#& . daiyu musing

[mxstball]

@oflegendariesandtrainers from ask

"Hey, Aesen!" Lauren chuckled at Aesen and Godzilla accepted each of their gifts. "Sorry that it's been a while. A lot of us have been busy lately, especially Heidi. Hope you and your friends have been alright!"

Daiyu was smiling and waving at Aesen and was happy to see all of the Pokémon around them, but her attention was quickly sidetracked at a group of strange Pokémon that was nearby. Several of them looked like Pokémon she's seen before, but they looked like... robots? What is going on in this world?

Meanwhile, Lauren continued smiling and talking to her brother. "I'm doing alright. I actually quit my job over at Team Magma a few months ago. I finally finished my program to become a Pokémon Professor, which is partly why I have the new look~. New chapter of my life to keep up with little sis in my own way, you know?" Lauren chuckled.

Then, she turned to Daiyu. "As for this Giratina here she's--" She stopped as she was noticing Daiyu's confused face. "Uh... ? Is everything alright?"

"Wh--what!?" Daiyu snapped out of it. "O--oh, sorry. I'm uh... I'm fine! Just confused, really."

Lauren laughed and turned back to Aesen. "Anyway, this is Daiyu. You remember how I mentioned to you that I'm from a different world than Heidi and from Zinnia? Well, Daiyu is the Giratina of that world. We reconnected not long ago, so Heidi and I have been slowly introducing her to all of our friends and family." Lauren turned to Daiyu. "Daiyu. This is Aesen. He's one of my little brothers, and the current Champion of the Shokiko Region."

"Heya, Aesen. Hehe." Daiyu waved. "It's nice to meet you! I don't think we have a Shokiko in my world, but it's nice to be here either way."

"Oh, I nearly forgot to mention -- those treats for Godzilla? They came from Zinnia. Said something about how 'it's Godzilla's turn to get some love'. You know how she is."

[mythcaels-a]

* open to mutuals / daiyu.

❝ I'm alright . . . I was simply surprised by how cold the wind was. ❞ Hands rub at her exposed arms, realizing now she should've worn an outer layer to cover her arms but she had no idea it was going to get this cold so fast ( it had been so warm earlier ).

[thenxghtwemxt]

He does not recognize his bated breath, his itchy fingers. Waiting, perhaps, for Daiyu's approval and words of well wishes. With his parentals gone, Daiyu is the last figurehead that Angelo can turn his chin up to. It is a humbling feeling, one that he does not skirt away from. "Actually, it was she who proposed." He admits, hesitantly at first. Long-established machismo making it almost embarrassing to admit. However, it speaks to Arshiya's favor, so he carries on. "Fret not, I was a gentleman-" Angelo scoffs. "I got down properly on one knee soon after." Eyebrows piqued at the mention of children, he cannot help but speak to their mutual joining of families. "How is the young, newly betrothed couple?" Angelo pries, a lifted brow. Tian Feng hardly breathes a word to him these days. Why not find out from the soon-to-be bride's mother? "All that, and more. She's determined to take back her birth right. And so am I." A looming glance - war, once again, was on China's horizon.

the grin remains on her usually impassive face, an expression her loved ones know to read as fond. regardless of how daiyu might not agree to every single action taken by angelo, he is always regarded as one of her family, no matter the lack of a blood bond between them. "i believe you will. how long has this been in the making? when did you propose?" she cannot help but ask, wondering if it was a decision made in the last few months, or angelo has been considering it for far longer than that. and while she has not met her yet, daiyu is looking forward to doing so. wonders whether she will be a figure to ground his ideas, or match them with her own fire, is something only fate will tell. "oh yes, we have to arrange one. it has been so long since the last dinner we had together. i'll ask the children as well." and at that comment, she cannot help but laugh, shaking her head. "i can imagine. does she know what she got herself into?"

[paetal]

I'm going to go ahead and offer a small starter call for some of my older ocs that I feel deserve some love ( then I'll work on some asks & drafts I owe don't worry ). below are some of the older ocs up for grabs if you want to specify ( if not i'll spin the muse wheel of doom ).

Kiyoshi, Benji, Su-Bin, Tristan, Salem, Miyoung, Daiyu, Hyesu, Theo, Anzai, Du-ri, Akihiko, Ha-joon, Sage, Natsuko, Bao, Skyler, Mun-hee, Mingyu, Kaspar, Kiraz & Nick.

[poetsprophecy]

who: @angelsdvsts | daiyu where: botanical gardens, delilah is studying different plant life at the moment muse: delilah jo "dj" green is a twenty-two year old botanist. she enjoys all things plants and flowers, spending most of her time in a greenhouse. she has a strong southern accent.

delilah spent most of her time at the botanical garden during the summer, encapsulated by the different plant life. she would draw in her book as she took notes, writing down her different notes about the colors of the leaves or the way that the flower bloomed at different parts of the warm months. delilah had just finished jotting down a note about a certain flower when she noticed someone across the way, surrounded by different kinds of flowers. the small facts she knew about each flower got the best of her as she called out, "those are zinnia's. they symbolize friendship. incredibly beautiful aren't they?"

[officialfoxsquadron]

shiny happy people

7.2k words | my ao3

rating: mature

cw: discussions of starvation and eating disorders, vomiting and emetophobia, general bad coping mechanisms for trauma

summary: Cassian Andor does not know Pazima Reynard, except to know that they are one and the same; cold, cruel and calculating spies. When the asocial woman-and Cassian's sometime barber-returns to Rebel Base with a fourteen-year-old girl, he finds himself wrestling with the realities of being young during wartime.

“Would you like to hear the news?”

K-2SO’s clipped voice, typically so flat and emotionless, sparkled with a bit of excitement. Cassian Andor, Rebel spy, was sick to death of news. The Rebel droids were worse gossips than the organic beings. Besides, his whole damn job was news and gossip.

“I am going to hear it anyway,” Cassian grumbled, flipping the switches for the landing cycle. Crait, the home of the new Rebel base (and, Cassian supposed, his home), was a desolate, salty planet. The surface ran red as soon as you stepped on it. It made him uneasy.

K prattled on, some nonsense about the Senate and who was sleeping with who and who died. No one Cassian knew or cared about. But he let the droid talk as he watched the Rebel base grow larger, a bloody wound on Crait’s salt-white flesh. 

“Oh, and Pazima Reynard is back at base. She is married to Wedge Antilles and has a sister now.”

That caught his attention. Not necessarily Pazima Reynard’s personal life-frankly, he didn’t give a fuck-but it did remind Cassian he needed a haircut.

“What did we bring back to trade?” He looked over his shoulder, making a quick mental intake. Booze, cigarras, nudie holos, food from off-world–some combination of those would be enough to trade for a trim. He had not looked in the mirror since stitching up a blast wound back on Daiyu, but he knew that his hair had grown far too long. It fell sometimes, greasy and dark, in front of his eyes. 

A shame I cannot see the back of my own head, Cassian mused. Then I could just take care of it myself, and be done with it.

“Perhaps something for the girl,” K suggested, his voice surprisingly light. “She is fourteen.”

Fourteen . He sniffed. What madness had possessed Pazima to bring a teenager into an army base?

He shot K a dark look. “I don’t care,” he declared.

“As you say.” The droid paused. “Do not worry, Cassian. They will send you away again soon enough.”

He grunted, but said nothing. The voice of some traffic controllers crackled onto his comms, and Cassian responded in kind. He landed the ship without incident, and braced himself for the next few weeks in the cesspool of doomed young people he called home.

