I’m ready to start the conquest of spaces
Expanding between you and me—!
Come with the night the science of fighting,
The forces of gravity
The tragedy of Cyrus Akagi, woven by Darki.
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@criimsonsun
I’m ready to start the conquest of spaces
Expanding between you and me—!
Come with the night the science of fighting,
The forces of gravity
The tragedy of Cyrus Akagi, woven by Darki.
For the ask game you rb'd...
👗 with Saturn maybe? (Or anyone else you want)
👗Character dressed up for a fancy party
You ask for a Saturn, you get a Saturn!
WHY is Saturn so cute in the new game
i’ll be god i’ll be god i’ll be god today
Watch your ankles, Cyrus.
You think I chose Weavile as my ace for fun? No. It’s called preperation.
Mary Oliver, "From The Book of Time." Devotions
and I will always appreciate bad days like this, because they grant me a point of reference in regards to my happiness. and although I feel cold and empty, one day, I hope I can feel warm and full, stand with honor, and comfort, and dignity.
indie. priv. read the pages. ♡ or ↺ if you’re interested in interacting with a game-verse canon mixed Dawn.
"If we are all stars, why is it that we are all terrestrial bound, forced to suffer the crushing weight of this world around us?"
“That’s the tragedy of it all, isn’t it?” The answer to which has plagued his existence. He knows not the answer, does not know why the world has damned some stars to the bliss of space and others to the pains of mortality. Perhaps the gods are cruel and enjoy laughing at their fate. Perhaps it is karma from another life. “Destiny, my friend. Destiny has decided in her infinite wisdom that some stars were born into paradise while some must claw their way there. Is rest not the sweetest when it is earned? We are bound to this planet, but only for a short while. At the end of all things, our body turns back into the elements. Once we earn our place in the heavens, we are welcomed with open arms.”
No. He does not know why some are forced to suffer without reason. “That is why I must create a place for us damned to live. A place where we too can thrive in bliss, much like our brethren above us. We deserve it, don’t we? We deserve to... rest.” He closes his eyes, thoughtful. Here, behind his eyelids, it all makes sense. Away from the world. “Destiny has decided I must earn my place in the heavens. And when I do, I will be merciful enough to take you with me.”
my main coping mechanism is pretending like I don’t care
[ criimson’s favorite not-son ] “EDGE DADDDD-” Brett’s voice is apparent on the other side of Cyrus’ apartment door. “Can I come play video games with you..? I brought food-!” And indeed he has. A 12 count box of Doritos Locos Tacos™️.
@cosmiicson
The lights are off. In fact, the only sign of life in the apartment is the soft glow of blue-TV light beneath the door, flickering in and out with whatever Akagi was currently invested in. His neighbors had long since given up trying to interact with him-- and when they’d moved out, he’d bought the neighboring apartments as well to keep them empty. Sweet solitude. But there are few, few who are not intimidated by his attempts to live untouched. The knocking rings through his apartment, and the door is cracked for one steely eye to glance down at the ball of sunshine. “---Brett.”
There is no question of if Brett may come in. Tacos or not, the answer would have been yes, but the tell-tale rumbling of his stomach makes the sweet AROMA of the Dorito-dusted bits of ambrosia all the more attractive. Before he can open the door further, it is unceremoniously flung wide open by none other than WEAVILE himself, the little devil letting out a trill as he snatches the box with greedy claws, offering the child a friendly nip on the fingers as he lopes back inside. Cyrus watches in apathy, his clothing indicative that he only just got out of bed recently-- head only canting slightly at the wailing of Cleffa from behind him as Weavile teases her with his newfound taco treasure. Yes, he should see to that. Before they’re all gone. Did he eat breakfast today? He cannot recall. “...Certainly. I was just finishing my Halo campaign. Come, you can pick which one we play today.”
Go deeper. What does he do with the cheese dust? Does he keep napkins nearby or is he a fingerlicker? Does he lick fingers and then put them back in the bag?Do his game controllers ever get (shudder) cheesy?
YOU WANT THE FORBIDDEN DORITO HEADCANONS, TENDER?
It depends on where he is. Alone in his apartment? What kind of UNGODLY HEATHEN lets dorito dust go to waste? not him. His fingers are licked clean. Unfortunately, anytime he’s eating at work, he must keep a napkin on hand. If he can’t bear to see it go to the trash, he sneakily lowers his hand enough that houndoom can lick his hands. In the middle of meetings, this is USEFUL if he didn’t have a chance to clean up.
he eats them a very specific way. Lick all the dust off first. then crunch the chip.
It’s his goddamn bag of Doritos so you can bet Arceus’ mother that he’s going to stick his hands back in. In fact, it’s a great tactic to perform at your comrade’s house so they stare in disgust and you get the whole bag to yourself. That’s right. He knows this game. His true s/o will eat right after his filthy houndoom-saliva hands go back in that bag.
