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raksh-writes · 2 years

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Leap of faith (Part 1/2)

Fandom: Supernatural, Teen Wolf

Characters: Dean Winchester, Nogitsune/Void, Sam Winchestered (mentioned)

Words: ~3,6k

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: Crossover, Season 7, Protective Dean, Hurt Sam, Post-Lucifer’s Cage, Angst

Also here on AO3!

A/n: I’ve had this laying around in my docs for Months now and finally decided to just post it (with no small thanks to my lovely beta, thank you, hun 😘) -- at least here maybe someone will get something nice out of reading it ;p Also, ngl, I’m hoping that posting this will help me Finally get the push to write the second part 🙈 I have it in my mind but... it’s been hard (overall) to do any writing lately 😪 But, anyway, this is just a simple, short “What if...” scenario that popped into my head and I went “why not?”, so -- hope it’s gonna be a nice read, y’all! ^^

Part 1:

That time Dean Winchester asked a trickster for help...

---

“Dean. Don’t you dare—”

“I’m just saying!”

“This is so stupid. Even for you.”

“Hey! You have any better ideas?” … “Yeah, I thought so. Listen. I wouldn’t tell you about it if I didn’t think it was worth a shot.”

“It’s a dark trickster spirit you’re talking about, Dean. They’re unpredictable and—”

“ —Yet I’m not hearing any other ideas from you! And I’m all ears!”

…

“Don’t do it, Dean…”

“Sammy—”

“No, not unless— not unless there’s no other option—”

“But—”

“Promise me, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

The food is all laid out on the table, smack in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen, slowly cooling down as Dean waits and paces, hands squeezed into tight fists. He’s repeated the summoning enough times that it should’ve worked even if he didn’t have the pronunciation quite right — and he’d had to drive for several hours to get all the damned dishes needed to appease a hungry spirit of chaos. It’s basically his only hope right now — that the lore is right about Kitsune, and hence also Nogitsune, having great appetites and a taste for Japanese cuisine; that it would catch the spirit’s attention enough so he can ask for what he really needs. What Sammy needs.

Air gets stuck in Dean’s throat, a ball of nerves and repressed emotions clogging up his windpipe; he stops in front of the table, knuckles white as he presses them to his lips. It’s a moment of weakness Dean should not allow himself, closed eyes and defenseless as he is, but rational thought is hard to come by when worry occupies most of his processing power. And it’s not even about hunting, not this time.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

He whips around, searching for the echoing voice, but there’s no one — or at least no one visible.

Dean’s reminded of the fact that Nogitsune are also masters of illusions and forces himself to relax, to drop his hand from the gun tucked into his waistband. His summoning has been answered and that’s good, it’s good, even if the voice made a freezing-cold chill spread all throughout his muscles. Facing a new monster rarely makes an impression on him anymore, but now — now all of Dean’s instincts are on high alert and he can’t help but feel like the prey, out in the open as he is.

Swallowing through the tightness around his throat, Dean darts his eyes around in a fruitless search for the spirit.

“Heard you bunch likes to eat well,” he says, instead of everything that’s coiling behind his facade, and taps his fingers on the table. “Probably not as good as you’re used to, but— The best I could find around here.”

“And all this for little old me? Aww,” the voice purrs, a growl trapped underneath the low, smooth tones, an undeniable note of amusement and something on the edge of mocking in those drawn out words, coming from all around and yet nowhere at all. Dean’s still trying to find the source when, finally, it comes: “Awfully kind of you, I must say.”

This time, it sounds right from the other side of the table, and when Dean whips around, he can’t help but freeze — all of his life-honed hunting skills going out the window as if they were never there in the first place. And what’s shocking is — if he didn’t know with whom exactly he’s dealing with, Dean would never consider them a threat — or, well, if they looked more human, maybe.

The Nogitsune holds his chin low, head tipped, eyes black as night and a mocking little smile on full, plush lips that are possibly more desirable than Dean’s, and he knows what’s been said about those. And that’s the thing — he expected a woman, as the lore said they loved taking the form of beautiful females, but instead before Dean stands a young man (a vessel, maybe?), dressed in all black and pretty as a picture; if Dean had the right to judge. There’s no mistaking them for a human, though, not with the unnatural focus in the depth of their black eyes and the undeniable aura of self-assured power. Not put on to impress, but earned, inherent and effortless.

