#i know you phrased it differently but I was struck with a vision | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

partycatty · 3 months

Text

i had a vision and drew it - and even better, i got a fic idea from it!

johnny cage > discovery

johnny discovers his new powers unexpectedly. maybe he wasn't as ordinary as others thought.

warnings: johnny thinks he's dying and gets all crisis-y, established relationship

notes: imagine instead of activating his powers in a life or death situation, it randomly bodyslams him like a heart attack - and it scares the hell out of him. also i hope u like my silly sketch :3

masterlist <3

• johnny's life was crumbling. his movies were flopping hard, and people were starting to forget his name. his spending habits were out of control, and you two were arguing about it so much that you grew tired of hearing your own voice. most days were the cold shoulder or shouting matches. things weren't looking great.

• it was during one of these matches when the shouting on his end abruptly paused, and he doubled over. your anger was shoved aside as you dashed forward to inspect his current state. but, just as soon as it started, it was over in a flash. johnny was startled, to say the least. his eyes were wide and he was panting.

• you guys assumed the stress was taking a toll on him, a physical toll. out of respect for his well-being, you held your tongue from that point on. or at least, you tried to. everything was relatively quiet until a mysterious yakuza member demanded the sword on your shared mantle. you would've thrown it at him if given the opportunity since the damn thing sent you back millions. johnny, however, wasn't as willing. fortunately for your safety's concern, he was the ultimate home security system, tying up the man after knocking him unconscious.

• we all know the rest. "what in the actual-" "i am the god of fire" "get your damn hands off him" "that's no special effect" "change the arc of your lives." blah blah blah. it was all a weird blur. apparently, you, johnny, and this new "friend" of yours were all chosen to fight for something bigger than a malibu disagreement. you were a fighter alongside your husband, but you did it competitively. johnny did it for the cameras, which isn't to say he's worse naturally. he could kick ass, and so could you, just in different directions.

• liu kang warned everyone that training would take months, as the tournament was far down the line. johnny grew impatient, and you grew tense with his lack of eagerness to actually train. regardless, you sparred and took the monk's advices to heart.

• johnny wouldn't tell you at first, since he didn't want to distract your own progress, but he would oftentimes catch himself feeling... funny, for lack of a better phrase. during meals, his eyes would unfocus and his hearing sounded underwater. at night, he'd toss and turn for hours in the cot beside yours. something felt wrong, really wrong. his chest felt fluttery and cold, like a sprite weaving between his ribs. it scared the holy hell out of him, considering how prone is family is to heart attacks.

• "great session! whaddya say to a well-deserved break?" he'd announce out of concealed desperation to the other earthrealmers, hoping that someone would agree and he'd be able to excuse himself to loosen his collar and sit down for a moment. it was after the fifth time asking in a day that you approached him with genuine concern.

• "honey, are you alright?" you asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. his eyes followed your touch and he sighed, moving your hand to his chest.

• "i-i'm afraid," he'll confess quietly, glancing behind you to make sure nobody was overhearing his moment of worry. "i haven't been feeling well, but i can't just drop everything and leave. not when my career's in the shithole. we've got nothing to return to. this fire god guy needs me, needs us, and i know damn well you'd follow me out if i stepped back from all of this."

• johnny's tragic worry struck a chord in your heart and you couldn't help but agree with his words. you advised him to ask a monk about decongestant tea, or some other simple remedy that would keep you at the academy.

• things died down, or at least, johnny's pain wouldn't be verbalized for a while. you and the boys were actually gaining significant strength and conditioning with the brutal training regime liu kang assigned. when he felt everyone was finally prepared to choose a champion, he assembled a king of the hill type of tournament on campus grounds.

• you stood between johnny and kenshi, a palpable tension on your husband's shoulders. his jaw was clenched tight, as were his fists. he looked... terrified. this wasn't a normal expression for the star.

• "johnny?" you whisper to him, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his. before you could fully articulate your concerns, he speaks up.

• "i don't feel well," he murmurs in return, eyes fixated at the platform in front of you all. he visibly pales.

• liu kang calls you to the platform as the first contestant, and you obediently oblige with a bow, waiting for further instruction. your eyes danced across your potential competitors — raiden and kung lao, the humble farmers. kenshi, the enigmatic swordsman... and your husband, who looked as if he was shitting himself and moments away from puking.

• "you will face (reader), johnny cage."

• "a-are you sure? because that's my spouse, and i'd hate to—"

• liu kang frowns. johnny puts his hands up in a surrender motion, a pathetic attempt at remaining playful, and hoists himself to the platform across from you. his position readies, as does yours.

• though he may be visibly under the weather, the technique is still there. johnny's fighting style is unique and calculate, effortlessly playful and charismatic, just like him. even so, the match becomes quite even as you're familiar with his style. you parry many blows, mirroring others. the crowd is pleased and excited by the potential outcomes.

• you land a good kick to johnny's face, sending him spiraling in the air and landing on his back with a deep thud. the color in his face returns (due to the bruising) as he stares up at you, licking his lips before flourishing his way back up.

• but then, he lets out a strained cry.

• johnny clutches his chest, clawing at the layers of fabric across his body as if they're an anvil sitting atop his torso. his face twists as he doubled over in complete agony.

• "by the elder gods!" liu kang shouts, standing from his spectator chair. others let out their own concerns and shouts, but you're the first one rocketing to his side. you get to his level to inspect his face. you make a desperate attempt to push his damp hair from his face, but his neck snaps the other way as his body tries to expel this sudden onslaught of pain.

• as the fear that a heart attack is imminent, a sudden glow of green burns bright even past johnny's robes. it spills out like an angry cloud, seeping through johnny's fingers as he cries out in the worst pain he'd ever experienced. it is here that liu kang tenses up, then relaxes. he steps to the side, and does nothing but watch blankly. you come closer and part his clothing, giving yourself access to his bare chest to inspect the source.

• shockingly, the problem is... internal. his veins are glowing a bright green shade and when his eyes aren't deeply clenched, you sense a faint trace of emerald in his irises. right where his heart is, is a rhythmic flashing pattern.

• "make it stop!" johnny begs helplessly, and you reply on the verge of tears that you don't know how to help. however, almost as if on cue, he takes a deep breath inward and sits upright, eyes wide and jaw slack. and, just like that, everything seems normal again.

• you run your hand frantically across his bare skin, trying to feel for abnormalities as he catches his breath. you're crying now from the fear, and you catch a glimpse at his watery eyes.

• "are you okay?!" kung lao asks, putting a hand on his back to help him stabilize. "what was that?!"

• "i don't know..." johnny breathlessly replies, reaching a hand up to fix his hair nervously. however, as his hand traveled upward, he noticed the same emerald aura clouding around his hands, and he shouts out and scurries as if he's trying to run away from his own arm. as it's outstretched, it shoots a ball of energy outward, frying a mannequin that sat innocently off to the side. the crowd's eyes go from the mannequin and back to the celebrity. your fists ball up on his back, fistfuls of fabric keeping you upright otherwise you'd fall back from shock.

• "that is not how i anticipated that happening this time," liu kang muttered, coming closer to inspect johnny's palms. johnny stares at his hands like they grew overnight. his eyes shoot to the fire god, incredulous.

• "what the hell do you mean, 'this time?!'"

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #mk1 #johnny cage x reader #marley draws ☆

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jinkookspencil · 1 year

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a foggy path | jjk

what can you do when the person you love most seemingly backs up your biggest insecurity?

tags/tw/author's note: ~2.3k words / angst / established relationship / y/n is insecure in regards to her career, nothing related to insecurities about looks / a bit of a personal one and a hard one to write, but it's here. check of this post for a bit more background on it / any feedback is welcome <3 :')

Two hours of journalling and gathering inspiration for an upcoming writing project did nothing to help you actually write, but inspiration struck out of the blue. Before you even realized it, you were on a roll. Maybe it was the photo of Jungkook - your forever muse - on your desk, or perhaps it was spurred by a snide comment made by a family friend earlier in the day on your current career status. Nevertheless, you were finally writing and that’s all that mattered. You couldn’t even think straight, the words and phrases effortlessly came to you in a blur and made up some of the best writing you’ve done in ages. It felt good. Out of the many different hobbies, jobs, skills, and hats you tried out after graduating from university…. this may be the one that fits best. Your Cinderella’s glass slipper moment…. If it stuck.

You didn’t start down a fixed path in life, believing there was never such a thing. Being a doctor, a lawyer, or architect was never for you…. unfortunately for you, you never knew what your “thing” was in life.

It’s something your family always teased you about, and seeing your friends and even your boyfriend just excel with talents or smarts in fields so far out of your reach…. It definitely made you feel behind and ‘less than' at times. Still, in the meantime, writing felt so good that you lost yourself in your words, only alerted by the passing time when the slam of a door interrupted your train of thought.

“Baby!!”

Not now

“Babyyyy!!! Baby baby baby baaaaabbyyyyyyyy!”, you hear your boyfriend call in a singsong voice from the other room. You don’t move, you can’t, not even when you hear his footsteps approaching…. not when you got to the most crucial part of your writing. You loved him, you really did…. but… boy could he get needy, you could just tell from his voice…. And fuck, what was that word you just thought of?!

“Baby?,” his voice is clearer now, standing by the doorframe, undoubtedly with his confused expression and habit of playing with his lip piercing - you couldn’t confirm it though, your eyes didn’t leave your computer screen.

“You don’t even have headphones on, baby, you must’ve heard me… Are you okay?,” he asks.

“I’m busy, Jungkook.”

“Oh,” he murmurs. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“No?"

“No, Jungkook, I’m just fucking busy.” The words leave your mouth a little more sternly than they should have, you know that immediately, but you don’t get a chance to continue.

“Pff, busy with what? It’s not like you have a career. You just sit around doing nothing that goes anywhere."

For the first time since he came home, you look - no, glare - at Jungkook, but just as you caught sight of his demeanor changing, the vision of him gets blurry, watery…. the tears have already bubbled up.

“Fuck, no, baby, I didn’t m-“, he starts, stepping towards you.

“Leave,” you grumble.

“Baby…”

“Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook,” your voice breaks. “Leave me alone.”

You bury your face in your palms, wetting them immediately before you feel the tears roll down your arms as you hear the door shut.

Just as you had lost track of time writing, you didn’t keep track of how much time had passed since you stopped and left your computer that day. Your document was left on the last, half-written sentence as it had been when Jungkook walked in, and since then you could barely stare at the screen. Your palms, the inside of your eyelids, or the floor and the ceiling - whenever you could make them out through the tears, were the only places of rest for your eyes, as you kept repeating to yourself your biggest insecurities and fears, this time as facts.

You’re a loser. You’re a failure. You have no talent. You will never be enough. Look at all your friends, you will never get to where they are in life. Be content with being nothing.

Nothing you do ever goes anywhere. And YOU will never go anywhere in life.

Your boyfriend once mentioned that these thoughts came from our own personal demons, the monsters who sat in the darkest corners of our brains and toyed with us. They were not a reflection of who we are nor were they true just because we thought them, he had said…. But he also confirmed that nothing you did ever went anywhere. Perhaps, even that you were never going to go anywhere in life. Your demon’s most hurtful saying. From your most trusted person.

He had been sitting on the other side of the door the entire time. You could make out his shadow through the slit underneath the door, and the different positions he took. Just as you wiped away a tear, your gaze falls on where his shadow would be, only to notice that it disappeared. You wait minutes for his shadow to return, but it doesn’t. It would have been too long for it to be a bathroom break, you think, before guilt overcame you at the thought of all the time he had spent sitting on the floor. Staring at your reflection in the doorknob in front of you, you reflect on your state as your hand hesitantly reached towards it.

You felt betrayed, alone, and vulnerable to say the least. And whenever you felt down, he had always been your safe haven. The person who greeted you without judgment, resentment, or anger. If anyone had ever hurt you, even if it was yourself, you wouldn’t think twice before running into his arms, which he always enveloped you in, so happily, so lovingly….. You needed that comfort, despite the sting in your heart.

You open the door expecting to see the living room empty, but Jungkook is there, turned away from you, crouched over a table with a pen in hand.

“What are you doing?”, you ask in a raspy voice.

He turns around in shock, keeping his head down after taking a quick look at you. Looking over the few words he scribbled onto a post-it note, he fidgets with the pen in his hands. “I was writing you a note. I wanted to give you some space, so I was gonna spend the night at Namjoon’s."

For a moment that seemed to last like an eternity, all you could hear was the clicks and fidgets of Jungkook’s pen.

“Jungkook…”

“I know. I know I messed up and I’m sorry and -“

“Let me finish.”

Jungkook lifts his head and for the first time, nodding and finally looking at your face. At that moment, you didn’t know which urge to follow - the one to run into his arms or the one to turn around and shut yourself in your room again….. but your feet remained planted on the ground and words escaped your mouth before you could contemplate on your possible routes.

“I’m really hurt. You know how insecure I am about… myself and my future, and you went used that to hurt me. My biggest insecurity, Jungkook. You know this. You threw my biggest fear and insecurity right in my face, and for what? Because I was slightly annoyed? Just because you have it figured out and are talented at everything doesn’t mean everyone else is the same way. It’s tough as shit when you don’t know what you want to do with your life. Unfortunately, we have to figure it out and live with the possibility that we may not ever figure it out or be great at anything. That we won’t go anywhere, like you say of my projects."

There was no stopping the bubbling in your voice and the tears that stream down your face. “I thought you were my number one supporter.“

“I am!”, he exclaims, taking two steps towards you.

“You’re supposed to be the one person on this planet that doesn’t judge me….” you say. Unable to look him in the eyes, you stare at the floor in realization, noticing his toes rise and fall, a habit he never noticed he always did when he was nervous. “Jungkook, look I just… I am hurt and I need time to recover. I fucking miss you already but… I can’t look at you and believe you when you say that anymore. Now I’ll always doubt that that’s what you really think of me."

“It’s not,” he pleads. “It really isn’t. Everyone says things they don’t mean and I really really didn’t mean any of that, baby. I am your biggest fan. I support you from the bottom of my heart - in everything you do. No matter what."

Your lips ache, you hadn't realized you had been frowning.

“You know that right?,” he mumbles, carefully approaching you and pushing your hair away from your face before cupping your wet cheeks with his hands.

You’re not sure anymore. You’re about to tell him that.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please tell me you know that.”

You don’t reply. It breaks him. It breaks you.

A heavy sigh escapes you between your sobs. You can’t recall a time in your relationship you were ever this upset, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook this upset either. He’s upset you’re even questioning him, but he understands why. He messed up.

His grip on your face tightens for a moment before it softens and guides your head to rest against his shoulder, with him collecting all the tears and cries you sob into his chest and he strokes the gave the back of your head. An action so soothing and gentle, you almost feel it relieve your headache.

The sound of a broken breath catches you by surprise. You lift your head up slightly, only for a tear to drop from his chin and onto your forehead. When he gulps and finally stares into your eyes through his tears, you can’t help but wrap your arms around his torso, with him doing the same as you continue to wet his chest with your tears, him doing the same to your hair.

You’re the first one to be brave enough to give in, looking up at him again. His eyes and cheeks were as wet as yours, yet at the sight of you, he brings his hand up brushing away every drop that escapes your eyes.

“Jungkook….,” you mumble through sobs.

He catches his breath in response.

“My baby….”, he whispers, his hands still in your hair. “Please don’t tell me this is the end of us, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t let that… I - I…” he takes a deep breath. “Can I tell you what I really think of you? The honest to god, full truth?” he asks, wiping away the final tears that formed in his eyes and visibly holding himself back. You want to nod, but you’re scared to… luckily, Jungkook doesn’t wait for you.

“I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met in my entire life. I’m a fucking idiot that doesn’t deserve you. I know… I know what I said and I didn’t mean it. Honestly I... I don’t. Hey, you didn’t mean it that time you were hungry and told me you’d stab me for a cupcake, right?” he smiles softly, but it disappears in an instant.

“But this is more serious than that. I know it is,” he sniffs. “I don’t care that you don’t have it all figured out, I actually like that you haven’t figured out what you want to do with your life. You know I like to try a million things and hobbies, and it makes me so happy that you’re the same. Didn’t you say that you like it when I rope you into my new hobbies? It’s the same with me. It makes me so happy whenever you show me anything, explain something you learned to me, or just let me be a part of it, let me be a part of your beautiful life."

You inhale, realizing it was hard to ignore the sincerity in his voice.

“Remember that time you wanted to try photography so you borrowed my old camera and kept making me pose for photos?"

“Which time?”

“Every time,” he smiles. “But that day in the park?”

You nod.

“That was the happiest day of my life.”

You remember that day vividly… Thinking about it, it might’ve been one of the best days of your life too.

“And that day when you were working on your writing and wrote that poem for me on a tiny little card that you made yourself?”

You nod.

He removes his hands from around your body and grabs his phone, taking off the black leather cover. Between the phone and the case, was the tiny, paper note on which you had written a poem about Jungkook’s eyes.

Staring into them now, through the tears, you briefly make out the stars within them that you wrote about,

“I’m your biggest fan, y/n… I really am. No matter what you do. You’re my world.”

