assguardians | ASGARD GENESIS

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!test drive meme

ASGARD GENESIS - TEST DRIVE #1

the test drive meme.

❧ let's do this.

Anyone can post to the test drive meme, including duplicates! Please put your character name and canon in the title of your comment.
All threads are considered open to everyone! Tag around and make some friends (or enemies)!
If you decide to apply to the game, you can use your TDM threads for your app samples! You only need to provide seven comments if you use TDM samples.
You can't be "late" to a TDM! This will be considered open until the next one goes live next month.
You can make up your own scenario, interact with one of the locations in the game, use the welcome process of your character selecting a god house, or use our optional prompt below!
You do not need to pick a god house to play on the TDM! You can have your character still in the process of discussing/deciding/despairing instead.
If you are accepted to the game, you can keep TDM threads as game canon as long as you fudge some of the details depending on your original thread. If you aren't sure exactly how to do this, you can always ask a mod.
Reserves open on May 25 at 12:01AM PST and close on May 31 at 11:59PM PST.
Applications open on June 1 at 12:01AM PST and close on June 7 at 11:59PM PST.
Please always feel free to contact the mods if you have any questions! Have fun, dear (future?) Wanderers. ♥

❧ optional scenario.
As you enter Asgard proper, many of the natives have gathered into curious crowds to greet these mysterious children of the World Tree. Some of them carry baskets of flowers and nervously offer one to any Wanderers that come near. They are vibrant and colorful, picked from the wilds surrounding Asgard, and they might have an odd effect on your character if they sniff the flowers directly.

Purple flowers will make your character very giggly and easily amused by everything they see and hear.
Orange flowers will make your character feel very warm all over, like the sun is beating down on them directly.
Blue flowers will make your character somewhat short and impatient with anything that seems like even a minor inconvenience to them.

Effects of the flowers can wear off anywhere between a few minutes to an hour. And for those new to Asgard, this scenario aligns with some of the general curses we might have in the game!

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And she looks as if she's about to accept it. Even lifts her chin to meet him for that kiss... except right when their lips are about to meet, she's leaning back. Her hands on him tighten for balance, more of her weight in her hold versus on her feet, forcing him to chase after her lips if he wants that kiss.

The way her brows lift in challenge, maybe he might.

"You didn't need them in my room, either."

He does chase after her lips, leaning in. If it goes much further, they could topple... or he might kiss her jaw, or a place below her ear.

“Clothes weren’t much needed, in your bed.”

He isn’t sure he’s ever said something like that before.

No — he has. But not to her.

“I love you, Dany.” That’s the simple fact, with no confusion in it, only the overwhelming helpless affection he’d never expected to come to him.

"They weren't." Her smile turns into a grin. He's gotten bolder; she likes it. "I still enjoy taking them off you."

Or watching him tug them back on in the lazy morning hours. His hair's always mussed up then.

No more leaning back, once she has to hook an arm around his neck. It lets her hug him closer, finally meeting him for that kiss. A sweet kiss. Affection is clear with the softness to it, with the way her fingers dig into his clothes to keep him near.

"I love you too," she murmurs after the kiss breaks. Broken for a moment only, because she's pressing a faster kiss to his lips. And another. "So much sometimes it leaves my stomach in knots."

And now they’re standing in the yard, in front of all the gods and their followers and the other people who have been deemed “Wanderers,” kissing each other like it’s air or water to them. But no one seems to take too much notice.

“I’d hate to be here without you,” he murmurs, between kisses. It’s easier to accept the situation with her here. If no one is lying to them, then no one thought to cause pain or disaster by bringing them. “Hate to be anywhere without you, for very long.”

Almost a new admission, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess.

Standing in the middle of countless strangers, him holding her up, her all but clinging onto him for balance. He's this power about him: all he needs to do is look at her a certain way, with his eyes soft and his smile kind, and it's like all the rest of what surrounds them falls away. There's just the sweetness to him--and it makes her think things will be okay.

He makes her softer, more prone to smiles and laughter. It's not the hard lines of the queen she needs to be, a conqueror, and part of her wonders if that's a good or bad thing. None of this is a distraction. He's not one... for all that he can make her forget about the terrible things awaiting them.

What he says--how is he real? It leaves her nose tingling and her throat thick, and the last kiss is broken with a sharp exhale and her arms tightening around him too tightly, now.

"I hated the thought of being in Westeros without you."

He holds her close and tight.

She hated the thought of being in Westeros without him... but what will they do? This is love, but it’s not a betrothal, or a marriage. As love goes, though, he’s almost sick with it; it breaks over him relentlessly, like pounding waves on a shore in a storm. It feels much larger than he is.