“I brought you something to trade.” He held up a holotape, something he had found stashed away.

Pazima Reynard, tall, stern and statuesque, stood blocking the doorway to her bunkroom. He had not seen her for more than a year. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Almost. Pazima, who wore her black hair in tight knots, complementing her angular face and tattooed copper skin, was not the type of woman to let you forget.

She eyed him skeptically, lifting an eyebrow. “You said whisky.”

“This is better. Music from before the Empire,” he said, stepping forward. He knew music was her great weakness. She snatched the tape from him, examining it.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Don’t remember.”

She sniffed, looking over the tape, and then down at him. “Fine,” she said haughtily, waving her hand and turning her back, “but only because you look pathetic, like a wet runyip.”

Cassian allowed himself to laugh and followed her into the bunkroom.

The bunkrooms on Crait are small, claustrophobic, dreary things, more like the prison cells on Narkina 5 than comfortable homes. At the very least, they had windows into the cavernous hallway, the artificial light providing a facsimile of normal family life. There was barely enough space for a chair and table, smushed into the back of the room. One of their four bunks was overflowing with junk. Above it sat Pazima’s new sister, curled into a ball and staring at him.

The girl was fourteen, according to K, but hunger had stunted her growth. She looked healthy enough now, if a bit pale, but Cassian saw the signs of past malnourishment. Limbs too short, skin covered in scars and stretched too taut, bones jutting like knives beneath her skin, threatening to pop at any moment. He was probably close to her age when he saw them in his own reflection, older still when he truly understood what it meant.

Still, he had grown into his looks. He wondered if she ever would. She bore a scar on one eye, red and angry and unsettling, making the pupil cloudy and gray. A shock of curly orange hair erupted from her head, messy and unkempt, falling to her shoulders.

A one-eyed ginger. What a catastrophe.

“Lottie,” Pazima said, gentler than he ever imagined her speaking, her deep voice the comforting rumble of thunder. “This is a colleague of ours, Cassian Andor.”

“Hello.” It came out shorter than he expected. It’s not that he disliked children, he just didn’t know what to do around them.

She blinked at him, then tilted her head, sizing him up like a fighter in the ring. Then, quick and quiet as a ghost, she scurried down the ladder and out of the room.

Pazima sighed wearily, watching her sister flash by in a red blur, shutting the door. “She hasn’t been talking much,” she said absently. “We thought she made some progress, but-” She turned to him abruptly. “You don’t care. Sit.”

She was right, of course. He respected Pazima, which was kind of like caring for someone, when respect is all you are allowed to feel.

“Colleague?” he teased lightly.

“What would you call it?”

He pondered that. “Hunters who sometimes chase the same prey.”

She grinned with approval. “Sit,” she insisted, gesturing again to her chair.

He breathed in and out, steadying himself. As much as he needed to be on base, to check in and regroup with his allies, he hated it. It was too banal, too domestic, too structured.

Relax, Cassian. It’s just hair.

Maarva cut his hair once. She was very bad at it, chopping roughly and chiding him to sit still through gritted teeth. Eventually, she gave up and outsourced it to an old man down the road. His name was Jossam, and he always had a sweet for him.

He sat in the chair and allowed Pazima to wrap an old blanket around his shoulders.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked, something he is sure he has asked her before.

“I went to an all-girls school,” she replied, as if that explained everything.

“Is that true?”

She snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

The scissors snipped at his hair lightly. It was uncomfortable, yet somehow relaxing to have someone touch him so matter-of-factly. Not insistent or passionate, like a lover, nor rough and feral like an enemy. The kind of touch that just is , and it’s enough to lull Cassian into a kind of madness.

His eyes fixed on the empty bunk where Pazima’s sister once was. Was he ever so young?

How old were you when you first killed someone? Do you even remember?

“I didn’t take you for the type,” he said quietly.

Pazima groaned like a teenager. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Judge.” Her eyes narrowed in warning when he turned to meet them.

“I’m not judging, I just thought-“ Thought you were too cold-hearted for that. That’s what we are, after all. Automatons made of stone and ice, sent to kill without thought, without question. He focused forward again, looking at the door. “Does she know what you are?”

“Of course she does, Cassian. Better than you .”

“And so what, so she will be-“

“Why do you care?”

It’s a sharp question, and a good one.

“I was a soldier too young.”

“So was I. I gave her a choice. I didn’t just take her.”

He woke up on Maarva and Clem’s ship with a deathly ringing in his head. Their voices, speaking frantically in hushed tones, grated on his ear. Worse, he couldn’t understand a thing they were saying-Galactic Basic was still harsh, discordant gibberish to him then.

I didn’t have a choice. 

Then again, Maarva would always say she didn’t have a choice either.

Pazima, ever the observant spy, snipped the scissors decisively. She twisted her mouth into the idea of a smile. 

“Perhaps we’re just getting old, Cassian. Bail Organa has brought his daughter to base.”

Yes, he knew that too. It was hard to miss the stalwart column of a girl standing next to her father, going from meeting to meeting in a pristine white dress, large brown eyes observant and calculating. 

“She isn’t much older than Lottie,” she suggested. 

She is looking for absolution, Cassian realized. Absolution from me.

He was sure he had woken up in the underworld that day. It was like they always told the younger children on Kenari, when the sun fell and the flickers of the campfire elongated their fingers into long shadows. Wander too far from the group, and you’ll end up in the world below ours. The one the off-worlders found when they dug too deep.

“Will they be my new allies? This…flock of teenage girls?”

“Believe it or not, Cassian, I wasn’t thinking of you when I found her.”

“Then what were you thinking?” There it is, the kill shot, the question Cassian really wanted to ask. He wanted to grab her and scream it in her face. What is it, that compels you to rip a child away from their home, teach them a new language, force them to fight for the galaxy?l

Pazima stopped, taken aback by his fervor, before stepping in front of him. The sound of her boots echoed on the cave floor. She gripped the arms of his chair, one, then another, her pair of scissors balled into a fist. Cassian felt himself leaning back, and watched as that facsimile of a smile twisted into something uglier, meaner, as she leaned forward, filling the empty space with herself.

“You’re in my home, Cassian.” Her voice was soft, but sharp, a velvet glove concealing a steel fist. The muscles in her long tattooed arms twitched in anticipation, as if her body itself hungered for a fight. She lifted an eyebrow, brown eyes delighting in his physical disadvantage. She was stronger, taller, and had him practically trapped beneath her. 

In other words, he was prey, and she the predator, deciding if she would devour him. If it was anyone else, any time else, Cassian would have reached for his blaster.

But regret slowed his hand. What was he doing? He hardly knew this woman, only that she was dangerous, and he had questioned her, threatened her, pushed his own past into her present.

“Mind your tone.”

It was an order. He nodded.

Quickly, and as if nothing had happened, her hands left the chair and she walked back behind him, trimming his hair again.

They passed a few moments of silence, enough for Cassian to continue wallowing in remorse. She takes another strand of hair, and before cutting, decides to speak.

“Do you remember the Jedi?” she asked.

What a strange question. He had been alive when the Jedi were active-or so he thought. Kenari was far away from such things, and the idea that there was any sort of power in the galaxy besides the Empire was a distant fantasy. 

“No.”

“They took children away from their parents. There was a Jedi general in the Clone Wars who was twelve .”

“I didn’t know you were religious.” 

“I’m not. I just remember.” Pazima ran two of her fingers through Cassian’s hair, snipping away again. “This galaxy has always forced children to grow up too fast. With me, at least she will have steady meals and a bed.”