You pull him back towards you and he wraps you in a tight embrace.

“I’m here for you every step of the way. Even if you don’t know what path you’re on, I’m happy to walk it with you. Til the end of the line. Til the end of the world. I’m with you.”

His lips quiver, aching to meet yours, but his head and hands remain where they are. You pull his head towards you to relieve that ache that you had been feeling too, and his lips tug at yours, unwanting to let you go.

“I’m with you too, Jungkook,” you say. “I can’t tell the way, though. I might not be the best guide.”

He lets out a smile and a sigh of relief.

“Together,” he reassures.

“Together.”

#jungkook fic #jungkook one shot #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts angst #bts scenario #bts one shot #jungkook oneshot #bts scenarios #bts reaction #bts x reader

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polutrope · 9 months

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Hi! If you're still taking the Silm phrase prompts, Finrod + shadows of things that were yet to be? — @emyn-arnens

Thank you for the prompt! This is quite a bit different from my usual. I experimented with writing a draft by hand, and this is what came out.

~1400 words of child Finrod, recounting the experience of one of his first forebodings. On AO3.

I was born in Tirion, in my father’s wing of the Palace, but I was still a babe when Mother first brought me to Alqualondë.

When I told Father this story, he asked, “How do you remember that?” But I remember everything, like Grandfather Olwë who they say has the longest and clearest memory of all the Eldar, at least of those who made the Journey to Aman (he says his brother Elwë remembered more). As the Noldor, my father’s people, have the greatest skill in craft and lore, the Teleri, my mother’s people, have the greatest skill with memory. For the Teleri call themselves Lindar, Singers, not only because they have the most beautiful voices, but because they perceive the world and their lives within it as a Song. Each emotion a note, each experience a chord, each event a whole movement. Songs, at their root, are stories. And when you make stories of your life, you never forget.

Sometimes, we even remember things that have not yet come to pass. This is called foreknowledge or foretelling. It is not unusual for the Eldar, Father says, but I am very young to have such powers (as he calls them). He didn’t say as much, but because I can hear minds even when they do not speak with voices, I know that he thinks this particular foretelling should not be possible in the Blessed Realm. Perhaps he is right that this memory is not a foretelling at all but thoughts and images my mind put together in a story to help me make sense of them. But Queen Míriel died in Aman, so perhaps what I saw on that first visit to Alqualondë could happen also.

Mother had me swaddled to her chest in a sling, and her voice purred in my ears as she held up one arm to point: “See, Ingo? There is the great mansion your grandfathers built together. Olwë envisioned its rounded shapes and its roof like cresting waves, and Finwë made it strong using the language of numbers and patterns.” The wind was whipping my soft hair around my face and she stroked it back. “But come, let me show you the most beloved creation of our people.” I felt the rhythm of her footfalls as she walked us down the pier. “For in the building of ships we received no aid from the Noldor. Ossë taught us this craft before we came to these shores.” She took her arms away from me for a moment, to help her up the ladder onto the royal swanship.

My head fell back and I saw the tall mast reaching up, up, up into the sky streaked with pink and gold. The sky is never as bright and blue here as it is in Tirion, for the Pelóri stand between Laurelin and the coast. Mother was still speaking to me in her lilting voice, bouncing and cupping my little body with both hands, but her words faded to a murmur of sound without meaning.

“Stop them!” a voice cried, and my sight was obscured as with a grey gauze. “They are manning the ships! Stop!” Something whizzed past at the very edge of my field of vision, and I looked down to see what it was. Perhaps a seabird swooping low. I looked up at Mother, but she smiled at me and showed no sign of noticing.

Again something flew past and I knew it for an arrow. I had only seen anyone use a bow once, when we visited Uncle Nolofinwë soon after I was born. Cousin Findekáno had been in the courtyard practising his shot with a bow made for play. But these arrows flying between the shadowy veil between the present—on my mother’s chest, a bright warm day—and the memory of what would be—dark, dark as the blackness of sleep, and full of shouts—were long and swift and some struck the ships so hard their points drove right through. Someone screamed. I did not see them fall, but I heard the splash that swallowed the scream in the sea. I had never heard anyone scream that way, as if all their voice was loosed at once. It pushed a scream from my lungs, too, and Mother’s lips stopped moving and she held me closer and hid my eyes against her chest. But that was worse, because it hid the bright day so that all I could see now was the dark memory full of shouts and clanging metal and whizzing arrows and bodies falling in the water.

“Shh, shh,” she said, bouncing up and down to comfort me. I pounded my fists against her chest, pushing so I could see again with my eyes. Then I found her face, and she was smiling and started to sing. Mother’s songs are powerful. She pulled me back from the shadowy place. “Are you hungry?” she asked when my tears had stopped. No, I was not hungry, but I could not tell her because I could not yet shape words with my mouth. “Come, let us go back and find you some fishcakes. Would you like that, my golden star?”

Later, when I could speak with words, I did not tell anyone of that memory. By then I had many other memories layered on top of eachother, both of things that had been and things that would be. Most were joyous, and those ones I made into songs that made others smile and laugh and sometimes cry, but always with happiness. I did try, once, to put the memory from the swanship into a song, but it made my heart tighten and my stomach twist and I did not think it would be fair to share such unpleasant feelings with others.

Then a few days ago, Turukáno (he is my favourite cousin) came to visit us in Alqualondë. Our mothers took us to the beach, and we built sandcastles and splashed in the waves. While we were playing, Turukáno suddenly went very still and his skin was full of tiny bumps as if he was cold, even though it was an especially warm day and there was no wind. I hugged him to warm him with my body but he did not move for some time. When he came back, and met my eyes, he didn’t say anything. We went in and wrapped up in our towels, and Mother gave us juice and melon and soon he was smiling and laughing again.

But I was not able to put out of my mind the strange mood that had come over my friend, so when we were tucked in bed for sleep, I asked him what had happened.

“It is nothing,” he said at first. But Turukáno and I shared everything, so I asked him again. Then he told me what had frozen him with fear: it was the same memory, or very similar, I’d had on the swanship with my mother.

It was not the first time Turukáno and I shared a memory. We share dreams often, sometimes on purpose, so that we can be together even when he is Tirion and I am in Alqualondë. But we’d never shared this sort of memory. Poor Turukáno had never even had a memory of the future before!

When Father came in to check that we were asleep and found me holding Turukáno and Turukáno crying, of course he was worried. But I wouldn’t tell him what happened, not then, because Turukáno was so scared already.

“I promise to tell in the morning,” I told Father.

So I did, I told him this morning, because I did not want him to worry. I think it would have been better if I had not, because he has been walking about the home all day fretting with the hem of his tunic. I heard him asking Mother if he should tell Anairë, because of Turukáno, and if she thought we should make a journey to Lórien to ask the Vala’s aid in “interpreting memories”.

But Irmo knows the Theme of Arda, what if we discover that the memory Turukáno and I shared is true? I do not think I could live with that certainty. I know that Turukáno could not. Father will not force me to go, and I won’t. It is safer, I have decided, for some memories not to be put into speech or Song.

Thanks to @cuarthol for the beta!

#finrod #prompts #silm phrase prompts #my fic #earwen #finarfin #turgon #first kinslaying #I'm really into writing child pov these days

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mauesartetc · 2 years

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Hey, what made you think that Vivziepop was stealing/copying other artists for Andrealphus's design?

I mean

It's weird that Viv gave human hair to a bird, and the fact that OG Andrealphus has nothing to do with ice is a massive red flag this guy's ripped off from Elsa.

This isn't the first suspicious design she's* churned out, either. Some o' y'all might remember this image from my Striker redesign post:

Notice these two villainous cowboys with tiny mustaches and nearly-identical eye and eyebrow shapes. They almost look traced, and unfortunately, that's nothing new for Viv.

*(EDIT 8/12/23: Fact check via erinfrostart in the comments: "Viv did not design Striker, one of her designers did. I watched Striker being designed, and as much as I’m no fan of Viv I can confirm he was designed before Long Gone Gulch premiered." Important clarification. Thanks! Others who worked on the show around this time are welcome to share their perspectives as well. I know how the situation appears to me as a viewer, but I'm sorry my phrasing laid blame where it wasn't deserved. I assumed malice where ignorance was the more likely reality. My bad. Now if someone has a convincing, non-theft explanation for Andrealphus, I'd be very curious to hear it.)

But wait, there's more.

It always struck me as odd that Fat Nuggets' original name was Wiggles, which is dangerously close to Waddles from Gravity Falls. And his design from the Addict video sports a ton of similarities. I went ahead and recolored Waddles for the hell of it, and uh...

Also note how Fat Nuggets’ snout is just Waddles’ snout upside down.

Y’all might be thinking "C'mon, Maue. That's a coincidence. How many possible ways are there for a person to design a cartoon pig, anyway?" Quite. A bit.

Look at all the variety in how different artists interpreted the same animal (ok, a warthog's not a domestic pig, but still a pig). This is likely due to their confidence and trust in their own visions, and willingness to draw from real-life inspirations rather than copy other animated productions. When an artist directly "borrows" from another's work, it leaves their own with a faded Xerox-of-a-Xerox quality. It's better to stay true to their own experience rather than mimic an experience manufactured by others.

When designs by two different people (or teams of people) working on completely different projects have as many similarities as Andrealphus has with Elsa, or Fat Nuggets has with Waddles, that’s no accident. That’s calculated.

I’m sure Viv thinks what she’s doing is just an “homage�� or some shit, but copyright holders won’t see it that way. Years ago, a client tasked me with designing a Willy Wonka parody character, so I whipped up a dude in my own style with similar hair and clothes. It was innocent enough; I wasn’t trying to rip off anything. I thought the design would help the audience tell it was a Wonka parody while still being its own thing. I thought that would work, but... My client relayed a blunt message from his lawyer basically saying “um NAH don’t fuckin’ use this”, so I changed up the colors and clothing style and it was fine after that.

If Viv continues to pull this shit in Hazbin and Helluva, she’ll find herself in legal trouble. Obviously there’s no such thing as a completely original idea, but this is just lazy. Fortunately, I’m sure at least Hazbin’s design team (less sure about Helluva’s since they let Andrealphus slip through the cracks) will filter out these bad habits and won’t be afraid to tell her “no” now and then. It’s for her own good.

“But Maue”, you might be wondering, “How do we ‘stay true to our own experience’? How do we collect visual references for what we want to make without copying someone else’s design?” Well, this post’s long enough, so I’ll answer that in a subsequent entry. But here’s a hint:

Photos.

‘Til next time.

#ask #shorikissune #character design #hazbin hotel critical #helluva critical #vivziepop #pigs #andrealphus #fat nuggets

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spacexcowgirl · 3 years

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Hate To Think About You With Somebody Else - F.W.

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred and Y/N used to be friends with benefits, but that arrangement ended in heartbreak. Can Fred handle seeing her out with somebody else?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+ NSFW. MINORS DNI. Mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood, small bit of violence/fight scene (the reader and Fred are not injured), possessive talk, fingering, degradation, bondage, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, a bit angsty with a happy ending. Please let me know if I’ve forgotten anything!

A/N: For @theweasleytwinsgirl who asked for the reader teasing Fred, leading to her being tied up! I added a bit of plot to it, because I cannot help it. Obviously, this fic is lightly inspired by “Somebody Else” by The 1975. I am not very confident in my smut writing abilities, so any feedback would be appreciated! I also feel I should thank @lumosandnoxwriting for giving me advice and reassurance throughout writing this. Pictures are from Pinterest.

I have not included all of my general taglist, because I do not know who is 18+ or who wants to be tagged in smut.

Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia sat leisurely around the twins’ shared living room, laughing and giggling over drinks. The past few weeks had been hell at the shop, so the boys felt they needed a much deserved night to just relax. Previously, Fred would have liked nothing more than to relieve his tension with Y/N, but unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

“Have you heard about Y/N and Pucey?” Angelina prodded with a giggle, her eyes alit with mischief.

Fred’s jaw immediately clenched at the sound of her name, his grip on his glass tightening. He most certainly hadn’t heard about her in a few weeks, and he hadn’t expected to have such a visceral reaction at the mere mention of her name. Regaining his composure, he forced himself to relax a bit and quirk a brow, feigning both confusion and interest.

“No? They shagging?” George questioned, sitting forward in his seat.

“Apparently, but I guess it’s becoming a bit more serious than just that.” Angelina shrugged, turning her gaze to Alicia beside her for confirmation. When the second girl nodded, Fred downed another gulp of his drink.

That can’t be right, he thought. It hadn’t even been a month since the last time they had been together, Y/N pinned beneath him as breathy moans escaped her lips. In the dim light of his bedroom, she had whispered to him that her pussy was his, that she was his, and now, apparently, she was with someone else. Some part of him knew that he had no right to be upset, because truthfully, it was his choice to end their little arrangement. But she had left him no choice after breaking their number one rule.

Y/N and Fred had ventured past friendly acquaintanceship about a year before, after a few too many firewhiskys at an infamous Weasley twins’ party. The morning after, they had tiptoed around each other, clearly uncomfortable by the change in dynamic. But it didn’t take long for it to happen again, and again, and again. Before either of them had really realized it, they had become much more than friends but much less than really together, and Fred wanted to keep it that way. He wanted them to remain in that middle ground.

As far as he knew, Y/N was more than fine with where they stood with each other. Until one day, she wasn’t. He remembered clearly how she had bit her lip and gazed at him, only moments after finishing him off with her mouth. He had looked at her curiously, wondering where her usual, joking, post-coital self had gone.

“Have you ever thought of me as more than, you know, just an easy fuck?”

Her words had shocked him, because they certainly weren’t the turn of phrase he would have used. He didn’t think of her as ‘an easy fuck,’ he thought of her as a friend. Someone he cared deeply for. But as he gazed into her desperate eyes, he was struck with the realization that he didn’t care for her the way she hoped. He had swallowed deeply, preparing his words in his mind, before shattering her heart.

Now, he wasn’t sure why he cared. Sure, he had thought about her a lot in the weeks they’d been apart, but he was always so sure that he had made the right choice. Relationships were messy, and he was young, so he had no intention to be tied down so soon. Still, the thought of her with Adrian Pucey made his blood boil, and he wished desperately that he could put an explanation to the feeling.

“Fred?”

The sound of his name tore him from his thoughts of Y/N, and he quickly plastered on his signature goofy grin before sitting forward and re-immersing himself in the conversation. Still, in the back of his mind, images of Y/N and Adrian played on repeat, fueling a fire that he hadn’t realized was a lit within him.

A week later, Fred found himself at a party at Oliver Wood’s flat, celebrating a win for Puddlemere United. There was an array of different people there, ranging from his old Hogwarts team, to groupies, to people who had just showed up at the mention of a party. Fred had planned on getting drunk that night, but after seeing George and Lee sloppily grinding on a few witches in an intoxicated bliss, he decided maybe—for once—he would be the responsible one.

Fred had gone nearly an hour, just barely nursing a glass of firewhisky and chatting with old friends jovially, before his eyes landed on a familiar face entering the party.

Fred was frozen at the eye contact they held, his first time seeing her in weeks. Y/N held the gaze for a moment, before turning to grip Adrian’s wrist behind her and drag him further into the party. If Fred thought he had a strong reaction to hearing about their relationship, it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. Fred slammed his drink down and walked away from the poor girl he had been chatting with without so much as an explanation.

“Let’s get out of here.” Fred clapped a hand down on George’s shoulder the moment he reached him, pulling his attention away from the girl dancing against him.

“Now?” George questioned incredulously, his brows raising. He gestured to the girl in his arms before returning a pleading look to his brother. “Come on, mate. This isn’t a great time.”

Fred knew he could convince his brother to leave if he explained, but his mouth felt entirely too dry. He couldn’t seem to formulate the words as to why he needed to get out of there. So, instead, he sighed and offered his brother a nod before retreating back to the outskirts of the people dancing.

Normally, Fred was the life of the party. By this point in the night, he’d usually be plastered and singing or dancing with no remorse. But seeing Y/N with a bloke like Pucey caused him to have an entire demeanor change, leaving him scowling leaned against the wall.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to find Y/N amongst those dancing, pressed closely to Pucey behind her. She was dancing provocatively, even turning in the man’s grasp every little bit to kiss him sloppily. At first, Fred had been almost certain that she was doing it on purpose. The way she was right in his line of vision, acting completely out of character in her open demeanor, it all felt like too much for him to handle.

Then, she made eye contact with him, and held it, and he just knew. She was doing it on purpose. All of her actions had been a way to get him worked up, to see if he would get jealous, and dammit it was working. Fred chewed on the inside of his cheek, holding her gaze as she grinded her bum against Pucey. She held his gaze as she slowly craned her neck and pulled Adrian into a searing kiss, her eyes back on Fred the moment the two pulled apart.

That was the final straw for Fred. He wasn’t going to stand idly by while she taunted him so openly, showing him everything he was missing. So, he pushed through the crowd of people and found his way to the two of them, ignoring the small smirk that had risen on her face.