The smile spreads, just a bit, on the Nogitsune’s face, as if he just plucked those thoughts out of his mind and Dean represses another shudder, still frozen in place as if the dark, dark gaze has caught him paralyzed. He hasn’t experienced anything quite like this before — aside from meeting the fucking Death and yet, somehow, Dean has the feeling he was way more secure talking with the guy; at least he didn’t come for anyone before their time. But this here? He can’t remember when was the last time he felt more like he’s facing a predator with an intelligence way higher than his own — capable of switching from amused to blood-thirsty in less than a second and very much unlike all the monsters he’s already faced, ones that only seemed amusing when trying such a trick. This time it looks like it might be true — and Dean knows it wouldn’t be a quick death either.

Steeling his resolve, he clears his throat and tries, very hard, to relax the tense line of his shoulders.

“Well, dig in then.” Somehow, he even manages to unfreeze his arm to gesture at all the food. “You took your time, so it’s kinda getting cold.” Immediately, Dean realizes he should’ve bitten his tongue. He’s never had much of a filter, but when he looks up at the Nogitsune, they only seem amused, thank fuck. Not that it means he’s in any way out of the woods.

The Nogitsune’s eyes drop to the food, half-lidded in a way that almost seems seductive, inspecting it for quite a while before he drums his fingers on the back of the chair they’ve been resting on and, instead of pulling it out, steps aside to sit down at the corner of the table, one foot on the floor and his side to Dean.

It’s smart, he can admit, even if Dean’s kinda sure that if the Nogitsune wanted to escape, they probably wouldn’t need to physically move — it’s a bit mesmerizing to watch too, each and every single shift of the spirit’s body deliberate; smooth and graceful. Nothing quite like anything or anyone Dean’s ever seen.

The Nogitsune reaches for the chopsticks laid out before the dishes — Dean even went the mile and fucking checked how to place them correctly — breaks them apart easily and digs in for what’s probably chicken; Dean’s already forgotten all the different names but he does remember one of those was considered a favourite.

His nerves are all strung tight as the spirit places it delicately on his tongue and chews slowly. A low, thoughtful hum follows before he takes another one — Dean considers it a good sign, but when minutes pass with the Nogitsune just tasting all the various foods his hope wavers and his muscles lock up; tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Is it not good enough? Is he offending the fox with insufficient offering? Insulting an ancient trickster spirit would probably be one of the worst accidental things he’s ever done in his life — for his life — and what of Sammy then? He can’t—

“What would you know,” the Nogitsune finally muses, inspecting the piece of sushi held between his chopsticks, “I did have better.” He still eats it, but Dean’s muscles are all but frozen solid at this point, ready to shatter. When they swallow down, lowering the hand with chopsticks to rest across their arm, draped loosely over their lap, it feels like the moment of judgment has come. “But I suppose a romantic dinner for two isn’t exactly why you tried summoning one of us, is it?”

The Nogitsune looks up to meet Dean’s eyes then, their gaze so sharp and inhuman he gets the strongest urge to run and never go back. It’s like they stopped playing around, and yet just started another game. Dean hates, hates how unsure his footing is, but what else can he do? The spirit holds the cards here, and Dean can only hope to play his own right.

“I did manage to summon you, though, and you’re still here — that’s something,” he tries first, instead, self-preservation instinct out the window, as per usual.

The Nogitsune exhales a small huff of breath, an almost amused sound to it as his lips curl up.

“Manage is a strong word. You tried and I was bored enough to consider responding. There were many before me that saw a hunter and decided to stay away.” Their little, barely-there smile curves higher, just in one corner, and Dean tenses up even further. “Better for your own good, if you ask me — they might’ve been too tempted to go straight for you instead of being willing to listen. But—” He tips his head to the side, just slightly, the gesture so fox-like and yet distinctive it makes a cool shiver go down Dean’s spine. But then he also extends an arm in a much more familiar gesture. “—I’m all ears. What is it that you’d ask a favor for?”