“She will be in a war.”

“She always was.”

The conversation lulls, and the monotonous sound betrays the electric charge in the air. Both of them knew what was happening; they were digging and digging, getting dangerously close to something honest.

Neither of them liked honesty. Honesty is what kills you. Lies kept you alive.

Yet honesty was irresistible, a gravitational pull. How many times had Cassian seen it–one truth spilled out, then another, then another, until you were weeping, telling your life story to someone you barely knew? How many times had he exploited it?

Pazima knew that too. They were liars, both of them.

When she spoke again, he wasn’t surprised to find the truth pouring out of her. Her voice was distant, quiet, as if it came from someplace far away.

“You and I won’t be alive to see the galaxy we hope to build. Surely you understand that.”

“Yes.” Wars were fought by teenagers, twenty-somethings. Pazima was in her thirties, Cassian not far behind. Young by peacetime standards, practically elderly in wartime. The clock had never ticked louder.

“What are we doing it all for, if not for them?”

That’s just love. Nothing you can do about that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cassian admitted, his eyes on the empty bunk. “But I don’t remember ever being so young.”

Pazima sighed, long and weary, following Cassian’s gaze.

“Neither do I.”

A week goes by, maybe more, and the next time he passes the Reynards’ bunkroom, it’s a muffled roar of sound.

Cassian can’t help himself. Ever the spy, he slips into the shadows and looks through their window, curious at what he will find.

Wedge Antilles, Pazima Reynard’s husband, was the very model of a Rebellion pilot. Young, cocky, brash, and handsome. The type of man other men with too much adrenaline love to idolize. Not exactly who he thought Pazima would go for, but then again, he barely knew her.

He observed Wedge with an attempt at cool disinterest, though in truth, he found himself jealous at the easy way he flitted in and out of the window’s view, the winning smiles he gave the men gathered around him.

Laughter rose and fell, and then rose again, the sharp noise growing louder as Wedge opened and closed the door.

“Lottie! Where the hell have you-” Cassian made to scurry off, but it was too late. Wedge’s eyes locked onto his. “Oh, hello. Cassian Andor, right?” He stuck his hand out. “Wedge Antilles. Pazima said she cut your hair.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said, shaking his hand, searching quickly for an escape.

“This what you like to do?” Wedge said, flashing that smile and stepping forward, a bit of a sway in his walk. “You like to watch?”

Cassian snorted, the side of his mouth twitching despite himself. “I am an intelligence officer. It’s my job to be curious.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us.” He gestured to the door with a beer bottle in his hand. “It’s a tight squeeze, but you’ll fit.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “Crowds make me uncomfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” Wedge said, shrugging. His manner was easy, but Cassian saw something in the young man’s eyes, a fierce intelligence. He knitted his thick black brows together, darting his eyes up and down the hallway. “Have you seen Pazima’s sister, by the way? Short, redheaded, one-eyed. Very hard to miss.”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.” He clapped Cassian on the shoulder, before pointing a finger at him. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m serious.”

Cassian wanted to curl up in a hole. This was exactly the type of social interaction he hated. What an embarrassing thing it was, to need people.

Still, he nodded. Wedge seemed to be a worthy ally. 

“Good night, Captain Antilles.”

“Night.”

The door closed, and Cassian walked away, determined to get back to his ship and sleep alone. He hated it here-all of them crammed into bunks carved into a cave, He longed to get a mission, any mission, fly with K2 somewhere shady and seedy and terrible, away from this prison of domesticity.

A sound from the shadows pricked at his ears, pulling him out of his reverie.

He knew the sound of drunken retching far too well, and someone was heaving, little gasps coming in between deep eruptions of sound.

He wanted to turn away, but something told him to stay. He should at least try to be a part of a community again.

“Hello?” he called, stepping towards the sound. “Do you need a medic?”

Two eyes peeked out from the shadows, the cold artificial light causing them to sparkle like stars.

Then Lottie Reynard stumbled forward, and promptly vomited onto Cassian’s shoes.

“What the fuck,” he groaned, shaking his foot and recoiling in disgust.

The girl blinked, scanning Cassian’s face as she wiped spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked truly pathetic, gripping the neck of a liquor bottle with white knuckles, chunks of vomit intertwined in her ragged red curls.

He almost pitied her, until he found himself slammed against the wall, a shriek ringing in his ears and a blade digging into his skin.

This is what you get for being kind, Cassian. Puke on your shoes and a knife at your throat.

He looked down at her, this tiny, savage animal.

“I could reach for my blaster and kill you,” he whispered. 

Her eyes flitted towards the weapon, then back to him, jutting her chin. “You would hesitate,” she reckoned, eyes narrowing as she scanned his face. Pazima said she didn’t talk, and perhaps it was better that way. Her voice was squeaky, so high-pitched it was almost grating, with a nearly indecipherable accent. “You are the type of man who hesitates to kill a child.”

“Am I?” He looked down at the weapon at his throat. Its wavy edges were sharp and fine, the blade decorated with etchings he could not quite see. “Your knife is very beautiful,” he said calmly. The tip pricked the skin of his neck, drawing blood. He groaned and held his hands in the air, a gesture of peace, but his irritation was clear. “I am only trying to get back to my ship.”

“You startled me,” she said in a much smaller voice, before withdrawing and sheathing the knife against her thigh.

“You shouldn’t draw a weapon on strangers here. Not everyone is as kind as me.”

“You kill children,” she hissed, closing the gap between them once again. He could smell her sickly-sweet breath, see how her mismatched eyes shook with nervous energy.

He leaned closer, keeping his voice even.

“So do you.”

That was enough to get her to back away, working her jaw, wiping her mouth again before taking a swig from her bottle. 

It was jarring to watch a teenager drink from a bottle like one born to it. His heart, stupid thing, spoke before his brain. “I was like you once.”

The girl scoffed, face twisting in disgust as she rolled her eyes, tossing her messy hair. “So what does that make you? My daddy?” She said the last two words with such mocking disdain, and he found himself laughing in spite of himself. 

“I am too young for that.” I hope. “I meant I was very hungry once. Did you eat something today?”

“I-” She blinked, shaking her head, turning into herself. “No. I forgot.”

“You should,” he said. He pulled a ration bar from his pocket. “Especially if you plan on drinking half a bottle of gin.”

She looked at the bottle in her hand, before taking the bar and devouring the way only starving children could, crumbs falling onto her shirt. “I shouldn’t, I know, I just…I don’t sleep so good anymore.”

“So well.”

“What?”

“So well. Basic wasn’t my first language either.”

“Oh, great. A Basic lesson as well as a fucking lecture.” Her words slurred together, and she slumped against the wall.

Cassian shook his head, getting up. “Good night. I’ll tell Wedge where you are.”

“No-wait, Cassian.” She reached out, trying to tug at his jacket, his leg, before falling and stumbling again. He turned around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, something startlingly honest and pleading in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I think I’ve forgotten how to trust people,” she added quietly, folding further into herself.

“That’s alright,” he said, as gently as he possibly could. “I have too.”

Quicker than lightning, she stood up and swiped at the blood on his neck, collecting it onto the tip of her finger. He watched her, stunned, as she observed it dripping on her fingers, illuminated by moonlight.

Then, she closed her eyes, swaying just a bit, before nodding.

“You will die on a beach, in the arms of the woman you love,” she said, quiet and assured. She opened her eyes and smiled, a sincere attempt at comfort. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She shook the blood off of her hands and disappeared. They never spoke again.

