#i should write a fanfic with the concept | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twstgarden · 1 year ago

Text

❀ ❝ 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼 ❞

━ general lilia vanrouge x human! reincarnated! gn! reader (reader is not yuu.) ━ having a relatively shorter lifespan than the man you deem as your soulmate can be quite disheartening. meeting him once again in another lifetime gave you a sense of comfort and familiarity as if you knew who this man was. (f/n means first name)

cw: (including, but not limited to) death/graphic mentions of death, war themes, blood

requested by: anonymous <3 request type: oneshot requester's message: *slams doors open* requests are open?!? Waaaahhhhhhhahsjjssj I really enjoy your diasomnia works. Can I request a one shot with general lilia and human reader? Maybe a reunion or reincarnation trope? They fell in love and then meet again. Something fluffy or sweet? florist's note: hi there! i'm glad you enjoyed my diasomnia works <3 i'm not sure if this is fluff enough, but thank you for the request, little one.

this work contains spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

less than 100 years, more or less. that is the average lifespan of a human being. general lilia knew that all too well, and he knew what he was getting into when he saw this innocent maiden living by herself in the woods, or did he?

he had no intentions of falling in love. he finds it a waste of time. he has his duties to focus on, and being in the palace makes him feel as if he is in greater danger than when he is on the battlefield, due to a certain princess he grew up with.

you, on the other hand, completely minded your own business in your own little cottage, making pies and other baked goods every now and then, taking care of your flowers and vegetable garden, singing songs as you do your chores, and so on. you were living a simple life and you loved it.

never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you'd cross paths with the well-known fae general of briar valley. your first interaction was not exactly all that great, considering his icy cold glares and stern voice as he thought you were part of the silver owls.

of course, he did not believe you at first, until he saw your cottage and all your belongings - just a bunch of basic daily use materials and no sign of weapons that can be used for war. the general continued investigating, wanting to find even one sign that you were a part of the other side so he could eradicate you.

meanwhile, his comrades were feasting on the blueberry pie you offered to them. he was in utter disbelief, how could the soldiers he trained be so careless as to eat whatever was offered to them? what if it was a trap?

you merely smiled at the dark faerie soldiers as you sliced the pie and handed it to the others. you had enough to feed a small group, so you hoped they could share it with one another. you then turned to look at the general, "would you like some?"

how absurd. how could you offer him food with that sweet smile on his face when he clearly hated your kind? he did not know if you were deceiving him or you were actually being genuine.

he had never encountered a human so... pure and humble.

and since then, he occasionally paid you a visit to 'make sure you aren't plotting anything', but you knew he just wanted to check on you.

"how is it that you're so nice?"

that question made you look up at him while you were watering your plants. you paused a little, thinking about how you would respond to him without sounding awkward before smiling, "i... guess i was raised to be this way?"

"hm... where are your parents?" asked the general as he raised a brow at you, his gaze shifting from the delicate tulips being watered to your face as your eyelashes batted with every blink, how your lips were in a small smile, and your cheeks dusted pink.

you let out a soft sigh through your lips before responding, "they've long passed away from an illness, so i've been alone for a long time now." your sweet smile still remained as you spoke to him, and it was starting to make him feel comfortable around you.

everything was going smoothly between you and the general. you could even say your relationship was flourishing, from strangers to friends, at least you think so.

of course, all good things come to an end. unfortunately, one of the silver owls' soldiers stumbled upon you and the general having a nice chat by your garden, and thinking you were an ally and betrayed humankind, you became their target.

the first few days of spending your time in the cottage with the feeling of being watched was tolerable so far. the general had noticed it as well during one of his visits, and out of concern, he sternly said, "you should not stay here any longer. it's dangerous."

"i'll be fine, general. i've lived here for years," you replied in a gentle tone, wanting to reassure him that everything would be fine. he stayed silent for a moment as he scanned the surroundings, "traces of humans are evident around here. you could be in danger. don't be stubborn and listen to me."