Dean swallows down all his instinctual next words, some of them to the tune of how can I even trust you’re saying the truth, but that’d be just stupid to ask and wouldn’t get him anywhere. So instead he starts with:

“It’s not for me.”

The Nogitsune’s eyes turn even sharper, if that’s at all possible, and Dean almost looks away — it’s like the spirit can look right through each and every one of his defenses, his thoughts, and see straight to his core. Where no one should be able to look.

“Isn’t it?” They hold Dean’s gaze, quirking one eyebrow up, just slightly, and the feeling of being seen gets even more pervasive.

“It’s my brother,” Dean answers, ignoring all that’s implied and probably confirmed right now, forcing his words through the iron grip on his chest and throat, “he’s— in pain, in a lot of pain. I mean — probably more than any human ever was. Hallucinating more and more every day too. And I know— I know you feed on it. It’s—” He licks his lips, lost for more words as the storm trapped inside his ribcage threatens to overwhelm him. But the Nogitsune’s eyes are sharp, sharper than any Dean ever had on him, so he swallows it down and steels his nerves; shoulders and jaw tight with tension. “I want to make a deal. You get to feed on my brother’s pain, all of it, no tricks, no additional torture, no nothing — and we let you go.”

Making those words a threat always seemed way easier and more natural when not under the scrutiny of what’s probably an ancient trickster demon. And the Nogitsune snorts, as if amused by a child’s antics, picking up a piece of inari-whatever-the-name between his chopsticks, all precise and delicate despite the clearly deadly aura.

“I could admire your nerve, but I suppose it might be just human bravado — or plain stupidity,” the spirit muses — and takes a bite all casual, like they’re chatting about the weather at a nice dinner. “What even makes you think I’d take a deal like that? When there’s so much pain and suffering on this piece of rock I could find a meal without even trying? I think you have our situations here confused,” they look up at Dean and this time it does feel like he’s a hairbreadth away from leaving this god-forsaken-earth, “I’m not the one on your mercy. I could leave or decide to slit your throat whenever I’d like to without you even being able to bat your pretty eyelashes at me — and you’d do well to remember that.”

The Nogitsune’s voice stays just as smooth, just as low and cool and seemingly unaffected — but Dean’s skin feels covered in frost and his blood frozen solid. Only when they finally look down the hold around Dean releases and he gulps up air as if he just came up for it after drowning in a freezing river.

“Now, come—” Gesturing to the other chair beside Dean with an aura of not accepting anything else, the Nogitsune reaches for more food, “—sit and tell me your story. Then I will decide if it’s worth my while.”

Dean swallows thickly, lost for words like he rarely is, and considers his options. At first, he thought it’d be better not to reveal this is basically his last hope, their last hope, but now it feels inevitable — if Dean is to tell the whole story.

Sitting down in the chair seems like a defeat of sorts, like putting himself up for easy access, but the Nogitsune looks back at him again when Dean hesitates for too long, their eyes dark and head crooked to the side, daring him to refuse — and so Dean pulls out the chair so he’s at least not trapped under the table and sits down. The spirits lip’s twitch in the corners, an amused smirk playing on their pale face — it strikes Dean just then, how much they seem to resemble a painting, all contrasting pale skin and black framing of hair, deeply purplish shadow around their dark eyes; not quite like make-up or natural bruises, but more like the true nature showing through a human disguise. Sam could probably point out what style or era of art Dean’s thinking about, but—

His heart constricts and Dean needs to take a breath to even think about starting the story — the Nogitsune, though, gives him a curious look and speaks before he can:

“You carry around so much pain yourself,” they muse, words drawn-out, drawled in such a specific, smooth tone despite the edge of a growl trapped underneath that it makes all of Dean’s hair stand on end. They meet his eyes, and their lips curve into a smirk again, slow and deliberate. “I could feel it, you know, even before I decided to answer. Aaall that delicious, delicious pain — so repressed, years of it, that you try to hide behind the veil of anger and toughness. Bottled down and boiling over — how much of it spilled out to hurt your precious one, I wonder...”

