#「 ❝ soar through the sky ❞ ( crossover. ) 」

[pookalicious-hq]

a foreigner's god... 1 - skybound

library | navi | next part

synopsis: with the presence of a shadow, light isn't far behind. through two worlds you live within a balance of waiting and living. memories, faith and lovers all lost at once. tags/tws: a court of thorns and roses/throne of glass crossover!, azriel x fem!reader, so much fluff then so much angst sorry, meantion of blood, war and fighting, suggestive scenes, swearing, meantions of torture word count: 11.5k

You could never truly hide from the sun. Even with your eyes shut, even in the deepest shadows, she would find you—because she was never meant to be hidden from. Her touch, warm and gentle as a mother’s caress, reached through every barrier, slipping past closed lids to paint the darkness gold. Her light kissed bare skin, seeped into bones, and whispered secrets only the heavens could understand.

She was everywhere, in the glow of dawn spilling over the horizon, in the golden dust that clung to skin, in the lingering warmth on stone long after she had set. Others might shrink from her at times, shielding themselves from her intensity, but to you, the sun was not something to be feared. She was a promise, a constant presence, a piece of yourself reflected in the sky.

You loved the sun.

And she loved you as well—so deeply, so fiercely, that even before your first breath, the whispers of your existence had already begun. They did not start with you; they had been there long before, woven into the fabric of myths and half-forgotten prayers.

The stories claimed that once, long ago, the sun had not merely bathed the world in her light—she had given life. That in a moment of divine will, she had poured herself into the earth, searing it with something more than warmth, something more than fire. And from that touch, from that sacred moment, you had been born.

A child of light. A daughter of the sun. The first Seraphim.

But the sun had not let you walk the world just yet. Instead, she cradled you in her golden embrace, hid you away in the sky or beneath the earth—no one could say for sure. Only that you slept, untouched by time, waiting.

And then, two hundred years ago, you awoke.

You emerged into a world that had nearly forgotten you, into a court that had never expected to witness the return of something so celestial, so impossible. The Day Court took you in, for where else could you belong but in the lands that worshipped the light? The people called you goddess, miracle, salvation. Some knelt before you. Some feared you.

But the sun only watched. She only smiled.

And wherever you walked, she followed, not in fleeting rays or stolen moments of warmth, but in the knowledge that if there were shadows, there must be light, an eternal tether. She bent to you, wrapped herself around you like a second skin, a friend, a mother, a guardian, all at once.

The people of the Day Court saw this, and they whispered. A goddess, they called you, murmuring in reverence as you passed. They spoke of the sun’s favorite child, of the one who wielded light as if it had been crafted for her alone. They spoke of you with awe, with devotion, with a kind of fear reserved only for things beyond common understanding.

But to him, you were not a goddess.

You were an angel.

Azriel had never believed in myths.

He had spent centuries lurking in the dark, learning that gods the mortals prayed to did not answer. No divine hand reached down to save those who suffered. If there were gods, they were cruel things, detached and uncaring, watching from above as blood soaked the earth.

The idea of godly intervention was a lie, and yet, mortals still whispered of them. Some tales spoke of winged messengers who soared through the skies before vanishing into legend. Of celestial beings not born of flesh, but of stardust and sunfire. Of the Seraphim, holy creatures that had once walked among the Fae before they were wiped from history, nothing more than a fever dream of the past.

Azriel had dismissed them as nothing more than stories meant to lull children to sleep. Until now.

The rumors had spread like wildfire. A creature of light. A goddess in mortal flesh. The Sun’s Daughter.

He had not believed them. But as he moved through the Day Court’s gardens, bathed in molten gold and soft summer winds, he thought—perhaps, just this once—he had found something holy.

You stood at the heart of the garden, sunlight pooling around you as if you had been sculpted from it. Your hair shimmered, flecked with gold that caught the light like a halo. Your eyes—strange, radiant, endless—were the color of burnished honey. But it was your wings that truly unraveled him.

Feathered. Vast. White tinged with gold, as though the sun had kissed each individual plume. They twitched slightly, unconsciously graceful, and when you turned, your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Azriel was not a man who faltered. He had faced High Lords and warlords, had battled creatures that haunted nightmares, had stood before beasts and not flinched.

But that smile—soft, warm, unafraid—knocked the breath from his lungs.

He should have left. Should have remembered his mission, the scroll tucked into his leathers, the fact that he did not belong in this place. But for the first time in centuries, Azriel did not move.

He only watched as you stood in the garden, tilted your head, as if trying to place him in the shifting light.

And then, as if you already knew him, as if you had been waiting—

You spoke, "Come into the sunlight."

He winnowed back to the townhouse before you finished your breath.

But he did not flee.

At least, that was what Azriel told himself as he winnowed straight into the townhouse, shadows curling tight around him like a second skin. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs, an unfamiliar thing—a foreign rhythm he had not felt in centuries.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind back into order. It was a trick. A game played by Day Court illusions. That was the only explanation.

And yet, even as he reached for logic, your voice still echoed in his ears.

Come into the sunlight.

Azriel cursed, dragging a hand down his face. He did not want to think about you, but the vision of your wings, your golden eyes, the way the sunlight bent for you, refused to leave his mind.

He needed answers.

It began as a flicker of curiosity, the faintest whisper of doubt at the edge of his thoughts. But the more Azriel tried to suppress it, the louder the question became. There was something about you—something he could not place, something right about you being here, in this place where the sun never left, yet he could not shake the feeling that this world didn’t deserve you.

Azriel turned to the one thing he knew best: shadows. He had spent centuries learning how to listen to the whispers they carried. And so, he sought out the tendrils of darkness, letting them twist and curl around his fingers, using them to search for any trace of what you were.

The answer had come back as a murmur—a single word.

Seraphim.

Azriel had scoffed. He had thought the Seraphim were nothing more than myths, forgotten tales from ancient history. He was no fool; he knew better than to put stock in such things. And yet, as he dug deeper, his shadows pulled him toward the stories, the scattered remnants of their existence.

It was not a mere legend. The Seraphim were real—or, at least, they had been.

Weeks passed, and Azriel’s frustration mounted. The more he searched, the more the answers slipped through his fingers, like fine sand caught in the wind. Even his shadows struggled to find anything concrete, as though the very nature of the Seraphim was designed to be hidden from view.

He tried the library, hoping for something more tangible, but all he found was dust and silence. Rhysand, ever perceptive, had begun to question his unusual research habits, asking with subtle curiosity why Azriel was spending his days between ancient scrolls and forgotten tomes.

Azriel, ever the master of evasion, had not answered.

After a week of dead ends and unanswered questions, he had exhausted every option. And so, with no other recourse, he found himself standing in Amren’s study, the heavy scent of bloodred wine lingering in the air as the ancient female regarded him with a knowing look.

“Why the blank face?” she asked dryly, swirling her glass lazily.

Azriel did not rise to the bait. “Tell me about the Seraphim.”

The name seemed to catch her attention. Amren set down her glass, the flicker of candlelight dancing off her silver eyes, which narrowed as she studied him. “Seraphim?” Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now that is an old name.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed with irritation, but he kept his tone level. “I don’t have time for riddles.”

“You never do, you and your Truth Teller,” Amren muttered, her finger tracing the rim of her glass in a slow arc. “But why the sudden interest? The Seraphim have been gone for eons. Not a single trace of them remains.”

Azriel hesitated. He hated admitting vulnerability, especially to Amren, but the frustration gnawed at him. “What if they weren’t gone?”

A long, pregnant silence hung in the air before Amren’s lips parted in a quiet, amused chuckle. “Ah,” she said, reaching for her glass again, her fingers long and graceful as they grasped the stem. “So you’ve met her.”

His brow creased just the slightest. His pulse quickened. “Who?”

Amren’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time in their long acquaintance, Azriel felt a flicker of something other then danger in her eyes. “The Sun’s Daughter,” she said softly, as if the name alone was enough to unravel everything. “She is the first of them.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat, the word Seraphim now taking on an entirely different meaning. But before he could ask more, Amren raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t bother asking me questions you’re not ready for, Azriel,” she warned. “The answers will find you—whether you want them to or not.”

The finality of her words hung in the air, but as Azriel left her study, the weight of her words settling on his shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder how much he truly wanted to know.

And whether, by seeking the truth, he would be prepared for what it would reveal.

Azriel stood at the foot of the palace stairs, his gaze wandering over the grand expanse of the Day Court's grounds. The sunlight filtered through the trees, their branches heavy with blooms of pink and gold, casting dappled shadows across the courtyard. Yet, amidst all the beauty, his attention was fixed on a single spot.

You.

There, at the edge of the garden, you stood like a figure of light itself, as if the golden rays of the sun bent down to meet you. Your wings, large and ethereal, caught the sunlight, radiating warmth and brilliance. Azriel’s heart skipped a beat as he stared, unable to pull his eyes away. The Seraphim. The Sun’s Daughter. His thoughts flitted through the fragments of stories he'd heard—myths, whispers, half-truths about a figure lost to time. But seeing you in person, bathed in sunlight, felt like a living impossibility.

A rush of confusion and curiosity gripped him. He’d never been the kind to be distracted, to let his gaze wander, but there was something about you that called to him, something undeniable.

“Azriel?” Rhysand’s voice snapped him out of his trance, sharp and knowing. “You planning to stare at the garden all day, or are we going inside for this meeting?”

Azriel blinked, taking one last look at the figure bathed in sunlight before nodding stiffly. “Right,” he murmured, forcing himself to turn away.

The walk inside was as grand as the courtyard outside. Tall marble columns, gilded with gold, stretched to the high, vaulted ceilings. The scent of roses and citrus hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint, calming scent of freshly polished wood. The palace radiated warmth, like sunlight turned into a physical space. But despite all its beauty, Azriel couldn’t shake the image of you.

Inside, Helion, as radiant as ever, stood in the center of the room, waiting for them. His smile was warm, genuine, and his eyes gleamed with intelligence that Azriel had always respected. The room was bathed in soft light, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, filling the space with a gentle glow.

Helion greeted the group with his usual charm, his voice smooth as honey. “Welcome, I trust your journey was pleasant?”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, as politics often did, but Azriel found himself unable to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, to the way the light seemed to swirl around you like an aura, to the impossible reality of your presence. His gaze flicked toward the windows, barely catching glimpses of the garden, his mind wandering back to the figure he had left behind outside.

It wasn’t like him to lose focus—his job was to watch, to listen, to be ever-present and ever-aware. Yet, as the meeting continued, Azriel found his attention waning. His eyes darted once more toward the garden, searching, even though he knew you weren’t there anymore. He could feel the burn of curiosity creeping up his spine, pulling him away from the conversation that he should have been fully engaged in.

Helion, ever perceptive, finally caught on. His smile never wavered, but there was an amused glint in his eye as he shifted his gaze to Azriel. The room seemed to pause for a moment, the conversation carrying on without him, and yet Azriel’s mind was elsewhere.

“Spymaster,” Helion’s voice broke through the murmur of the room, teasing but not unkind. “Looking for something? Or should I say… someone?”

The words landed in the room like a ripple, drawing the attention of the others. Rhysand’s brow arched slightly, Cassian’s eyes narrowed with curiosity, and Mor’s lips quirked into a smirk, clearly intrigued. Azriel’s throat tightened as he realized they had all noticed.

He didn’t answer. His gaze flickered once more toward the window, unable to contain it, before returning to the table.

Helion chuckled, his voice light but warm. “I see. You’ve spotted her, haven’t you?”

Azriel clenched his jaw but remained silent. He couldn’t form a proper response. His mind was filled with too many questions, too many pieces that didn’t fit together.

And then, like something out of a dream, you appeared.

The sun seemed to bend to your will as you swept into the room, your wings gliding gracefully behind you. The sunlight haloed around you, casting a soft glow on everything it touched. It was like you carried the very essence of light within you, and Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you move. His mind, already in a whirl from the earlier tension, faltered in its attempts to regain focus.

Helion let out a soft laugh, clearly delighted by the situation. “Ah, here she is, the one you’ve all been hearing rumors about.”

You landed with ease beside Helion, your wings folding gently behind you. You glanced around the room with calm interest, but when your gaze met Azriel’s, your smile grew—soft, knowing, almost like you had been expecting him all along. You tilted your head slightly, as though regarding him with quiet curiosity.

“Yes, Father?” Your voice was light, playful, and the way you spoke the word Father seemed so natural, as if you had always known him—an unspoken bond, centuries old.

Helion’s laughter echoed around the room, rich with affection and a bit of amusement. It was clear there was a deep connection between you two, one woven through years, if not lifetimes, of shared history. But there was something else there, too—a familiarity that Azriel couldn’t place, something beyond the surface of simple familial ties.

Azriel’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stop looking at you, feeling the warmth radiating from you. Your golden eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and for a moment, it felt like you could see everything about him—the things he kept buried deep.

Helion, with his characteristic ease, broke the moment. “This is my ‘adopted daughter’,” he announced with a grin, “the Sun’s Daughter, as we in the Day Court call her.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, the energy shifting as everyone processed the revelation. Azriel’s heart raced, his thoughts scattered. You had a title, a legacy. And yet, there was something about the way you stood there, serene yet undeniably powerful, that made it feel like you were more than just a title.

You turned your gaze toward Azriel again, a small smile playing on your lips. Despite the golden light around you, there was a coolness to your stare, like you were studying him just as intently as he was studying you. There was something in your eyes that hinted at secrets—things too complex to be understood at a glance.

“A pleasure,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet authority. Your tone was polite, yes, but there was a depth beneath it—an underlying strength that Azriel couldn’t quite grasp.

Helion leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “I would assume Amren has already told you about her, though I must say, I’m grateful for your silence on the matter, Ancient One.”

Amren, who had been sitting in a quiet corner, raised an eyebrow and gave a wry smile. “I’m good at keeping secrets, Helion. You should be grateful.” There was a sharpness in her voice that Azriel knew all too well—one that indicated she wasn’t giving away anything she didn’t want to.

Your eyes met Amren’s then, and the connection between you two was unmistakable. The slight curve of your lips in a smile, the way Amren’s posture shifted just a bit more relaxed in response—it was clear you two shared something. A bond that transcended mere acquaintance. Despite the vast differences in your temperaments, Amren tolerated you, even enjoyed your company in her own way. And in return, you didn’t seem to push her boundaries, always respecting the ancient secrets she carried with her.

The conversation shifted toward political matters, but Azriel’s mind wasn’t in the room anymore. Every glance he stole toward you was filled with questions—rumors he’d heard, but never fully understood. What are you? He wondered, his pulse quickening every time his gaze met yours. You felt like something… ancient, almost too much for him to comprehend.

As the meeting came to a close, the Inner Circle stood, moving toward the door. Azriel’s mind was still tangled in confusion and curiosity, his eyes following you as you made your way toward the exit. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more about you—something he needed to figure out. But as the last of the conversation died down, he realized there was one person he could never get an answer from.

Amren.

Cassian’s voice broke through his thoughts as he threw his hands up in disbelief. “What the hell was that about?” he asked, his voice louder than usual. “Who is she?”

Rhysand’s gaze lingered on the door where you had just disappeared. “What’s her deal, Azriel?” His voice was low, measured, but there was an edge of concern. “Why does she feel so… different?”

Mor, who had been quiet until now, added her thoughts in a softer tone. “She didn’t just look like a goddess, Azriel. She felt like something else entirely.” Her words were filled with apprehension, and Azriel could hear the unspoken question behind them.

The group turned toward Amren, who had barely acknowledged them since the introduction, her gaze distant. But it was clear that whatever was going on with you, Amren wasn’t going to provide any clarity. She knew more than she was letting on, and they all knew it.

“What’s she hiding, Amren?” Cassian asked, his voice casual, though his eyes burned with the same curiosity as the rest of them.

Amren’s lips twitched into a half-smile, the kind that spoke of knowledge and power. “Nothing that concerns you, Cassian,” she replied cryptically. “But perhaps he will explain it one day.”

Her gaze flicked to Azriel for a brief moment, as if she were passing the torch to him. The others followed her glance, and Azriel felt their eyes on him, all their questions suddenly becoming his responsibility. He met their stares, his chest tightening with the weight of the unknown.

They all knew they wouldn’t get anything out of Amren, not now, not ever. The question of who you were and why you felt so different hung in the air, unanswered.

Azriel stared at the door, lost in thought, his mind racing with questions. For once, he didn’t have the answers.

"I was wrong."

Something most conscious beings had a hard time accepting. Azriel was wrong. He shouldn’t have left the comfort of the townhouse to find you.

It had been two weeks since the meeting, two weeks since Helion introduced you with that quiet, almost serene confidence. Two weeks since the unknown and inexplicable pull toward you had woven itself into his every thought. He needed to understand what it was about you. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly: Who were you? Why did you feel so different? What was this pull?

He had never been the one to chase after something—or someone—for answers. It was not in his nature, not with his shadows constantly whispering to him. But this time, this time had been different.

As he entered the gardens of the Day Court, the sun beat down in the way it always did, warm and soft. He moved through the orchards, the tall flowers brushing against his arms, the scent of petals and herbs surrounding him in a blanket of calming sweetness. But the air felt heavy, filled with something more than just the fragrance of blooming flowers. It felt like the garden itself was watching him, as if it knew the reason he was here.

And yet, you weren’t there.

The familiar stillness of the garden set a subtle unease in his chest. Normally, you were here, somewhere, basking in the sunlight, just as the rumors said the Sun’s Daughter always did. But not today.

He moved deeper into the garden, weaving between the trees and flowers, his steps quickening, impatience building with each turn. The further he walked, the more the path opened before him, as if the garden itself was guiding him, leading him toward a place he didn’t want to go but couldn’t seem to avoid. It felt like the landscape itself was conspiring against him.

Then, there you were.

In the distance, beneath the golden rays that seemed to crown you with an ethereal glow, you stood, as though waiting for him. Your wings unfurled slightly, catching the light, and in that moment, everything around him seemed to pause.

He shouldn’t be here. This was pointless. Why was he so attracted to you? It wasn’t in the way he found you attractive—no, that was not it. It was deeper, more insistent, like his very being was drawn to yours, like there were answers in you that he was meant to uncover.

But this was a bad idea. Why hadn’t he thought this through?

He had no plan. No questions. He hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say when he saw you. He had just followed the impulse, the need to understand. To learn.

And now, here he was.

A part of him wanted to turn around, walk away before you noticed him. But his feet were rooted to the ground, his shadows clinging to the grass, unwilling to let him go.

As he approached, you turned, your gaze meeting his with that same calm, knowing expression. It was like you had been expecting him all along.