"...i know, but... if i leave, how will we see each other again?" you asked softly, making him stay silent for a moment as he did not realise he was the reason why you were so adamant about staying in your home.

"i like your presence, general. i look forward to seeing you every day, to see you visit me alone or with your soldiers, saying that you are merely passing by when i know you really are checking on me..." you added, "and every day, we just get closer to one another... it's hard for me not to want you around me..."

he let out a sigh as he crossed his arms, "i don't want you to put yourself in danger because of me." you frowned at his words and he saw how it made you sad, making him step closer towards you as he placed a hand on your cheek, "wherever you go, i'll find you... so please, stay elsewhere and be safe..."

you noticed he took out his gloves when he touched your cheek. his rough yet gentle hand caressed your face as he said those words, looking at you with those usual cold eyes that now had a tinge of worry and affection. you gave him a small sad smile before deciding to embrace him.

your arms wrapped around his figure as you buried your head on his chest, feeling the cold armour, and yet the warmth of his body still managed to comfort you. he held you in an embrace as well, his hands situated on your lower back and your hair.

silence.

an eerie silence engulfed your living room, a contrast to all the noise that occurred earlier during the ambush of the silver owls in your area. suddenly, rushing footsteps could be heard approaching your cottage before your door was slammed open.

the general stood there in shock before rushing to your weakened body on the floor lying in a pool of blood. you were still a little conscious, but you started to feel it slipping away as you looked up at him

"f/n?"

as he knelt down on the floor, your blood staining his armour and clothing, he pulled you up to his lap before calling for the other soldiers to make sure your wounds were patched up, but before he could do so, you placed your bloody hand on his cheek.

"it's too late, lilia..."

hearing his name on your lips, rather than addressing him as general, made him look at you once more as he placed his hand on top of yours that rested on his cheek. "too late? no, we can still stop the bleeding..."

you gave him a weak smile. how is it that even on the verge of dying, that beautiful twinkle in your eyes that he grew to love and that sweet smile he found comfort in still remained? it was tearing him apart on the inside at the thought of losing you so quickly.

"i love you."

you said those words in a whisper as you still held his cheek, tears brimming your eyes as you smiled at him and caressed his lips with your thumb, "please don't do anything rash for my sake... i only want you to live in peace..."

the light in your eyes then went dim as you fell limp in his arms. that was the same day he lost all his hopes and dreams as he held you close to his chest and embraced your lifeless figure.

it has been a few years since you were gone - honestly, it was about 20 years and normally, such time would be very short to long-lived species like faeries. however, to lilia, it felt like you were gone for far too long already.

"general, what will we do about the kids?" asked baul, his comrade, as he eyed the three students - four if you count the cat-like creature with them - before him.

lilia eyed the people before him. one addressed him as his father, and the other addressed him like he was his mentor. the other seemed panicked to be in the situation, while the cat-like creature was addressing him as if they were best buds.

just where did these people come from?

the general was about to speak when silver's eyes went to a cloaked figure nearby. lilia raised a brow at his distraction and turned to look at what he was looking at.

hidden in one of the trees is a figure cloaked in black with their face covered in a mask. they immediately realised they were spotted, and they were about to leave until lilia beat them to it. he immediately landed on the tree branch before them as he tried to get them down for a battle.

unsheathing their sword, they immediately landed on the ground and fought with him until his blade knocked off their mask and he managed to pin them down to the ground. his famed lithic blade pointed at their throat as he spoke, "are you spying on us?"

he then froze as he took a good look at their face. they looked exactly like the person he cherished. the same eyes, the same lips, the same cheeks, everything.

they looked exactly like you, the person he loved.

"who are you...?" asked lilia. there was no way this was you, you died that day and he was there when the light left your eyes. still, the possibility of you being a reincarnation crossed his mind.

surely, there was no such thing? but at the same time, he had a small inkling of hope that it might be that way.