But despite all this, you bet his controllers are in top quality condition. Not a single food stain. In fact, Weavile takes great joy in sitting and putting chips in his mouth for him while he plays. Honchkrow is notorious for doing it as well.
Also those dorito tacos at taco bell? Saturn will never speak of it but one night they were coming back from a meeting and Cyrus Akagi, CEO of Galactic Energy, ate the whole. 12 count box. While driving them home. Ravenously. It was equal parts terrifying and beautiful. Saturn was starving but he was too scared to ask for one.
It takes him an average half hour to finish a bag, because he’only quick eats when they’re in danger of being shared. He won’t admit making a meal out of chips but we ALL KNOW he has.
The only time he rejects them is when they are stale. Abominations unto him. They are put in the galactic kitchen for the grunts to fight over then.
‘ one grows used to things , even if , sometimes one shouldn’t . ’ ( - Darkrai )
OH, haunter of dreams! Though he may not know your truths, his ears have heard the legends, and few things bring him to curiosity more than that which can send a man to sleep and fill his head with the whispers of the divine.
A child, young and frightened, may have once kept a piece of Cressilia beneath his bedside pillow to ward off nightmares he’d heard Darkrai would bring him, but enough nights of insomnia has not ensured his fears are quelled. Slightly.
“That is the curse of humanity, is it not?” Is this conversation a dream or reality? Cyrus cannot say. “We become accustomed to something and say it is good. We become accustomed to pain, to hurt, and we say it is good. Why should that be so?”
“Those of us who understand the truth you speak must stay awake. Must stay vigilant. It is all we can do to avoid slipping back into the illusion we live.”
Thanks y’all– anyway, catch Cyrus at @criimsonsun on Wire if you’re around there!
Every time I see a Saturn blog my crops....are watered
I may have asked this in a past life/long long time ago. Or perhaps someone else already has. But, lets do a little bit of a dive into cyguy space man. He's standing at the peak, everything in his life has lead to this moment, he's harnessed the power of the gods themselves and supposedly reformed the world to his will and desires. But his new world is anything like he imagined. It turns out exactly. the. same. Everything he sees is the same. Nothing has actually changed. How does he react.
—-In the beginning, the new god created the heavens and the Earth. The Earth was formless, empty. Dark. With a keen eye, he murmured four words, set to begin the construction of a new, perfect place.
“I will be LIGHT.”
And so the Sun shone down and separated night from day, and Cyrus called it GOOD.
The waters were separated from the heavens. The land bore her fruit. The sky was painted in stars. The fowl and fish were given life. The beasts of the Earth thrived. Cyrus saw it all, molded it from his fingertips, and called it GOOD.
Man, man was given form, in the image of one without spirit. But when life was gifted unto him, his eyes were dulled and his hands were slow. His heart beat for no purpose, and his soul knew no rest, for it knew not weariness. When Cyrus taught him peace, he knew pain, and without his maker’s permission, the man felt spirit once more. Cyrus saw, and he found he could not call it good.
“A glitch.” Cyrus decided. “The first is always the worst, Adam made his own mistakes. The next will be perfect, as I am.”
Another created, but Cain repeats the mistakes of his father. The generations were unable to shake it, and man was always imbued with the spirit that the god had tried so hard to destroy, tainting his Eden with a sin unpardonable. Man laughed. Man cried. Man felt, and man made his own choices. Spirit is not matter to be destroyed, it is built into the genetic code. But Cyrus is a man of denial, a man of delusion, and his own disappointment is proof enough that something is terribly wrong. The power he draws from is not his own, and he knows it. It is a power from a tainted being, so nothing of it can be clean.
Cyrus saw, and it was an abomination unto him. The words that spoke the world into existence destroyed it, and once again, he built his perfect universe.
But once again, Man felt. Man cried. Man laughed. And it was an abomination unto their god.
Time is his. Space is his. To ask his reaction to failure isn’t fair, as Cyrus no longer lives in a realm where he must worry about growing old or dying. So what does he do? How does he respond? Every reshaping leads to the same outcome, but that outcome ensures one thing: the human spirit. And though so much bad comes with it, it too possesses one thing… HOPE.
For an eternity, Cyrus destroys and reshapes a world he will never possess. Destined to make it right, regardless of impossibility.
Hoping that next time, it’ll work.
He would not be so bold as to demand or assume physical touch. However, a silent request is there.
Perhaps it’s indicative of trust, Cyrus’ manner of touching or not. His rules are simple– should he make the move, he has no issue. While perhaps he’s not as good as reading cues– or other’s wishes– call it his own intuition or rare need for companionship that causes him to lean to Hummingbird’s side, eyes closed in a silent demand for sleep.
It’s not much, but his head pressed against the other’s shoulder is more than most can claim.