant HYDRA.
HYDRA meant Tony was in danger.
---
Tony grabbed ahold of Rumlow and flew him straight against a wall with all the force of his irritation at the fact that he seemed to be one step behind them rather than one step ahead.
”Stark — can’t see your long face but I definitely feel it,” Rumlow croaked out with a pained laugh. ”Not a fan of surprises, are you?”
“I saw you coming from a mile,” Tony said. He activated one of his wrist rockets (more extreme than what he’d been using so far, but then again, Rumlow did land pretty hard on Steve, so...).
Error message.
He already had his fist pointed at Rumlow, so turning the dud into an armored punch was easy.
“You guys can handle this low life,” Tony said over the comms, then flew upwards. “Secure your masks. I’ll make sure that this funky smoke doesn’t sneak outside.”
And then, only to Steve, while JARVIS ran diagnostics on the armor’s electronics, “I didn’t actually see him coming,” Tony said.
Hopefully Steve would understand the source of Tony’s anxiety without him having to phrase it. Rumlow was on every most-wanted list on Earth; he should have lit up on the HUD like a Christmas tree. And he hadn’t. JARVIS, or Tony himself, could be compromised.
---
Steve's hand flew to his face as soon as he was hit; the blow hurt, but worse was the chilling fear that the gas mask might have come unseated. It hadn't, but now he couldn't see for the smoke that filled the room.
"Me, neither," Steve hissed into the mask. Even if the room wasn't already flooded crimson, he'd be seeing red. Shield now in hand, he ran toward where Tony had slammed Rumlow to the wall.
"Wolverine," he said, "who else is in here?"
"Just me," someone said -- a familiar female voice, even muffled by what had it be a mask, from clear across the room.
Against his better judgement, Steve whirled toward her voice. Rumlow was Cynthia Schmidt's muscle; she was undoubtedly the ringleader of this operation.
He heard something click shut -- a briefcase? A computer? -- before she spoke again.
"Can't stick around," she said. "Give Iron Man my regards."
Behind him, Rumlow took a few heavy steps. Steve spun back around, activated his shield, and was smugly satisfied to hear the distinct whir and buzz of hard light against Kevlar.
"Like hell you can't," he growled.
---
There were a lot more people outside the compound than had been there when they'd arrived 25 minutes ago. They must have been hiding a ways away and only mobilized once the heroes had split up.
"Sam? Where did this come from?"
"No idea," Sam said, clearly pissed. "I didn't think to scan infrared or UV in the middle of the day. They could have been cloaked the whole time and I never caught it."
Sharon frowned. "Who has tech so good even Wolverine and Iron Man didn't catch anything?"
"Tony does," Steve interjected between heavy breaths. Dropping field names wasn't necessarily unusual for him, but Sharon did get nervous when he immediately followed up with, "Does anyone have eyes on him?"
"Is he not in there with you?" Sam asked, landing a few yards away on top of two of the soldiers now guarding the compound.
Steve didn't answer. Sharon didn't have any choice but to let it go as she engaged the nearest guard; questions wouldn't get her inside any faster.
---
Sam didn't wait for Steve to respond.
"Nova, Lucy -- get inside and back them up," Sam said. "Daredevil, Spider-Man, Thirteen -- don't let anyone else into the building."
As far as he'd seen when they'd arrived, there was only the one visible door, but he wasn't going to miss any more obvious details. He deployed Redwing to make sure no one else was flooding the facility. Behind him, gunshots fired, followed by Sharon to him, dual-wielding handguns and gunning down exposed throats and the backs of knees as she went. They locked eyes, and then Sam turned his back to the fray and locked the wings into a shield, where Sharon took cover to reload.
"I've lost sight of Daredevil," she breathed. "I think he might be down."
"Great," Sam snarled. He checked the Redwing interface on his arm and took manual control until he could find Daredevil.
"Spidey," Sam said, "I need you on Daredevil. Get him out of here."
He exchanged another look with Sharon. She nodded, firearms at the ready, and he whirled back around and brought his own weaponry to bear.
"Nomad, Nova and Lucy are coming for you. Confirm."
---
The smoke had gotten dense enough for Tony to visually pick up the patterns of its movement, so he followed it along by flight to the only ceiling vent. By the time he got there, the original idea — completely sealing the place so that the gas couldn't escape at all — struck him as one of those simple stupid risky things he was willing to expose himself to, but maybe not the team who was in here with him.
If he coordinated well enough with the teams outside, maybe he could find a way to air this place out without putting anyone at risk.
“JARVIS, get me data on the wind patterns outside—“ JARVIS never answered. The HUD suddenly went dark and for a split-second, the armor was completely dead in the air, then in free fall.
After crashing on the ground, Tony allowed himself to groan from the pain since now there was really no chance anyone in the team could hear him anyway. His communications were out. Visibility was very impaired — he could only see through the eye slits of the helmet, and without the visual environment provided by the HUD, he started to feel claustrophobic. The air filtration systems were offline as well, and Tony had a limited supply of oxygen. Soon he would have to either let outside air in, or he would end up suffocating.
The HUD suddenly blinked back to life, but it didn’t come with JARVIS’ soothing presence. The words Execute Program? flashed in front of his eyes, followed by an externally inputted YES.
Well, they might have the armor, but they didn’t seem to have him. At least not yet —
Tony cried out in response to a sudden, sharp pain on his right thigh. Without a second thought, he interfaced with the armor to confirm what had just happened. The armor had just administered to him one of its emergency doses of adrenaline. And in the process of confirming that, he had made himself vulnerable just for long enough to be taken.
---
Through the static in his comm, Steve heard Sam say something about Nova and Lucy, but he was still engaged with Rumlow and couldn't quite parse it out. Only seconds later, someone or something crashed to the floor nearby. Behind him, gunshots -- almost certainly Schmidt firing on Logan and Bucky.
"Tony?" Steve shouted over the din.
Static from Sam trying to contact him from above ground rattled in his ear until, suddenly, it went dead. That cleared his head enough to hear the distinctive whine of the repulsors powering up. The first beam pierced the smoke and shot across the room, followed by Logan growling. Steve heard the impact of the second shot as someone hit the opposing wall, but without a vocal cue or disengaging Rumlow, he couldn't tell who.
Rumlow, for his part, was matching Steve blow-for-blow. Steve could see now that Runlow was wearing what had to be infrared goggles over his helmet, and Steve swung at them, hard. His head snapped to the side, one lens splintering under the impact, but he kept at it -- and then Steve heard the repulsor firing up again.
Steve grabbed Rumlow and used his momentum against him to pull him between Steve and glow of the repulsor. The impact nailed Rumlow squarely in the back and sent both men sliding across the floor. Steve took his chance to try to grapple him, but, defying Steve's expectations, Rumlow rolled away from Steve and made for the door. Two more pairs of feet followed him out of the room and down the corridor, leaving Steve and Tony behind.
"Tony?" Steve climbed to his feet and peered through the smoke in search of the armour's glow. "What the hell?"
---
<Execute program?>
<YES>
All of the projected confidence aside, Sin had only half-expected it to work. She raised an eyebrow when it did, and that was as far as she would go in betraying her surprise.
Getting past Wolverine was easy. A tutorial level in a first-person shooter game, except that her laptop saw through Stark’s eyes and she had more interesting things at her disposal than just guns and grenades. She hummed as she examined her options.
“Interesting.”
”What?” said Rumlow, walking into the sealed room. He tossed all his damaged head gear on the floor. Sin rolled his eyes at the display of temper. Nothing got to him quite like taking a beating from Steve Rogers.
“Stark has offense and defense protocols set up against practically every Avenger,” she answered. Brock leaned over her shoulder to look at the laptop screen. “But nothing against Rogers.”
”How’s that interesting?” Brock barked. ”Inconvenient.”
Sin ignored him. She wasn’t here to illuminate dimmer minds.
---
In Tony’s lab, a back-up server suddenly went online and, as planned, established an immediate encrypted connection with Steve’s communication device.
“Steve. It’s me,” Tony’s voice sounded through Steve’s comm. “Kinda. It’s Artificial Intelligence-me. I’m a security program set up by Tony Stark. If I’m online, that means that Stark has been compromised. I’m here to walk you through disabling the armor and enacting the Johnnie Walker Protocol to render all his mental data unusable.”
---
Externally, Tony didn't respond. Neither did anyone from outside. The silence from the comm in Steve's ear was deafening -- and then the feed clicked back on.
"Steve. It's me."
"Tony -- "
"Kinda. It's Artificial Intelligence-me."
Steve's breath caught. He watched the tell-tale glow of the Iron Man armor in front of him, got the hardlight shield up between them.
"If I'm online, that means Stark has been compromised."
"Tony!"
Steve stood his ground. Tony -- the armor -- raised a hand, palm out.
"I'm here to walk you through disabling the armor and enacting the Johnnie Walker Protocol to render all his mental data unusable." The armor fired. Steve braced himself.
The shield winked out.
"Shit -- "
Steve ducked, rolled, got back on his feet. The armor turned awkwardly, slowly, to follow him, and Steve got the distinct impression that someone or something outside of the armor was controlling it manually. Tactically, it should have been a relief that he wasn't up against Tony's own programming, but it wasn't. Someone was inside Tony's head, stealing his autonomy from him and turning him into a mindless weapon, and that would not abide.
"Whose mental data?" Steve asked the AI in his ear. He hoped the AI meant the version of JARVIS that powered the suit.
"You know whose," came Tony's voice. "I can only hope you promised you'd do this. I may have programmed this before asking you."
Of course he did. Steve circled the armor. For all he knew, Tony was fine inside and only the armor itself was compromised. He had to get Tony out.
"There's a voice-activated code that'll get you started. Repeat after me -- "
"Hold that thought," Steve said. Then he dove for the armor.
Tony's voice continued, uninterrupted, as Steve grappled Iron Man. He couldn't open the armor in here without exposing Tony to the gas that still filled the room; he'd have to provoke Schmidt into taking this outside. To that end, he kicked his legs up, wrapped them around the armor's chest, and leaned his full weight back. Without any control from inside, the armor couldn't correct for the shift, and the two of them crashed to the floor. Steve wrapped his arms around the helmet in an ineffectual headlock, but he needed to make sure Schmidt could hear him.
"I will find you," he growled, "and you'll never regret anything like you're gonna regret this."
Then he released the armor, rolled to his feet, and bolted for the door. He almost made it up the first flight of stairs before he heard the armor in flight behind him, slammed carelessly into walls and ceiling until it burst through the door, up the stairs, and into Steve. Together they bounced against concrete and steel, up and up, Steve's vision swimming as he tried and failed to break free -- but then they were out, careening through a grate and away from the building, away from the mountain, away from the gas.
"Can't you turn this thing off?" Steve shouted.
"Then confirm the order with your name, and that should do it," Tony's AI said.
"Without the data deletion part," Steve said.
"This is the only way. Where did I lose you?"
Steve shook his head, tried to inhale any of the rapidly thinning air that whipped around him. He'd lost his mask at some point while they'd ping-ponged around the stairwell. Up here, he wouldn't need it.
He pulled his hands free and reached for the manual release on the side of the helmet. The face plate dissolved to reveal Tony's face. Tony's eyes were unfocused, unseeing. His jaw was slack, his brow relaxed. He was bleeding from several cuts across his forehead, his nose; he looked like he may have bitten the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood as well.
"Tony." The wind whipped Tony's name from Steve's lips.
Steve wrapped a hand around the back of Tony's neck, the other around Tony's jaw. Tony's expression didn't change, but he released Steve, forcing Steve to scramble for purchase before he fell away. Their flight slowed, then stopped, until they were hovering well above the battlefield -- a safe distance away from Schmidt and Rumlow to escape.
He had to trust Sam would catch them. Even if he could get back to earth safely, he wouldn't do it without Tony.
"Hey," he said. His voice sounded thin. Tony's eyes were so dark.
"There's a voice-activated code that'll get you started," came Tony's voice.
"Tony. Please."
"Repeat after me."
Could he force Schmidt to land them? Where was Sam? He had to get Tony out of the suit!
"Don't."
"Activate Johnnie Walker override. Authorization: the first Avenger."
But the longer Steve stalled, the more Schmidt would get from Tony. She'd already shut down their comms, his shield. Given enough time, she would had access to everything Tony had access to, every wirelessly-enabled device on and orbiting the planet. He had no idea how far she'd gotten already, but he knew Tony would never forgive himself if Steve didn't do this.
"Don't make me do this."
"Walter Wolf. Rivendell. Eleven. Pyxis. Larghetto."
He had to. Tony had asked him to.
"Then confirm the order with your name, and that should do it."
Steve's chest, head, everything hurt. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't pretend it was the altitude. He hoisted himself up enough to press his lips, dry and quivering, to Tony's temple.
"Activate Johnnie Walker override," he said.
He felt the armor shutting down against his chest, under his arms, as he tore each word out of his own throat and sobbed it back to Tony.
"Confirm override," he said.
He forced his head up to watch Tony's eyes. Nothing had changed. He crawled his numbing fingers around the back of the suit to reengage the face plate.
"Steve Rogers."
The repulsors cut off, and then they were falling. They were too high up even for Tony in the suit to survive the fall, much less Steve with no parachute and no shield, so Steve clung to the armor with Tony inside and closed his eyes against the wind. He didn't see Nova and Lucy coming until they each tried to take hold of him and Tony, but Steve refused to let go, forcing them to descend in an awkward tangle until they were low enough to drop Steve and Tony without injuring them. Hitting the ground was like flipping a switch; Steve was back in action, singularly focused on nothing but getting Tony out of the armor.
"Steve! What happened?" Sharon said from somewhere both nearby yet incredibly far away. He was already manually removing the armor as he answered.
"Schmidt. Did you get her?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Wolverine and Winter Soldier got her, Rumlow -- and Clint." That caught Steve's attention. He jerked his head around to look up at Sam as he lay his ear to Tony's chest.
"Is he okay?" Sam and Sharon exchanged a look that Steve didn't care to decipher. He could hear Tony's pulse, but Tony's breathing was too shallow, too quick. He rose to his hands and knees over Tony, his back to Sam and Sharon. As long as Clint wasn't dead, Steve could follow up with him later.
"Come on, Tony."
Steve pinched Tony's nose and closed his mouth over Tony's. Tony's chest rose with Steve's breath, then fell almost still again. Steve gave him another breath; same thing. He sat up and started chest compressions and didn't stop until several pairs of hands pulled him to his feet and toward the Quinjet.
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May I have a comfort fic for Diasuke post chapter 10?
ALL ABOARD THE DAISUKE PAIN TRAIN- a healthy dose of angst amongst the fluff and smut lmao. I do hope that this is okay hun I’m still getting the hang of writing angsty stuff~
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The darkness of the night seeps into every hallway and room in the building, and the silence that comes along with it leaves you uneasy as you traverse it’s empty corridors. Guided only by the minimal light provided by your phone, you try to find solace in the moment that you have alone.