You said nothing at first, simply studying him with those golden eyes that shimmered like the sun itself. It was maddening, how effortlessly you seemed to see through him, how everything about you felt like a riddle he couldn’t solve. And yet, it wasn’t just the curiosity gnawing at him—it was something more. Something inexplicable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to understand you. That you were important.

The questions—the endless swirl of them—tumbled from his mind, and for a moment, he could hardly remember why he had come. Instead, his chest tightened with the overwhelming presence of you. You stood there like the sun itself, casting light on everything in the garden. You absorbed it, drank it in, until it seemed like the very air around you glowed, like the golden light was woven into your skin, your wings, your very soul.

"Hello, Spymaster," you said softly, as if you knew exactly who he was, even without the title. There was a weight to your voice that caught him off guard, pulling him into the moment, forcing him to face the reality of why he was here. "I didn’t expect you to come looking for me. How do you find my garden?"

His pulse quickened, throat tight, as the words threatened to spill from him—but no, they remained stuck, caught somewhere between his chest and his lips. What was he supposed to say to you? How could he possibly ask the questions that had been burning inside him for weeks? Why did he feel like he was unraveling the moment he tried to approach it?

"It’s beautiful…" Azriel finally muttered, but the words didn’t satisfy him. They weren’t enough, not when the weight of everything he wanted to know pressed on his shoulders. Not when the pull to understand you felt like an invisible thread wrapped around his chest, tightening with each passing second.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile, and Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that you saw straight through him, down to the very core of his thoughts. "You don’t need to explain yourself, Azriel," you said, your voice threading through his mind like a whisper, cutting through the confusion. "Not to me."

Your eyes, still shimmering with that quiet power, seemed to study him for a moment, as though weighing something unsaid. Then, with a trace of amusement, you added, "You’re not the first to come looking for answers. And you won’t be the last."

Azriel stood there, his mind whirling as your words settled in the space between them. Who else had come looking for you? What did you mean by that? But even more pressing, why did it feel like you knew everything about him already, like your presence was somehow… familiar?

"I didn’t think this through," Azriel admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He was standing here, in front of you, and his mind was a mess. He had no plan, no strategy. The questions he’d come with—he could barely even remember them now.

You tilted your head slightly, regarding him with a faint smile. "Most don’t," you said simply, as though it was something you’d seen countless times before. "You don’t have to ask all your questions right away. Some things need to come in their own time."

Azriel was left standing there, feeling as though everything about you had just unraveled him. The way the sun seemed to bend toward you. The way you drank it in, effortlessly glowing in its embrace. The pull he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried.

Finally, the question broke through his fog, desperate to be asked. "Who was the first?" He could barely keep the curiosity out of his voice.

You smiled again, and the air seemed to shift with it, like something old and powerful stirred beneath the surface. "I was."

And in that moment, Azriel’s world narrowed to that single response, the weight of it pressing down on him like a storm on the horizon. It made everything else feel irrelevant, insignificant. Because the first was you, and in some way, he knew now that he had already lost himself in you.

The game had changed, and he had no idea how to play it.

Ethereal was the only word closest enough to capture your essence within the confines of a single meaning. But even that seemed inadequate. You were more than just light, more than the sun’s rays casting their warmth on the earth. You were the embodiment of it, every movement you made bending the air, shifting the very atmosphere around you in a way that felt both surreal and magnetic.

Azriel could never have predicted it—how someone so... untouchable would invade his thoughts. He was used to the shadows, the quiet, the things that lurked in the dark. But you, with your golden eyes and that calm, knowing presence, made the very air feel like it was alive with energy.

He remembered the first time he had truly seen you—your wings unfurling like rays of sunlight, your form glowing, bathing the world in warmth. That was when the curiosity had first taken root. But now, two weeks later, it was more than just curiosity.

It was obsession. A quiet, relentless pull that kept him coming back.

He told himself it was nothing. That it was just a fleeting fascination. You were a powerful force, a being unlike anything he had ever encountered. That was all. But the more time he spent with you, the harder it was to keep up the façade. It wasn’t just your power. It wasn’t just your beauty. It was the way you made him feel, the way you seemed to see through him with that knowing smile, the way the light itself seemed to respond to your very presence.

As the weeks turned into months, Azriel found himself returning to the Day Court again and again. At first, he told himself it was just to understand you better, to unravel the mystery that surrounded your presence. But somewhere along the way, it became something else. It wasn’t the questions anymore. It was you.

He found comfort in your company, a strange sense of belonging he didn’t know he was searching for. You didn’t just listen to him—you saw him, in ways that no one ever had before. His silence didn’t frighten you; it seemed to give you space to talk, to share pieces of your life, your memories. You talked about the light, about the way it shaped everything in your life, and the way you could feel it in ways others couldn’t. You shared stories of the plants you cared for, the ones that seemed to thrive under your touch, and how you could coax them into bloom by simply being with them.

Azriel became so enmeshed in your world that he couldn’t remember when it happened, but he found himself looking forward to these visits. What began as a way to pass the time between missions, a fleeting curiosity, grew into something deeper—a friendship he didn’t know he needed. He didn’t need to be anyone else around you. He didn’t need to be the spymaster, the shadow that everyone feared. He could just be yours, and that was enough.

One day, during one of his visits, he finally asked you, hesitantly, “Your light, how does it work? I can only imagine, but I know I don’t do it justice in my head.”

There was a flicker of amusement in your eyes, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Azriel. You’ve earned that.”

He followed you into a secluded part of the garden, where the sunlight bathed everything in a golden glow, and the air was thick with the scent of flowers in bloom. You stepped into the open space, your wings unfurling slowly, catching the light as though they were made of sunbeams themselves. Azriel’s breath hitched. It wasn’t just the way the light seemed to bend around you; it was the power of it, the sheer beauty.

You closed your eyes for a moment, your entire being becoming attuned to the world around you. Then, with a sudden movement, you raised your hands, and the air around you shimmered.

Azriel watched in awe as the light seemed to dance, twisting around you like an ethereal storm. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. It wasn’t just power—it was life, it was energy, it was pure light. It moved and swirled in intricate patterns, forming shapes and colors he couldn’t even begin to describe. The glow around you intensified, casting long, stretching shadows across the ground, yet it never touched you. It was like the light belonged to you, and the world had to bend to your will.

Azriel was entranced, standing there in silence, utterly captivated. He hadn’t realized just how deeply he had become drawn to you, but in that moment, it was impossible to deny. The way your eyes shimmered with the power you controlled, the way your expression softened as you weaved the light into something tangible—it was mesmerizing.

When you finished, the light slowly faded, but the lingering energy remained in the air, like a hum. Azriel was still standing there, speechless, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent.

You smiled, an expression that was both soft and knowing. “Most people don’t get to see it. Only those who truly understand the light can appreciate it in its purest form.”

Azriel finally found his voice, his gaze still locked on you. “I don’t think I ever will truly understand it,” he admitted quietly. “But what I do know... is that I’ll never forget what I just saw.”

There was a warmth in your eyes, a glint of something deeper—something that made his chest tighten. You didn’t need to say anything more. The moment was enough. Your friendship had always been grounded in an unspoken understanding, but in that moment, there was a shift—a deeper connection that neither of you could ignore.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden light across the garden, Azriel found himself wanting to stay with you. More than anything, he wanted to stay, to let the moments stretch on forever. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had come to depend on your presence, how much he needed this—needed you.

Soon, he realized love was a fickle thing. It wasn’t something that could ever hurt, he came to realize. Others would advise him otherwise, with love came loss just as much as with light, there was dark. But as he spent more time with you, as he allowed himself to fall deeper into the connection they shared, Azriel understood—this love didn’t hold the loss others talked about. It was the moments in between, the small exchanges of trust and tenderness, and the quiet understanding that bound them together.

The longer he stayed by your side, the more he saw how others were wrong about love. It wasn’t a fragile thing that shattered with the weight of pain—it was a force that could build, that could sustain and hold even when the world around them trembled. He hadn’t expected that, not from someone like you, not from someone who shone with such brightness that it seemed impossible to reach. Yet here he was, every day becoming more tethered to you, to the light you offered without hesitation.

And yet, still—he was afraid.

He had grown close to you, closer than he ever thought possible, and with each passing day, the pull between them deepened. You were no longer just the Sun’s Daughter, a mystery he was desperate to understand. You were his, in ways that neither of them had fully acknowledged. But even then, there was that flicker of doubt.

What if it was too much? What if, in the end, there was nothing left after all of this, after the years, after the feelings? Love was something he had seen destroy—so much loss, so much darkness that followed the light.

Azriel had never been one to confront his own vulnerabilities. His shadows were a far safer companion than the raw ache of affection that had begun to reside in his chest. Still, the more time they spent together, the clearer it became: he could no longer deny that he loved you.

But that wasn’t enough. Love had never been enough, not when it could be taken away in the blink of an eye.

The sky was painted in strokes of gold and amber, the last remnants of the sun bleeding into soft pinks and purples that stretched endlessly across the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of ripe citrus and jasmine, the warmth of the day lingering on the grass, on the petals of every flower swaying in the gentle breeze.

Azriel lay stretched across your lap, his wings tucked close to his body, his head resting against your legs as though this had always been his place. And maybe it had. Maybe he had been meant to find you, to end up here, beneath the golden glow of the setting sun, his shadows quiet for once as the world bathed in your light.

It should have been like every other evening. Another quiet moment stolen in the hush of the Day Court gardens. But tonight, something was different.

He had watched you a thousand times before, but tonight, with the sunset casting you in molten gold, you looked like something from a dream. A painting of the divine, bathed in warmth, kissed by the light itself. And the worst part—the part that made his heart clench painfully—was that you didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t realize how the fading sun bent to you, how the light curled around your wings like it was drawn to something greater, something more.

His gaze drifted to the sky, watching birds weave intricate patterns overhead, their wings slicing through the painted clouds with effortless grace. The soft rustle of the leaves, the distant hum of the fountains—it all blurred into the background, fading beneath the quiet sound of your breathing, the warmth of your fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair.

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensation, on the way you touched him so easily, so gently, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps, by now, it was. He had grown accustomed to your warmth, to the way you leaned into him without hesitation, without fear. It had been a year of knowing you, and yet, every day, you unraveled him further.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to find you already looking down at him, your expression soft, knowing. The sunset burned behind you, turning the strands of your hair into liquid gold, your golden eyes catching the light in a way that made it impossible to look away.

You were the sun itself. And he—he was just a fool who had spent too long pretending he didn’t need its warmth.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of,” you said, voice barely above a murmur, yet carrying the weight of something ancient, something undeniable.

Azriel’s heart stuttered. You always saw too much, always slipped past his defenses like light spilling through the cracks. And now, now you were here, looking at him like you already knew the answer.

Still, the words were difficult to admit. They felt heavy, lodged in his throat. But when he finally spoke, it was quiet, raw, barely audible beneath the soft rustling of the garden.

“That you’ll fly away,” he confessed, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, as if that alone would keep you here. “That you’ll go somewhere I can’t reach. I can’t bear to be apart from you.”

Your lips curved, and for a moment, you said nothing. Just reached down, your fingers tracing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone, soft and grounding, the kind of touch that settled deep in his chest and took root.

“It’s a good thing you have wings as well, I suppose,” you murmured, thumb brushing lightly over his scar. “I’ll never be somewhere you can’t find me.”

And as your fingers trailed lower, as the warmth of the setting sun melted into the warmth of your touch, Azriel realized—he had never stood a chance. He had already fallen.

The golden light clung to you, illuminating every delicate curve of your face, every feather of your wings, as if the sun itself refused to let you go. And him—he was the shadows creeping at the edges, the night patiently waiting its turn. He had spent a lifetime shrouded in darkness, wrapped in silence, yet somehow, here you were, standing at the seam where day met night, and instead of turning away from him, you reached out.

Azriel closed his eyes at your touch, his breath shaky. The weight of his fears, the shadows of loss and pain, suddenly felt so insignificant under your soft guidance. He had been running for so long, afraid to let anyone too close, afraid to truly let himself love. But now, here with you, he understood.

The light you gave him wasn’t just about warmth—it was about trust. It was about letting go.

When he opened his eyes, the sky had deepened into a watercolor of indigo and violet, the last streaks of sunlight retreating below the horizon. Yet, even in the growing dusk, you still shone. Soft, unwavering. The sun may have set, but its glow still lingered on your skin, as if refusing to leave you entirely.

Azriel lifted a hand, hesitating only for a second before brushing his knuckles against your cheek. It was a silent acknowledgment, a wordless confession of everything he had yet to say.

“I don’t want to tether you down,” he whispered, voice rough with something fragile, something afraid. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll make myself worthy to follow after you.”

Your expression didn’t change—not in the way he expected, at least. No surprise, no hesitation. Only quiet understanding, only that same steady warmth he had come to crave like a man starved of sunlight.

The wind stirred between you, ruffling your feathers, tugging at his shadows. Day and night, converging in this in-between moment.

You smiled, the kind of smile that was not just an answer but a promise. Your hand covered his, pressing his palm flat against your cheek, grounding him in the warmth of you.

“You were always worthy, Azriel,” you murmured. “You only needed to see it.”

And as the night settled in, as the stars blinked into existence overhead, Azriel knew, deep in his soul, that this was no longer about keeping himself safe. It was about taking that step forward, even into the unknown. He loved you. And for the first time, he was willing to believe that love could heal, not hurt.

The darkness of his past still lingered, and it always would—but now, beside you, he could finally see past the night.

Four hundred and fifty years, and you’d never set foot outside of the Day Court. Why would you?

The sun had always been your home, its warmth woven into your very essence. The golden sands, the vast orchards, the shimmering lakes that reflected the endless sky—you had everything you needed. The light had never failed you, never given you a reason to leave.

Until now. Until him.

Azriel stood beside you at the edge of a balcony, his figure a dark silhouette against the glow of the Velaris skyline. The city stretched below, vibrant and alive, its lanterns twinkling like stars, the soft hum of the Sidra echoing in the distance. He had asked you—gently, as he always did when it came to things that mattered—to come with him. Just for a little while. Just to see what existed beyond the eternal sun. And for the first time in four and a half centuries, you had said yes.

The moment you stepped into Velaris, the change was immediate.

The air was cool, crisp, and laced with the scent of rain on stone, the scent of something not quite like the sun-warmed earth you were used to. The sky, painted in deep purples and indigos, stretched above a city that glowed—not with sunlight, but with the soft flicker of lanterns and the warm golden light spilling from windows. It was a softness you weren’t used to, a stark contrast to the harsh brightness of your own world.

It was so different.

You inhaled sharply, your body reacting before your mind could process it. You instinctively curled inward, your wings flicking out slightly as though trying to shield you from the unfamiliar cold. But before you could say a word, something warm and heavy settled over your shoulders.

Azriel’s cloak.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet amusement, though there was something deeper behind it—a tenderness, something protective. Something he had only shown to you.

You turned your head to look at him, meeting his steady gaze, and saw him watching you, his dark eyes tracing every emotion that flickered across your face. There was something magnetic about the way he studied you—like he saw all of you, even the parts you had never shown anyone else. You exhaled, shaking your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“You don’t feel it?” you asked, your voice quiet and almost uncertain.

“The cold?” Azriel asked, his wings shifting slightly as he adjusted his stance. “Not like you do.”

You hummed thoughtfully, adjusting the cloak around you, letting its warmth seep into your skin. “You should have feathers, then.”

Azriel blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment. Then, a soft laugh escaped him. “I should, huh?”

You nodded, your gaze shifting from him to your own wings. The contrast between you was so apparent now—his wings like midnight shadows, smooth and leathery, while yours shimmered in the dim light, golden feathers catching the glow of the city.

“You’d look ridiculous with them,” you mused, a playful glint in your eye.

Azriel tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you teased back.

His smirk deepened, and the playful challenge in his eyes made your heart flutter. With a slow, deliberate motion, Azriel extended a hand toward you, his silent invitation hanging between you. It was a promise, a quiet assurance that, just as you had guided him in the Day Court, he would now guide you through this strange new world.

Before you had even set foot in Velaris, Azriel had come to Rhysand with the request to let you into the city. The High Lord, ever the schemer with a knowing glint in his eyes, had agreed without hesitation. He trusted you. The Inner Circle trusted you. And though Rhysand’s approval had been granted, it was Azriel’s belief in you that mattered most.

Despite the unfamiliar chill of Velaris, despite the strangeness of the city and the night around you, you took his hand without hesitation. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, his presence a grounding force in the whirlwind of everything new.

And you followed.

Every step you took with him brought you deeper into the heart of Velaris, into his home. Even as the city wrapped around you with its soft, vibrant glow, there was something about Azriel’s steady, unwavering presence that made the unfamiliar feel more like home.

As you walked through the streets of Velaris, everything seemed so different from what you had been told. For centuries, the whispers had painted the Night Court in dark, ominous tones, a place filled with shadow and secrecy. But standing here, beneath the dusky sky lit with a thousand twinkling stars, you knew that everything you’d heard was nothing more than the distortions of fear.

The streets were alive. Laughter and chatter filled the air, the sound of children running playfully through the cobblestone streets, their energy infectious. The buildings that lined the streets were bathed in the soft, golden glow of lanterns, and the Sidra rippled peacefully in the distance, its waters reflecting the stars. It was a city of life, not darkness, and it filled your heart with warmth.

You had never seen such joy—such pure, unrestrained happiness. It was a far cry from the serenity of the Day Court. The children, wild and free, played without care. Some of them waved at Azriel as you passed, their faces lighting up in recognition, while others simply stared at you, wide-eyed.. Your presence felt... different here, as though you didn’t just walk through the streets but shone through them. Golden light flickered along your skin as if the stars themselves had taken up residence in your being.

Azriel, ever the protector, noticed the way the children watched you—eyes wide with awe, captivated by the sheer brilliance of your presence. His wings twitched slightly, the familiar feeling of protectiveness stirring in him, but there was something else this time. There was pride, too. Pride that they could see, even for just a moment, how magnificent you were. That they could witness what he had come to know so intimately—the light that radiated from you, the beauty that filled every space you entered.

He said nothing as they stared, as some of the children whispered excitedly to each other, their faces lighting up in wonder. He simply kept walking beside you, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the city air, the pride in his heart unwavering. You were his, and everyone here, in this place he called home, would learn to see what he had known for years: that you were meant to shine.

When you finally arrived at the townhouse, a wave of relief washed over you. It felt like him. As Azriel closed the door behind you both, you moved toward him, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pulling him into an embrace. His body stiffened for a brief moment before melting into your touch, his own arms coming up to encircle you. You felt his chest rise and fall with a shaky breath, and in that moment, everything felt perfect. He fit so naturally in your arms.

