#Spark: Elemental Legacy

[mrseeker]

Spark: Elemental Legacy

COMING OUT FEB 7th

"Spark: Elemental Legacy" is an exciting 2D Hack 'n' Slash game set in a world brimming with elemental powers and danger. Join Spark, Light, and Dark as they harness their elemental abilities to defeat foes and save the world from a new threat—Redcle, a villain seeking to control the elements for his own dark ambitions.

IMMERSIVE STORY

Centuries ago, Zephyrites shared elemental powers with Earth, but the terrorist group Bloodway sealed them away to dominate the world. Now, Spark, the son of legendary hero Ignite, must unite with friends Light and Dark to face Redcle and protect the world.

DYNAMIC COMBAT

Engage in fast-paced battles using melee, swordplay, hoverboards, or firearms, coupled with 10 unique elemental abilities for devastating combos.

ENGAGING GAMEPLAY

Six Relaxing Levels

Eleven Epic Boss Battles

Discord Server: https://discord.gg/NEn68pr8da

For the trailer, https://youtu.be/4Vh-KeXR1XU

Three Game Modes: Story, Speedrun, or Battle

For more info on the game, you can go to https://evazurestudios.carrd.co/

Every challenge offers thrilling gameplay for all players!

I was told to promote this (I only voice act in it)

[imthebadguyyy]

Iron Hearts

With the same fire and charm that runs in the Stark bloodline, you’ve never been one to fade into the background.

pairing : steve rogers x reader fandom : mcu synopsis : As Tony Stark’s younger sister, you’ve always shared his brilliance and bold personality. Outgoing, witty, and never afraid to speak your mind, you’re just as comfortable stealing the spotlight as your brother is. But when Tony ropes you into joining the Avengers' operations after the Chitauri invasion, the last thing you expect is to clash with Captain America, Steve Rogers—a man so different from the fast-paced world you’re used to. Steve’s stoic, old-fashioned values collide with your free-spirited nature, sparking a connection that’s as electric as it is infuriating. As the Avengers face new threats, you and Steve find yourselves drawn together in unexpected ways, each challenge bringing you closer. The world is always in need of saving—but will the Iron legacy and a shielded heart leave room for something more?

EPISODE 1 : COLLIDE

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The low hum of machinery filled your private lab, a familiar and soothing backdrop to the glow of various monitors and the holographic interface suspended above your desk. You were in your element here—surrounded by sleek gadgets, circuits, and blueprints only you understood. The soft, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs bathed everything in a cool hue, making the outside world feel distant, almost irrelevant. Your hands moved with practiced precision, making the final tweaks to your latest invention—something sleek, cutting-edge, and powerful. It was not for public eyes, least of all Tony’s. Let him bask in the glory of his Iron Man suits and his public heroism. You preferred working in the shadows, away from the spotlight. After all, the real power came from the things people didn’t see.

Just as you were about to run another test, FRIDAY’s calm, computerized voice broke the silence. “Incoming call—Tony Stark.”

You let out a small, exasperated sigh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Of course Tony would interrupt now, just when you were getting into the groove. Without breaking your stride, you gestured toward the nearest screen, signaling FRIDAY to patch the call through.

Tony’s face flickered to life on the screen, his usual cocky grin already plastered across his face. He looked annoyingly well-rested for someone who constantly threw himself into world-saving chaos.

“Hey, sis. Got a minute?” His tone was casual, but you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Tony always had an ulterior motive.

“Not for you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched with a slight smile. You’d perfected the art of giving Tony a hard time over the years. “What do you need, Tony?”

“Can’t a brother call to check on his favorite sibling?” He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “We both know I’m your only sibling.”

“Touché,” he admitted, chuckling softly. "But seriously, I need you."

You froze momentarily, your hand hovering over the interface. Tony rarely outright asked for help, and when he did, you knew it was big. Slowly, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you gave him your full attention.

“I need my secret weapon,” Tony added, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he really wanted something.

You blinked at him, skeptical. “Secret weapon? Tony, I’m not about to be your backup tech support.”

Tony grinned, undeterred by your resistance. "This isn’t just tech support. It’s big. New team, new mission, bigger stakes. And who better to help me keep this bunch in line than you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the half-finished prototype on your desk. For years, you’d operated under the radar, happy to let Tony soak up the limelight. Being his sister came with a certain level of scrutiny you’d avoided like the plague. You preferred the quiet. The idea of stepping into the Avengers' world—especially now—seemed chaotic at best.

“I’m not suiting up, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you finally said, narrowing your eyes at him. The last thing you needed was to get dragged into one of his world-saving escapades in some shiny new armor.

“Of course not,” Tony grinned, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that told you he wasn’t ruling anything out entirely. “Just come to the Tower, meet the team. If you hate it, you can go back to hiding in your lab and pretending you’re not a genius like me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the thought lingered. A new team? A new mission? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If things went south, you could always disappear back into the shadows. But something in Tony’s tone hinted at urgency, something serious brewing on the horizon. He wasn’t just calling for fun. He needed you.

With a resigned sigh, you pushed off from the desk. “Fine. But this better not be some ploy to get me into an Iron suit.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “No promises.”

The call ended with a flicker of the screen, and you were left standing in the soft hum of your lab, the weight of Tony’s request hanging in the air. You glanced at your half-finished prototype one last time before grabbing your jacket, muttering under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

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Later, at Avengers Tower, you stepped into the grand lobby, the space sprawling before you like something out of a futuristic movie. Towering glass walls reflected the sunlight, creating a dazzling effect that made the entire room shimmer. High-tech displays blinked with data and notifications, while sleek metallic accents added to the modernity. It was a world apart from your cozy lab, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Tony had truly outdone himself with this place. The grandeur was impressive, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, a sense of unease settling in as you stepped further inside.

Just as you took another step, a voice sliced through the air behind you, cool and assessing. “So you’re the sister Tony doesn’t like to talk about.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding slightly at the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his muscular frame radiating authority. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it—a mix of skepticism and something akin to wariness. He looked you up and down, his gaze critical, and you could already sense the judgment simmering beneath the surface. He thought you were just another Stark, another piece in Tony’s ego-driven game.

“And you’re the soldier out of time,” you replied, matching his coolness with your own. The words felt sharper than you intended, a defensive instinct kicking in. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve offered a tight nod, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t smile. “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” you shot back, a hint of a smirk dancing on your lips. But Steve’s expression remained unyielding, the weight of his gaze unwavering.

“I’m not here to judge,” he stated, but his eyes bore into you, steady and measuring, as if he were trying to peel back layers of your identity with sheer will alone. “Just here to see if you’re serious.”

“Serious?” You scoffed, your heart racing with indignation. “About what?”

“About helping, about doing what’s right. We’ve got enough egos on this team.”

Your smirk faded, replaced by a flash of frustration. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Tony,” you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension between you crackled in the air, palpable and thick. You hated the feeling of being judged before someone even bothered to know you, and clearly, Steve didn’t like the idea of another Stark stepping into the fold.

For a moment, silence engulfed you, and you could almost hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. The intensity of Steve’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and you wondered if he could see through your facade, exposing the vulnerabilities you kept hidden. You could sense his protective instincts flaring, the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, and somehow, you felt like an outsider even though you were family.

Just as the tension threatened to spiral further, Tony strolled into the room, an air of nonchalance enveloping him. “Hey, you two! Getting along already?” His grin was impossibly wide, brightening the atmosphere even as it made the air around you feel heavier with unresolved tension.

You shot Tony a glare that could’ve cut through steel. This was not the time for his usual bravado. Steve merely shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in an attempt to contain a smile. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on you, as if he were weighing the likelihood of your success in this new venture. Then, with a final, assessing glance, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Great. This is off to a fantastic start,” you muttered under your breath, a mixture of annoyance and apprehension churning inside you. The day had barely begun, and already you could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on you. As the lobby buzzed with the energy of heroes and high-tech innovation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a tightrope, teetering between proving yourself and succumbing to the shadows that felt all too familiar.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, reminding yourself that you were here to help. No matter what Steve Rogers thought, you had your own strengths, your own path to carve in this world. You just had to figure out how to make them see that.

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The air in the war room was thick with tension as Tony briefed you on the mission, his voice crisp and urgent. “So here’s the deal: leftover Chitauri tech has been activated by HYDRA operatives in the city. It’s supposed to be a routine clean-up mission, but we know better than to underestimate anything HYDRA gets their hands on.” His brow furrowed, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that made your stomach knot.

You listened intently, nodding as he laid out the plan. But as he insisted you tag along—even if just to observe and assess—you felt a mix of excitement and dread. You weren’t officially part of the team, yet here you were, being dragged into the chaos by your brother’s unwavering belief in your abilities.

When you arrived at the scene, the streets were already in chaos. The sounds of sirens blared, drowning out the shouts of frantic civilians being evacuated. Smoke billowed into the air, curling around toppled cars and shattered glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as you surveyed the destruction.

Amid the chaos, Steve barked orders at the rest of the team, his authoritative voice cutting through the noise like a beacon of hope. You hung back, monitoring the situation from a mobile unit that Tony had rigged up for you—a lifeline of information in a storm of uncertainty.

“Stay behind the lines!” Steve called out to you over his shoulder, his tone firm as he and Natasha led the charge into the fray.

You rolled your eyes, a mixture of annoyance and determination bubbling inside you. "I know what I’m doing, Captain," you shot back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. The last thing you wanted was to be coddled like a helpless child.

Just as the fight erupted, the atmosphere shifted. A crackling energy surged through the air, and before you could process the threat, one of the HYDRA operatives unleashed a pulse from the Chitauri device. The wave of electricity shot toward you, a blinding flash of danger that sent adrenaline coursing through your veins.

In that split second, everything shifted. Time seemed to slow as you braced for impact, your instincts screaming at you to move, to do something—anything. But before you could react, Steve surged forward like a force of nature. He slammed his shield into the ground with a resounding thud, creating a barrier that absorbed the surge of energy before it could reach you.

You stumbled back, wide-eyed, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you like a tidal wave. Steve turned to you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. “I said stay behind,” he said, his voice clipped, but there was a hint of protectiveness that made your heart race.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, though deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. You felt a surge of embarrassment rising within you, the remnants of the adrenaline making you defensive.