“Y/N,” He breathed out, just loud enough for her to hear over the music. Suddenly, he was entirely unsure of his next move, but he desperately wanted to regain control over the situation. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Oi, what the hell, Weasley?” Adrian paused his dancing, although his hands remained gripped on Y/N’s waist. “Can’t you see we’re a little busy here?”

Fred completely ignored the man at first, his eyes never leaving Y/N. He could see by the look on her face that he had played exactly into what she wanted, but with the jealousy coursing through him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. She smirked slightly at Fred before craning her neck to look back at Adrian, almost as if she were challenging him to fight for her further.

“I can see,” Fred seethed, finally looking up at Adrian. “I can see a poor girl not having a very good time. So, I’m offering her a better option. Why don’t you let her decide?”

Adrian scoffed, taking a small step back from Y/N but keeping one hand on her hip. He looked down at her, waiting expectantly for her to deny any desire to go off with Fred. When she simply glanced between the two of them, Adrian’s brows furrowed and a look of offense overtook his features.

“Come on, Y/N.” He pleaded. “Tell him.”

Y/N bit down on her lip, the action only infuriating Adrian further. He looked at her incredulously before scoffing and turning his head away.

“Should’ve known a desperate little slut like you couldn’t be loyal.”

In an instant, Fred pushed Y/N out of the way and landed a hard blow to Adrian’s jaw. Y/N was dazed, everything seeming to move in slow motion as all eyes turned on them. Adrian had faltered only for a moment, cupping his jaw in his hand before straightening up and lunging towards Fred.

Luckily, George and Lee were there after a moment, tearing Adrian away and threatening to pummel him as they marched him towards the door. Y/N knew Fred wouldn’t need their help in a fight, but she was still grateful that a full out brawl hadn’t occurred because of her. Y/N rushed to Fred, cradling his fist in her hand and glancing up at his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, but the music had stopped, so he could hear her.

“‘m fine.” He answered curtly, glancing between the way she held his hand and her eyes. “So, can we get out of here?”

Y/N’s lips formed into a tight line, so as to conceal the smirk that desperately wanted to break through. She offered him a quick nod, and in an instant he was dragging her out the door and apparating her back to his flat.

The moment that they were in Fred’s room and the door shut, his lips were on hers. Her back was pressed up against his door, desperate little moans leaving her mouth as she reveled in the feeling of having him against her once more. Fred took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth when her lips parted, taking full control of the situation.

Y/N was more than content to let him take over, having missed him in their time apart more than she would ever like to admit. Of course, the feelings she still held for him lingered strongly, but she tried not to think about that as Fred pressed himself further against her. Adrian had been nothing more than a distraction, a feeble hope that she had held onto as a way to get over the tall red head, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She felt a bit bad, because she knew Adrian cared about her far more deeply than she did him, but she also knew she had made it clear she didn’t want a relationship. The irony was sickening.

“That was quite a show you were putting on tonight.” Fred pulled away from her breathlessly, his eyes tracking up and down her body.

“Yeah?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, I was just having a bit of fun.”

A low growl crawled out of his throat as he pressed his lips to hers once more, using more force than previously. Y/N squeaked at the intensity, but quickly melted into him. His hands trailed up and down her sides as she rested her own around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

Fred’s hands finally made their way to the hem of her shirt, his fingers ghosting over the skin of her stomach and sending a shockwave throughout her. Slowly, he trailed his fingers up, raising her shirt up in his wake. Y/N was quick to oblige, breaking away from him to allow him to tear the garment off completely.

For a moment, Fred’s eyes trailed over her slightly revealed form, drinking in the way she looked half-naked. He hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing her like this, and he found that his breath hitched at even the littlest bit of exposure.

As his eyes met her pleading ones, he quickly recovered. Their passion resumed in an instant as he pressed his lips to hers once more, spinning her away from the door and walking her backwards towards his bed. Y/N allowed him to lightly push her back onto it, her heart fluttering at the sudden gentleness of his actions. She’d always loved the dominance he held over her, but something about what was happening between them now felt different. But, as he draped his body over her own, all of her hopes of actual romance melted away and her mind was entirely clouded with just the appeal of him.

Y/N arched herself against Fred, giving him the space to unclasp her bra. He slid the straps down her arms slowly, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck, until he finally met the tops of her breasts. He cast her bra aside, shooting her one last look before taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. Y/N moaned at the contact, her fingers immediately threading themselves through his flaming hair. As his teeth gently grazed her nipple she gave his hair a tug, causing him to moan against her.

Fred continued his trail downward, planting kisses down her torso until he made it to the band of her leggings. Y/N lifted her hips and Fred held eye contact with her as he slowly pulled them down her legs. Y/N realized that he seemed to be drawing all of this out, pushing her to the point of pure desperation to make her pay for teasing him all night. Still, she bit her tongue and held back any thoughts of pleading with him, she couldn’t give in that easy.

When she was left in nothing but her panties, Fred sat back on his knees and leisurely unbuttoned his shirt. Y/N watched him intently, her frustration increasing significantly, until she could no longer contain it. She let out a desperate whine, pleading with the man with her eyes alone.

“Something wrong, love?” Fred cocked his head to the side and smirked.

“Freddie,” Y/N whined, the nickname feeling foreign yet fitting on her tongue.

Fred discarded his shirt before circling his hand around on of her ankles and hitching it up on his shoulder. He placed a soft kiss to the inside of her ankle before slowly trailing kisses back up her leg towards her thigh. Y/N shuttered as his lips ghosted over her clothed pussy, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Please.”

Fred looped one finger under the hem of her lace panties, but made no effort to pull them down. When a low chuckle escaped his lips, Y/N knew she was in trouble. Her eyes flew open once more, immediately meeting his darkened, lust-filled ones.

“Did you really think I’d give in that easy?” Fred mocked, punctuating his question by snapping the band of her underwear. “You tease me all night, putting on a show for me, acting like a desperate little slut.” He paused to wet his lips, drinking in the soft moan that escaped from her lips. “That is what you are, isn’t it?”

“Only for you, Freddie.”

“Really?” Fred scoffed, sitting back up to begin fiddling with his belt. Y/N raised herself up on her forearms, desperation and arousal pooling in her core. “Because it didn’t seem that way tonight.” Fred’s tongue darted out of his mouth, swiping over his bottom lip as he gazed at her hungrily. “Think maybe I might need to remind you whose slut you are. What do you think?”

She whimpered, but managed a feeble nod. In their previous times together, her and Fred were nothing if not adventurous in the bedroom. Still, as he waved his wand and bound her wrists to his headboard, she couldn’t help but gasp and lightly fight against the restraints. Fred held a devilish smirk at her plight as he stood from the bed and sat his wand back down.

Fred crawled back over her, his intense dominance faltering for just a moment as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Still remember the safe word, yeah?”

“Yes, Freddie.” She managed to speak, although it was difficult. Fred leaned back and searched her eyes for a moment before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to her lips. After that, any sense of gentleness faded.

Fred’s lips sucked and bit at her neck hungrily, one of his large hands trailing down to rub her through her panties while the other massaged her breast. Y/N’s thighs clamped around his hand, which quickly earned her a light swat to her hip.

“Stay still, or I’ll have no problem tying your legs up too.” Fred growled against her neck.

Y/N quickly obliged, spreading her legs further open. While previously she may have been more inclined to push Fred a bit, her mind was too clouded with lust to do anything but obey him. After weeks of mediocre sex with Adrian, she was ready to completely give herself over to Fred, and let him have her in anyway he wanted.

Fred’s hand pushed the fabric of her panties aside, allowing one finger to drag through her wet folds. She was already soaking wet for him, despite the fact he’d hardly touched her. Without a warning, he plunged one finger into her, lightly moaning at the way she constricted around him. Y/N’s back arched ever so slightly against him, tugging futilely against her bound wrists. He set a steady pace, thrusting his finger in and out of her before adding another and scissoring the two. He changed pace after a moment, beginning to curl his fingers up into her as his thumb rubbed circles against her waiting clit. The pressure in her core grew quickly from that, and she couldn’t help the way she loudly moaned out.

“Right there, yes, oh god…”

Fred was now smirking as he pulled away from her neck, significantly satisfied with the many markings he’d left as well as how quickly he could bring her to this point. He knew her body like the back of his hand, he knew her signs for when she was close, and it made it so much easier to enact his plan.

Just as Y/N was teetering on the edge, desperate whines and random babbles leaving her lips, Fred pulled his hand away. She let out a frustrated and confused groan, her eyes flying open as she felt the build up slowly slip away. Fred just grinned at her, before getting off the bed and ridding himself of his trousers and boxers. He lazily stroked himself as he took her in, chest heaving and covered in a light sheen of sweat, completely at his mercy. She had stopped her attempts at fighting her restraints, looking at him like she were almost defeated. In her mind, she’d begun to fear the very real possibility that Fred wouldn’t let her cum at all.

“You seem frustrated.” Fred cooed mockingly, coming to lean back over her and gently brush her cheek. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Fred.” Y/N spoke firmly, though her eyes portrayed her fears. “You’ve got to let me finish.”

“Hm.” Fred seemed to ponder that, leaning back to slowly pull her panties down her legs. “I don’t think I have to do anything. In fact, I could just leave you here all tied up and needy.”

“Please,” Y/N whined, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“It’s a start.” Fred tutted, finally discarding her panties aside. He leaned down near her ear once more, his warm breath sending a chill down her spine. “What I’d really like, though, is to hear how much you need me. Wanna hear you say it.”

“Please, Freddie, I need your cock so bad. Need you to ruin me.” Y/N cried out, losing all sense of dignity as her sex-addled brain took over. Fred had intended to tease her much longer, but her desperate pleas were going straight to his cock, and he couldn’t hold out any longer.

“That’s all you had to say, love.”

Fred hitched her leg around his hip, gripping his cock in his free hand. He teased the head through her wet folds, shivering at the moan she let out from just the smallest contact. Then, he pushed his hips forward, not stopping until he was completely buried in her. Their low moans mixed together in the quiet of the room, Fred being careful not to move until he was sure she had adjusted to his size.

“Fuck, I forgot how fucking good you feel.” He groaned, burying his face in her neck.

“Move… Please.”

He needed no further encouragement. Fred pulled out about halfway before snapping his hips back forward, setting a brutal but steady pace. Y/N’s loud moans and Fred’s grunts mixed together, accompanied only by the sound of their skin on skin contact. Y/N could feel her orgasm building again as his dick hit her g-spot with every thrust, and she was almost embarrassed by how quickly he could bring her to this point.

“‘m so close, Freddie.” Y/N breathed out, knowing it would only infuriate him further if she came without his permission.

“Already?” Fred scoffed, although he knew he wasn’t far behind.

Still, he wasn’t ready for things to end so soon, so he pulled out completely, ignoring the desperate whine that left her throat. He pulled both of her legs together and pushed her knees up against her chest, holding her ankles together with one hand before thrusting back into her desperate cunt. The new position allowed him to hit deeper within her as he thrust downward, causing Y/N to scream out. The pain was delicious, it was everything she had longed for in their time apart.

“You really think you deserve to cum?” Fred grunted, landing a particularly hard thrust into her. “After everything you pulled tonight?”

“Please.” Y/N whined. She was so close, she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it if he stole another orgasm from her.

“Answer the question, slut.” Fred demanded, his pace quickening ever so slightly. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A desperate little cum slut.”

“Yes.” Y/N cried out. “But only for you, Freddie. Just a slut for you.”

“That’s right.” Fred’s rhythm had begun to falter, approaching his own orgasm quickly. Still, he was unsure if he’d let her finish or not. “You’re my little slut. Only I get to call you that, right?”

“Yes, Freddie.” Y/N whined, beginning to tug again on her restraints. She wanted nothing more than to scrape her nails down his back, but being completely at his mercy turned her on endlessly.

“Good.” Fred was close, so fucking close, but he had made his decision. So he had to hold off. “Cum for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

That was all the encouragement she needed, and as Fred hit one more thrust into her g-spot she was tumbling over the edge. Electricity seemed to shoot all throughout her body as she loudly moaned out his name. Her legs were shaking and she was certain she’d be sore tomorrow, but she had little time to care about that as he continued to pound into her.

Y/N knew Fred well, just as well as he knew her, so she knew he was close. Her mind felt almost entirely blank and she wasn’t sure she had much energy for anything, but she wanted to bring him to his release badly. So, she clenched around him, a moan leaving her lips when he stuttered and groaned. His thrusts were faltering significantly, and after a few moments he was crying out her name as he finished in her.

Fred pulled out and dropped her legs before crashing down next to her. He knew that he needed to untie her, but they also both just needed a moment to breathe. All that could be heard was the sounds of their mixed pants as they both came down from their highs. Once he was significantly more relaxed, he gripped his wand and swished it lazily, effectively removing the restraints she was held in.

Y/N hands dropped down and she quickly went to rub at her wrists, but Fred was quick to bat her hands away and do it himself. He examined both wrist closely, seeming to want to ensure that they were okay.

“They weren’t too tight, were they?” Fred implored after a moment. His genuine concern made her heart flutter, and she couldn’t help herself as she leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“No, they were perfect—all of it was perfect.” She sighed as she pulled away from him. Her general cognition was beginning to return, and with it her fears of all of the pain she had gone through in the past etched their way through.

Sure, Fred had clearly gotten jealous at the party. Then, he had gotten possessive and claimed her in the bedroom. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he harbored the same feelings for her that she had for him. The fear nearly paralyzed her, and she wasn’t sure if she should quickly redress and flee the room or implore what this all meant. Luckily, he answered her internal questioning before she even had to ask.

“I don’t want to see you out with Pucey.” Fred sighed, his eyes not meeting hers. “Which is a total prat thing to say, but it’s true. I don’t want to see you out with any bloke, really.”

“Fred…” Y/N spoke tentatively, her eyes begging him to speak further.

“I want you, Y/N. Like, really.” Fred finally met her gaze. “Not just in my bed.”

“What, do you want me on the couch too?” Y/N tried to joke, hoping it would cover up her nervous tone. But it didn’t. So, her voice became soft. “Don’t get my hopes up, Freddie.”

“I’m being serious.” He shook his head. “I want to take you out on fancy dates, or watch movies with you on my couch. Bloody hell, I want to bring you to my parent’s house for Sunday dinners. I don’t know, I’m not good at this. Whatever it is that couples do.”

“Fred Weasley,” A small smile had begun to grow on Y/N’s face. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” Fred answered earnestly. “That is, only if you’re going to say yes. Otherwise, this was all just a joke—”

Y/N shut him up by pressing her lips to his, her mouth still curled upwards in a smile. It was impossible to hide the genuine happiness that his words brought her.

“Yes.” She answered softly as she pulled away.

A similar smile began to grow on Fred’s face as he completely registered her words, and he couldn’t help but dive back in for another kiss. Y/N was his, completely. Something he’d probably wanted for so long, but had simply been too daft to realize it. Now, as he held her in his arms, he promised himself he’d never make such a mistake again.

Tagging a few 18+ mutuals from my usual taglist: @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @theweasleysredhair

#fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #Fred Weasley fanfic

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cyclone-rachel · 2 years

Text

back where we began || a supergirl fanfic

read on AO3 here

When Kara woke up, she didn’t know what time it was.

For once, she didn’t find anything wrong with that- wasn’t thinking about work, or being Supergirl. She had just taken a nap, and hadn’t had any bad dreams, and Rao knew she deserved that once in a while, if not regularly.

(She wasn’t thinking about the fact that she didn’t know when she had fallen asleep, either)

But she was dressed in decent clothes, and with an X-ray vision glance at her apartment door, she saw that there was someone waiting on the other side, so there was no harm in greeting them as she was.

Kara strode across her apartment, opened her door, and met the eyes of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Sure, there had been Kenny and James and Mon-El- of course she thought they were each handsome. And she would admit, just as easily, that Lucy and Imra were both gorgeous, and she was lucky to even be around them. But this man was different. There was something about him, something about the way he looked at her and the gleam in his dark eyes, as he stood there with his hands positioned in an upside-down triangle, that captivated her, and she was struck speechless, looking at him open-mouthed.

“It’s you.” He said, smiling.

“Can- can I help you?” Kara asked, and his lips parted to answer before closing tight, another smile in one corner of his mouth like he’d just remembered an inside joke.

“I believe it is I who should be asking that question, Supergirl.” He said. “Or rather, may I help you?”

“Not sure exactly why.” Kara answered. “But…”

She reached out to take his arm, and he let her- and she was taken aback by how warm he felt, as with her other hand she closed her door, leaving them to their privacy.

“I believe a proper introduction is in order.” He said. “I am Brainiac 5. Half computer, half organic lifeform, all Coluan, and not to brag, but a recently uninhibited twelfth-level intellect.”

He paused, as if to leave her the room to comment, but she was still processing- well, everything about him.

“My name is Querl Dox, but the Legionnaires just call me Brainy.” He finished, lips pursing at the nickname.

There it was- it all clicked into place, from his vibrant green skin to his almost yellow blond hair, the three circles in a triangle shape that were present on his shirt, and now the revelation of his last name.