You should have been in bed right now - you’re exhausted both mentally and physically and more than ready for some rest, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Just the thought of tossing and turning in your bed for hours until you finally crash makes your very skin crawl; so you turn to wandering outside of your quarters, more than willing to choose the darkened halls over being left in your room with your thoughts.
Scanning your light over the rooms as you pass, you try to make out where you are on the floor. Most of the rooms are bedrooms, where you’re sure all your friends are inside, equally as restless as you are in light of everything that’s happened. You can’t blame them - the recent events are weighing heavy on everyone’s mind, that much you’re sure of, and being in an unfamiliar place away from their dorms and schools does little to ease the worries. If anything it serves as a reminder to how serious things are getting - like the reality of something bigger than all of you is bearing down, and you honestly have any idea of how long things will last before everything is crushed beneath its weight-
You shake away the thought with a grimace as soon as it crosses your mind. Thinking about it isn’t going to make it any easier, so you opt to focus on the room numbers as you pass, wracking your brain to remember who’s behind each door as you walk. You know where the Summoners are - Ryota had insisted on them all bunking in the same room, phrasing it as a sleepover but you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s more to reassure the boy that they’re all safe and okay. Moritaka and you were the only two who’d declined the offer, and you’re sure that the therian is on one of the higher floors, perhaps doing rounds across the building to make sure that it’s truly safe to spend the night in. The others however had dispersed before you’d had the chance to see where they were all going, so you have no idea who’s decided to pick a room for the night and who’s moved on to somewhere else.
That thought makes you uneasy, so you find yourself conscious of the things that you can see and hear as you shuffle through the hallway. It’s quiet, but not eerily so, and yet you still find yourself on edge while you wander…
You find out why that is when you finally hear something, and the sound immediately makes you freeze. It’s a voice, you know that much, but you can’t make anything out besides that; it’s coming from further down the hall, and you find yourself dragging your feet as you approach, the tension building up in your shoulders as you try to gauge where it’s coming from. Eventually, you come to a slow stop at one of the bedrooms, and as you flash your camera light over the door you hear that same noise again, clearer, but still too muffled to make anything out.
You reach out for the doorknob, then pause, fingers hovering just above the handle as you continue to listen. Perhaps it's the apprehension that’s making you pause, or the worry about what you’ll find on the other side - you don’t know either way - but when a moment passes and nothing happens you take a deep breath, steel yourself, and grab for the handle.
The door opens easily, and you’re surprised to find that it isn’t locked, but in the darkness of the room the only thing you can make out amongst the shadows is something shifting by the bunk propped up in the far corner. Your phone light is dim as you bring it up but it does the job, illuminating the figure hunched over at the edge of the bed and you recognize who it is right away.
Daisuke looks defeated, perched on the end of his bed and facing away from you; he’s clutching something in his hands and you realize it’s his mask as he twists it up in his hands tight enough that you can see his knuckles turning white. The moment your light shines over him, Daisuke jumps, head snapping up to look over at you, and as you catch sight of his face you realize what you’d heard from the other side of the door. He’s been crying, tears still visible in the corners of his eyes as he looks up at you and you feel your chest tighten when you notice the dried tear streaks marring the skin of his cheeks.
As soon as he recognizes you, Daisuke immediately spins around to face away from you, fumbling with shaking fingers to put his mask back on like you haven’t already seen his face. His voice trembles and there’s a noticeable hoarseness as he tries to speak loud enough for you to hear.
“A-Ah, my soul brother! I-I didn’t see you there! Tell me, di-d something h-happen-?”
A hand on his shoulder makes Daisuke freeze. He tilts his head just enough to look over his shoulder, mask only pulled halfway over one side of his face as he gives you a wide, doe-eyed stare - for a split second he looks absolutely terrified, as though scared to even look back at you, but you recognize the emotions that you see behind them all too well.
Pain; he’s hurting. You don’t say anything, you don’t need to - instead, you give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, expression soft as you so in the hope that your actions reflect what you want him to know.
You’re here for him - he’s not alone.
Daisuke flinches beneath your touch, and you watch him shudder for a beat before his expression finally breaks from that smile he’s trying so hard to force. His lip trembles, choking on unspoken words, and you catch more tears welling up in his eyes before he finally twists around to face you; and in the next moment he’s got his hands wrapped up in your shirt, tugging you close as he presses his face to your shoulder and lets out a gut wrenching sob.
The sounds twists something within your chest and you don’t hesitate to bring your arms to wrap around him, pulling him into your side as you start rubbing slow circles against his back, hoping that even such a small action helps him. You aren’t sure what to say, or where to even begin, but you already know too well what’s plaguing him. With war breaking out all around on top of an onslaught of memories from previous loops there’s enough pressure for anyone to buckle; you can’t even imagine what he saw, as with everything going on you’ve never had the chance to bring it up with him. But seeing Daisuke breaking down in your arms now, you feel guilty for not confronting him sooner - how long has he been dealing with this all on his own?
“Don’t worry, I’m right here. It’s okay.” your voice is soothing and as soft as you can make it, rubbing his back gently.
In response, Daisuke only whimpers, burying his face further against your shoulder as he chokes out his words.
“How can I-w-when they all...when I...when I k...nngh!”
Daisuke’s words are cut off by another broken sob, sniffling pitifully as he fights back his tears to keep speaking. “Why did I do it? How could I do that to-to my friends?”
He’s almost begging for answers that he knows he can’t get, pulling his head away from your shoulder as he pleads with himself and looks up at you, eyes red and puffy from crying. When a beat passes with no answer he keeps going, snivelling as he weeps.
“To Gunzo, a-and Nomad, and-” you watch his entire body tense and shake, his voice reduced to a croaky whisper as he adds “And...You too - It happened to you too...”
As though realizing the gravity of his words, Daisuke immediately makes a move to rear back, pulling away from you with a mounting fear as though just touching you is going to cause it to happen all over again. However before you can pull away you take him by the shoulders and stop him in his tracks, settling him with a serious expression.
“Daisuke.”
At the sound of his real name he blanks, and you watch the surprise flash across his face. “W-What did you-?”
“Daisuke.” Your voice is firmer this time, and like it’s a command he freezes up, growing quiet when you continue to talk.
“I can’t begin to imagine what remembering those past loops was like - all of the hurt that you’ve suffered through.” Your hands squeeze his shoulders as you straighten up and square him with a determined look, words nothing but honest as you declare them aloud.
“But that’s not you. Not now. The things that happened back then don’t define the person that you are this time around - the only Daisuke that exists is the one sitting in front of me now, and I’m so, so proud of how far you’ve come.”
You can see the doubt on his face. His squirms awkwardly beneath the intensity of your gaze and avoids eye contact, trying to look everywhere but at you, but you aren’t deterred in the slightest, if anything it spurs you on.
“And things are different this time - we’re all working together, right? It’s not going to be easy, but we're all gonna do it together. That’s what heroes do, yeah?”
Daisuke finds himself nodding before he can stop himself, glancing at your face from the corner of his eye. When he sees your expression, stern yet earnest, he finds himself unable to look away; upon realizing you’ve caught his attention your face visibly softens into something sympathetic, almost understanding.
“Don’t give up on yourself yet Daisuke.” you mutter, voice taking a tender tone as you squeeze his shoulders again. “We’re gonna help our friends and save everyone. Together.”
That last word does him in. Hesitantly, Daisuke brings a hand up to cover one of the hands that’s clutching his shoulder; when you don’t immediately pull away from him, he squeezes it gently and cracks a smile. It’s small, and cut short when he bites his lip to will away the tears that are already starting to re-emerge in the corner of his eyes, but it has relief swelling up in your chest at the sight.
“Y-yeah, together…” he repeats your words, and you sincerely hope that he believes them as he squeezes your hand again and finally fully turns to face you again.
You flash him an encouraging smile when he turns, and after a moment you move your hands away from his shoulder to cup his cheeks. They’re still wet from tears, but they’re drying quickly beneath your fingers as you smudge the marks they’ve left behind and wipe his tears away.
Daisuke freezes for a moment but then visibly softens, shoulder sagging as his eyes squeeze shut, focusing on the feeling of your hands touching his face. You find yourself smiling at the sight, a bittersweet feeling welling behind it and you lean closer, voice turning to a whisper loud enough for only him to hear.
“You’re more than your past. And I can’t wait to see the trails you’ll blaze in your future.”
You’re not naive enough to believe that words are enough to ward these thoughts away, but for now, for tonight, it’s enough to ease his fears. And in the darkness of his room you continue to comfort the wrestler, willing to stay right by his side for as long as he needs as he presses his face to your hands with another choked whimper.
#Anonymous#tokyo afterschool summoners#housamo#housamo imagine#housamo scenario#scenario#imagines#housamo daisuke#daisuke#daisuke ikusaba#taurus mask#housamo taurus mask#request#ask
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Prowl’s spark clung to Punch’s promise like the lifeline it was. Slowly his processor began to cling to it as well. He believed Punch, he believed. There was a whisper in his battle computer of what if. But those what ifs were too terrifying to consider, Prowl did not know how to survive them. Punch doted on Prowl’s creations as if they were his own descendants. He was like the grand-originator they had never known. Prowl’s own procreators had died when he was young. The uncle who had raised him had repudiated Prowl when his deception had been uncovered to save his own reputation. It had been he who had sold Prowl’s fertile spark to Crosscut. Nightstalker had made no attempt to save his brother’s creation from his fate. Prowl felt no guilt for his uncle’s tarnished reputation, if anything he hoped the mech and all his fortune turned to rust.
“It’s a’ight, dearlings,” Punch assured the sparklings and their originator as he guided Prowl back onto the trailer where his creations were already settling in. “Staniz ain’t far. Just another two mega-cycles’ drive.”
“What happens when we get there?” Smokescreen asked. “Are we going into his nursery?”
“No nursery,” Punch promised. “We ain’t in the habit of lockin’ bitlets away.”
“So where are we going to go?” Smokescreen asked.
“Wit my clan,” Punch replied. “We secured Darkmount, the Warlord’s seat. ‘N we’ll hold it ‘til the clans gather ‘n my Jazz is officially designated Warlord.”
“What if they don’t?” Smokescreen asked. “What if someone else wants to be warlord?”
“The Warlord of Polihex is chosen by combat. Jazz won the title from Straxus. We have our rituals. The chieftains’ll bring gifts to try ‘n get themselves in tight wit Jazz. Straxus’ clan made a lot o’ enemies in the hundred o’ vorns he held power. No one’ll be too sorry to see the balance shift.”
Would they war? Prowl wondered. If they did, would he be traded about from one clan to the next as they traded the capital and the title back and forth? He did not want to miss Crosscut, or the nursery that had been his prison for over fifty vorns, but it had been safe, and it had been familiar. There had been no threat to his creations there. What would he do if the balance shifted away from Punch’s creation and his clan? How would he safeguard his creations? With his frame. It was the only thing he had to offer. Prowl let his optics roam over the trailer, and each of his creations. It was all he had to offer them, and it was not really his to offer.
The newlings had put themselves on a schedule. The warlord’s red coloured creation continued to spent the most time on his lines, as he continued to be a singularly unfocused and lazy fueller. Before he got his fill, Prowl could fuel both his twin and Bluestreak. Neither Bluestreak nor the yellow twin wanted to be set down after their meals though. The yellow newling was contented to lay draped over Prowl’s chassis as his twin fuelled, either before or after he got his fill. When they fuelled at the same time, when Bluestreak was between them the linked their servos over his back.
They were recharging against his chassis and Prowl watch the dunes pass by. For the comfort of the Warlord’s twins, Prowl had them side by side, and they were cuddling close, still the innermost newling, the yellow bitlet, had his arms tangled around Bluestreak’s. This way they were recharging meant they could not magnetize to his plating, and he had to cradle them carefully to ensure they were safe and comfortable. His attempts to put any of them down had been met with cries and tears, so Prowl laid back and held them as he tried not to think too heavily about the mega-cycles to come.
“They’re kind of like triplets,” Smokescreen said as he came over to Prowl and cuddled into his side. Punch was telling the other sparklings another story. How much he might hear, how much he would listen, Prowl did not know. He looked down at his first emerged and then down at the newlings.
“I suppose they are.”
“It’s weird calling them Yellow and Red,” Smokescreen said. “I hope their progenitor gives them good designations... I hope he doesn’t just take them away.”
Of course Prowl’s creations had become attached to the Warlord’s newlings. They saw their originator caring for them alongside their brother, and they were getting to know their novel personalities at the same time as they were learning Bluestreak’s. Prowl did not know what he wanted. There would be mechanisms within their own clan or allies that would be able to fill their wells and foster them if the Warlord asked it of them. They might even fight for the honour. It was unlikely that there would be any need for him to keep providing for them after they arrived at Darkmount. Why did that thought make his chassis tight? He should have felt relief at the thought, not dread.
They arrived at Darkmount, an ominous tower that projected from the desert sands like a blade. It looked like a weapon, or like a promise of war. The Praxian caravans and emissaries had never come this far. They had always only skirted the deserts the nomadic Polihexians claimed as their own. The Wastes were murderous or perhaps the Polihexians were. Crosscut and Road Rage were dead. Prowl could not say if their deaths were deserved or not, though he did know the last Warlord’s heir had died in the same incident. Had it been Crosscut’s fault, or had he been a victim. Was Prowl a prize given to pay a debt that had been wrongly demanded? Ultimately, did it even matter?
“It’s ugly,” Smokescreen said, grimacing. Prowl agreed but he shushed his creation regardless.
“Oh it is,” Punch agreed. “Darkmount ain’t meant to be pretty. It’s meant to be meancin’. Don’t ya worry, love. That’s not where we’re goin’.”
Before Prowl could ask what he meant, the bridge leading to the fortress lowered, and lowered. With a hydraulic hiss it locked to a archway cut into the rock the fortress had been built on. The driver guided the machadrons pulling the trailer down and down. Prowl optics went wide as they drove into the dark bowels of the planet. It was dark, so dark Prowl could only see his creations optics, and they whimpered with.
Punch hushed them gently. Camshaft and Downshift clung to Prowl. He did not need to see them to know them. As Prowl promised them they were safe, though he did not believe the glyphs himself the trailer drove from the pitch blackness and into a low, glow. Prowl looked out the window. They were in a cavern covered in luminous crystals. He could see the driver leading the machadrons by a long lead as they pulled the trailer down a long slope that seemed to have been carved out of the rock.
“Is that a lake?” Smokescreen asked as he pointed out the window across the trailer from where Prowl was sitting. Sitting near him, holding Prowl’s youngest sparklings in his lap, Punch nodded.
“It is.”