"no one important," replied the unknown assailant as they used this distraction to land a blow on lilia, making him dodge the attack immediately as he got off them. "i am only tasked to spy on you," replied the assailant as they glared at the general.

however, deep down, they had a lingering thought, 'why does he feel so... familiar? almost as if i don't want to attack him...'

"so you're one of them," spoke the general with venom laced in his tone. he was about to land an attack on them until silver got in between them both, making lilia look at him as if he was about to scold the guy.

"mom/dad?"

'that can't be... but they told me they work as a director... am i seeing their past life before the current one in nrc, then?' wondered silver as he was surprised to see their human parental figure in this lifetime that they jumped into.

that parental name made the assailant and lilia freeze. silver addressed lilia as his father, and now they are addressing this assailant as if they were his parent too?

"what?" questioned the assailant, "i don't have a kid... why are you calling me that?"

silver's eyes were wide. he could not believe that he saw his father in his younger days, now he gets to see his other parental figure too, and this could be how he witnesses their love story. well, at least for the previous lifetime.

"r-right, sorry, um..." trailed silver as he tried not to take the second rejection to heart. sebek, the other student with him, seemed to have recognised them too, but he knew they would have not known who they were, just like lilia and his grandfather.

"just who are you, anyway?" questioned the general as he pointed his blade at the assailant. they let out a sigh and placed a hand on their hip as they replied, "i'm f/n l/n... why do you look familiar...? have i seen you before?"

lilia stayed silent for a moment. could it be? did his special person really reincarnate and reunite with him? what are the odds that they end up being a member of the silver owls this time?

"you..." trailed lilia, making f/n tilt their head a little as they wondered what he had to say. while waiting for his reply, their eyes wandered to his lips, almost as if they knew exactly how it felt to have them on theirs.

no way. there is no way they are entertaining such thoughts.

there was one more thing lilia could do to confirm that it really was you. however, he had doubts about whether it was effective or not. they may have been a reincarnation, but it's not like they retain all of their memories from the past life, right?

of course, not, but the feeling of comfort and familiarity is always there. the memories may not have been there, but the emotions were.

and right now, lilia is being haunted by the same feelings he felt towards you when you were alive. the same sense of love, peace, affection, and comfort resurfaced the more he stayed in this assailant's presence.

he tried to push them away. he really did, but it always resurfaced the more he spent his expedition with the assailant by his side. they had a change of heart, deciding to aid him instead and ultimately betraying the people they worked for.

hearing the truth from lilia's lips made them realise they were on the wrong side of the story. the land of briar's people were the victims here and not the people f/n is currently working for. the land of briar's resources belongs to them - the natives of the land, the fae folk - and they knew just as well that no human has the right to steal and claim the land or resources as theirs.

when f/n accepted to aid them in their expedition, lilia felt as if he was witnessing the same kindness you showed when you were alive. the more time he spends with them, the more he sees similarities between the past 'you' and the current 'you' that he is seeing.

currently, he was seated beside f/n on the campsite that they chose for tonight. the fire crackled in the centre as he sat on the log, toasting a lizard he caught nearby. it was silent for a moment until they looked at the general, "...i know i said this before, but you really feel familiar... as if i met you or i've known you before..."

lilia stayed silent for a moment before twirling the lizard on the stick a little bit, toasting it on the fireplace as silver, sebek, yuu, and grim were thinking of making the meals instead.

and so they did. they offered to cook, leaving lilia with f/n for a while. that was when he looked at the spitting image of his past beloved, "...you remind me of someone i knew back then."

f/n tilted their head a little, "hm? who is it? where are they now?" lilia did not know how to answer that as he realised he was coping with the grief that he set aside the entire time, "...someone i loved. they're gone now, for the past 20 years."