“Dox.” she said, considering the last name, and the bad memories that it conjured up for her. “Like Vril Dox?”

“Yes- he’s my great-grandfather, Brainiac 2.”

“But… I found out he was from a planet called Yod.”

He waved his hand dismissively.

“Yod is another name for my home planet, Colu.” He said. “No matter. I can assure you that, unlike him, I come in peace.”

He paused, lowering his head just for a moment.

“That is the correct phrase, yes?”

“Yeah.” Kara said, smiling- which apparently put him at ease, as he quickly returned the expression. “But… Legionnaires? Did Mon-El send you?”

“Yes, yes! To make sure that your neural pathways are clear and intact.” He said, strolling past her as he inspected her apartment, even picking up a vase and examining the flowers inside, before looking back at her for a moment. “Your brain is in truly remarkable health for someone languishing in a coma.”

She wasn’t sure, at first, whether to be flattered that a super-genius had complimented the health of her brain, or extremely worried at how casually he’d mentioned she was in a coma- but worry won out.

“Did you say a coma?”

“I buried the lede, didn’t I?” he asked, not looking at her as he continued to examine the vase. “You’ve been in a coma for two days.”

“I’m in my loft.” Kara said, as if she’d always been there. She knew it was probably pointless to say, but it was better than the alternative at this point, even if it wasn’t convincing to either of them.

“Oh. You mean the physical manifestation of the place in which your subconscious feels most comfortable? That loft?” he asked, putting the vase down as he walked towards her, then past her towards the door.

She was left to stare again, thinking about it. After all, the previous time she’d been trapped in a coma, she’d woken up wearing a fancy dress, backstage at a nightclub, and the time before that she had woken up in her bed on Krypton.

Neither of those places, as nice as they’d been, and familiar for the latter, had been entirely comfortable. This, in contrast, felt normal, and even good- which was probably why she was fighting any implication it wasn’t.

“Yeah…” she said. “But if I’m in a coma, how are you here?”

“Mon-El woke me up from hypersleep to communicate with you on behalf of him and your DEO compatriots.” He answered, placing his hands behind his back. “Thirty-first century technology. It’s also what’s keeping you alive.”

“Alive?”

“Reign defeated you.” He stated. “Don’t you remember?”

And oh, oh, she did, the pain and memories coming back to her in an instant as though he’d summoned them from her subconscious. The last thing she remembered, struggling to hold her head up, as Reign taunted her, before dropping her off a building. Alex, looking terrified, doing the best she could. How much Reign’s punches had truly hurt, how the Worldkiller hadn’t held back, and how Kara’s own punches and attempts to take her down seemed to only amuse her.

I wasn’t supposed to hold back either, Kara thought. What does that say about me? How am I supposed to stop her now, if this is what happens when I try?

Stay with me, Kara, stay with me, Alex had pleaded. Would she have to say that again, before this was over?

“This… this is crazy.” Kara said, going past Brainiac 5 and to her door. “Reign is still out there. People- people are dying, I have to wake up.”

“I don’t think you’re listening to me.” He answered, but she was. They were in her mind, and wasn’t it logical that she had control over her subconscious? Couldn’t she wake herself up, now that she knew she was in a coma?

Surely not even he could argue with that.

The lights flickered, as she pulled at the doorknob, but it was as though it and the door were made of something even heavier than the Fortress of Solitude key- because neither of them moved, despite her best efforts.

“Can we just, maybe, relax a little bit?” he asked, but this time she really wasn’t listening.

“Damn it!” she hissed. “It won’t open!”

Finally, she turned her back on the door, and rested against it, determination still burning within her as Brainiac 5 stood silent.

Not content to just look at vases anymore, Kara noticed Brainiac 5 now looking under one of her rugs, before she sank down onto her couch, a pillow in her arms.

“This is torture.” She murmured.

Unfortunately, Brainiac 5 heard her, and drew himself up to his full height as he addressed her.

“Of all the four million, two hundred thirty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty-two versions of our first meeting that I’d envisioned, you calling it “torture”… wasn’t one of them.” He said.

“Not this!” she quickly clarified, heat rushing to her face. “Not… meeting you.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. It’s… nice to have company.”

Especially extremely handsome company.

“I understand.” He said. “You wish to redeem yourself in the eyes of your city, and make certain nobody else falls at Reign’s hands. And you wish to help your friends, as they have been left to defend National City without their resident Kryptonian, against the might of one of your kind.”

“Exactly.” She answered, as he continued to look around her apartment more closely- now lifting her cushions, peering behind and underneath them. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Checking for brain damage.” He said, like that was something he did every day, whenever one of his friends happened to be punched into a coma. “In simulacra like the one we’re in right now, brain damage could present itself in any number of ways. Mildew, mold… rats indicate neurological issues.”

“But you said my brain was in remarkable health.”

“It is.” Brainiac 5 answered. “I am just taking necessary precautions, making sure of that assessment, in order to prepare you for reality re-entry.”

“Reality re-entry?” Kara repeated.

“If you’re not properly prepared when we wake you up, you could go into shock. Some people die immediately.” He explained, still focused on the pillows on her couch. But she was only stuck on one part of his sentence.

“Wait.” She said as she stood up, mind conjuring images of her opening her eyes to him leaning over her like a fairy-tale prince, and her wrapping her arms around him, before they-

No. That could wait- and it was way too soon for any kind of fantasy like that.

“Does… does that mean I’m ready to wake up?”

“I buried the lede again.” He admitted, and Kara let out a triumphant laugh, throwing the pillow she was holding- which he caught with ease.

“Yes!” she said, before walking backwards toward the door. “I mean, okay. Do I need to do anything?”

“Well, your loft is the manifestation of your subconscious.” He stated again. “And that door seems to be the only way in or out. My assumption… walk through it.”

Easy for you to say, Kara wanted to answer. But she was also imagining freedom- seeing her family and friends again, and even meeting Brainiac 5 in real life, before she inevitably met Reign in a rematch. And this time, she wouldn’t be alone.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to end up here a second time, but then again she had counted on Reign being the one who wound up in a coma before. Who knew how their next fight would turn out?

She went to confront the door again, this time attempting to open it with a gentle hand.

But just like before, it refused to open for her.

She tried again, again, again, hoping that the doorknob wouldn’t just fall off in her attempts, leaving her perhaps trapped forever.

Thankfully, it didn’t, but it also didn’t let her out.

Kara turned around to face Brainiac 5 again.

“It’s not opening.” She said. “Why won’t it open?”

“You should be fine.” He answered, and Kara moved aside to let him try the door. But his attempts were just as unsuccessful, as though it knew he was trying to open the door for her, and wouldn’t stand for that.

She went back to the door, as he was busying himself by apparently making tea, or at least pouring hot water from her kettle into one of her mugs.

“Why won’t this open?” she repeated.

“Your body is fine.” He said, and Kara just barely restrained herself from saying, so is yours.

“We drained the tank, you suffered no ill-effects from the hibernation.”

“Then why am I still stuck in my brain?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your brain. I’ve ruled that out.”

“Well, you’re the twelfth-level intellect.” Kara said, hating the way it came out as almost an accusation. “Haven’t you figured it out?”

He drank from the mug, before looking at it like he had done with her couch cushions or her rug.

“That rules out the physical.” He said, even though it wasn’t really an answer to her question. “Barring another explanation… the only thing keeping you here is you.”

Kara scoffed.

“What?” she asked. “I’m the one who wants to get out of here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brainy sit down, as she again faced the door.

“Then why won’t this thing open?” she asked. “It opened for me earlier.”

“To let me in.” Brainy said, as Kara tried to punch the door- but it just resisted, warping to throw back her arm. “Going out is a different story. Is there some reason your subconscious might be-“

Kara aimed for the door again, a harder punch this time, but again was thrown back, further than before.

“Preventing your escape? Self-preservation, perhaps?”

“I’m not afraid.” She said, hoping that she sounded convincing as she faced Brainy, who again was drinking from her mug.

(she was trying not to think about how cute she found that, or how right it seemed- like he was always meant to sit there, in her apartment, and she had welcomed him to use her stuff any time.)

“You were badly beaten.” He answered, looking up at her, before she turned toward the doorknob, aiming her eyes at it- and thankfully, in this- what did he call it?- simulacrum, her powers worked, and she felt her heat vision hit its target, before she gave up, seeing that it did nothing. “Fear is a logical response to that stimulus.”

“I am not afraid!” she answered, trying once more- this time letting out a shout as she did so, feeling her vision burn hotter. She wasn’t trying to solar-flare, but she might as well have been, for all the damage it did- sending up sparks all around her, as she heard things ignite, hoping that she hadn’t hurt Brainy in the process.

Thankfully, the sparks seemed to turn into confetti, and she’d only broken the coffee mug Brainy had been holding, but the door, as if taunting her, was still sealed shut, unaffected by everything she’d tried.

“Why are you cleaning?” Querl asked, stepping around her before crouching down to her level, hands again in that triangular position. “None of this is real.”

“I don’t know.” She admitted, as she filled up the basket she was holding. “I guess I just… like putting things back in order.”

She stood up, carrying the basket to her table and putting it down.

“And… the brain is like an empty little attic, and you must stock it with such furniture as you choose.” She said. “It’s Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m not familiar.” He said, as she picked up a book, flipping through it without really looking at the pages. “But… I understand.”

She looked around, then, at her surroundings- everything her subconscious had decided to put there, regardless of anything else.

“This is the furniture I chose.”

“Hmm.” Querl said, leaning against the table. “Oversimplification.”

Of course you’d think so, Kara wanted to say.

“But yes, go on.”

“So there must be something in here my subconscious wants me to see.”

That seemed to surprise him- and he turned toward her, considering it.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea.” He said, as Kara smiled. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m sure you would have.” Kara assured him, before going to sit down in front of her TV, flipping through another book.

For a moment, Kara felt like she was alone in her apartment, cleaning by herself- sorting through her things until she came across one particular picture.

“Huh.” She said, and Querl came to stand over her, looking down at it.

“You had a pet?”

“Yeah.” Kara answered slowly, as he lowered himself to sit beside her. “But if this is my subconscious trying to tell myself something, I don’t get it.”

“Could be a random neuron firing.” Querl said, reaching out to take hold of the picture as his eyes met hers again. “What’s its name?”

“Streaky.” She said, while he looked at the photo. “I, um, I found him on our street. Right after I came to Earth, actually. He was a stray too.”

“You felt an emotional kinship.” He answered. “You were friends.”

“Yeah.” Kara told him, now looking at her chair, and what had seemingly materialized there. “We were.”

She got to her feet, and approached the cat, just like she had when they’d first met.

“I used to… go out every night and feed him.” She said. “I didn’t want to touch him, I was so strong, I could have hurt him. So I practiced being gentle.”

She pet him as she spoke, and soon lifted the cat into her arms, carrying him over as she sat beside Querl again.

“And then one day, I pet him, and he purred, and everything was okay.” She said. “I felt like an alien for so long, and he helped me feel… normal. Like I would fit in, even if I wasn’t really human.”

Querl smiled again.

“I had a pet too.” He said. “One that served a similar purpose to your Streaky.”

“You did?”

“Yes. In Earth terms, I believe it would be called a monkey.”

“A monkey?”

“Yes. I named him Koko. He was a good companion to me, though some of my friends seemed to think otherwise.”

“Oh?”

“I found him during an early mission with the Legion, after we stopped someone who’d been conducting illegal experiments- including on animals. The creature’s behavior seemed unpredictable, but then again, in the eyes of many people, so was mine. He was… hostile, to everyone else, but he and I found an emotional kinship, too. To me, he was protective, and I took good care of him.”

“I’m guessing you left him in the future.” Kara said.

Querl nodded. “I hope to see him again.” He answered.

“And once Reign is defeated, I’m sure you will.”

He was silent again, and Kara continued to pet Streaky, lost in thought herself.

“Hey… Querl?”

“Yes?”

“You said you were recently uninhibited.” She said. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It is a long story.” He answered. “To summarize, when I was eight years old, my father saw the potential for evil in me- the possibility that I could be on a dark path, like my mother, and her ancestors before her.”

“Like Vril Dox, and Brainiac 8.” Kara finished.

“Precisely. So he placed three personality inhibitors on me, that I wore for nearly twenty years.” He said. “For so long, I believed I could not control my stronger emotions, or my intelligence itself, that was believed to be dangerous by the rest of my people. The inhibitors cut me off from them, so I was not fully calibrated to the Coluan network of minds, treated as no more than a common criminal. I tried to be a superhero with them on, attempting to prove that I could rise above my name and lineage as safely as possible. But the only way to fully realize my potential, become all of myself, was to submit myself to the depths of my emotions.”

“To remove your inhibitors.”

“Yes.” Querl answered. “I knew it would be difficult. I wasn’t sure who I would become… and now, I am still figuring it out. But now-“

He paused, and Kara studied him, unable to figure out what he almost said.

“Now, I can choose.” He said. “And… partially, it is because of you.”

“Really?”

“Mon-El told me many things about you. And although my family regarded yours as their enemy… I came to find you inspiring. Your hope, help, and compassion to all… especially those who many wouldn’t have believed deserved it… I took comfort in that. I came to realize that whatever happened, after I removed my inhibitors, I didn’t have to rely on them or be afraid of myself like my father was. I would have people who trusted me.”

“And you do.”

“And I do.”

Querl sat in one of Kara’s chairs with his eyes shut, hands directing invisible controls, and Kara remembered once more that he was truly in two places at the same time, just like he’d told her.

“Engaging cannons.” He said. “Aloian attack formation.”

Kara stood up, picking Streaky up and letting him off of her lap, as Querl’s eyes opened and he looked at her.

“Are you fighting?”

“Oh. Sprock.” He answered. “I said that out loud.”

“What’s going on out there?”

“Little… tiny… battle.” He answered. “Let’s keep talking. It will keep my mind off the life or death scenario.”

“Your mind should be on the life or death scenario!” Kara said, alarmed.

“I’m perfectly capable of multitasking.” He answered, nonchalant. “I’m actually working on your Sunday crossword right now. Six down is “anguilliform”- Mon-El, evade!”

“Don’t be here.” Kara said, as much as she wanted him to stay, and wanted to keep talking to her. There was so much more she didn’t know about him, and hoped she could learn- but then again, she could learn it just as well in the real world, if she got out of here. “Go help them.”

Querl nodded, and stood up, going past her to stand in the middle of her living room. He paused, turning back to her.

“For what it’s worth, it looks like Supergirl had a pretty great life.” He said.

“These aren’t Supergirl’s things, they’re… they’re mine. Kara’s.”

Querl let out a small gasp.

“Your sister said something similar a few minutes ago.”

“What?”

“She said… Kara Danvers is her favorite person.”

He looked at her one more time, a knowing smile on his face, before putting his hands in that triangular shape again, and dissipating into pixels that soon faded into nothing. Leaving Kara with an empty mind-prison, and…

She realized it, her hands now finding her glasses, as she approached the door for a final time.

And a way out.

He was waiting for her.

She saw him as she climbed the stairs- and given how brightly the three circles on his uniform shone, she couldn’t have missed him. His super-suit was mostly purple, with some gray and black, as well as yellow boots- and he pulled the look off effortlessly.

“Hey!” she said. “It’s you!”

“It is.”

“Are you shorter?”

The smile on his face as he greeted her faltered, suddenly.

“Are you suggesting that I augmented my height while I existed in your consciousness so that you might see me as a more stable and trustworthy figure, and therefore work with me to help you?” he asked.

“Uh… yes?”

“Perhaps.” He said, and the tone of his voice told her that she’d have to spend more time with him to get that answer- and that, she didn’t mind at all.

Still, she smiled at him, and he returned it.

“It’s nice to meet you in real life.”

“Likewise. And, Querl?”

“Yes?” he said, stopping as he walked backwards.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Kara Zor-El.”

#papa don't look #fanfics #supergirl #karadox #supergirl season 3 #supergirl au #kara danvers #kara zor el #querl dox #brainiac 5 #ship: believe in all the possibilities #woooo i actually wrote something #happy 3x10 anniversary!#yet again #i hope this is okay

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm 01 - The Flood

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: Reader is a woman in her late 20s who had a peculiar childhood. She worked in her family dojo that was attached to a shop! You wake up in an unfamiliar place, wounded, with a somewhat familiar man. These moments will change your life forever.

A/N: I’ve been a huge Mortal Kombat fan for years and I saw the movie the other day. This reader x fic will follow the path/story/idea of the movies!! I have never done one of these before. If anyone is interested in it, I will continue on. It will either be Kung Lao x Reader or Liu Kang x Reader (or both, depending, bwahaha) but I haven’t decided yet. This is just the beginning. There will be plenty of fluff/establishment/smut if I get that far! Enjoy! Remember this is only for fun. Thanks for reading! Edit- You might notice the writing got better suddenly. I'm going through old chapters to casually edit.

Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Your head was spinning. When you opened your eyes, you briefly caught the outline of a small room before it spun around you. Vertigo. It took ages for your head to stop spinning even in the darkness of your mind’s eye. Something cold and wet was pressed gently to your forehead, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Small droplets of water trickled over your brow, down your nose and irritated your sinuses. Others traced down the sides of your face and nestled into the mat of your dyed black hair. It was naturally stark white but you’d kept up with the black to better blend in.

Shifting, the bed beneath you felt plush and foreign. This was not your bed. Your bed was a modest bedroll that often left your back aching. What had you been doing that you would wake up somewhere strange? Flashes of a fight rushed into your mind. That was right! You’d been closing up shop for the night when men had rushed in, donned masks, and dressed in black. They’d been armed with blades.

You sat upright, fists at the ready and prepared for a fight. Your arms were aching and constricted, bound in tight cloth. Pain radiated down to your elbows and up to your shoulders. Coughing, your mouth tasted like smoke- acrid and sickening. Worse than that, you felt your heart beating too hard and too fast. There was a deep, familiar pain inside of you, a pain you hadn’t felt since your youth. You could picture in your mind’s eye your shop in flames and the dojo attached to it catching fire.

“Move slowly.” A confident but quiet voice consoled you. He was Chinese, like you, and his voice was soft but commanding. “You have a fever.” Careful but strong hands urged you to rest back down. In a snap, you knocked his hands away. He removed them with such grace and control that you knew he was either a dancer or a fighter. You guessed the latter. The room spun again but you forced your vision to focus. “I knew you were a martial artist but I did not know the extent of your skills.”

You caught a glimpse of the stranger. His short black hair was messy and pulled back from his forehead in a top knot. He had handsome features, dark eyes, and he was nostranger. You’d seen him before but today he was not wearing the wide-brimmed hat that you associated him with.

“You’re handy with a blade. I’m impressed.” He complimented. It was likely that he thought you were still threatened by him. Smart. You were. He’d been coming to the shop attached to your dojo every few months for the last couple of years. Each time his purchase was drastically different. Sometimes it was a weapon, sometimes precious stones, or herbs. Most times he came in just to have you sharpen a blade that you never saw him with again. You had allowed him entry to the dojo to watch classes and observe goings on. Sometimes he showed up every day for weeks a time. Sometimes you didn’t see him for months.

He’d been harmless. The only words that he’d ever spoken to you had been kind and reserved.

“Where am I?” You decided that was the right question. You knew who he was and what had happened for the most part. It was the ‘where’ that puzzled you.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You threw him a glance with dark eyes and he offered a smile that clearly said you wouldn’t get any answers from him until you gave yours. He was worried that your memory had suffered. The dizziness made sense now. You must have struck your head.

“It was late. I was cleaning up the shop before close when a group of men entered. They were trouble, treating wares carelessly. I asked them to leave since I was closing up. They donned masks and things escalated.” Things had more than escalated but it seemed to you that this stranger already knew many of the details of what had occurred without you saying. The men had threatened you with drawn blades and made demands involving you and your dojo that you had refused to bow to. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”

“You killed them.” It wasn’t an accusation. He just understood how your story ended.

“They left me with no choice. I didn’t ask for violence.” You turned your gaze. The room had finally stopped spinning but in a word, you felt like crap. Coughing, you recalled the fire and snapped your attention back to the friendly stranger. “My shop… the dojo!”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head respectfully. “The fire spread too quickly. There was nothing to be done.”

“I have to go. I…”

“You can’t go back.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t go back. Hanging your head, you resigned to the truth. He was right. You knew it. “I suppose not. I killed those men. I’m a murderer.”

“Those men were cruel and deserved the punishment you dealt them. As far as I’m concerned your action were justified.”

Your brow furrowed. He so easily absolved you of taking the lives of others. You didn’t think the guilt would fade so easily but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“How long have you had the dragon mark?” That was what he really wanted to discuss. His eyes sparkled even in the darkness of the small room- a still completely foreign and strange place. He’d offered you no answers even after you’d given him his.

“Dragon mark?” You didn’t have one as far as you knew. You’d seen others with a dragon marking but had never asked what it meant or why it had been there. You’d once asked your sister about it but she had never noticed the mark on anyone before. Then you’d never spoken of it again. You’d seen things that others could not in your youth and were nervous about bringing things like that up.

“On your back.”

You turned with a snap but it had been foolish. There was no way for you to see it at that angle. Pain shot through you as you searched for it with your left hand. Your forearms had been wrapped tightly but blood was seeping through the gauze, staining it crimson.

“Careful. You were wounded when you offered those men mercy.”

Much to your surprise, he took your hand in his own, the size of his strong hands dwarfing your petite ones. Then he guided your hand carefully to the mark on your lower back. There it was, plain as day. Raised skin in a circle with a dragon head in the middle. It was like a scar, as though you had been branded with it some time ago. Yet, you knew that it hadn’t been there that morning when you’d bathed.

“That’s… new to me.” You didn’t know how else to phrase it and laughed beneath your breath at how silly it sounded not to know it had been there.

“Do you know about the Order of Light?” He was feeling you out, gauging what you knew.

You were hesitant to answer, nervous that what you knew would get you into trouble. When most people entered your shop, they spoke amongst themselves. You learned many secrets that way. You were usually paid little mind unless you were teaching classes or fighting. You’d heard of the Order of Light before. Your curiosity had given you much more than you’d bargained for. You’d learned of other realms, Gods, magic powers. They were the sorts of things you’d read about in fiction. You’d never thought there was much truth to them but part of you had always hoped there was.

“Why do you know so much about what happened to me?” You answered his question with one of your own. It was about time that you got answers instead of just giving them.

“I heard the commotion at your shop. I came to help.” It was his turn to hesitate. “I confess that I’m fond of your dojo. It’s a peaceful reprieve for me. You bring light to a place that has very little.” He bowed his head apologetically, handsome face stern. “It was too late for me to do much but I saw the end of your fight. It was a graceful dance. You offered them mercy and were punished for your kindness. Then the building caught fire. You won the battle but it collapsed with you still inside. I pulled you free before it was too late.”

Funny.

You hadn’t noticed any burns. You remembered fire. You could feel the smoke still in your lungs but the only wounds you remembered suffering were those on your arms and the back of your head. They had to have been terrible. The cold you’d noticed upon waking up had only worsened and now your vision was spotty and hazy around the edges.

“When the authorities came to deal with the fire, I brought you somewhere safe. I didn’t wish for you to be caught.” He lifted his gaze and placed his fist against his palm with a polite bow. “I’m Kung Lao. Forgive my rudeness for not introducing myself earlier.”

You laughed.

There was no way!

You hadn’t heard that name in years. He was confused by your laughter and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard that name in ages. It’s not a common one either. You can’t be Kung Lao.”

“…but I am.”

“The only Kung Lao I’ve ever known died years ago.”

“That’s what was told to people when I left.” Kung Lao’s eyes were shining with amusement. The flicker of the candle resting on the small table next to the bed you rested in danced in his dark eyes. “Do we know each other?”

“If you are, in fact, the same Kung Lao who grew up here then yes, we did. I’m Y/N but I used to go by Y/N.” You hadn’t used your full name in years. It had rarely been used other than to tease you so you’d shortened it. Back then you’d been ill and the other kids had been afraid of you. “Kung Lao was my friend. A stubborn but sweet boy. We played together. He was one of the only people in town not afraid of me. Teased me which… made me angrier than it should have but he was apologetic afterward. The last time I saw him he gave me a purple flower. They don’t grow here anymore. I honestly have no idea where he got it. I could never find them again.”

Kung Lao was completely taken aback.

You supposed you could see the similarities. He could have been your Kung Lao all grown up, about twenty years later. He had similarly shaped eyes. Perhaps the familiarity of him had been why you’d trusted him to sit in on lessons. The idea that he was the same Kung Lao from your childhood made your stomach tighten up in knots. That was too much to deal with right now.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft and thoughtful as if he struggled to find truth in your words.

You bowed your head politely in greeting but it ached so terribly that you held it in your hands. Every movement felt like ice flowing through your veins. When you opened your eyes again your vision went from spotty to completely black. You’d gone blind! Panic raced through your thoughts and you blinked your eyes closed tight. Praying, you opened them again and were grateful that you could see even if your vision was still spotty. The room seemed hazier than before.

“Careful. Lay back and rest.” Kung Lao placed his hand on your shoulder to guide you but you pushed it away again.

“No, no. I should get something to eat. And some water. That will help.” You were sure that your vision was fading from blood loss or exhaustion. Either way food would help. You carefully draped your legs over the side of the bed. Your clothing was singed and bloodied. Gravity disagreed with your arms and your aching head, so you wound up hunching over. Kung Lao helped you sit upright again.

“Your fever is too high. What you need is a doctor.”

“You asked me about the Order of Light.” You ignored his concern in favor of more answers.

“Yes.”

“Then you know about the other realms, too? Is it true?”

Kung Lao was again taken by surprise and stuttered on his words comically.

“I must sound crazy. A man in a coolie hat, well the fanciest one that I’ve ever seen before, came in a few times over the years. I always thought he seemed a little funny. He referred to China as Earthrealm and mentioned the Order of Light in passing. I was curious as to what any of that meant and well, the internet is a fount of information, even for things like that. Most of what I read was on forums and conspiracy sites so I put next to no stake in it. Is any of it true?”

“I’m not the one who should be telling you this.”

“Kung Lao.” You scolded which incited a confident grin from him.

“Have you heard of Mortal Kombat then as well?”

You considered those words. You’d never heard them before so you shook your head no. At least you hadn’t heard them the way that he’d phrased them, as though it were something associated with the Order of Light.

“The mark on your back means that you’ve been chosen to fight.” Kung Lao began on what you were sure would be a lengthy explanation of what would come next but you had tuned him out. Your vision was blurring again. It faded around the edges and the world spun. You felt like you were floating.

“Kung Lao?” You interrupted, grasping blindly for him but your hands had gone numb. There was urgency in your voice.

“It’s okay. I’ll take you to Raiden’s Temple and there you’ll be guided through…”

“Not that. I can’t… I can’t see!” Panic was thick in your voice. Your breath was suddenly short in your chest and you collapsed against him, falling into unconsciousness.

Next Chapter >>

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jewels-writes · 3 years

Text

kakashi x injured reader

You being a long term member of Team Kakashi were on a mission along with the rest of your team. You and Kakashi were partnered together while Naruto and Sai were another pair. You two worked flawlessly together having been on the same team for over five years. Not to mention, you were the only member with medical nin-jutsu.

Sprinting through the trees, you went through the mission’s requirements again in your head. There were rumors of an Akatsuki member causing terror to a small town that wasn’t close enough to the inner city of the Leaf for Tsunade to send patrols. So it was up to Team Kakashi to get rid of the threat.

“Hold on a moment, y/n.” Kakashi called, signaling for you to pause and you both landed on the same tree branch.

“What is it, Sensei?” You asked, taking the moment to stretch and take a drink.

“We’re here. Look down there.” Kakashi pointed down and your eyes followed his finger to what was left of the small village. “We’d better get going, I’m sure there’s many people who need your medical help. We can rely on Naruto’s team to take care of the rest.”

“Got it, let’s go.” You answered, taking a deep breath. Soon you both descended into the village and Kakashi was right, almost every person you came across needed healing. Fortunately none of the wounds were fatal and you were able to fix everyone up.

You had used a substantial amount of chakra when a boom suddenly erupted from a few meters away. In an instant, Kakashi stood in front of you, using his body as a barrier for whatever threat was there.

“Y/n! Are you hurt?” Your teacher asked over his shoulder to which you responded with a no. It was a relief to Kakashi. “Alright, good. Go find cover, I know your chakra is reaching its limit.”

“But, Sensei-” You started and saw his shoulders drop and decided to not keep speaking. “Fine, but if you need me, you know what to do.” And with that you sprinted away from the commotion and into an alleyway, taking a deep breath.

“Shadow clones are so useful, aren’t they?” A sudden voice came from behind you and you jumped hard, pulling out a kunai. “Woah, woah! No need to get so defensive. It’s useless anyways since you won’t be alive much longer.”

“Who are you? State your purpose before I destroy you.” You snarled even though you knew you couldn’t act on your words. You’d gotten such violent phrases from your teammate, Naruto. “Wait a minute.. Those robes! You’re with the Akatsuki!” You realized and began to panic. You only had enough chakra to perform one more jutsu at best. Definitely not enough to save yourself from a member of the Akatsuki.

“And you? By your clothing you look like a medical style ninja, am I right? And that headband, you’re from the Leaf right?” The stranger smirked and you got a shiver down your spine. He reached for a 3-bladed scythe which he carried on his back. In a movement faster than you could follow, he had already struck you, his scythe digging itself into the side of your stomach. You couldn’t help but scream in agony.

In another harsh movement, he yanked the weapon out of your side and you immediately collapsed. You knew who he was now. Tsunade had a book full of different members of the Akatsuki and you remembered reading about him. You knew how his jutsu worked.

The blood from your wound kept flowing, despite your efforts to heal it. Was it because you had used too much chakra already? Oh fuck, this was really, really bad.

“Let the ritual begin!” The man said, stepping into his blood circle. “Now, where would you like to feel pain?”

“S-stop..” You muttered, somehow managing to stand up. Your knees were weak and you knew you couldn’t take much more for long. “Even if you kill me, Kakashi’s gonna-”

You couldn’t get the rest of your sentence out. Well, the rest of it turned into more screaming. The man had stabbed a sword through his own thigh and you could feel it.

“Your screams are so immaculate! Yes, yes! Scream for my God!” He cackled, slowly ripping the sword from his thigh. “Again!” He smiled and sliced his stomach open. The same happened to you and you fell into a bleeding heap on the ground. You couldn’t even move.

Is this the end? There was so much more I wanted to do.. Kakashi Sensei.. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better student. Forgive me..

“Y/n! What happened? Who is this?!” Someone’s voice said from above you. It was your teacher.

“Sen..sei..” You rasped, blinking open your eyes to see the worried eyes from Kakashi. You were surprised he had his Sharingan exposed like that.

“Stay with me, you’re going to be okay. I need you to tell me about the enemy. My dogs are holding him off right now, it’s okay.” He muttered, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “I can take care of it, just tell me how.”

“Any.. any damage done to him while he’s in that circle is done to me too. But he can’t die.. He..” Your vision began to swirl and the edges of your eyes darkened.

“Hey, hey! Stay with me, y/n. Don’t you dare pass out on me. I need you here with me.” Kakashi’s voice had a frantic undertone to it. You could tell that he wasn’t his usual composed self. Cupping your face in one of his hands, he looked over to one of his dogs. “Go find Naruto and Sai and bring them here. Tell them y/n is injured. Go.”

One of Kakashi’s dogs who was preventing the Akatsuki member from getting closer to you suddenly bit on the man’s thigh. As soon as it happened you screamed as even more blood came pooling out of your body.

“All of you! Back down!” Kakashi ordered to his dogs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Get him.. Out of the circle.. Then.. chidori…” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you slumped against Kakashi’s chest, unconscious.

“Are they out of it already? How pathetic. Their voice is lovely when they scream, isn’t it?”

“You sick fuck!” Kakashi shouted after placing you down behind him. His dogs had already surrounded you and were to protect you with their lives. Composing himself, Kakashi made a hand sign before teleporting directly behind the Akatsuki member and shoving him out of the blood circle. Once both feet were out, the white haired man slammed every ounce of chakra into his attacks and eventually the man was reduced to nothing but ash.

He was panting but that didn’t stop him from running back to you. You were still unconscious, your breathing slower than normal.

“Kakashi Sensei!” That was Naruto. The blonde was suddenly at his teacher’s side and looked down at your form. “Hey.. hey wake up, y/n. We did it, wake up!” Sai stood wordlessly behind Naruto as he also looked at you.

“They’re critically hurt. We need to get them help right now.” Sai pointed out.

Kakashi suddenly began ripping up his clothes into strips. He began binding your wounds so you wouldn’t bleed out. He refused to let you die. Not here, not now. Naruto and Sai followed their teacher’s lead and began ripping up some of their own clothes.

The ‘bandages’ were snug and colorful but they’d work. The three looked at each other, soundlessly communicating. Kakashi gently lifted you onto his back, making sure you weren’t going to fall off before bidding his team goodbye.

“Come on, y/n. Just hang in there. We’ll be home soon.” Kakashi muttered, placing a firm kiss to your hand through his mask.

Three days had passed and you hadn’t woken up. Kakashi had been staying at the hospital right beside you the entire time. Seeing you injured reminded him of when he was younger and couldn’t save Obito.

His hand never left yours. He’d always be touching you for physical comfort even when he was doing other things. He didn’t want you to feel alone.

Naruto and Sai stopped by every once and a while but they were soon sent off on another mission and weren’t able to stay.

Your finger’s suddenly twitched under Kakashi’s hand and his eye snapped up to look at you. You weren’t awake yet but he could tell you would be soon. His hand held yours tighter as he desperately looked for you to open your eyes.

“Ugh..” You whispered, blinking your eyes open. Groggy from not being awake for three days made everything blurry. “Where’s.. Kakashi??” You immediately sat up straight, remembering the situation you were in when you were last conscious.