“A waterfall! Under the desert!”
“That’s right, brightspark. There’s a whole system o’ rivers ‘n lakes buried under the Wastes. They’re our most sacred secret. The life’s energon of our mechanisms.”
“It’s so pretty. Origin, isn’t it the prettiest thing you ever saw?”
“It is.”
Prowl was not lying. The glittering cavern was singularly the most beautiful sight he had seen in his entire life. He hoped for a chance to get a closer look at the waterfall that seemed to glow from within. To his surprise and pleasure, the their path was taking them on a wide loop of the great cavern, and they were heading towards that very waterfall. His intakes caught in his throat as they came ever closer and he realized that the waterfall was not glowing from within but fall over what appeared to be a manor that had been carved out of the rock behind it. Soon, he realized that the walls of the caverns were all carved out, and lit up from within, suggesting these were homes. The Polihexians had cut an entire city out of the rock.
“Here we are, dearlings,” Punch declared. “Looks like my mates are comin’ out to greet us... and there’s Jazz.”
#anon-e-miss writes#barbarian au#if you hadn't figured this out#the praxians are the real barbarians#tf prowl#sad!momma prowl
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Sad Day(s)
Summary: Every time you look outside your window / Everything is just the same as before / You are turning round and round / You see, it's a sad day for sure.
Pairing: Takemura Goro x V
A/N: Ten short drabbles showing a series of private moments between my nomad!V and Takemura. Also, I’ve been listening to FKA twigs - Sad Day on loop and the lyrics gave me some strong vibes for my OTP. Thank you @dedevilish for inspiring me!
01 - Smile
As Takemura slid behind the wheel, he gave Vera his habitual half-smirk, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and just barely curled his lips, the one that made him look years younger and...something else; Vera wasn’t sure just what.
02 - First Impressions
Takemura had the usual soldier’s talent for sizing up people, and he used it now, studying V with silver eyes that gave nothing away. At the same time, he noted every detail about her. If she was distressed in any way by being made to cut her grieving short to meet with him at Tom’s Diner, she didn’t show it. Her expression said that she thought this was all nonsense, but she’d get through it and then get on with her life. ‘A shame,’ he thought, assessing her again, and this time with a man’s eye. He didn’t think much of thieves or street scum, but she was quite...beautiful.
03 - Judgement
He thought he was better than her. He was judging her.
But Takemura Goro didn’t say it; he didn’t have to. Vera read it in his calm, narrow-eyed gaze. “You don’t know me, so don’t presume to think that you do!” she said sharply, more sharply than she had intended. Vera could feel her control frazzling, feel the jagged edge of some pain she refused to let herself identify, and sternly fought her emotions back in line. There would be time enough for that later when she was alone and this hard-faced, corporate asshole wasn’t looking at her with veiled contempt.
04 - Solid
Takemura’s hand was on her arm, a cool, firm hand. Through the haze of pain, Vera felt the calluses on his fingers, smelled the light minty softness of his aftershave, and she had the blurred impression of a solid body standing very close to her, too close, almost as if she were leaning on him. An arm was around her back, and the hand holding her arm gently pushed her down onto a chair, the strength in his grip somehow reassuring. “Sit here,” he ordered quietly. “Put your head down, and take deep breaths. I will get you something cold to drink.”
05 - Lunch
Upon hearing V’s stomach growing, Takemura drove to a tiny, ramshackle place that had once been a ramen hut. There were no tables inside, just the drive-up window through which the owner dispensed grilled cheese sandwiches and crackers. Soon they were on their way again, and he watched from the corner of his eye as she slowly chewed on her sandwich, purple eyes brightening with pleasure.
06 - Rain
“Look at me.”
Vera swallowed and opened her eyes, staring up at Takemura in the rain-washed dimness of her apartment, his face lit by the watery light seeping through the window. His expression was set, his eyes narrow and piercing, his body warm. He gently tilted her head back, his hand firm on her neck. Vera saw the sensuous curve of his mouth, and then he was kissing her, mouth chapped, yet soft. Her eyes drifted shut again. His lips were gentle, shaping hers, and Vera allowed herself to sink into him.
07 - Gray
Vera woke the next morning cuddled in Takemura’s arms, her head on his shoulder, the warmth of his body a source of comfort in the cold, gray morning of Night City. The rain was pouring down, much heavier than the day before. As usual, he woke almost simultaneously, either too restless or too inherently cautious about leaving himself so vulnerable. Knowing him as she did, she assumed it was the latter.
08 - Fear
“Between us, we have enough emotional baggage to fill this entire rotten city. You and I probably need to be in therapy.” Vera gave a bitter chuckle. “And you were Saburo Arasaka’s bodyguard. We have nothing in common except that we both want his son dead. I don’t even know what I want to do after I get this damned chip out of my head, if I should go back to taking gigs or go join up with the Aldecado like I’d always planned. Part of me wants to quit, but how can I? I’m good at being a merc. I’m just so tired and—”
“Afraid,” he said.
“Of dying? You bet.”
“No. Afraid to live.”
09 - Soft
He smiled at her. Vera wished he would stop doing that. When Takemura smiled, she forgot he was corpo to the bone, forgot that ice ran through his veins and that by walking away from her, he’d hurt her more than any man or woman ever did.
10 - Stay
“I thought you wanted to go back to your old life,” she said, shuddering at the thought. “They would have only shackled me again if it hadn’t been for you.” Takemura turned his head on the pillow and looked at her; the warm glow was back in her eyes, the glow that only he was allowed to see. He never wanted to see that light go out. Slowly, he reached out to touch her cheek. “I will stay,” he said softly.
end.
#cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction#cp2077 fanfiction#ch: takemura goro#takemura goro#( .vera x takemura. )#takemura x v#takemura goro x v#solo writings#my fanfiction#I'm super happy to have written this#my takemura x v senses were tingling and I just had to post this
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In the Clouds
Felix Volturi X Reader
Request for @prettyinblack231
Word Count: 2,306
One thing was for sure, word spread fast in the supernatural world. The Cullen’s had successfully escaped a stand off with the Volturi with their entire coven intact. You had meant to go be a witness for them, you really had. However, your fear, like many others, prevented you from that. Now with the fear of your immortal life ending gone, you had to see this strange child for yourself.
That’s how you found yourself standing in their backyard hesitantly making your way up their steps.
A large man met you at the door, “Hi, can I help you?” He smiled a half smile to appear less threatening.
‘Emmett, it’s her!!” a small woman suddenly appeared at his side. She was smiling like you were the best thing she had ever seen. Your knitted brow must’ve reminded her you were out of the loop.
“My name’s Alice! You’re (Y/N), right?” She grabbed your hand and pulled you into the doorway.
“That’s me,” you nervously smiled.
“Well, I know you’re just here to meet Reneseme, but I really think you’re going to like it here!” She chirped.
And she was right. Once you had met all of the members of the Coven, you had fallen in love with their family. And three days later, when Carlise asked you if you would like to join them, you swore you cried on the inside. From there began two months of changes, mostly to your diet, laughter, and just overall peace with the Coven and within yourself.
In the first week of March, Alice had a vision. Edward, Carlise, and herself kept it very secretive; you would catch them whispering in tones so low you only caught bits and pieces.
None of what you caught raised much alarm in you, until you caught a very key phrase,” If the Volturi are coming…”
“The Volutri are coming?” you asked in alarm without thinking.
Nine pairs of eyes were immediately on you.
Edward heaved a big sigh as Carlise smiled gently at you, “Yes, (Y/N). They’re just coming to check on Renesemes growth and our Coven. As far as we know, it’s just the Upper Guard, so they won’t be much interested in anything, but her.” Little did you all know that he was so very wrong.
Two days later you found yourself standing in the backyard, where your time with the Cullen’s had begun. The guard was coming, and you weren’t very good at hiding your anxiousness from your family.
Rosalie smiled over at you and rubbed your upper back,” It’ll be fine.”
You offered her a small smile. In your almost 15 years of being a vampire you had never met any of the Volturi. Your situation wasn’t uncommon. Most vampires who follow the laws and lay low enough may never meet them, you only wished you had been so lucky.
When they broke through the clearing your eyes immediately darted around in an attempt to not look them in the eyes. You settled on staring at a small dandelion by your foot. It was nearly spring now, so the common weeds were starting to pop through what grass had decided to grow back. You made a mental note to talk to Esme about spraying around the house with weed killer later.
“She’s grown,” came a smug yet feminie voice. You spared a glance upward to look at its owner. This was Jane no doubt. She stood at the front of a small diamond formation the four of them had decided to make. To her left stood a boy who looked identical, only slightly taller, you were for sure this was Alec. His gift was to be feared more than his sisters in your eyes. The mere thought of feeling nothing, seeing nothing, and just not being able to sense anything made your immortal skin crawl.
“It was expected that she would.” Edward's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you watched as he shifted himself slightly in front of his daughter.
“It was merely an observation,” said the man to Jane’s right. This must’ve been Demetri. The greatest tracker known to your kind, able to hone in on exactly where anyone is in the world by just the tenor in the voice. He was also a casanova from what Rosalie had told you.
“You’ve added to your coven,” a deep voice that nearly floored you with how smooth and inviting it sounded observed from behind Demetri.
Panic set into your chest as Carlise turned to smile at you, and then back to the guards.
“This is (Y/N), she was looking for a place to stay and joined us about two months ago.” He explained.
“Where are you originally from, (Y/N)?” the same voice inquired. You hadn’t met his eyes or looked at him yet, but you knew who he was. The whole vampiric world knew who he was. The executioner.
“New York, a nomad changed me by accident.” You replied, looking up at him finally. You met his eyes in a bold move, and if you had still been human the wind would’ve been knocked right out of your lungs. He was gorgeous with a face you swore was sculpted by the Gods themselves. He gasped as if he had felt the same gut punch you had and the playful glint that had been in his eyes disappeared and turned into anger. You weren’t quite sure what you had done, so you stumbled a step backward to only bump into Jaspers chest. Jasper wrapped a hand around your upper arm and held you in place as your family, and the remaining guards, watched Felix turn and storm back into the woods from which he had come. You weren’t sure why, but this action from him panged your heart as if he had hurt you.
You tore your eyes from where he had disappeared into the woods to find a mix of red and yellow eyes on you. You felt the panic rise your chest again, and the familiar twangs of a panic attack set into your body. You barely felt Jasper speeding you into the house and up to your room. Shouts from outside rose into your room, forcing you to listen to the confusion and then the outcry from Jane and Alec as they realized what had just happened.
The executioner had found his mate. Felix Volutri, who was determined he’d never find his other half, had found it in you.
A breathless sob that seemed to go on for minutes wracked the Cullen household. It seemed to shake the windows, and rattle your bookshelves. Once it ended you only then realized it had come from you.
Gentle hands your shoulders, and on instinic your own hands flew up to grab their forearms.
“What just happened?” Your eyes shot up to meet Esme’s.
“You found your mate,” she half smiled in the motherly manner that made you miss your own mother so much, “The feelings that come with it are powerful as you can tell. I’m sure he’s just overwhelmed. He’ll come back.”
Esme’s words seemed logical. It felt as if your whole world had been flipped upside down. The ground from under your feet had been ripped away like a tablecloth in a bad magic show. You were now standing on the gray clouds that plagued the Washington skies, and the only person that could ever stand on them with you was Felix.
Only, he never came back to stand on the clouds with you. He left you to swelter in the storm that came slowly in the following months. And as it started to rain from your feet, you felt the burning in your heart. It only started to thunder the day you received a rather strongly worded voicemail from an Italian number. The thunder was his words. It rumbled in his voice telling you that he would rather be torn to pieces than be mated to you. A vegetarian coward, he had called you. You’re just too scared to own up to the fact you’re damned whether you kill humans or not, he had told you. And then the lightning started every time you listened to his voice. His words startled you like the thunder, but the sound of his voice electrified you from the inside out. Eventually the skies grew darker than they ever had been, and so did your eyes. What was the use of feeding if the very person made for you didn’t want you to exist.
The winds turned violent the day Bella had grabbed you to try and force you to eat. You grabbed her hands off of you and threw her away from you. The moment you had realized what you had done, you ran and didn’t stop.
You picked back up your human diet and in a violent way. You were turning reckless, and you couldn’t force yourself to care. If the Volturi wanted you dead maybe he would do it. Maybe you’d hear his voice one last time, and in your final moments feel his hands on you like you craved. Your craving for him had far out wayed your craving for blood anymore. Several times you had almost booked a flight to Italy, but then you listened to his voicemail again. He clearly didn’t want you, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tell him how you felt.
So as you sat on top of a building looking down into Times Square, you hit redial. It rang for several seconds until you heard a click. No voicemail message blurted out at you. Someone had answered; how your dead heart hoped it was him.
“I don’t know if it’s you,” you began,” But if it is please listen to me. All I ask is for two minutes.”
No one answered, and yet no one hung up. You let out a shaky laugh.
“Why would you just leave? All you know is my name and where I’m from. You know nothing of my past, just like I know nothing of yours,” you breathed out,” But what’s done is done. I’m drowning. I left Cullen's months ago. I’m more violent now than I ever was as a newborn. I picked my human blood diet back up; I was only vegetarian because I was with them.”
You swallowed hard, and paused, hoping for a response.
When you got none you sighed again,” I’m reckless. I feel like that's the only way I’m ever going to see you again. I listen to your voicemail and the hurtful words you say to me because that's the only time I feel anything anymore. I want to do something stupid like exposed myself in hopes that you and the guard come find me and kill me. Because even though I don’t know you, I can't live without you.”
You were dry sobbing now, “If this is goodbye forever, Felix, then so be it.”
Heaving a great sigh you quoted,” I love you with so much of my heart, that there is none left to protest. Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespear, Act 5 Scene 1,” and pressed end.
You fell back onto the roof and studied the night stars. You laid there until early in the morning when the peaks of the sunrise came from above the buildings. Gathering yourself from the rooftop you made a short walk in the alleyways to your apartment. Jiggling the keys in the door you swung it open to only stop and stare.
There he stood. Felix. His chocolate hair was shaggier now, it suited him better as it framed his face. The black sweater he wore was form fitting showing almost every single detail in his arm muscles. The Volturi crest hung from his neck and landed in the middle of his chest. You raised your eyes to meet his pained ones.
Pulling the keys from the door you shut it behind you, and placed your keys on the kitchen counter beside the door. Then did you notice his suit jacket draped over your kitchen chair, and a black phone sitting, abandoned, on the counter.
You tore your eyes away from the phone back to him, “You’ve been here all night.”
He nodded, and reached out a hand to you. You slipped yours into it; it felt right, you were sure nothing would feel more right. Until he pulled you into his arms. Your hands were placed firmly on him; one on a firm mass of muscle on his shoulder and the other firmly squeezing his hand. You were sure that if you let go he would disappear again, only this time forever.