“This is not about me,” Dean spits out as soon as he’s able to interject, trying very hard to not let the spirit’s words affect him — but they do bring back ghosts of memories, times when Sam flinched away from him, when that awful, awful look crossed his face, when his Sammy thought he couldn’t trust him, it’s—

The Nogitsune’s smirk curls higher in one corner, their nose flaring out, just the tiniest bit, in a deeper breath. Dean notices, somehow, and pulls back from the trip back memory lane, tensing all over and ready to flee — or reach for his gun.

“What did you just do?”

Their eyebrows twitch up at Dean’s question, words pushed through clenched teeth, and the frankly infuriating smirk doesn’t even waver, so fucking amused.

“Me?” The Nogitsune straight-up chuckles before going back to the food as if nothing at all happened. “I think we both know you’re perfectly capable of torturing yourself on your own. And if those were my doing—” They lift up a piece of sushi and give him a look that all but freezes his heart still. “—you’d never realize you're here and not back there.”

Dean refuses to believe it, full stop — he hadn’t broken out of the Djinn’s illusion-world not to recognize when he’s being played — but on the other hand, he’s also never before faced a Nogitsune…

“Great, but this was supposed to be about Sam, not my issues — they’re not the important thing here.”

The Nogitsune chews his food slowly, lips still curled in a small little grin that Dean can’t decide if it’s still amused or if it went mocking already — the sharp, unnaturally focused look in their dark eyes makes it all too hard to tell.

“If you insist,�� they allow, extending one hand in a gesture that’s all but dismissive, then make a small sound in the back of their throat. “Pity, though. You wouldn’t make a meal, but… perhaps a snack.” The grin is definitely the shit-eating kind now and Dean scowls, but before he can address it, the Nogitsune tips his chin down and raises one eyebrow, expectant. “Well? What is it about then? Do tell.” It’s not quite a demand, and their tone doesn’t change, but Dean’s instincts pick up on the unspoken warning to not stretch their patience.

Flexing his fingers on the edge of the table, Dean ignores his pounding heart — it’s now or never, isn’t it?

“We’re vessels, me and my brother. For those asshole angels, dunno if you heard about them.” He barely restrains himself from gritting his teeth, white-hot anger flaring against his ribs, but the Nogitsune’s eyes are sharp, seemingly even sharper now, their chin still tipped just slightly down, so Dean pushes on. “I’m Micheal’s, my brother’s that fuckwad’s Lucifer’s. They were really hell-bent on causing the Apocalypse, y’know, but we— but Sam,” his throat closes up, yet Dean doesn’t let himself stop here, not with the new spark in those dark, dark eyes, “Sam stopped it. And got ‘em all dragged into Lucifer’s cage. The thing is— The thing is Lucifer was already riding him like a marionette and he—”

That’s when his voice truly gives up on Dean, but it’s also when the Nogitsune decides to supply:

“And your dearest got locked away with them.” They hum, low in their throat, something very new in their expression, something that makes every instinct in Dean scream to run. Their gaze slips over Dean, taking him in with an aura of distant curiosity, and it makes him want to crawl inside himself or lash out, but it doesn’t last long, thank fuck. Instead of commenting on whatever they saw, the Nogitsune turns to reach for more food. “Who would’ve thought, this might yet get interesting.” Dean’s anger flares, yet again, when the spirit just keeps eating, but the moment their chopsticks are free, they extend their hand in a familiar gesture. “Go on. I’m sure there’s more to the story.”

The look in their eyes is clear — and as much as his blood’s boiling, he’s not stupid enough to throw away this chance, as slim as it might be. So Dean takes a calming breath, relaxes his clenched fingers, and tells the whole story. Or as whole as he dares — skims over the time Sam was without a soul, which the Nogitsune seems intrigued by but doesn’t ask, explains his wild move of making a deal with Death, which makes the spirit lift his eyebrows in surprise but, again, they don’t ask, then finally he comes to the final point. The breaking of Sam’s wall.