“I’m right here.” His smooth voice mumbled. “Take it easy, okay, kid?”

“Oh thank god..” Your face suddenly became wet with tears and you couldn’t resist the urge to embrace Kakashi.

“Oh! I’m glad you’re okay too, y/n.” Kakashi said, returning your hug with just as much longing as you did. “Everything’s okay. The Akatsuki member isn’t with us anymore. We’re safe and back in the village.”

“How did.. How did I get here?” You wondered aloud.

“I carried you back. Naruto and Sai took care of the rest of the injured villagers after we fought. The mission was a success.”

(lost the motivation to finish it and also lost the motivation to remember that akatsuki member’s name so deal with it if you watched shippuden you know him)

#kakashi #naruto #short story #hurt/comfort #angst #reader #anime #kakashi x reader

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felassan · 3 years

Note

Hello! Been reading the wonderful lore posts about Solas' funky new mural in the trailer the last week and, as I was replaying Inquisition I came across this in the Fade.

Never held much significance before but now it makes me immediatly think of the post you made about the Evanuris, as well as the Old Gods. Do you think it might relate to either or none? I'd be interested to know what you think either way, your lore posts are a delight to read ^^

Hello! I love how the newest mural generated a bunch of discussion along with a whole heap of new speculative and theorycrafting posts! And thank you very much 😊 The rest of this post is under a cut due to length.

Edit: Sorry, not sure what’s up with the coding/layout of this post!

Back in the day, before Descent released, I originally assumed the Whispers were ‘echoes’ - if you will - of the imprisoned Evanuris. endure is quite elfy (suledin/endure, and the song of that name). “Crippled” and “polluted” and the red lyrium stuff in general work well if you subscribe to the theory that the Evanuris were tainted and/or red lyrium-corrupted when they were locked away (see tale of Andruil returning from the Void with armor made of darkness etc), or that they became that way or became similarly twisted after being trapped for so long, especially if said prison is the Black City [a Tainted place]. Linking it to the Evanuris also always makes me think of that one dialogue line from Cole when he’s talking to Solas: “They sleep, masked in the mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them - [gasp]”. Both that line and the Whispers contain similar elements like waiting, sleeping, hurting in a manner of speaking at least, and being woken up.

I haven’t been sure of that for a long time. Assuming no link between the Evanuris and the Old Gods for the purposes of this line of speculation, it could instead be to do with the Old Gods as you say. The remaining slumbering Old Gods have also been ‘there’, waiting and sleeping and being awoken in turn. Though it’s not quite “Whispering”, they do in a manner communicate with other beings while trapped - the darkspawn who hear their song and relentlessly search for them - and in their time they used to whisper to ancient Tevinter humans. However, a strike against it pertaining to the Old Gods would be the fact that the lore says they aren’t Tainted until the searching darkspawn find them. Like, I wouldn’t instinctively describe a still-sleeping Old God as “polluted”? A further strike could be that red lyrium isn’t something that automatically leaps to mind when thinking about the Old Gods, unlike when thinking about the Titans (see below) or even the Evanuris (the Andruil stuff again).

Another possibility is that it’s to do with the Titans. Stone endures, and the Titan in Descent had recently stirred. Titans sing (communication), there are other Titans out there and there’s a reference in the lore to a Titan awakening during the time of King/Paragon Orseck Garal. Blue lyrium is the blood of Titans, and a Titan with red lyrium blood or that had been afflicted by the Taint would certainly count as a polluted entity.

Finding dreams again and being crippled/sundered is also dwarfy language actually, despite the fact that dwarves don’t dream and the fact that it was elves who became sundered from themselves and the Fade when Solas made the Veil - consider Solas’ dialogue line where he says “dwarves [in their current state in modern Thedas] are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood, undirected, whatever skill at arms it had gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream”. When Valta connects to the Titan in Descent, although she ironically now no longer sleeps (which is usually a prerequisite to.. dreaming), she’s really reconnecting, regaining the connection to a Titan that dwarves used to have (like a severed limb being reattached). That’s where the sundered stuff comes in. At the moment most Titans, and Titans in general, are sundered from their children, the dwarves. In this way both the Titans and the dwarves are crippled, two separated halves of a whole.

After reconnecting, Valta writes in her journal about the world that once was, “before everything changed and the dwarven race broke in two” (i.e. before the dwarven race was sundered). And although she now no longer sleeps, when she closes her eyes she now sees glimpses of things that used to be, glimpses of things the Titan is showing and singing to her - what’s that, if not a form of dreaming? It’s not daydreaming per se, but the Titan is clearly showing her its memories, or dreams if you will, of what once was, and stuff, probably of what it hopes to see one day again too (given the loneliness in its song).. and ‘dream’ as a word has a broader meaning than just literally “images you see when you sleep”.

Anyway, the Evanuris or some of the ancient elves describe connected dwarves in Old Elven Writing as “workers” of the “pillars of the earth” [Titans], “scurry[ing], witless, soulless”, but how do we know they really were witless and soulless? It reads like one part propaganda and one part incorrect assumption, which isn’t a surprise because in that passage the Evanuris/some of the ancient elves were basically preparing to hunt the Titans and by extension mercy-kill some of the connected dwarves, who they perceived as witless and soulless. But reconnected Valta clearly isn’t witless and soulless, she just has a different manner of existence to what the ancient elves (spirit-adjacent as they were) had. Dreaming also comes up in relation to the dwarves as lyrium, the blood of their Titan ‘parents’, bridges the gap between the mundane world and the Fade, which is the world of dreams ("It is possible—even likely—that the "emerald waters" Andraste refers to are the substance of the Fade, which began as an "ocean of dreams””); this is what Valta regains, “its blood now flows through me” and now she sees the things it shows her when she shuts her eyes.

It’s also important to mention the Torn Notebook from the Deep Roads in Trespasser, Section 3 -

Trying to remember that old bedtime song about Mythal. My mother sang it the night before the darkspawn came for my clan. It's the last time I ever heard her voice.

Ir sa tel'nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san'a emma. Him solas evanuris. Da'durgen'lin, Banal malas elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.

Written beside each elven line is a corresponding phrase, likely a translation:

I am empty, filled with nothing(?), Mythal gives you dreams. It fills you, within you(?), Making our leaders proud. My little stones, Never yours the sun. Forever, forever.

Hahren said we had lost some of the old words. What if they have changed? Durgen'lin from durgen'len? Little dwarves, never yours the sun? What did Mythal do here?

as here is dreaming, or gaining dreams, cropping up once again in relation to the dwarves. What Mythal “did here” btw was striking down the Titans and “rendering their demesne to the People”. A demesne is one’s domain or land. In this context it probably also refers to resources and their very forms, as we know that the Evanuris were mining the bodies of Titans for lyrium and “something else”, the something else probably being their hearts/cores (which probably can be made into power sources, the foci). This sounds like an unrelated disjointed ramble sry but it’s relevant because of the end part:

Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast. A voice whispers:

"What the Evanuris in their greed could unleash would end us all. Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger. The People must rise before their false gods destroy them all."

Their greed was the mining for resources and power. What was unleashed and had to be sealed away is often theorized to be red lyrium and/or the Blight. In this reading red lyrium, and by association the Taint, is maybe something like the Titans’ defense mechanism against being hunted, struck down and mined by the Evanuris, or perhaps something like an immune response or a natural consequence of the action, like how when we as a species pollute the natural world this often comes back to bite us in the ass with disasterous consequences. And like the angry energy and elves collapsing caverns in that passage, there’s also the “terrible presence” the Arcane Warrior’s soul in DAO remembers.

Given all this stuff, as well as the prevalence of red lyrium in the DA4 marketing thus far and apparent prevalence in its plot, its continued spread, the Titan/dwarfy beats touched on and set up in Descent (self-explanatory) and continued in Trespasser (the ‘death of a Titan’ mural etc), the [possible] corrupted beating Titan heart, the danger corrupted awakened Titans could undoubtedly pose to Thedas, and the theory that Solas is trying to prevent some cataclysm befalling Thedas and believes that he has to do this to save the world and that he’s running out of time, I think I lean towards the Whispers being to do with the Titans, specifically ‘red lyrium/corrupted/Blighted Titans’. Here I also wanna point out the similarity between the Whispers and Codex Entry: The Profane:

We who are forgotten, remember, We clawed at rock until our fingers bled, We cried out for justice, but were unheard. Our children wept in hunger, And so we feasted upon the gods. Here we wait, in aeons of silence. We few, we profane.

—Found scrawled on a wall in the lost Revann Thaig by explorer Faruma Helmi, 5:10 Exalted. Unknown author.

- the Profane being Rock Wraiths, creatures who are believed to have once been dwarves, that wander the Deep Roads, corrupt and living an undying half-life, probably feeding on lyrium (Titans being somewhat akin to dwarven gods) as they go. What if Valta is what you get when a dwarf connects to a normal Titan, and a Rock Wraith is what happens when a dwarf connects to a corrupted/Blighted/red Titan? Side note: It’s iiiinteresting indeed, isn’t it, that the Profane were calling out for justice, given that justice is one of Mythal’s ‘domains’ and considering her prior involvement with Titans and the dwarves (“adjudicator and savior!”, Mythal and the urtok, “Once I was but a woman... crying out in the lonely darkness for justice” etc). 👀

The last thing I have to say on this topic is that it’s also possible that the Whispers are one of those things that the writers just cooked up and threw in there for kicks/flavor, because it sounds cool and mysterious, and in so-doing it’s written in such a way (a bit generic) that 1) fans reading it can speculate about it and link it to several different things and 2) down the line the devs could retroactively decide to give it a meaning, or retroactively change what it was in reference to. This was the case for Eleni Zinovia’s prophecy:

David Gaider said Eleni Zinovia’s prophecy doesn’t refer to Fen’Harel. He can’t remember who wrote it in there or what it refers to actually. It was most likely just intended as flavor and he was even a bit surprised by it, like “What is this?” There’s a lot of things like that in the games, not everything has a ~grand meaning~. Sometimes such small off-hand things are picked up on by fans and the writers then make it into something bigger and more meaningful after the fact. This is what happened with Sandal (all the fans being like “Ooh, what does it mean, what does it mean?” about him). It’s possible Eleni will be picked up on like that in the future, but at the time it didn’t mean anything really. A lot of the way these stories are put together is that they put a lot of questions into the world, scattering possible/potential plothooks, and they don’t necessarily know where they lead at the time, but in future games they could come back to them and come up with an interesting backstory. Sometimes they pick it up and sometimes it never gets answered or ever mentioned again (the Wardens taking some of the blood from those who didn’t survive their particular bout of Joinings and putting it in a vial to remember them is an example of one of these things). It’s pretty rare that you’d get a situation where something is mapped out from beginning to end. Sometimes we the players get a revelation as we play and we’re like “Omg!! This is all connected! They are masters!” and the writers are like “Yes, toootally… It was that way alllllll along. It certainly did NOT get decided three quarters of the way through development…” [source]

You know, like there are, as is evident from this post where we go through various possibilities, lots of different ominous mysterious groups of nefarious beings waiting and sleeping and lurking Ominously in this setting!

Not a particularly coherent answer I know but hopefully interesting for you to read. :) tl;dr I lean towards it being to do with the Titans, specifically red lyrium/corrupted/Blighted Titans.

#dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #dragon age #bioware #solas #mj replies #video games #ahumblewoodcarver #cole #spirit boy #long post #longpost

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

A bit of the Twins

Felt really inspired on this scene, so I thought I'd share. If you remember Lawrence Crane (Bird) and his sarcastic demon, then happy day for you cause here it is again, bothering Bird's sons. Well, "happy" is maybe a bit generous :/

1.6k, angst/trauma memories, dark magic, inherited problems

“The cliff is called Lovers’ Last Kiss.”

"How romantic."

A shivering voice came from the darkness, or more specifically, from a patch of darkness that was deeper than the rest, more solid. And vaguely human shaped.

It stepped from the trees but became no less clear, just a shadow extending farther than the tree should be able to cast it. It reminded Orai instantly of how his father's shadow had been Wrong.

"Love has nothing to do with it, my little duckies. Kissing, maybe, but it's the joining that matters, not the emotions or lack thereof."

A wave of revulsion struck Orai and Iaro both, different ends of the same awful moment of their father's history. A girl, chained and struggling, blood and bruises the only things covering her skin. A boy, equally bound and beaten, if that would be more to his taste. And the sour/metallic rage/horror that burned up his throat as the first prickles of magic kissed his skin. He knew that magic, the heady sweet whispering of Cretia's promises of love and devotion--twisted. He had never experienced something so hideous in his life, and he was meant to wield it?

No one said against who, boy.

The voice echoed with the same shivery duality of the too dark shadow's, and both boys broke from the vision/memory with a gasp.

"What the fuck," Orai panted, doubled over on his hands and knees. Spit dribbled from his open mouth, the sickly tang herald of bile yet to come. Beside him, Iaro had not been so lucky. Every bit of dinner came back up and then some.

Damira knelt at Iaro's side, though she kept the shadow in view. She stroked a cool hand over his forehead, brushing away the sick sweat and chasing his hair back.

Khat had instantly put herself between the shadow and the group, a wall of fire hovering midair between them. The flames did nothing to give detail to the dark form.

"Are you alright, Orai?" She called behind her, unwilling to take her eyes from the thing in front of her.

Damira cupped her hands, calling cool water to them as she offered it to Iaro to drink.

"No need to hold onto those nasty memories, my lovelies. Call of your guard mara and I'll eat them back up for you."

If a formless shadow could hold up its hands in a gesture of harmlessness, the one before them did now. It was less seeing and more seeming, and it seemed to be contrite, and a little wistful.

"If I had a prettier way to show you, I would have. But we all have things that Bind us to this world-- well, maybe not this world."

It looked around the dreamscape, shimmering and shifting as it did. The darkness tried to take on a shape, but the two shapes were so opposed they seemed to cancel each other out.

"Its a nice place you've got here. A nice antithesis to its birth. Lovers' First Kiss Island. Cute."

Khat's eyes narrowed, and she called back, "Orai?"

It was Damira who answered. "Draw down the fire, but stand ready."

Clenching her teeth, Khat did so, pulling the fire back into herself, but not fully extinguishing it there.

Orai watched the shadow approach, knowing he knew this spectre from somewhere. It felt like staring into the void, like brushing uncle Naj's power, but different.

"That'd be the Dai bindings, sweets. We all feel a little bit the same, those of us brushed by their evil. Now, may I eat those nasty memories again?"

Orai's eyes widened, as if dilating would make more light bounce off the nothing. But that’s what it was. Not a shadow. An absence of light.

"You're dad's demon."

The being seemed to smile.

"He likes to think so. May I?"

It offered the idea of a hand, and trembling Orai looked to Iaro.

Iaro desperately did not want to scan anymore of the thoughts around him. Not Damira's, not his brother's, and most definitely not the nothing's. But his brother was reaching out. And he would not let his brother down.

He sat up, leaning back into Damira's touch, shielding tighter than he ever had before.

"I don’t want to feel like that ever again."

His voice was low but firm, betraying none of the horror he’d felt.

"I can arrange that," the nothing said.

"I wasn’t talking to you!" Iaro snapped. To Orai, he asked, "Do you trust it?"

Orai was surprised to find the answer was yes.

"Its been with dad for a long time. That's a stupidly long con, if its goal is to harm us now."

Iaro frowned, still not quite ready to unclench.

"Damira? Khat? Any insight?"

Damira smoothed his hair back, feeling her spine straighten as she looked at the darkness.

Her voice low and even, she told Iaro, "If it intended harm to any of us, it would be stupid to intend it on a literal island of our power."

The shadow radiated pleasure and pride.

"Very good, little fish. You should hold onto this one, son of my tether. She's very wise--and very hot."

Iaro grit his teeth so hard they cracked.

"If you speak out of turn one more time I will blast you back into the oblivion from which you first crawled."

Dominion was definitely his brother's gift rather than his own, but Iaro knew his words were not empty. "Son of my tether" was weird, and formal. In it's own way, the nothing was... what? Offering fealty? Trying to sink new tethers? He didn’t care. He would banish this thing and not feel at all bad. He did not like this thing.

Orai reached out, brushing Iaro's arm. Iaro flinched, scales bursting out at the touch. But that action helped soothe him, helped balance out his uncharacteristic display of temper.

"Ia, please. What about dad?"

What about dad indeed. He was mythically old, supposedly. Looking at this darkness, he could believe it. But he also knew if this wretched thing was the only thing keeping his father alive, then better he fall than be sustained by such wrongness.

But it would break Ruby’s heart, and destroy Orai's trust in him. For that, he would let the shadow remain.

But the shadow didn’t need to know that.

"Dad's got plenty of tricks that have nothing to do with this thing." He shot a glare towards the shadow. "Isn’t that right?"

"Exactly so, eijye."

Iaro growled. "Don’t mock me. But thank you for holding your peace. Show us your good faith by taking the memories and nothing more."

"As his father's heir commands."