Azriel turned in your embrace, cupping your face gently, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt, but finding none. His thumb traced the line of your jaw before his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had built together, of the years that had led to this moment. His lips tasted like home, like everything you had ever wanted and more.

When you pulled away, his hands lingered on your skin, as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I have something for you,” Azriel said, his voice low, and something in the way he said it made your heart flutter with anticipation.

Curious, you followed him to his room, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet of the townhouse. As you stepped inside, you were immediately drawn to the middle of the room, where a set of clothes and leathers lay neatly on a pair of chests. You raised an eyebrow in surprise as Azriel watched you closely, his eyes filled with a quiet excitement.

The leather was deep black, almost indistinguishable from the shadows themselves, but it shimmered with intricate gold embroidery of a sun, its rays curling like tendrils across the fabric. The stitching was delicate but purposeful, capturing the essence of light in a way that left you breathless. You could feel the weight of the craftsmanship, the care that had gone into making them.

He watched as you knelt down to touch the fabric, your fingers brushing over the soft leather. When you checked the inside, you realized it was insulated—perfect for the chill of Velaris. He had thought of everything.

“You know me too well,” you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“Don’t forget this,” Azriel continued, moving to the side of the room, where a velvet dress hung. It was a deep, rich gold, the fabric so soft it almost seemed to shimmer in the light. Black accents adorned it—lace at the collar, delicate patterns embroidered across the hem. The contrast between the gold and black was striking, and you could already imagine how it would feel against your skin.

Azriel stepped closer, a soft smile playing at his lips. “ I knew you’d get cold. Don’t want you finding warmth within anyone except you and I.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room, and with a quick motion, you reached up to kiss him. But before he could react, you pushed him back onto the bed, your playful grin spreading across your face.

Azriel let out a startled huff, his body falling back onto the soft sheets. He reached out, grabbing for you, but you were already slipping away, your eyes filled with mischief. The softness of the moment lingered between you as you stood above him, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your shared laughter.

In that moment, nothing else existed. It was just you, him, and a love that felt as if it had always been meant to be.

...

Over the years, Azriel had noticed that you seemed to be fond of Velaris. Perhaps it was because you’d lived in the Day Court your entire long life, or maybe it was because Velaris made you feel more free. Sure, you had Helion in the Day Court, who had always been more like an uncle than a father, and the fact that you were technically older than him never ceased to amuse you both. But here, in Velaris, in the townhouse, you felt like you had the chance to be part of a real family.

The hum of warmth from the fire in the hearth was a constant presence as you spent your days with the Inner Circle. The dinners around the large table in the dining room had become something you looked forward to—a place where laughter flowed freely and the light of the flames flickered in the faces of those you now considered family. The smell of freshly cooked meals—Rhysand’s endless experiments with new flavors and Amren’s refined touch in the smallest of details—had become familiar. It was a home, the scent of food and wine mixing with the sounds of their voices filling every room.

After a week of sparring with Cassian and Azriel, learning the rhythm of their moves, your body had begun to adjust to the new style of fighting. Cassian’s encouragement, Azriel’s patient corrections—both had become staples of your daily routine. Yet, it was the moments spent with Amren that you cherished most. The quiet afternoons where you two would sit in companionable silence, the fire casting shadows on the walls, and Amren’s stories about the ancient times of the Fae were enough to make you feel as though you had known this family for lifetimes.

And still, even in the midst of all the joy and the softness of it all, the pull of the Day Court remained—a place where the gardens and the sun’s warmth always beckoned. But now, Velaris had a piece of you. And tonight, you had prepared something special for them.

The room was filled with the delicious scent of your cooking—a blend of spices and herbs that had been carefully chosen, much like the way you’d been welcomed into this home. As the table was set, the warmth from the candles reflected in everyone’s eyes, the flickering light creating an almost magical atmosphere.

And yet, there was something else, too. You could feel the lingering hum in your chest, the familiar pull of your powers, quietly waiting beneath the surface. You’d been so content, so at ease here with them, that it was almost as though your abilities were waiting for the right moment to make themselves known.

Cassian, ever the troublemaker, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You know,” he said, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass, “we’ve never seen your powers. When we first met you, Azriel almost pissed his pants just being in the same room as you.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, and he shot a glare at Cassian, his shadows curling like tendrils of smoke, responding to the shift in the air. “I don’t remember it exactly like that,” Azriel grumbled, though his voice was laced with fondness, as he sent a quick, playful poke of his shadows toward Cassian, causing the general to flinch.

You smiled at the banter, letting the lightness of it all fill you. It was familiar, comforting, in a way that was entirely new.

“Well,” you said, standing up and stretching, “if you’re all so curious, I’d love to show you.”

The room grew still for a moment, as if the space itself held its breath. The flickering of the fire and the candlelight seemed to dim, the shadows stretching and bending at the edges. You could feel the pull of your power, the warmth of it coiling within you like the golden threads of sunlight, drawing you into the very air.

The temperature in the room shifted, growing warmer, the light beginning to ripple and pulse as you let it rise from within. You felt it now—like an old friend—coursing through your veins, filling the room with the soft, golden glow of the sun.

The warmth spread across your skin, illuminating everything in its path. Your wings fluttered lightly, the gold and amber of your feathers glinting in the light, casting ripples of color around the room like the dance of sunlight on water. Tendrils of light moved with purpose, curling through the air in slow, graceful patterns, as if the sun had woven itself around your body. It was as if the room itself was caught in the embrace of your energy, the shadows retreating as the warmth enveloped everything.

The Inner Circle watched in stunned silence. Cassian’s teasing grin faltered, his eyes wide, and even Rhysand, usually so composed, allowed a flicker of surprise to show on his face. Amren, ever the silent observer, gave a low whistle, her sharp eyes gleaming with approval.

But it was Mor who spoke first, her voice soft with awe. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, her eyes reflecting the golden light that surrounded you.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at the compliment. But Cassian, ever the joker, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Careful, Mor. Az might think you’re trying to get with his girl.”

Azriel’s shadows immediately shot toward Cassian, as if to scold him for his teasing. But you could see the slight tightening of his jaw, the possessiveness that he tried to mask. Azriel’s gaze flickered to you, and in that moment, you could see the silent question in his eyes. Would you ever leave him?

You chuckled, the golden glow around you flickering in amusement. “Relax, Cassian,” you said, voice light and teasing. “Mor’s just admiring my power. I can hardly blame her.”

Mor winked at you, a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said, her gaze never leaving you. “You’ve got an incredible gift.”

Azriel relaxed slightly at your words, but his gaze never left you. You were surrounded by warmth, not just from your own light, but from the acceptance and admiration of the people who had become family.

You took a deep breath, letting the light recede slowly, the warmth still radiating gently from you. The room returned to its natural warmth, but there was a lingering glow, like the fading warmth of the sun after it sets.

Cassian, still recovering from the display, shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Okay, that was something else.”

Rhysand chuckled, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. “You’ve been holding out on us, haven’t you?”

Amren rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small, knowing smile. “She’s still holding out. I’ve seen her do much more.”

You laughed softly, the glow around you flickering with amusement as you winked at Amren. “I figured it was about time. Besides,” you added, glancing at Azriel, “I don’t think anyone should be in the dark about something this beautiful.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and for a long moment, everything felt still. He crossed the room in two steps, reaching for you, his fingers gently brushing your cheek before cupping your face. His touch was grounding, a quiet reassurance, and you melted into it. His lips met yours softly, lingering for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

And in that moment, you knew: this was where you belonged—here, with them, with Azriel. The power you had, the love you shared—it was all part of you now, woven into the tapestry of this new family you had found.

Azriel had just returned from a long, arduous mission—one that had taken him deep into the shadows of distant courts, gathering whatever whispers and rumors he could about the general named Amarantha. She was said to be a force to be reckoned with, a weapon whose power could rival the might of the Fae themselves. But every spy and informant he’d spoken to had told him the same thing: while the rumors were growing, the war wasn’t going to erupt for some time. It was all just talk, whispers in the dark. Nothing imminent.

For once, Azriel allowed himself to breathe easy. After weeks of travel, research, and the constant pressure of worrying that the worst was right around the corner, he had finally returned to Velaris.

He hadn’t come back to the Inner Circle’s townhouse immediately; instead, he’d allowed himself a small gift of quiet. A walk through the streets of the city, just the two of you. He could already feel the tightness in his chest slowly unraveling as you laughed at something ridiculous he’d said, your presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. It felt good—so good—to just be here, walking in the sunlight with you, far from the tension and bloodshed he’d left behind.

You, with your golden wings fluttering lightly behind you, basked in the warmth of the sun, and Azriel couldn’t help but stare at you. The world around you seemed to glow brighter when you were close, the golden strands of your hair catching the light in such a way that it almost looked as though you were glowing from within. Your smile was easy, carefree, and for the first time in a long while, Azriel allowed himself to enjoy this.

He thought about the information he had gathered. About the war that was brewing between the courts. About Amarantha, whose name sent shivers through the shadows that clung to Azriel’s very soul. He had returned with knowledge that could change everything—but for now, he pushed it aside. No need to think about it yet.

For now, he was home.

The two of you walked together, your laughter mixing with the sounds of Velaris—children playing in the streets, merchants calling out their wares, the gentle hum of the Sidra River winding through the city. Azriel’s dark wings rested comfortably behind him, their usual tension gone for the moment. The weight on his shoulders, the responsibility that always pressed down on him, had lessened.

It was easy, almost too easy, to forget the storm clouds that loomed just out of sight. But for once, Azriel allowed himself to be fully present in the moment, enjoying your company, letting go of the constant vigilance he had lived with for so long. He’d been with you through so many battles, but today, he didn’t have to worry about anything except you.

But then, the shift came. It was subtle at first—an almost imperceptible change in the air. But Azriel, ever the shadow, felt it before anything else. His muscles tensed, and his steps slowed as he glanced toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly. The warmth of the day seemed to drain from the air, replaced with something cold, something heavy. The world felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

And then you felt it too.

The soft breeze carrying the sweet smells of Velaris began to still. The warm sun above you turned cold—an eerie chill crawling across your skin. The cobblestones beneath your feet seemed to lose their warmth, and the air around you thickened, pressing in from all sides. It was the same kind of weight you felt before a storm, only this time, there was no storm in sight. Only an unsettling silence.

Your heart started to race. You tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick, too heavy to fill your lungs.

Azriel stopped walking beside you, his body going rigid. The playful, easy tension between you both evaporated, replaced by something much darker. His wings shifted behind him, stretching as if sensing something dangerous in the air. The small, almost imperceptible pull at the base of your chest—like the world itself was trying to drag you away from this moment—grew stronger. You instinctively took a step back, your feet grounding you, but your wings fluttered, restless and agitated.

Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his stare making your stomach twist. "Did you…" His voice was low, tight, as if he was trying to keep his own fear at bay. His hand reached for yours instinctively, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you, if only for a moment.

Before you could answer, you felt it—a powerful shift in the air, like a ripple in the fabric of reality itself. It wasn’t just the city, the world around you—it was something far deeper, something ancient.

You froze, feeling the tug deep inside you, a pull toward the Day Court. Your pulse quickened, fear sparking in your veins as the connection to the Court grew stronger, darker.

Azriel’s face paled, his breath catching. "Something’s wrong" he breathed again, his voice a mix of disbelief and fear.

“I feel it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your wings twitched, restless, desperate to take flight. “Something’s happening. I need to go.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his face a mask of determination and concern. “No. Stay here, with me. Velaris is safe,” his voice was pleading as he spoke your name in a rush, “I can protect you. Please.”

But you could already feel the distance growing between you and him, the pull toward the Day Court too strong, too urgent to ignore. You tried to steady yourself, to focus, but the instinct to leave, to move toward whatever danger was awaiting you, was overpowering.

You cupped his face in your hands, grounding him in the moment, in the unspoken promise you had made to always be there for him. His eyes softened for the briefest moment, but they still carried the weight of his fear for you, for everything that could happen.

“Angel, please.” His voice broke as he searched your gaze, his shadows swirling beneath his words like the storm in his mind.

You pressed your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your chest. "Azriel… I will always be somewhere you can reach," you whispered, your voice firm, despite the dread gnawing at your insides. "But I can’t stay here."

His eyes flickered with a pain so raw it made your chest ache. "Please…"

With a final, lingering kiss, your lips brushed his one last time. The air around you felt electric, charged with the intensity of the moment, of everything unsaid between you.

You pulled away from him slowly, your wings unfurling behind you, catching the last rays of sunlight. Without another word, you took off, your body soaring into the sky, the wind rushing around you, carrying you away from the only place that had ever felt like home. The city of Velaris disappeared beneath you, its golden glow now a distant memory.

Azriel stood motionless, his heart pounding, his hands still trembling with the weight of the moment. He closed his eyes, the image of you—flying away, just out of reach—burned into his mind.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Rhysand’s voice crashed into his mind, urgent and sharp.

“Az. Find Cassian. Protect Velaris.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He had to move, had to act. His wings snapped open as he winnowed away, his mind racing, but all he could think about, all that lingered in his chest, was how much he wished he had kept you with him, how much he wished you had never left.

a/n: AHHHHH WHY DID I START SUCH A HARD FIC PROJECT, gonna hate myself in a month cuz of this. lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part!! this is totally just my brain child i have a solid plot but i might be too lazy to write all of it. i haven't really seen meany tog/acotar crossover x readers so that's what this is hope you like it pookies <33

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Made of Meat

Danny Phantom/DC (Animal Man) crossover (thank you @stealingyourbones for the prompt)

When strange, faintly glowing meat creatures start rampaging through the streets of San Diego, there's only one man to call. And when Animal Man could use a helping hand, Phantom swoops in to assist. Or, Danny Phantom and Animal Man team up to fight the Lunch Lady

Read it on AO3

[Warnings for minor violence, mentions of vomit, and repeated mentions/descriptions of raw meat]

When strange, faintly glowing meat creatures started rampaging through the streets of San Diego, there was only one man to call. 

Absorbing the power of flight from a hawk overhead, Buddy Baker, A.K.A. Animal Man soared toward downtown to confront the monsters wreaking havoc on the innocent civilians of his city, his blond hair fluttering in the wind.

By the time he arrived, the chaos was well underway. Just like the reports had claimed, several unidentified creatures were causing the brunt of the damage, each of them about four feet tall and composed entirely of raw meat, still dripping with blood and already attracting flies, with glowing red eyes and fleshy teeth. Animal Man could see pools of vomit on the sidewalks from people who had evidently been too disgusted by the creatures to hold down their lunches, but he'd seen far worse himself and wasn't bothered by the creatures' grotesque appearance.

He swooped down to snatch a little girl out of the way of one of the things and take her to the nearest screaming woman—her mother, just as he had guessed—and urged them to run. There weren't as many people downtown as Buddy would have normally expected to see at this time, probably most of them already had already run away, but a few stragglers still remained, most of them filming the incident on their phones, some hiding, none of them in immediate danger.

With his bird's eye view, Animal Man had spotted a peculiar woman in the center of the commotion. She looked confused and sickly, with greenish skin. It wasn't her appearance that bothered him, though. Something about her felt off, and it unsettled the hero in a way he couldn't quite put into words. Using the sharp ears of a bat from the nearby zoo, he could hear her even from high in the sky, demanding to know where she was and what was for lunch.

Whoever she was, Buddy was pretty sure she was the woman in charge, and these meat gremlins were her doing. If he could knock her out, or better yet, peacefully convince her to stop, her creatures would stop too.

With the strength of a charging rhino, Animal Man plowed through her meaty minions with little trouble and slammed his whole body into her, sending her flying a few feet to land sprawled on the ground. He rushed forward to pin her so she couldn't get away, and it was then that he began to realize what was so off about her.

Her skin was cold and green, her eyes glowed red, and her clothes were about forty years out of date. But even more strange that that, he didn't feel any connection to her through the Red. The Red connected all animal life, from the tiniest single-celled organism, to the biggest blue whale, and humans were included in that. Through the Red, Animal Man could absorb the powers of any living creature. 

Not this woman, though.

She looked human, and acted human... but she wasn't human.

Animal man dug deeper, trying to feel out a connection to the Green, or the Rot. It was harder for him to sense them, but all three elements were connected, and they encompassed all living things, even after death.

Except for this mysterious woman.

She wasn't fauna, or flora, or decay. And now that he was feeling through the Red, he realized that her constructs weren't connected to it either, even though they looked like they could have crawled right out of it moments before they showed up here. Buddy didn't know how that was possible, but right now, what she was didn't matter half as much as stopping her.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore," he said firmly, "but you have to stop what you're doing, or I'll be forced to. I can't let you keep attacking innocent people with your creatures. It has to stop." 

The woman scowled and stood up, her body passing right through Animal Man like he was made of air, and a chill ran down his spine and he shuddered as he fell a few inches onto the asphalt below.

"What the...?" He tried to grab her again, but he couldn't even touch her. His hands passed right through her, like he was trying to catch smoke.

"You think you can stop me?!" the woman demanded, her hair standing up and writhing like snakes on her head. The meat monsters turned as one and began to converge on Animal Man. "Today's menu is doom, and now, it's lunchtime!"

"It's four-thirty!"

Animal Man snapped his head up toward the sound of the new voice, and saw a teenager flying into view. He wore a black and white jumpsuit, had white hair, and the green glow of his eyes was visible even from a distance. The teen rocketed down and slammed his fists right into the strange woman's face, sending her skidding backwards.

"You!" she hissed, her eyes widening and pulsing red—it was terrifying in person, but Buddy couldn't help the thought that it was reminiscent of a really angry Loony Tunes character.

Immediately, her creatures turned their attention away from Animal Man, and toward the newcomer. Evidently, she and him had a history. And she'd determined that the kid was a higher priority than Buddy was.

"That's right, Lunch Lady, it's me again," the kid said, grabbing a thermos that was hanging off his belt. "And I'm here to tell you that the only thing on the menu for you today is soup!"

Whatever he planned to do with that thermos, he didn't get the chance, as one of the meat gremlins morphed its arm into a long whip and knocked it away from him.

"Ew!" the kid said, dropping a few feet to punch the nearest creature and then dry-heaving for a second. "Are these things raw? Why—eugh!" he cut himself off with a shudder as another one got close and he had to punch it. Clearly the creatures were not his bag.

"Hey kid!" Animal Man shouted, ready to offer his help.

"It's Phantom," the kid shouted back. "Wait, who're you?"

"Animal Man," he replied. "I'll keep the meat things occupied if you can deal with her."