Dean falls silent after, so exhausted by just telling it all he barely has the energy to be irritated with the spirit’s nonchalant attitude — posture completely relaxed and eyes half-lidded, the seemingly ever-present ghost of a smirk on their pale lips. The bigger part of the food is gone and Dean got a lot more than enough for one person — guess what they say about a Nogitsune’s hunger being insatiable is actually true, huh.

“A lifetime of pain, you say,” they muse, hands resting on their thigh.

“Of torture, more like,” Dean gritts out; hates how his voice betrays his exhuastion.

The Nogitsune hums noncommittally, still watching him with that unwavering, unnaturally focused gaze, with that curl to one corner of their mouth — as infuriating as it’s unnerving. Then they move to put away the chopsticks.

“I think I need to pay your brother a visit before I decide.”

Dean’s on his feet faster than he can blink, hand at his gun — but not yet drawn. And it’s like a switch has been flipped. The Nogitsune doesn’t move an inch, and yet Dean recognizes the poise of a predator ready to tear his throat out before he could even see it coming.

“No. I summoned you to make a deal, right now, right here,” he grits out, heart pounding and hand sweating on his gun. “How do I know you won’t just go there, torture him until you get your rocks off and leave? I won’t agree to it.”

They cock their head to the side, just slightly, eyes narrowing for a second before they drag their dark gaze over Dean once more. It seems like they’re considering, maybe not even his words but Dean himself.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your precious one more than they’ve already been hurt,” he says, voice so calm and devoid of mockery everything in Dean deflates in surprise. Still—

“I don’t like your wording,” he replies, jaw tight and straining.

The Nogitsune exhales a quick breath, mouth quirking back into a darkly amused little smile.

“You must be very naive to think taking pain is painless.”

Dean swallows around the ball that formed in his throat — it makes some sort of sense, but it doesn’t mean he likes it any more than before.

“But you won’t cause him any more harm — any more pain — than necessary to take it away.” He still doesn’t like his own wording more than the spirit’s, but his unhelpful brain just won’t provide him with anything better.

The Nogitsune tips his chin down, one corner of their lips twitching up.

“You have my word,” they say and even though he shouldn’t, Dean feels something in him uncoil. Now he can only hope—

—and race to reach Sammy like Hell’s chasing him to make sure the trickster will keep it.

#dean winchester #nogitsune #void stiles #supernatural #teen wolf #crossover #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #Raksh's writing #My writing #just a lil' fun idea I had a while ago lmao #fingers crossed now I'll be able to write the second part sometime soon xD

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vieuxnoyesrp · 7 years

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Ches. Kira has had a special place in our heart since she moseyed her way into the Quarter, and you managed to charm us all over again with her whimsical, dreamy personality which you caught so well. Even more important to us, you managed to toe the line between inquisitive, goofy Kira, and resolute, realistic Kira, allowing room for Kira to explore who she is, what she is, and who she wants to be. The headcanons you shared with us crackled with the intensity of Kira’s potential. Portraying the many different facets of teenager is difficult at the best of times, and yet you managed to highlight Kira’s insecurities and doubts without letting them rule. We can’t wait to watch the tension of this kitsune kid discovering herself set sparks across our dash!

Ches, thank you very much for applying. As for Kira…

⚜ ~ WELCOME TO VIEUX NOYÉS!!! ~ ⚜

Wondering what to do next? Click here and let the good times roll!

⚜ Roleplayer:

⤜ Name/alias: Ches

⤜ Pronouns: She/Her

⤜ Age: 22 in three months, yikes

⤜ Timezone: CST UTC-6

⤜ Activity: 6-7, I’m in school and I work weekends, but I’m home and available every night, and constantly checking tumblr throughout the day on mobile.

⤜ Best form of contact: Through tumblr messaging is fine

⤜ Any Triggers? None

⤜ How did you find Vieux Noyés? Scrolling through the witch roleplay tag

⤜ What drew you to the RP? EVERYTHING! As you can guess by the way I found the rp, I’m a sucker for anything supernatural, shows, books, roleplays. They all draw me in. This place has a triple bonus since it’s based on one of my favorite dramas, has my favorite original characters AND some I don’t recognize (then again, I really fell off the wagon with Originals, so that could be why), and all of the drama waiting to explode in that plot has me squealing with anticipation. I want to see it all, and of course throw Kira into it somehow!

