#does dawnbreaker count then?

[wolfofcelestia]

Add on headcanon to my last post:

MC can only die permanently by the hand of the one she loves most

[lvrgurlblobbu]

a glimpse of bliss

dawnbreaker!zayne x fem!reader

⤿ part of snow angel series :)

⤿ CW: ANGST & hurt

⤿ word count: 3.7k

⤿ synopsis: in which, dawnbreaker took over dr zayne’s body for a whole day and to his surprise, he is greeted by a loving family— a light at the end of a dark tunnel.

⤿ a/n: this is based on theories abt dawnbreaker being able to be in dr. zayne’s body.

ao3.

Smoke fills the air, and agonizing screams echoed through the shattered streets, a haunting melody of despair and chaos. Shadows danced on crumbling walls as fire consumed what little remained of the once-thriving city. Among the ruin, survivors stumbled blindly, their faces streaked with ash and tears, searching for loved ones or a safe corner to cling to.

Above it all, a figure emerged—cloaked in soot and blood but unyielding, Dawnbreaker Zayne stood at the edge of the carnage, their gaze fixed on the encroaching darkness. The ground trembled beneath approaching monstrosities, but Zayne did not flinch.

This was not just a battlefield; it was a reckoning. For every scream, every tear shed, Zayne vowed to fight until the dawn broke anew.

As the monstrous creature lunged toward him, its roar shook the very ground, but Zayne’s stoic and calm demeanor remained unshaken. His breath hung in the air like smoke as the temperature around him plummeted. Ice began to swirl and crystallize in his hand, condensing into jagged shards that shimmered with an ethereal glow.

In the blink of an eye, the icy shards shot forward with a piercing whine, faster than the creature could react. They tore through its hide with brutal precision, freezing its grotesque flesh mid-motion. The beast’s roar choked into a guttural growl as frost crept across its massive body, encasing it in a crystalline prison.

Zayne’s piercing gaze never wavered as he stepped forward, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. With a flick of his hand, the frozen creature shattered into a thousand glittering fragments, scattering like fragile stars across the battlefield.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft crackle of residual ice dissipating into mist. “You should’ve stayed in the shadows,” Zayne muttered, his voice low and unyielding, before turning his focus to the darkness beyond—where even greater threats awaited.

Once he made sure that there are no more threats around the streets, he decided to walk back home — he doesn’t even know if he’d call the four cornered shelter home, because being home is accompanied by the feeling of warmth, content, and comfort. But why is it that he feels the complete opposite? It’s silent, eerily so, with only the faint creak of the old wooden floorboards to remind him that the house is still standing. The cool chill of the atmosphere of his home is enough to give you a frostbite, shadows linger in every corner, their shapes twisting in ways that feel unnatural, as if the house itself is alive and watching him.

The air feels heavy as he stepped inside, his breathing erratic and he closed his eyes to calm himself down. Every time he does, a familiar female figure comes in his vision. She’s the same woman who’s been haunting— no, visiting his dreams. Seeing that woman alone brings him peace, his comfort and solace in this never ending chaos he’s forced to endure. As he opened his eyes once again, he is met my the cool and lifeless atmosphere of his apartment.

Nothing new about it.

The cold breeze of the night creeps in his apartment, it’s almost midnight and he knew for himself that he needs to rest. For he knows that another day will soon come, another chapter of his journey that demands his strength, resilience, and unwavering focus. Yet, as he sits by the dim glow of a single lamp, staring at the half-empty glass on the table, his mind refuses to quiet.

He pulls the thin blanket over himself, staring at the ceiling. His eyes grow heavy, but his thoughts remain loud. Tomorrow will come, he reminds himself, whether he’s ready or not. And with that, he surrenders to the night, letting the cold breeze lull him into restless sleep.

It hasn’t been long when his mind became awake. He didn’t have to flutter his eyes open to sense the change, but everything feels different. The once cold and empty atmosphere is now sheltered in a familiar warmth, wrapping around him like an old, forgotten embrace.

His breathing steadies as he takes in the sensation, his body no longer tense but oddly at ease. The faint scent of something nostalgic lingers in the air—soft and delicate, like a memory he can’t quite place.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, expecting to find the same dimly lit room. Instead, a soft golden glow spills across the walls, flickering gently as if from an unseen fire. The air hums faintly, carrying with it a sense of familiarity, yet he knows for certain that this is not a dream.

Especially when he took notice of a familiar female figure resting soundly on his chest. Their bare skin is hot to the touch, a stark contrast to the cold that had lingered in the room just hours ago. Her steady breathing tickles his collarbone, her body pressed against his in a way that feels both intimate and grounding.

For a moment, he is frozen, unsure if this is reality or a cruel trick of his imagination. His hand hovers over her back, hesitant, but the softness of her presence is undeniable. The faint scent of her hair—a mixture of something floral and uniquely her—fills his senses, anchoring him further in the moment.

His chest tightens, a mix of longing and unease washing over him. It’s as though the warmth carries a presence—one he cannot see but can feel as surely as the steady beat of his own heart. For a moment, he stays still, unsure whether to reach for it or let it linger, afraid that any movement might shatter the fragile peace surrounding him.

Then his thoughts were suddenly put to a stop when she began to stir in her sleep. Her hand resting on his chest, then suddenly her eyes fluttered open. When she met his gaze, it’s as if he was hit by a thousand emotions all at once—memories, long-buried feelings, and an ache he couldn’t quite define. Her gaze held a depth that threatened to unravel him, a silent connection that spoke louder than words ever could.

“Zayne?” she whispered, her voice a soft, tender pull that seemed to anchor him in the surreal moment. She stared at him with half-lidded eyes, still heavy with sleep, but there was a quiet intensity in her gaze that made his heart skip.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat felt tight, as if the world had stopped moving and all that remained was her—the way her chest rose and fell with each gentle breath, the way her hair framed her face in soft waves that shimmered in the dim light.

It’s like a dream, he thought, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. The beauty before him was beyond anything he could have imagined in his waking moments, a perfect blend of tenderness and strength. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the curve of her lips, the softness in her expression, and the warmth of her touch.

Her hand gently brushed against his cheek, bringing him back to the present, her touch grounding him as if sensing the conflict in his mind. “What’s wrong? Tell me, love.”

“I—“ He couldn’t form his words clearly as if something is lodged in his throat. She looked at him with such worry and she sat up, revealing her bare body with a few red marks on her neck down her chest — a clear indication of a previous lovemaking.

“Did the nightmares came again?” She leaned closer, he just gave her a silent nod. “Okay, I’ll just get you a glass of water alright?” She leaned closer to give him a soft kiss on his cheek.

He watched her as she got out of bed, her naked form completely in display. She went to the mini couch in their bedroom to grab the robe that was placed on the armrest, and she headed towards the door then straight to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Zayne is still trying to process the strange surrealism of the moment-the warmth of her, the way she seemed so at ease while he remained frozen in disbelief. He could hear her soft footsteps as she made her way to the kitchen, the faint sound of glass being retrieved. The calmness of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.

How was she here? How was this possible?

She returned shortly, her robe loosely tied around her waist, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. She paused by the doorway, holding the glass of water in her hand, her eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding.

She sat beside him and handed him the glads of water. When Zayne met her gaze, she gave him a soft smile. The kind of smile that eases his worries away, and that moment he knew who she was. It was you.