"You sure, dude?" Phantom flew back out of the meat things' reach with a grimace, and dodged the sprays of blood they spewed up after him looking almost as green as the Lunch Lady. "These things are pretty gross. Way grosser than the last time I fought 'em."

"I've handled grosser than them," Buddy assured. "They're not a problem—but I can't fight someone I can't touch."

Phantom turned slightly to look at the Lunch Lady, who was laughing triumphantly, and got splashed in the back of the head by one of the meat creatures still bombarding him. He yelped in disgust, and Buddy pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

"Alright, deal!" Phantom agreed, wiping the back of his head with a gloved hand. "I'll leave 'em to you, just don't let them merge with each other, or her, they become a much bigger problem that way."

"Got it!" 

Animal Man summoned up some elephant strength, leopard agility and the reflexes of a fly and ran at the creatures. The force of his punches caused them to burst apart instantly, and in the time it took one to reform itself, he could take down three more.

Meanwhile, Phantom shot upward, firing a green beam at the Lunch Lady. His head turned frantically, like he was looking for something, but he didn't seem to find it. The Lunch Lady screamed as he dive-bombed her again, this time sending her through a wall—the wall itself undamaged. She came back through it moments later, back on her feet and angrier than ever. 

As much as he wanted to keep an eye on the kid to make sure he didn't get hurt, Buddy still had to focus on his own fight. Phantom was clearly familiar with this enemy, had apparently fought her before, and he seemed like he could handle himself. None of that stopped Buddy from worrying. None of his worrying changed the fact that he had a job to do.

In his moment of distraction, one of the creatures slammed into the side of Animal Man's knee, knocking him down. He used his elephant strength to throw it off and watched it splatter into a bloody, fleshy mass against a concrete wall. 

As he rolled over to get back on his feet and resume the fight, he saw the thermos Phantom had dropped. It had rolled out of sight under the bus stop bench. That must've been what the kid was looking for! Although Animal Man had no idea what Phantom could need it for, he darted forward like a cheetah on all fours and snatched the thermos up.

"Hey Phantom!" he shouted, jumping to his feet and kicking another creature into pieces. "You need this, right?"

Phantom turned, and grinned widely when he saw what his new ally was holding. Animal Man threw it up to him and he caught it easily and uncapped it right away, aiming it at the Lunch Lady.

Animal Man punched out another meat gremlin as a blue light shone from inside the thermos, and the Lunch Lady screamed and shouted in protest as she was sucked inside. As soon as the cap was back on the thermos, the remaining creatures collapsed into piles of raw meat, covered in rocks and dirt and buzzing flies. How this mess would get cleaned up was anyone's guess.

Fight ended, Phantom flew down to where Animal Man was standing, surrounded by a ring of red meat and plucked poultry, but did not touch down on the ground. A strategic choice, although it was a bit too late for the other hero to do the same.

"Eugh, I smell like a butcher shop and I have entrails in my hair," Animal Man commented, sniffing his sleeve with a grimace. "My wife isn't gonna so much as wave hello until I take a shower, and it's gonna be hell getting the stench outta my suit."

"Oh, uh... here." 

Phantom put his hand on Buddy's shoulder, and a cold empty sensation wracked his body for a few seconds. All the gross chunks and fluids dropped to the ground, falling through him like he was made of air, just like the Lunch Lady had moved through him earlier. When Phantom took his hand away, Buddy was clean. Even the smell didn't seem to be coming from him anymore, although it still definitely surrounded him.

"Wow, thanks," Buddy said, marveling at the distinct lack of red stains on his white gloves which had been absolutely soaked in it a moment before. "That trick must come in pretty useful for you."

"Yeah, well, it's the least I could do after you helped me out," Phantom said. His shoulders hunched and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "It was all my fault the Lunch Lady attacked in the first place. I was stupid and forgot to make sure the thermos was empty before I left Amity Park."

"Hey, you're not stupid; don't say that. Everyone makes mistakes, what's important is that you were able to fix it," Animal Man argued. 

Phantom smiled gratefully, and it wasn't until he took his hand away from his neck that he seemed to remember the splatter of blood and juices he'd gotten from one of the creatures and he wrinkled his nose at the red stain on his own glove. He hardly seemed to think about it as he turned himself intangible like he had to Buddy before and let the viscera fall to the sidewalk with a splat.

"So... what was she anyway?" Buddy asked, doing his best to keep a straight face. "The Lunch Lady I mean. She definitely wasn't human, I could tell that much."

"Oh, she was a ghost," Phantom replied. "I'm a ghost, too, but I'm a good guy, I swear. Sorry, I forget not a lot of people have seen ghosts outside of Amity Park. They're super common where I come from."

"A ghost, huh?"

Animal Man considered that. It would make sense. A ghost was dead, but not decaying, not made of flesh or vegetation. Not fauna, not flora, not rot. It tracked with what he had sensed from the woman before. But if Phantom was a ghost too, that meant he'd died at about the same age Buddy's own son, Cliff, had, and that sent a pang of heartache through the man's chest.

One thing didn't make sense, though. Phantom claimed to be a ghost, like the Lunch Lady, but unlike with her, Buddy could sense Phantom through the Red. It was a thin connection, like the kid was hanging onto it by a thread, but it was a solid one, too. If this kid really was a ghost, he wasn't the same as the one he'd just trapped in that thermos of his.

For a moment, Buddy thought about pressing for answers, but he quickly decided against it. It could be that the truth was too personal, or embarrassing, or even dangerous for Phantom to reveal, especially to a virtual stranger, even one who'd helped him out. Besides everyone was entitled to their secrets. Instead, Animal Man smiled at the kid and clapped him on the back.

"That's pretty cool," he said. "Say, do ghosts eat? You should come over to my place for dinner. After a hard-fought battle like that, I'd say you deserve it."

"You can eat after fighting those things?" Phantom looked down at what remained of the meat creatures and gagged.

"Trust me, if I wasn't already a vegetarian, I would be after this," Buddy replied. "My wife's making some meat-free lasagna, and we always have tons of leftovers. She usually doesn't like me taking hero stuff home with me, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind in this case."

"She knows you're a hero?" 

The open shock on Phantom's face was a bit of a surprise, but then again, he had said he was from out of town. Just because Buddy was often swarmed by local paparazzi, didn't mean he was any more than regionally famous.

"Everyone knows," he said with a shrug. "I don't keep my identity a secret. It can get annoying sometimes, but I don't really have any reason to. I'm not one of the big-shots, like Batman and Wonder-Woman. You're not from around here, so I bet you never even heard of Animal Man before today."

"Well... no...."

"Exactly," Buddy made sure to grin wide enough that the kid knew there were no hard feelings about it. "So what do you say? You coming over for dinner, or what?"

"I'd love to, but I can't," Phantom said apologetically. "I have to deal with all this meat and then my—uh... I just have other plans tonight."

"You need help with the clean up?"

Phantom frowned down at the piled of meat still surrounding the two of them. 

Maybe this really hadn't been the best place to discuss dinner plans. Man, Buddy really was desensitized to this kinda stuff wasn't he? For a guy who didn't eat meat, he sure spent a lot of time surrounded by it, both in the Red, and now here.

"Nah," Phantom decided finally. "I think I can just turn the ground intangible and phase everything down under the street level so it can decompose."

"Just turn the ground intangible, huh?" Animal Man huffed a light laugh and shook his head. "Yeah, alright, if you're sure. I should get going anyway. Stay safe, kiddo. Maybe I'll see you around again before you head back home."

"Uh..." Phantom blinked owlishly at him. "Y-yeah... you uh... stay safe too."

Animal Man smiled and nodded, and took off toward his home, borrowing the power of flight from a pigeon on a telephone wire. The way Phantom had reacted, it was almost like no one had ever said that to him before. Stay safe.

Where had he said he was from? Amity Park?

Maybe Animal Man should keep tabs on him from now on, just in case. After all, ghost or not, he was still just a teenager, and all heroes needed allies from time to time.

[yuzurujenn]

[2022.09.29] Figure Skating Life Extra - Nanami Abe on Yuzuru Hanyu’s “Expression”

About Yuzuru Hanyu’s “Expression” (Part 1) - Nanami Abe

Coach Nanami Abe supported Yuzuru Hanyu during a season of great growth, both as a coach and as a choreographer who created many masterpieces. We asked her about the thoughts behind each program, as well as the roots and talent behind Yuzuru Hanyu’s expressiveness.

--Which program was the most memorable for you?

I began directly coaching him right after the 2006 All-Japan Novice Championships, when he was in sixth grade. Partway through that season, we decided to make a new program. When I thought about what music to use, the very first thing that came to mind was “Sing, Sing, Sing.” At the time, we were using that song in basic stroking practice, and he really loved it. Even in simple practices with just crossovers and strokes, he was expressing the music with his whole body. I remembered young Yuzuru saying, “I really love this song,” so I thought, “This has to be it,” and created the program.

There was a competition version and an exhibition version. In the exhibition version, he used a hat as a prop. There was a movement where he tightened his tie as if to say, “All right, I’m going to dance now,” but I remember he had a hard time getting it right (laughs). It was the first piece I ever choreographed for him, and I remember really enjoying the choreography process.

-- The Novice A free skate "Firebird" was also memorable. At the time, you told me that he practiced movements like hatching from an egg and spreading his wings, gradually taking flight into the sky, and just like that theme, it turned out to be a season where his results truly soared. (He placed third on the podium at the Japan Junior Championships, having been recommended from the Novice category.)

Just before the All-Japan Novice, I gave birth to my second child, so things were quite hectic, but it was a very memorable season. That year’s Junior Nationals were held in Sendai, and immediately after the competition, there was also practice for the NHK Trophy flag skaters, which was held in Sendai as well.

After the competition, the flag skaters were allowed to practice at that same rink. Everyone was wearing matching blue costumes, but Yuzu didn’t have time to change, so he practiced in his red “Firebird” costume. It was quite funny as he was the only one in red at the front (laughs). With events like that going on too, it was quite a hectic season.

--And in the season after “Firebird,” I remember him saying a bit disappointedly, “When I said I wanted to use a violin piece, Sensei told me, 'It's too early for you.'"

Yes, I did (laughs). It was “Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso.” Violin is nice, of course, but I thought the sound of the piano suited him much better. I think it’s quite difficult to express the violin’s lingering, drawn-out tones through body movement. At that time, I felt piano music would be better for him, so for the next season we used the piano piece “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.” If I remember correctly, after that, he told me that he wanted to do something with the violin again (laughs).

--His final short program as a competitive skater ended up being “Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso.” It must have been a piece he cherished for a long time.

That may be true. When I saw that it was a piano arrangement, I thought, “Oh, so there’s a piano version of it too.”

--Please tell us some stories about the programs that are indispensable when talking about Hanyu—such as “White Legend,” “Etude,” and “Romeo + Juliet.”

“White Legend” was created with the idea of expanding his range of expression, so I designed it with an image that was not bound by gender. It was a piece I had always wanted someone to skate to. The music is based on the well-known “Swan Lake,” and I thought it would be wonderful if he could interpret it in his own way. I remember deciding on it because I thought the way it builds up from the first half to the second half would align well with the expressive power he has when it comes to music. That program also had a competitive version and an exhibition version. In the exhibition version, I believe he added movements evoking a swan resting still. Unlike in competition, where he has to focus on the elements, I think he was able to concentrate more on expression in the exhibition. The tone of the piece had a distinctly Japanese flavour, so we tried to express that atmosphere in detail through the choreography.

I watched 'White Legend' from the rink side at the charity performance held in Kobe in April 2011, just after the earthquake, and I couldn’t stop crying. The last All-Japan Championships I competed in as a fourth-year university student had been held at that very rink. The morning after the competition, when I returned to Sendai, the earthquake struck Kobe. The rink where we had skated was also damaged, so it was a huge shock. This time, I brought my skater there and received encouragement. The moment he was given a standing ovation, I got goosebumps all over. I believe he was also skating with all sorts of emotions, but personally, I felt encouraged, and I think he, too, was able to feel the joy and gratitude of being able to skate.

--Do you think that performance and experience influenced his skating afterward?

I think that’s probably true. I don’t think he consciously remembers the hardship every time he performs, but I do believe that kind of experience definitely leads to a kind of expression that only someone who has lived through it can convey. Those feelings may come out naturally through a subtle expression or movement.

--What about “Etude”?

This was his free program, and it was during the season right after the earthquake. The season before, he had won a medal at the Four Continents Championships, and we were just beginning to discuss what we might do for the following season when the earthquake hit on March 11. I had just started thinking about possible concepts and looking for music, and then the earthquake happened, which completely halted the process. We were just struggling to get by, and there was no rink. At that time, the manager of the rink in Hachinohe (Technol Ice Park Hachinohe) kindly said, “We can’t open for business, but we have ice, so come skate if you’d like.” That’s where I was able to do the choreography for both “Etude” and “Romeo + Juliet.”

It’s hard to put “Etude” into words, and it might sound inappropriate, but the more I listened to the music, the more the TV images of the coastal areas after the earthquake came back to me. I started to feel an image of fighting back against that. I spoke to him about that, and we decided to go with that piece. That’s also why we chose blue for the costume, to reflect the sea. The strength of the music itself supported the feeling of facing hardship, of not giving up. I think the things he experienced added something extra to the choreography I created.

As for the free skate, I had already settled on the idea of using film music with a strong storyline before the earthquake. We chose the movie version of Romeo + Juliet partly because it's a movie I like, but also because I thought it would allow him to express himself better than classical music would. Also, the 'Kissing You' part was something I had choreographed for Kensuke Nakaniwa when he was still a competitive skater, who is now a coach in Minami Funabashi. One reason I chose it was simply because I liked the song, but at the time, Yuzu was 16–17 years old, and in terms of age he also matched Romeo. I thought that with the combination of the music, we could wonderfully express his energetic nature, kindness, and sensitivity.

--After the choreography was done, I asked Hanyu, "What is your image of Juliet?" and he said, "Everyone watching my performance is Juliet!" I remember him saying that.

I don’t usually go into great detail like, ‘This piece of music corresponds to this scene, so you should have this kind of image’ or tell him to completely become the protagonist. I might say something like, ‘For this moment, since it’s like this scene in the movie, make this kind of face,’ but I don’t set those kinds of things for the whole program. If you have that kind of setting for the entire program, it becomes very tough. In competitions, there are many things to focus on besides expression, so balancing that is very difficult. So, I think he thought about it in his own way and found many Juliets at each venue at the time.

--Is there anything memorable from that season?

The first Grand Prix event was the Cup of China, and the result wasn’t very good (4th place). In the Kiss-and-Cry, Yuzu was saying, ‘Ah, this is no good...’ and was really down, so I said something unusually harsh to him: ‘Are you going to give up here? You still don’t know what could happen.’ Our goal was to reach the Final, so we were pushing to get there somehow.

--After winning the Rostelecom Cup, he safely qualified for the Grand Prix Final. At that season’s World Championships (Nice), there was also the incident where he sprained his ankle right before the short program.

Yes, at that competition, not only did he injure his foot, but his skates weren’t in good condition either. It just so happened that my husband (Toshinobu Yoshida, who handled his skate maintenance) said, ‘Since it’s a rare opportunity, I’d like to go watch,’ and he came alone to Nice. He was at the venue, so we handed over the skates to have them adjusted. As for the injured foot, I wasn’t too worried because he is the type of athlete who has the mental strength to perform properly, no matter how much pain he’s in. I just told him not to ice his foot in front of other people. Even if he didn’t mean to, if he showed others his pain, it might make them worry. I also felt that I didn't want him to show any weaknesses in front of others.

--When I hear about Hanyu’s consideration for others and his thoughts, it reminds me of how his coaches and family have been guiding him since he was a child. I feel that these aspects of his character have become part of who he is now.

Thank you. It makes me happy to hear you say that, but I believe that it’s thanks to his family, his previous coaches, and all the many people who have supported him that he has become who he is today. He’s always taken everything sincerely and seriously. He would listen to me and say things like, ‘Coach so-and-so told me this,’ or ‘Coach so-and-so said that.’ I think his ability to accept someone’s advice with sincerity is part of his character, and I feel very honoured to have been able to be a part of his skating life, even for just a short time.

--Do you have any other memorable episodes regarding choreography?

In the year he won Junior Worlds, his short program was Mission: Impossible 2. I had him do a movement like turning a steering wheel going into the step sequence. Since he said he hardly ever rides a bicycle, let alone cars, I remembered that Yagiyama Benyland in Sendai had go-karts, so I told him, ‘Imagine driving a go-kart.’ But he said, ‘I’ve never ridden a go-kart.’ Since Yuzu loves games, I said, ‘Okay, then just imagine Mario Kart,’ and he replied, ‘Got it!’ (laughs) He’s turning the steering wheel with such a serious look, but what he’s imagining is Mario Kart (laughs).

--Mario Kart, really! (laughs) Earlier, when you spoke about White Legend, you mentioned “his power of musical expression.” Back then, what kind of thoughts did Hanyu have about expression?

I think there are countless ways to express music. Even with the same music, each person interprets it differently. He tries to embody the sounds and rhythms he hears, not just dancing to the beat or having good musicality, but really listening to the music and expressing it with his body. Even from a young age, I felt that he was trying to express things with his whole body. Of course, compared to adults, a child has less experience, so the quality of fine expression is naturally rougher, but I had the impression that he was always doing his best to express things like the stretch and flow of the sound with his body. Even with music in a genre he hadn’t tried before, he never said ‘I can’t,’ and was eager to give it a go. And he always gave his all. That’s really a natural talent.

--He seemed mischievous and energetic even off the ice.

I think he’s always been curious about many things. I believe (Yamada) Mami-sensei had the hardest time with him, and I think if you asked him who was the scariest teacher he ever had, he’d say Mami-sensei (laughs). Without her guidance, things might have been different, and I think if even one of the coaches who came after her had been missing, it wouldn’t have been the same.”

--How was he in terms of performing?

When choreographing, we decide: here’s where the jump goes, here’s where the spin starts, and so on. But sometimes, in the actual performance, accidents like falls happen, and the timing for entering a spin might shift just slightly. When that happens, Yuzu adjusts in the moment to match the music he’s hearing. For example, there’s a section where he normally extends his hands during a sit spin, but if the timing of entering the spin shifts because of a fall, he might change how he moves his hands. Some skaters get so focused on the technical elements that they stop paying attention to the music, but in his case, I think the music is always playing in his head. That’s why, after landing a jump, his hand movements or the way he transitions into the next move naturally adjust to fit the music. I feel his ability to move his body in sync with the music he hears is really amazing.