⤜ What is one subplot/element from the Plot page that you are particularly looking forward to seeing in this roleplay? I guess I just answered that question. I’ve been in love with the story of the Salem witches since forever ago, so I can’t wait to see how the witchy politics turn out between them and the NOLA coven, and how that effects everyone else. Are the Salem witches really going to follow Marcel’s magic ban? Having their own power source separate from ancestral magic, I wouldn’t think so. And then there’s the revival of the Hunters Guild the plot hints at. I suppose I’m really just excited for all the political drama going on in every supernatural sub-community.

⚜ Desired Character: KIRA YUKIMURA

⤜ Why do you want this character?

Where do I start? Kira and Lydia were my favorite characters in the drama, for one. I loved their personalities and was so excited to see Kira’s growth in her abilities and coming into herself (imagine my dismay when you know what happened). Aside from the show, Kira’s personality is the type I’ve always been drawn to in roleplaying and just in reading in general. I find her type the most relatable, and their journey to discover themselves and gain confidence in their abilities is always fun to roleplay. For me, it’s fun to slowly push her out of her shell and into relationships with other people, especially when they develop into close bonds. I’m also very interested in her becoming more assertive. Even though her parents aren’t part of the roleplay (unless I missed them somewhere), that can be inserted into plots or just self-paras down the line. The added bonus is the fact that she’s a kitsune. I’ve been obsessed with Japanese folklore since I was a child, which includes the lore surrounding kitsune. Kira in particular was fascinating to me because I’d never heard of one whose powers were specifically drawn from electricity before her introduction to TW. I look forward to roleplaying her exploration of her abilities and seeing what her full potential is (especially since it was never reached in the show). That being said, I don’t intend to make her all-powerful (if I’m accepted!), but I want to roleplay her discovery of her strengths, weaknesses, limits, etc. That will probably take discussion with the admins and some research on my part, but that’s all part of what makes supernatural roleplay fun in my opinion.

⤜ What are your future plans for this character?

Again, I suppose I kind of answered this question. I really want to push Kira out of her shell and develop personal relationships, stand up for herself more, be more confident in herself, and discover just what she is and what she can do. Even I don’t know what all that is, what with this secret organization her parents are part of. Other than confidence and exploring her powers, I would love to see where she fits into all of the political tension going on in the Quarter. As an unknowing were, she’ll eventually be forced to pick a side or remain neutral, but I don’t see remaining neutral as something that’s she’s capable of for moral reasons. In the process, she might have to stand against her parents, or friends, and I want to roleplay that when the time comes. And then there’s the overall tension outside of the were community. The Quarter isn’t that big, so I imagine every supernatural is going to get dragged into the conflict between the covens and the vampires, only for that to be exacerbated by the Hunters. She’s going to have to decide who to support or where to remain neutral based on who she wants to protect and what she feels is right, and those two might conflict each other. I really want to see that.

⤜ Put yourself in your character’s shoes. Give us a few lines to describe a day in the life of your character… Where do they live? Where and how do they spend their time?