"20...? that's a coincidence. i'm that old too," spoke f/n as they looked at lilia with a curious gaze. lilia stayed silent for a bit, thoughts swirling in his head as he wondered if it was a coincidence. you died twenty years ago, and this person before him is 20 years old. were you reborn?

this is purely just a coincidence, right?

setting that thought aside, he proceeds to have a conversation with f/n. a few days have passed and they are getting closer to the silver owls headquarters. once they were just a few more miles away, night has come, setting them up a camp to rest before continuing the expedition.

everything was like usual. silver and sebek offered to make dinner once more, while yuu and grim helped around. the other soldiers were patching up wounds and resting by the fireplace as they chatted with their other comrades. baul and lilia were having a conversation, perhaps discussing the course of action while waiting for the meal.

and f/n, on the other hand, remained seated on a log near their tent. their gaze never peeled away from lilia as they desperately tried to think about certain thoughts, such as...

how did they know what his favourite meal was? he never told them about it nor did they have a conversation regarding those topics once.

how did they know which pie flavour he liked? never once did f/n attempt to make pies in this lifetime, and yet they knew so much about lilia's preference.

why did they have thoughts about missing the way he looks when he smiles fondly? it's not like they have seen him smile throughout the expedition, and fondly at that.

but one thought that bothered them the most was... why did they feel as if they were falling in love all over again?

all that thinking led to lilia approaching them after his conversation with baul ended. he wondered why f/n looked so deep in thought while staring at him earlier, seeing as the gaze was obvious. he then knelt down and looked at them, "what's wrong?"

f/n immediately snapped out of their thoughts before shaking their head, "no, it's nothing... i was just thinking about a few things..."

lilia hummed in response, but he did not believe them when they said it was nothing. he then sat beside them, staying silent for a bit before letting out a tired sigh.

"...don't die again, okay?"

f/n raised a brow at his words. again? what did he mean by again? they looked at lilia once more and spoke, "what do you mean by 'again'...?"

the general then eyed f/n as he replied, "wherever you go, i'll find you... remember?" and just like magic, those words hit f/n like a truck. vague memories started flooding their mind as they pictured scenes of being in a cottage and holding lilia's hand, baking pies and handing them out to the soldiers that were currently accompanying them, or how lilia would always drop by for a visit to check in on them.

lilia saw how f/n seemed spooked, and he was about to speak until they pulled him in for a tight hug, wrapping their arms around him as they held him close. no words were exchanged for a moment, but lilia felt the warmth he felt back then.

silver and sebek were watching them while waiting for the pot to boil, and though they had not said anything, they smiled at one another before looking back at the younger versions of f/n and lilia.

after the hug, lilia cupped f/n's cheeks with a small yet gentle smile, "you're still as beautiful as i remember." they let out a soft chuckle as they remained their arms around his torso, "i missed you..."

his gentle smile grew a little more as he placed a kiss on their forehead, "don't leave me this time..."

288 notes · View notes

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

Text

OH MY DESTINY, HOW FAR YOU HAVE SPRUNG NOW ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru gojo goes north.

word count; 5.3k

contents; satoru gojo, canon divergence, HEAVY jjk spoilers (for chapter 236!! but also kinda 237), fix-it fic, me coping w/ the manga for 5k words straight, canon-typical violence and death, implied stsg, probably non-canon compliant use of binding vows (but do i care? no), gojo satoru lives.

a/n; yeaaa this is literally just me coping <3 needed to write this for my mental health. he’s fine guys trust me

the experience is not altogether unfamiliar, on its own.

he’s felt it before. even now, he can still vividly recall it; a girl he failed to protect, a boy he failed to save. a man with a scar on his bottom lip.

that sickening numbness, as he lied in a pool of his own blood. sticking to his hair and tattered clothes, the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation — a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death.

emptiness. sinking deeper into the abyss, that all-enveloping darkness. that awful feeling of pure helplessness.