Orai waited for Iaro to move first. But apparently his suddenly commanding brother was going to watch the shadow for any tricks. Fine then. The sooner Orai was free of this Seeing, the better.

Orai reached for the nothing, and felt a distinct Something, but nothing his mortal mind could name. Still, he was utterly and acutely aware of the thing taking, of a real and quantifiable quality leaving his being. And he was all the better for it. His breath came easier, his body felt lighter, and the air tasted sweeter, almost a tingling quality of delicate starlight kissing his skin. He looked up and saw the stars dancing above him, winking and singing in their endless joy.

"Much better," the shadow murmured. "Such wonderment is more fit this place. I quite approve of your solution for the waste magic, by the way."

"You've said as much," Iaro spit out. More tenderly, he asked his brother, "Rai? You good?"

Orai nodded, feeling the coolness of open tears streaming down his face. He hadn't realized how awful he felt until it was gone. How awful he’d been feeling, for a very, very long time.

He looked to the shadow.

"How far back did you go?"

Iaro's head snapped to the thing, but Orai held out an arm to stop him. The shadow seemed to nod.

"Very shrewd, brother of the heir. I could make the effort to speak plainly, but I have thought in riddles for so long, and it takes much of my attention simply to be here while the father is yet awake."

"Answer the question," Iaro insisted. He didn’t like the nuance of this things phrasing at all.

"Of course. Memory it was named but not memory of the sort called by yellow scales. I lifted the memory of your father's taint, o brother of the heir. And if you so wish it of me, he who speaks with the air of his fathers, I will lift if from you as well."

Iaro was about to order it to speak plainly, but again, Orai bid him hold.

"You mean like a lingering effect, something that ties us to you or the Dai or whatever, inherited from our father's half of the magic."

The shadow nodded. "Just so, my tether's son. It is the greatest thing that connects us, so it has the loudest pull. By your leave, I took the stain of it back into myself, from whence it came. Your magic and person is now free of it."

Iaro gave a soft gasp of understanding.

"That's what drew Damira to me, to us. We shared the magic of Dreaming, and Orai and I shared magic to command the stain."

The shadow clapped in delight. Orai thought he almost saw it do it. Almost.

"Very good, heir of my tether. Well sussed. You have an eye for threads."

Iaro frowned but didn't say anything.

“So what do we do?” Orai asked. Though whether he was asking it of the shadow or his brother, he wasn’t sure.

Iaro’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean…” There was no delicate way to put this. “If that’s what made this all work, what happens when it’s gone?”

#my writing #Iaro and Orai

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 30

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 30

Is she calling me? Lin Yan nodded his head in a daze. His mind was spinning, his legs were weak like he was stepping on cotton. The light in the living room dimmed even darker. Wind blew in from the window. His hair was still slightly wet from the shower and the cold wind made his head go numb.

"Why doesn't it look like you?" Lin Yan asked.

The little girl struck a big cross across the face in the drawing with a black crayon, a thick black bar slashing across her teeth: "Why doesn't it look like me? This is how I looked when I died."

"Brother." The little girl stood up. She tilted her head and stared at Lin Yan. Her head was crookedly rested on her right shoulder, but her thumb was still in her mouth. When she took it out after a while, the top part was gone, the nail chewed halfway down her finger. The girl grinned, her mouth full of scarlet blood flowing past her lips.

"Brother, follow me, follow me." The little girl threw the crayon aside. She tugged on Lin Yan's hand and dragged him towards the bathroom: "I'll show you what I looked like when I died, it was beautiful."

Lin Yan muddled behind her. He instinctively sensed something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what it was. His head felt like a steel nail was being nailed into it, throbbing intensely.

Why was the wind so strong? Did he forget to close the windows?

"My brother bought me new clothes and then I died, hehe. Grandma is dead, Grandpa is also dead. Everyone is dead." The little girl took Lin Yan's hand and jumped forward. The braid on the back of her head was tied with a faded pink string. The bow was coming undone and the long string was stretched out and hung behind her head. "Brother, you are dying too. I'll draw a picture for you too when you die."

"Brother, hee hee, come with us." The little girl pulled the old padded jacket on her body. Her head became even more crooked as if it would accidentally fall off. "Come on, hurry. We have to catch up."

His vision was distorted. The dark corridor looked like a giant beast's gaping mouth. Lin Yan quickened his pace and suddenly kicked something with his toes. Lin Yan subconsciously climbed onto it and went up onto a platform. It was so cold, so windy. . .

Why wasn't he there yet?

"Lin Yan!" An anxious voice sounded like it came from another world, a distant echo: "Come back."

It was a familiar voice. Lin Yan twisted his stiff neck and tried to look back, but the little girl grabbed his wrist harshly and yanked him forward: "It's too late, hurry up."

Lin Yan nodded and took a staggering step forward, but his foot didn't land on anything and he lost his balance and fell. As soon as he fell forward, a huge resistance suddenly came from his torso, aggressively holding his waist. The fresh scent of shower gel jolted him back to his senses as if he had suddenly awakened from a nightmare. He looked around in confusion and saw that the old movie-like dark surroundings had returned to their usual appearance. The little girl was gone. Lin Yan looked down. The scene in front of him left him utterly speechless, only able to suck in a sharp breath.

He was standing on the windowsill in his bedroom. The window was wide open, the curtains were billowing out in the night wind, rustling and rattling. Half of his body had already stepped out. Looking down the outer wall of the apartment building, the flowerbeds and dark shadows of the trees seemed to stretch towards him on the twelfth floor. Two hazy figures in the garden were looking up and waving at him. One was the little girl in the old cotton jacket, and the one holding her hand was the second was the soul that they hadn't been able to recover today, Second Immortal Gu!

"We're dead, we're all dead, and you're going to die too." The little girl's voice echoed in his head: "Hurry up, you have to catch up to us."

"Xiao Yu, Xiao Yu!" Lin Yan yelled out in despair. He instinctively backed away and slammed into the arms of someone behind him. The hand hooked around his waist squeezed tighter, spinning him around. The deep voice repeated over and over again: "I'm here, I'm here."

That cold body had never been as warm as it was now. Shocked, Lin Yan buried his face in Xiao Yu's chest, but Xiao Yu didn't reciprocate intimately. He immediately led Lin Yan down the window sill and closed it. He stared at the flower bed on the ground and frowned.

Lin Yan looked at Xiao Yu's profile. His serious expression made him almost forget for a minute that Xiao Yu was a ghost. Lin Yan pursed his lips. He felt that he must be really disturbed to come up with the idea of letting him hold him for a while longer.

After shaking his head to drive the weird idea from his mind, he leaned on the windowsill and looked down. The green courtyard was surrounded by trees and the tiled path was empty. Second Immortal Gu and the little girl were gone.

"The little girl and the old lady were standing down there just now." Lin Yan stammered. "They waved to me. . ."

"I can't see them." Xiao Yu's expression was serious. and he raised his hand to straighten out his damp hair. Raising his hand to fix his wet hair, Lin Yan realized that he seemed to have rushed straight out of the bathtub. His clothes hanging loosely on his body, exposing his marble-like chest. Lin Yan felt himself blush and hurriedly turned his head to the side to hide it.

"They're not like me." Xiao Yu closed the curtains. "Don't go too far away from me."

Lin Yan was silent for a while then asked softly: ". . . how are they not the same?"

Xiao Yu didn't answer. He took a deep look at him and abruptly dragged Lin Yan from the bedroom back to the living room and pressed him into the sofa. Just when Lin Yan thought he was going to force himself on him again, Xiao Yu let go. He picked up the ancient books that had fallen on the ground and shoved them at him. He said seriously: "Learn these."

"Dude, are you kidding. . ." Lin Yan swept through the pages of the books, glancing at a large string of unheard-of terms. He couldn't help but let out a pathetic laugh: "Putting aside the fact that there's no way I can get through all of these, even if I look up each individual word to understand what it meant, I can't become a Daoist priest in one day."

Xiao Yu was silent for a while and said lightly: "If I leave one day, you have to know how to protect yourself."

Xiao Yu's hands pressed on his knees as he spoke, his demeanour as tame and gentle as usual, but something seemed different. Lin Yan hesitantly asked him in a low voice: "Are you going to leave?"

"Haven't you been looking forward to it?" Xiao Yu replied coldly.

Lin Yan didn't know what to say. He raised his hand and gently touched his face. His delicate and cold skin felt like fine porcelain. He slowly rested his palm on his face and stroked his jaw. Xiao Yu didn't shy away, quietly lying on Lin Yan’s knees. Just when Lin Yan thought he was asleep and was going to take him back to the bedroom, Xiao Yu suddenly shot up. He spread open the book on Lin Yan’s lap and stared at him calmly, eyes almost sad.

"You really want me to learn this?" Lin Yan asked in surprise.

Xiao Yu nodded. Lin Yan still wanted to argue, but when he saw his serious expression, he swallowed his retorts.

The books from the online store covered almost every subject. Not only was there I Ching Feng Shui, the Five Elements of Yin and Yang, Astrology and Geomancy, Tomb Charms Guide, Qimen Dunjia*, but even calling back souls to raise corpses so they could continue their lives. Some of the books were reasonable and well-founded, but most of them contradicted themselves. The authors were shooting themselves in the foot trying to sound all-knowing with all the contradicting information. The more Lin Yan read, the more nonsensical it all seemed. He yawned sleepily. He had drunk three cups of coffee overnight and smoked almost a full pack of cigarettes without finding anything. Every time he wanted to stop. he was forced to continue by Xiao Yu's murderous eyes. He wasn't allowed to sleep at all until dawn.

*(T/N: 奇门遁甲 - a type of divination)

Feudal superstition kills people. People need to be selective about what they absorb from traditional culture. Keep the essence stuff and discard the rest. Lin Yan vaguely remembered his junior high Chinese history textbooks. He muttered that after years of atheistic education, he was forced to go to Liangshan* by a ghost.

*(T/N: 梁山 - this is where the Daoist heroes from the Water Margin were from. So kind of like a land of heavy spiritualism)

If someone really wanted to learn something, you can’t eat one bite to become a fat guy*. Lin Yan lazily lay on Xiao Yu's lap, his cold palm stroking his shoulders down to his waist. After getting used to the coldness of his body, he felt very at ease. Lin Yan huddled up on the sofa and all the symbols and phrases in the book appeared in his mind; so much Yin and Yang, the sun rises in the east, how to disrupt a nightmare, avoid bad luck. . .

*(T/N: 一口吃成个胖子 - an idiom that means basically it's not going to happen all at once)

He slowly nodded off as the dawn sky began to lighten.

The next few days were extremely hard. In addition to visiting the young Daoist priest in the hospital every day at lunch with Yin Zhou, Lin Yan spent almost all his time buried in a variety of old books. Xiao Yu seemed determined to train him to become a Daoist master. On the table were large stacks of white paper, each one scrawled with odd incantations taken from the books. Some of them weren't even in Chinese. He could only trace them with a pencil, noting the patterns and corresponding them with their intended purpose.

The worst thing was that he had no way of experimenting with the effects of these charms. Lin Yan lay on the table and stared at Xiao Yu's back, reluctantly thinking that the only thing he had as a test subject was this ghost. But no matter what talisman he tried, there was no reaction. After trying more than a dozen, Lin Yan's patience had finally worn out. He uncontrollably swept the books onto the ground. He slammed his hands on the table and yelled at Xiao Yu: "Are you fucking playing with me?"

Xiao Yu wasn't angry. He patiently picked the books off the ground, turning back to where they had been and placed them in front of Lin Yan. He stepped aside and looked at him quietly. Lin Yan felt like a dumb firecracker, extinguished by a pot of water before he had the chance to explode. It happened to rain for several days, the sound of rain and the sound of pages turning made the house extremely quiet. Lin Yan, for the thousandth time, wrote out notes on geomancy. Xiao Yu had more patience than him. No matter how long Lin Yan sat at his desk, Xiao Yu stayed beside him for as long as he could. Every time Lin Yan turned around, their eyes would meet. He had given up on the idea of slacking off. He lit a cigarette and continued to bury himself in the pile of books.

"You have been sitting here with me for ages, don't you feel bored?" Lin Yan sighed. "The remote is on the table and there's a notebook in my room. I'll teach you how to use it. This is also your home. You don't need to be so polite with me."

"There's some pens and ink. You'll have to use it yourself. You can write or paint anything you want. I don't have that kind of talent anyways. I won't be able to tell if it's bad." Lin Yan chatted up and laughed a bit. "It's a bit like filming a TV series."

He still didn't answer. The whole room seemed to grow mouldy in the rainy weather. Coupled with the chilly aura radiating from Xiao Yu's body, Lin Yan felt that he had become a mushroom growing in one of the damp corners. Before Xiao Yu could speak, he always liked to hug him whenever he had the opportunity. Now that he had regained some consciousness, he didn't touch him as much. He just watched from behind, the silence suffocating and making Lin Yan somewhat uneasy.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #bl novel

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power-of-ages-writeblr · 3 years

Text

Gods Don’t Die

(this is a piece I wrote on my old blog as part of a 50 followers celebration - tweaked and re-uploaded! :3)

“Gods don’t die.” He protested, no longer Aetius, nowhere near Zeus. “They-! They don’t!”

The nameless being before him only laughed.

o0O0o

“Gods don’t die” is something that the whole world believes. Humans and monsters and magical creatures, bound together by this one understanding; this one law of creation. You could destroy a god, tear up their essence, break them into a thousand tiny pieces and cast them into Tartarus – it would rid you of them, but it would not kill them. They would not die. They couldn’t.

The only ones who know differently are the gods themselves. They are not immortal, as is believed by the rest of the world. As they themselves had previously believed. No – they are each the latest in a long line, selected by chance beyond even the fates.

And just as their powers were once given, so too they must eventually be given away.

o0O0o

“Gods don’t die” becomes a mantra that each one repeats to themselves as time begins to run out. That belief, held by the entire rest of the world, is one that they force themselves to indulge in. They must fool themselves. They must block out the truth. Gods don’t die, they can’t, they mustn’t-!

They won’t.

o0O0o

Gods don’t die, they agree as they gather. They are sitting in their chambers on top of Mount Olympus, overlooking the wretched world, as they have always done. And they have a plan. Because somewhere down there are their successors. Still mortal, and still unknowingly awaiting their mantles and destinies. But if the Gods can take the initiative, and strike them down before that happens… they will not have to give it all up. They will not have to cede their thrones, nor their power, nor their identities – all that they have come to claim as their own, after so long.

“It is cruel.” Cautions Hestia.

“It is dishonourable.” Admits Ares.

“It is selfish.” Explains Dionysus.

“It is childish.” Chides Hera.

Of all of them, it is Hades who ultimately casts the deciding vote. Thanatos himself stands behind him and nods approval.

“There is nothing cruel or dishonourable or selfish or childish,” he says, “about not wanting to die.”

Nobody argues.

o0O0o

Gods don’t die, Demeter believes as she moves to bring about the destruction of the girl slated to succeed her seat of power. At the very least, she believes as such until the moment where the plants she had snaked around the mortal to crush her are blasted apart. Splinters fly. Leaves crumble into ash. Even as she watches, fresh greenery sprouts up around the girl – but their curls are protective, not constrictive, and the spears of thorns they form are pointed in Demeter’s direction. Faced with her own power, she feels vulnerable in a way she has not throughout her entire Godly existence. She feels vincible.

“You, girl.” She is forced to put effort into keeping the tremor out of her voice. “What is your name?”

The girl stands up straighter upon realising she is being addressed. The terror is still apparent in her eyes – being smote by a God is just about the worst fear of every mortal in the world. But she still holds her head high.

“Ianthe.” She says, boldly. “My name is Ianthe.”

It is at this moment that Demeter can see her successor’s spirit. The girl is young and strong, and so very afraid, but she is also idealistic. No weathering through age, no nagging belief that loss is inevitable. And Demeter herself realises the truth of her own existence. She is not infinite. Much like the plantlife that she knows so well, she is seasonal. She is clonal. And she is only prolonging the inevitable.

“No, it isn’t.” She responds.

o0O0o

“Gods don’t die” is a phrase that Athena is infinitely familiar with. She knows full well that it is a lie, as well as all that that lie entails – and that knowledge weighs on her as she fights. At least, she assumes it must be affecting her, or she would not be losing at all.

Her chosen “successor” is a mortal named Gaia (and she almost laughs at the irony of being named for one goddess and usurping another), who possesses none of the cool intellect or strategical knowledge that she does. Instead, she fights with her fists. And her legs. And occasionally her head. She’d initially struck Athena as the female counterpart of Ares, and her resolve to not lose her seat to this cretin had been strengthened.

And yet, trap after trap, and feint after strike after feint after strike, are all blown through as though they’re nothing. Athena uses every battle technique that she has been blessed with the knowledge of, and the girl breathes in and out and clenches her fists and outmanoeuvres her at every turn, almost as if by accident. She raises her shield, Aegis, and the mortal closes her eyes and leaps into the air and strikes the shield so hard that it buckles under the weight of her fist. Athena is thrown backwards by the weight of the strike, and rolls against the ground for a long time before coming to a stop, weapons and body both broken.