The only thing keeping you from thinking that this wasn't a hallucination or death, was the way his arm firmly grasped your waist and pulled your chest into him. You stared into each other’s eyes and swayed to the invisible music that flowed in your heads.
He looked regretful, “I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you?”
You smiled softly,” We have only forever to make up for this time lost.”
He looked thankful as you leaned your head into his chest. You felt his cool lips lightly brush your forehead, as you continued to sway. The morning sun was now beating into the windows, and on to both of your skin. The room filled with rainbow specs, as he twirled you once, only to pull you back in. You stilled with both hands now on his chest. He covered your hands with his own and squeezed.
A dazzling smile was flashed at you as he quoted from the same Shakespearean play you had only hours earlier, “And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts did thou first fall in love with me?”
-Admin Magda
(I honestly love Felix, and would die for this tall boi! As always thank you for reading, and request are open! Comments and feedback are always welcome!)
#volturi#felix volturi#felix volturi imagine#twilight imagine#imagine#imagine twilight#twilight#volturi imagine#the cullens#request open#please send request#FEEDBACK PLEASE#twilight blog
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Rags & Riches {4}
Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.
Warning: Mature content strung throughout.
A/N: If you don’t like smut, don’t read this.
Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)
Feyre was pissed the fuck off.
She hurried through the manor, completely over the ball. Once she found her room, she locked herself inside and plopped herself down on her bed.
Who the hell did Rhysand, Lord of Velaris, think he was?
He was so cocky, so entitled, so ridiculously suave that Feyre wanted to break something. Anything would do.
His wife?
Did he truly think she would want to be his wife?
Then again, what choice did she have?
She was the youngest daughter of Isaac Archeron. Very few of such a status paid attention to her. And even though she would rather spend her life as an adventurous nomad, she did not have such a luxury.
Rhysand’s proposal, if it could even be called that, was the only one that she had ever received and the only one that she would probably ever receive.Yes, she was lovely, but men wanted a woman with status. Being the youngest daughter, there was only so much that Feyre had to offer. And yet, it was not his arrogance that made her so infuriated.
He was right.
She was drawn to him, and she wasn’t sure why.
He was handsome, of course, but was she so shallow that she only thought about his appearance? I mean, it was nearly all she knew about him.
He was handsome, and a total prick. And completely convinced that Feyre would become his wife.
Feyre didn’t believe that she would become his wife, and yet, there was a tingling in the pit of her stomach every time she thought about it. Their offspring would surely be beautiful. But that was beside the point. Feyre wondered if her father knew, if Rhysand had approached him before he had approached her. She doubted it, although the thought was rather charming. With a deep sigh, she took off her boots and slipped off her gown. It had been a long night, and she could no longer deal with the suffocating apparel she was forced to wear. As she dressed herself in her nightgown and pulled the pins from her hair, all she could think about was him. And it was shit, because she knew that was exactly what he wanted.
As she closed her eyes, she infuriatingly knew that one thing was certain.
Violet eyes would haunt her dreams.
~~~~~~
“I think you’ve had enough,” Cassian muttered, but Nesta wasn’t listening.
She hadn’t been listening from the moment they stepped into the tavern. Except for the fact that Cassian had told her to remove the pins in her hair, which she had, and brought her hair back into a tight braid, instead, that could be better hidden beneath her hood - which she was to keep up at all times. Although they gained some suspicious glances, no one seemed to notice the eldest daughter of Lord Archeron. Cassian was certain they looked like common travelers, as long as no one studied the bottom of Nesta’s skirts poking out of the long, simple cloak.
“One more,” she begged, words slurring as she took the full tin cup of ale to her lips. “Have you ever tasted anything so glorious?”
Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle. “Most think it tastes like piss.”
“And what do you think?” she asked, brows wiggling beneath her hood as she chugged.
“Definitely piss,” he said, nodding, agreeing with his earlier statement.
“Well, I’ll let it slide that you keep saying piss in front of a woman of my stat-status because I feel so lovely.”
She broke into a fit of laughter as Cassin took the cup from her and set it on the bartop in front of them.
“Should I pour her another?” the barmaid asked, leaning across the table to Cassian to the point in which her top slid down and gave him a glimpse of what laid beneath.
Cassian’s eyes drifted from her breasts to her eyes, where he found she was glad he had noticed what he had. “No, thank you, she’s had enough.”
The barmaid ran her fingers gently over the back of Cassian’s palm. “You know, if you would leave her be for a few moments, there is an empty room up above we could-”
“Although a very generous offer, Miss, I’m spoken for,” he said.
“Miss?” she repeated, cheeks growing pink. “You speak very nice.”
Nesta stopped laughing, as just noticing what was taking place beside her.
“EXCUSE me,” she said, hopping off the stool to her feet. “I would ask you to kindly take your hands off my escort.” Without waiting for the barmaid to do so, Nesta took it upon herself to take the maid’s hand off Cassian’s. “And cover your breasts! Do you have no shame?”
The barmaid leaned further over the bartop as if to say no. Nesta scoffed. “How appalling. Cassian, we are leaving.”
“Sorry,” Cassian apologized, sympathetic eyes finding the barmaid. “She gets...entitled when she’s drunk.”
“I see,” the barmaid said, eyes grazing over Nesta, who was now clapping along to the fiddles playing in the corner and the elderly man doing a step dance in the middle of the tavern. “A sloppy drunk, she is.”
Cassian snorted, agreeing as he pushed himself off his stool. He fished his hands into his pockets and cursed, realizing he had no coins. He leaned to Nesta and whispered into her ear. “Do you have the means to pay for your ale?”
Nesta snorted. “Oh, no, ladies do not carry coins.”
Cassian’s eyes landed on the slim silver bracelet that dangled from her wrist as she clapped. “Do this have any significance to you?”
Nesta looked at the bracelet, then to him, before ignoring both entirely and continuing to watch the show.
Cassian took her wrist, slipped off her bracelet, and continued to make a fool of herself as Cassian turned back to the maid. “Here, hope this covers it.”
Her blue eyes grew wide as she took the bracelet. “Thank you.”
Cassian gave her a nod, realizing the bracelet was worth enough shitty binge drinking for a month and took Nesta’s arm to drag her out of the tavern. She was still dancing as they entered into the dark night, the music growing muffled as the door closed behind them.
“How marvelous,” Nesta said, spinning around, holding her cloak out as if it was the world’s grandest skirt. “Wasn’t tonight just lovely?”
Cassian raised a brow as she stuck her arm through his. “I believe you are quite drunk, my Lady.”
“I love those words coming from your mouth,” Nesta slurred, as they walked back in the direction of Marigold. “My Lady. You have a very beautiful voice, stableboy.”
“It is kind of you to think so.”
“You are very handsome, too. Much more handsome than all the men my father wishes to court me.”
Cassian looked down at her, her arm still looped through his. “Don’t you wish to be courted?”
“And become married?” Nesta laughed. “No. Absolutely not.”
She said the words so harshly that Cassian believed they weren’t true.
“What of the man I saw with you the other night?”
Nesta’s eyes cut to him. “Tomas.” She spat the name. “Yes, I thought he would offer marriage. How foolish I was.”
“Why is that?” Cassian asked, seeing how much the ale would allow her to spill.
“I have given myself to that bastard continuously for years,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And, of course, he was not all that bad at it, the love making. Great? Certainly not, but adequate. Not that I have any other man to compare him to. Anyway, after all that I had given him, I suspected he would offer marriage. Until tonight. At the ball.”
“I’m not following, my Lady,” Cassian said, attempting to show no surprise at what she had confessed in her drunken state.
“He is now engaged,” Nesta slurred. “He is now engaged to a young, beautiful, proper woman, and I was just a toy he used. Although, I cannot say he was not a toy I used, as well.”
“Ah,” Cassian said, finally realizing what Nesta had been needing to get away from tonight. The only man she thought would offer her marriage was now engaged to another. In the eyes of her peers, if anyone were to find out she had already been with a man, she would be ruined.
“Surely another man will offer marriage soon,” Cassian said.
Nesta cackled. “I am not actively seeking a husband, stableboy. However, my father would protest. He wishes to see his three daughters married to rich men. He is a man. We are women. Our word means shit next to his.”
“A Lady should not curse.”
“I am not a Lady at the moment,” Nesta said, using the arm that was not looped through Cassian’s to gesture to the ghost town around them, as everyone was either in their home or at the tavern behind them. “I am but a low born woman without a care in the world.”
Cassian did not bother to correct her. Surely, the lower class had many problems, most of them financial. But, there was a certain freedom to it, especially for women. Many of the girls Cassian had grown up with were allowed to marry for love, his sister included when she became of age. He could easily see how a woman, such as Nesta, in the higher class would feel trapped.
“Well, let us get you back home,” Cassian said as they reached Marigold. The mare huffed as Cassian pressed his forehead against the side of hers. “Yes, Mari, I missed you too. Take us home?”
The horse huffed once more as Cassian helped Nesta onto the saddle. She scooted forward, and Cassian mounted himself behind her. His broad arms wrapped around her and grabbed the reins. Nesta fell back against his chest, utterly exhausted, as Marigold began her trot back to the manor.
~~~~~
Elain had never been with a man before, but she had dreamt of this moment for so long, late at night, when the taste of his lips from their goodnight kiss still lingered on her tongue. Elain knew of Azriel’s past, of how he had been raised, and knew that the scars that covered his hands beneath those gloves, that covered his arms beneath his shirt sleeves, had come from the horrid man that had raised him throughout his young childhood. Elain’s delicate fingers trembled as they brushed those scars, first on his palms, then up his arms, across his chest, his back.
Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, as her fingertips explored the beauty of his pain and how he had overcome it. Elain’s heavy gown had long ago been dismissed, and she felt vulnerable in her thin underskirts and corset. Elain hated corsets. She only had to wear them for the grandest of occasions, but she was thankful for it now, as it was yet another piece of armor that shielded her body. She had dreamt of Azriel exploring her body, but had never dreamt it would truly happen. Now that the moment had arrived, knowing that he would see her in her truest nature had her heart nearly beating out of her chest.
She sat on the edge of her bed as Azriel knelt before her. He took her hand in his and kissed her palm, gently, before untying the silk ribbon that had been snuggly fit around her wrist. Once it fell loose, Azriel took her other hand and repeated the process. Then he took her foot and sat it upon his lap before reaching under her skirt and slowly slipping off her stocking, then the other. His eyes connected with hers with a question, and with a nervous nibble of her bottom lip, she nodded.
“If you want me to stop at any time,” Azriel whispered, “say the word, and I will.”
Elain nodded, feeling more love for him than she ever had, which she truly hadn’t thought was possible. Azriel was a great man, a gentle man with a good heart, who had lived a life that none should have to live. He rose to his feet and held out his hand, which Elain accepted without hesitation. They stood together in front of the crackling fire, so close they could feel the heat of one another’s breath as Azriel’s scarred fingers reached for the lace bow, tied together perfectly at the top of her corset. He did not rush, but for the entirety of it, Elain could not breathe. Those fingers took their time as they pulled the laces out of the hooks, and with each one being freed, Elain’s heart beat faster. With her corset removed, Azriel stepped back to admire her in her thin, white shift. Elain took no movement to hide, and all fear faded as she gingerly reached up to pull her shift down from her shoulders. Azriel watched, perfectly still, save for his chest rising and falling, as the shift fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, that step taking her another step toward her beloved. Azriel reached out to admire her clear, ivory skin. The back of his fingers brushed down her cheek before pushing a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Elain watched him as his eyes hovered over her, his breathing heavy as his fingers trailed down to her shoulders, her collarbone, between her breasts.
Elain shuddered as Azriel stepped closer, his thumb brushing over her nipple, his warm, rough skin making contact with a part of her body in which no one had touched before sending a jolt to her very core. Elain didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare move, didn’t dare do anything to break his concentration. She watched him, quietly, as his eyes, soft and full of adoration, followed his fingers as they trailed to her waist, and back up her side.
Hazel eyes met brown, and Azriel took a step closer to her, but Elain quickly took a step back.
Azriel froze, eyes growing worried, as if he had done something to offend her.
Elain couldn’t help but smile, the reaction so like him that Elain couldn’t help it. She had no idea how a man such as he, whom she loved so adamantly, could possibly think that he could do wrong in a moment such as this.
“I believe we should be equal,” she said, voice quietly above the cackling flames. When Azriel raised a brow, she glanced at his trousers, still hanging loosely from his hips. A small smile appeared on his thick lips as he nodded, meekly, before undoing the rest of the buttons and allowing his trousers to fall to the wooden floorboards. Elain knew her eyes widened but tried not to gawk at the hardened length of him. She had seen many paintings, of course, and even they had made her blush throughout the years. But here, a real man, a beautiful man, stood before her, completely bare, ready for her. And Elain had never seen anything so pure, so lovely, as he.
He took a step forward, tentatively, as if he was not quite sure how she would react. But she did not move, did not falter.
“If at any time you wish for me to stop-” Azriel began, once more, but Elain shook her head.
“I do not wish for you to stop,” Elain said, taking a step forward of her own, meeting him halfway and taking his face between her palms.
She looked up at him and held his gaze. His eyes were so soft, so full of joy and love and bewitchment, that she had no doubt that he was the other half of her soul, given to her by the gods themselves.
“If this shall be our only time, then let it be one to remember.”
Azriel let out a long, loose breath before a rare, genuine smile escaped him and those lips that she so lovingly admired pressed against her own. And as if they had been caged, parted for too long, that gentle kiss pressed into something more, as his broad arms wrapped around her slim waist and brought her closer. Her body pressed against his, and she could barely contain her hands from shaking as her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers burying themselves into the dark, messy mop atop his head.
Azriel grinned against her mouth as he lifted her up, and Elain couldn’t help but throw her head back and giggle as her legs wrapped around his waist.
“Shhh,” Azriel reminded her, laughing quietly himself, as he laid her down atop the rug in front of the fireplace in her bedchamber. Without putting on her his full weight, Azriel hovered above her, his elbows resting on each side of her head. They watched each other for a moment, their smiles fading as the silence resumed. Azriel shook his head, only slightly, as he brushed her wild hair back from her face.
“What?” she whispered.
Azriel’s lips pressed against her forehead before he leaned back up and said, “I love you.”
“And I love you,” she replied, her voice shaking - not because she did not believe that statement in her heart and soul, but because she knew what was coming next. Azriel pressed his forehead against hers. “If at any time-”
“If you tell me one more time that you will stop, I will throttle you,” she said, and he laughed, breathlessly, as she said, “I want you, right here, right now, and only you forevermore.”