(he could never forget it.)

back then, though, gojo is certain he didn’t feel this way. all he could think about twelve years ago was survival — clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies. anything to escape that harrowing sensation, a kind of desperation all humans feel in the face of certain death, spurring him on. but now —

he almost welcomes it. nearly content in its approach. it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.

through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred by sweat and blood and dust, gojo watches the sky.

it's beautiful, he thinks. as beautiful as ever. peaceful, unchanging, soothing in an eerie kind of way. that clear blue, fading a little at the corners as his muddled mind grows just a little darker, a little more fatigued. he can barely gather the strength to keep his eyelids open.

yet he keeps his gaze on that endless sky, as if it’s all he’s ever known.

with every passing second, the world grows just a little more blurry. pale dots spread around the corners of his vision, like grains of stardust in an ever-expanding cosmos, clouding his senses. there’s a buzzing in his head that won’t go away. everything looks as if it's spinning, and he can barely tell left from right, north from south. everything is growing darker, so fast that it’s alarming, and gojo can’t seem to even think clearly.

but he can still see that blue, blue sky. bluer than he ever remembers it being. even as snow begins to fall, descending upon shinjuku as if bidding him farewell. the sky takes on a gray hue, but that shade of blue is still all gojo can see, as he takes shallow breaths and half-heartedly attempts to remain conscious. willing himself not to give in just yet, choking on his own blood.

and it's an odd feeling, really. one he never thought he'd meet again, but here it is, it's back — and it's all-consuming. beckoning him into a place he’s never been before. the unknown.

it's not scary. gojo doesn’t think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore. but it's a strange sensation, as death kisses its way up his neck, sending shivers down his spine; as the numbness spreads, devouring him whole.

it’s unknown. thoroughly and wholly. and that unknown is overwhelming, all-encompassing, it’s all he can see before him, it's —

ah.

gojo takes a deep breath. the air burns his lungs.

everything's ending, isn't it?

it would be so easy. to simply close his eyes, let them flutter shut as that all-encompassing sensation takes him down to earth. to allow himself to simply rest, for a moment. wouldn’t that be nice?

it would be so easy.

gojo watches the sky. it's all he can do.

the numbness keeps spreading throughout every cell of his body. he can barely feel the blood trickling down his chin, or the harsh bite of the winter cold, his skin buzzing with ache. he can't feel his arms or his legs, and he knows exactly why. everything in the world is closing in on him and god, he just feels so fucking tired.

ah. ah. more darkness. more numbness.

everything and nothing, all at once. slipping away into oblivion. the snow keeps falling but he can't see anything, can't hear anything, can't feel anything, anything at all.

nothing. nothing. less than nothing.

— and then, suddenly, an airport.

"yo."

gojo blinks.

a boy. a boy with black hair, tied into a small bun. a dead boy. his best friend.

suguru stands before him, and he looks exactly the same as gojo remembers. young, bright, with those awkward bangs still hanging over his face. grinning boyishly, and greeting him with youthful cheer.

gojo feels young, too, he realizes — the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision. but he can still see the flicker of suguru’s cursed energy clear as day. as if it never left him.

feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out what’s going on.

but he doesn’t succeed. because it’s impossible to understand. and, really, that’s answer enough.

huh.

so this is what the afterlife is like?

he inhales through his nose, basking in the clear air, and it doesn’t burn his lungs. his chest feels lighter than it’s been in years.

that seems a little too good to be true.

"you’re kidding me. this sucks.”

suguru makes a kind of face like he’s pouting, plopping down in the seat right next to gojo’s. the white haired boy stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru continues to speak and gojo continues to listen, all while observing the scenery in front of him.

the airport looks familiar. through the glass windows he can see a glimmer of the blue sky, and a plane waiting to take flight into the clouds. the air smells of summer and jet fuel and new beginnings. it’s pleasantly cool, a light breeze caressing his skin and coaxing a hum from the confines of his throat.