The years have changed them all.

Cassian is still sullen, but then there is Jyn Erso, all fiery hope and determination, and she pierces him straight to the core. She makes the world come alive again, and with her, Cassian feels that there might be a future. Not for him, maybe, but for someone.

Scarif is a beach planet, and there is very little time for goodbyes.

Pazima Reynard is not a part of the Scarif mission. Whoever she is off of base, on base she is a mechanic. Even with a welding mask over her face, she was easy to spot. Her hair was now dyed a bright greenish-blue, locs piled onto her head, adding even more height to her tall frame. Sparks flew around her as she worked, illuminating her tattooed skin.

He was not a loud man, but he called her name. She lifted the mask, running her sweat and oil-slick hands into a towel.

“Your hair is very bright,” he observed.

“Cassian.” Her face remained passive, but her voice was rich with warmth. “Got bored on a stakeout.”

“A stakeout? Funny place for a mechanic to be.”

“Yes, well,” She abandoned her thought, crossing her arms. “I hear you’ll be leaving soon.”

“Keep it quiet.” he said, voice dropping to a semi-serious, conspiratorial whisper. “If we need it, can we rely on you to rally the pilots?”

“Of course. I’ve roped Bail in as well. You’ve got people here rooting for you.”

He took a look around Rebel Base, maybe for the last time. This one, built out of an abandoned temple on Yavin IV, is much better than Crait. There’s something freeing about Yavin, like the Rebels have carved out a slice of the jungle, hidden away just for them. For a year or so, it felt like nothing could touch them.

Then Jyn Erso, and the Death Star. 

Time waits for no one. He won’t inherit the galaxy they’re building.

I’ll miss this, he thought, surprising himself. I’ll miss being on the outside of this, the great concentric circles of people, orbiting around each other. He had not had a home for a very long time, but Rebel Base was as close as he could get. 

A chorus of shrieking giggles interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Lottie Reynard laughing with a Mirilan medic, the two child-women passing cards between them and the droid mechanic K loved, some teenage boy with thick glasses. 

Their eyes met, very briefly, before Lottie ducked her head down, hiding the bright pink blush creeping up her skin.

Her words have rattled around in his head. They were easy enough to pass off as the drunken, nonsense ramblings of a half-mad fourteen year old.

Then he met Jyn, and saw the Death Star’s destruction.

“Sorry,” Pazima said absently, putting a hand on her hip. “I have tried to tell her she laughs like a Kowakian monkey-lizard. You can imagine how that went.”

Cassian shook his head. Truthfully, he took some kind of comfort in the fact that despite everything, teenage girls will always giggle too loud.

Then it hits him. Lies require time. The truth is something immediate, something to do when there’s no time left.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You’ve done a good job with her.”

It was like watching a mask come off, seeing the confusion on Pazima’s features. Her brows knitted together, and then a smile. She had dimples when she smiled. He had never noticed before.

“I thought you didn’t care,” she said, after a moment.

“I don’t,” he said. “So you can trust me. A neutral observer. A former skeptic, even.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head, looking at Lottie, then her boots, tapping her foot absently. “Well, glad you’re convinced,” she mumbled. “I’m still not.”

“I don’t think parents ever think they do a good job,” he said. “My mother thought I had too many women, too many secrets. She still loved me, though. And that was enough.”

Pazima hummed, and he watched as she looked over at her sister again, before turning to him, sighing deeply.

“I’m not good at this kind of talk,” she admitted.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss her worries. “Then I’ll let you get back to work. But…” He looked at her, really looked, noting the deep-set inner corners of her eyes, her flat, straight nose, her full lips, her high cheekbones, her square jaw, the freckles dotting her cheeks. He let himself take in the sight of a supernaturally beautiful woman, for no other reason than he could.

“Can I ask you for a favor? You’re the only one I can trust with it.” He reached for her hand, not caring about the oil and grease staining them, only caring for a desperate moment of connection.

If Pazima was confused before, she was even more so now, shocked at his sudden display of emotion.

“Cassian-“

“There is a woman, her name is Kerri. She’s from Kenari. She’d be twenty-nine, maybe thirty by now. If…if you hear about her doing whatever it is you do, look into it for me, okay? She’s probably dead, but someone has to.”

Pazima squeezed his hand, nodding like one taking a solemn vow. “I will.”

Lottie has always been an awful sailor, which is one of her more irritating qualities.

Pazima had thought, when she first found her, that she would take to it. She had hoped the ocean could be a mother to Lottie, the way it is to her. But she didn’t-her fingers so deft with a blade were clumsy with a knot, and she couldn’t remember half of the things she needed to.

Just follow the wind, Pazima. Chart your course, but follow the wind.

It was a rare opportunity for them, this trip to Ethamaia. One day, Wedge and Jax had announced proudly that they had swindled Wedge’s own parents out of the place. One of their ridiculous schemes, but it had paid off. Like so many times before, the Rebellion splintered after the battle of Yavin, scattering and hiding until a new, safer base could be found.

But for the first time in many years, this didn’t feel like hiding. It felt like resting. It felt like exhaling.

They needed this, fuck , did they need it. The battle of Scarif was a bloodbath, a litany of dead allies, dead friends. Alderaan was worse. And then the battle of Yavin, a desperate last stand against total annihilation…

Bail Organa used to tell her this was a war of a thousand cuts. Well, Bail, she wanted to ask him, do you still think that will work? Because we’ve all been cut a thousand times, and yet here we are, bleeding out.

Of course, Bail was dead now, blown up by a superweapon, and she could hardly rage against his nineteen-year-old daughter, showing up to command armies in her soiled white dress.

She exhaled and looked out at the sea, bundling rope in her hands. This was the last part of her past she allowed in her life. She was someone else once, someone with parents and brothers, and the sea was a part of her very blood. No matter how much she tried to forget–and she did–the sea still remembered. It still called to her, the vast expanses of blue, broken up only by white, sparkling sands. She looked over at her sister. She perched on the rail of the ship, swinging her legs absently as she smoked. Did she pick up that habit on Coruscant, or from Pazima? She couldn’t remember, and had never cared to stop it. You had to deal with the war somehow, and it was either that or the bottle or bad, weird sex. Pazima had tried all three, and found a cigarra the least destructive.

There was something striking about Lottie-not always the best quality in an assassin, Pazima would admit, but it drew her in. Her face was that of a brutalized doll. It was heart shaped and sweet, with something bullish about it too—a missing eye, a crooked, broken nose, round cheeks that went from cute to jowly depending on her mood. The sun was setting, which made her orange-red hair more brilliant. A bit of fire amongst the endless waves. It was her one truly beautiful feature, and Pazima watched as it twisted, blown by the salty sea air.

She is a woman now, Pazima lamented. Lottie has been for a while, but sentiment-stupid thing-stopped her from seeing clearly.

Cassian Andor once asked her why she had taken Lottie in. The answer still eluded her. There were some ready made ones, of course. Lottie was a sad young girl who Pazima helped to safety; the sob story she gave the Rebellion. Lottie was prodigiously talented at killing with a finely tuned survival instinct, able to move between man and woman, innocent and cunning in an instant; the reasons she gave Wedge, and the reasons why Lottie made such a good assassin.

But none of them sufficed. None of them were right.

There was an idea the Creidye had, the lower-level Coruscanti cult that had spawned Charlotte Reynard into the galaxy. They thought families could be forged, built by durasteel knives and blood bonds. Pazima despised most of their ideology, their fanaticism, their slavish devotion. But the Creidye had helped her when she needed it. She owed them a debt, like it or not.