His trembling hand slowly touched your cheek, he’a a bit hesitant to let himself believe it’s real. His eyes, wide and filled with unspoken emotions, searched yours as if afraid you might disappear like a dream. “It’s really you,” he whispered, his voice shaky, barely audible.

You leaned onto his touch and placed your hand above his, “It’s me Zayne, your wife.”

Wife. Word so foreign to his ears now, yet it stirred something deep within him—a distant longing. His breath hitched as he tried to process your words, his gaze locked onto yours as though searching for proof.

“Wife,” he repeated, the word tumbling from his lips like a question and a prayer all at once. It felt strange, almost unreal, but the way you looked at him, the way your touch grounded him—it was undeniable.

“Yes,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling in your chest. “Your wife. I’m here, Zayne. I’ve always been here.” You tilted your head slightly to kiss his hand and locked your gaze with his. At that moment, a thought kept bugging in his mind that maybe none of it was real. That maybe all of these were just part of his dream, continuing to haunt him as it depicts the life he never and will never have due to endless reasons.

But now, seeing you in front of him and feeling the warmth radiating from you, he wants to believe that everything around him is real. And if there’s even a possibility that all of this is temporary—that the moment he opens his eyes, you’ll no longer be by his side—he decides to cherish this moment with you, holding onto it as if it were his last.

The small sounds of knocking waked him up, he felt a bit of panic when he realized that you’re no longer beside him. He took a good look of his surroundings, the rays of the sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream—the touch of your hand, the sound of your voice, the warmth of your presence. His chest tightened at the thought.

The knocking continued, gentle but persistent, pulling him from his thoughts. Then, the door opened slightly and a tiny head peeked through the opening.

“Daddy?” The little girl called out, her big green eyes peeking around the door. When she caught sight of Zayne sitting on the bed, her face lit up with pure joy. She threw the door open and ran toward him, her laughter filling the room like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, her voice high with excitement as she launched herself into his arms.

Zayne caught her with ease, his heart swelling as he held her close. Confusion flooded his mind but as the little girl threw herself in his arms, his heart became full.

She giggled, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Mama said you were still asleep! I wanted to wake you up!”

“Daddy, mama said we’re going to have our picnic today!” Hyacinth exclaimed as she looked up at Zayne. Her bright emerald eyes matching his stared at him.

Zayne blinked down at the little girl, Hyacinth, her radiant smile and cheerful demeanor making his heart ache in ways he couldn’t quite understand. He wasn’t used to this—this warmth, this simplicity. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and endless battles of his own world.

“That’s… great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. He crouched to her level, gently brushing a strand of her dark hair away from her face. “What kind of snacks did you prepare?”

Hyacinth’s grin widened, her excitement bubbling over. “Mama and I made sandwiches! And cookies! Oh, and juice! We even packed a blanket!”

Zayne chuckled, the sound foreign to his own ears. He wasn’t sure how to navigate this version of life, but something about Hyacinth’s joy made him want to try. “Sounds like you’ve got everything covered.”

Hyacinth nodded vigorously, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the kitchen. “Come on, Daddy! Mama’s waiting!”

When they reached the kitchen, his gaze landed on you, standing by the counter, carefully arranging the food into a basket. The sunlight streaming through the window bathed you in a golden glow, and for a moment, he just stared, his heart tightening with an unfamiliar but comforting sense of belonging.

You looked up and smiled when you noticed him. “There you two are,” you said warmly, brushing your hands on your apron. “Everything’s almost ready. Did Hyacinth tell you about the surprise we planned?”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, glancing down at Hyacinth, who was trying (and failing) to stifle her giggles. “Surprise?”

You walked over, placing a hand on his arm. “We thought it’d be nice to spend the day together as a family. No work, no distractions. Just us.”

For a moment, Zayne felt a pang of guilt. This wasn’t truly his life. This wasn’t his family. He was merely borrowing it for a day. But as Hyacinth beamed up at him and you squeezed his arm reassuringly, he pushed those thoughts aside.

“That sounds… perfect,” he said, his voice almost cracking with sincerity.

The three of you spent the day in a nearby meadow, the picnic blanket spread under the shade of a large oak tree. Hyacinth darted around, chasing butterflies and picking flowers, while you and Zayne sat side by side, sharing stories and laughter.

At one point, Hyacinth stumbled into his lap, holding up a crown of daisies. “For you, Daddy!” she declared, placing it clumsily on his head.

Zayne froze, staring at the small crown before breaking into an unexpected laugh. “Do I look like a king now?”

“No, silly!” Hyacinth giggled, her arms wrapping around his neck. “You’re my daddy!”

Something in her words pierced through him, and for the first time, Zayne felt the weight of what he’d been missing—a life of love, simplicity, and connection.

“Daddy, watch me!” Hyacinth called, spinning in circles with her arms outstretched. Her flower-patterned dress flared as she twirled, giggling with delight.

Zayne, sitting on the picnic blanket beside you, couldn’t help but smile. “I’m watching, sweetheart,” he said, his voice softer than usual, a rare warmth sneaking into his tone.

You nudged him playfully. “You should join her,” you suggested, your eyes glinting with mischief. He raised an eyebrow at you, skeptical. “I’m not sure spinning in circles is my forte.”

“Come on, Daddy!” Hyacinth ran up to him, grabbing his hand with surprising strength for her size. “You have to dance with me!”

With a reluctant chuckle, Zayne allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. You watched with a grin as Hyacinth led him in an uncoordinated but heartfelt attempt at dancing. Zayne twirled her clumsily, and her laughter rang out like music.

“Am I doing this right?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with mock helplessness. “You’re perfect,” you said, laughing.

When Hyacinth stumbled into his arms, panting from all the twirling, Zayne scooped her up effortlessly, holding her close. “Alright, little one. I think that’s enough spinning for today,” he said, his voice low but filled with affection.

Later in the afternoon, the three of you wandered down to a small lake nearby. Hyacinth insisted on feeding the ducks, and you handed her a bag of breadcrumbs.

“Just a little at a time,” you reminded her as she crouched near the water’s edge.

Zayne stood back, watching as Hyacinth giggled and tossed crumbs to the eager ducks. You stepped closer to him, slipping your arm through his.

“She adores you,” you said quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“She’s… something else,” Zayne replied, his eyes fixed on Hyacinth. His voice softened as he continued, “I didn’t know something so small could have such a big heart.”

“She gets it from you,” you said, smiling up at him. He glanced at you, his expression faltering for a moment. He wanted to tell you that this wasn’t his life, that he didn’t deserve this love and admiration. But instead, he let himself believe in your words, just for today.

As the sun set, the three of you returned home. After dinner, it was Hyacinth’s favorite part of the evening: storytime. She tugged Zayne by the hand to the couch, a stack of her favorite books in her arms.

“You read, Daddy,” she insisted, plopping down beside him and snuggling under his arm. He glanced at the books, then at you. “I don’t know if I’ll do it right.”

“You’ll be great,” you said, sitting down across from them with a contented smile.

Zayne opened the first book, his voice tentative at first but growing steadier with each page. Hyacinth hung on every word, her wide emerald eyes sparkling with wonder as he brought the characters to life in a way he hadn’t expected he could.

“Again!” she demanded when he finished the first story.

“Again?” he asked, feigning exhaustion.

You laughed. “She’s relentless, isn’t she?”

“Alright,” he said with a dramatic sigh, opening another book. “But only because you’re so convincing, sweetheart.”