Steve didn’t argue further, but his gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to gauge the depths of your resolve. The moment stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, and you could sense a silent acknowledgment between you—this was new territory for both of you, a fragile thread connecting your destinies.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment shattered. With a final look that communicated both concern and determination, Steve charged back into the fray, his shield raised high as he fought against the chaos. You stood there, heart racing, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions—frustration, admiration, and a flicker of fear for what lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you refocused on the task at hand. You weren’t going to let this moment define you. You had to prove to yourself, and to Steve, that you belonged here—among heroes and legends. The fight was just beginning, and you were ready to carve your place in it.

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The mission concluded in a flurry of activity and relief, but the tension between you and Steve lingered in the air like an unresolved chord. Back at the Tower, you settled in front of the computer, the glow of the screen casting an almost ethereal light across your face as you replayed footage of the battle. Each frame brought back the chaos—the electricity crackling, the screams of civilians, and Steve’s shield slamming into the ground just in time to save you. The rush of adrenaline from earlier mixed with a more unsettling feeling as you examined the moment you almost lost everything.

As you scrolled through the footage, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Steve; the weight of his gaze felt palpable, a steady warmth that contrasted sharply with the intensity of the battle you had just fought. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the soft light of the hallway, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere, cutting through the silence that surrounded you.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, momentarily meeting his gaze. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice a mix of pride and humility.

“But next time,” he continued, the firmness returning to his tone, “don’t make me have to save you.”

A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips, a spark of your trademark confidence flaring up in response. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t,” you shot back, your tone light, though beneath it was a current of seriousness.

Steve didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting as he studied you. In his blue eyes, you caught a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a grudging respect, maybe even a hint of admiration. It made your heart flutter unexpectedly, a rush of warmth that was both thrilling and confusing. The Captain of America saw you, and for a moment, the weight of expectations from being Tony Stark's sister lifted, replaced by a connection that felt genuine.

He nodded once, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment shared between you, before turning to leave. As he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another fleeting exchange. You were carving out your own space in this team, proving that you were more than just Tony’s sister—you were a force to be reckoned with in your own right.

Left alone in the dim light of the lab, you turned back to the screen, but your thoughts were no longer on the footage. Instead, your mind lingered on Steve’s quiet strength, his unwavering resolve. You were beginning to understand that there was more to him than just the Captain—the man behind the shield had his own battles, his own vulnerabilities.

And you felt an undeniable pull towards him, a sense of camaraderie that was slowly transforming into something deeper. The mission had ended, but the journey was just beginning, and you were more determined than ever to prove yourself—not just to Steve, but to the entire team.

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The mission had been a success, but the moment Steve saw you—Tony’s sister—standing there, he felt the weight of responsibility tugging at his heart. He knew you had potential; he’d seen you handle yourself with surprising skill, but he wasn’t prepared for how much the little spark in your eyes got under his skin.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched you replay the footage of the battle. You were focused, your brow furrowed in concentration, and it captivated him. You radiated a unique blend of confidence and determination, much like your brother, yet with a warmth that was distinctly your own.

When he finally spoke, telling you that you handled yourself well out there, he truly meant it. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a mix of admiration and wariness wash over him. You were Tony’s sister—his little sister. He recalled the stories Tony had told him about your childhood, the sibling rivalry, and how fiercely protective Tony had always been of you. That instinct felt like a wall between them, even as he felt drawn to you.

“Don’t make me have to save you,” he warned, hoping to impress upon you the importance of caution. He had seen too many people underestimate their enemies, and he didn’t want you to be another victim of that recklessness.

Your response—light and teasing—pulled a small smile from him, but it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t.” It was infuriating how effortlessly you seemed to deflect his concern. You had a spark that reminded him of Tony, but there was something more disarming about you. Something that made it hard for him to maintain his composure.

He nodded, more to himself than to you, before he turned to leave. He didn’t want to admit how much your presence affected him, how he found you attractive in a way that made him question everything he knew about focusing on the mission. But he also understood that getting involved with Tony’s sister could complicate things—complicate his already tangled life.

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As the days turned into weeks, you became a more permanent fixture in the Tower, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly you blended into their chaotic team dynamic. Watching you interact with the others was eye-opening. You had Tony’s quick wit, but there was a warmth in your approach that brought out the best in everyone.

He remembered a moment during a team meeting when Clint made a joke at your expense. Without missing a beat, you shot back, “If you’re going to insult me, at least make it clever.” The room erupted in laughter, and Steve found himself chuckling along, secretly impressed by your tenacity.

But the more time he spent with you, the more he struggled with his feelings. You were intelligent, fiercely capable, and incredibly brave—qualities he admired. Yet every time he looked at you, he felt the ghost of Tony’s protective nature hovering over them. He could practically hear Tony warning him to keep his distance, reminding him that you were off-limits. It was a mental tug-of-war, and every glance between them only heightened his awareness of how close they were getting.

One evening, you both worked late in the lab. He caught you watching him as he threw punches at a training dummy, a curious smile dancing on your lips. It was a moment of connection, but it also made his heart race in a way that both thrilled and terrified him. He knew you were trouble, yet there was something about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

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a/n : so this is new series im experimenting with!! not proofread. any comments tips suggestions you have would be highly appreciated. happy reading!!

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all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove@bluesongbird-blog

marvel -

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[mikaylathenerd5]

Shades of Loyalty | Roman Reigns

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Pairing: Roman Reigns x Nyomi Westbrook (Black OC)

Content Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, including rough physical interactions, BDSM elements (light bondage, spanking, choking), and strong language. It also explores themes of betrayal, anger, and intense emotional dynamics. Reader discretion is advised, and this is intended for mature audiences (18+).

Summary: In the wreckage of a Chicago suite, Roman Reigns reels from a brutal betrayal that shakes his empire to its core. With WrestleMania 41 looming and enemies circling, he’s a king without a crown—until Nyomi, his fiercest ally, steps into the chaos. Their trust ignites a fire that burns through pain, sparking a night of raw, unyielding passion. In a world of shattered loyalties, they forge something unbreakable, but will it be enough to face the battles ahead?

Word Count: 4k

The United Center in Chicago buzzed after SmackDown, crowd noise seeping through the walls like a faint pulse. In a private suite, Roman Reigns stood alone, seething, gutted by betrayal. A shattered decanter left glass strewn across the hardwood, catching the chandelier’s dim glow. Bloodline banners, once his mark of dominance, lay torn and discarded, mirroring the chaos in his mind. His black wrestling gear clung to his sweat-soaked skin, muscles taut, hair loose, eyes dark with pain. The room reeked of bourbon and his musk, sharp, tying him to the night’s fight.

Paul Heyman, his strategist, the mind behind The Bloodline, had jumped to CM Punk. On live TV, Punk strutted out, smirking like a snake, and cashed in a favor from Survivor Series: WarGames—something Heyman couldn’t dodge. “Paul’s in my corner at WrestleMania,” Punk declared, hitting Roman like a cheap shot, broadcast to millions. Heyman’s weak plea—“I owe him, my Tribal Chief!”—cut deeper, his voice thick with guilt. Seth Rollins’ cackle from the ramp, relishing Roman’s fall, twisted the knife. Then Punk’s GTS smashed Roman’s jaw, dropping him cold as Chicago erupted. The bruise on his cheek pulsed, shouting he wasn’t invincible.

Roman’s fist slammed the wall, rattling a WrestleMania poster, cracking the glass. “Paul,” he growled, voice raw, laced with disbelief. “You were my blood.” His chest tightened, years of wounds reopening—Rollins’ 2014 Shield betrayal, Punk claiming he defined it, and now Heyman bailing for WrestleMania 41’s triple threat, April 19, 2025, a fight for legacy, not gold. The Head of the Table was crumbling, and Roman felt it tearing him apart, every memory of Paul’s late-night plans and loyalty now ash.

He paced, boots grinding glass, steps heavy. Mirrors showed a man unraveling—sweat rolling, jaw locked, eyes feral. The crowd’s chants mocked his reign, rocked by Punk’s schemes and Rollins’ chaos. Hands tore through his hair, yanking, trying to claw out the anger. “I built this,” he muttered, voice breaking, scanning the wreckage—Bloodline logos, busted phone, crumpled photo of him and Paul. “And they’re torching it.”

The suite’s door creaked, and Nyomi Westbrook stepped in, steady, fierce, slicing through his storm. Her curly hair was in a loose bun, strands framing her face, brown eyes tough yet warm. She had a slender waist, full hips, toned thighs, rocking a black Bloodline hoodie and tight jeans that showed her strength. Nyomi, tied to the Anoa’i family since Pensacola summers, had been Roman’s anchor through The Bloodline’s rise and ruin—Sami’s exit, The Usos’ revolt, Solo’s power grab. She matched his fire, her empathy easing his hurt, her trust unshakable, forged from years of standing by him, from street brawls to arena wars. Tonight, she saw a man on the brink, his empire in shards.

“Joe,” she said, calm, using his real name—a right earned over decades. “You gotta let this out before it buries you.” Her voice was clear, pulling him back. She shut the door, click sharp, boots soft on the floor, moving closer, unafraid of his rage.

Roman spun, eyes blazing, air thick. “Let it out?” he roared, stepping up, his bulk swallowing the space, dimming the light. “My guy’s with Punk, Nyomi! Paul, who swore he’d never turn, called me Chief! He stood there, groveling, and chose him!” His voice cracked, pain spilling, pointing at her. “And you—where were you when he was cutting deals? You’re family—why didn’t you see it?”

Nyomi’s jaw clenched, but she held her ground, eyes locked, unyielding. “Don’t even try that,” she snapped, low, cutting. “I’ve been here, Joe, through every damn knife—Sami, Jimmy, Solo. I’ve fought for this family, kept it together when you were slipping. Don’t pin Paul’s mess on me.” Her words landed hard, her strength mirroring his, her trust a flame no betrayal could snuff. She stepped closer, breath quick, eyes digging for the man beneath the fury.

The room pulsed, heavy with their past—midnight talks after losses, her hand on his at cookouts, quiet vows grounding him. Roman’s fists tightened, sweat gleaming, jaw rigid. Nyomi’s defiance, her refusal to break, lit a spark—a need to seize what Punk and Rollins couldn’t touch, to grip the one who stayed, whose fire and heart were salvation. His breath slowed, eyes tracing her, trust fueling a raw hunger for something solid in the chaos.

Roman’s voice dropped, rough. “You think you can just walk in and make this right?” He closed the gap, towering, intense, his sweat and cologne hitting her like a wave, raw, dizzying. “I’m the Tribal Chief, Nyomi. I don’t need saving.” He sounded fierce, but his eyes betrayed him, a flicker of hurt only she caught, a crack in his armor.