Of course she lives in a normal neighborhood with her parents, just close enough to school that she can take her bike instead of the dreaded bus. But she really lives in the Saint Aloysuis library, furiously typing away at whatever chapter she’s currently writing and often neglecting her homework in the process. She tells herself it’s only Calculus, which she could do in her sleep. Or it’s only another poetry analysis essay that’s much simpler to write and never as enticing as the drabble ideas and climactic plots that practically loom over her shoulder, whispering temptation into her ears as if the fox spirits from her father’s stories have come alive. She’s mastered the art of writing a passing analysis essay in one night, and an essay guaranteed to give her an A if she actually puts more effort into it. On the nights when she has some freedom or the itch to leave her room, the university’s library is open almost all night and even has a Starbucks. What more could an aspiring writer need? Her laptop is never out of reach specifically because inspiration strikes at the most unexpected moments, and she’s learned Google Drive is much better than any notebook she might carry. It has more space for one, and offers much more security should her works fall into the hands of prying classmates or, God forbid, her mother. She’s developed a weekly time table to balance her homework with updating her Wattpad stories, and volunteering, although it’s sometimes ignored in favor of posting double updates, drabbles, or new stories she just couldn’t resist. Her writing is really the only thing she’s allowed herself to be impulsive with. That, and her visits to the animal shelter. She visits religiously twice every week, sometimes more if school or her parents are becoming just a little too stressful. There’s something about the warmth with which the shelter animals greet her, how they lovingly paw at her legs and lick her fingers that’s instantly soothing. Kira can forget all of her troubles when she’s there, and often wonders how in the world her mother could say no to having a pet? Every now and then, she likes to visit Cafe du Monde, or Jackson Park to watch the tourists. Of course, she loves her coffee, but she also occasionally indulges in people-watching. It’s great material for when she’s writing, but it’s also her guilty pleasure. Sometimes, she watches the gaggles of strangers and tells herself that day will be the day she steps out of her shell. She’ll smile and wave at a stranger, start a conversation with someone wearing her favorite band T-shirt, walk up to a girl and tell her she really likes that dress, where’d she get it? All of these hopes were pushed aside the first time she tried to smile at a stranger who proceeded to walk right by. They just hadn’t seen her, is what she told herself, but she’s still not sure and definitely not ready to try again. More than twice every month, she comes home to the disappointed gaze of her father, who’s walked past her room and been horrified at the aftermath of a morning getting dressed. Every day, Kira finds herself going through several ensembles before settling on the usual graphic tees, jeans, and converse. She’s fairly certain her flashier clothes are just as flattering as she thinks they are, but the last thing she wants is to deal with Jeremy freaking Gilbert’s immature comments. She’s known him long enough to know they’d come if she tried to change. That being said, she’s gathered her courage and worn clothes a little out of her comfort zone once or twice while visiting the park. The one time a stranger complimented her was enough to make the girl glad she’d stepped out of her shell at least this much.

⤜ Give us three headcanons regarding your character of choice. (If your character is from one of the tv shows, please come up with a headcanon that is not explicitly stated on the show, but is rather based on your own imagination.)

(This was mentioned briefly in the bio and her photoset and I love it) Kira’s a writer, although she finds it difficult to call herself that. All she does is write fanfictions under an alias online and post drabbles every now and then. She’s hardly an author, and is so unsure of herself that’s she’s never even been able to present her work to Mr. Lewis, the high school creative writing teacher. The shy little thing’s approached him with the intention of showing him her work five times in the few weeks she’s been here, only to chicken out each time because of her own worries. She relies on the mostly encouraging comments and feedback from readers online, taking it all to heart every time she writes a basic outline or character bio. Her dream is to become a professional writer, and she wants to go to school for it but she has her doubts. Not only is there her own insecurity to face, but the disapproval from her parents that’s sure to come if she tells them. So she quiets that dreamy voice in her head when the conversation comes up, instead saying she might want to become a teacher or professor like dad. It keeps them satisfied, and works as a nice backup plan. The two professions aren’t the same, but as long as she can indulge in her passion and keep her imagination alive, it’s enough for the young fox. Ever since that time she survived being electrocuted, she’s developed the hobby of chasing lightning during storms. She doesn’t do anything as poetic as dancing in the rain. The girl’s got two left feet and fell flat on her butt three too many times back when she was enrolled in basic ballet lessons. But she’s almost perfected the art of sneaking out of her room at night and racing off on her bike, chasing bolt after shimmering, ephemeral bolt until the hints of sunrise appear. She survives the day after with a cup of strong, black coffee – forcefully taken – and power naps during lunch if her body still threatens to crash afterwards. Kira isn’t quite sure what she’ll do if she actually encounters a lightning bolt one night. Touch it? The idea used to sound fatally idiotic to her, but the more she thinks about it, the more she knows, somewhere in her gut, that it just might feel right.