They did not allow themselves to think such a thing was impossible, for the future did not matter. All that mattered was the here and now, was the moment they were about to share. A moment that could never be taken from them, no matter the future. Her mouth found his, urgently, because waiting any longer was something she simply could not bear. Elain’s hands shakily trailed from his shoulders, down his back, to his firm backside where she tugged beckoning him forward. His breath became heavy against her mouth, his teeth grazing along her lower lip, struggling to contain himself.
Don’t, she thought, reaching between their bodies to stroke him, softly, teasingly.
A low growl tumbled from his mouth into hers, and Elain thrived on it. The only instruction she had ever had in this area came from a book that Nesta hid deep within her most personal belongings - a romance novel which she had purchased in town and kept out of the library, in case it had ever been discovered by their father. The girls had huddled into Nesta’s room one night, a rare night that they had spent together, reading the book and giggled and blushed at the pages’ descriptive scenes.
Now, she was not giggling at all. Blushing, perhaps, but there were many reasons for that. Her fingers wrapped around his cock and that growl returned as his tongue slipped between her lips, no longer gentle but longing, wanting, needing. Elain let the sounds flooding out of him guide her as the hand that held him moved, slowly but confidently. His hand soon found hers, and he guided her, moving faster, until his mouth pressed too firmly against her own, his tongue dancing so quickly alongside her own, that Elain was not certain where her mouth ended and his began. Azriel suddenly took himself off her, beckoning her hand to stop. She opened her eyes, and his own were wild, his cheeks flushed, as she was sure were her own. Azriel guided her hand up above her head, and did the same to her other, until she was lying flat on the floor, sprawled out like a masterpiece for him to worship. He leaned down to press his lips softly to her neck, just below her jaw, and down to her collarbone, where his tongue trailed to her shoulder, and back, until his trail of kisses fell lower, between her breasts, then his mouth found her nipple, his tongue circling the tender skin until he felt the other was left out, and happily and equally obliged. Elain’s fingers twisted into his hair as he trailed lower, the throbbing between her legs growing nearly unbearable as he spread them further apart, pressing his lips softly to the inside of one thigh, then the other. There was a pause in which he pulled away, though not very far, Elain still felt cold from the absence of his lips. But then his fingers softly felt her. He would be gentle, of course, knowing full well it was her first time. Yet, a part of her didn’t want him to be gentle at all. He stroked her with those beautiful, scarred fingers, once, then once more, before slipping one inside of her.
Elain gasped, but he went slow, was gentle. He pumped his finger inside of her, then added another finger alongside the first, and Elain’s breathing quickened, deepened, her arms falling back behind her head as he pleased her. But then his fingers fell away, and she nearly protested, until his mouth replaced them. This was not in the book, but Elain had no idea why, because the feeling nearly had her floating on air. A long, deep moan tumbled from her lips that she could not control as his tongue swept between her folds in a slow, repetitive movement. Her back arched, and her knees began to shake as that tongue circled her clit. The moment he began sucking was the moment Elain Archeron became completely undone. She had not realized she could feel so free, had not realized such pleasure existed. When his mouth left her sex, she nearly whimpered, but he crawled back up her body, only stopping once his cock was perfectly in place, the tip pressed against her opening.
“Please,” she begged, hiking her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, to pull him closer.
Azriel pushed himself into her slowly.
Elain gasped, eyes flying open as he continued to push, until he couldn’t fall into her any farther. He stayed like that a moment before slowly pulling himself out, then pushing himself back in with just a little more force. His eyes remained on hers, but Elain couldn’t help from closing her eyes, from dwelling in the pleasure of her love inside of her, from whispering his name, over and over again.
Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.
He thrived on it, unable to stop his own sounds from breaking the quiet. They were meant to be keeping silent, but it was impossible. Azriel bit down on his lip as Elain pressed her hand against her own mouth, muffling the moans that she could not keep within. Elain had imagined many times what sex would feel like, what it would be like. She had dreamt of sharing this moment with Azriel, but none of those dreams had her thinking it would feel so good, would be so beautiful. They had become one. There was no Elain and Azriel, but a new being in which they had shedded their old selves and created a new one together. The future did not matter when they were in that new self, the future did not exist. All that existed in all the world, in all the realms, was the two of them, bodies intertwined, hearts and souls connected.
And when it was over, that bond did not break.
They laid together, beneath a quilt, next to the fireplace as the early hours of the morning approached and went by. He stroked her hair as she grew tired, smiling faintly, unable to do anything else.
“I love you,” she whispered, barely audible above the flames.
“I love you,” he repeated, in equal quietness.
She knew he would have to leave soon, and that thought lingered in the back of her mind, but she tried her best to push it away.
And yet, when she awoke the next morning as the sun was rising on the horizon, completely unaware when she had fallen asleep in Azriel’s arms, woke up alone. Her body still bare, the fire had died down long ago, the absence of him was agonizing.
But a small glimmer of hope sparked when she noticed her name written sloppily atop a note, sitting where his body had been lying only hours before.
She gathered the quilt against her body as she opened it up and read what was inside.
I love you, now and always. If that would be our only time, I shall never forget a moment of it.
A
Elain neatly folded the note and ran it to her bedside table, where she hid it inside of her journal.
Now and always.
If only always were as easy as it had been the night before.
~~~~~
@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725 @musicmaam
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Maybe medieval kylo always hating the winter, particuarly the snow, because once he left the kingdom it was harder for him to go about his rugged life but his queen loves it and tries to convice him how lovely the weather is! Pls and thank thee xxx
You’re standing on the edge of the castle hall, looking out into the great expanse of pillowy white, when Kylo turns to you with a frown.
“Must we?” He asks, and you smile softly at him, giving his hand a squeeze.
Earlier that morning you had suggested a romp in the freshly fallen snow, for winter was a most joyous time that gave reprieve from the brutal summers of the kingdom. This was the first snow of the season, and you had all but immediately sprung out of bed and donned your red velvet kirtle, the one lined with fur from the elusive snow fox, imported directly and specially just for you.
Kylo had nearly dragged his feet getting himself clothed and ready for the day, crown freshly polished and placed atop his head with care, placing yours ever so gently on too. He had taken so long in fact, that he had managed to stretch the time all the way until your stomach was rumbling, when he eagerly suggested breakfast.
But breakfast had been eaten, and the great hall had been cleared out, and the two of you were standing side by side, overlooking the fields which were once bright spring green, then had faded to brown straw, and which were now coated in a thick blanket of snow.
And still, Kylo hesitated.
“Yes, I command it.” You say, a teasing twinkle in your eye which fades when his frown does not go away. “What’s wrong my love?”
“It’s just.” He begins, and stops. Shifts his feet, adjusts his grip on your hand as he tries not to sour your mood with his own, “I have naught but poor memories of winters so harsh as this. The terrain is dangerous and the conditions lethal, for a man and his horse who have no home.”
You hum in understanding, eyes sad and downward cast. Things were so good, so so so good for the both of you since the events of last year. But that did not erase all of the bad that had happened for so many years prior, so many years of Kylo on the move, on the hunt under the hand of a man who sought nothing but power through him.
Well, you think, moving to stand in front of him, stepping off the stone floor and onto instead the hard crunch of snow, he shall not have bad happen to him again, not while you’re here.
He looks at you concerned when you sink an inch or two or three into the snow, but you pay it no mind.
“Listen when I speak these words: my darling you are a nomad no longer. Never again will you need to worry about the white which falls and sticks to the ground, for you have this castle and this kingdom – and this woman as your wife.” You search his gaze, those brown eyes filled with such a heat that it’s a wonder winter came at all, pouring all his love into yours.
“I am afraid it is easier to be said than to be done.” He whispers, but he takes a step forward to meet you in the snow, and you smile just the smallest bit when he sinks an inch as well.
“May I have one chance to show you the wonders of winter?” You plead, not overly pushy, but wanting to at the very least make your offer known, “Just one chance, one day, to attempt to shed light upon the greater joys of snow?”
Kylo sighs, entirely too dramatically, and you know you’ve won, for he is walking now, tugging you along by the hand, out into the field where the castle children have already begun to laugh and play.
“You are insufferably sweet sometimes – do you know this?” Kylo asks you as you loop your arm around his in the fashion which you have adopted as being the only true way to walk with your husband.
“I do, but tell me anyway.” You tease, cheeky and adoring, as you rest your head on his shoulder, the two of you making your way through the snow.
“You’re awful, terrible. Cunning and charming are a treacherous mix, and my queen, you are a fatal balance of both.” He laughs to himself, just a quiet chuckle that has your love blooming in your chest, especially when he tugs on your hair playfully and says all too quietly, “No wonder you and winter get along so well.”
“You speak as though there is personal vendettas against you from Father Frost himself!” You can’t help but laugh at the way he hates the season so.
“How do I know there isn’t?” Kylo counters, bending down to scoop up some snow between his gloved fingers.
“Because,” You drawl, letting him pick up some more of the snow, letting him feed it to you, letting the cold melt on your tongue as you suck on the fingers he stuffs in your mouth, “My liege, you have survived every winter you have come across. Surely that must mean something. The cold has yet to claim you, and with this fortress and my love you shall never succumb to its clutches.”
He sighs, and nods, and suddenly you are running away from him, your velvet cape billowing behind you. You unclasp it from your shoulders and Kylo scrambles to chase you and catch it so that it might not touch the frozen earth, worried that it would chill you to the bone – until you flop down onto the snow yourself, arms and legs spread wide, waving back and forth like you’re some great fallen bird.
The children see you, and they laugh and come running, all of them falling as well, mimicking the movements of their queen whom they adore so dearly.
“What are you doing?” Kylo asks, when he catches up to the small display of you and your subjects, all grinning like loons from ear to ear.
“We are making ourselves angels of snow!” You explain, hoping that such a vision would bring some joy to his face. You stand after a moment more, and point to the print left in the snow from where your body has disturbed it, “Look, look how it appears as though these are my wings.”
“That is very clever.” Kylo admits, smiling against his better judgement.
But how could he not, when the children are rushing to stand too, helping you brush the snow off of your kirtle?
“Would you like to try?” You ask, holding one of his large hands in both of your own.
“No, my dear please, you’ll grow chilled.” He deflects, to a great big sound of complaint from the children.
“It is a good thing my handsome husband runs hot, then, is it not?” You ask, biting your lip.
“(Y/N).” Is all the Kylo says, undeterred by your soft eyes and beautiful charm, eyes which grow sharp when you decide to not push your luck.
“Fine yes yes yes, alright.” Yousay, before gasping and pointing just beyond the horizon, “What’s that – over there!”
Kylo whips around, and has his sword drawn immediately, searching for the threat which has startled you so. But he grows confused for he cannot see anything, there is no one charging towards you, no one which should –
And then he feels the thump of cold on his back, and lets his shoulders sag slightly, sheathing the sword back in its place, and turning around to complain, only to have another soft thump of cold hit his chest.
You and the children have balled up small projectiles of the snow, and are lobbing with poor aim at his body. He finds that he isn’t angry, how could he be? No, he is – for the first time – feeling rather playful in the snow himself.
“(Y/N)!” He exclaims when another ball of snow hits him square in the face, sending the children all giggling and hiding behind your legs, especially when he begins to scoop up the largest ball of snow you’d ever seen and stalks menacingly forward with, “You’re truly going to get it now.”
“Kylo!” You shout and laugh, laughter ringing high up in the air as you run away from him as his very own projectiles, ones which could never be so big if crafted from your own hands, “Wait Kylo that’s no fair!”
“Children, help your king!” Kylo asks playfully, and you gasp in mock surprise when a few of the castle children rush to his aid, and an all-out battle begins.
It is through winning this battle, through having the snow and the ice melt on your bodies as you run round and round one another in the great white field, that Kylo begins to understand why winter is your favorite. With the joy that games like this can bring, and the safety of the castle walls surrounding you, he finds it easy to relax the tension in his back, his shoulders, finds it even easier to pull you into his arms and kiss you before the whole of the kingdom, kiss you like you’d never been kissed before…
Before you dump snow down the back of his tunic and he’s off chasing you once again.
#reader insert#kylo ren x reader#kylo x reader#kylo ren/reader#kylo/reader#medieval kylo#medieval au#all my stars au#Anonymous#cowboy answers
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As far as my sexuality is concerned, I’ve never felt the need to make a big declarative speech. I simply lived my life how I wanted to and didn’t give two shits about what others thought. I’d always said “straight people don’t make a speech about being straight. Why should people who aren’t straight make one?” (Granted this was made easier by the lack of family in my life but that’s a whole other season of “What Dumpster Fire Do You Call A Family?”)
I am a middle-aged woman (a lady never reveals her age “winky face”) and when I was coming of age we didn’t have all the terms that are now available to describe the various orientations that make up the beautiful rainbow of life. I knew of the big 3: heterosexual, homosexual, and bisexual. I had a tumultuous childhood/upbringing (yet another season of “WDFDYCAF?”) and thinking about my sexuality wasn’t really a priority; not that I felt stifled or scared to talk about it; I was simply dealing with much larger issues at the time. Tune in next season on “WDFDYCAF?” and you’ll find out. I lost my virginity to a male and primarily dated & hooked-up with guys but there was always the attraction to females as well. Therefore, I identified as bisexual.
While I identified as bisexual, I had never imagined myself married to a woman, just a man (of course with a girlfriend on the side “winky face”). I’m not sure why I felt that way; maybe it was because there wasn’t a strong presence of anything else readily available. But this never fully satisfied my soul. It always felt like work, something that needed to be done, not something that was enjoyed. First I would say it was because I hadn’t met the right guy so I kept searching and searching and marrying and divorcing (you can find out more about that shit show on “WTF Did I Just Do?”) and searching and dating and searching and searching (remember I’m a middle-aged woman so that’s a LOT of searching).
Maybe it was because all good things take work, right? I mean that’s what all the pillows on Etsy say don’t they? Maybe I needed to work harder at making relationships work (this is where the disastrous marriage came into play).
When that didn’t work, I thought I might need to direct that hard-working attitude towards myself. Given the family I was born into and the upbringing I had, I have a tons of trauma to work out and a fuck-ton of baggage to unpack. This is a work-in-progress. I am a work-in-progress #UnderConstruction
Not wanting to deny the feminie aspect of my sexual attractions, I started to learn about open relationships and polyamory. I enjoy the fluidity and openness of an honest ployamorous relationship. I’ve found them to be much more in touch with their feelings, more open to listening about others feelings, and easier to be myself around.
Unfortunately there are MANY toxic and unhealthy relationships out there, including in the polyamorous communities. I could write a book on this chaos but I’ll save that for another day. While I did my best to distance myself from those relationships, I did encounter them and it was enough for me to realize that this wasn’t a lifestyle for me. I want to be someone’s number one, someone’s one and only. Those feelings are the opposite of polyamory. I’m glad I had a chance to explore polyamory but I can definitely say it was a phase (in the cliched sense of any sexual choice we make is a “phase”).