Nyomi didn’t flinch, staring back, her frame radiating power, meeting his fire. “Ain’t here to save you,” she shot back, sharp, deliberate. “Here to stop you from fucking up everything ‘cause Paul screwed you. I’m here, Joe—always been, holding it when shit hit the fan.” Her hand grazed his arm, heavy with years—kids running wild, promises after rough nights, hospital silences. Her fingers were warm, steady, a tether, callused from battles beside him.

Her touch cracked him open. His eyes shifted, anger tangling with need, anchoring in her strength. “He was my voice,” he rasped, shoulders sagging, fury draining. “Family, Nyomi. Stayed when Rollins gutted me, when Punk tried to steal my story. Now he’s theirs, Rollins laughing like he’s king. I’m losing it all.” His voice broke, Chief gone, just Joe, crushed by years.

“You’re not losing me,” she said, fierce, soft, stepping close, bodies brushing, her strength a wall against his collapse. Her hand hit his jaw, thumb on his beard, grounding him, its scratch sparking heat in her core. “You’re still the man, Joe. Punk, Rollins—they don’t own you. Paul’s lost, not you.” Her eyes held his, unyielding, a beacon in his storm, words ironclad.

The room hummed, the mess—glass, banners, crowd noise—fading, their bond the only truth. Roman’s gaze hit her lips, snapped to her eyes, betrayal, trust, hunger colliding. Nyomi’s loyalty, her fire, her trust, was a lifeline, and he grabbed it, desperate. His hand seized her neck, firm, possessive, thumb on her pulse, racing like his. “You’re all I got,” he growled, low, raw, a confession, a claim. “Only one I trust.”

Her breath caught, want slipping through, eyes fierce, leaning in, tied to him by years unspoken. Her trust held firm, forged through every fight—title losses, family rifts, the weight of his reign. “Then trust me now,” she whispered, a dare, lips close, breath hot, calling him to cross the line.

He froze, breath ragged, searching for doubt, finding only heat, certainty. The world—feuds, betrayals, Mania—dissolved, leaving them, bound by history and need. “Nyomi,” he growled, low, testing, thumb on her jaw, soft despite his edge. “You sure about this?”

“Know what I want,” she said, steady, hand to his chest, his heart hammering, keeping them real. “Want you, Joe—all of you. Let me take it.” Her fingers pressed in, nails biting, a jolt, eyes blazing, ready to hold him through anything.

It snapped like a spark to gasoline. Roman surged, shoving Nyomi against the desk, its edge biting her hips, a sharp jolt that woke her nerves, screaming desire. His hands clamped her wrists, pinning them to the wood, grip iron, her pulse hammering, his calloused fingers scraping, locking her down. He loomed—massive, hot, raw—chest pressed tight, sweaty gear sticking, heat radiating. His scent hit like a drug: musk, cologne, pure Joe, dizzying her. His breath grazed her ear, beard prickling, sending a charge to her core, soaking her. “Look at you, babygirl, already begging for me,” he growled, voice deep, gritty, lips brushing her ear, starved. “You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”

Her heart raced, skin flushed, a surge between her legs, thighs clenching, wet, desperate. Her voice was steel, thick with want. “Don’t want soft,” she snapped, eyes locked, lips parted, breath quick, his smell choking her. “Want you, Joe—every damn piece. I can take it.” Her wrists strained, nails clawing his skin, sparking, hips grinding into his chest, heat flaring, breasts crushed, nipples taut, friction slicing her, gasping, feral.

His lips crashed hers, brutal, relentless, stealing air, her mouth yielding, hungry. His tongue claimed her, tasting blood from his split lip—Punk’s GTS—tying their pain, her chest tight, body alive. Nyomi matched him, fire for fire, teeth sinking into his lip, pulling, his growl vibrating, her core clenching, moans blending, desperate. Her hands, freed, raked his arms, nails carving muscle, leaving red streaks, his grunt driving her harder.

His hands hit her hips, fingers bruising, yanking her onto the desk, wood creaking, shit flying—bottle smashing, pen skittering, Bloodline photo tearing, noise lost in their heat. Her thighs parted, wrapping his waist, pulling him till his dick pressed her core, thick, hard, a shock, gasping, hips bucking, craving him. Her jeans and his gear scraped her skin, amplifying need, every touch a blade, whimpering, wild. “Open those legs wider, babygirl,” he growled, stepping back, eyes devouring—flushed face, swollen lips, fierce eyes, hoodie bunched, sweat gleaming. “Let me see what’s mine.”

She moaned, thighs spreading, core pulsing, his words striking deep, making her tremble. His hands moved, one sliding under her hoodie, rough fingers grazing her spine, sending chills, snagging her bra, teasing, torturing, nipples aching, pressing into him. His other hand gripped her thigh, opening her, thumb brushing close, making her jolt, hips jerking, a cry escaping, his low growl swallowing it.

His lips hit her jaw, beard scraping, her head tilting, baring her neck. His teeth bit down, sucking hard, marking her, her moan ragged, hands clutching his shoulders, nails biting, anchoring, core dripping, aching. Her hands slid under his gear, raking his abs, taut, sweat-slick, searing, grounding her. “Joe,” she gasped, voice unsteady, ripping his shirt, needing skin, hands frantic.

He yanked his gear off, tossing it, baring his chest—broad, scarred, sweat shining, her breath hitching, heart pounding, hunger spiking. “Yeah, babygirl, you like this, don’t you?” he growled, smirking, grabbing her wrist, pressing it to his pecs, letting her feel his heartbeat, her fingers tracing scars, lingering on an old mark, claiming him, craving more.

His hands tore her hoodie, shredding it, revealing her black lace bra, raw, delicate, her skin flushed, breath fast, his eyes darkening. He leaned in, lips on her collarbone, beard stinging, teeth grazing, her gasp sharp, tongue soothing, driving her wild, hands gripping his arms, nails carving, leaving marks. “So fucking perfect, huh? Built to make me lose it,” he growled, fingers snagging her bra, teasing, nails scraping, nipples screaming, her back arching, gasping, desperate.

His hand hit her hip, then her thigh, popping her jeans open, yanking them down, rough, exposing her lace panties, pausing to stare, jaw tight, breath heavy. “Look at that, so wet you’re begging,” he growled, fingers grazing her panties, feather-light, making her flinch, hips surging, a cry loud in the wrecked suite—glass glinting, mirrors catching them, crowd noise swelling briefly, a distant roar tying them to WWE. He tore her panties, tossing them, leaving her bare, cool air shocking, core throbbing, moaning, raw.

His fingers plunged in, deep, steady, her yell sharp, head thrown back, curls spilling, gasping, thighs trembling, pleasure raw. He moved with purpose, hitting her spot, building heat, toes curling, moans desperate, echoing. Her nails tore his arms, leaving crescents, his hiss sharp, panting, body coiling, every touch overwhelming, his beard, his fingers, relentless. “Joe, fuck, please,” she gasped, voice breaking, hips rocking, needing more, core clenching, moans loud.

He paused, forehead pressed to hers, breath heavy, eyes locked, intense. “You want this dick, babygirl?” he growled, fingers still, thumb on her lips, checking, needing her yes, breath hot, eyes fierce. Her hands gripped his face, nails scratching, eyes certain, trusting. “I’m yours, Joe,” she rasped, kissing him hard, tongue clashing, body surging, hips grinding, confirming, shattering his restraint.

He growled, fingers driving harder, pulling moans, core pulsing, room thick with their heat. His hand crushed her hip, bruising, her body rocking, his dick pressing, groaning, scorching. His lips hit her collarbone, biting, leaving marks, vowing, stinging, her core tight, alive. He ripped her bra off, tossing it, baring her, air cold, gasping, core begging, dripping, moaning.

His fingers spread her, rough, possessive, staring—flushed, needy, slick, breath ragged, moaning soft, craving him. He leaned back, hand on her thigh, opening her wider. “Gonna fuck you till you forget everything, baby,” he growled, biting her neck, nails scratching, hips pushing, gasping, urgent.

Her hands hit his gear, yanking, palming him, hard, hot, pulling a groan, body tense, breath quick. “Now, Joe,” she growled, hips grinding, needing him, tugging, eyes locked, daring. He stopped, forehead on hers, breath rough, checking, fingers teasing, keeping her close, wet, ready.

Her smile was fierce, hand gripping him, feeling him pulse, bold, pushing him. “Don’t fucking hold back,” she hissed, kissing hard, hips surging, giving it all, trusting. He growled, ripping his gear down, freeing himself, pressing her thigh, searing, gasping, core aching, moaning, thighs unsteady.

His fingers dove back, deeper, stretching, rough but careful, eyes on her, catching every gasp, his dick taut, jaw clenched, groaning, breath fast. He lifted her thigh, spreading her, his dick brushing her, electric, moaning, nails in his shoulders, gripping, needing him. “You’re taking every inch, babygirl, you ready?” he growled, lips grazing hers, breath hot, needing her word, thumb on her lip, soft, eyes dark.

“I need you, Joe,” she gasped, fierce, pulling him, hips rocking, trusting, breaking him. He thrust in, slow, deliberate, stretching, filling, intense—a mix of pleasure and a bite of pain, her cry sharp, head tilting back, gasping, core gripping him, adjusting, grounding her, raw, alive. He groaned, primal, hands bruising her hips, holding her, pausing to feel her warmth, her pulse around him, muscles flexing, breath hot, beard scraping her cheek, watching every flicker in her eyes.

The desk groaned, mirrors reflecting—her thighs locked around him, bodies joined, his chest slick, her bare skin flushed, real. Everything hit: his musk, cologne, blood, calloused hands, beard, wet sounds, moans, shadows, crowd noise spiking, a chant swelling outside, tying them to WWE. He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, his thumb stroking her hip, grounding, eyes locked. “Feel that, babygirl?” he murmured, voice low, thick. “You’re so fucking tight for me.” Her moan was soft, needy, hips shifting, urging him deeper, her nails digging into his shoulders, sparking heat.

He moved, slow at first, each thrust measured, deep, savoring her gasps, the way her core clenched, pulling him in. Her breath hitched, thighs tightening, pleasure building, every slide deliberate, stretching the moment. “You like it when I take my time, huh?” he growled, lips brushing her ear, breath searing, one hand sliding up her spine, fingers tangling in her curls, tugging lightly, arching her closer. “Feeling every inch of me?” Her moan was louder, raw, head nodding, eyes half-lidded, lost in the rhythm, hips meeting his, chasing more.