--In the recent open practice (t/n: SharePractice), the step sequence he showed at the end had Japanese music as the BGM, but it felt like I could hear ‘White Legend’ as he skated. I thought, maybe he has the ability to reproduce music.

I’m sure he does. These days, speakers have improved, and you can adjust things like emphasizing the bass or making the vocals clearer. But I think that even without any of that, he probably hears all the sounds within the music. Sometimes I think maybe he has that kind of extraordinary ability (laughs).

--Finally, could you give a message to Hanyu, who will surely take on various challenges as a professional?

I believe he will approach performing in front of an audience as a professional with even more determination than before. Being a professional means making it your livelihood, so I’m sure he’ll face everything seriously, from rehearsals onward, to ensure he’s respectful toward the audiences who come to watch and toward everyone involved in the shows. By doing so, I hope he will show his juniors not only what it means to be a professional but also what it means to face skating as a skater. I believe Yuzu himself will be able to show that it’s not just about achieving good competition results, but how you carry yourself is also important, so I think he will continue to be a great role model. And I hope that while enjoying the skating he loves so much, he’ll keep skating for a long time and continue to bring joy and excitement to many people.

Source: Figure Skating Life Extra "Life on Ice Yuzuru Hanyu”, pg 146-149

[mikhailwrites]

Soaring Ever Higher 2 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

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Ghost met John "Trigger" MacTavish and after the pilot saved his life - at cost of disobeying a direct order - asked him out for a drink. However, Trigger stood him up...

John is on his way to change from his flight suit to something considerably nicer. Well, maybe not all that much nicer since he wasn’t exactly planning on going out during this deployment, let alone going out with someone. Still, a tan tee and black cargo trousers could be considered an improvement.

Just as he’s nearing the door to his room, someone is standing in front of them, hand raised to knock. Trigger makes another two steps before he pauses. He’d recognise the unruly mop of dirty-blonde hair anywhere. “Count?” he calls out his wingman, who turns around quickly.

“Ah, there you are! Come on, the boss needs you,” Count gestures. Trigger stops. No way. Do they really have to do this right now?

“Can’t he wait at least till tomorrow? He can chew me out then,” John shrugs, resuming his walk towards his room.

However, Count shakes his head. “It’s not about your stunt today, I think. There’s another mission, an urgent one,” he explains. “So, come on. It’s not like you have somewhere better to be.”

He does, actually, but doesn’t say it out loud. If Count knew about his plans, Trigger wouldn’t hear the end of it. “Aye, okay, lead the way.”

True to Count’s words, Long Caster is already in the briefing room, going over maps and documents. The moment Trigger and his wingman come through the door, their commanding officer looks up, eyes locking on John.

“Good thing you haven’t changed yet. You’re about to go out again. The station personnel is refuelling your aircraft as we speak.”

“What’s so damn urgent then?” Trigger barely hides his displeasure as he walks around to the table and looks at the mission intel.

Long Caster also turns to the table and pulls out a topographic map of the nearby mountain range. “We need you to do a recon sweep.”

John gives him a long, hard look as if to ascertain if he’s serious or not. “Excuse me? A recon sweep? Don’t we have drones for that?”

“We do. That, and insubordinate, obstinate SoBs that treat commands as if they were mere suggestions. Get ready. You leave in ten,” Long Caster nods at the fellow pilot. When Trigger doesn’t move an inch, he adds: “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Trigger grunts and leaves.

Count looks at the back of his friend and wingman before he turns to Long Caster. “With all due respect, sir, was that really necessary?”

“I don’t need you questioning my orders, Count. However, if you insist, I’m sure we can arrange some rewarding mission for you as well,” his superior cocks an eyebrow in obvious challenge.

“I think I’ll pass. Permission to leave?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you were never here,” Long Caster nods to the still-open door and Count excuses himself.

The flight path is long and utterly boring. Trigger has to fly low and slow for the radar and lidar to catch everything he needs. He’s bored. His jet is bored, too. It’s just a sea of green, stretching in all directions, and, even worse, the sky is still overcast, so it’s just the green below and dull grey above.

He returns after the nightfall. Taking off the helmet, the sweat-drenched mohawk sticks to his head. Trigger only exchanges a few pleasantries with the staff and engineers before retreating to his quarters to shower.

Only then, under the spray of lukewarm water to cool himself down, does he remember he was supposed to meet with Ghost and practically stood the man up. Great way to fuck up a promising start they had. John shortly debates if he should go to Ghost’s quarters and explain to him what happened.

No. It sounds like bullshit, and he’s way too beat to go anywhere, anyway. Even more so since the Strider squadron’s mission has been completed, and they will be returning to their home base tomorrow. Another long, boring flight. At least he will have his mates to chat with.

#

Ghost finds Laswell first thing in the morning. He’s not angry, and he’s willing to give Trigger the benefit of the doubt. Ghost knows better than most how quickly downtime can turn into active duty, especially for top operatives such as himself or Trigger.

Laswell is fully immersed in the display of her laptop. Ghost knocks on the open door and is given a lifted index finger – a universal symbol to wait, and that’s what he does. Full five minutes, actually. Only then does Laswell click a few times and finally nods at Ghost to come in. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Do you know where Trigger is?” Ghost’s voice is steady, as is the rest of him. To anyone else, it wouldn’t sound any different than asking what’s for lunch, but not to Laswell since it’s her job to notice even the most subtle changes and details. She’s also damn good at her job.

“Yesterday, Flight Lieutenant was needed elsewhere, in a rather urgent manner, I’m afraid,” she confirms Ghost’s unvoiced theory, “as of this morning, Strider squadron’s mission has concluded, and they returned to their home base”. By mentioning Trigger’s rank, she also lets Ghost know that MacTavish actually outranks him. Interesting, if not exactly surprising. It’s good that John didn’t intend to leave him hanging. However, Trigger is now, quite literally, in the wind. Who knows how long before they run into each other again? Ghost tries to convince himself that he mostly minds the debt; he’s promised John a drink. “I could get you his phone number if you want.”

“No need,” Ghost declines her offer and pointedly ignores the knowing look on her face. Laswell doesn’t need to know everything, let alone the degree of interest Ghost has in MacTavish.

Ghost walks out, stopping on the tarmac and looking up. There’s the vast expanse of clear blue sky. If he’s honest, he never paid too much attention to it. His fight is and has always been on the ground. Now, he can’t help but wonder: how does being up there feel? There is no ground to support you, no cover to help you, no nothing, just you, the mission, and almost endless space. There’s something freeing in the thought but, at the same time, anxiety-inducing. No, Ghost is very much ground-animal, thank you very much.

If he gets to talk to MacTavish again, he will ask him what he sees in the blue. What does he feel when the jet leaves the ground? What is he thinking about, up there, among birds and clouds? And what’s with those three strikes on the tail? With a newfound resolve, he changes the initial if to when. When he gets to talk to MacTavish again.

[bigfemboyenergy]

The Worst Crossover To Ever ‘Cross Over’ Pt.2

See, Danny isn’t terribly surprised with his predicament. And by that, he means that he is wholly unsurprised that he has to fake who he is. A fourteen year old kid working, in this day and age? Unlikely, he thinks. So he decides to pretend to be fifteen, what an easy fix. But that doesn’t help with Sonic’s side of the problem. Sure, Sonic gets confused for a kid, but..how old is he?

As soon as the thought surfaces, Danny opens his mouth to speak, turning to look at Sonic as they walk around, searching for a somewhat acceptable abandoned building or something similar to hide out in for now. “Uh, how old are you, exactly?” Danny asks, with little hesitation. Sonic shrugs; “Old enough to legally drink in some countries- why, worried about something?” Danny feels his face turn a bit white. Wow, his appearance does not match his age. With a nervous smile, Danny responds with, “Yeah, dunno if you could get a job looking like that. I’m fourteen, and even I look older than you.” Sonic coughs awkwardly. “I’m gonna have to work on that, aren’t I? What an unlucky day it is,” he says, with a yawn. Shelving that problem in order to focus on the most important one, the two continue to wander the streets, looking for something to temporarily call “home”.

It isn’t too long before they find a suitable place. Dark, dreary, just like everywhere else; but it’s far more exaggerated, and even dirtier than the rest of the city. Some old graffiti here and there, a broken window or two. Not too shabby on the inside, still has running water and an AC. It makes Danny wonder just how old this building is and just how long it’s been since it was last lived in.

Sonic inspects every nook and cranny of the building, as if checking for safety violations. It appears to be an old office building, with kitchen necessities in what might’ve been a break room, and running water in the bathrooms. He investigates alone, namely for “Danny’s safety”, he says, but it makes one think. The amount of spiders he’s killed seems to point to a different conclusion..but that’s of no matter.

After looking at every floor, Sonic finally decides which one they’ll be staying on. Something that’s just a cut above the rest, and also safe enough- the third floor, out of four. He waves Danny over to the cleanest spot in the spacious, main room, calling out, “Let’s sleep over here for now, since we kinda can’t clean anything yet. It looks a lot nicer here, away from the nasty corners.” Danny nods, agreeing in silence. It looks like they have a lot of work to do, as they both flop on the floor and try to sleep.

Danny, however, struggles to sleep. In an entirely new city, an empty building, with someone who he’s just been freshly acquainted with, trying to sleep on the cold, hard floor? That’s no easy feat, and he acknowledges this. So he comes to the most logical conclusion: why not check out the city from above, via Phantom form? In silence, he nods in agreement with his own thought, intrigued by his new possibilities. He’ll fly out and survey the town, enjoy the sunrise, if he’s awake for that long- try to make this place feel a little bit like home. Familiarize himself with it, perhaps. It sounds like a good plan, no? So he acts.

He whispers to himself, after assuring that Sonic is asleep, “Going ghost!” He transforms in silence. A little reminder of who he is, the whispers of who he was only hours ago, come to him via his reference of his beginnings. It gives him a feeling of determination, a want to explore. A desire to protect this new friend he’s found, and the strangers of a place he’s newly discovered. Slowly slipping through the floor, intangibly, he floats out of the building, making himself invisible so as not to spook anyone else who may be out at night.

In the night sky, he soars through the clouds as he takes in the layout of the city. It’s large, dark, and..full of crime, which makes a lot of sense in such a poverty-stricken area, but.. it has an air of abnormality. Suddenly, he hears some horrible sounds. Shrill, shrieking laughter booms out from a warehouse a few blocks away, his ears wishing for the silence of seconds before to return. Although he doesn’t truly want to approach, his obsession to protect those in need draws him to the source of the sound. The closer he gets, the more off everything seems. And..are those furries on the top of that building? What have I gotten myself into, he thinks, with an accompanying facepalm. Oh, boy.

Back in the cold, dreary office building, Sonic wakes up, restless. He feels terrible..he turns towards Danny, wanting to check on him, before quickly finding out that he’s not even present. What a fantastic day this has been. Sonic feels his heart pumping, ready for a run. He has to find Danny, to make sure he’s okay. Unless..he left of his own accord? Shit, what if he actually is weirded out by me..he said something about the unusualness of a guy like me showing up, didn’t he?! Sonic struggles to decide what to do. He knows Danny could be in need, he knows he’s young. And, from what he’s gathered, he’s a bit odd too, but if he needs help, of course Sonic should jump on in for him! They’re “partners in crime” now, aren’t they?

Despite his conscience screaming at him to go, he still struggles to make the choice. What if Danny really didn’t mean anything he said? But..he listens to that loud, desperate part of him. He doesn’t want to lose the only person he’s found here. If he can save or help this kid, someone who accepts him in this strange new place, that’s just what he’ll do.

So, against his “better judgement”, he rushes off, speeding around the town to find Danny. If anything, he should be where it’s quietest or where it’s loudest, since both are eeriest. As Sonic zooms off, going incredibly fast so as not to be seen clearly, he is particularly careful to check suspicious, disturbing areas.

Not long after he began his run, he finds Danny. But it’s quite the weird situation to be in.. cause Danny’s colors are inverted now? And there’s this weird bat guy a few buildings away, with some friends, too.. and a fucking..clown?! What is this shit, bad writing??!

[the-sky-queen]

Can you list the AUs you have?

I'm really curious about which ones you have

Ohhhhh, my friend, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. >:)

AUs posted to Ao3:

Find Yourself

A Spark Soaring Down Through The Pouring Rain (The New Yolk part of my Sonic Prime With Great Power Comes AU)

We Disappoint, We Disappear, We Die But We Don't (The Bosscage part of my Sonic Prime With Great Power Comes AU)

Sky's Sonic-verse (multiple things posted for this, I won't list them all)

Dreams of Disaster

Tachophobia (Shared with @boom-fanfic-a-latta AKA Lily)

Reset

Darkspine Djinn (Shared with Lily and @cattyanon)

Athazagoraphobia (Tachophobia Expanded Universe (TEU) spinoff)

Simon Says (Shared with Lily)

Sing Me A Story (Shared with Lily)

Super Naturals

Atychiphobia (TEU spinoff)

Sonic Prime: Ascendence (Shared with Lily)

Metal

Spectrophobia (TEU spinoff, shared with Lily)

AUs not on Ao3 (yet), but have been seen here on tumblr:

The Nexus Triology

The Difficult Balance Between A Blessing And A Curse (The No Place part of my Sonic Prime With Great Power Comes AU)

Pizza Place (Discontinued)

Alter-Egos

The Blind Hero

Immortals

New Beginnings

Spirits

Decidiophobia (TEU spinoff, shared with Lily)

The Ask Multiverse (various AU ideas given to me by my anons)

Dementophobia (TEU spinoff, shared with Lily)

SCU x Game Crossover (SSS from Whipple Family (mis)Adventures by @stillafanofsonic get transported to the game universe)

Guardian Swap

Sonic of Mars

Little Gremlins

Speak of the Devil

Bio Soniclizard (shared with cattyanon)

Mephiles Possessing Shadow

Star Dust

Angel of Death

Sing

The Unshakable Bond (shared with @floxy-offical)

Phobophobia (TEU spinoff)

Sonic and the Lord of the Rings

Red Son Didn't Know (hello there my one LMK AU-)

[SYSTEM_RECOVER - FRACTURED_BOND]

Astrophobia (TEU spinoff)

Mesmerize Me

Sonic and the Swan Princess

Phantom Mind

Haunted By You

After Today

The Black Prince

Sonic and the Epic Journey

Sonic Amulet

Sonic the Vocaloid

All Eyes On Me

The Monster Under My Bed

Sonic WOZ

Eldritch God Shadow

And there's even MORE that haven't been posted at ALL yet, but I won't list those here. (Though you can find a lot of them in my Unposted AU ask game) So. Yeah. I have way too many AUs. XD

[brinkworth]

Hi! I'd love to hear more about Troy! ✨️

Troy! My Roman empire! I'll be honest, this one is a heartbreaking choice for a prongsfoot lover! 💔 (But I have less heartbreaking prongsfoot snippets here and here). It's an HP/Song of Achilles/Illiad crossover type fic. It's technically Jily (James as Hector and Lily as Andromache) and Wolfstar (Sirius as Achilles and Remus as Patroclus), but it is not super romance focused. It's more about James and Sirius as mirrors in a very tragic way. The premise is that Peter (who is James' brother in this) steals something important from Regulus, who then essentially wages war against the Potters in return. Sirius is duty bound to support him, just as James is duty bound to support Peter. There are a lot of things pulled from the original stories with prophecies, morally grey characters, magical creatures, etc.

Including a snippet from Remus' POV below!

They arrived at Hogsmeade to freshly fallen snow and an army waiting just beyond the walls, watching as they soared through the sky.

The thestral under him lifted, and Remus braced for impact as it landed hard onto the ground, snow billowing up around him as the rest of their own army landed, the sound of hundreds of thestrals hitting the earth and echoing through the valley like rolling thunder.

Remus suppressed the urge to reach out and touch the falling snow, settling for watching the flakes as they landed on the jet black fabric of his robes and the tips of his eyelashes. He’d never seen snow before, having never been this far north.

As the gates to the city slowly opened, revealing the meandering cobblestone streets beyond and rows of cottages covered in snow, Bellatrix dismounted, motioning for the others to meet her at the front. Remus adjusted, shoving his hands into his pockets for warmth, assuming he was to stay put with the rest of the army. As the horse beneath him shifted, the snow crunched beneath his hooves. Remus wondered what snow felt like to a thestral and if they could feel the cold.

“Remus,” Sirius called out, nodding toward the village. “You’re coming with us.”

Tension built with every step they took toward the parley and the massive castle, Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Regulus in the lead, cloaks waving through the air behind them. While Sirius’ gaze stayed straight ahead, Remus could feel his attention shift, taking in the details of their surroundings and the pull of his magic through the air around them. The witch who escorted them had insisted they could not Apparate inside the city walls. Bellatrix glanced briefly at Sirius, who lifted his chin almost imperceptibly in return. He could remove those protections in a matter of minutes.

Inside the castle, the witch escorted them into the castle’s great hall, where Fleamont and Euphemia sat on carved oak thrones at the head of the room. James and Lily stood to Fleamont’s side, just as imposing as Remus had heard them to be.

James’ eyes tracked Regulus as if he’d just let a venomous snake in through the front door. If he knew of the prophecy, he’d know it was Sirius he should fear instead.

***

By the time they’d returned from the castle, the army had set up camp in the forest, with tents strung between the trees for as far as the eye could see. Remus barely contained himself until the tent flap closed behind them before his exasperation boiled over.

“Your brother is going to get hundreds killed, because he’s been slighted. This doesn’t need to happen!"

Sirius sighed, tossing his wand on a nearby table and running a hand through his hair. “It’s too late, Remus.”

“You know what will happen if you fight James! Your brother has no stake in this war. He has nothing to lose!”

“Relax,” Sirius said, draping himself over a pile of cushions, giving Remus a maddeningly casual smile. “He's given me no reason to fight him. We have their little village surrounded and their army is powerless compared to ours. We’ll be home within the month.”

wip ask game

[chunkypossum]

Come Hel or High Lord: Ch 6

Chapter 6: Buzzards and Banter

Words: 3600

Reminder: This is a crossover between all SJM series. So spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and CC

Summary:

Aelin is that bitch ... that is all.