Once I realized my desire to number 1, I stopped having casual sex, I became celibate by choice. Not because I am opposed to it but because I’m tired of meaningless encounters. I want to make love to someone not just have sex with them. I want the connection, the intimacy, the closeness and that’s not usually found in a one-night stand. I’m currently at 4 years, 7 months, and 13 days sexually sober.
Don’t get it twisted...I haven’t had sex with anyone ELSE in that time. With myself? Now that’s an entirely different story #SelfLove #GetYouSome
Then in March of 2020 COVID-19 hit & threw us all for a loop. We all found ourselves stuck at home, quarantining with nothing to do (remember back in the beginning when stores were running out of TP and we even had problems getting things delivered? Oh, the good ol’ days, lol). Most of us turned to social media to fill our time. Being ‘old school’ I usually turned to Facebook. Tired of all the drama that fills up the newsfeeds, I usually went straight to the video section and started scrolling. I could get lost there for hours on end.
Getting bored with seeing the same old things time after time, I took someone’s suggestion and looked into TikTok. I was hooked instantly! It was basically all the videos that I was watching on FB but shorter and more entertaining. This is how I began to fill my socially distanced life. I found videos about cooking, animals, crafts, and more. They were sarcastic, funny, sentimental, weird, goofy, everything that I find enjoyable.
Then came the ‘thirst traps’ and damn were they delicious! I had no idea what a thirst trap was but I knew I liked them. After a quick Google search I found my explanation and went right back to the Tok.
As we all know, the algorithm will feed you more and more of what you like. It took a little while for it to kick out the male thirst traps and replace them with the female ones and down the rabbit hole I went. The further I went, the more content I felt I connected with (crafty algorithm). The more I connected, the more my mind wandered (ADD - it does this often “shoulder shrug”). Then one afternoon while doing dishes something clicked in my head. All the sudden I had this thought of sitting on the couch watching TV with my WIFE sitting next to me, not a girlfriend, not someone I was fooling around with casually, not even someone that was a friend but we hooked up occasionally. Nope. I imagined my wife! That was the first time in all my years (still not telling you my age “smirk”) that I ever thought of myself married to a woman. The sense of ease, peace, and comfort I felt in that moment was like none other. It didn’t seem like work. It seemed like home.
For the first time in my life I felt like I was home.
You have NO IDEA what that means to me. I am a middle aged woman without a home. I’m a rootless nomad. To feel at home...I...well...it left me, the Loquacious Lady, at a loss for words. From that moment on I knew I wasn’t pansexual, bisexual, into polyamory, or anti-marriage...I was simply hardcore lesbian who never realized it.
So there you have it Tumblr: My Coming Out Speech, something I never, ever thought I’d make. Having no family (toxicity) and no real life friends to share this with (mental health has thrown me for a loop), I am telling you, the anonymous void, that I am a lesbian.
Happy Taco Tuesday!
LMFAO...I’ve always loved tacos and this day has a whole new meaning now! OMG, I’m dying!
That is all.
Cheers!
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Without You Here (Happy x OC/Reader)
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a little Happy, Mama Lowman and an OC.
Word Count: 2,863
Playlist: Present Without A Bow - Kasey Musgraves
Warnings: some swearing and intimidation.
“Ma?” he called out as he pushed open the front door.
No answer came and he searched the living room. It was empty. He listened to the house, noticing how quiet it was. His mom was too old, and too sick to be going off on her own. She wasn’t one to go out alone anyways. There was the perfectly simple explanation that she was sleeping, but being a Son for so long had him thinking that something could be amiss.
He slid his hand over the hilt of his gun, gripping it tightly as he forcefully shut the door behind him. He hoped that the slamming of the door would rouse anyone in the house. He lifted the gun out of it’s holder and began his perusal of the house. He eyed up the kitchen and nothing. He made his way to the back room, noticing immediately that the back door was wide open. Tightening his grip, he moved towards the sliding glass door. He poked his head out at the same time that someone came barging through the open door. They crashed into one another.
“Shit.” The intruder swore.
He grunted as he was knocked backwards but kept his balance. The other person fell down, landing on their backside. He heard the small exclaim that came out and figured the intruder to be a woman.
“Who the fuck are you?” The intruder exclaimed, spotting the gun and scrambling backwards, trying to right themselves back up.
He took a moment to regain his composure and noticed the light blue scrubs. The woman standing there was clearly the personal care worker he’d taken the time to hire. Being up in Tacoma didn’t give him the chance to be here all the time. When he went Nomad that would change, but until then, he’d been resigned to hire a PSW.
“Where’s Ma?” He demanded.
The fear fell from her expression and a subtle disdain took over. She raised one eyebrow, crossing her arms.
“You must be Happy.”
He licked his lips, “Where is Ma?”
“Sleeping. In her bed.” She rolled her eyes and shouldered past him.
He tilted his head, and watched her retreat into the house through the corner of his eyes. When she was out of sight, he peered into the backyard to see the shed opened. There was a box of old Christmas ornaments and lights opened. He glanced back, wondering why this woman was pulling all that shit out.
He closed the back door and turned to try and find out what this woman was doing to his mother’s house. He followed the sound of tinkering and found here balancing on a stool and looping lights from the curtain rod in the living room.
“What are you doing?” He questioned.
She ignored him and continued to hang the lights from the front window. He saw that her feet weren’t level on the stool she was using. She was moments away from going ass over tea kettle. He was wont to let her fall, but knew that if Ma found out he let it happen she’d cuss him out.
She took an unsteady step forward and the stool began to tip. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, swinging her down and standing her back up right. She ripped her arm out of his grip and stomped away from him.
He narrowed his eyes at her. What was her problem?
She disappeared into the back again, this time emerging carrying the heavy box. He sighed, remembering the manners his mother instilled into him and moved to help her with the box. She grunted at him and shuffled past him, refusing to let him touch the box.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He growled.
She turned her back to him, draping garland around the front door, “Why don’t you go back to wherever it is you’d rather be, and let your lonely old mother die in peace.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” He seethed.
She whipped around, fury to match his in her eyes, “You heard me.”
“Don’t talk about what you don’t know.” He warned.
“What I don’t know?” She shouted. “I’m here every day, looking after your mother. The woman who thinks the sun rises and sets with you. I think I know a little bit about her fragile state of being. I know exactly what I’m talking about. In the entire year you’ve hired me, I’ve never seen you. Not once. Why even bother coming to see her? It’s going to break her heart when you leave again. Why pretend you even still care? She has me now, right? Your replacement.”
He charged forward, backing her into the wall, “I didn’t hire you to run your mouth.”
“Don’t feel obligated just because it’s the holidays.” She sassed, all her anger and attitude filtering into her tone.
He lifted his fist and slammed into the wall next to her head. She didn’t flinch. He had to give her that. He didn’t scare her. That was a first. Most women ran frightened from him the second they set eyes on him.
He opened his mouth to tell her off again, but their yelling eventually roused Ms. Lowman. Her frail body casting a shadow over the both of them. Stopping mid sentence, the girl raced over to his mother, grabbing her arm and holding her steady.
“Mijo.” Mama smiled, “Is that you?”
He turned to fully face his mother, giving her his version of a smile, “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
The caregiver nodded, “Something we actually agree on.” He rolled his eyes but kept any more comments to himself. She began leading his mom back up the stairs, “Come on mama, let’s get you back into bed. I’m sure your son won’t leave before he has a chance to visit properly with you.”
He could hear the accusation in the woman’s voice and it sent another lick of rage through him. Who did she think she was? Questioning him, or his love for his mother. He was paying her salary wasn’t he? Didn’t that say enough? He stomped off to the kitchen, ripped open the fridge and grabbed the first alcoholic beverage he could spot. Thankfully, it was beer.
He leaned against the counter, his fingers squeezing around the bottle in his hand. How dare this random woman speak to him that way. He wasnn’t left to his stewing for long when he heard light footsteps coming back down the hall. He looked up in time to see the care giver place both her hands on her hips.
“I’ll be damned if our arguing upsets your mother.” She hissed, “I don’t care how long you plan to stay this time, but if you love you’re mother you’ll find a way to leave without breaking her heart again.”
The woman stepped menacingly into the kitchen and jabbed him in the chest. He smacked it away.
“Leave.” He rumbled, “Get out of my mother’s house. We won’t be needing your services anymore.”
She swallowed, backing up to glare at him.
She curled her lip up at him, “Have fun explaining that to your mother.”
She spun around towards the living room. He kept on her tail, making a point to let it be known that she had an escort out. They glared at one another as she slipped her running shoes on and tied them up with jerky movements. As she stood her eyes lingered on the decorations half done.
“Make yourself useful and make sure these decorations are up by tomorrow morning.” She commanded.
He scoffed at her audacity. She was in no position to be bossing him around.
“Why the fuck are you here on Christmas eve anyways?” He baited, “Your own family not good enough?”
“Fuck you.” She glowered, “You don’t know me.”
Without another word, she whipped the front door open and disappeared down the steps. He ground his teeth together, still infuriated by that woman. He slammed the door shut, hoping that she heard it wherever she’d gone off too. Signaling that she was no longer welcome in his mother’s house.
~(SOA)~
He pulled his vest on over his head and he descended the staircase. His muscles ached and his bones cracked. It’d been too long since he slept in the proper bed. The clubhouse bunks weren’t good on lumbar support.
“Mijo?” His mother called from the living room.
He rounded the corner and found his frail mother attempting to hang the angel up on the top of the tree. He rushed over and snatched it from her hands, while guiding her back to the couch.
“Mi carina never forgets to decorate.” She commented.
He inhaled, “It’s fine Ma. I’ve got it.”
He turned away from her and reached up to balance the angel figurine one of the top branches. Proud of his work, he turned around and gestured to the tree.
“See?”
His mother shook her head, “You fired her, didn’t you.”
“Ma.” He intoned, not interested in having this conversation.
His mother crossed her arms, “That’s not how I raised you, Happy. That woman comes here every other day to make sure that I have everything I need. Every holiday she goes out of her way to decorate the house, making me feel as if my house is still my home and not a prison. You never once tried getting to know her. All you’ve done is send her paychecks and nothing else. That woman is more like a daughter to me than the babysitter that she is.”
He gulped, unprepared for his mother’s wrath. With all the fury of a Latina mother, she stood up and smacked him hard on the arm. He hissed and backed away.
“You’re going to go to her apartment and apologize.” He opened his mouth to protest but she smacked him again, “No. You’re going. I don’t care how long it takes, you’re not allowed back in my house until she’s heard your apology.”
He groaned. Of course. How was it that he accidently paired his mother up with a woman as hard headed as she was? He wiped a hand down his face and brushed past his mother and her glare to go get dressed.
~(SOA)~
He stood in the courtyard, counting the numbers above each doorway. He glanced down at the paper his mother handed him and found the right address. He trudged towards her apartment door, unhappy and pissed. He wouldn’t even be in this situation had he not hired her in the first place.
Balancing the three containers of warm homemade food, he rapped his knuckles against her door. He waited, listening to her rustle on the other side of the door. She opened it, took one look at him and slammed it shut again.
He sighed, knocking again.
“Fuck off.” She called through the door.
He tried a third time and was answered by the sound of her sliding the lock into place. He closed his eyes fighting the twitch in his arm to grab his gun. If he shot her, then he wouldn’t have any more problems. However, the image of his mother’s glare reflected behind his eyes and he bowed his head.
He set the containers down to the left of her step and sat down. He leaned back against the door, getting comfortable. There was no way he was going back to his mother’s house without following through on her orders.
~(SOA)~
… 3 hours later …
He was popping out each bullet from the chamber one by one, into the palm of his hand. The monotony keeping his mind busy and blank. A click from behind him had his reflexes taking over. He had the chamber filled and gun chocked within the seconds it took for her to open the door.
He was standing two feet from the door, killing stance equipped. She jumped at the violence of his demeanour before narrowing her eyes and frowning. He dropped the gun, making a show to put it back into the holster hidden under his cut.
“I just got off the phone with your mother.” She noted, “I’m here to hear your apology so you can get off my doorstep.”
He rubbed a hand over his head and cracked his shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” He bit out.
She gave a bitter laugh, “Wow. That was pathetic.”
He ground his teeth together, “Fuck this. I can find Ma another worker. If you’re gonna be a bitch about it.”
“I’m being the bitch?” Her voice raised, “You’re the one who showed up, yelled at me, fired me and then held me at gunpoint. But I’m the one being a bitch.”
He rolled his eyes, “I have better things to be doing.”
“I’m sure you do.” She hinted.
Her tone set him off again and he flew into her face, his entire body looming over hers. She put her hands on his chest, intending to shove him away from her when he captured her lips with his. She protested at his advance, leaned back and slapped him across the face.
“No one gets to kiss me,” She admonished, “Not without my consent.”
“Woman, I’m going to kiss you now. OK?” He growled, emphasizing the last word.
She licked her lips, giving him an evil smirk, “That’s better. Yes, ok.”
He bowed towards her as she grabbed the lapels of his cut. They crashed into one another, her door swinging on it’s hinges and slamming into the wall. The sound of their anger turning into something more passionate.
~(SOA)~
… 5 years later …
I heard the sound of his boots before he even knocked on the door. I chuckled inwardly. Opening the fridge, I grabbed the beer that I kept around for when he decided to visit. His knock was hard and with a purpose, a reflection of him as a person. I opened the door to find him standing there with three Tupperware containers under his arm.
“Ah,” I smiled, “She’s making you make the yearly trip then?”
He grunted and pushed past me into the kitchen. He dropped the containers onto the table, toed off his boots, grabbed the bottle from my hand and stomped his way into the living room. I smiled and shook my head. I nudged the door closed, flicking the lock and picking up the first container. I grinned. Mama Lowman knew my favourites. I peeled off the top, grabbed a spoon from the drawer and followed after Happy.
I relaxed onto the sofa next to him, tucking my legs under me. Happy was leaning back, beer at his lips and remote pointed at the TV. He was channel surfing, hoping to find something to keep himself occupied. I plunged my spoon into the Tupperware, shoveling a bite of homemade macaroni and cheese into my mouth.
The two of sat there in relative silence, enjoying each other’s company. Him drinking and me eating. I ate through half my snack, before placing it on the coffee table. We’d been in this routine for a few years now. Every Christmas he ended up on my doorstep with a peace offering.
The first year it was unexpected, seeing as Mama forced him into it. If anything could be said about him, it was that he loved that woman. Unconditionally. She knew it too. Knew the kind of hold she held over him. He’d never not listen to her, even if what she asked him to do pissed him off.
On the second year, I offered him a beer and that’s loosely how we ended up here. It didn’t explain the off season visits I generally got, but obviously we fell into some sort of relationship.
“Do you think she’s caught on to us?” I asked.
He gazed down at me, and paused to think for a moment. He ended up nodding, “Probably.”