He paused mid-thrust, holding deep, making her whimper, her core throbbing, desperate for movement. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb tracing her swollen lips, eyes searching hers, teasing. “Look at you, so needy you’d let me do anything,” he growled, voice a low rumble, pulling out slowly, then easing back in, torturing her with the drag, her cry sharp, nails raking his back, leaving trails. He smirked, savoring her frustration, then thrust harder, deeper, desk creaking, her body jolting, pleasure spiking, gasping, loud.

Her hands gripped his hair, yanking, intensifying it, core clenching, unraveling, eyes fierce. “Joe, don’t fucking stop,” she gasped, voice raw, hips rocking, overwhelmed, alive. He growled, shifting her legs higher, opening her wider, thrusting steady, deep, each one a claim, his hand sliding to her lower back, pulling her into him, hitting that spot, her moans turning to cries, echoing in the trashed suite.

He slowed again, teasing, pulling out almost fully, tip barely inside, making her squirm, whimpering, core aching. “Not yet, babygirl,” he growled, lips grazing her neck, biting softly, leaving a mark. “You come when I say.” His hand slid between them, thumb circling her clit, slow, deliberate, sparking pleasure, her body jerking, gasping, fighting to hold on, nails carving his arms, leaving red lines.

She whimpered, pleasure pushing, every touch sharp—his beard, his hands, his dick filling her, relentless. His lips claimed hers, deep, consuming, tongue slow, swallowing her moans, body trembling, teetering. He thrust harder, steady, building again, desk shaking, mirrors catching their rhythm—her curls bouncing, his muscles flexing, raw, real. “Come on, baby, you’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?” he growled, voice rough, thrusts deepening, sparking her release, her cry loud, desperate, the crowd outside roaring, a sudden surge syncing with her peak.

She came hard, screaming, arching, core pulsing, vision blurring, grabbing him, nails cutting, moans echoing. He groaned, slowing, holding her through it, lips on her forehead, grounding, his dick still hard, holding back, her pleasure washing over him. He eased her down, gentle, her body sensitive, every touch sharp, whimpering, raw. Lips softened, kissing her jaw, beard grazing, hands steady on her thighs, keeping them close.

Her hands grazed his chest, feeling scars, bold, stirring him, groaning, ready for more. “More, Joe,” she rasped, eyes fierce, pushing him, craving it. He growled, easing out slowly, her moan soft, core still pulsing, then flipped her, bending her over the desk, hands slamming the wood, her ass up, gasping, core slick, ready. “This ass, babygirl, fucking made for me,” he growled, smacking it hard, stinging, her yell sharp, core tightening, pleasure spiking, moaning, wild.

He gripped himself, hand stroking slow, deliberate, his dick slick from her, sliding over her clit, teasing, making her whimper, hips pushing back, begging. “So fucking needy,” he growled, hand clamping her hip, other tangling in her hair, tugging, arching her. Her moans grew frantic, the wet friction sparking pleasure, her core throbbing, desperate, nails clawing the desk, leaving scratches. He kept stroking, eyes locked on hers in the mirror, her trust burning through, his dick grazing her clit, slow, torturous, each pass pulling a cry, her body jerking, pleading. “Only you, Joe,” she gasped, voice breaking, their gaze holding, his growl soft, savoring her surrender, a crowd roar spiking outside, matching his thrust. “You want it bad, don’t you, babygirl?” he growled, voice low, thumb brushing her hip, teasing, prolonging her need, her gasps loud, raw.

He leaned over, beard scraping her shoulder, lips at her ear, still stroking himself, dick sliding against her, relentless. “Gonna make you scream before I’m done,” he growled, smacking her ass again, sharp, her cry ragged, core clenching, pleasure surging. He thrust in, slow, deep, stretching, her moan guttural, core gripping, adjusting, pleasure raw. He moved deliberately, each thrust heavy, desk creaking, letting her feel every inch, pausing to grind, pulling a cry, her hands clawing wood, leaving marks.

His chest pressed to her back, hand sliding to her neck, firm, feeling her pulse, thrusting steady, deep, her moans loud, raw. “You feel that, baby? Every fucking thrust’s mine,” he growled, biting her shoulder, leaving a mark, thrusts slow, possessive, desk shuddering, her body jolting, pleasure building. He pulled her up, spinning her, lifting her, her hand squeezing his tight, a silent vow, then pressing her against the wall, breath knocked out, gasping, core dripping. “You’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you?” he growled, biting her ear, thrusting slow, deliberate, wall shuddering, mirrors reflecting, pleasure raw.

He smacked her ass again, sharp, her yell loud, core tightening, pleasure surging, moaning, feral. His hand stayed on her neck, eyes locked, trusting, moaning, wild. He carried her to the mirror, pausing, his hand brushing her cheek, grounding their heat, then pressing her against it, glass cold, gasping, core slick, needing him. “Look at us, babygirl, taking me so fucking good,” he growled, thrusting deep, slow, glass fogging, breath mixing, slick, real, her reflection showing wild eyes, parted lips, his muscles flexing, claiming her.

He paused, holding deep, making her gasp, core throbbing, desperate. His hand grazed her cheek, slapping lightly, stinging, her moan sharp, core clenching, pleasure spiking, trusting him. “Taking it like my good slut, huh?” he growled, biting her neck, leaving a mark, thrusting slow, deliberate, glass trembling, pleasure building, her moans loud, raw.

She clawed his back, nails digging, scratching deep, bleeding, pushing him, moaning, core tight, pleasure overwhelming. “Joe, fuck, I can’t—” she gasped, hips rocking, chasing it, eyes locked, trusting. “You fucking will,” he growled, lips grazing, thrusting deep, slow, building, loud, real. He shifted, easing her to the floor, glass crunching, her back on the hardwood, legs spread, hands pinning her wrists, bruising, thrusting steady, beard scraping, biting her chest, sharp, core tight, moaning, loud.

He slowed, grinding deep, making her whimper, core pulsing, every thrust drawn out, deliberate. “Say you’re mine, babygirl,” he growled, biting her lip, stinging, moving slow, bruising, floor creaking, mirrors reflecting their chaos. “Yours, Joe,” she yelled, rocking, core tight, trusting, breaking. He thrust deep, floor shuddering, glass biting, pleasure raw, slick, messy.

He pulled her up, back to the desk, bending her over, hands tied behind with his belt, bruising, thrusting slow, deep, beard scraping, biting her back, sharp, core tight, moaning, loud. “Feel every inch, baby, you’re mine,” he growled, hand grazing her hip, thrusting steady, pleasure building, her moans raw, trusting.

She came again, screaming, convulsing, squirting, vision gone, core pulsing, nails scraping wood, yelling, echoing, flushed, raw, dripping, messy, the crowd outside roaring, a wave crashing with her peak. Pleasure hit like a tidal wave, trusting, surrendering, bound forever, loud, slick. He growled, her climax hitting him, thrusting slow, grounding, losing it, core tight, ready.

He eased her through, gentle, sensitive, every touch sharp, whimpering, raw. Kissing soft, beard grazing, core pulsing, breath rough. Her hands, freed, hit his chest, feeling him, stirring him, groaning, ready. “Keep going, Joe,” she gasped, eyes fierce, pushing him, craving more.

He growled, lifting her, legs around him, pressing her against the mirror, glass cold, gasping, core dripping, needing him. “Still so fucking needy, huh?” he growled, thrusting slow, deep, glass fogging, breath mixing, slick, real. He moved deliberately, hand on her neck, firm, gasping, core clenching, moaning, trusting. “All mine, babygirl, scream it,” he growled, biting her lip, stinging, thrusting steady, bruising, glass trembling, pleasure building, loud, raw.

“Yours, Joe,” she yelled, rocking, core tight, trusting, breaking. He thrust deep, glass shuddering, mirrors reflecting, pleasure raw, slick, messy. He unraveled, eyes locked, pleasure crashing, grounding them. “Nyomi,” he roared, thrusting slow, deep, scorching, echoing. He came, yelling, pulsing, head on her shoulder, breath ragged, raw, trusting, mirrors showing them, real, dripping, messy.

Their heat consumed the pain—Heyman’s betrayal, Punk’s deal, Rollins’ taunts—forging something solid, anchoring them. Trust, hunger, loyalty bound them, cutting through the hurt, raw, in the wreckage.

The fire cooled, his hands softening, cradling her cheek, thumb brushing, keeping them close. They slumped, foreheads pressed, breaths syncing, sweaty, hearts pounding. The suite was a warzone—glass, gear, banners, air thick, proof of their blaze.

He spoke low, rough, grateful. “You’re all I got,” heavy, searching her eyes, finding calm, steadying him.

She smiled, brushing his hair back, firm. “You got more,” her hand on his chest, feeling his heart, grounding them. “You’re still the man, Joe. Punk, Rollins—they don’t take that. Paul’s lost, but he’ll see.”

They sank to the floor, her head on his shoulder, curls loose, warm. Her hand clasped his, promising, unwavering. “Mania’s coming,” he said, steadier, eyes forward. “Gonna show them. No Paul, no Bloodline—just me.”

“Me,” she said, grip tight, fueling him, solid. “Not alone.”

He smirked, soft, a glimpse of old Joe. “Stubborn,” he teased, thumb grazing her knuckles, tender, their bond ironclad.

They plotted—countering Punk, outsmarting Rollins, claiming his legacy, The Shield’s true story. Their trust, passion, loyalty sharpened him, a weapon for the fight.

They stood, he pulled her close, kissing soft, promising—Mania, battles, them together. Mirrors reflected warriors, eyes locked, hands clasped, a vow. The road was brutal, but with her, he was unstoppable, his empire reborn.