So when she found herself in the lower levels, after a decade away from the planet that raised her, and found it filled with feral children, what choice did she have?

“Stop looking at me.” Lottie had eyes in the back of her head sometimes–something Pazima had trained her to have, an acute awareness of her surroundings. She felt a blush of pride at her sister’s perception.  “Or at least tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Just thinking we’re the same, you and I.”

“Oh?” She turned to her, exhaling smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Well, I would think so, we’re sisters.”

Pazima snorted out a laugh. A secret smile passed between them.

Lottie spoke again, hopping onto the deck with a dancer’s flair. “Cassian Andor said the same thing once.”

She crossed her arms. “That you’re sisters?”

“That he and I were the same.”

“Huh.” She was fairly sure Cassian held a personal grudge against Lottie for existing. The things you learn after people die. She took the cigarra from her sister’s delicate fingers and inhaled, before croaking out a response. “I didn’t know you talked to him.”

“I didn’t. I put a knife to his throat once.”

“ Charlotte! ”

“I was drunk, it wasn’t a good decision,” Lottie shrugged, as if that was an excuse.

Pazima pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling the cigarra again, feeling the smoke choke at her lungs. “Please tell me this was an isolated incident.”

“If it wasn’t, one of us would’ve died a lot earlier,” Lottie pointed out.

“That-” Pazima exhaled, in and out, attempting to find patience. It was a hard thing to find around Lottie, even harder when she was right about something. “You are aggravating.”

“Yes.” She paused, blinking. “But you have to admit it’s kind of funny.”

“I once was under Imperial torture nonstop for a week. Guess what I admitted?” She bent over, curling her lip in triumph. “Nothing, little sister.”

Lottie blinked, taking the cigarra from her. “Only you could find a way brag about surviving Imperial torture.”

Do you know why I chose you, Pazima? His voice, the Fox assassin that had taught and trained her, the one she had held in her arms as he died, rose from the whirlpool of memory. Because you, dear one, can endure.

“Just trying to impart some wisdom. A lesson for you.”

“I’m bored with lessons.” Lottie slouched onto the side of the railing, tossing her hair. She could be quite glamorous when she wanted, curls of red hair and curls of smoke intertwining, a budding femme fatale.

She could also be supremely annoying.

How many times had Pazima heard that particular complaint? Trying to teach her to read was the worst. It’s so booooo-ring, Pazzy. All the letters switch up and dance in my mind.

“You will be the only Fox left after I die,” Pazima said. The Fox, an ancient line of assassins, reduced now to two women on a boat. The history of whatever they were was gone. “Someday, you’ll miss my boring lessons.”

“No, that’s not right,” Lottie said, scrunching her nose and shaking her head. “We’re both meant to bear witness.”

There she was, the priestess, spouting inane prophecies. Lottie saw time differently. They all did, the Creidye, giving up individual Force sensitivity for something different, something communal. Something borne of a world with no moon and no sun and no seasons. Something kept hidden and locked away. Something even the Jedi feared. Something that it took an entire city-planet to bury.

How does one stop the tide , Pazima wondered. How does one stop the rain?

“You have to stop saying odd shit, Lottie. Especially when you’re not around me.”

“Luke says odd shit,” Lottie pouted, tossing the stubbed cigarra with deadly accuracy to a trash can.

Pazima groaned, throwing her head back. Luke this and Luke that. He was Lottie’s most recent obsession, the Jedi descended from the very heavens to save them all. 

“Luke blew up the Death Star.” And he’s a man and a fucking Skywalker, she wanted to add. Two advantages we both lack.

“Everyone remembers the Jedi more than the Coruscanti,” Lottie said.

“He’s as green as they come,” she countered. Greener . “He’s from the Outer Rim, things are different there. And you’re not just Coruscanti.” Pazima smirked. “I’m sure you tell him quite a story about your homeworld.”

“And what of it?” Lottie hissed. “Am I forbidden from even speaking of them now?”

Pazima scoffed, but shook her head. This was the hardest thing to articulate to her, the kind of  wisdom that only came with age. Pazima was old by Rebel standards-thirty-five-but so damn young compared to real people. 

The things Lottie had survived created only two things. Cynic, and zealot. Lottie had latched onto religion, despite Pazima’s objections. Now this kid, this son of Skywalker…

This is a war for the zealots now, fought by idealistic, traumatized teenagers. She looked up at the stars, just beginning to wink at her as the sun dipped below the horizon line. She found the light of Alderaan, still blazing bright, a beacon from a better time.

Endure, Pazima, endure.

“You are still dreaming of a world that does not exist.” Or maybe it did once. Perhaps the brilliant under-levels of Coruscant, with its boundless love and fiery magic and theatrical trickery, the one Pazima knew filled Lottie’s head, perhaps it still existed, burning alongside Alderaan.

“You don’t like Luke,” she observed, tilting her head.

“My personal feelings have nothing to do with it,” Pazima said, grateful for the change in topic. “He’s dangerous, we’d all do well to remember that.”

“Yeah, but he’s kind,” Lottie insisted. “Like Cassian.”

“Yes,” Pazima admitted. Which made him all the more unpredictable. What happens when the kindness burns away, and only the ashes and his raw power remain? He’s already killed millions, they just happened to be on the wrong side. 

Perhaps someday I will be done with grief , she thought. She could have all the time in the galaxy, and it still wouldn’t be enough to list those she had lost. It’s hardest to mourn someone like Cassian, someone who she barely knew yet knew better than anyone. They were too similar, the two of them, too intense and brooding.

Cassian was giddy when he smiled, like a little boy. It was so rare and it always made Pazima’s heart stop for a very brief moment. She did not love him, she hardly knew him. Yet it was enough to remind her of all she had lost.

“Why did Cassian say you were the same?”

“I dunno,” Lottie shrugged, voice quiet. “Something about being hungry.”

“Hm.” Lottie had been hungry, that was true enough. The Creidye were rich in revolutionary ideas and dusty legends, but very poor in any real resources. She hadn’t known Cassian was hungry. But then again, she never asked. Pazima had long ago learned to live with regrets, to let them wash over her like waves.

“Everyone always sees what they want in me,” Lottie muttered. “No one ever sees me for me.”

Her brow furrowed. Her sister was as prone to fits of melancholy as she was to vague prophecies. As far as Pazima was concerned, one had as little value as the other. She couldn’t have Lottie fall into despair, any less than she could have her go mad.

“I see you.” She petted a hand over her sister’s hair. Pazima knew she was bad at this. She was too direct, too cold, all of the warmth burnt out of her long ago. 

It’s a wonder Lottie’s only a chain-smoker.

“No,” Lottie said, tracing a finger over a scar on her arm. “No, you don’t.” 

A small crack formed in Pazima’s heart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry , she wanted to say. I hope I gave you enough time to be young.

Then Lottie shrugged, easy and languid, so much like Wedge–the warm brother and father Pazima never quite could be, the one Lottie so desperately needed. “That’s okay. I don’t think I see you clearly either.”

Pazima huffed out a laugh, relieved that the gloomy spell seemed to have passed. 

“By design,” she said. “A blank, beautiful slate, for idiots to see what they want.”

“Are you saying I’m an idiot?”

She wrapped an arm around her sister, pulled her to her, and kissed the top of her head.

“Yes.”