I shook my head, laughing, “You ever going to tell her?”
“No.” His answer was simple.
I smiled, “Should I?”
He glanced at me again, before shrugging. I nodded with a pout. He was keen to just leave things the way they were. No labels, no explanations. It was easy this way. I wondered how long it would take Mama to pry it out of me. She’d left it alone for quite some time now.
I was pulled from my thoughts by Happy’s arm sliding across my shoulders and tugging me towards him. I reached for my throw blanket, and draped it over both of us as I laid my head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He turned his head towards me and pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Merry Christmas.” He murmured.
I wrapped my arms around his stomach, snuggling against him, “Merry Christmas.”
I caught the simple smile on his mouth and let him be. I wouldn’t out our situation to Mama. If she wanted to ask, then I’d answer her questions, but this was good. We were good. I enjoyed him and his company. I didn’t need anything more. I was content to just have him, as he was.
#happy lowman#happy lowman imagines#happy lowman x reader#happy lowman x oc#happy lowman x ofc#happy lowman imagine#happy soa#sons of anarchy imagines#sons of anarchy imagine#soa imagines#soa imagine#samcro imagines#samcro imagine#12 days of christmas#12 days of ficmas#12 ficlets of christmas
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Macan’s Birthday 2021
As a lot of you know from following me or just watching me go completely off the rails, you’ll know that I’m very fond of Macan as a character. Unfortunately, he’s one of many characters that Lifewonders has introduced with an intriguing characterization that is shelved for the same joke over an over again. You know the one.
This post is going to be exploring that concept, and the ramifications it has on his character and how these beliefs affect him in his Date Quest. All information presented will be from his appearances that are lore-heavy, as well as some of my own inferences. Everything will be under the cut because this is going to be a little long.
And fair warning, I will be getting mentioning topics such as suicide and human trafficking as it is a part of his character, keep this in mind as you read.
First, let’s start with the lore that appears in his character quest (the first one, hoping for a second at some point), as that came first. The beginning starts with Macan speaking about how he woke up one day in a jungle with no memory besides the knowledge to find water, food and shelter, and the belief that if one consumes another, they will live on within you. He soon saw that he was a weretiger, with no recollection of how this transformation happened in the first place. In the scene in Chapter 3 where Macan and the MC are discussing himself, he brings up a theory of how this happened, saying that a tiger may have become human, or a human became a tiger. Either way, two beings were killed, and one was reborn from them.
He was unique in the world of Shangri-La, no one else was like him, as strong as him. He was unlike anything there, which made him truly and utterly alone. He hated what little time he spent as a weretiger in Shangri-La, being unable to speak to others as they were afraid of him, and with no one to talk to, he soon began to go mad. When the past Macan appears in his character quest, and the protagonist and the Macan from Tokyo have to fight him, he has a few lines of dialogue about how there’s no one around to answer his calls anymore, no one to listen to him. How he hates being alone.
After he is defeated, this past Macan cries about how he’s going to die alone, that he isn’t just another beast, he’s Someone. It is implied subtly in this scene that had he not been Summoned to Tokyo Macan would have either gone completely mad or committed suicide. Thankfully, this was avoided, although the result to being Summoned was less than ideal, which I will talk about later.
There is a scene in his character quest, right before Past Macan appears, that is explored in his date quest. While bathing in a lake together in the jungle, Macan brings up that with the protagonist there, being in Shangri-La is different. He’s more comfortable, he has someone to talk with now. He mentions that if he could, he’d want to go back to Shangri-La and live there forever with the MC, before stating that if he dies first, he’d want you to eat him.
As for his date quest, let’s set the scene with some lore provided in-game. It opens up with this:
A world where the horizon is lost. This is the homeworld of Macan, Shangri-La. It is said that it is at the end of the mountain called Hourai "the end of Kunlun" and "behind Deva Loka". That is, it is "on the opposite side of the never-ending road" where people believe in "Reverse Reincarnation". In a world dominated by this faith, death does not mean the end of existence. They believed that even if the physical body was destroyed, the astral body and the spirit would continue living on in a separate state. They could continue living as long as the body, astral body and spirit were not all destroyed at the same time, which is the eternity that Shangri-La promised.
Macan brings this fact up when he is introduced; those that he consume live on within him, and whoever shall consume him he will live on in them. This is the faith by which he lives his life. No living being is exempt from this rule in Shangri-La, which is most likely part of the reason that Macan has hangups over consuming animals like fish and livestock. They have no choice in how they die, and he cannot be comfortable eating them like that.
As you may remember, Macan states, or rather implies, that he has eaten people that have lost in a duel against him before. He is completely comfortable with this aspect, seeing it as a natural result to things because, in his homeworld, it is. This is not shared by the residents of Tokyo and other worlds, however, with characters such as Suzuka and Nomad being put off by this. But there is a reason for why he fights the way he does.
Within Shangri-La there was a cycle that persisted up until the creation of the Macan we know, one that was completely broken by the actions of a single human. This cycle was the creation of the Weretiger King, and is explained in his Date Quest as follows:
The weretiger known as Macan Gadungan is also a believer of this faith [see above]. When a creature like him is created, a human is consumed by a beast. The human's spirit is then reborn in the body of this beast. The name of the magangadungan is known throughout Shangri-La as the king of the jungle where many monsters are said to roam. However, it is the opposite that is true. It is not the strongest magan becomes king, it is that the strongest king becomes a magan. Even the toughest bodies will eventually decay, and so even the strongest man will rise from his chair. But there was still a way in this world to make one's faith eternal. The way to accomplish this is to be eaten by a King and to become their flesh and blood. Even if one's body is consumed, as long as the rest lives on, so too will you. Therefore, it is the former king's fate to be eaten by a new king, and live on.* They will be reborn into a new body. The king of the jungle must then remain the best as well as fascinating target that everyone will want to eat. Until the day they too are consumed, no one can defeat them.
*(I’m aware of the contradiction here, but I will not know the correct translation of this section until it is translated officially)
Macan, or the human he once was, managed to stop this cycle, this loop, in its tracks by turning it on it’s head. The challenger is never supposed to defeat the King, and yet, he did. And so, every past King, every instance of this Weretiger King and the human Macan used to be were fused together, and became a new Weretiger King. One that hadn’t been seen before in that world.
Soon after, he was Summoned to Tokyo, and sold on the black market run by Daikoku. His date quest explores as well, stating that his time as a prisoner was spent in a cage, shuffled between owners and trying to take pieces of him to use for medicine, leather, meat, anything they could take from him. And yet, he continued to live on, his immortality coming from the jungle of Shangri-La, and the former kings that now made up his existence.
He escaped by mauling one of his captors, and presumably picked up by Claude while he was on the run. Those captors of his wanted his flesh and blood, and it was something he would never give them willingly.
The same cannot be said for the protagonist, or whoever he is paired with in his Date Quest.
During this quest, Macan’s beliefs are tested when he goes to finally consume the protagonist while they lay on the private beach, and he can’t go through with it. Even with his jaws around their throat, he cannot make the final push. Why?
You see, up until this point, Macan had lived by, essentially, the law of equivalent exchange. Give and take, in equal amounts. The bare minimum was given to him whenever someone interacted with him, and Macan gave the same back. So what happens when someone gives him more than that? What happens when he wants more than just the bare minimum? This part addresses that; his beliefs crumble under him.
Macan believes that he can’t ask for more than the bare minimum from others, their flesh and blood, because it would be going against the nature of the weretiger kings, to want nothing from others and also embracing your own personal desires to the fullest. This was what he learned in Shangri-La, the way to prove that he was alive and existed. It was simple, it was an easy world to live in with this belief. But it wasn’t enough for him, not when it came to the person he loved.
Macan wanted more from them; their flesh, blood, soul, everything. He wanted their time, their friendship, their love and adoration. But something deep in his being told him he didn’t deserve it, that they won’t reciprocate this need. The parts of himself, the human, the tiger, and the one that is neither and both, all want different things, and it confused him. Startled him. Scared him.
In the end, he realizes that if he were to kill and eat them, he would lose them. They would be apart of his existence from there on, but they wouldn’t be there. He would no longer be able to see them smile, sit with them on the beach, fight together with them. Which is a loss he couldn’t take, and was prepared to throw away his entire way of life to preserve that bliss. Were they to ask the same of him, he would give them everything he was without hesitation.
His date quest ends ambiguously, which is fitting. The player gets to decide how Macan and the one he has fallen for continue with their life. To follow one’s beliefs, or stop and reconsider when the price to pay is the one you love.
#macan#macan housamo#tokyo afterschool summoners#housamo#i love character analysis but this one wrings me out
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Feedback (PregBlog#6)
We all use and hear the word “feedback” often. In art/writing and in education, my two primary fields, we want and offer feedback -- positive or constructive criticism on how we’re doing. We get feedback from our audiences through body language or comments. There’s also the feedback we hear when a microphone is ill-positioned and makes us cover our ears.
I’ve been thinking about this word. I looked up a Business Dictionary definition which I think works:
“Process in which the effect or output of an action is 'returned' (fed-back) to modify the next action. Feedback is essential to the working and survival of all regulatory mechanisms... As a two-way flow, feedback is inherent to all interactions... In an organizational context, feedback is the information sent to an entity (individual or a group) about its prior behavior so that the entity may adjust its current and future behavior to achieve the desired result.” - http://www.businessdictionary.com/definition/feedback.html
As I am now firmly into the third trimester, at 29 weeks (that’s 7.25 months), the feedback I get from my baby in utero is more and more frequent...and more and more pronounced. Youtube bellies at 29 weeks and you’ll likely see thousands of videos (oddly looking very similar to my own) of bellies being poked from the inside, swooped, misshapen and jostled. It’s not that far off from the nightmare I had many weeks ago that was straight out of Aliens, an entire foot pushing nearly through the skin.
(Picture: monitor from a little film gig I was in—the belly was the star!)
There’s a living being in there! And at this point, a baby could technically survive (with support) out of the uterus. This means his major organs, brain, etc, are all formed and he is who he is going to be, in many respects.
Lately, he wakes up right after I do...it’s becoming like a natural mutual alarm clock (I start to awaken -- he awakens, starts squirming around -- then it’s harder for me to keep sleeping). In the evening when I’m starting to wind down, he starts moving around too. And it’s not just during rest. During dance classes or when I’m witnessing poetry or theater, he moves around. He apparently can hear and recognize particular sounds. I don’t sing to him as much as I could, but I try to talk to him. The feedback is getting more direct, as in, if I poke at him, he sometimes pokes back.
But most of the time it’s not such a direct communication. What does my baby give me “feedback” on? He gives me affirmation that he’s okay in there. That I need to remember to think of both of us, not just me. It’s been going fast, but the biggest change has been just this -- the thinking-for-two, eating-for-two (not meaning eating twice as much, which I think is a problematic message, but thinking about nutrients and feeling the impact on us both) -- planning for two. It’s not always positive -- staying up too late grading papers or not sleeping enough, for example, has its negative feedback.
Pregnancy is rewarding, especially at the 2nd and 3rd trimesters once the more-scary parts are overcome (the majority of tests and symptoms), largely due to this feedback.
He has a calming effect on me. At times, I just marvel at the whole situation -- I’m an artist and educator often hustling and not afforded particular securities such as real maternity leave nor a job to come back to. There is just my income stream. I’m a 42-year-old with both the father and my parents not-here. My friends are scattered and also hustling. None of us own a home and my one-bedroom apartment is our fancy accommodation. And yet, I feel amazingly tranquil and trusting.
There’s also the feedback of the community -- at times when I feel fat and awkward, having trouble lifting my double-weighted legs, someone will say “sexy pregnant mama!” and compliment my look. At times when I feel especially vulnerable, someone comments that I seem strong. I may not have all the “ideal” pieces in place -- but feedback arrives in wider ways, often surprising. As artists who are often loners, nomads, we make community in creative ways. Sometimes its through our art, our voices. Sometimes we don’t realize someone’s paying attention -- and people come out of the woodwork and show up. All of the types of feedback are valuable. It’s activating my faith and surrender.
(Pic from a dance classmate who wanted to take my pic)
I’m so blessed and lucky that, circumstances aside, the feedback is there from the baby, body, and community -- a positive feedback loop to keep doing what’s going right, and guide me away from what’s not.
This now-big-fish is regulating me, guiding me, and we work in tandem (if I will only continue to listen). And I know it’s only the beginning.
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Spiritual First Aid (Resources Pt. 1)
When I was deconverting at university, I spent months poring over sacred texts, spiritual commentary, and works of philosophy to try to find what’s true. I thought what I needed was a theological rehab – to detox from harmful ideas and to replace them with healthier ones. But what I really needed was more like spiritual first aid – something to immediately address the frustration and guilt I was experiencing right then and there. I mourned the death of God even as I rejected him, and I felt tangled up in this ambiguous sense of loss.
Apart from a few close friends, I deconstructed privately. I thought the more open I was about my questions the less social support would be available from my community. (This was only half true.) I had also internalized the idea that I was responsible for the spiritual well-being of those around me, so I should keep these potentially destabilizing questions to myself because to do otherwise would be morally irresponsible. I would have said that it’s like throwing the biblically inexperienced into the theological deep end (which is patronizing and ridiculous). So, I often felt alone. Years of immersion in evangelical culture made me blind to the shame-loops that fed that sense of isolation and deaf to the language I needed to describe my own experience.
Even years later I’m still figuring that out. But I’ve found the trick to unlocking that language is just tuning in to the right conversation. These days, they are happening all around us in podcasts, books, and other media. Some of the best advice to those deconstructing—and in general— is simply to keep reading.
So here are some of the resources that I had (or wish I had) when I was deconstructing, and a map to show how they meet different needs. After all, someone reshaping their faith (deconstructing) needs something different than a someone dropping it entirely (deconverting). Those of us who are hurting need something different than those who are rebuilding. So, here’s the chart I’ve used to help catalog the books I’ve found most useful.
The reverent/irreverent x-axis describes whether the author sees religion as sacred and useful or delusional and hurtful. So, on the reverent side, you have secular pluralists who see religion as a force for good and Christians boldly asking the hard questions in an authentic attempt to deepen their faith. On the irreverent side, you have secular thinkers who say organized religion is mostly just harmful, but it’s normalized in ways that make this hard to see. If you’re deconstructing as a Christian – because you think the earth maybe wasn’t created in 7 days or because the Bible is hard to make sense of – then I’d point you to the reverent side of this map. For those deconverted or deconverting, you might find the irreverent items more relatable.
The processing/structuring y-axis captures whether the writer is exploring the personal experience or writing about the structure of beliefs that follow. Writers who are “processing” are often those who have abandoned a formerly cherished belief and are working through that change out loud with friends. “Structuring” writers are a few steps removed from the tension but can help answer the question "What am I supposed to believe now?" These writers can help us replace bad theology with a healthier, coherent alternative.