🏷️@pittieprincess22 @trippinsorrows @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @duhitzkay380

@keyera-jackson @li-da-savage @sharmelasworld @jaded-human @lov3rla03

@justazzi @fearlesschimera @tribalqueen20 @skyesthebomb @chrissyxcxox

@reginawhorge01 @sheaabuttaababyy @purplementalitybluebird @trentybenty @isabella-2025

[hiraeth-wayfarer]

Hiraeth Creature #1220 - Thadra-Ilnua

"In a land far, far from ours, across the serpent-laden seas, the Harbour Lands rise from waves, straddled between existence and nowhere. This land once held folk, not sown from the souls of Fae, but from dust and water, in great pools beneath the boughs of ancient trees. They crawled out as raw, skittering creatures, more than susceptible to tooth and claw. Through time and luck, they eventually carved stone, bore flame, and stood upright to gaze at the distant, loving Moon. Once humble, the Harbour Folk grew cunning, shaping the land to their whims. Thoughts and ideas were ever racing, they brought the elements to heel, and became masters of the alchemical arts. They concocted medicines for every ill, conduits for the arcane, and even fashioned together living beings. A utopia true, the one thing they lacked was the closeness of the Moon, whose light felt ever distant. The more they peered upward, the colder the Harbour Folk felt.

The King of the Harbour Folk promised his people a Moon. In a grand experiment, the Harbour King chiselled away pieces of the Harbour Lands and gave them hearts of magic. Able to soar among the clouds, the people could live in the Moon’s airy domain so they could finally find a closeness they longed for. For a time they found comfort, but eventually they found something unexpected. A land across the sea: Hiraeth, ever present with beasts and folk innumerable. Nights framed in silver light saw the Moon Goddess herself descend upon the land, where all manner of souls bathed in her loving light. When this auspicious sign was attested among the Harbour Folk, the Harbour King grew mad with jealousy. They had wallowed in brine and mud, wrestled survival from the maws of beach-combers to eke out a kingdom, while across the sea sat fertile lands coddled by spirits, tending to an undeserving menagerie of stone-worshipping savages. For generations, the Harbour King had the Harbour Folk circling above, keeping track of any signs of weakness so he could begin butcher’s work.

Rumblings between realms began and Fae Realm warlords also felt entitled to their share of Hiraeth’s bounty. This sparked a great conflict as Fae fought against and for Hiraeth’s survival. The Harbour King sent in blades in the dark, pincers to cut and crush battle weary folk and Fae alike. Their cause was cutthroat, without an ounce of glory or sentiment worth song– actions seen by the Moon Goddess, who wept for their souls. She would not be the only witness for long, as the hunters were eventually caught by Hiraeth’s God Queen during her vengeful crusade against all interlopers. Her rancour seething to a pitch, she cast the Harbour Folk back to the sea and, while clenching the fallen tears of the Moon Goddess, she cursed the Harbour Folk to never find peace under the light of the Moon again. 

The sky grew eternally cold above the Harbour Lands. The Harbour King’s punishment branched out from his stricken body and the people grew heavy souls leaden with sorrow. So heaving their weight, they could not go upwards towards the Celestial Sea, but downwards into the depths of the ocean. Even those in the flying islands could not find peace, and slipped into the sky. Hearing tales that the mountains were the “Stairways to the Moon”, they built cities within their highest peaks, but their souls were buried into the rock beneath them. Their lot was to languish in the elements they once tamed. Their souls seeped into the Harbour Lands, the flora turned wild with the will of the tethered dead.

While Hiraeth met her own ruin during the Giant’s March, it built a memory of heroism and grace among those left to live onward. The Harbour Lands had no such valour or pride to latch onto, the Harbour King’s legacy tainting their history. Regardless, the Harbour Folk carried on, their inevitable fates giving them the perseverance to value life in every waking moment. Their long-lasting want to survive despite the sins of their forebears had led them to study all manner of secret alchemy and ritual. They returned to the great pools beneath the boughs of ancient trees where they first rose, and within them forged their own Moon of bewitching light. Rejected from solace, the Harbour Folk ferried their bodies and souls to a self-constructed sanctuary. The Second Moon hangs close to trees, a vessel for those who hope one day to be either forgotten, or forgiven."

[sokkastyles]

I think it's implied that Azula started firebending before Zuko did, and not even just that Zuko started at a later age than Azula. If Azula 5 or 6 in the flashback in Azula in the Spirit Temple when she first starts firebending, then I think Zuko hadn't started firebending yet as a 7 or 8 year old. And that probably informs the reactions we see in the comics from their parents as well.

I mean, I think Ozai would have very much held Zuko's lack of firebending over his head. My theory is that Ozai's disfavor of Zuko began to fester as soon as Zuko was born, due to Ozai protecting his own insecurities onto Zuko (and also being jealous that Zuko divided Ursa's attention). This would be easy for Ozai to do since Zuko is both his firstborn and a boy.

So by the time Azula comes along, Ozai is already convinced that Zuko is a failure (and it's possible that there were disfavorable omens when Zuko was born that fed into that perception, maybe Zuko was late learning to walk or talk, etc.) and that he will be a late bloomer, or maybe not a bender at all.

And poor Zuko, for his part, becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as kids often do when they live in a household where the adults in their lives don't expect them to flourish. So every time Zuko failed to hit a certain milestone, Ozai would use that to either torment him or Ursa on how her son was a failure.

So when Azula is born, Ozai is determined that she will be everything Zuko is not. And maybe Azula does things that encourage this perception. We know she's precocious, and again, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ozai gets pleasure out of giving Azula every praise and advantage he denied to Zuko. How long before either of the children began to make a single spark do you think Ozai was telling his family how sure he was that Azula would firebend first, and rubbing it into their faces how that meant Zuko was a failure?

I think this fits with both the reactions we see from Zuko and Azula as young children in the comics. A lot has been made of that scene in Azula in the Spirit Temple when Ursa reacts with fear and disappointment on seeing her daughter bending, while Ozai is exuberant and demands Ursa praise their daughter. We, the audience, know who Ozai is. We know his excitement for his daughter's firebending skills is not out of caring or pride for his daughter, but all about himself and the weapon he wants to make Azula into. There is reason for Ursa to be fearful, here, but it's fear of Ozai, not fear of her daughter. And, as the comic also states, fear for Azula.

I also want to go back to that scene in the Search where we see young Zuko coming to his mother, waking from a nightmare where Azula has set his room on fire. Both Azula and Zuko are very young in this scene, and of course Zuko's fear is ridiculous. Neither of the children have started bending yet.

But if Ozai had already been telling his family how strong Azula was going to be, and how weak Zuko was in comparison, that explains very well Zuko's fear.

There's also something here of fire as an element both prized and feared by those who wish to control it, and I think both children learned very quickly the dual nature of fire and made it a core aspect of their personality.

I think about that image of baby Zuko in awe of Iroh's flames in Legacy of the Fire Nation. How long before the wonder of fire turned to fear, and anxiety because he just couldn't seem to measure up?

Can you imagine how terrifying it was for all of them living with Ozai? Not because he was physically violent, but because of the violence in his threats, the subtle reminders of how his rage could be turned on those who didn't meet his expectations at any moment. And he'd already made up his mind that Zuko would never meet his expectations and that Azula had to. No wonder Zuko learns to fear his sister at an early age. No wonder Azula learns that it's better to be feared than to be a disappointment.

[xinfinityl0ve17]

I did a little translation on Mana's personal interview. Corrections are very welcome! Thank you so much in advance!

The dark-themed works that were released in the early days. I was captivated by these eerie and unsettling creations, which were far from being considered suitable for children.

I had the opportunity to have a discussion with the person in charge of producing that series of dark games.

All of those games were illustrated by a single designer. That designer had an aura about him and would immerse himself in work for about a month, isolated, to complete the projects. The resulting works had a unique sense of fear, and I was told they even went to Asakusa Shrine for a purification ritual before the games were released. I heard various behind-the-scenes stories like that.

Another memorable discussion was with Konami’s director, Yakushiji. I’ve always been a big fan of the "Castlevania" series since the Famicom days, and I had completed all the previous versions, including the Disk System and PC Engine versions. Our discussion took place around the release of the N64 version, "Castlevania: Legacy of Darkness."

"Legacy of Darkness" was the first 3D installment, breaking away from the traditional side-scrolling action format of the series. Yakushiji asked me, "Did you feel any discomfort with the transition to 3D?" I remember getting quite passionate and responding, "I was deeply moved by the experience of navigating the 3D space in that iconic Castlevania world, which was originally in 2D!"

A landmark encounter that marked the final installment: A conversation with Koichi Sugiyama.

The final interview in this series brought me to visit the home of Koichi Sugiyama, a pioneer of game music. Sugiyama is also a collector of game hardware, and he showed me various rare consoles like the "Intellivision," which surprised me. His collection room was truly a treasure trove for me.

Including the previous interview with Eno-san, my column for "Jugemu" brought me many valuable encounters. Sugiyama, who integrated classical music into game soundtracks and revolutionized game music, had a dramatic and theatrical approach to sound. It’s no exaggeration to say he sparked a revolution in game music. As a musician who also incorporates classical elements into my work, we had many conversations about music. I learned a lot that benefited my own musical activities, and I remember how educational the discussions were.

The world I express in my work was born from the inspiration I received from various games. Though it was only a short period of a year, the experiences I had talking to people involved in game development have become a great treasure to me.

[mysimsloveaffair]

AWESOME ANON TAG

I was tagged by an incredible writer and storyteller, @treason-and-plot. Thanks so much!

1) How did you come up with such unique & fascinating characters?

That’s assuming they are unique and fascinating… just kidding! My Sims 4 character creation always begins in Create-a-Sim. I try to make each Sim distinct from all my others—unless, of course, they’re born in-game. I give them both physical and personality flaws. For example, I always assign at least one “negative” trait—usually one I haven’t tried before. These decisions help shape the story I’m planning to write. Then gameplay takes over and throws in curveballs, pushing my Sims into situations I’d never have thought of myself. The characters evolve further as they navigate these unexpected dilemmas.

2) When you started writing your story, what did you take into consideration?

I started my story with a child heir, Alida Tate. Since I knew this would be a legacy (or dynasty—lol), I considered her story to be the foundation for generations to come. I wanted it to basically be a rags-to-riches tale. Alida began in foster care without a single simoleon to her name. My goal was for the family’s wealth to grow over time, culminating in an extremely wealthy Sim in the final generation.

3) How did you shape each character’s background/family?

It’s a legacy, so each character’s background is shaped by the stories told in the generations before them. Alida’s was the toughest because I had to create an unseen backstory for her. I needed it to be compelling, and many elements of her story were left implied. I didn’t want to do any hand-holding or include unnecessary drama, so parts of Alida’s generation rely on the reader’s imagination to fill in the gaps.

4) Do you plan everything before starting, or are you more spontaneous?