(he remembers this airport. remembers having his arms full of vending machine snacks, trailing after suguru as he dealt with all the annoying technicalities. amanai was there, too, watching a plane soar up into the sky with childlike wonder. a little anxious, as she boarded the plane to okinawa, and then back to tokyo.

her first and last flight.)

suguru is there, right next to him, and he’s speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.

he breathes in, and then out.

suguru is there. and not just him – nanami and haibara are, too. all young, all dead. all somehow breathing; he sees them inhale and he sees them exhale. he hears them speak and it’s like nothing ever changed.

they speak of regrets, of south and of north. nanami doesn’t seem to regret a single thing, and gojo is glad. even yaga is there, he notices belatedly. even amanai, and her maid, and a certain man with a scar on his bottom lip. everyone all together again.

the airport buzzes with warmth. nostalgia, as suguru’s laughter rings in his ears. and gojo grins, in tandem, bright and childlike. wallowing in the tender atmosphere.

the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought he’d lost forever.

his one and only blue spring of youth, right in front of his all-seeing eyes.

a little too good to be true.

with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints don’t ache, his head isn’t buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory.

“now i’m hoping this isn’t a dream,” he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguru’s cursed energy, and everyone else’s. he isn’t alone. what a nice thought.

and it’s strange, gojo thinks. it really is. he’s dead. sukuna killed him. he’s dead, his remains are lying somewhere in the streets of shinjuku, and that should bother him. he should be punching the floor and screaming, cursing sukuna’s name with every fiber of his being — it should frighten him, the realization that everything has ended.

but it doesn’t.

gojo isn’t afraid. and he isn’t upset, either. he bears no grudge against anyone, just like that day twelve years ago.

he’s with suguru, now, and his juniors. his old teacher. the people he cares for are with him, and the airport smells so nice. everyone is young, and happy, and none of them will ever have to kill or be killed again.

calling it anything less than heaven would be doing it a disservice.

gojo smiles, exhaling a relieved breath. one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding til now, stuck in the back of his throat for the past decade. a tiny thought makes it to the forefront of his brain, like a spring breeze flitting in through an open window.

like this, he thinks, i could die with no regrets.

“— except that’s not true.” a voice proclaims. “is it?”

gojo opens his eyes.

suguru looks at him. everything goes silent. everyone else has already gone blurry, a little faded, as if they aren’t what’s really important. as if the entire world has narrowed down to just this; him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven.

suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread.

they look into each other’s eyes, and both know what’s coming.

“the students are outclassed.” suguru rests his chin on the heel of his palm. ”you said it yourself — sukuna wasn’t giving it his all when he fought you. he still has more than a couple cards up his sleeve, doesn’t he? like his incarnation.”

gojo listens to suguru speak, not saying a word.

“they’re no match for him,” he continues, unperturbed. “all of them are going to die. every single one.”

suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojo’s eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but there’s a kindness there, too. as if he’s simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible.

he clicks his tongue.

“and you still haven’t buried my body, either.”

a moment passes. then two.

gojo smiles to himself, rueful. a little saddened.

“.. damn,” he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. “couldn’t you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?”

suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. “sorry,” he chimes. “but the plane is leaving soon.”

as if on cue, the pa system sounds.

flight to okinawa; departing in nineteen minutes.

“it hasn’t left, yet,” suguru hums, and it sounds like an inevitability. ringing in gojo’s ears. “you know what that means, don’t you?”

he does. he does, but it still hurts. gojo looks into suguru’s eyes, and sees himself reflected in them — young, transparent. blue. fading, but not quite faded. not quite dead.

and maybe it’s to be expected. maybe he was just trying to delude himself into believing the alternative, into believing that an afterlife as sweet as this could really be waiting for him. maybe it was naive, a childish fantasy.

but still —

”haah.” a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. ”oh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.”

a chuckle flows from suguru’s lips, amused. ”you aren’t the type to go down like that,” he murmurs. ”c’mon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.”

”how?” gojo scoffs. ”i’m split in half. and i’m too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.”

”eh,” suguru shrugs. ”you’ll manage.”

gojo shoots him a dubious look. ”you’re acting like it’s a papercut,” he huffs, crossing his arms. ”my guts are on the fuckin’ pavement.”

”oh, quit your complaining already," suguru rolls his eyes, and shoots him an accusatory glance. "i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.”

”i wanted to make it painless for you!”