She opens her mouth to say something – to ask how – but the girl speaks first.

“Why?” She pleads, sounding so distraught and so horrified and so very mortal, even though she is something far beyond that now. “Why did you do this?”

Athena doesn’t know what to say.

“Why did you attack me?” The girl demands. “What did I do to you?”

It wasn’t what you did, Athena wants to say. It was what you were going to do. What you were going to become. But the words die in her throat as she considers them. War is many things. It is bloody. It is necessary. It takes and it takes and it takes, and it rocks the world. And so rarely is it righteous to anyone other than the aggressor. War is the home of courage and cowardice both, and all she has done today is fight to preserve herself – to remove someone else from the equation before they know that they are a part of it, all so that she may cling to what she knows.

If a goddess of war does not stop and ask why she is declaring it, Athena thinks as her vision darkens, then perhaps her title is best lost to her after all.

o0O0o

“Gods… don’t die.” Rasps Zeus, though his mortal wounds suggest otherwise.

Looking down on him, foot planted on his chest, is… some mortal. A young man called Theophrastus who has just inherited his parent’s farm, and never strove for anything more, never will strive for anything more, despite now possessing all the powers of the lord of the skies.

The farm is now embers around them, the flames and the heat long snuffed out by the rain.

Zeus tries to move, but cannot. It is clear what will happen next.

At least, he reckons to himself, he did not go quietly. The battle between Theophrastus and himself had lasted for two straight days. The lightning had split the sky open, and the thunder had shaken the earth. In the end, it had been an old war wound that had caused his downfall – his tendons had never been the same since Typhon, and his reflexes were not what they had once been. And, after so many hours of constant fighting, he had faltered, and been unable to avoid the final bolt of lightning that Theophrastus had hurled at his chest. And so, he had fallen.

He looks up at the sky, blinking, wishing that he could shield his eyes from the rain. At the end of all things, it is all just poetry on top of poetry. The universe emphasising over and over and over again that his time is over, that he is no longer fit to be himself. To be Zeus.

“If Gods don’t die,” Theophrastus asks coldly (his parents were inside the farmhouse when Zeus blew it to pieces), “then how have I killed you?”

It is suitable that as he dies, Zeus finally understands.

“You did not kill Zeus.” Says the old God remembering what his name had been so long ago. “You killed Aetius.”

o0O0o

“But… but Gods don’t die.” Stammers the young man at the foot of Hades’ throne.

Hades rises and removes his helm. “No,” he agrees, “they don’t.”

He throws it. It rolls down the steps in front of the throne, coming to a stop as the knees of his successor. The man can only look up at him in bewilderment.

Yes, Hades muses, there is nothing cruel or dishonourable or selfish or childish about a fear of death. But there is nothing about it that is anything other than futile, either. If there’s one thing that being lord of the Underworld has taught him, it is that your feelings for death are irrelevant. It will always claim you anyway.

And yet, it is not always the end of the story.

“Gods don’t die.” Says Hades, accepting his fate with a heavy breath and a light heart. “But Gods are not what you think.”

#writing #original fiction #short story #writeblr #writing drabble #I don't know how to TAG things #Not Power of Ages #flash fiction #? maybe??#I was given the prompt 'Gods don't die' and just went with my gut. which turned out to be the ancient Greek gods??#not sure why. I guess because I know them decently well. And also because they're a bit of a tumblr mainstay. :P #ANYWAYS I've never written anything like this before and haven't written anything like it since #wack

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Too Little Too Late

Summary: Mun-yeong doesn't forgive Gang-tae after their heated kiss.

Author's note: As promised, here is grovel GT fic it's going to be shorter expositions, I wrote this on my work commute lol 😂 I'll update as I can. This will be a slow burn and he will really have to win over our girl, as always enjoy! (I know I said that last story, might be my last story for a while but inspiration struck what can I say?...um surprise!)

Image by @vivavorever I just thought this picture was perfect! I had to steal borrow it 😊😊

Let's talk.

Instinctively she feels her hormones ramp up at those seemingly innocent words, memories of his body pressed against hers saturating her senses. But this time the phrase appears to have no encrypted interpretation as he leads her down the winding staircase and to her broad mahogany table.

And then he's talking.

Finally opening up to her and sharing the darker corners of his complicated history, tales of homicide and heartbreaks and her chest is tight watching the raw hurt that pours from his eyes.

Heart aches for Sang-tae who was forced to witness such a heinous act that still tortures him to this day.

Shattered by the thought of two young boys whose innocence was snatched away so viciously at such an early age, forced to grown up and raise themselves because of the evil act of another.

If she ever encountered that butterfly she would rip it to pieces, slowly. Make it squirm and suffer the way they had.

....and I need you.

With those words her revengeful thoughts dissapate, furling away in a puff of smoke as he utters the words she has longed to hear, her ears have been starved to receive.

She waits to feel elated. For her heart to curl back up reattaching all the pieces his story shattered into jagged egdes. Waits and waits. Instead anger and frustration manifest like twin demons unleashed from a caged prison.

He hadn't needed her at the beach when he'd ripped her heart out and left the bleeding organ on the grainy expanse of the beach, the heat from her heart enough to morph the particle into glass.

She had clearly been expendable when it came down to preserving the farce that he and his brother were living, like a ship in a bottle contained and pristine but lacking any true semblance of life. At their first obstacle he'd thrown her to the wolves instead of fighting with her, fighting for her. Despite his declarations and doe eyes now, that was the reality that snapped her from her dream.

"Are you finished?" She whispers, fingers clasped on the surface of the table, heart in her throat.

He blinks at her, openly disgruntled by her words. Mouth gaped in wonder.

It's so devastatingly evident what his expectations were and she wonders when exactly she become so weak, so brittle that he believed she would simply accept him back without even a smidgen of remorse for the sharpened words he'd stabbed into her chest.

"Was that all you wanted to say?" She repeats herself, stare growing frostier with his continued silence.

Finally he snaps out of his stagnation, sputtering, "I..- Yes. I just wanted you to know I.. I'm.... Um."

For a moment she's hopeful, disgustingly so. Eager for him to realize what she requires without any assistance. Because that will ensure that he too understands his wrongs and he's proactively restoring their battered relationship. She waits for him to complete his sentence, heart on her tongue.

"I'm.... going to do better. You just need to win Sang-tae, over and then we can move back in and all be together." He finishes and her anger and frustration melt away instantaneously, blown away with a gasp falls from her lips.

Another test. It's never enough. She'll always be an outsider clawing to be in their word, this elusive love that she's been searching for her whole life will always be just out of her reach, on the cusp where she cannot roam.

She's not enough. Not good enough. Not kind enough. Not worthy of love. Simply not, enough.

He was supposed to be different, the one who saw through her facade, to everyone else she exuded nothing but confidence and impassive cockiness but hadn't he seen her broken enough to know that she wasn't strong? Was so tired of pretending to be strong while the world crushed her to a pulp. He wasn't supposed to see her as an emotionless princess or an empty can.

Yet his words and actions made it clear that he did. She was expected to move on now because he had deigned that their spat was over and done with. She was expected to grovel and plead with his brother for a spot in their life, once again Gang-tae would merely be a moderator and not an offensive player in this game. A coveted toy for them to tussle over, some distorted version of tug of war.

She was so tired.

She didn't have the strength or desire to tug any longer.

She was letting go.

"Thank you for sharing that with me." She sat up straighter, bracing herself for her next words. It wouldn't be easy for her to say them, a small part of her wanted to just curl up and cry, take the crumbs that he threw her way and thank him for his graciousness.

But today a larger part, that sounded eerily like Jeung-Sae, told her that "it was pathetic to wait around for some guy, if he wanted you he would come get you." Sang-in had slapped a hand over her mouth as he repeatedly apologized and at the moment her rage had burned so deep that she stormed out of the room, flipping the green and yellow bags on the ground contemptuously. Her vision flushed in vibrant red.

Today she lets that advice wash over her, a cooling balm.

Gang-tae smiled at her, expectant look on his dastardly handsome face. Wasn't it said that the devil would come with a beautiful face? She was sure of it now, she was staring right at him.

"I'll speak to Sang-tae, to apologize for leaving him out. I'll be a better best friend to him from now on."

He blinked at her words, doing little to hide his emotions today, it was just too little too late in the end.

"Oh. Okay good, if you convince him then we--"

She cut him off with a raised hand, "No. That has nothing to do with you or us. That's between me and him."

She watched him jolt in his seat, his eyes now wavering as he searched for answers on her face, for once that wouldn't be necessary she was prepared to voice her ideas.

"I don't want you to move back in."

"What? Why!? I thought you wanted us to...."

She almost laughed at the absurdity of him, unable to say aloud what he believed that she wanted, as if it was exclusively something she yearned for.

And maybe it was. She had always been the driving force and creator, bending them into something that resembled a normal functioning relationship whilst he ran and spat poison at every turn.

"I'm tired." She stands up, turning away before her heart betrays her and clings to him.

His hand on her wrist halts her movement, she pauses eyes watering, tears dangerously close to falling but her jaw tightens in resolve.

"Mun-yeong, I don't understand...?"

She sighs, dragging her hand away, "That's because all you can see is your pain."

She's tempted to hurl his own poisonous words back at him, but she reconsiders, they've hurt each other enough. She'll break this vicious cycle.

"Leave Gang-tae, I need time away from you."

She walks away, hand desperately clutching at the railing, her body is heavy as all her strength evaporates leaving her an empty husk.

There is silence. And then the front door opens. And there is more pained quiet.

And then the ocean pours into her living room as she falls to her knees.

He leaves without a fight.

How tragically expected.

#psycho but it's okay #its okay to not be okay #its okay to not be okay fic #ko mun yeong #moon gang tae #grovel #MY deserves better #so better she shall get #will edit later #ignore any mistakes

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regrettablewritings · 3 years

Note

If there's still a slot left, I would like to request some for Cassian: who makes the other eat breaskfast, who brings up having kids, and who takes care on sick days please?

Sure, you got in just in time! (Though wow we do be lovin’ a domestic Cassian, huh?)

Takes care of the other on sick days: Cassian claims to not get sick. You don’t know how true this actually is, but you’re almost certain it’s bullshit and the only reason K2 hasn’t officially spilled the beans is because maybe Cassian did something to his wiring to assure he couldn’t. Admittedly, that last bit is probably an exaggeration, but the point still stands: There’s just no way that a human, mortal captain, surrounded by and constantly in close contact with other beings and also frequently traveling all over The Maker’s vast space, couldn’t get sick. Chances mostly were that, in his stubbornness, he refused proper bed rest whenever he got struck by a common cold and would push himself to perform. Maybe he feared that allowing himself rest would be perceived as a sign of weakness. Maybe he was afraid that by letting himself embrace such a sorry state, he’d be letting his team down. But heaven forbid you pull any of that shit. It’s hard to see Cassian Andor as the mother hen-type (especially when in comparison to Bodhi), but that didn’t mean that traces of it weren’t there. Sure, he wasn’t the obvious type to usher you off the training field or out of the X-Wing hangar from the first moment you sneezed -- he wants to trust your judgement; you know your body better than anyone would. But if any symptoms of any known-illness persists, he’ll keep an eye on you. And if you don’t go to the infirmary for it as time goes on, then don’t worry: He’ll make sure you do. You could be in the middle of training, stance weak and body sweating despite having barely done anything worth working up a sweat over, and he’ll stop you immediately before ordering you to go get yourself checked. Do not argue with him unless you are prepared to receive an icy stare from those dark eyes of his. He’ll argue that they can’t have you wandering around, putting others at risk (which, to be fair, isn’t an improper claim to make no matter how minute the sickness), but it’s honestly more to the point that he hates seeing you even the slightest bit unwell. Once his tasks are completed (heck, maybe he’ll even put them on hold), he wastes no time visiting you in the infirmary or your sleeping quarters depending on where it’s been decidedly best you’d be placed in. Even if the flu is contagious and the nurse droids insist he keep his distance, Cassian won’t hesitate to shoot them a look before taking a seat next to your resting form, affirming his own decision. He’s actually not a bad visitor to have: If you’re running a fever, he’ll assist the medics in dabbing you with a wet cloth; if you need medicine or a shot administered, he’ll easily get you to accept it or even distract you so that it can be carried out quicker; if food from the mess hall is permitted in your state, he brings you some and makes sure you eat it. And sometimes he just sticks around to make sure you’re breathing properly while you sleep. All in all, he may not necessarily be technically taking care of you, depending on how you use the phrase, but Cassian is most certainly making sure that you are on the fast-track to recovery every single time you fall ill. Your health is not something to be played with. Period.

Makes the other eat breakfast: As stated before, Cassian is more of a mother hen than he lets in on -- even though it’s pretty obvious after a point. He can claim that his concern isn’t really concern and that he’s just performing his duty as a captain by making sure your nerf-herding ass isn’t undernourished and thus making it a problem for everyone else. And it’s not the untruth, but it it isn’t the entire truth. He is well aware that the rations provided aren’t exactly a delicacy on any planet. And he knows that you may find it a bit more difficult to eat first thing in the morning, when everything feels way too rich and heavy for your liking. But he’s also aware that you need to keep up whatever strength you have because it ties in with making sure you stay safe. And like hell you survive recon missions gone wrong, dog fights, and explosions only to somehow be taken out due to lack of vitamins. (Yes, that’s a bit of a jump to make but you get the idea!) He really tries not to make it come across as a stern parent demanding that their kid eat their veggies or what have you. But there are very few other vibes to give off when you’re telling your significant other in a firm voice that they need to finish eating their protein pudding “or else sparring today was going to make them see the other side.” You can pout all you want but in the long run, you do appreciate his attention to your well-being -- even if it comes at the cost of you forcing yourself to swallow a glob of what is supposed to be potassium-rich something-or-other just so you don’t cramp up running any time soon.

Brings up having kids: Personally, you’re honestly neither here nor there about actually having kids, but you’re the first to really try and talk about it. Frankly, the idea of having kids even in a post-war scenario is such a big step for you that it seems almost surreal even as a theory. But you suppose it couldn’t hurt to try and gauge Cassian’s feelings about. After all, communication is important for a healthy relationship, even when one half of said relationship isn’t exactly the most talkative or expressive person around. You don’t really expect Cassian to say much on the matter, which is pretty good because he actually doesn’t really know where he really stands on it when you first bring it up. All he knows is that inside, flurry of thoughts are bumping into one another in a seemingly endless storms of “if so”s and “then that”s and “what if”s. The main problem being that the mindset that accompanies nearly everything for him (that is, the one that was born from the fact that his entire life has revolved around war) has somewhat tainted even the most positive of his thoughts. For one, he didn’t want to bring a child into a world where they could get hurt. Specifically, one where war or differing extremes could so much as rip them out of his life. Cassian wasn’t one to play optimistic: He knew far too well that even if he lived to see the end of this war, there was no guarantee everyone would remain calm enough to keep the peace. So it would seem safe to say that he probably just didn’t want kids. At first. Ask him again a year and a half from then, and his answer’s evolved some. You can chalk it up to him allowing the tiniest sliver of hope inside of him instead of rage and duty: He truly began to wonder in optimism if you could truly win this war. Sure, some of those worries he had before would continue to ring true, but the possibility of living in a future where peace was possible began to feel more and more observable. And in those brief sparks of hope and optimism, he thought he could see flashes of a domestic life with you. He saw the home and the bed the two of you would share a lot clearer than any vision of children, mind you, but it was certainly stronger than what he’d had before. Interestingly, it wasn’t when you asked him a third or fourth time that Cassian could see children in those slips of a theoretical future. The war hadn’t even been won yet, though Mon insisted that it was surely near, judging by communications with the Princess of Alderaan. But there was just something so relaxing about the moment, what with you dozing off, head on his shoulder as the two of you decided to sleep under the stars for the evening. This wasn’t the first time the two of you had done this, mind you, so he really didn’t know what possessed his subconscious to deem this moment any different, let alone different enough to leave him deciding that yes, maybe he would like to start a family with you some day. The stars were the same, the constellations were there like always, he could hear the sounds of X-Wings and other such crafts taking off and landing as well as indistinct talking and beeping and all the other sorts of noises the two of you had grown accustomed to on base. Really, the only thing that might’ve made a difference was that darned feeling of hope he’d allowed to let flourish in him. Dumb optimism. A liking for the idea of getting to be with you in one of the ultimate expressions one can, of creating a manifestation of your love for each other together and raising them to be the good he only wished he could be, and to see them become their own beautiful and beloved person -- He almost wanted to laugh at himself. Or scold himself. Whatever he deserved for thinking so inexplicably gushily. Well, whatever the case, he wouldn’t tell you any of this. . . . Okay, maybe a little bit of it. But certainly not all of it. Maybe if you wanted to talk more about it. He would never admit that in his visions, your child would have your eyes and beautiful smile, though.

Thank you for asking and thank you for your patience!!!

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #cassian andor imagines #rogue one x reader #rogue one imagine #rogue one imagines #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #regrettablewritings #character ship meme #ship meme

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