After several stories and countless giggles, Hyacinth finally began to doze off. Zayne carried her to bed, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. He laid her down gently, tucking the blankets around her small frame.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she murmured sleepily, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and tender. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

As he stepped out of the room, he found you waiting in the hallway. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest.

“She’s lucky to have you,” you said softly.

For a moment, Zayne couldn’t speak. He held you close, closing his eyes as he let himself savor the moment. “No,” he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m the lucky one.”

Zayne pressed a small kiss on your forehead before you led him towards your bedroom. The both of you changed into your night clothes, settling into the quiet comfort of the evening. The weight of the day, filled with laughter and warmth, lingered in the air as you climbed into bed together.

Zayne hesitated for a moment, standing by the edge of the bed. His fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt, his gaze softening as he looked at you nestled under the covers. This life—this peaceful domesticity—felt so foreign to him, yet it was everything he had never known he wanted.

“Come on,” you said gently, patting the space beside you. “You’ve had a long day, too.”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth curving upward as he slid into bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he let out a quiet exhale, feeling the warmth of your presence next to him.

You turned to face him, your hand finding his. “Today was wonderful,” you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “We should do this often, the three of us as a family.”

Instead of answering, he brought your hand to his lips and he kissed it. Next, he placed a soft kiss to your forehead. You smiled contentedly as you wrapped your arms around him.

You tilted your head as you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before settling against his chest. “Goodnight, Zayne,” you murmured.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as his heart ached with both gratitude and sorrow. “Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice carrying a silent promise—to cherish this fleeting moment, no matter how temporary it might be.

And though he knew this day would end, that he’d soon return to his own world, Zayne vowed to carry these memories with him forever. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had experienced what it meant to truly live—and to be loved.

***

His eyes fluttered open once more, he would be lying if he admitted that his chest didn’t ache when he’s greeted by this painful reality — the warmth he felt before is now replaced by the familiar sheer of coldness he grew accustomed to.

He sat up slowly, the coldness of the room biting at his skin. It was like the echoes of the day—of laughter, of shared moments—were slipping through his fingers, fading into nothingness. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to recall the softness of your touch, the sound of Hyacinth’s laughter, the way the world had seemed so full when they were near.

But all he was left with was this cold, silent emptiness. The kind of emptiness he knew all too well, the kind that haunted him when he was alone, when he didn’t have anyone to hold onto.

Zayne’s hand drifted to his chest, fingers pressing over the space where his heart seemed to be breaking. It didn’t matter that the world he had been part of wasn’t his own—that reality had never belonged to him. For the briefest moment, he had felt whole. He had felt like a father. A husband.

A man who could simply exist in the warmth of those he loved.

[starry-fame]

Hopeless Eternity [Dawnbreaker Zayne x Gender Neutral!Reader/MC]

Summary:

Is this what it means to be lost in your dreams? Some days, if there’s no risk of transformation, he spends his entire day and evening in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Sleep is warm, serene, sleep gives him a life where his hands are soaked in blood with the intention of saving — not destroying. It’s a dangerous irony, the him that exists as a surgeon, an aid, a life-saver.

A him that’s loved.

Tags: angst, pining, Zayne POV, hurt no comfort, complicated feelings, touch-starved Zayne, post-prologue to tomorrow Word count: 3,030 Ao3

Author’s Notes: I pumped this out in a day out of pure will and post-main story release I love Zayne I love Dawnbreaker :(((

Masterlist

It’s equally fleeting as it is vivid. His solace — his reprieve; a soft smile and sparkling eyes. The way you look at him, something he’s come to crave. Find solace in his quiet dreams. Sometimes you’re a wide eyed child, teary over a popsicle he awkwardly freezes to fix. It’s lumpy and not very appetizing but you seem to love it anyway. Other times you’re older, an adult, a hunter, he learns over these dreams. A dying profession. A world bright, warm, lacking the destitution of his current home.

Is this what it means to be lost in your dreams? Some days, if there’s no risk of transformation, he spends his entire day and evening in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Sleep is warm, serene, sleep gives him a life where his hands are soaked in blood with the intention of saving — not destroying. It’s a dangerous irony, the him that exists as a surgeon, an aid, a life-saver.

A him that’s loved.

Zayne can’t save a soul. But he can destroy them before they drag innocent bystanders into the depths of hell with them. If there is a heaven — a cold voice flickers in his mind that a damned world like this experiences no heaven nor hell — he hopes the souls he freed make it there. Maybe then the blood he’s drenched in would feel a little less heavy.

It’s a rinse and repeat. Destroy and recoup. Grab just enough sustenance and plant food, repeat. Life’s a bleak repetition over and over. He doesn’t lose himself in AI like the rest of the world does, but when he spends hours grueling over doctor shows and trying to understand the same procedures the him in his dreamscape undergoes, he wonders if his form of escapism is any better.

They don’t compare to his vivid mind. Well — it can’t merely be dreams. It’s practically life itself. A world just beyond his reach, dreams that haunt him. There’s always that person — you. He’s not sure if the bubble of affection comes from himself or the person he is in his dreams. Yet every time he wakes up, the hollowness in his chest doesn’t go away. The yearning for someone far beyond his reach, a soft smile and fingers that press a macaron to his counterpart’s soft lips.

He always liked sweets.

—

The day his dreams become real, tangible, a reality, he almost feels complete.

It’s brief, it always is, but it’s enough to stave him over. Makes the chill in his heart thaw, the frost that seems to enshroud him, a never ending arctic mist, dissipate.

He’s blacked out — a wanderer — he thinks. A hand too slow, a shot too off. He kills it, but not before it gets a blow on him that knocks the breath from his lungs and the light from his eyes. The world goes black.

Until it isn’t.

The person that inhabits his dreams, you, sit before him. You’re rambling about something Zayne tunes out, too focused on the way your eyes soften, the soft movement of your lips, the round of your cheeks and the way your lashes dip. The you in front of him is so tangible, so real. He can feel the warmth of your skin and almost taste the lingering sweetness on his lips from a snack he’s never before indulged in. The world is bright, warm. The place he inhabits is homely, smells distinctly sweet with a hint of floral. He knows this home, it’s the one he resides in. In this world, at least.

He watches, rapt, until your eyes meet his and you tilt your head. Every small thing Zayne drinks in like a starved man. A person he can only yearn, a life he’s never been able to reach, not until now.

“Zayne…?” Your voice asks. Zayne tries to answer, to formulate something his counterpart would say, but he has no words. His breath hitches, and lashes flutter slightly. It feels so surreal his heart thunders, an erratic, unknown rhythm.

Is this what being with someone you like feels like? So raw, so visceral, so all-consuming? He almost thinks he can’t control himself, and his hand reaches out of his own accord, brushing your cheek.

You blink, so cute, and Zayne breathes as you nuzzle into his hand. So warm. He can’t remember the last time he let himself revel in another human’s touch. He wants to — he wants… he wants everything, to the point where he can’t do anything. Could he simply exist here forever?

You hum, look into his eyes, and your fingers come up to rest on his cheek. Zayne flinches, he doesn’t mean to, but he does. He quickly relaxes and your hand lingers as your soft thumb strokes his pale cheek.

“Zayne…? Are you okay?”

Zayne’s breath hitches. This… he remembers this. Once. The fear, the wide eyes, when you finally realize…

He almost wants to retreat, turn around so he can bask in the dream longer. But your hand on his cheek is enough to make him melt. He wonders what he could say to make you laugh, to make you pout. Would you like him as much as the doctor you fell in love with?