She stood up, walking over to where she had set up a little holotape player. Pazima was done talking. How foolish she had been, so many years ago, thinking spycraft would be all blasters and fast ships and fabulous dresses. It was mostly just talking, navigating the asteroid fields of wit and words and agendas. 

At the very least , she thought, looking over at Lottie, she’s better at that than I am.

She thumbed through her box of tapes, finding the one she was searching for.

Cassian had swindled her out of a haircut for it. She had high rates–after all, along with being the best mechanic and the best shot in the Rebellion, she was the best, and for a while the only, hairdresser. Still, she had let him pay with just this one little holotape, big brown eyes, and a sob story. 

Your enemies must think you are strong. Only you, Pazima, can know you are weak.

“Cassian gave me this,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Lottie, holding the tape between two fingers. “On Crait, after we got back to the Rebellion from Laakteen.”

Lottie scrambled to her feet, snatching the tape from Pazima’s hands, wrinkling her nose as she read the title. “Chaos Theory by Senators of Rhythm. What is this, jizz? Gonkrock?”

“Nah, more…electro-twang, I’d call it, but a little funkier than that. I never thought this would’ve been Cassian’s thing.”

“The kind of music you used to sing?”

Pazima smiled, allowing herself a bit of wistfulness. “No, little sister. But a good kind of music nonetheless.”

“Won’t the neighbors hear?” Lottie asked. They had docked on a little inlet, far enough from any real trouble, but still close enough to see the tops of the shell-white mansions peeking over the horizon line

She smirked. On Ethamaia, their neighbors were arms dealers and Imperial swine.

“Fuck ‘em.” she declared, and Lottie giggled giddily. 

Pazima could’ve admonished Lottie for the laugh-it was loud and wild, much like her, and certainly too attention-drawing for any assassin-but how could she? If there was anything that drew the sisters together, that drew all Coruscanti together, it was music. 

Pazima wasn’t a Coruscanti in the way her sister was. She wasn’t born under the city, nor even in one of the skyscrapers of the wealthy. Her home planet, Xuhiri, was vast and blue and sparse in a way someone like Lottie could only imagine. But like all of the female scions of great noble houses, Pazima was shipped off to Coruscant to learn how to smile and please, to host dinner parties and flatter the egos of wealthy men. It was in that great orchestra of a city, a symphony of speeder horns and conversation, that she first knew what love was.

Love was the sound of a Bith soprano at the Galaxies Opera House. A street busker strumming their double viol on the streets of Uscru Entertainment district, nodding and smiling as Pazima tossed a credit their way. And love, well, of course it was the Creidye performance troupes, emerging from the lower levels, soaking up the meager sun as they beat their heavy drums, their long hair swaying in time with the music and their dancers twirling their swords, the blades running over scarred skin and somehow never drawing blood.

She pressed play on the holotape and closed her eyes. She heard the familiar beat of a song long forgotten, a drum kit cuing in the singer and the backing band.

Her sister was already fidgeting in time with the music when Pazima reached out her hand, as if the music coursed through her very blood.

She took her hand gladly, and Pazima spun her sister around, watching her beautiful red hair twirl around her.

Dancing with her, on the deck of this ship that was somehow theirs, feet remembering steps she had learned long ago on Coruscant, to the music given to them by a dead man, Pazima couldn’t help but feel like this was all a dream. It was too nice, too sweet. The laughter came to her unbidden, flowing like a stream from her belly to her breath.

She watched Lottie, seventeen and hopelessly alive. Their two bodies moved in time as they danced, one scarred, one tattooed, both wearing their histories on their skin.

She felt again that prick of guilt, the one that threatened to consume her, the one Cassian had found so long ago, when Lottie was still half-mute. She was dancing now, and Cassian was dead.

There was no room for guilt, not anymore. The cause was still a hopeless one when Pazima brought Lottie to base. That had all changed now, thanks to the sandy-haired Jedi’s son from Tatooine.

He could win them the war. And Lottie, well…

Pazima sent a silent prayer to the waves.

If she dies, let her die young. Let her become a martyr and stay young and wild and beautiful forever.

And please, please, please, let me die before her.

[thenxghtwemxt]

His slippery proclivities lend itself to these extreme situations. A series of intermediaries sent to spread word of the going's on - just in case. Like water, Angelo will happily slip through the cracks to avoid a pointless war. Though a high ranking commander of the naval army, he would not bend to senseless violence. Not without cause. Unfortunately, the remainder of his Qing siblings do not seem to share in that. The news of Kai-ming's injury arrives just before he enters the family apartments. Concerned, but not unfurled - it takes a lot before Angelo bends himself into knots of anxiety.

"Ensuring a viable escape route." He answers Daiyu with the same condescending tone as her own. Some may be intimidated by the eldest child of the Emperor, the foregone conclusion as ruler until a few years ago... But Angelo remains undeterred. "If it truly came to a war, surely the pragmatic thing for any leader to do is think of a safe way out." His words are loaded with insinuation. He, too, is a leader of this family.

closed starter — @thenxghtwemxt

china apartments

after the incident in the grand hall

the night had been chaotic, at best. and now kai-ming lay in the infirmary to have her injuries assessed. daiyu stayed with her for a short time but found her inability to control her emotions far too difficult and had to excuse herself. the last thing she wanted was to make things worse for her youngest sister.

daiyu stood next to the window, looking out over the gardens, though she could see little through the darkness. she heard the apartment door open and whirled around excitedly, eager for her sister's return, but instead found her brother. the princess' face fell, her disappointment undeniable. "and where have you been?" she questioned, unable to even recall seeing him during the commotion that injured their sister.

[kyberblade]

I Can Help With That (Din x Reader) - A Back To You Drabble | Coming September 1st!

Summary: After a messy bounty leaves your clan of three staying overnight in a dingy room on Daiyu, feelings come bubbling up that have been otherwise too scared to see the light of day.

A Back To You drabble as part of Kyberblade’s Phantom 1k Celebration.

Xxx

Want to be on my tag list? This post explains how to sign up so I can keep it organized!

Or follow my update blog @kyberblade-musings and turn on notifications to know when I post!

[dracocheesecake]

Cold

Summary: Kai is undead. Daiyu is undead. Yet she's still a reptile, and it's only natural she should seek out some warmth.

Just some random drabble about Daiyu's musings during her time with Kai in Jaded Destiny

She kept expecting him to be warm.

It made sense: he was a bull, a large mammal covered in thick fur. He should have been warm, and she kept expecting that when she touched him, her black scales would absorb his heat, it would spread through her body, and his warmth would be hers also; but it never was like that.

She wanted him to share his warmth with her. He never did. Not that he could, nor could she partake in it even if he wanted her to: he was dead. She was dead. Spirit Warriors had no need to keep a steady body temperature.

And yet, when he stood in the cold air, there was a deceptive exhalation of mist that wooshed out of his nostrils, or seeped from between his teeth whenever he spoke. Daiyu mostly blamed this for her misconception: the illusion of breath warmed by flowing blood. She wanted to reach her hands up towards his muzzle and cup that breath in her palms.

Of course, if she did that, she knew she would only receive colder palms and an odd look. That didn’t stop the impulse, though, or the longing that grew from it that seemed to draw out what little warmth she still held in her soul.

It wasn't that he was cold, exactly; that would be the chill of death, and death had long ago released them both, and wanted nothing else to do with them; the air had nothing to do with it, either- whether it was hot or cold outside, his skin always felt the same when her claws brushed over it.