”well, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.”

gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and it’s juvenile, a little twisted — but then again, weren’t they always?

suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. ”you’ve still got some fight left in you,” he says, and there’s a fondness to it. ”you always do.”

”get up, satoru.”

silence. unbroken, unperturbed. if he focuses enough, he thinks he can hear the distant buzzing of cicadas, the crinkling of soda cans. the whistling of the wind. placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious.

it’s quiet, for a while. gojo stares into space, blinking slowly. then he parts his lips.

”suguru.”

the boy in question turns towards him. but gojo looks up, instead — eyes set on the roof, like he’s trying to see beyond it. into the comfort of the blue sky.

suguru hums, a cue for him to follow. and gojo closes his eyes.

”i think… i might be tired.”

silence. no one says a thing.

”i think i’d prefer to stay here,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. tapping his fingers on his knee. ”in the past, like this.”

the scent of jet fuel and summer lies heavy in the air. gojo inhales it, greedy. as if savouring it. trying to make it a part of his being, filling his lungs with sweet nostalgia so it never goes away.

”we could just stay here. together,” he muses, barely above a whisper. there’s a kind of longing to the tilt of his voice, something soft. ”couldn’t we? never moving forward, or back.”

the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper; ”we could just stay like this.”

suguru’s gaze trails from satoru, down to his lap. his bangs follow the slow movement, silky strands falling over his eye. the chuckle that drifts from his lips doesn’t have much humour to it.

”haha… you’ve never been the type to stay in one place for too long, satoru.”

gojo clenches his fist.

a moment passes.

”you want me to go back,” he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. ”you want me to go back, and then what? there’s nothing i can do. i’m not the strongest, anymore.”

”you are.” suguru’s voice is firm, decisive. ”you can still win. you know exactly what you need to do. there’s only one way to get out of this.”

gojo sighs. one hand in his hair, tousling it. mildly frustrated. ”… it’s risky.”

”you’re bleeding out.”

”if i do this — i won’t ever be the same.” gojo turns to look at suguru. ”i sure as hell won’t be the strongest, anymore.”

”and would that be such a bad thing?”

silence. the two boys look at each other — one dead, one half-alive, both connected to the other. for eternity. suguru’s eyes are full of understanding, as they look into the blue of satoru’s.

”there’s always been a gap between you and everyone else. that’s what you said, before. aren’t you tired of it?”

a brief intake of breath. gojo closes his eyes.

that’s right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength — a weight he’s borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.

the title of the strongest. a cross he alone had to bear.

(did he ever really want it? or was he just resigned to it, conditioned from the very beginning?)

the feeling of isolation that’s been haunting him for decades seeps into his skin. the cruel knowledge that no one will ever truly know him; even worse, the knowledge that it’s all for the best. you can admire a flower, and help it bloom, but you can’t ask it to understand you.

such a cruel curse to be born with.

suguru’s voice fills his mind, his senses. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. ”you said it yourself, satoru.” gojo can hear the smile in his voice. ”you love everyone.”

love. it always comes down to that, doesn't it? the greatest curse of them all.

(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)

”there are still people waiting for you, out there,” suguru reminds him. and gojo knows that he’s right.

he still hasn’t buried suguru’s body. that thing is still inside his head, doing god knows what. and his students — they must be fighting sukuna, right now. if he’s lucky, no one’s dead yet. if he’s lucky. then there’s shoko, of course. and ijichi, everyone else from the school.

not just that — the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together.

dying isn’t a luxury satoru gojo can afford. he knows that, he does, but —

(dammit.)

”suguru,” he starts, hesitant. voice more feeble than he ever remembers it sounding. almost childlike, in its uncertainty. “what… should i do, from here on out?” a beat. ”where should i go?”

suguru raises a single eyebrow, and then tilts his head. ”do you really need me to tell you that?” he asks, a little teasing. gojo’s reply is instantaneous.

”i do.”

the airport falls silent, again.