It’s a mix of both. Each generation begins with a basic skeleton or overarching plot, usually sparked by a random “what if” question I’ve come up with. I try to follow that framework as closely as I can, but I also rely heavily on gameplay—and, as I mentioned earlier, there are often curveballs I have to write my way around. It’s not unusual for my legacies to take unexpected turns, but that’s what makes writing them so much fun!

5) Does reality inspire you, or do you rely more on your imagination?

I can be inspired by anything and everything. Sometimes it’s real life; other times, it’s a song lyric, or something I’ve seen or read. Many times, I’m inspired by a “what-if” question, as I mentioned. The Sims game itself also pushes me to try things I’ve never done before—and those experiments can grow into full-blown plot points.

6) When did you KNOW you were going to make this story? 

I knew I wanted to tell this story after I lost my last legacy to a crashed hard drive. I wanted to start fresh—with a new family and a more “edgy” beginning.

7) What has shaped your story into being the way it is?

The story has been shaped by years of gameplay and writing, unfolding over multiple generations. Each new generation builds upon the events and choices of the one before. For example, Generation 2 was led by a single mother. In response, Generation 3’s heir, Kai Banks, dedicated himself to being the best father he could be to his sons. Then, in Generation 4, Wade Banks—the next heir—makes choices and acts in ways that reflect the upbringing he received.

I'm tagging some of the great storytellers that I follow - @storiesbyjes2g | @ladybugsimblr | @igglemouse | @ellemant | @lilacsimblr | @pinkchocolatesims | @reverieinsimlish | @nightlifeseries | @aleksa-sims | @abbysimsfun | and @box-of-sims

[ebongawk]

Hellcheer AU: Usually, we see Chrissy pulled into Eddie's world when they meet (like in the show.) How about one where Eddie's forced into Chrissy's harrowing world of two-faced preppy popularity? A "The principal formally bans the Hellfire Club from operating, and Eddie's forced to work for/with the basketball team, or even better the cheer squad, after the principal threatens to fully expel him unless he shapes up" AU. No Vecna, but Chrissy and Jason are still together (for the drama.)

oh lord, the absolute mischief Eddie Munson would cause:

In my head, the principal didn't ban Hellfire, but it is the threat he uses against Eddie to make him do some amount of in-school service (Eddie could probably handle disappointing Wayne by being expelled, but the idea of disappointing his and all future sheep by getting the club taken away permanently? Removing the safe haven he's spent so much time building as their shepherd? That's the legacy of the outcasts, he won't have it endangered).

Eddie basically becomes the "assistant" to all of the sports teams - so a glorified water boy during practices for both the basketball team and the cheer squad during the second semester, but he also has to do concessions during games (both at home and away).

He's sort of always had a thing for Chrissy Cunningham, but seeing her in her element while she's coming up with choreography and helping her fellow cheerleaders kinda makes him want to eat his own skin and get a flower tattoo the same color as her hair. He also isn't totally blind so every time she comes to refill her water bottle that's only half empty, he's definitely 110% willing to strike up the conversation she's obviously searching for.

The jock straps with their laundry ball are a whole other flock of bullshit to contend with though. So, if Eddie has to subtly put them in their place every now and again (spitting in their water cooler, returning as many stupid remarks as they seem intent to give him, flirting obviously with their captain's girlfriend) he's not above it.

It's actually the stupid remarks that spark the first public issue with Chrissy and Jason, though, because Fuckface McGee says something loudly about how Eddie's basically lowlife garbage that will never accomplish anything in his life and Chrissy stands up for him (be still his cynical heart) in front of the cheer squad and the basketball team. Which embarrasses Jason.

Oops bonus #6: that very night, when Jason is trying to haul Chrissy into his car like a sack of potatoes, Eddie steps between them and manhandles Jason the exact way Jason tried to manhandle Chrissy. Putting him in his place, of course, but when he offers to drive Chrissy home after Jason speeds off, the only thing she says is, "Why the hell would you do that, Eddie?"

send me an AU and I'll make up five facts about it!

[sleepyselkiesims]

Highlights from this legacy

Gen 1: Had a baby with Father Winter, went into labor in a Selvadoradan public toilet, fist-fought Father Winter.

Fell in love with Bella Goth, woohooed her in Selvadorada's jungle. Bella promptly caught fire and died, and then my game crashed. So I drowned her and their ghosts got married and Bella totally forgot her family.

Gen 2: He was SO CHILL! He just loved fishin'. His wife summoned bees every day, Patchy did his chores, you can see his kid's questionable tastes in love, he got abducted... but Chris himself was chill! Until the wishing well killed him.

Gen 3: Got into a questionable relationship with his employee. Had many wonderfully unnatural pets.

Gen 4: Father Winter's beard caused a glitch so bad that you COULD NOT PLAY. It wouldn't even crash or properly freeze, the whole game froze. So I had to move everything to a new save.

Gen 5: Totally abandoned her kids, left her best friend to take care of them. Ended up in the closest things sims has to a polyamorous relationship with said friend.

Gen 6: GREMLIN.

Gen 7: A teen wanted to be a vampire so badly, this gen promised she'd make him a vampire, but then just used him as a blood bag and to have a kid and pay for her house while she went to space.

Gen 8: Fell madly in love with the Grim Reaper. Had kids with a criminal who she got into fist fights with, because she was a detective. One of the legacy rules is you have to use every item you gain from your career. And she got jail bars from her job. So naturally she built a jail cell to raise her kids in.

Gen 9: He was chill for a kid brought up in a jail cell.

Gen 10: She murdered her husband, yeah. To abscond with her childhood BFF, who died in the same spot her husband did. I accidentally killed her by having her swim while just slightly too tired. She also went to an audition .5 seconds after giving birth.

Gen 11: Brought an Island Elemental back to life, and her kids were always flinging Lava. She went into labour moments before a fire started and glitched with no one but a child around to put out the fire. Then gave birth to twins. To this day it's still the most stressful day I ever played.

Gen 12: She brought people back from the dead A Lot. She had a glitchy curse of the Night Wraith and they just kept getting added as her roommates. Were they the father of her child?? I have no idea.

Just found some old notes, apparently there was a human man lover at one point, and on multiple occassions she abandoned him mid-woohoo to go D-D-D-DUUUUUEL!!

Gen 13: I completely forgot she existed. All I know is she flew around Sixam on a broom once. Why does she have a dead clone???? My notes say smthn about teaching herself to talk in a storage room???

Gen 14: I forgot he existed too tbh. I assume he was a chill guy, for someone raised by a mad scientist. The only one to get a divorce, because his husband was alien-racist and craved Vampire Immortality above all else.

Gen 15: The first hothead I tried to play with and it drove me crazy. I made her wife a mermaid 'cause it was the only occult I hadn't played. And then her mermaid wife drowned. So.

Who was Eve Sparks Sr. I wonder? I assumed Gizmo made Eve Sparks Jr. It's a cool name for a robot!

Gen 16: Raised his child in an abandoned shipwreck.

Gen 17: Tried to honor her family legacy by going back to Selvadorada, where it all started. Got poisoned IMMEDIATELY and I shut the game down so ever since she's been hanging on the cusp of death.

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Lost in Translation (2003) is one of those rare films that lingers in the hearts of its viewers long after the credits roll. Directed by Sofia Coppola, the film became a defining piece of early 2000s cinema, blending moments of melancholy with the beauty of human connection. It tells the story of two strangers, Bob Harris (Bill Murray) and Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), who form an unlikely bond while staying at a hotel in Tokyo. Their deep, yet understated connection serves as the emotional core of the film.

At the time of filming, Scarlett Johansson was only 17 years old, a fact that might surprise some considering the depth and maturity of her performance. Charlotte, the character she portrayed, is a young woman struggling with a sense of displacement and confusion about her life. Johansson's performance was lauded for its subtlety and complexity, capturing the uncertainty of youth with grace. It was a breakthrough role that helped establish Johansson as a leading actress in Hollywood.

Sofia Coppola, who wrote the script for Lost in Translation, initially crafted the lead role specifically for Bill Murray. Coppola had long admired Murray’s unique comedic and dramatic range, and she envisioned him as the perfect fit for the role of Bob Harris. However, there was an element of uncertainty about whether Murray would actually take on the role. Coppola had only a verbal confirmation from Murray, and she admitted that if he had turned down the film, she likely wouldn't have pursued it further. Murray's involvement was pivotal to the project, as his portrayal of the lonely, world-weary actor gave the film its heart.

Interestingly, Lost in Translation holds a special place in Bill Murray’s heart. It is his favorite film of all the ones he has worked on, and the actor has mentioned several times in interviews how much he loved the experience of making the movie. His understated performance as Bob, a man at odds with his career and personal life, earned him numerous accolades, including a Golden Globe award.

The film's success was not limited to Murray's performance. Coppola’s direction, combined with the evocative cinematography and the memorable score by Kevin Shields, contributed to Lost in Translation’s legacy as one of the most celebrated films of the early 2000s. It struck a chord with audiences for its introspective themes of loneliness, identity, and the fleeting nature of human connections.

Lost in Translation remains a timeless piece of cinema, an exploration of isolation and human interaction that resonates with viewers from all walks of life. It is a film that continues to spark conversation, not only because of its performances but also for its quiet, poignant reflection of the complexities of the human experience.

Source: Lost & Found History

[lilithlounge]

Hii hope u are well !

don't know if you are still doing readings on Lilith but here goes mine i want to know

Lilith in aquarius 10th house 10° degree

Conjuntion with Mercury, trine moon, square asc,sextile Mars,trine jupiter,sextile pluton,conj midheaven is a lot

Thank u 🩷

If anyone is interested in getting a reading, you can book one on: Ko-fi or Buy Me A Coffee and get +1 free reading.

Hi how are you 💕?

Lilith in Aquarius 10H (10°) conjunct Mercury Your voice holds taboo wisdom. Whether in speech, writing, or even your presence, people feel the electricity of your words. You challenge the norm, often sparking shock or admiration in how you communicate. Truth bombs are your specialty.

Lilith trine Moon Your intuition is razor-sharp, and your emotions are deeply tied to your rebellious streak. You instinctively know what’s fake vs. real, making you a natural disruptor in any space that lacks authenticity.

Lilith square Ascendant You exude an intense magnetism, but people may try to label or misunderstand you. Some might find you intimidating because you don’t shrink yourself to fit expectations. Own that energy, your presence alone shakes structures.