Your thumb presses a little harder, and Zayne instantly notices the telltale furrow in your brows. You scrutinize him and Zayne can only sit there, let himself be examined like a cadaver in a room full of med students.

“You’re… different. Strange. I don’t…” You whisper. Zayne tries not to let the sting get to him. The sting of you knowing the other him so well — the second he gets a chance, this one fleeting chance to truly experience the life he vyes for, he’s instantly rejected.

“…I’m sorry,” he breathes. He knows. He’s a fraud. A criminal. A man who reaps souls rather than revered for his ability to save them. He’s the complete opposite of the man you love in every sense of the word.

He’ll never be him.

“…Are you Zayne?” You murmur. The apology was all you needed, it seemed. Zayne should be impressed really — attractive, sweet, and perceptive. It melts his heart as much as it makes him ache. He craves your you, your everything. The dream he so vividly recalls each night brightened by your smiles. A desire he distantly aches for experienced through another.

“Not yours.” He’s Zayne, but not your Zayne. As much as he wishes he could, much as he wishes he could experience the world you do each day beyond the firm of his rugged mattress and thin blanket.

You watch him, your eyes transferring from soft to a sort of solemn. It hurts, that gentleness gone, yet, he revels in the fact that you’re seeing him. You’re not looking at the doctor you go on dinners with, the Zayne that adores a variety of sweets, dresses in light, doesn’t have to stalk in the shadows and remain a faceless mystery.

You’re looking at the man with countless bodies that lay behind him and dissipate to ash. Blood that stains his hands and soul, forever tainted.

“You know my Zayne,” You respond, not a question, it sounds resolute as you pull away from his cheek. The air feels chilly devoid of your warmth. He expects you to retreat, scurry away from the stranger that dawns your lover’s flesh like a suit. Instead, you take his hands and stroke the back of them. It’s ironic, the marks that litter this Zayne as well. Even in a world not yet completely overran by wanderers, his scars have stories to tell.

“I dream of him almost every night,” the words spill from Zayne’s lips. A dirty little secret. The unequivocal truth. When he looks into your eyes, it feels impossible to lie. He wants to admit the truth. To feel your hands on his skin and whisper quiet reassurances that you can love him too. It might be an impossible wish, but it’s the one that flutters deep in his heart he long since closed off to the world.

“…Do you like to wear all black?” You query. Your fingers trail along his scars, and Zayne can’t help the way he trembles. To be touched so gently, so reverently, it’s terribly foreign. The question is so innocuous, yet nearly shatters everything. It’s always you. Always able to see him.

To know he wears black — his mind flickers to Georgie. The determined spirit before tendrils burst from his fragile flesh. Perhaps, in this world, he truly is nothing but a nightmare.

Zayne nods.

Your breath hitches, the fingers tracing Zayne’s scars pause. He wishes you’d continue, but he fights back the urge to goad you to.

Your eyes seem sadder, somehow. And all Zayne can think is to do something, anything to chase that sadness away. Could he ever be the one to kiss away your tears?

“I wish you didn’t give Zayne nightmares,” you say.

Zayne’s eyes merely flicker down, some semblance of guilt gnawing at him. He’s learned to harden his heart long ago, to keep a calculated distance, but he can’t ignore the pang that shoots through him at receiving your chastising.

Nightmares. Perhaps time and space mean nothing, not truly. Perhaps everything exists in tandem, the idea of past present and future intermingle. Time is a convoluted subject Zayne — quite ironically — hasn’t the time to dabble in. So he can only speculate as dreams and reality converge before his very eyes, past and future entwined.

“I don’t… intend to.” Is all Zayne can say. His life — the world he resides would be a waking nightmare for someone who lives a life such as this. You seem to soften at that, and when you stare straight into Zayne’s eyes, Zayne daren’t look away.

“If you’re truly Zayne’s dream…” You say, and you grasp his hand, interlocking your fingers together with a soft squeeze. Zayne’s heart quivers, and he feels his face waver as a dash of yearning and overwhelming affection surge in him. He’s unsure of it’s his own heart or the natural bodily response of the person he resides. Neither seems wrong. “I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

Something inside of Zayne breaks then. Maybe if he was more emotional, the sort to cry, tears would spill. Instead, he leans forward, breathless, and you flinch back, eyes wide.

Right. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not your Zayne. He might share the same face, but that’s where the similarities end.

After, though, your hands come to brush over his cheeks before holding them firmly in your hands. You’re soft, hesitant, but you hold him in a way so sweet Zayne feels any tension leave him.

“Do you like jasmines?” You ask, and Zayne wishes he could stay like this forever. Encased in your warm hands as you ask him anything, everything. You could speak gibberish and he could listen for hours.

He tries not to feel envy. To despise and abhor the cards he’s been dealt. But if he had the option to be born in a world like yours, with you, he’d choose it in a heartbeat.

“At least I can keep one thing alive,” Zayne scoffs bitterly. Half a joke, half self-depreciation. Your hands continue to encase his cheeks, not put off, and when your thumbs brush his lips, Zayne feels everything in him freeze. Figuratively, but the emotion hits so hard it could almost manifest physically.

“Your world looks sad. You plague Zayne, a nightmare… but I guess it’s your reality.” You mutter, it seems more to yourself than anything, but your fingers stroke Zayne so tenderly he wonders if it’s okay to indulge. To think this is meant for him and no one else, not even the him that resides in this world.

Zayne’s eyes flutter, he knows he must look something akin to needy. He watches you with weak eyes, a quiet want that’s stirred in him for as long as he can remember.

You chew your lip — Zayne watches the way your teeth catch on it, the way they glisten when you lick them, and, and…

Does he move first, or you? In a moment, your breath fans his cheek, his lips, and Zayne’s eyes flutter shut as your lips press against his.

So warm. So soft. It’s brief, a slow, sweet kiss before you pull away and look at him with half-lidded, complicated eyes and parted lips.

Zayne wants to lose himself in your lips. Kiss you for an eternity over and over. Instead, he breathes, lets his ears burn. He can’t remember the last time he kissed someone. The world was so secluded, and once it became his duty, no, once he became obsessed with ridding the world of abominations one at a time… time froze. An endless loop of death, gathering food, watering his jasmine, watching old shows, repeat.

“You’re not Zayne,” you repeat as you watch him. Your eyes waver, and Zayne knows all too well the look of instant regret. Confusion after you took a leap into the abyss — uncertainly floating amidst the sea.

He’s not Zayne. But they share the same face. The same dreams. Yin and yang. Two sides of the same coin, intertwined, unable to escape or exist without the other. If Zayne didn’t have this world in his dreams, he’d have given up long ago. He thinks, plainly, maybe even meanly, the Zayne you love can dream the so-called nightmare he lives daily for all he cares. At least your Zayne got to wake up to a stable, populated world.

“Not yours. But he knows me. And I know him.” He can’t say if it’s right or wrong. Him or you. He knows he’s hijacked the man you love. The man that loves you. He wonders — is the Zayne he’s meant to be in his own body? Or is he simply suppressed, as though he never existed?

“You looked so sad. I… couldn’t help myself,” you say. As though defending yourself. Zayne doesn’t need an explanation — frankly — he hardly cares. You could have the worst excuse known to man but if you looked at him with those doe eyes and kissed him with those lips that make him melt, he’d let anything slide. “You’re… not my Zayne. But you’re Zayne. You’re different, but similar. You melt in my hands the same way.”