Snippet below the cut. Read on Ao3

“I tried to get her to rest 2 hours ago and she refuses to stop.” Adeion continued. “I was afraid that she had been nearing a burn out an hour ago but…” Aedion had his attention now, Rowan sliced an iced edged stare in his direction. “But what?” Continuing to monitor the fight below, Aedion didn’t meet his eyes. “She- I don’t know. It was as if she reached that burn out, the bottom of her well of power, and punched a hole through it just so she could keep going.”  “That’s not possible.” Rowan let his breath stream slowly from his nose in an effort to calm himself.  If he didn’t approach her correctly, she would never listen to him. As it was, Aelin had abandoned Aedion’s help and advice in favor of the more indulgent members of her court. He was going to have to have a talk with Fenrys.  Fine, if she wanted a challenge, she would get it.  He cracked his neck on one side, then the other, a growl rumbling low in his chest as a very Fae smile etched itself into the corners of his mouth. On silent feet, Rowan crept backwards a few paces before springing forward and vaulting himself off the balcony they had been perched on. There was a flash of light and he soared on near silent wings toward her back, sending a gust of wind towards her. When it was only a handful of inches from knocking her on her ass, a wall of fire rose up to meet it, sending Rowan pulling up high into the sky, screeching. He dove straight down, angling at the top of her head. He veered swiftly to the right then the left as arrows of fire shot up towards him. Aelin hadn’t moved from her position but her two sparring partners had discreetly seen themselves out.  Using a great blast of wind to slow his fall, Rowan shifted again, landing hard on his feet directly in front of her, panting, smiling.  A wicked grin crossed her face, “Came to play?” 

This is a cross over fic so a giant cast of characters and a big stupid storyline but Azris is my main bitch in this fic so ...Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi

[fandonnavyce]

Crossover Danuary 5 - Owl House

Day 1 - Ben 10, Tucker's breaks out of Space Prison Day 2 - ATLA, Hey, do remember when Sokka got kidnapped to the Spirit World? Day 4 - Jason in Wonderland DpxDc & Alice in Wonderland References

“That’s an amazing sandcastle.”

Collector whirled round, stunned to find that someone had managed to sneak up on him. It was a white haired girl who felt as human as much felt of death and power.

“Do you wanna play hide and go seek with me? I bet we’d have so much fun!” Collector blurted out starry eyed.

Fortunately, the white haired girl didn’t look fazed at all at the sudden fervent invitation.

“Yeah sure, you’re it!” she grinned widely. “Don’t forget to count to 100!” Then she zipped away, soaring into the air, her legs now a ghostly tail trailing behind her. The Collector blinked before giggling. He closed his eyes and started counting.

Warning long post

“98, 99, 100! Ready or not, here I come!” The Collector opened his eyes. Of course the beach was empty when Collector gave a quick scan of the immediate area. Then he levitated into the air to get that sweet bird’s eye view. He couldn’t find anything in the Electromagnetic Spectrum for miles around. He switched over to heat vision and then x-ray. But still nada.

“Oh, she is good!” the Collector praised as he soared through the sky on his flying starboard. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “I FOUND YOU!” “But now you gotta tag me” …

“No fair, the ocean is so cold!” “Oh you think this is cold? I’ll show you cold.” …

“I call hacks!” “What for?” “Animating your sandcastle into a walking castle is totally unfair.” “I don’t want to hear that after you froze the ocean. With ME INSIDE IT!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Listen, you can hear the ocean's roar inside,” frog crouching down next to a tide pool, Dani cupped a beautiful exotic conch shell to her ear. Hovering cross-legged beside her, Collector mimed turning a hand crank; amplifying the echoing sound so that he could hear it too. 

“I’m gonna add this to my collection,” Dani declared whilst admiring the shell, it glimmered a fierce red and spooky silver.

“You have a Collection?” the Collector asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I‘ve got all kinds of cool rocks and souvenirs from all over the realms. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah, totally, of course.”

“I mean it’s back at my place, but you can come over.”

“I can?” the Collector’s voice cracked.

“Obvsi,” Dani teased in a ‘duh’ voice, “we’re friends”

“AWESOME!” the Collector yelled giddily into the bright blue sky. This was the first time in his entire existence he had been invited over to a friend’s home. “Whatcha doin’?”

Dani was currently holding some kind of hand device. It looked really funny. It was slab with buttons and a screen.

“I’m calling for a portal pickup” Dani explained.

“With that?! But what is it?”

Dani blinked in surprise, “It’s a long distance communication device called a mobile phone.”

“What, like a crow phone?” Collector cocked his head in curiosity.

Dani squints, “Maybe?” she draws out, “what’s a crow phone?”

“It’s a long distance communication device but it’s shaped like crow”

Dani shrugs, “then probably”, she looks back at her phone. “Hmm a portal should appear any second now.”

Just as she said that, Collector felt his ears pop as reality suddenly burst, like a pin a helium balloon. Suddenly, a green swirly portal formed in front of him.

“That’s actually really cool,” Collector admits.

“Yeah c’mon,” Dani led the way through the portal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Collector eyes widened at the Palace of Death, Ice, and Celestial Beauty floating before him, imposing and haunting against a backdrop of abyssal Cosmic Space.

“You live here?! Are you a princess? Where’s your tiara?” Collector asked, rapid fire.

“I’m not wearing it, yes I am, yes I do.”

The Collector looked around, his head on a swivel. “This place is so cool!”

Dani looked over at the Collector’s star themed outfit, “Yeah I had feeling you might like it,” she smiled. She flew up to her bedroom’s window, up in her tower, with the Collector following behind her as they entered in.

Taking up one entire wall, were shelves of her collections and souvenirs from her travels across the realms and Dani gleefully showed it off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BANG!

The door to Dani’s bedroom slammed open and Dan was standing there in all his asshole glory. Dan looked down with all his stupid height at the two little kids in the room who looked back up at him.

Dani glared up at her brother’s intrusion. W̴̡̛͍͚̳͊͌H̶̦͑A̸͎̩͇͂̓T̷̞̻͖̜͑̾̉͝?̶͚̩̍̆͊!̸̳̱̐̓ ̷̞͙̀ (leave-get-out-get-out) (anger- confusion-disdain) she silently scowled in ghost-speak.

BANG!

Gone, Dan slammed the door behind him. There was a moment of confusion and surprise. Then heard hollered throughout the Palace,

“DANI HAS A BOY IN HER BEDROOM!!!”

Dani’s face was aghast. The Collector’s was bewildered. They could hear the building thunder of a stampeding herd of wildebeests.

BANG!

“Oh look, Dani brought her first friend over,” cooed Jazz.

Danny firmly denied the sight in front of him. “No! No! You’re too young to be bringing boys over!”

“Oooh who gets to do the shovel talk?” Dan cackled.

“Sam” “Sam” “Me” Tucker, Jazz, and Sam said together.

“What about me?! I’m the Ghost King! I’m her Father!”

“Yeah,” Tucker acknowledges, “but Sam’s the scariest.”

“Excuse you, I’m right here,” Dan protested.

Sam rolled her eyes, “Yeah but you’re not gonna bother.”

“... nah you’re right,” Dan shrugged.

“No wait, hang on, I can too be scary. I can be very scary.”

“Danny, you have multiple times needed either Sam or I to correct your order when you receive the wrong one,” Jazz pointed out.

“OK!” Danny blustered. “This and that are two different things!”

“Sorry bro, just take the L. You’ve been outvoted.” Tucker rested a commiserating hand on Danny’s morose shoulder.

“Anyway” Jazz cheered, “it’s very nice to meet you…”

“The Collector” the boy introduced himself feeling shy all of sudden.

“It’s very nice to meet you, the Collector. Nevermind the noise, you’ll always be welcome here.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Collector sheepishly replied.

“ALRIGHT,” Dani started yelling, “OUT, OUT”, she shouted as she pushed her family out of her bedroom. “I’m so sorry,” Dani apologised to the bemused-looking Collector, “my family is so embarrassing,”

“You better keep the door open!”

“DANNY!”

@crossoverdanuary

[7wbzui]

basketball buddy - mark lee

oc name: Hak Jinae (but you can imagine the name as Y/N if you want)

word count: 2007

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The basketball court crackled with intensity as the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor echoed through the air. Hak Jinae, a fierce and talented basketball player, dribbled the ball with fluid grace, her eyes fixed on the hoop. With each dribble, she felt the weight of her dreams and ambitions.

On the opposing team, Mark Lee, a passionate and determined athlete, moved with agility and precision. His focus never wavered as he strategized each play, his eyes scanning the court for an opening. The rhythm of the game pulsed through his veins, matching the beat of his heart.

In a pivotal moment, their paths crossed. Jinae's quick manoeuvring left Mark momentarily stunned, allowing her to surge towards the basket. With a swift motion, she soared into the air, releasing the ball in a flawless arc. Time stood still as the orange sphere gracefully dropped through the net, sealing the victory for her team.

Mark watched in awe, captivated by Jinae's skill and the fire that blazed within her. The game may have ended, but a spark ignited within him—a desire to know more about the formidable player who had left him awestruck.

---

Days turned into weeks, and destiny, like an unyielding point guard, orchestrated their encounter. Jinae found herself at a local basketball court, honing her skills on a warm summer afternoon. As she practised her shots, a familiar figure approached, his eyes fixed on her mesmerizing movements.

"Hey," Mark called out, a mixture of nervousness and determination in his voice. "Mind if I join you?"

Jinae's heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening with surprise. She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Together, they began a friendly game of one-on-one, their skill and passion for the sport intertwining like a perfectly executed crossover dribble.

With each passing moment, their connection deepened. They shared stories of triumphs and setbacks, dreams and aspirations, discovering a shared love for the game that went beyond the confines of the court. Their competitive spirit fueled their friendship, pushing them to excel while supporting each other's growth.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, Jinae and Mark found themselves sitting on the sidelines, their breaths coming in exhilarated gasps. They locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Basketball had brought them together, but something deeper had taken root—a connection that went beyond the confines of the court.

At that moment, they knew their journey had just begun. Bound by their shared love for basketball and the undeniable chemistry that ignited between them, Jinae and Mark were destined to create a symphony of hoops and hearts, a duo whose rhythm on and off the court would leave an indelible mark on their lives.

As the stars twinkled above, a new chapter unfolded—a chapter that would see them dribbling side by side, chasing their dreams, and discovering that the most significant victories aren't always found in the final score, but in the bonds we form along the way. Together, Jinae and Mark would weave their own story, a tale of basketball, friendship, and the transformative power of love.

---

Days turned into weeks, and Jinae and Mark's bond on and off the court grew stronger with each passing moment. They spent countless hours practising together, their shared passion for basketball fueling their drive to improve. Whether it was shooting drills, defensive strategies, or intense scrimmages, their dedication was unwavering.

Beyond basketball, they discovered shared interests and hobbies. They would meet at their favourite café, sipping on iced coffees while engaging in lively conversations about music, movies, and their aspirations beyond the court. Jinae marvelled at Mark's eclectic taste in music, while Mark admired Jinae's artistic talent as she shared her sketches and paintings.

One sunny afternoon, Jinae invited Mark to an outdoor basketball tournament in the city. The air buzzed with excitement as teams from various neighbourhoods gathered to compete. Jinae's casual team showcased their skills, the synchrony between Jinae and Mark on full display.

Their chemistry was undeniable. With every pass and every play, it was as if they could anticipate each other's moves effortlessly, their connection transcending words. They seamlessly complemented each other's strengths, like two melodies harmonizing in perfect unity.

As the tournament progressed, Jinae's team faced a formidable opponent in the championship game. The score remained tight, tensions running high with every possession. In a crucial moment, Jinae found herself trapped by defenders, her options dwindling.

Just as doubt began to creep in, Mark's voice rang out, filled with unwavering confidence. "Trust me, Jinae!"

Jinae lobbed the ball high in the air without hesitation, knowing Mark was there to receive it. Like a force of nature, Mark leapt with incredible athleticism, his hand grazing the ball. With a swift motion, he redirected it towards the hoop, the crowd holding its breath as the ball found its mark.

The net swayed gently, the crowd erupting into cheers and applause. Jinae and Mark locked eyes, a silent celebration passing between them. They had done it together, their shared connection and trust in each other shining through.

In that victorious moment, they realized that their bond extended far beyond the boundaries of the court. They had become each other's support system, their rock in times of triumph and solace in times of defeat. Basketball had brought them together, but their friendship had blossomed into something deeper—a harmony of two souls destined to intertwine.

As the tournament concluded and Jinae's team basked in their victory, Jinae and Mark found themselves lost in their own world, seated on a bench under the shade of a tall tree. The sun cast dappled patterns on their faces as they caught their breath, the air filled with a sense of fulfilment and promise.

Their eyes met, and without a word, they understood that their journey was far from over. Together, they would continue to chase their dreams, their love for basketball serving as the foundation of their unwavering support for one another.

The melody of their story continued to unfold, the rhythm of their lives perfectly synchronized. Through the ups and downs, triumphs and challenges, Jinae and Mark would face the future hand in hand, their harmonious connection guiding them toward a future filled with love, laughter, and the enduring rhythm of their shared passion for basketball.

---

In the wake of their tournament victory, Jinae and Mark's bond flourished, solidifying their friendship into something that felt inexplicably profound. Their shared love for basketball had not only united them but had become the cornerstone of their journey together.

As they continued their basketball training, their skills honed to perfection, Jinae and Mark began to explore new horizons. They would often venture into different neighbourhoods, seeking out competitive games against formidable opponents. Each victory fueled their determination, and every defeat became an opportunity for growth.

Off the court, their friendship deepened through shared experiences and countless conversations. They confided in each other, revealing their hopes, fears, and dreams. Their support for one another was unwavering, a testament to the unbreakable bond they had forged.

One serene evening, as the golden sun dipped below the horizon, Jinae and Mark found themselves in a quiet park, their laughter echoing through the air. The gentle rustling of leaves provided a backdrop to their conversations, as they sat on a bench, lost in their shared world.

Mark's gaze turned contemplative as he broke the silence. "Jinae, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Curiosity danced in Jinae's eyes as she leaned in closer, her heart quickening. "What is it, Mark?"

With a soft smile, he continued, his voice filled with earnestness. "You've become such an integral part of my life, Jinae. Our friendship means the world to me, but lately, I've been feeling something more—a connection that goes beyond what words can describe."

Jinae's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding with anticipation. She had felt the same pull, the same indescribable connection, but hearing Mark express it filled her with a mix of excitement and vulnerability.

"I feel it too, Mark," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "This bond we share...it's something special."

Mark's eyes shimmered with a mixture of joy and relief. "I'm glad you feel the same way, Jinae. You make my world brighter, and I can't imagine my life without you."

In that serene moment, surrounded by the symphony of nature, Jinae and Mark took a leap of faith. They leaned in, their hearts beating in sync, and their lips met in a tender kiss—a testament to the blossoming love that had grown between them.

As they pulled away, their eyes locked, the world seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them immersed in the intensity of their emotions. From that moment on, Jinae and Mark's journey transcended friendship, embarking on a path intertwined with love and shared dreams.

Basketball continued to weave its magic, but now it held a new significance—an expression of their love and dedication to one another. Together, they embraced the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that they would face them with unwavering support and the power of their love as their guiding light.

---

Jinae and Mark's love story continued to unfold, intertwining their lives with a beautiful blend of basketball and romance. Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, as they navigated the joys and challenges that life presented.

Basketball remained an integral part of their journey, with Jinae and Mark pushing each other to new heights on the court. They became an unstoppable duo, seamlessly synchronizing their skills and strategies, leaving opponents in awe of their chemistry.

Their basketball prowess didn't go unnoticed, and they soon caught the attention of college scouts and coaches. Offers poured in from prestigious institutions, presenting them with the opportunity to pursue their dreams at a higher level. With unwavering support for one another, Jinae and Mark made a joint decision to accept scholarships to the same university.

The college campus became their new playground, as they embraced the challenges of collegiate basketball. Their love for the game only deepened as they faced fierce competition, long training hours, and the demands of academic life. Together, they found solace in each other's arms, offering comfort, motivation, and an unwavering belief in each other's abilities.

Off the court, Jinae and Mark explored the vast landscape of university life. They immersed themselves in their studies, engaging in passionate discussions and expanding their knowledge. They made lasting friendships, connecting with teammates and fellow students who shared their love for basketball and their dreams of success.

In the midst of their busy lives, Jinae and Mark cherished stolen moments of intimacy. They would steal away to quiet corners of the campus, finding solace under starlit skies, their whispers blending with the gentle night breeze. Their love deepened with each stolen kiss, each tender touch, as they discovered the depth of their connection went beyond their shared passion for basketball.

As graduation approached, their journey on the court neared its end. They had accomplished remarkable feats, leaving a lasting legacy in the hearts of their teammates and coaches. The roar of the crowd, the swish of the net, and the adrenaline coursing through their veins would forever be cherished memories.

With their degrees in hand, Jinae and Mark embarked on new paths, their hearts and dreams intertwined. Mark pursued a career in sports management, using his experiences to shape the future of young athletes. Jinae, fueled by her love for art, found solace in painting and design, using her creativity to make a lasting impact.

Through the years, their love remained steadfast, weathering the challenges that life threw their way. They celebrated each other's victories, provided a shoulder to lean on during tough times, and fueled each other's passions. Their love story became a testament to the power of shared dreams, unwavering support, and a love that transcended boundaries.

[wafflebloggies]

the long con - part 5/7

a Don't Feed The Muse/Captain Disillusion crossover story. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

*

“Huh, he’s not picking up-”

Alan was interrupted- and terrified- before he could even lower his phone. As the ringtone went dead in his ear, the Captain drew in a sudden, sharp gasp and cried out, an agonized sound Alan had never heard from him before, and just as suddenly let go of the yoke and grabbed his head in both hands, doubling over as if he’d taken a heavy blow right between the eyes. Alan’s natural alarm and concern for the Captain become somewhat overtaken by circumstances in the next couple of seconds, as the shuttle, lacking direction from its pilot beyond an unfortunate knock from one of the Captain’s elbows, veered over to one side and launched into a high-velocity heartline roll, the dark clouds outside twisting into a crazy spiral against the windshield as it hurtled blindly into the night.

Alan screamed in terror, the Captain in terrified pain although if the two sounds could have been layered on a spectrum analyser there would have been very little difference to spot between them. Alan’s seatbelt was very carefully and neatly clipped on two buckles across his chest, and it held him safely in place. The Captain didn’t usually bother with silly safety devices contrived by people who couldn’t even withstand ten Gs, and the centrifugal force of the shuttle’s roll tumbled him into the air and over Alan’s seat like a bright yellow ball in a lottery machine.

With nothing else to do and every other reasonable thought that might have told him not to driven out of his head, Alan lunged across and grabbed the yoke. As his hands locked around the chunky black-and-yellow grips the spin stopped, but the upside-down-ness did not. A lot of the systems cluttering the holographic HUD were lit up and screaming, and although the view was still completely dark with thick cloud and rain that seemed to be falling upwards into nothing, there seemed, to Alan’s horrified perception, to be a lot less airiness to the nothing, as if most of what he was looking at was finite and very, very solid.