Lilith sextile Mars and Pluto Your drive is unstoppable. You transform power struggles into fuel to rise higher. Whether in career, leadership, or ambition, you’re strategic, fearless, and unapologetic. Your desires are manifested when you embrace your raw intensity.

Lilith trine Jupiter You’re meant to expand beyond the limits society tries to place on you. There’s an element of divine luck when you embrace your authenticity, doors open where others meet resistance.

Lilith conjunct Midheaven Your public image is electrifying. Whether you realize it or not, you provoke, inspire, and unsettle. Authority figures may either fear or respect you because you symbolize what can’t be controlled. Your career path is unconventional and groundbreaking. Made for a legacy.

THE TAKEAWAY

You’re not here to play small. You’re here to shake structures, redefine success, and be unapologetically YOU. Whether in leadership, media, or rebellion against outdated norms, your presence demands recognition. Own it 🖤.

[cheatsru]

Battlefield 2042

Battlefield 2042 is not just a game; it's an emotional rollercoaster that immerses players in a chaotic future where warfare is redefined. The innovative mechanics, like the Plus System for weapon customization, allow each player to personalize their experience in real-time, adapting strategies on-the-fly amid ever-changing battlefields. This level of engagement makes it essential for gamers to stay alert and flexible, reflecting the unpredictable nature of modern conflict.

The vast maps and dynamic environments create a sense of scale and urgency that few titles can replicate. Veterans will appreciate how familiar elements blend seamlessly with fresh concepts, fostering both nostalgia and excitement. However, it's important to acknowledge that some aspects have sparked debate among the community—whether it’s performance issues or balancing concerns—creating opportunities for passionate discussions around improvement and innovation as the game evolves. The ongoing dialogue highlighting these challenges fosters a stronger connection among players who are equally invested in shaping Battlefield 2042’s legacy.

[artsydon]

This is my digital fanart poster for Mystery Case Files 25: The Dalimar Legacy.

I did a remake on Emma Ravenhearst's character design I used all the Emma Ravenhearst references from the past games including the sketches from the first Ravenhearst game, the actress from RTR and EFR, and retained the blue dress and a tint of red hair of Emma from the Dalimar Legacy. I did a different rendition of Evelyn Ravenhearst as well.

As for the Spider-follower, I used the sketch of that robot as a reference instead of the 3D model. I kinda liked the huge menacing claw more than the small funny claw from the 3D one.

I retained the basic form of the Ravenhearst Manor/new MCF HQ, but I also retained some elements from GrandMa's design such as the bay window (which is blocked by the sail of the mini airship), the gable roof and its rakes of the forever home and the stone brick material finishes.

I appreciate the Dalimar Legacy's retelling of the Ravenhearst plot line. Aside from Master Detective, Charles and Emma, the main highlight for me is Angelica Morgan, an interesting character.

I might skip A Crime in Reflection fanart next and proceed with The Riddle of Mrs. Bishop fanart instead because that game sparked my interest once again, but might I still do A Crime in Reflection fanart if I have spare time and motivation, lol.

As for app/software/devices, I used Ibis paint with my finger on da smartphone :DDDD

You can watch the speed paint here:

[thunderstomm]

HWLR: Race Suit Design Concepts !

I did something similar to this around the start of the year when s1 released, but over time, and with the second season releasing, I found myself liking those designs less, and the direction of making them all look very uniform. So I went back to the drawing board, and designed these! I love the idea of everyone getting their own race suits, and the reflection of progression from “protégés” to “professionals” it could represent.

If I was to give an “in-universe” explanation for the change, I would have them be a parting gift of sorts from the Ultimate Garage to each of the six campers! Each of the designs were done by the campers or include concepts, designs of features which they suggested. For the most part, they’re very personalised to each camper’s style and skills! (As for Cruise’s- it is her canon suit given a small redesign, so there’s no explanation beyond her add perhaps adding a few flourishes before the final race.)

If you’re interested, I’ve left some of my design notes for each character under the cut. Thanks for reading! (:

Notes for each character ! List order is the left-to-right of the artwork.

Brights

The only suit to have short sleeves, as to accommodate for her prosthetic arm. Has slight flares before the sleeve, as to give it a more distinctive appearance. The loop-heart shape featured is a nod to the orange loop shape on her original overalls, while evolving the concept by changing the shape. I’ve also seen Brights described as the “heart” of the group (she’s friendly with everyone, and is generally a very bubbly person) so I thought it was a fun visual nod to that aspect of her character!

Axle

Axle’s suit is intentionally designed to heavily resemble the race suit which his father, pro racer Striker Spoiler, wears. The shade of red used for the base suit is darker, and the white is replaced with a grey, as to distinguish it. The black details included are also to add more individuality to the look. The overall idea behind his suit is for him to both honour the legacy of the Spoiler family, while making it his own.

Mac

Visually, the patterns on Mac’s suit were somewhat inspired by the race suits from Team Hot Wheels- another Hot Wheels series which I think did a really good job with its outfit design for the core cast. (This wouldn’t be an in-universe explanation, after all, the shows take place in completely different continuities!) The yellow base of the suit is taken from the Baja Jump Truck variant which he drives most across the series run. His hat remains unchanged- cannot mess with a staple!

Coop

Coop’s suit is designed to match the Super Twin Mill- the upgraded Twin Mill model which he’s rumoured to drive come next season of the show. The colours and patterns on the suit are either inspired or lifted from such, such as the white base colour, orange stripe down the centre, and the blue patterns resembling the shape of the windshield. The stripes on the arm are meant to resemble the checkered strips on his original jacket, while removing the pattern for a more streamlined look.

Spark

Spark’s suit is designed to be simple and practical! Her suit is the only one to feature a belt of sorts, as to allow her to carry around tools for emergency upgrades! While Spark’s associated colour is yellow, much like her original outfit, the racing suit features more orange, to create visual familiarity. She also keeps her goggles as part of the design, with the colour of such matching the elements on her suit.

Sidecar

Sidecar’s the only one of the six campers to already wear a race suit, and I wanted to both keep nods to it, while making it a little more individual! While Sidecar’s new racing suit shares a few matching details with Axle’s suit (the show has them match so I will always try to do the same, even if it’s more subtle), including the checkered pattern and grey pockets, the placement of the details are in different areas. The colours of his suit are taken from the Mad Manga, as well as featuring his leaderboard grey.

Cruise

For the most part, Cruise’s suit matches her original one, with a few minor changes. The black base colour is shifted to a dark purple, as to reflect her colour on the leaderboard. The suit also features pockets, and a name-patch on the sleeve. While the lime stripe and sleeve are still asymmetrical, I added the green to the ends of both sleeves. The stripe also features black details, as another nod to her Father’s outfit.

[pizzaapeteer]

where does most of your writing inspiration come from??

hi anon 🤍 thanks for the question! oooh this is so hard cuz like everywhere! music is such a big one for me, my fic playlist is 237 songs long 🙊 and I’m constantly adding to it!!

Pinterest is another huge one for me, sometimes I’ll just see a pic of one of the boys and something grows from there or a prompt/quote. maybe a picture of two people together or a setting - really images help because it allows my mind to expand on the possibilities freely.

def a little bit of movie and tv content, some of my latest ideas have stemmed from something I’ve been watching. aka fast and furious!

Harry Potter in itself is a big inspiration, the wizarding world is so huge! ofc I don’t always insert everything related to the series, but I wanna add more canon elements into my writing this year. I do research on things I don’t know looking at Harry Potter wiki, playing Hogwarts legacy to explore the locations, sometimes I honestly go back on that Harry Potter mystery game, and during that new ideas and inspo gets sparked!!

sometimes honestly my life sparks ideas, a lot of ideas come from my experiences or relationship (I try not to make it too self indulgent though! Hopefully 🤞) and then ofc there’s always the random thoughts that pop in and idk where they came from 🤭

if anyone new is seeking where to look for inspo it’s everywhere ma dudes. also using tumblr resources to look at prompts ofc is helpful I do this less because I normally have so many of my own ideas it’s also why sometimes I find it hard to tackle requests because I swear my brain never stops thinking of things, my drafts + docs are overflowing I actually forget I have half written ideas there 😭 it’s good and bad lmfao

get to know me and my writing a bit ⋆✮⋆

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: June 13, 2025

Reworked Species #2: Tuatha Dé Danann

Overview

Unfortunately, little information has been preserved about the history, culture, behaviours, and capabilities of the Tuatha Dé Danann. However, it’s known that they thrived during the Hadean Eon, a time marked by the emergence of life, and possessed technology far superior to that of modern humanity. They formerly inhabited Jupiter, but relocated to Earth upon discovering its superior potential for sustaining life. This society of demigods was renowned for their godly science, impressive naval prowess, vast knowledge, and deep understanding of time travel.

The Tuatha Dé Danann created intricate hieroglyphic drawings on portable pieces of green jasper, red garnet or obsidian, highlighting them with fool's gold or mercury. These drawings depicted ancient deities, such as the Avatar of Evil, and are often referred to as the Rosetta Stones.

The Tuatha Dé Danann are believed to possess an infinite amount of knowledge, encompassing even forbidden lore, but this intellectual capacity diminishes with each successive generation of descendants. As their DNA becomes increasingly diluted through generations, the descendants of the Tuatha Dé Danann retain only a small fraction of their ancestors' extraordinary cognitive abilities. This legacy enables them to acquire and retain more knowledge than the average human, albeit to a lesser extent than their ancestors. Moreover, they possess the unique ability to fully comprehend forbidden lore without succumbing to madness and suffering fatal sensory overload.

Notably, the Tuatha Dé Danann lived long enough to intermarry with fully evolved humans, sparking controversy among the older generations. The older generations viewed such unions as a taint on their genetic lineage, regarding themselves as a superior species whose physical and mental purity was paramount.

They can effortlessly distinguish between their own kind, including those who possess Tuatha Dé Danann DNA, and beings from other species through a peculiar tingling sensation of familiarity. Legend has it that they occasionally or frequently glimpse a pair of glowing red eyes watching them from darkened corners or shadowy places. They interpret this as a guardian carefully observing and assessing their moral actions. However, their descendants often find this unsettling with some believing they're being haunted by a restless spirit, while others suspect they're merely hallucinating. Sometimes, they're drawn into certain places, enticed by an aura of curiosity, a commanding presence or the echoing whispers of safety and growth.