Zayne blinks, head gently goaded side to side as you playfully move and cradle his face in your palms. You’re not wrong — he’s so pliant he moves with little resistance. Watches you with the same eyes he’s always had, as though nothing is ever enough. It feels nice. Could this be his new life? His everyday?

“Will… my Zayne ever come back?”

The soft-spoken words shatter the pleasant world Zayne had began to encase, enshroud himself in. Even if you see him, kiss him, he’ll never be enough. He’ll never be the man by your side every day. The man who gets to experience you in full, your joy, your touch, your sadness, your serenity.

The words are like a cue. The world begins to lighten, warble, the feeling of nearly waking from a dream. Zayne fights to keep it for just a little longer, to stay in your hands and bask in your attention.

“He will,” Zayne says. All he can. Because he yearns for you as much as he yearns for your happiness. The same happiness the Zayne you’re meant for elicits.

But for a brief moment, he got to experience you. The light of a clean, pristine world. Not through a dream where he’s a spectator in the head of his doppelgänger.

The world begins to dissipate. Pain engulfs him. The world he’s lost himself in shifts and returns to a world enshrouded in dark.

His side burns. The cotton of his shirt clings to his throbbing wound.

It hides the blood well.

The only proof of his attack are fleeting glowing crystals a ways away.

—

The next night Zayne dreams, it’s as usual. You’re both eating lunch together this time, the smell of fresh food and a bustling crowd — an impossible dream in reality. He can’t control himself, but he can live through your Zayne, see the world through hands that heal, a heart slightly lesser burdened. A world where he lives and works in the light.

Warm food tastes good. Smells good. He doesn’t have the time, money, luxury. But he can experience it through these, almost as real as life itself.

When he awakens, the room is ever barren. The sky dark, and the incessant chatter of a much too dramaticized ER show plays in the background. He blinks, weary, and sits up to look at the holoscreen in his room.

Numerous glowing green dots. One, about a mile away, flickers red.

Zayne inhales, presses against the used, rugged mattress, and sits up. He follows routine, changing into his nightwear — perhaps work wear. Inspects his jasmines — bright and strong, they almost glow against the dark backdrop. And he reaches into a cabinet, downing a powder that fills him physically. Quick, efficient.

His wound still aches. The sticky gauze clings to his festering gash and despite being a doctor in another life, he doesn’t care much for his own wounds. It’s nowhere near healed. But abominations don’t offer sick days. The world attacks indiscriminately, and if he rests, people who don’t have to die will.

He might be no doctor. But by destroying a withering life, he can at least preserve a few more.

So he inhales, exhales, and steps into the barren world. Barely a person in sight, aside from one or two stragglers. No one to run up to him and hug him, no bright lights and city chatter. No warm sun to prickle his skin, lift his mood. No Linkon City.

Just the shitty world he was born into. The world he’ll endure and battle until his last breath even if it means trying to save a hopeless, dying land.

The routine repeats. Never-ending. Only one thought echoes in his mind as he takes off:

Here we go again.

btw check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill! Super inclusive and lgbtq+ friendly!

[foiledbyvoile]

played LaDS today after a near month long hiatus. proceeded to dump gems into every chance during the event because it ends in like 12 hours and it's my beloved Zayne and I'm getting that 5* memory 😤 was NOT prepared for a Dawnbreaker storyline ARE YOU KIDDING ME. here's my scattered thoughts. I reached a point where I had to write it out, and I am subsequently a puddle of tears.

"It's carrot-flavored."

idk why but this just...urgh. Like, he's making jokes but he's using the memories he (and us) have seen to do it. It's so bittersweet. drawing upon those memories he cherished for his entire life to form some kind of connection with the woman he has loved from across time and space for years.

example #2: making two seals with his evol, another core memory between them, LIKE 😭

and the way he is so effected by her. when she offers to use their combined evol to break the protofield, and he makes a noise and looks away? I've lost count of how many times they highlight his subtle (not very subtle at all) reactions to her. he is barely holding it together right now and I am here for it.

I got hung up on them sharing chocolates on the sofa (after he so casually reached into the fridge and grabbed them, like he'd done it hundreds of times before 👀), and how often he had to have sat there, alone, thinking of her.

but she's here now, she's really here, and then I got to thinking how this is a dream come true and a nightmare all at once for him; yes he loves her and he wants to be with her but not here, not in his world. he wants to be her Zayne, live that idyllic life he dreams of where he saves people rather than kills them but instead she's been thrust into his desolate iteration of Linkon city and it just hurts.

he's so sweet though, letting her believe that it's nothing more than a dream, when for him it's his reality. he wants to protect her, and that includes protecting her from himself because he is so terrified of hurting her that it quite literally haunts him.

and correct me if I'm wrong, but were they not essentially handing his pain back and forth? she would use her evol to purify him, and he would use his evol to take it back, putting himself in further agony to ensure she is safe, unharmed from himself?

"By then, I'll find you in your dreams, the real you."

OW. does she know who he really is? does she comprehend the gravitas to that fucking declaration, will he ever outright tell her that he is not her Zayne?? they keep swaying either way, but there's no way this isn't Dawnbreaker. (confirmed when the narrative referred to MC as "the girl.") I'm going to have to replay it again, but I don't think they ever make the connection to him being the same 'Zayne' she had briefly seen before, keeping it ambiguous from MC's perspective whether or not she truly understands what's happening here.

THE ENDING. you just HAD to make sure we knew Dawnbreaker was never going to escape his own hell, didn't you? really had to drive it home that he'd never get to be with her. he finds her, reaches for her and she reaches back and then paradise crumbles around them only to find themselves back where it started? that's just...cruel, man.

it's almost worse now. he's got hope dangled in front of him and it's constantly being pulled just out of reach. before, there was no hope. he had somehow managed to cope, albeit in the words of MC, "struggling to live a normal life", he had resigned to his fate nonetheless. but now there's this sliver of hope, the white light amidst the darkness, and yet it's piercing him all the same.

it's like a saccharine purgatory, his nightmare evolving with her presence but still trapped in the black ice that plagues him because he can't escape, even with her help. it's not destined to be, fate has quite literally decided it.

(astra's a bitch and then we cry)

I'm going to be replaying these chapters a few times, there's so much going on. Dawnbreaker has always held a special place in my heart because I'm simply a whore for tragedy. anyways, gonna go sob over these pixels again ✌️

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

For the Skyrim ask meme

Dog, Hagraven Claws & Windhelm ☺️💙

Hey! 👋🏻

Dog: Do you have any hobbies?

Writing, for one! 😆 I enjoy reading, writing, listening to music, and playing Skyrim. I also enjoy painting! I use an iPad and procreate most of the time, but I used to do lineart traditionally. Should probably go back to that because I don't like making it digitally. I don't create art as much as I want to, but I do a lot of graphic design and that's fun!

Hagraven Claws: Favorite Daedra quest/weapon?

So I may have already put The Only Cure in the random category — it was purely for stealth archer reasons, you understand, so as far as Daedric quests go, it's not my favorite. Does the Thieves Guild questline count as one long Nocturnal quest? Just kidding! I like The Mind of Madness: even if that's watered-down Sheogorath, he's still funny. Plus he mentions Martin! Not that I count the references to Martin in Skyrim or anything. But my favorite weapon is definitely Dawnbreaker. Even if ESO apparently made it depressing.