When her arms wrapped around him- in those rare moments, during those cold cold nights that never seemed to touch them anymore, when it wasn't even needed- it was like embracing a stone. He held her back, he always did, never refusing what she offered- and it was like being embraced by stone; and she knew her body wasn't any different to him.

Still, that offer was always there, both extending it to each other, the only company either of them had, coldness and lack and all. And maybe the lack they offered helped to fill the void; that they should offer to each other the nothing they had, that only the sentiment behind the offer should be enough.

Her tepidness. His tepidness. That sentiment to warm them.

He was never warm.

And yet she kept expecting him to be warm, if she only pressed closely enough.

[mxstball]

Vivienne's Birthday

"Happy birthday, Vivienne!" Serena placed down a cake and some ice cream for Xerneas. Artemis-Zygarde, Leifi, Lilian, and a new special guest was with her, too.

"Awww. Thank you all."

"Congratulations on the birthday, Miss Vivienne."

"Thank you, my deer. I especially thank you for agreeing to join us on my special day."

"Hehe." She was smiling ear-to-ear.

Lilian chuckled. "It is tradition that thou shalt slow thine eyes, make a wish, and blow thy candles."

Vivienne nodded. "I know. I know..."

"Hehe. Before you do.... Aren't we forgetting something?"

Vivienne blinked. "Huh?"

"Oh, right. Serena found a birthday song on her Holo Caster that she had us practice to sing."

Leifi nodded. "Exactly!"

"Alright! A-one! A two! A three!"

Serena, Lilian, Leifi, and Artemis started to sing their birthday song together. It sounded like they practiced a lot at this

Bon anniversaire, nos vœux les plus sincères Que ces quelques fleurs vous apportent le bonheur Que l'année entière vous soit douce et légère Et que l'an fini, nous soyons tous réunis Pour chanter en chœur : "Bon Anniversaire !"

"Awwww~" Vivienne was touched by the song. "Oh, that was so sweet, everyone. Thank you."

"Hehe. Now hurry! Make your wish and let's root for a great year!"

Vivienne nodded and closed her eyes. Then, she blew the candles, causing the fire to go out. Vivienne wished for another year of prosperity -- another year where she and the others can meet and take in more friends -- from humans like Serena and Kathy to creatures in this world like Lilian and Zygarde, to even those from other dimensions like Leifi and now Daiyu. With each passing year and with each additional companion, the world was becoming more of a home, more of a paradise. She hoped that the same could be said from the other's perspectives as well.

Everyone started to jump, clap, and cheer for the Life Giver. As for her, she loved times like these -- little excuses like birthdays to spend unadulterated time with the many different parts of her family. As such, she was always grateful.

[finalsurvivorgrp]

finalsurvivorgrp is a multi muse blog featuring original characters that are based off major horror movies. Multi-ship and Multi-verse. Written by Kit (+18, EST). Like for a plotting DM/ Reblog for a random starter.

rules. muses. open starters.

Amanda Oswald. 29 years old. True Crime Writer. Nonbinary. Bisexual. FC: Snitchery. Survivor of Sinister.

Beatrice Strode. 22 years old. Psychology Student. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Florence Pugh. Survivor of Halloween.

Bryce Graham. 30 years old. Criminal Lawyer. Nonbinary. Bisexual. FC: Will Poulter. Survivor of Hereditary.

Caroline Kim. 31 years old. Graphic Artist. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Hyuna. Survivor of The Evil Dead.

Carrie Won. 25 years old. Seamstress. Cisgender Female. Homosexual. FC: Jeongyeon. Survivor of Carrie.

Cate Starling. 52 years old. FBI Agent. Cisgender Female. Heterosexual. FC: Winona Ryder. Survivor of The Silence of the Lambs.

Catherine Johnston. 38 years old. The Director. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Tessa Thompson. Survivor of The Cabin in the Woods.

Daiyu Wang. 25 years old. Fashion Designer. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Xie Anran. Survivor of Hostel.

Davy Torrance. 29 years old. Bartender. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Logan Lerman. Survivor of The Shining.

Deon Donahue. 30 years old. Director. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Jordan Fischer. Survivor of The Blair Witch Project.

Jacob Brody. 51 years old. Marine Biologist. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Patrick Wilson. Survivor of Jaws.

Jenni LaDomas. 33 years old. CEO. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Diane Guerero. Survivor of Ready Or Not.

Johnny Marlowe. 30 years old. Videographer. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Dylan O’Brien. Survivor of As Above So Below.

Jordan Cotton. 32 years old. Unemployed. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Tiffany Young. Survivor of Hellraiser.

Katsume Ito. 26 years old. Social Worker. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Momo. Survivor of Ringu.

Kyungsoo Kim. 29 years old. Police Detective. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Wonho. Survivor of The Wailing.

Laura Wu. 22 years old. Receptionist. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Jelly Lin. Survivor of Malignant.

Leah King. 27 years old. Author. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Megan Thee Stallion. Survivor of Friday the 13th.

Maria Thompson. 25 years old. Sex Worker. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Bella Poarch. Survivor of A Nightmare On Elm Street.

Noah Gordon. 26 years old. News Photographer. Cisgender Male. Homosexual. FC: Lil Nas X. Survivor of Saw.

Phan. 25 years old. Photographer. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Lisa. Survivor of Shutter.

Rei Nishina. 26 years old. Nurse. Cisgender Female. Homosexual. FC: Chanmina. Survivor of Ju-On.

Sanghwa Yoo. 28 years old. Scavenger. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Baekhyun. Survivor of Train to Busan.

Thomas Kennedy. 55 years old. STARS Officer. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Survivor of Resident Evil (The original series).

Travis Hawkins. 30 years old. Drug Dealer. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Bill Skarsgaard. Survivor of Cloverfield.

Trevor Fuller. 25 years old. Travel Vlogger. Cisgender Male. Bisexual. FC: Shawn Mendes. Survivor of From Dusk Til Dawn.

Trijal Kaur. 35 years old. Biologist. Cisgender Male. Homosexual. FC: Rahul Kohlii. Survivor of The Thing.

Trinity Prescott. 22 years old. Counselor. Cisgender Female. Bisexual. FC: Sydney Sweeney. Survivor of Scream.

[angelsdvsts]

incoming new muses ! give this a ♡ if you'd like a starter from any of my new bbs <3

lacey zhao. nepo baby. early-twenties. lola tung.

jett marshalls. drug dealer. mid-twenties. drew starky.

novalei bradford. aspiring actress. early-twenties. jessica alexander.

nolan ambrose. influencer. early-twenties. vinnie hacker.

daiyu xue. owner of a bakery. mid-twenties. havana rose liu.

nico delgado. mob leader. late-thirties. manny montana.

[adversitybloomed]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Hua Mulan | 花木蘭

NICKNAME: hua jun ( male disguise ) | Feng Lian( feng means ‘maple, phoenix’ & Lian means, lotus, female disguise ). La-Chan (@ka-go-me ), Mumu ( @heartsacrosstime ), Little Lotus ( @battleguqin )

TITLE(S): General Hua | Heroine Hua | Heroine Hua Mulan

AGE: 18+

SPECIES: Human | Phoenix

SEX: cis female

NATIONALITY: Chinese

INTERESTS: Horseback riding, drawing, practicing various styles & techniques of martial arts, playing video games, baking, being out in nature, singing, dancing, playing the flute & guzheng. Trying different foods, spending time with her friends.

PROFESSION: former farm girl, solider of the imperial army. Now she is a cultivator who services as a General & agent to the Emperor to better protect her people. in more modern times, she is a student studying computer science.