Various small bits and pieces that hadn’t been fixed down clattered past him, pattering against the windshield as the shuttle screamed onwards. Somewhere on the ceiling behind his seat, the Captain was struck in rapid succession by a dog-eared old Rand McNally, Alan’s phone, and the little plastic hula Beakman that usually sat on the dash, and although he could barely see with his hands clamped across his face, his realization of the severe nose-down tilt of the ship spurred him up, grabbing blindly upwards for the back of the seats.

“We’re in a dive! Pull up!”

“I can’t!”

“Stop us being upside down, then!”

“I can’t! I don’t know how!”

“Do that twisty thing I do!”

“The twisty thing?”

“Yes!”

“The one I hate??”

“Yes!!”

Alan, with a high yipping noise of distress, shut his eyes and violently crossed his hands across one another, one upwards, one down. The yoke span a full hundred-eighty-degrees in his grip, hit its endsprings with a savage thump, snapped back to level.

The shuttle corkscrewed through the clouds. The cabin revolved one final time like a funhouse barrel-room and returned to a blessedly upright orientation, and the Captain plummeted into the passenger seat on his head. Alan dragged back on the yoke with all his strength, and, through eyes open barely a slit, saw a single haunting glimpse of street-lights, trees wreathed in the dim white midnight glow, parked cars, a church spire looming up close like a ghostly vision- before it all rolled away through the clouds and the shuttle soared back up into the inky sky.

Alan slumped in his seat, murmuring a string of several words that his grandmother would have thrown a juggling pin at his head for saying within her earshot. His fingers were so tightly locked around the grips that every knuckle felt like a skin-tight steel ball as he tried to untense, tried to breathe.

The Captain pulled himself up and opened an eye, a glove still clamped across his nose and mouth. A thin stream of black was winding its way busily down his chin, dark against the chrome. His face- the human part, the differently-real part- was white as a sheet.

“Well done,” he mumbled, slumping back in the seat.

Alan started, risking a frightened glance away from the flying clouds.

“Oh, no. Sir, we have to get you to some kind of medical help- you’re delirious.”

“I’m not-” The Captain made a frustrated noise and dug through the scattered mess in the footwell, the litter of small objects dislodged from everywhere else in the shuttle, until he found a Kleenex. He cupped his nose with it in both hands, stemming the inky trail and mopping it quickly away.

“I’m fine, Alan. It’s just a nosebleed. Well- that, and you’ve broken the alpha timeline. It’s not a problem, I just need to take five to adjust.”

“I broke the what?”

“Oh, don’t freak out, it’s no big deal. You’re okay.”

“Sir, I am flying a spaceship,” said Alan, as calmly and evenly as he possibly could. He was gripping the yoke in both clenched hands, as if it was a wild animal that would burst loose and maul him if he gave it a moment’s leeway, and his eyes were so wide that he looked as if he was trying to grow at least four others by sheer will. Sweat was beading on his forehead. “That is, by definition, me incredibly not okay. I have very severe car anxiety. That is why I bike. There are a lot of things that look like alarms flashing at me and I don’t have any idea what any of them do. I’m- I’m- I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

The Captain tried to focus on the HUD, managing to open one eye above the wad of Kleenex, which was soaking black at an alarming rate. He reached out to tap an alert that was blinking urgently on the main holographic overlay, but his wavering index finger missed it by about an inch. “It’s a shuttle, not a spaceship, and you’re doing great, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, now I’m flying a space- shuttle, all of the above, and you just gave me a compliment. I- I don’t think I can take much more of this, sir. Can you, I don’t know, yell at me? Tell me I’m doing it wrong? I think I’d feel a lot more normal.”

The Captain winced and swallowed, forcing his other eye open. “You know, Alan, all jokes aside, I’m starting to feel like there’s a fundamental problem with our rel- PULL UP, THAT’S A WATER TOWER.”

Alan pulled hurriedly back on the yoke. He leaned back a little easier in his seat as the shuttle lifted into the clouds, and let out a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah... that’s better.”

“Okay, that’s it. Out of my spot, go on, shoo-”

Flapping as if he was herding a flock of geese, the Captain flurried Alan out of the pilot seat and back across to the passenger side, taking the time to surreptitiously fasten his own seatbelt as Alan scrambled gratefully for his own. He blinked, shaking off the last of his disorientation, then swung an impatient hand across the console, bringing up a glowing, transparent overlay and typing rapidly, one-handed, still cupping his nose in the other.

“Don’t- don’t tip your head back like that, you’ll make it worse,” said Alan, worriedly. “Just pinch and lean forwards-”

“Try calling him again. It’s going to take a while for DRONUS to get a lock on, but there’s an array at Avon Park I can probably use to boost the signal.” The Captain pushed the overlay to one side as it began to resolve into the familiar grid of a map, twisting as it zoomed in on a tangle of long interlaced highways, county borders, landmarks, roads. He reached for the yoke, looked sideways at Alan over the Kleenex, hesitated.

“How G-force-resistant are you feeling right now? Just a rough ballpark.”

Alan winced and leaned back, checking his belt, bracing himself in the seat as he reached for his phone. “I’m gonna say… three? Maybe three and a half.”

The Captain snorted, flicked a few switches. On the map overlay, a set of cross-hairs cycled and re-centred themselves around a blinking yellow dot. “Pfft, okay. Hang on to something, Maverick. Here we... go.”

The dark clouds blurred. The bright neon bars of the readouts leapt skywards, and Alan’s stomach rolled slowly upwards to somewhere between his lungs and pancaked there. He clung to his seatbelt, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly as the invisible giant’s hand of gravity pressed his body ruthlessly back into the seat.

Obedient to its programming, the Captain’s mixtape swelled, synced perfectly with the acceleration, as the shuttle hurtled into the night.

*

It was dark, terrifically, absolutely dark. Maybe there were lights somewhere up on the road, but here in the wet darkness Mark could see nothing, not a light in the silent dashboard, not a sense of the space in front of him or the buckle of the belt strangling him across the chest. He had no idea where his phone was, or if it was even still in the car. He couldn’t see Anthony, and his own terrified breath and the racing of his heart in his ears drowned out every other sound.

“Anthony. Oh, God...”

He put out a hand and felt Anthony’s shoulder, his arm, his shirt already wet from the rain dripping through the windshield. The glass had to be broken, he could smell splintered wood and grass and he was afraid of reaching that way in case there were shards, but he spidered his hand out as far as he could, disoriented by the darkness, the tilted nose-down angle of the car. Water, metal, warmth from the dash, Anthony’s hand limp by his side. Mark tried to feel motion, life, anything, but his fingers were wet and cold and he could feel nothing except his own thundering pulse. He felt up to Anthony’s mouth and thought, tried to believe, that he could sense breath, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure.

“God, please...”

Now, on the wrong side of the ditch, the merciless lens of his mind’s eye was bright and clear. Locked in this breathless darkness, his body trapped and his mind running loose, he could see everything with perfect, painful lucidity. He could see that Anthony, his perspective that much less tangled up in everything that was happening- one step removed- had only been trying to help.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mark was barely aware that he was speaking out loud, of the words tumbling out of his mouth, a breathless, weak litany that sounded nothing like his own voice, made alien by terror and desperation. “Anthony, this is all my fault. Anthony- Anthony, please wake up. Please be okay. I can’t-”

He struggled against his belt again, but the clip was stuck tight, The strap wouldn’t budge. He fought it as hard as he could, tore uselessly at the plastic and metal and webbing until he subsided, panting, his hands raw and throbbing, his heart pounding through his ribs.

I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you too.

He found Anthony’s limp hand again, and thought it felt colder. The rain was getting harder, dripping from unseen branches, from the deranged angles of the broken glass that he couldn’t even see. It had been a minute since the crash, or twenty, or an hour. It might as well have been years, in this black, dripping cocoon.

Mark swallowed, tasted blood in his throat, coppery and sour. Rain spattered down, streaking his clouding glasses, catching in his eyelashes and sticking his hair to his forehead in soaking strands.

A buzz in the dark. Another.

Light.

Out of the footwell, out of the curve of the seat suddenly defined out of the darkness, his phone was ringing again.

Mark reached a shaking hand down towards the bright rectangle. It felt as if he was moving through molasses. He grabbed, fumbled, almost dropped it out of reach. A jolt of pure dread ran through his whole body, but he managed to get his fingers to respond properly and pulled the phone to him, the urgent buzz running up his hand like a livewire as he touched the rain-spotted little screen.

In the flare of the screenlight, blue-white and dimmer than dim but brighter than a sunrise to Mark and just as unthinkably, unbearably welcome, he could see Anthony. He could see the wet curls hanging down over Anthony’s face, how they trembled in a gentle, regular disturbance.

He was breathing.

*

Afterwards, Mark found that his memories of the next couple of hours were strangely fragmented. He was convinced that he hadn’t passed out at any point, and he certainly hadn’t slept, but events seemed to fall in on top of each other as if they were cards in a poorly-built house, so scattered that only a rough order remained, a puzzle of bits and pieces and a sense that everything had happened all at once, and continued happening for an unbearably long time.

(hi, Mark? This is Alan, um, Alan Amelik, we... what? Oh, my God...)

He remembered the voice on the other end of the line, but he didn’t remember what he’d said, the rest of the conversation, if there had been one, after he had managed to answer. He didn’t know how much time passed after that, how long he spent in the dark, quiet car, held fast in his seat by the belt that had probably saved his life, listening to the voice, watching Anthony breathe.

He remembered an incredibly bright yellow-tinted light, falling across the broken windshield in a blinding lowering wash and picking out the crumbled glass around the frame, scattered across the dash, like hard specks of gold. There was a tangled pause, strange sounds and breaking branches and what sounded like a distant argument-

(don’t move them! let me-

oh, they’re fine, they still have all their pieces-

sir, you don’t know anything about humans’ pieces! let me see-)

-and gentle hands had checked him over before something with startling strength had reached impatiently across him and pulled his seatbelt apart with a ghastly crunch of plastic and metal. He remembered that, he remembered giving in to gravity and half-falling out of the tilted car onto his feet that couldn’t hold him, collapsing into the wet grass, because that was the last part that had made much sense, for a good while.

Because then there had been the spaceship.

After a certain point, Mark felt that his mind had decided that it didn’t need any more input right now, thank you. He was aware of the concepts, he wasn’t resistant to the idea that there was a spaceship, as fantastical and unlikely as it would usually have been, but like water slipping from feathers the reality and sense of what was happening failed to make any impact on him. There was another blank, eventful and an age long but completely empty of detail-

-and then the ship was humming through the rain, scudding along just under the clouds, he could see a scrap of the sky from this dark cool place that felt like the back of an SUV, that he would have believed was just an SUV if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d climbed into it and seen it hunching over him on its landing gear like a stocky, aerodynamic yellow-and-black alien insect, just like he would have believed that there was only one guy called Alan Amelik who also went by Captain Disillusion if he hadn’t found himself sitting on bristly black interior carpet behind two seats occupied by two people who could have been twins, if it wasn’t for-

Mark didn’t care, just then. He sat with Anthony, Anthony lying quiet in the recovery position in a safe flat place between a bunch of stacked odd-shaped equipment trunks with a blanket on him and Mark’s balled-up sweater as a pillow, and counted the pale lines of neon, the only light that filtered back from the controls. He sat, with the bristly carpet poking into his legs and Anthony’s hand warm in his, Anthony’s pulse in his palm against his. Someone was talking, but it wasn’t Anthony, so Mark let the noise go by and counted lines and then-

A hurried, antiseptic blank, a flood of light, a lot of new voices asking endless questions, his own low, even, monotone voice answering them. The part of him that could think was pretty astonished by how calm and coherent his responses were. Someone gave him his sweater back. Someone else gave him a bottle of water. Very little else made an impact on the bright blurry procession of time, until things went quiet again and he was once again sitting by Anthony’s side, this time in a low-lit side-room somewhere, rain pattering against the dark window. Anthony had a thing on his arm and a dressing over his eye where a shard of glass had caught him. They’d given him something, and whether for some predictable medical reason or simply because Anthony was built like a willow twig and there was barely anything to him, it had knocked him straight out. It seemed a long time to Mark before he moved, half-opening his eyes.

“Mark?”

Anthony’s voice was slow, quiet, a little loopy. He moved, squeezing Mark’s hand.

“Mark, were we... in a spaceship?”

“You’ve got a minor concussion, Anthony,” said Mark, gently detangling his fingers, pulling his hand out of reach. “Your parents are on their way, you should be good to go by the time they get here. You’re gonna be okay.”

“...Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Mark, trying to sound convincing, but he needn’t have worried. Anthony was already out again, his hand relaxing against the crunchy white hospital pillow.

Mark sat back. He thought he knew how he should feel, but instead he felt flat, blank, aware of the room around him and his place in it but somehow apart from it, apart from Anthony, listening to the dim endless undertones of sound around him. Faint intercom sounds, feet squeaking on tile, the rush of an elevator, voices passing the door. The soundscape of the hospital was so familiar to him from his experiences of the past year that it was hard to hold on to a sense of place and time, to know who he was going to see when he looked back to the bed.

On the wrong side of time, of his choices, of every chance he’d had to turn back, he could understand that his best friend, kept in the dark but still guided by his simple and instinctive way of reaching for the heart of things always, had only been trying to preserve a scrap of something normal.

This small good thing they’d built together, a port in a storm.

All Anthony had been trying to do, flying blind as he had been, all he’d ever been trying to do was keep something good back from what must have looked, from where he stood, like the slow-motion shipwreck of Mark’s whole world.

Mark found himself thinking of the awful winter of his parents’ divorce, how it had been like a bitter current dragging everything along in its wake, tainting everything in its slow leaden flow. How Anthony had been there for him, always ready to drop everything to cheer him up, to give him all he had, without a thought, space and normality and his own cheerful goofy comforting self. The movie marathons he’d set up, the time they’d stayed up all night watching all the Star Wars movies back to back, how Anthony had made sure to find versions of the old ones that hadn’t been fucked around with and how they’d torn the new ones to pieces until Mark’s stomach had hurt with laughing and he’d forgotten, for the time he’d forgotten, everything hard and sour.

He put his face in his hands, smelling harsh hospital soap and feeling hot skin and stubble and the hard cool lines of his own glasses, and tried to breathe, tried to centre himself. Tried to think.

“Anthony?” When his friend neither moved or responded, Mark lined up his fingers on the edge of the bed’s metal rail, speaking quietly.

“It’s been a fun trip, huh?” He huffed, a dead sound that had nothing to do with laughter, put his head down again. Anyone taking a passing glance through the doorway might have thought he was praying, hands neatly placed, shoulders drooping under an invisible weight.

“You would be so much better off without me, Anthony. You wouldn’t be here. You- you’d’ve had a better weekend. You’d be running a YouTube channel with someone who wasn’t a total-”

His voice shook, broke.

“I’ll put it all back,” he said. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Anthony, I promise. I’m never going to lie to you again.”

[gerudospiriit]

⭐️ ⭐️ (for a crossover verse of your choosing, Kakarot and/or Trunks?)

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING || Open!

Send ⭐️ (or multiple) for a headcanon about our muses.

[For Kakarot:

Even though Nabooru would be hesitant about ki at first--seeing Kakarot fly, do ki blasts, all that--because she would mistake it as magic first. But once he manages to convince her, girl will be ON HIM to at least teach her to fly. It's always been a sort of dream of hers, a thought you have when you're laying out and staring up at the sky, watching the birds pass overhead. When she's on long trips to Hyrule and thinking about how much faster it would be to be able to fly. Day dreaming about soaring through the clouds. So she absolutely bugged him to teach her. And learning ki control in general so she can teach the other Gerudo is a good bonus.

For Trunks:

Sword fighting! She spots that this lavender-haired pretty boi has a sword and she immediately wanted to see what he could do. I could see Nabs helping him refine his skills since I at least imagine he was basically self taught and she's trained her whole life with swords. But that's not to say he couldn't teach her a thing or two, too. He should also be prepared for her to gush about weapons @ him and to him.]

[inspirdgboutique01]

Oklahoma City Thunder Harry Potter Night Special Hoodie

Product link:https://inspirdg.com/product/oklahoma-city-thunder-harry-potter-night-special-hoodie/

Store link:https://inspirdg.com/

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This hoodie isn’t just for Thunder superfans or die-hard Harry Potter lovers—it’s for anyone who appreciates creativity, bold design, and cultural fusion. Whether you’re a sneakerhead, a fantasy enthusiast, or someone who loves rocking statement pieces, this hoodie is a must-have addition to your collection.

Final Verdict: A Magical Slam Dunk

The Oklahoma City Thunder Harry Potter Night Special Hoodie is a masterpiece of design, comfort, and cultural significance. It captures the essence of both basketball and wizardry, delivering a unique and stylish piece that stands out from anything else on the market.

If you’re looking for a hoodie that turns heads, sparks conversations, and makes you feel like a true wizard of the game, look no further. This is more than just merch—it’s a legend in the making.

[fashioninspirdg05]

Macon Mayhem x Superman 2025 Hoodie

Product link:https://inspirdg.com/product/macon-mayhem-x-superman-2025-hoodie/

Store link:https://inspirdg.com/

Macon Mayhem x Superman 2025 Hoodie: A Superpowered Tribute to Hockey and Heroism

The Macon Mayhem x Superman 2025 Hoodie is an absolute game-changer, blending the fearless world of professional hockey with the legendary might of Superman. This stunning hoodie doesn’t just celebrate sports and superheroes—it’s a bold statement of power, resilience, and undeniable style. Whether you're a die-hard Macon Mayhem fan, a Superman enthusiast, or just someone who loves standout fashion, this hoodie is an absolute must-have.

The Ultimate Crossover: Hockey Meets the Man of Steel

Few collaborations feel as perfectly matched as this one—Superman, the ultimate symbol of strength, meets the relentless intensity of the Macon Mayhem hockey team.

Superman, the most iconic superhero of all time, represents strength, justice, and perseverance—qualities that align perfectly with the grit and determination of hockey players.

Macon Mayhem, known for their aggressive playing style and fearless approach, embody the unstoppable force that Superman himself would admire.

This hoodie isn’t just about fashion—it’s about wearing your confidence like armor, whether you’re in the stands cheering for the Mayhem or showing off your superhero spirit in everyday life.

A Design That Commands Attention

The Macon Mayhem x Superman 2025 Hoodie is a visual masterpiece, seamlessly integrating the Man of Steel’s iconic look with the bold branding of the Macon Mayhem.

Front Design: Transform Into Superman

The front of the hoodie is designed to resemble Superman’s suit, complete with his signature blue and red color scheme.