Windhelm: Which follower does (OC's name) have?

Hmm, I'm going to assume you're asking about Leara since she's our current starlet. Does Leara have a follower (who, presumably, isn't the guy in my fic)? Not usually, no. Well, in-universe, she and my Dunmer thief, Jolinar Aren have done a lot of work together: Leara is the hero, but Jolinar is the one who knows Skyrim. In-game, on the other hand . . .

So fun story: I've made Leara four times: Original Leara as my first Skyrim character on an Xbox 360, PC Leara when I played Skyrim for five whole minutes on desktop, New Leara when OG Leara's savefile got corrupted and I missed her, and Switch Leara on my sister's Nintendo. OG Leara was all about followers! She got Lydia killed on the Throat of the World. She spared Cicero and took him to Fort Dawnguard, but Serana didn't like him. She then somehow lost Serana on Solthiem? Frea didn't seem to care, so that was sus. She also murdered Marcurio for Boethiah BUT SHE DIDN"T KILL ERANDUR OKAY

I guess, uh, Leara doesn't have a follower because they have a habit of dying around her.

[aro-simp]

Are they a part of any factions, guilds, or organizations?

How do they feel about consorting with daedra? Do they collect their artifacts? Are there some they would never interact with vs. some they would consider calling upon?

Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

I'm just gonna answer each for both Freymir and Tallen :) They're both Dragonborn OCs who don't exist alongside each other, and both OCs come with their own changes to the game's lore.

Factions/Guilds/Organizations?

Freymir: Most notably she is part of the Companions, and the Circle. She also fought in the Civil War alongside the Imperial army.

Other than that she does not really consider herself part of any other factions. Tho she does eventually get roped into their business.

Part of her story is that she is immortal, and thus cursed to walk Skyrim's lands forever. And eternity does get quite boring!

So while she is involved with the Dark Brotherhood, Thieves Guild and Mage's College as well she doesn't really align herself with their general ideologies and identity.

Tallen: He's an S/I so he's just kinda forced to do everything I find interesting >v<

He's a soldier in the imperial army (I PROMISE I have OCs who aren't in the imperial army...), he's reluctant member (and listener) of the Dark Brotherhood, he is part of the Thieves Guild but largely more casual until Mercer Frey got him involved in stuff that got... pretty major, he's also part of the Dawnguard!

Idk how far this counts as a faction but after Ulfric Stormcloak was defeated he was temporarily placed as Jarl of Windhelm until he stepped down but stayed as consultant to Brunwulf Free-Winter.

Daedra?

Freymir: Much like the whole factions thing, Daedric relations are much less something Freymir does but much more something that happens to her. She is mostly very reluctant to align herself with Daedric Princes because she is a very kind-hearted and peaceful person, and considers most Daedra to be malicious.

Through her curiosity (about the artifacts) and naivety she has come in contact with nearly all Daedra against her will, some of them forcing her to do their willing to a breaking point. She regrets her actions deeply, and is frequently overcome by immeasurable guilt.

She wouldn't outright admit it but she is somewhat afraid of Hermaeus Mora, not just because of his power and infamy, but his appearance and the apocrypha freak her out as well.

She is usually quite ambivalent towards Daedra worship, but she steers clear of those that consort with Hircine, Molag Bal, Hermaeus Mora or Namira.

Tallen: He has pretty complex relationship to the Princes. Tallen is a worshipper of Meridia's and consorts with her frequently, he is also in occasional contact with Sanguine and one of the Prince's elected favorites.

His bond to Hircine is quite specific, he carries the title "Son of Hircine" for himself. He tells a story of a lost child in a forest with an unusually strong and animalistic bloodlust, who was encountered by Hircine who granted him the gift (or curse) of lycanthropy, and eventually took it upon himself to raise his own champion. Their bond is somewhat patchy as Tallen holds an anger towards the countless murders Hircine encouraged him to, but in the end he was the closest to a father Tallen ever had.

He has once worked with Namira, but after he was forced to cannibalize a friend of his he tried to keep his distance.

He's very wary of the stronger and less benevolent Daedra. He's very interested in the artifacts and spends a lot of his time pondering whether or not they're worth it. He does proudly carry Meridia's Dawnbreaker tho. He also got his hands on Namira's ring and Sanguine's rose.

Tallen is generally skeptical of Daedra worship as he's sure few worshippers realize the potential and willingness the Princes hold to take advantage of their followers, as long as one is perceptive to the risks he sees no issue in it.

Most Beautiful/Most Dangerous Areas

Freymir: She prefers to stay on Solstheim, which she considers both beautiful and dangerous. But the most overwhelming sense of beauty, and alongside it danger, she has experienced in Sovngarde during her final battle with Alduin. She is at peace knowing friend she lost might spend eternity in such place.

Tallen: He could never pick a place he considers most beautiful, for he sees (almost) all of Skyrim as being of incomparable beauty. In very broad senses he does consider its nature the most beautiful place. Most dangerous he thinks by far are the dwarven ruins, and alongside it Blackreach.

Thank you anon :3

[wolfofcelestia]

Thanks for the tag @its-de !🥰🫶

Tagging: @alexandria-selina @fortunekookie07 @velvetluna666 @qinluna @d0rothydraws

🩵Zayne: Does autism count? Does being demisexual count? Our faces are both hard to read and we don't emote very well, but we become more expressive once you get to know us. We share a childhood of loneliness and Dawnbreaker embodies the yearning yume part of me. A lot of the time, our jokes don't land with a lot of people. We both keep our cards close inside and we're usually alone, but we're both very devoted once people step into our lives. We both love sweets and put an amount of sugar in our coffee that concerns other people lol. We both like the arctic, find beauty in winter, and have a connection to mountains and forests. ...Dentists? What's that?

❤️Sylus: Dude stole my colours. We both like the same colours. We both have crows that we can summon but aren't really pets. We both have high standards for material things like clothes and food (except I can't afford them lmao). We both like weapons (katanas and blades for me as a retired saniwa). We pretty much have the same sleep schedule tbh. Sylus's life motto of living freely and fiercely really embodies what I grew up striving for, and he really reminds me of the goals I've forgotten. We both like animals more than humans and will stop to be kind to any animal that approach us. We both like the cold and the dark, and would do anything to avoid crowds. We both run a tight ship but lead our organizations with care for our people

Xavier: We're the same person asdfasdflkj. Our starry and space aesthetic are the same. We're both always tired. Sometimes our food just happen to burn to a crisp. We both like swords. We both like to do things in the background and don't really like a lot of attention on us. We're both soft spoken and innocent-looking, but there's a wild side to us inside

Rafayel: We're both drawn to the sea, but our element is fire. I always choose fire types in pokemon and most other games :3

Caleb: Once upon a time, I wanted to become a pilot, first airforce, then civilian. That never happened but I still watch aviation videos on youtube. We both use humour and emojis to mask what we're really feeling

so let's play another game

Tell something you have in common with your favorite (s) LI(s) then tag someone else

Me and Zayne are both lightweight. Y'all I can't drink alchohol to save my lips 🤚💀 without ending up tipsy just a glass of wine is enough to make my head spin .