They're immune to debilitating illnesses and were once prolific wielders of powerful magic, controlling the weather, elements, and earth's fertility. With this magic, they could shapeshift themselves and objects into animals and people, become invisible by hiding in a mist, and bring doom upon those who committed heinous acts against the divine and the law. However, descendants of the Tuatha Dé Danann have lost the ability to wield this magic as modern society has forgotten the secrets of harnessing and maintaining such an arcane force.

Beliefs

Although their specific beliefs and values are not well-documented, they are largely centred around animism, enlightenment, salvation, and cultural preservation. They held key values such as honour, courage, mastery of survival skills, overall health, compassion, creativity, and wisdom. Moreover, they believed it was their responsibility to aid in the physical and technological evolution of all life forms and reset the timeline when destruction seemed imminent. Some believe in the transformative power of human emotions and physical capabilities.

They held immense respect for the deities, preparing exquisite festivals, large feasts, worship ceremonies, and moral laws inspired by their unique principles. They hold a profound belief in the sacredness of the land, recognizing a collective responsibility to protect it from desecration and preserve its integrity. As stewards of the natural world, they strive to maintain harmony among the five elements: earth, air, fire, water, and quintessence. Embracing the cyclical nature of life, they accept and respect the phases of birth, growth, decay, and rebirth, working to maintain the delicate balance of the natural order.

Appearance

It's commonly believed that the Tuatha Dé Danann bore a striking resemblance to humans, but with distinct physical differences. They were remarkably tall with males standing at an impressive 9’ 4” (284.48 cm) and females reaching approximately 8’ 10” (269.24 cm). Their physiques were characterised by lean builds, prominent muscles, and a proportionate amount of body fat. Their hair reportedly came in varying shades of black and blonde, while their eyes ranged in hues of blue and cyan. They have a pale complexion, but most experience a dulling of their skin hue as they grow older with age.

Warriors often adorned themselves with vibrant markings: they bleached the skin of their faces, torsos, arms, and lower legs with woad, giving them a bluish appearance. They also used Murex snail dye to create swirling patterns or claw-like marks on their faces, chests, and arms, which appeared purple. Additionally, they dyed their hair with madder red dye, and if they had longer hair, they braided it.

Tuatha Dé Danann rulers are always born with distinctive physical characteristics, including either python-like legs, a wolf’s head, a winding, serpentine fish tail or the lower half of a horse.

The exact nature of their attire is unknown, but it’s believed to have been crafted from luxurious materials such as silks, satins, linens, and animal pelts. Their jewellery was adorned with gemstones, precious metals, and ornate pieces made from animal teeth and bones. Notably, their armour was forged from a mysterious material known as adamant, a semi-magnetic rock infused with hardened steel, renowned for its exceptional strength and durability, surpassing even that of diamond.

Known Locations

Atlantis is said to be buried deep within the centre of the Atlantic Ocean, although some unverified sources speculate that it may actually be located underneath the North Pole. According to legend, the fabled civilization of the Hadean Eon was lost to the depths after its ruler succumbed to hubris and attempted to conquer humanity or prematurely reboot life itself with the aid of the Alator. The city's architecture is characterised by a series of concentric islands, separated by expansive moats and linked by a winding canal that culminates in a central hub: a towering structure featuring labyrinthine hallways, prismatic stone, and an altar adorned with ancient deity caricatures.

Some believe that Atlantis houses ancient technology infused with psionic energy and holds the knowledge of the deities. A few also speculate that it will rise up from the Atlantic Ocean during a rare and ominous blood moon event, rumoured to last for seven days, potentially initiating the apocalypse.

Ultima Thule is a remote tundra island located northwest of the Orkney Islands, frequently visited by whale and orca families. The island experiences the extreme phenomena of polar night and midnight sun. It features a waterfall that remains unfrozen, rocky cliffs embedded with shimmering crystals, fossil fuels, precious metals, and gemstones, snow-capped mountains, and a dormant volcano believed to have been used for ancient human sacrifices. Despite its fertile soil and abundant fields, capable of supporting crops and fruits, Ultima Thule is uninhabited. The island has been exploited as a dumping site for trash, discarded vehicles, and defunct machinery, leading to many calling it Scrap Island. It secretly harbours the remains of a deceased extraterrestrial deity, rumoured to be the fabled Super Devil, the Big Gate, and antediluvian, faulty technology of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

It's believed that Ultima Thule was once a multifaceted hub, featuring large greenhouses for agriculture, mines for fossil fuels, precious metals, and gemstones, a gargantuan military fortress, and sanctuaries that housed libraries, lavish bathhouses, and comfy homes for the elderly. Additionally, the area hosted various winter sports to test physical strength and agility, survival skills, instinctive reflexes, and mental strategies.

Technology

Little is known about their technological capabilities, but it’s believed that they were the result of a fusion of advanced mechanics, cutting-edge bioengineering, and mystical wizardry. Some of their technology is said to be capable of creating devastating weapons unparalleled on Earth, generating new land masses and life forms (including clones), and even tearing rifts in the space-time continuum.

The Ajirabian Teardrop was once in their possession before ending up in the Ajirabian Ruins, and it's believed to hold the power to summon the dead and damned for use in warfare and forced labour. Additionally, it can serve as an energy source for advanced weapons, emitting fiery, electrical laser beams capable of decimating up to 20 people.

It's believed that the Alien Floating Structure, Volt Electric Barrier employed by the Rebel Army and Ptolemaic Army, Mummy Generators, Warp Tubes, and the Electric Door in the Oro Sol Ruins warehouse were all originally artifacts of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

They created the Stone Golems, which are trapped in long-forgotten ruins barely inhabited by sentient life. These ancient constructs were created over eight billion years before Earth was formed. They're responsible for guarding areas built by their masters and attack by spinning their arms, slamming the ground with their fists, and jumping, which creates shockwaves that partially crush the ground beneath them. They're strong enough to fling a person across three walls with just a gentle flick. Despite being made of stone, they exhibit somewhat fluid movements, accentuated by the stones being bonded together with an incredibly sturdy yet highly flexible metallic red flesh. The insides of their bodies are filled with blood that resembles sparkling ocean water.

Atlantis contains the mysterious Alator, a 200-million-year-old information-gathering device, and the Lugus Lieu, a biomechanical tower giant that serves as the Alator's core. The Alator is employed to accelerate the evolution of cultures and life forms, but it inevitably self-destructs when accessed by an individual of Tuatha Dé Danann lineage, resetting the timeline and perpetuating an eternal cycle of repetition.

Lugus Lieu solely obeys the commands of the Tuatha Dé Danann and their descendants as they possess the sentience to recognize the inherent wrongness of harming their own creators. They're composed of adamant, featuring a blue-grey finish, and they look exactly like and have the same abilities as Lugus from Metal Slug 3D. Naturally, they produce an ever-shifting, fluid-like flesh from their mouth, joints, and stomach that appears reddish in sunlight and purplish in moonlight. This flesh can be used to create slashing tendrils, absorb life forms, and generate protective armor by encasing itself, hardening it until it becomes iron-hard.

Rumors describe Lugus Lieu as containing the Alator within a labyrinth of rectangular mirrors. Each mirror functions as a portal to other realities, dimensions, and planes of existence. These mirrors reveal a cosmic panorama, showcasing a multitude of celestial bodies: stars, comets, asteroids, meteoroids, meteors, meteor showers, natural satellites, planets, dwarf planets, and galaxies. The floor of this labyrinth is made of durable, multi-colored pyrope, featuring hues of blood red, pink, purple, and green that appear to shift and change depending on the angle of observation.

They possessed data discs attached to copper-hued adamant vambraces, featuring three evenly spaced gold horizontal lines encircling them. The data discs are rimmed with pearlescent adamant and feature a floating rhomboid piece of stone at the centre, a blend of green jasper and emerald that serves as a computer chip. These devices are capable of generating an impenetrable shield, manifesting as yellow-orange and saffron octagonal waves, for defensive purposes. Additionally, they can emit greenish-white laser projectiles for long-range offence. The true purpose of these data discs is to preserve the DNA structures of each successive generation of life and document their unique cultures. Once a person wears it, it establishes an immediate mental link, storing all of their memories, DNA, and knowledge, which can be accessed through the stone, while also allowing the wearer to utilise its weaponry.

Before relocating to Earth, they created the 49 ft (1493.52 cm) biomechanical, humanoid extraterrestrials known as the Monoeyes. It is believed that they created these beings to symbolise their Jovian heritage and express their desire for a new species to thrive on their home planet. As Jupiter is the Monoeyes' birthplace and they had inhabited the planet for millions of years, they are sometimes referred to as the Jovians. They’ll never harm a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann, unless that individual possesses malicious intent. There are only six Monoeyes known to exist: Ogmios, an apricot-hued one with greyish-pink blushing; Gobannus, a yellowish-green one with malachite-hued blushing; Brigantia, a pearlescent purple one with golden blushing; Manannán, a bluish-purple one with light cyan blushing; Nodens, an albino one with crimson blushing; and Fomoire, a melanistic one with silver-grey blushing.

The Monoeyes can readily identify individuals descended from the Tuatha Dé Danann by analysing their DNA and tracing their family lineage through a psychic connection that grants them access to neural pathways and blood vessels. They possess unparalleled knowledge, which they only share with individuals they deem worthy. The six Monoeyes possess unique domains of expertise: Ogmios knows everything about persuasion, eloquence, mental strength, and control; Gobannus knows everything about smithing and hospitality; Brigantia knows everything about wisdom, youth, the four seasons, poetry, protection, and domesticated animals; Manannán knows everything about the sea and warfare; Nodens knows everything about the weather, dreams, healing, and survival; and Fomoire knows everything about all destructive forces of nature. Their extensive knowledge has created a mental link, giving them the power to influence and manipulate their area of expertise at will.

The Monoeyes serve as enigmatic guardians of the mysterious artifact known as Danu, which doubles as their spaceship. Encased in a protective layer of a meteorite that emits lethal radiation, Danu can transform individuals into mindless zombies if they venture too close. Upon landing on a solid surface, the ship anchors itself using glowing, tentacle-like greenish-white roots. It can summon monoliths adorned with ancient, alien runes, generating ice caves, and exerting mind control over individuals with Tuatha Dé Danann DNA. The Monoeyes are capable of teleportation, levitation, bodily reconfiguration, making illusory copies of themselves, optic blasts, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and psychological communication. Although they have fallen into the hands of the Rebel Army and Martians, the Monoeyes primarily act independently. The radiated meteorite has been exploited by the Amadeus Syndicate to develop Big John and engineer a zombie virus.