“We don’t have to be. But we might be here for a while, Dany.” A long while, he means.

Her nails lightly scrape the nape of his neck. Fingers twist in loose curls. It only takes a little nudging to try and coax him into straightening, as opposed to almost trying to bend her backwards now. She'll follow him, keeping close, keeping that hug tight.

This is new, as well. Not just the feelings involved, or hearing him tell her he doesn't want to be without her for very long (that, however, makes her stomach knot again, and flip as well). No, it's not just what they say, but also the physicality of the hug. She's never just... hugged someone like this before. It's neither to offer comfort to someone upset and crying, nor is it to welcome back her knight, to show him all is forgiven.

"I never believed something like this could be possible." She's not sure if she means what she feels for him, or this place. Her nose brushes his neck, followed by a soft kiss. The words that come are ones she stumbles over for all that they're also carefully chosen. "I care that we're here. But being here together--that makes me want too much."

Too much with him, for them, and for the all the implications that this sort of love brings with it.

He straightens again at her signal, but even with each of them standing on their own two feet, they still cling to each other.

“What do you want?” She wants a throne, one that should always have been hers. What’s greater than that? Not him. Except for his own crown, his own throne, the complications presented by the North and its loyalties, it’s easy to give his whole self to her.

It would not have been easy when he was still under a vow.

He remembers the things he wanted under that vow, the things he knew he could never have, and he begins to understand.

Straightening has her pressing to the tips of her toes so that she can keep her chin comfortably tucked against his shoulder. She's looking ahead, watching natives and Wanderers mill about.

It's a long time before she answers. What does you want? As if she could tell him everything she does want. Not just the crown, or the throne upon which her ancestors sat. Nor does she merely want a kingdom to rule. If it was only that, she'd have stayed in Meereen. It's what the entirety of her life has stood for, what she's driven herself toward by pursuing the Iron Throne. But even amidst that vying for armies and ships, there had been the other part of her. It still exists, still rears its head in the quiet of night after a particularly stressful day.

"I want the house with the red door."

He shouldn't know what that means, because she's never spoken of it.

His look is sweet — but perplexed and questioning.

“Why a red door?”

Not a house, but the house. What house is she speaking of?

Why? "It's the closest thing I've had to a home."

It's safety. What little scraps she had of a family was in that house.

She pulls back, finally looking at him. That's what he makes her want: not just the Iron Throne, but home.

The natives here call them Wanderers already, and there’s no way of knowing how long they’ll be here, or if there’s any advisability in trying to make a home of it.

But it’s been that way all along, since he realized that he loves her: he wants a home with her, and children. It may be too much to ask.

“You know that I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything I can.” He is still holding her, looking down at her. “If that means I have to paint every door here red, then I’ll become a painter.”

"That doesn't mean I'll ask for anything." He gave her the north by bending the knee. He's given her far more than a great many have, and in doing so, he's hacked his way past her defenses with each stubborn word and every attempt he made to protect not only his people, but an entire country.

Upon the thought of him being a painter, she can't help the weak smile, the soft snort.

"Am I going to find you behind every door?"

“No, it doesn’t.” The words are gentle.

Because of who she is, what happens between them now has to come because she wants it to. He would have asked any other woman for her hand by now. He hesitates to ask her, because he doesn’t mean to try to climb to the Iron Throne in her bed.

So he repeats himself. “But if you do, anything in my power, I’ll give you.”

He doesn’t answer her question about the doors: it only implies what she thinks of as home. That’s nearly enough, that he’s part of it.

She stares up at him. It's not quite a steady look--there's something off about it. A touch vulnerable, more so unsure.

I want you.

She doesn't say that, but she does nod. Easier than speaking when her mouth's grown abruptly dry. It's uncomfortable, really. Not only the way she's grown mute, but also her heart hammering in her ears, and her sudden desire to dart away. She's never wanted anyone so overwhelmingly intensely as she does him.

"We--" Clearing her throat, licking her lips, "We should have picked the same god."

He watches her stare up at him with big eyes — big because her heart is in them — and when she speaks, he nods, kisses the tip of her nose.

“Aye,” he says, a little sadly, “We should have. But we’re not the same person.” Trueborn and bastard, Targaryen and not quite a Stark, a conqueror and a man who has always intended to spend his life defending his people.

They complement each other, they fit together, but they’re not the same.

“I love what you are, Dany.”