Me and Rafayel are both dramatic but only with people we care about , I like to get on my friends and family's nerve (that how I show my love 😔)

@jinwoosbabyboo @yourlocalcatscammer @erensfeed

[madam-whim]

I re-read the Southern Elsweyr Meridia quest recently for a thing I’m writing and once again I was hit with Darien Thoughts ™. I know we’ve hit two years without any relevant hints or anything, but I still refuse to believe ZOS have completely forgotten about him. He’s still, well, somewhere, that much we know from the Elsweyr quest.

I mean. It’s about Meridia looking for a new champion, one who won’t betray her. But Darien never did that, at least not to our knowledge. (Unless she counts not wanting to serve her any longer as a betrayal, which, knowing her, is at least a possibility.) 

Which makes me think that Darien probably managed to pull off something that at least inconvenienced and maybe even incapacitated her. Maybe it is even related to the fact that during the events of Greymoor, she seemed unable to protect her followers - I think it’s highly unlikely that she didn’t care, especially since a) we know from her Skyrim quest that she does not take kindly to enemies invading her temple and b) said enemies were also undead, which she hates. She obviously has some kind of problem.  

So what if said problem is that Darien somehow managed to escape her realm and maybe stole something from her at the same time, leaving her without both her knight and one of her artifacts? Personally, I think that’s not at all unlikely. 

But then why would he not seek out the Vestige, or Gabrielle, Skordo and Alinon, or his father? 

Well, I’m thinking... what if at the end of Summerset Meridia simply decided that there was no sense wasting a perfectly good Golden Knight, so she merely attempted to take away his memories, but failed to erase the emotions connected to them? 

What if Darien cannot actually remember any of his friends now, but he knew something was fundamentally wrong, that there was something missing, that he didn’t really belong in the Colored Rooms, and so maybe he grabbed Dawnbreaker (or some other artifact) and ran, but he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know where to go now that he’s free?

What if he’s simply wandering around, looking for clues as to who he was, well, before? 

And maybe one day we’ll run into a quest giver who tells us about this strange man with no memory of who he is and nothing to show for his past but a sword with a glowing gem in its cross-guard.

[astorichan]

Last song? "Supernova" by Soul Extract

Favourite colour? Reddish poiple or reddish orange. Also blue.

Last movie/TV show: uhhhhhh I watched one episode of Loki S2, does that count

Currently watching: empress theresa review, thanks bog dwellers /lh

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury? Spicy. Definitely spicy.

Relationship status: Scared /j

Current obsessions: Ink, Fountain pens, Notebooks, Washi tape, Writing, My OCs, Hollow Knight

Last thing you googled? Google translate, because apparently my brain thinks I'm writing in Russian and giving me all these words and phrases like "лицо искаженное злобой", "дымка", "марево", "маятник"---

Tags: @slimeel @the-moth-from-elsewhere @voidsiblings @dawnbreak-daily and anyone else who wants to join! Feel free to ignore this also gkhdjg

9 people I would like to know better

Thank you for tagging me @drewstarkeysbae!!

last song? Heartbeat, Childish Gambino

favorite color? Red

last movie/tv show? The 100

currently watching? Invasion

sweet/spicy/savoury? Spicy

relationship status? Talking

current obsessions? Jack championnnn

last thing you googled? Jessica Lord (bc Matt Rife is dating her lmfaoo)

No pressure tags: @reychvmpion @runningfrom2am @rvfecamerons @serial444killer @corpsebasil @heavensghost @heavenhillgirl @11133 @polishlolita

[orodrethsgeek]

Emhyrn - 16, 17, 21

16. Does your oc take their time as they travel, or are they purposeful? How do they survive in the wilds, especially if they aren’t hunter-types? How dependent is your oc on civilized society?

If he doesn’t have a pressing reason for traveling (pre-arranged meeting, life-saving errand), Emhyrn will generally pause to investigate anything that catches his interest. He’s become a proficient hunter-gatherer-scavenger since arriving in Skyrim, though in the early days he was a bit less sure of himself and stuck closer to settlements. These days he’s well-set to thrive as a hermit.

17. What does your oc like to eat? How much food do they eat? Can your oc cook, and can they do it well?

Emhyrn loves trying new cuisines, and he’s especially fond of Solstheim dunmeri dishes (he was disappointed when the ash yams he planted in Skyrim failed to take). Other than that, he’s a fan of seafood, especially salmon and clams, and he enjoys tart fruits. How much he eats depends on where he is and what he’s doing—knee-deep in draugr or a vampire’s refuse pit isn’t the most appetizing (or sanitary) locale; on those occasions, he’s more likely to throw back health and stamina potions to tide him over, at least until he can wash his hands. He’s actually got fairly disordered eating habits, despite how much he enjoys food; he tends to eat much less when stressed. In more relaxed times, he’s something of a grazer. As for his cooking skills, he’s very good at rustic meals made with fresh ingredients; he doesn’t have much patience for anything elaborate, though he likes collecting recipes.

21. How picky is your oc about their gear? Do they have different equipment for different adventures, or is it the same suit of armor for everything (not counting upgrades like from steel to ebony)? 

Emhyrn’s prize possession is Dawnbreaker, but he has been known to switch it up for an enchanted ebony or silver sword (most often during his travels with Serana, when unpredictable bursts of holy energy are generally bad for teamwork). As far as armor goes, he’s fairly comfortable using his scavenged Dark Brotherhood ensemble for everything. That said, he’s rather sentimental/proud of anything gifted to him by someone; he keeps all the armor and weapons he’s been given as rewards in his various holdings across Skyrim. He prefers light or medium armor, which he finds less claustrophobic and more maneuverable.

[kiibearer-a]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons,  etc.  if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some others of your own! 

name: Sora ! nicknames: keyboy, half-pint, junior alias(es): The Keybearer, The Hero age: 14-17 ( game / verse dependent ) species: Human . gender: Male . orientation: Bisexual / Demiromantic . zodiac: Aries . moral alignment: Chaotic Good . abilities/powers: Keyblade Wielder: abilities to unlock and awaken sleeping worlds, restore and heal broken or damaged hearts, travel to new worlds and restore light, take on a variety of forms that give him special abilities and powers, remarkably friendly and can form long-lasting and strong friendships  interests: many things ! collecting shiny trinkets, making new friends, video games, doodles, skateboarding, hockey, soccer, photography, star-gazing, competitions spoken languages: English . Japanese . ( some hawaiian ) profession: the keyblade wielder ! / we’ll just ignore the fact that canon retconned his whole importance about his capabilities as an unofficial master and what sets him apart from the other wielders :) height: 5″3  :) colors: red, blue, silver, gold, black, yellow fruits: peach ! drinks: chocolate milk, cherry soda alcoholic beverages: he’s a baby —- let’s be honest, definitely something fruity and sweet . lots of colours . drugs: HUGS NOT DRUGS ! drivers license: ...he probably does have a gummiship license .  ever been arrested: Does The Grid count???

Tagged by: @dawnbreaks

Tagging: who ever wants to can say i tagged them !

[spellwish]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons,  etc.  if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some others of your own! 

name: Aqua. nicknames: Bluebird, Spellweaver, Misguided Master, Master Aqua. alias(es): None. age: 30 (main verse). species: Human. gender: Female. orientation: Demisexual & biromantic. zodiac: Capricorn. moral alignment: Lawful good. abilities/powers: Magic & Keyblade affinity. interests: Magic, reading, teaching, crafts, training & beta testing the cute games Chip & Dale develop for the Gummi Phone. spoken languages: English. profession: Keyblade Master. height: 5 feet 7 inches (170.18 cm). colors: Blue, lavender, white & black.  fruits: Blackberries, strawberries & kiwis. drinks: Iced caramel macchiato & blackberry power smoothie. alcoholic beverages: Strawberry daiquiri.  drugs: No. drivers license: She can use a Keyblade glider. Does that count?? ever been arrested: No.