For brevity, this post is focused solely on the processing quadrants – I’ll pick up the structuring quadrants another time. These are a handful of resources that I’d describe as being Spiritual First Aid because they help make sense of pain and can even provide community for those struggling. I have a few books listed, but many of these are literal conversations in the form of podcasts. As you’re reading these consider adding them to your Facebook feed, Spotify rotation, or Amazon wishlist.
Oh. And one last thing: the point of this series is to encapsulate for the church what it’s like to deconstruct and how that impacts relationships. If you’re a person of faith reading this, I encourage you to listen in on some of these podcasts yourself – not because I think they’ll deconvert you but because they’re a primer for bigger conversations. They can be immensely helpful if you want to know reasons people leave the faith, why they might harbor resentment toward the church, and whether your church is participating in these harmful practices (I know that I was). So, even if the quadrant is “for you” it can offer a sense of what experiences others are up against.
Irreverent and Processing
These are conversations where people explore personal experiences of religious trauma syndrome, process the emotional damage of belief, and reject their spiritual upbringing with varying degrees of force. These can be useful for knowing you are not alone when you feel betrayed or hurt by religion in ways that are hard to express. They may even supply language to better articulate those experiences. Everything I listed here is produced by deconverted Christians who have firsthand experiences deconstructing their faith and fishing out the toxic ideas they once accepted.
The Life After (Podcast)
Here, two deconverted pastors interview courageous people about their journey of faith deconstruction, unraveling religious indoctrination, spiritual abuse experiences, religious trauma, mourning the death of God, and what it's like rebuilding a community after leaving Christian fundamentalism. Their trauma-informed approach and irreverent humor add levity to a series of heavy topics. (If this paragraph is the first time you've ever heard of spiritual abuse or religious trauma then you can read a short blurb about religious trauma syndrome (RTS) from one of the lead researchers on the topic, here.)
I found two episodes on purity culture and RTS with sex therapist Jamie Lee Finch to be especially illuminating. These are the episodes "Unbuckling the Bible Belt" and then “You Are Your Own.” The best introduction to this podcast might be the episode called “Born Again Again” with Katie and Joe Bauer who talk about deconstructing as a couple and what it’s like for spiritual leaders to leave the faith.
The Life After also has a Facebook group that began as a trauma-informed home base for listeners to relate their deconversion experiences, but now it hosts book clubs, a mentor network, and a stream of blasphemous insights from those who have deconstructed into non-Christian spirituality or secular humanism. They even have affinity groups focused on specific challenges like how to be body-positive after living in purity culture or deconverting in a marriage where one partner stays a believer.
Born Again Again (Podcast)
Two former worship leaders talk through their own deconstruction experiences and how they make sense of their spiritual upbringing as secular adults. They have some fascinating stories about their experiences with Campus Crusade for Christ and the Hillsong movement. In fact, in "This Is Your Brain on Worship" the hosts share how they had a formula to help congregants speak in tongues based on hypnosis. Wild!
Another is "A Personal (or Abusive) Relationships with Jesus?" where the hosts show the dark side of trading religion for a "relationship with Jesus.” They start with the descriptions provided by Campus Crusade for Christ, John Piper, and Billy Graham to define what a relationship with Jesus means, then they break down how these definitions in any other context are textbook cases of abuse that are just normalized through false consensus. They also talk about what it did to them to buy into this relational framework themselves, and how Cru’s organizational structure can pressure young college students to do the same.
r/exvangelical, r/exChristian, e/TrueAtheism (Reddit Boards)
r/exvangelical and r/exchristian are moderated communities of post-fundamentalist Redditors. This might be of use for those who describe themselves as something like "culturally Christian but theologically agnostic.” It’s a moderated group of individuals that works like the Life After Facebook group. People share their experiences, seek advice, and connect on the process of deconversion. It’s a very welcoming, affirming community where pretty much every trepidatious Redditor is met with a chorus of supportive replies.
r/TrueAtheism is similar but not specifically made up of post fundamentalists. It was recommended from the Born Again Again hosts. This particular thread of “honest questions from an atheist” is an incredibly exhaustive list of troubling bible verses and hard-ball questions about the faith that many of us may find relatable or articulate a dissonance we’ve experienced before.
Reverent and Processing
These may be good resources for people who grew up Christian and have an active personal faith but aren't sure where they fit anymore. After all, the church has changed a lot in the last ten years. Maybe you describe yourself as a Christian mystic, agnostic, or just a believer trying to find your place. If the phrase "spiritual nomadism" resonates with you, you might feel at most at home exploring questions of faith with these spiritual thinkers.
The Liturgists Podcast (Podcast)
Michael Gungor and Co. are believers in the in-between talking about faith issues and modern events in this podcast. Sometimes we conflate deconstruction with deconversion and overlook the ocean of gray area between Christian fundamentalism and secular humanism. This podcast is hosted by a community of believers that live in that space.
In "Is Deconstruction Bad?" they talk about the emotions felt in deconstruction, the social cost (especially for spiritual leaders), and how to embrace a healthy outlook in the midst of it. It's a serious look into what is lost when we challenge our assumptions about faith and why it becomes hard to stop. A similar episode is called "Does Being Good Mean My Beliefs Shouldn't Change?"
Among my favorites, though, is "Swapping Fundamentalisms.” Sometimes we move from one restrictive, dogmatic set of beliefs to another because we've internalized fundamentalism so thoroughly that we take it with us wherever we go next.
Faitheist: How an Atheist Found Common Ground with the Religious (Book)
Chris Stedman was raised in a staunchly homophobic faith community when he began to realize he was gay. His memoir is a story about his unconventional deconversion experience. Stedman would say that the hostility expressed by his church toward the LGBTQ community is hard to too similar to what new atheists express toward the church today. Stedman rejects militant atheism for a more pluralistic approach to interfaith relationships. He believes that mutually incompatible religions can exist in harmony and not just competition.
He's an atheist committed to interfaith organizing and believes that rallying faith groups on the common ground of our humanist ethics can help us create a better world together. If you think the new atheists are too harsh on religion or overlook the good that religion has does for the world, then you might be sympathetic to his approach.
The Sacredness of Questioning Everything (Book)
David Dark a Christian writer who thinks that if you read the Bible and don't have any questions then you weren't reading very closely. "The God of the Bible not only encourages questions; the God of the Bible demands them." In The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, Dark talks through why interrogating our belief is a spiritual discipline and what believers fall prey to once they stop.
Importantly, Dark shows how deconstruction isn't just for the deconverting. Instead, it's an act of theological hygiene. If the God we believe can’t accept protest, interrogation, or dissent, then we’re in trouble. In fact, without the right questions, our conception of God can exist strictly to keep us in line and keep our heads down so we don't get burned. Dark is a Christian who wants to disabuse Christians of that narrow conception of God and show why questions are essential for spiritual growth.
Conclusion
So there’s my spiritual first aid kit. Hopefully at least one or two of these resources will resonate with you. I can say that at different points in my life, each of these things provided an insight that made deconstruction less shameful and more clear. If you have other books, podcasts, or communities that have helped you process in deconstruction, then don’t hesitate to add them in the comments.
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Zhinü / Deity / Ancient
Zhinü is meant to be based off an Asian folk tale called "The Weaver Girl and the Cowherd," specifically the Chinese version of this story. It is, at its core, a story of star-crossed lovers and is meant to explain a bit about Yin and Yang. To very briefly summarize it, throughout the story, the lovers are constantly pulled apart despite being drawn together and are eventually sent to two different sides of the Milky Way, only capable of seeing each other on the seventh day on the seventh month of the lunar calendar.
For information on it it, read here and here.
I've read a couple versions of the story and the one I like best is this version. In this version, Zhinü, the granddaughter of the Heavenly Empress, is a deity, while Nĩu Lang is a deity who broke the heavenly rules and was punished by being sent to Earth as a mortal.
Now, as stated, Zhinü is based off the story. As a result, there is room for creative freedom and I have allowed for changes where I see them fit. It should be kept in mind that I would largely like to keep to the spirit of the story though.
Zhinü herself: Zhinü is meant to be a deity, specifically a grandchild of the Heavenly Empress. However, I will note that Nĩu Lang is not meant to realize this. He's meant to have forgotten his life as a deity and Zhinü never told him she was a a deity (implying that she either outright lied or he simply came up with assumptions with a lack of information). The finer details are entirely open to whoever takes her up.
Appearance: This is entirely open. The only thing I have really established is that, at least early on in their relationship, she likely wore clothing that was at least similar to traditional Asian clothing (as Nĩu Lang currently possesses a hair pin she once gave him).
Personality: Her personality is technically open, but I will state that I imagine Nĩu Lang is likely to have fallen for someone quite different from himself than similar. Either way though, I can see it potentially working.
History: It is highly advised to look at Nĩu Lang's application if you are interested as it'll give you an indication of his personality and some of his history.
What should be noted is that he has lived a good chunk of his life under false pretenses about Zhinü. He believes she and her family are the same species as him, though were simply just more wealthy. As a result, he is out of the loop about a lot, to the point he doesn't even realize his own children are demigods. Worse, he doesn't technically understand he's irritated a goddess twice.
Another thing that needs to be stated is that he has not seen Zhinü in centuries. He's meant to come to the bridge every year but she never does. Exactly why is entirely open, but it should be noted that this will likely affect their relationship on some degree since Nĩu Lang is beginning to doubt if she's even alive.
Outside of this, her history is pretty open.
Relationship: The two have likely had a...complicated history when it comes to their relationship. All I really established about Nĩu Lang when it comes to his past life is that he was a minor deity, the alias he often used in the past is actually the name he had as a deity, and instead of having his immortality "taken" he was sentenced to death and was eventually reborn. So, there's basically a lot of room here to establish stuff, from how they fell in love to how Zhinü handled anything.
After he was reborn, a lot of what is established is that Nĩu Lang largely suffered from prejudice. This is better expressed in his application, as it explains why he eloped with Zhinü and never married her and even why they were torn apart.
Play By: This is entirely open, but I would suggest IU since she has some great images/gifs with Nĩu Lang's FC.
The Heavenly Empress / Deity / Ancient
The Heavenly Empress is a being who goes by many titles and names. However, she is generally considered the Queen of Heaven. In the story of "The Weaver Girl and the Cowherd," she possesses a large role, being the primary force that wishes to keep the two lovers apart due to their relationship being against the rules of the Heavens.
Appearance: Her appearance is relatively open. However, she is meant to look quite regal and beautiful in appearance. While the face claim listen is not required, I do require that her face claim be Eastern Asian. It is not required for it to be a real life face claim.
Personality: Overall, she is quite open. However, it must be kept in mind that she is generally considered benevolent and powerful, viewed as something of a motherly figure. As a result, I imagine her, within the story, as an individual who is merely doing their duty and not genuinely trying to hurt others even if that is the unintentional effect it has had.
History: This area may be a bit complicated. I would advise looking at this and this. Mazu is generally associated with two things: a Chinese sea goddess and the Heavenly Empress. The nature of the Heavenly Empress is fairly complex, in that she is connected to the Nine Emperor Gods. The Nine Emperor Gods are worshiped in the form of the Heavenly Empress. Exactly how you take this is up to you, but a few things are required.
The Heavenly Empress is meant to have had a relationship with the Jade Emperor (the first god of the nine emperor gods), the two likely being married. This relationship is meant to have resulted in one of Zhinu's parents. The Heavenly Empress was probably privy to what he did, as the Jade Emperor is meant to be the deity who designated the celestial beasts the mansions they received in the cosmos, making them guardians of the stars in a way. (Just to note, the celestial beasts would have been fairly distant from heavenly business due to this). Whether or not the Heavenly Empress knows this is, of course, is fairly open since it depends upon how you spin the relationship.
One thing that definitely needs to be explained is why [romantic] relationships were against the rules of the Heavens. Is it due to personal reasons? Is it more due to something biological? Is it a cultural thing? The reason is up to you.
Powers: The Heavenly Empress' powers are quite open. She is meant to be quite powerful and can clearly do a bit (or could at one point in time). Required abilities would be the ability to use both Yin and Yang, an explanation on how she created the bridge, separated Zhinü & Nĩu Lang
Play By: The play by is open and the only requirement is that she is Eastern Asian. However, I would heavily suggest Fan Bingbing as Empress Wu Zetian.
Nĩu Lang's Son / Demigod / Ancient
Nĩu Lang's son is meant to have been one of two children he had with Zhinü before they were forcibly separated. As they are not named in the story, his name is entirely up to whoever takes him. I just ask that you put "úb Tar" as the last name since that would technically be it.
Age: I would personally suggest not putting a number on his age because he's kind of...ancient. Timeline wise, he's probably on the older end of most immortals.
Personality: This is entirely open.
History: His later life is pretty much open. However, I have established some things about his early life that should be taken into account when considering how to make him. Both him and his sister would have largely been raised by Nĩu Lang, likely only seeing their mother once a year (and only if they desired to). Moreover, he's meant to be a demigods who leans more towards immortality so he aged quite slowly.
Another thing to take into account is that I have established that Nĩu Lang lived an incredibly nomadic lifestyle, which naturally became difficult when raising children. Chances are he and his sister came across trouble because Nĩu Lang had a bad habit of occasionally giving into demands to settle somewhere. This could have naturally led to nasty consequences (such as him being kidnapped by opportunistic humans) that were then solved by Nĩu Lang who was less than happy.
Powers: I would prefer these be based off Zhinü and Nĩu Lang. Zhinü is meant to have Yin and Nĩu Lang has Yang. Elemental is entirely open. Exactly what you go with is entirely open, though it should be noted that he'd have been taught by Nĩu Lang.
Play By: This is open, but please use an Asian play-by. The one shown is Jang Keun-Suk (specifically from Daebak).
Nĩu Lang's Daughter / Demigod / Ancient
This is Nĩu Lang's daughter. She is the eldest of his two children. Just like his son, he had her before he was separated from his wife. Moreover, she is also not named so this is entirely up to whoever takes her. I only ask that you make the last name "úb Tar" as that would technically be it.
Personality: Her personality is entirely open. However, I do keep to the headcanon that she is much more interested in her father's culture (Aquarian culture) than her brother, likely leading to most gifts she receives from him to be somewhat reminiscent of it, an inclination to dress in more traditional Asian clothing, and having actually learned the languages her father knows. This obviously isn't something you need to keep to though.
History: Overall, her history is quite open. Her beginnings would be quite similar to her brother's. I do not imagine the age gap between them is big enough that she'd remember much of what happened during their life on Aquarius.
Powers: I would prefer that these be based off her parents'. You can choose which she has.
Play-By: Her play-by is open though I ask she be Asian. The person shown is Kim Yoo-jung.
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