He kisses her nose. Not her forehead, cheek, or lips--her nose. She can't help her smile: it grows, crinkling the corners of her eyes. And she forgets the nagging thoughts. No, not forget, but they're far easier to brush aside in the face of his sweetness.

Though his tone is regretful; it doesn't stop her from cupping his cheek.

"No, not the same. It's a good thing." She can be impulsive while he's her rock. He's prone to getting lost in thoughts and she forces them out from his head. They're similar in a great many ways, as well, with their wants for their people. "Just not so good with the distance."

What am I? A dragon. How long had she wondered how anyone could love a dragon?

What else am I? A queen. A conqueror, khaleesi, mother, unburnt, breaker of chains, friend, daughter, sister, lover. Different things to different people.

"Which part?"

When she cups his cheek, he leans in and kisses her lips, the sort of kisses that have become easy, that make a chain, one into the next.

“Every part. But aye, I’d rather we lived in the same room, or the same house.”

Maybe he’s just said too much, but it doesn’t occur to him.

“Maybe we should find out if there’s a way we can live together. Not everyone lives in a god’s house.” None of the people darting around, he means, the people who have always been here.

Same room, same house. Here, that might not mean much of anything with implications. Back in their world, however, it held a rather specific meaning to it. Was it her place to assume he meant in both worlds? He spoke of painting doors red here.

"Better to place a roof over a guest's head." Finally, she looks away from him and off to the side, where she watches the natives. "We could follow one to see where they head to. It might be better to explore the area."

And know where to escape to, if the situation ever calls for it.

He shrugs, conceding her point.

“We could.” Then, “They might notice. Might not like it much, either. But there are a few things to see in this place. We can always ask for their aid in finding them.”

The way she looks away from him, though, makes him realize what he’s said.

“Dany, I didn’t mean to assume too much.”

It's a sound enough plan. Better to start with something as opposed to stumbling around, completely lost and unsure. Whether she's here for a day or years, she's no intention of settling without trying her best to find a way home. This isn't their world. It isn't their place to settle.

She looks back at him, frowning. "I didn't think you were."

If only she could leave it at that. It's easier to not think upon these things, to wonder about how far love can go between them, to see whether it could withstand the upcoming wars. She purposely didn't think of the future because of their war against the dead: what guarantee is there that they'll survive it?

But it's bright in her mind with him calling attention to it. It'd hovered in her periphery when they first spoke of home and how he makes her want one--with him. Of course it's a logical conclusion to make.

(Why can't she say the word then, even in her mind?)

"I'm not avoiding it." Not quite true, but also not untrue. "You said every part of me, but there are more parts. It's not just me, it's my dragons and my people, it's conquering and breaking the wheel, it's ruling."

Does he want all of her, knowing that?

“How long did I spend on Dragonstone?” They both know: months. “Then more than a moon on the ship, the time north of the wall, the time on the ship going back down south. I had time to see you, and time to think about what I’d seen, and what I wanted, though I thought I might be a fool to want anything. I had no right.”

He shifts his weight, looking down at her. “Every part of you.”

Long enough to quit brooding, she might've teased. Instead, she's listening with a painful attentiveness, and the more she hears, the more her brows furrow. They've quite the timing to be discussing this in the midst of a new world, surrounded by strangers. But maybe the timing is perfect for it, because there are no wars or preparations to make, nothing to busy themselves with in a bid to avoid mulling over it for too long.

"Why? Why wouldn't you have a right?"

Unconsciously, she shifts with him. "What if I was queen of nothing?"

He concedes that: “Maybe I had a right, by then. I was a king — still a bastard, but a king.” He has always walked a fine line, exercising his own authority without, he thought, too much presumption about its limits... except in the matter of Winterfell.

“As to the rest of it....” He’s not completely sure why she’s asking, but he tries to give her an answer nonetheless. “You’re not, any more than I’m Lord Stark. But I think I would love you if you turned up in rags with no shoes on your feet.”

He'll get a shove to the belly for that. "You've always had a right. I don't care about you being a king or--" She makes a face, finding the word distasteful because of the way it's used in this context, "--or a bastard."

This is Westeros and noble families talking. Highborn and their statuses, which hardly matter here in this place. He might've been a knight or a lord and turned into someone like the Kingslayer or her brother with all that entitlement, had things been different. A bastard... what about her mother and her landed knight? Why should it matter?

All of these thoughts cross her mind in quick succession, like little birds taking flight. She's reaching to cup both his cheeks and stare at him. To make a point of her words. They don't matter. Not to her.

And then she's kissing him.

ASGARD GENESIS - TEST DRIVE #1

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insert joke about jon's map markers

TOO SOON

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oh, Jon. :c

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