The one grudge she holds against her parents is the fact that they deprived her of any close familial ties. She’s an only child, she has no cousins that she knows of, and the mere hint that she might want some type of pet warrants that stony, frigid gaze from her mother that demands silence on the topic and makes her skin tingle with fear. Since Kira’s yet to make friends, she does the next best thing and hangs out at the local animal shelter often. The attendants are so familiar with her that they often ask her to come in and play with the animals when they’re short of staff. The familiarity is something Kira’s proud of, even if it’s nowhere near an actual friendship. Still, it’s more than any relationship she’s had in the past, and it’s given her someplace else she feels at home.

Kira’s romantic experience is exactly zero, zilch, nonexistent. But she’s had crushes before and feels that there’s something a little off compared to what she’s heard both from media portrayals and the few girls she’s known. There is no sexual tension or dirty daydreams for her, and the mere idea of being alone with someone in that setting and naked gives her butterflies for the wrong reasons. The extensive searching she’s done online has led her to the conclusion that she’s asexual. Of course she’s not so quick to label herself after having no actual experience. Maybe she hasn’t met the right person yet. Maybe it’s just because of her personality. But everything she’s read so far about asexuality leaves her thinking ‘That’s me’.

Kira often feels like she’s at odds with her parents, especially her mysterious mother, but she’s always had a soft spot for her father’s stories. She’s not sure if it was because he wanted to pass on a part of their heritage or because he was so passionate about them, but he’s told her tales of kumiho and kitsune for as long as she can remember. When other kids her age were listening to Harry Potter or Narnia at night, Kira was begging her father for more tales of trickster spirits luring travelers astray with the forms of beautiful women and samurai that avenged their lords at the cost of their lives. She used to enthusiastically claim she’d be a historian when she grew up just to watch her father’s eyes light up with pride. Now that’s she’s a teenager, she doesn’t lean towards that profession so strongly. However. Mr. Yukimura still finds his daughter curled up in his office with the books he used to read to her, and his tales of samurai and mythology still bring a soft smile to her lips.

⤜ What are some plots you’d like to explore with your character?

She knows it’s not exactly smart to go wandering around the woods. In fact, it’s dangerous and more than a little stupid. But something about the densely wooded area has always drawn her in, and she’s backed away too many times to keep ignoring it. What’s more, she doesn’t want to ignore it. Something about the forest just feels right, like the feeling she gets when she’s chasing after lightning. She knows there’s more to the place than just little forest critters, having seen a pair of eyes gazing solemnly back at her more than once. They seemed so intelligent, so piercing, she couldn’t have imagined it herself. So she sets off in her rattiest jeans and the mimimum equipment to survive several hours in the forest. But what she may find is definitely beyond her expectations.

Mercy Lewis leaves Kira absolutely dumbfounded with every encounter. It’s amazing and absolutely befuddling, considering half of the time the curly-haired girl doesn’t even do much to earn the reaction. The only thing Kira is absolutely certain of is that she wants them to be friends. She will start small. She can’t follow the girl, that’d be creepy. And blatantly asking to be friends would be childish. They aren’t elementary schoolers anymore. She can, if she tries hard enough, start a real conversation, ask to meet again or even ask for her number. She’ll do things normally, she won’t rush, and she won’t chicken out like she usually does. It’s simple, and might even seem sad, making her first friend as a junior in high school. But it’s the one specific goal she has for herself (save graduating, which is a do or die thing for Kira), so she has to see it through.

I really want her first act of self-assertion to come from standing up to Jeremy, but their relationship blurb only mentions the one encounter, so that’s a tentative plot idea. Another tentative one is becoming involved in the supernatural drama going around town, but I think it would be best to wait until she’s developed other relationships to plan that one.

⤜ Para sample:

(Retained for privacy.)

⤜ Would you like to be considered for another character if not accepted as your primary choice? (If yes, name the character.) Malia Tate?

⤜ Have you read the rules?: Yes

⤜ Anything else?

Nothing!

#lsrpg #Arden Cho #Arden Cho FC #Kira Yukimura #Kira Yukimura RP #Accepted

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