BODY TYPE: she is petite and while she is slim in nature, she has muscles due to her countless hours of martial training.

EYES: Dark Brown

HAIR: she has long black hair that goes past her butt. she often keeps it down, though has part of it up using head jewelry or ribbons. in modern verse, she keeps her hair long but mostly down unless she is eating.

SKIN: fair and smooth as she spends time taking care of it with lotus or yinghua lotions.

FACE: Zhao Lusi

POSTURE: she only slouches when she is sitting in a none serious and almost playful manner. otherwise, she keeps herself as poised as possible for she knows she has eyes constantly on her.

HEIGHT: 5'1" ( 154.94cm ).

VOICE: speaking: x + x + x | singing: x + x + x

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: Mulan wears a lot of hanfu's. she prefers to have softer pastel colorings, though she does go for the occasional pop of red. most of the time though, it is a pastel blue or pink hanfu.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: @battleguqin's Lan Sizhui & @caracarnn's Rand al'Thor are the two main / default ships for my mulan & this blog.

COMPANIONS: This is the only time i really lean into anything disney related, as I adore Yao, Ling, and Chien Po. These three I keep with me in my threads as companions. but mostly her friends which can be fond on my bonds page. however its important to note I refrence @sparesovereign's Anna, @lcvelj's Lara Jean & @ka-go-me' Higurashi Kagome a huge chunk of the time.

ANTAGONISTS: I write her on my other blog, but Hua Daiyu is a huge one she is my OC and Mulan's elder sister. but also I keep with her main villians from the disney movies so Shan Yu, Xianniang ( though shes torn on this one ) & Bori Khan.

STRENGTHS: Kind Hearted, loyal, brave, willing to help others. Trusting. Ability to fight for what she believes in. Willing to do what is right.

WEAKNESSES: Loyal. Naïve. Trusting. Unwillingness to lose someone she loves. Takes too much of the burdens on herself. Is willing to put herself into harms way for others.

FRUITS: Strawberries, Dragonfruit, Bayberry, Rambutans.

DRINKS: Jasmine tea, Strawberry or Milk boba tea

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: she doesnt drink and if she does, she has no idea what she would like.

SMOKES: she doesnt smoke.

DRUGS: she doesn't take drugs.

DRIVER'S LICENSE: verse dependent, she prefers to be driven or public transportation.

tagged by: @caracarnn ( TY ! ) tagging: @battleguqin + @ka-go-me + @sparesovereign + @lcvelj + @penddraig + @peculiarbeauty + @lianhuaes ( your choice ) + @luckhissoul + @swordswept + @heartsacrosstime

[bridgcrtons]

𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒊-𝒉𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔 — 𝟏𝒙𝟏 — hello, peeps! eu sou a nina, tenho 25+ anos, utilizo pronomes ela/dela e atualmente estou semi-aberta para plots. se quiser jogar comigo, sinta-se a vontade para checar minhas guidelines e conhecer mais um pouquinho sobre quem vos fala. // indie: @burninhecrt

blog de edits ♡ blog de muses ♡ blog mumu ♡ pinterest ♡ full navigation

responder

tati

berk e dilan

berrie

john e genevieve

nana

juliette e charlotte

soeun e bonghee

yongguk e jisuk (2)

daiyu e malee

sunhee e coral

minhee e minju

sarah e veronica

ash

jane e tarzan

sally e jack

aejung e chaewon

yasmine e lux

gabriel e deirdre

ella e lidia

ayara e fearne

[mythcaels-a]

okay actually gonna make that post explaining muses that fall in love easily & the ones that don't fall in love easily.

Falls in love easily.

Taeyeong - this shouldn't come as a surprise that I have him as the first damn one here but. Tae literally catches feelings so fast for people. You can smile at him and his heart is going to feel fluttery. Many like to tell him he just has crushes but no, he genuinely feels love for them so quickly, his heart races and he'd literally try and move a mountain for them. He is quick to confess but if he's turned down he respects that and buries the feelings. And yes, he has fallen in love with more than one person at a time which is why he's a really good candidate for a poly ship but also, when he falls for two people at once he doesn't confess to either of them and just buries those feelings.

Su-bin - girl catches feelings like she's catching pokemon. Her feelings come and go pretty fast but like if you're a walking red flag of a person, her feelings for you are somehow stronger it's like she knows but has no damn idea. She has a very flirty personality but once in a relationship she only flirts with her partner.

Daiyu - She actually falls relatively quickly for people but it does take a little build up, it's not necessarily as quick as someone like tae or su-bin but it could be considered quicker than the average person. Her feelings are easy to see, she gets so blushy when she's around the one that she loves and stumbles over her words.

Eloise - girl literally falls in love with the damn idea of love. but no seriously she loves so fast, like her heart just swims with feelings. She can look at someone from afar more than once and instantly she has the feeling of love in her heart for them. The minute they talk to her the love just grows.

Don't fall in love easily.

Draven - It was just clear in my mind that i'd mention him first as he is the guy on my roster that genuinely doesn't understand love. He doesn't get it. He doesn't trust people either like, he's very guarded. He can flirt with people sure but it'd take forever for him to actually understand love and actually fall in love with someone. Anyone that gets into a relationship with him has to have patience.

Yoshizo - he's never experienced love for anyone and it'd take someone that can keep him on his toes to get a smidge of interest from him, not love, INTEREST. He's also not someone you'd want to choose as a romantic partner because he really wont give a damn about your feelings nor will he prioritize you in the slightest.

Sunghoon - considering he comes from a timeline where emotions are outlawed and suppressed and now that he's accidentally fallen back in time and is learning emotions, i'd still say he wouldn't love easily because love is such a foreign concept. He's learned about emotions, people in his time are taught about emotions and how they drive people away from peace and love is a MAJOR one that can cause so much problems so he'd not let himself fall in love with someone easily.

Hyesu - considering she was in a relationship before and she was left at the altar and found out she was cheated on too, she has a very hate relationship to the idea of loving again. She wouldn't let herself fall in love easily, it'd take SO MUCH build up and SO MUCH TIME AND EFFORT and really letting her break down and feel to actually admit she loves someone again but then there's the fear of getting hurt again, the worries and all that comes from being burned in a romantic sense like she has.

[hellfollowed]

MUSE: Daiyu Ma

STATUS: open to m and f, exes, straight-up enemies, lovers to enemies, enemies to friends, enemies to friends back to enemies... teehee, enemies to lovers back to enemies... even more teehee, however ya wanna do it! (down to plot more too!)

PLOT: give me a mob boss’ second hand man/protege that has a secret love affair with the mob boss’ daughter and they’ve had a fling for awhile and they both pretend like it’s not like serious serious but they are in love and they have to hide it from everybody (especially the mob boss) (Daiyu already believes herself to be her father's second hand even if he doesn't claim her-- he wants her to be the respectable protected daughter while she wants his job-- both muses could still have secret affair but their want for the same job technically along with the added weight of forbidden love (or past forbidden love) could cause even more issues later. ( source ) <-- CHANGED UP SOME THINGS TO FIT MUSE!) / @indiestarter

This complicated things, it always did. What started as a secret rendezvous from time to time soon shifted into something else, something more. And now with them getting the job she's fought tooth and nail for, the one Daiyu felt in her heart was rightfully hers brought about other difficulties. Adding gasoline to an already overbearing fire. "You've... always known that I wanted my father's position." She seethed through gritted teeth. "Did you come to boast? "