Tagging: @enigmatias​, @wiindus​, @critsnipe​, @blackasteriia​, @hclianthi​, @rosaelux​, @dawnbreaks.

[thedemonkingganon]

TAGGED BY : @smokinghothierophant

1ST RULE:  tag 9 muses you would like to know better: @fulgurae @dawnbreaks @wildchildlonk @heavens-light-hells-fire @ofbluequeen @gingersmiith @tatarian-memory @lafemmedefoudre @torewindtime

2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true for your muse.

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo

I have at least one piercing

I have blond hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair

My abs are at least somewhat defined (a very small bit)

I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people

People tell me that I'm funny

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges

I enjoy mental challenges

I'm playfully rude to people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can't stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY

I can sing well

I can play an instrument

I can do 30 push-ups without stopping

I'm a fast runner

I can draw well / does drawing maps count?

I have a good memory

I'm good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute

I have beaten at least two people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least three meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I'm on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I'm in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I've learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I've gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month / again do maps count?

I enjoy writing

I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favorite bands concerts

RELATIONSHIPS

I'm in a relationship

I have a crush on a celebrity

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least three relationships

I have never been in a relationship

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a best friend

I live close to my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the United States

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 50 CDs

I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have break danced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with the last name that's hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair

I'm listening to one song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I know someone who has gone to jail / for hyrule it would be dungeon

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least two languages

[lady-la-la]

Road to PAX West 2018: Building Meridia

Cuz she does not get enough love. I thought I found one other person who cosplayed as her, but she was actually going for Meridia’s Champion, not the Daedric Lord herself once I went back to look at not 2am (to contrast, Nocturnal has more than I cared to count and I found 3 different really good Azuras with just a cursory search)

That said, I've decided I'm gonna make this in a few parts:

1: Cloak, I'll pull it from the Skyrim statue. It covers most of her, but seems to be open the sides enough to bare her forearms and hands when she raises them. Silver, maybe lined with gold, maybe lined with grey, I'll decide later

2: Gown, I'm gonna modify the dress her Oblivion statue is wearing. Bell sleeves, a laced up bodice and skirt to at least my mid-thigh

3: Dawnbreaker, this will be the most ambitious part of my project, but I think I got it covered. I've sculpted small pieces, but this will be my first big prop out of foam and I'm super excited. I'm thinking of installing an LED light for extra wow. I know people have made these before, so that gives me hope I can do it too

4: Beacon, I am well aware I might burn myself out before I do this (or run out of time) but if I have the energy and time to do it, I have a good idea of how to put one together. That or I'll stick to the original plan of wiffle balls (I'm bringing wiffle balls regardless)

So ambitious project, should be a lot of fun :)

[sweettsubaki]

On to Dark Nights: Metal’s 6th Tie-In Batman the Dawnbreaker wher Bruce became a Green Lantern. Which is something I’m all for, though I think he would make a good Yellow or Blue Lantern too (depending on which version we’re talking about. Nolan’s/N52′s don’t fit Blue but most of the others do because he really hopes one day it’ll make a difference. And fear because it’s one of the tools he uses on others and himself -also one of the reasons I think Scarecrow would have been a better fit than the Joker as his “nemesis”, Ra’s not counting)

Anyway here we go

Okay I’m done with this.

So I love Bruce but I’m pretty sure you’d need Hal’s level of will to be able to undo that and while Bruce definitely has a high level of will I doubt it could do this. At most the ring would leave them because this come from anger. If he has enough rage to do this I don’t see how it’ would be the ring of will responding rather than the will of rage. Plus once it’s done they keep saying he doesn’t feel anything, not even fear so...doesn’t that mean he isn’t overcoming fear? Shouldn’t he not have a ring? He’s the opposite of Jess does that work?

Then again I’m part of those people who consider that Bruce became Batman to protect those who needed help and give them hope that someone was looking out for them while scaring the criminals and not N52/Nolan’s vision of “he did it out of anger” which is how Thomas Wayne was written in Flashpoint and I think it fits him much better This story would honestly be pretty interesting without that bit so if I imagine it’s Thomas Wayne instead of Bruce I actually like it. So this is what I’m going to do when reviewing this.

Thomas how can you do this to your son’s best friend/3rd father figure ?

You’re telling me Thomas took out some of the most powerful GL the Corps had all by his lonesome without any training? -_-

so.many.things. are wrong in this. I’m not even gonna comment

As I said, this one was actually nice if you don’t think about it as Bruce Wayne and if you ignore some of the breaches to the GL mythos (it could work but it seel seems too exaggerated to be really acceptable)

[danse-or-farkas]

Seven Items Your Character Would Have In Their Pockets At All Times:

Tagged (again) by: @kickerwrites

I’m taking your path with this and doing it for my ES characters Adrian and Gero rather than my Fallout ocs. If I get tagged again i’ll have to do either my Nerevarine, my Hero of Kvatch or my Enderal Prophet. I’m again expanding this to count pouches and backpacks. Adrian: Breton, onehanded, stealth, destruction and illusion magic.

1. Bottled blood: Vampire. Vampire Lord in fact and very proud of it.

2. Vampire dust: He has taken well to the idea that the Volkihar court should keep the lesser vampire population controlled, overfeeding draws attention to a race that must stay hidden. He also really enjoys being the hunter that even apex predators like vampires should fear.

3. Amulets to various divines: Akatosh especially, being Dragonborn.

4. Silver dagger: For slitting throats when sneaking. Its silver to deal with vampires too.

5. A very small tent with very thick material: So he can rest away from sunlight during the day without having to find a cave. He also likes to sit in the shade and read.

6. Dawnbreaker and The Mace of Molag-Bal: his own private, blasphemous joke. Both Princes are probably seething that their tokens are being used together.

7. Septims: A lot of money. Eating and sleeping at an Inn are expensive, when he no longer needed to do that he found himself with quite a bit of spare money. He buys random gifts for Farkas, like nice swords or wolf themed jewellery, which he always throws on the most powerful enchantments he knows. Gero: Breton NORD, ranged, stealth, restoration magic. 1. Mead: He doesn't drink, its a very nord thing to carry around and good for a quick bribe. He is most definitely a nord. 2. Crossbow and bolts: He’s a sniper. Skyrim has a rich history of archers and rangers, from which he is most definitely descended. He is not actually a Breton, which really does have a history of rangers. 3. Assorted dwemer junk: He came to skyrim to be an archeologist and to find out what happened to his older brother old friend Adrian. He somehow ended up joining the stormcloaks instead. 4. Amulet of Talos: He is defending his nord faith. 5. Healing potions: How else would he close all those injuries he keep getting? definitely not restoration magic. 6. A very big tent, fur lined like a true nord would have: He really isn’t fooling anybody. The stormcloaks have thus far avoided commenting that his ears are just a little pointy and his eyes glow faintly like a highborn Bretons would. 7. A woodcutters axe: For surviving in the wilderness with. Like a true nord, etcetra, etcetra, you get the idea by this point. Tagging No.