The giant "S" emblem takes center stage, symbolizing hope, power, and indestructibility.

Subtle muscle shading and armored textures give the illusion of wearing Kryptonian battle armor, making the hoodie feel like a super suit for everyday heroes.

The drawstrings and inner lining of the hood are vibrant red, adding a sleek contrast that completes the authentic Superman look.

Back Design: Macon Mayhem Dominance

The back of the hoodie features Macon Mayhem’s ferocious Viking-inspired logo, reinforcing the intensity and warrior spirit of the team.

The background consists of streaking red energy lines, symbolizing speed, power, and an unstoppable force—much like Superman soaring through the sky or a Mayhem player charging down the ice.

The word "MAYHEM" is displayed in bold, battle-hardened typography, merging the fearless nature of both Superman and Macon’s hockey warriors.

Sleeves and Additional Details

The sleeves feature Kryptonian-style patterns, further emphasizing the Superman armor aesthetic.

The blending of blue and red across the hoodie ensures a cohesive, dynamic look, making it a true collector’s piece for fans of both hockey and DC Comics.

Unparalleled Comfort and Premium Quality

While the Macon Mayhem x Superman 2025 Hoodie boasts an epic design, it also delivers on comfort, durability, and practicality.

High-Quality Material for Maximum Comfort

This hoodie is crafted from a premium cotton-polyester blend, ensuring: ✔ Soft, breathable fabric that keeps you comfortable in any season. ✔ Insulated warmth, making it perfect for cold hockey arenas or casual outdoor wear. ✔ Durability that lasts, ensuring the bold colors and graphics stay vibrant even after multiple washes.

A Fit That’s Perfect for Every Fan

Designed in multiple sizes, this hoodie provides a relaxed yet athletic fit that’s perfect for all body types.

Whether you prefer a loose, cozy feel or a more fitted, sporty look, this hoodie adapts to your style effortlessly.

The spacious front pocket adds both style and functionality, perfect for keeping your hands warm or carrying essentials.

Built for Everyday Superheroes

Adjustable drawstring hood for extra protection against the elements.

Reinforced cuffs and hem for long-lasting durability.

Lightweight yet warm, making it ideal for game nights, workouts, or casual everyday wear.

Whether you're watching a Macon Mayhem game, heading to a comic convention, or just channeling your inner Superman, this hoodie delivers unmatched comfort and versatility.

Why Every Superman and Macon Mayhem Fan Needs This Hoodie

1. A Legendary Collaboration

This hoodie isn’t just another piece of team merchandise—it’s a celebration of two unstoppable forces. Combining the raw power of Superman with the relentless energy of the Macon Mayhem, this hoodie is a collector’s dream come true.

2. The Ultimate Game-Day and Streetwear Piece

Whether you’re at the arena cheering for the Mayhem, showing off at a Superman fan event, or just rocking a bold look on the streets, this hoodie ensures you stand out in style.

3. A Symbol of Strength and Determination

This hoodie represents: ✔ The courage and might of Superman. ✔ The unstoppable spirit of Macon Mayhem hockey. ✔ The passion and dedication of every fan who believes in pushing limits and never backing down.

4. Limited-Edition – A Collector’s Must-Have

As a 2025 limited-edition release, this hoodie is a must-have for serious collectors, die-hard hockey fans, and lifelong Superman supporters. Once it’s gone, it won’t be easy to find again—so getting one now means owning a piece of history.

Final Verdict: The Ultimate Superpowered Hoodie

The Macon Mayhem x Superman 2025 Hoodie is more than just sportswear—it’s an icon of strength, resilience, and superhero energy. It delivers:

✔ A jaw-dropping design that captures the might of Superman and the intensity of Macon Mayhem hockey. ✔ Superior comfort and durability, making it ideal for game days, workouts, and casual wear. ✔ A bold statement of fandom, showing your love for hockey and superheroes in the most stylish way possible. ✔ A rare and exclusive collector’s piece, ensuring you own a truly special collaboration between two legendary forces.

This hoodie isn’t just fashion—it’s a testament to unstoppable power, courage, and fandom. Whether you’re fighting through life’s challenges or cheering on your team, this hoodie will make you feel like a superhero every time you wear it.

Don’t wait—secure your superpowered hoodie before it’s gone!

[mikhailwrites]

Soaring Ever Higher 1 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Remember when I said it's gonna be a one shot? Yeah, me neither...

Ghost looks up, into the vast expanse of clear blue sky. To be honest, he never paid too much attention to it. His fight is and has always been on the ground. Now, he can’t help but wonder: how does being up there feel? There is no ground to support you, no cover to help you, no nothing, just you, the mission, and almost endless space. Is it freeing or terrifying? Maybe both? Maybe he will ask MacTavish, if they cross paths again...

This chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

„This is Bravo 0-7. I’m in position and ready,“ Ghost says into the com, crouching in the vegetation, trying his best to ignore a bead of sweat tracing his spine. Of all the places, the jungle is probably his least favourite. Everything around him slithers and crawls, the humid heat making him sweat gallons.

“Copy that, Bravo; ETA on Strider is T-minus seven minutes; be ready to paint the target,” Laswell informs him in her signature matter-of-fact manner.

Ghost takes the laser designator out of the backpack and mounts it on a tripod. The conditions are less than ideal; the sky is uniformly grey and overcast. It’ll be hard, if not impossible, for the laser to penetrate the clouds, and even then, there’s still a dense jungle that could thwart the attack. It’ll take a damn skilled pilot to make this work.

“Bravo 0-7, this is Strider 1 en route; how copy?” a new voice on the coms. Ghost’s eyebrow twitch in surprise as an unmistakable Scottish brogue greets him.

“Solid copy,” Ghost answers out of habit more than anything.

“Some taps-aff weather today, eh? I reckon I’ll be entering the OA in about three minutes.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a behemoth of a jet emerges from the clouds like a bloody reaper surfacing from the Styx. Ghost has never seen a plane like that before, all sharp angles and planes of dark grey stealth coating. It looks like something from a sci-fi movie. And right behind it comes the thundering sound, unable to quite catch up to the plane.

“Strider 1 entering OA. I’m getting a solid reading on the laser, moving up to drop the package. You might want to turn around, LT,” the pilot warns as the jet closes in on the target. The drop is flawless, and Ghost doesn’t turn away despite the advice. The jet thunders by, and a few seconds later, the whole enemy base goes up in an eruption of fire, debris and smoke. The explosion shatters the building and shakes the ground. Ghost is grateful for his protective headset because it most probably just saved his hearing.

“Bloody hell!” Ghost shields his eyes as the shock wave reaches him and, with it, the gust of dust and dirt. The worst of the dust settles in, the jet gone, up above the clouds once more, as if it was never here in the first place, a spectre of destruction. “Bravo 0-7, confirming a direct hit.”

“Happy to hear that. Strider, Bravo, you’re RTB. Get out of there before the enemy regroups,” Laswell instructs, just as Ghost is packing the designator and prepares to trek back through the jungle to the RV, where the helo will be waiting to pick him up.

No sooner than he starts to think the mission’s been a breeze, the bullets start flying. The base is destroyed, but apparently, what’s left of the enemy managed to regroup rather quickly. Ghost curses and immediately lifts his rifle as he scurries through the dense vegetation, hoping to lose the tail. There’s no telling how many are onto him, but it doesn’t matter; he’s alone, and that’s some crappy odds he doesn’t want to test.

“This is Bravo 0-7. I’m in a hotspot, multiple tangos on me,” he hurriedly explains his situation just as a bullet chips away at the tree not even a few feet from him. He has no choice but to throw himself on the ground to make himself the smallest target possible. “Fuck!”

“Break the contact and proceed to the RV!” Laswell urges him.

As much as he’d love to heed her words, he’s pinned down. “Negative, Watcher 1, I’m stuck!”

“I can turn around and make a sweep; he’s got the IR tag; I’ll see him and can provide support,” Strider cuts into the conversation.

“You’re RTB, Strider 1; do not stray from the course!” yet another voice, male, older. Perhaps Strider’s CO.

“I’m not leaving him there if I can help!” Strider 1 argues, sounding more irritated than agitated.

“That was a direct order, Strider. Return to base immediately! You are not armed for close air support!”

“I still have the 20mm; that’s more than enough! Re-entering OA in two minutes!”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, but he’s bloody grateful for Strider’s help, insubordination or not. Carefully, he turns and dusts one tango he has in his sights. There’s plenty more as another salvo of bullets flies over his head.

“ETA thirty seconds, Ghost; hang in there, soldier!” Strider says, sounding breathless.

“I’m going to have your ass for this, Trigger!” the man on comms shouts.

Ghost is almost tempted to say something at that point. Luckily, the grey war beast makes a hell of an entrance right then. Ghost’s only warning is a shout of “incoming!” as the fighter swoops in from the left and spreads some 20mm cheer across the jungle—the vegetation yields. The enemies do, too. The jet is gone, leaving an ungodly amount of devastation in its wake. Only to make a second pass from the right moments later. Strider had to pull off some serious high-G turn to be that fast.

It paid off, though. There’s not a single living thing near Ghost.

“I’m in the clear, heading to RV now; thanks for the air support, Strider 1. Much appreciated, mate,” Ghost says as he’s finally on his way from this hellhole.

#

Ghost can’t leave it alone. He wants to thank the man properly, so after a lengthy mission report, during which he hasn’t forgotten to stress that Strider saved his life, he heads to the hangar. Sure enough, the aircraft is there. Up close, it looks even stranger. Like it shouldn’t even be able to fly, let alone be capable of stuff Ghost had witnessed earlier that day. The jet is huge and imposing; short, diamond-shaped wings and vertical stabilizers placed on the outer edges of the craft only enhance the overall alien look. Ghost also notices distinct white decals on its vertical stabilisers: three scratches and a clawed paw. It feels familiar, yet he can’t honestly remember why. Maybe he overheard someone talking about it, or maybe his mind is playing tricks on him.

“Bonnie lass, ain’t she?” someone asks from behind his back. The voice is a little familiar now. Simon turns around to put a face to it. And is surprised. Pleasantly so. The man is a bit shorter and well-built, obviously fit, but that goes without saying. You can’t sustain high-G manoeuvres without some proper muscles and strength. His face is pleasant, too, thin lips curling in a smile. He looks like a father proudly displaying his offspring. Only the “kid”, in this case, is a multimillion-pound war machine. Ghost pauses his inspection on the mohawk. How cliché is that? Yet, it suits the man.

“What is it even?”  slowly, he turns back to the plane.

“An old prototype made for the Americans. They went with a different plane in the end, the F-22. The two of these were meant for some sort of museum or whatever. Got a chance to rescue one, so I did,” Strider shrugs, looking at the plane almost lovingly.

Ghost hums in contemplation. The plane looks like a prototype, alright. But whatever does the Strider even mean by rescuing it? How do you rescue a jet? And why? “What’s your name?”

That seems to get the pilot’s attention. For a split second, he looks confused, then bursts into laughter. “Aye, that’s fair, boasting about my plane, and I haven’t even introduced myself.” He walks closer, extending his right arm. Ghost shakes it, noting the firm grip. “John MacTavish, call-sign Trigger.”

“Ghost,” Ghost replies, not bothering with his name and surname as he suspects Trigger already knows. “Thanks for… earlier.” The Lieutenant nods to show his appreciation further. Trigger truly saved his ass back there. What an apt call-sign, too.

“Don’t mention it. You needed a backup, and I was close by,” Trigger waves his hand to dismiss the gratitude, looking almost sheepish as if anyone would do the same. Ghost knows only too well it’s not true.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” Ghost reminds him, having a very clear idea about the reprimand and possible disciplinary actions that awaited John.

“I value life over the orders, anytime, and from what I’ve heard about you, I think you understand,” suddenly, Trigger’s face became unreadable, blue eyes searching Ghost’s own for… something.

The Scot is not wrong, but how exactly does he know? He has no idea. Ghost’s notoriety comes mostly from the mystery behind his mask and his combat skill. Sticking up for his teammates is usually not part of the legend.

At first, Ghost thought MacTavish to be yet another flamboyant hothead. Fighter pilots are an odd bunch, all of them. Yet MacTavish seems different, somehow. As if he wants to fit the stereotype; wants the people to see him for someone he’s clearly not. Why? Ghost has no idea. There seems to be a growing number of ‘whys’ around the man, and Ghost would be lying if he said he’s not intrigued. “I do, which also means that I can appreciate the sentiment all the more.”

“Tell you what, if you really want to thank me, how about you buy me a drink? I’m parched!” Trigger proposes, and the smile is back on his handsome face.

Ghost has a pretty good idea about where this is heading, but there are not many reasons not to pursue it. The bloke is interesting, entertaining, and easy on the eyes. If he’s game, then Ghost is, too. And if he’s misreading the situation? Well, he deserves a drink anyway.

“Give me a few minutes. I’ll finish up here and meet you by the gate,” John says as he takes a rag and cleans an oil stain on the nose of his plane.

Ghost nods and heads out. The night has fallen while he was in the hangar, but the base and especially the tarmac are always well-lit.

Ghost waits by the gate, just like Trigger asked him to. However, it’s already been over thirty minutes, and there’s still no sign of John. Ghost gives it another ten before he comes to an inevitable conclusion that he’s been stood up. Ghost shakes his head in disbelief. In his thirty-odd years, this has to be the first.

The Lieutenant chuckles as he starts to the barracks.

[the-knight-tree]

Flashback memories oak journey

Inspired from: superman and Lois 2024 season 3 episode 3 hope the reading of my version will be interesting to you all 😉🤘

---

Scene 1: The Missed Appointment

Setting: A cancer treatment center waiting room.

Clark is pacing anxiously near the reception desk, glancing repeatedly at the clock. Oak is seated nearby, watching Clark’s unease with quiet understanding.

Clark: (checking his phone) "She should’ve been here by now. It’s not like her to miss something this important."

Oak: (calmly) "Don’t worry, Clark. She’ll come."

Clark sighs, sitting down, but his stress is palpable. After another moment, he looks up at Oak.

Clark: "What if she found something? What if she’s chasing another lead?"

Oak: (placing a reassuring hand on Clark’s shoulder) "Let me check."

Oak steps outside, kneels to the ground, and places his palm flat against it. He closes his eyes, channeling his echo ability. Vibrations ripple through the earth as he senses Lois’ location. Moments later, he stands.

Oak: (calmly returning) "She’s okay. She’s following a lead—something about Mannheim. Let her handle it for now. But there’s something strange happening in Smallville. I need to check it out."

---

Scene 2: The Warehouse Discovery (a little of my story in the show 😉 enjoy)

Setting: A dark and eerie warehouse in Smallville.

Oak arrives at the warehouse, his expression darkening as he senses shadowy clouds hovering in sporadic spots inside. The air feels heavy, and his footsteps echo eerily.

He cautiously moves through the space, his abilities tingling as if warning him. However, nothing materializes. He stops in the center of the room, feeling the weight of his nightmares pressing down.

Oak: (to himself) "It’s not here… not yet."

Oak exits the warehouse, looking back once more before taking off into the sky.

---

Scene 3: The Kent Farm

Setting: The cozy Kent farmhouse, late afternoon.

Clark is still at the farm, pacing in the living room, his worry for Lois building.

Oak walks in, brushing off dust from his hands.

Oak: "She’s fine, Clark. She’s working a lead. You know her—she won’t let this go until she has answers."

Clark: (sighing) "I just wish she’d prioritize herself for once. The chemo is more important than any lead."

Lois enters the house, her demeanor determined but tired. Clark immediately approaches her, his voice full of concern.

Clark: "Lois, you can’t keep skipping appointments like this. This is your life we’re talking about."

Lois: (defensive) "Clark, I had to follow the lead. Mannheim isn’t going to stop just because I’m sick."

Oak steps in, his voice firm but supportive.

Oak: "Clark’s right. This fight—your health—comes first. We’re with you, Lois, every step of the way, but you have to let us help."

Lois hesitates, looking between the two of them, then nods silently.

---

Scene 4: The Shared Dream (a little crossover here 😉)

Setting: Nighttime at the Kent farm. The house is silent except for the occasional creak of the wooden floors.

Clark lies in bed with Lois, his arm protectively around her, while Oak sleeps alone in his room. Both drift into a restless sleep.

The dream begins. The city around them crumbles as they soar faster than bullets, each man racing toward someone they love. Clark is reaching for Lois, while Oak is chasing the fading image of Lucy.

The chaos grows louder. Oak hears Lucy’s voice screaming his name, echoing through the collapsing dreamscape. Both men awaken abruptly, but their reactions differ:

Clark sits up silently, glancing at Lois beside him for reassurance.

Oak bolts upright, breathing heavily, his heart racing as Lucy’s scream lingers in his mind.

Oak sits alone in his dark room, staring at his trembling hands.

---

Scene 5: The Morning After

Setting: The Kent farmhouse kitchen, morning light filtering in.

Oak paces the kitchen, running a hand through his hair, his stress visible. Clark and Lois join him, both sensing something is wrong.

Oak: (without looking up) "I had a dream. I heard her… Lucy. She was calling to me, screaming. It felt real. If I lose her…" (he pauses, struggling to continue) "If I lose her, I lose everything."

Clark steps forward, placing a hand on Oak’s shoulder.

Clark: "We won’t let that happen. Whatever’s coming, we’ll face it together."

Lois: (softly) "She won’t leave you, Oak. She loves you. And whatever this is, we’ll find a way through it."

Oak nods, but the tension doesn’t leave his face. He looks at Lois, his expression softening.

Oak: "I’ll do whatever it takes to help you fight this, Lois. You, Clark, the boys—you’ve always been there for me. Now it’s my turn."

Lois smiles faintly, touched by his words.

---

Scene 6: The Nighttime Talk

Setting: The farmhouse kitchen, dimly lit in the quiet of night.

Clark, Lois, and Oak stand together, sharing a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos. Lois breaks the silence, her voice steady but filled with emotion.

Lois: "I need you both to stop treating me like I’m broken. I’m still me—cancer or not. I need to feel like I’m fighting, not just being protected."

Clark nods, understanding dawning on his face. Oak steps forward and hugs Lois tightly.

Oak: "We’re here with you, not because we think you’re broken, but because we know how strong you are."

Clark joins the hug, the three of them standing together in quiet solidarity.

Love making my own story crossover to this incredible show love the characters of it so why not making them work together if Stan lee RIP or anyone saw this story i made for myself since kindergarten and told me I will help you turn it into reality I will scream to make it happen also as a comic book 😅 but I am terrible at making comics so this is the only option I have for now but I am hoping someone out there will sit down and read it.

Thanks for reading and happy Hanukkah.