”i’ll listen to you,” he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentminded. eyes shining with a glimmer of something awfully tender. ”so… it has to be you.”

suguru inhales, softly — fresh air wafting through his transparent lungs. breathing out in a meek chuckle, with a soft shake of his head. almost in disbelief. ”well, in that case…”

a smile. he meets gojo’s gaze. ”then i think you should go north.”

gojo looks into his eyes. a moment passes, slow, detached from space and time. a moment that matters more than anything. their eyes meet, and in suguru’s eyes, gojo sees a reflection of their youth.

what a shame.

”alrighty, then.”

placing his palms on his knees, the white haired man gets up from his seat. stretching his arms with a soft groan. a sigh flows from his lips, drifting out into the clear air.

”so much for finally getting a vacation,” he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. ”you dead people have it easy, you know that?”

suguru’s still smiling, but he’s not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.

flight to okinawa; departing in six minutes.

a deep breath. air flows into his lungs, and then back out; soaking up the summer air he knows he’ll never quite get a taste of again. no summer will ever feel as warm as this one did.

suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling. the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset that’s beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.

it’s breathtaking.

”will i see you?” gojo asks, before he can stop himself. eyes still stuck to the setting sun. ”when everything ends.”

…

suguru chuckles, once more. rueful. gojo thinks it sounds just a bit meek, a little like he’s holding back tears. ”maybe,” he breathes, shrugging halfheartedly. not meeting his eyes. ”who knows?”

it’s not the answer gojo wants to hear. but he’ll take what he can get.

and finally, suguru gets up. slowly, methodically. elegant, in the way he moves, the way he brushes non-existent dust off his baggy pants. smiling, hair swaying softly with the breeze. gojo finds his gaze, and that smile shifts into a lazy grin. one so distinctly suguru that it can’t possibly be just a figment of his imagination.

”don’t find out too soon,” he quips, teasingly. ”alright?”

a slap. gojo doesn’t see it coming, and it knocks him forward — he stumbles slightly, lanky legs moving clumsily, sunglasses falling off at the impact. his back stings, a little.

over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except he’s no longer a boy — now he’s wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.

”go get ’em, satoru.”

gojo blinks.

the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened — but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.

he turns his back on suguru, and puffs out his chest. trying to hide the sappy smile still lingering on his lips, the glassiness of his eyes. his voice comes out loud, cheery, echoing throughout the airport — but still somehow so tender.

”roger that!”

gojo looks ahead. the airport is blurred, a little hazy, but a bright light shines farther up ahead. a beacon for him to follow, one that blinds him if he looks at it for too long. blue, white, golden — the colours of the sky. beckoning him forward, to a familiar place.

he takes one step north.

”ah, satoru. one more thing.”

the sound of suguru’s voice stops him in his tracks. ”hm?” gojo turns on his heel, white hair tousled by the soft breeze. a little confused. ”what is it now?”

suguru grins. the whole airport smells like spring.

”—, — —.”

…

one long, tender moment passes by. gojo doesn’t even breathe, mouth falling open slightly, in a way that must look comical to the man in front of him.

the airport glimmers like a marble in the sun. transparent, blurred, but still somehow so real. suguru’s words echo in his mind.

then gojo laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat like seafoam on a scorching summer day. hearty and deep, coaxed out from the very bottom of his gut — genuine. a little breathless. he can’t wipe away the grin on his face, wouldn’t do it even if he could. his blue eyes crinkle, as he looks at suguru, showing off his dimples and teeth.

”so corny,” he teases. suguru rolls his eyes.

”hey, don’t blame me. this is your imagination.”

a huff slips from his lips. ”yeah, yeah…” gojo waves him off. then he meets his eyes, again, still grinning boyishly. ”i’ll hold you to that, okay?”

”got it,” suguru chirps. ”good luck out there, satoru.”

”pssh. who do you think you’re talking to?”

the men exchange smiles, one final time. funny, how that’s always how their story ends; with a heartfelt smile. even if it’s coated in blood, or nothing more than a figment of their imagination.

then gojo turns around, again, and takes a step forward. not looking back this time. trusting suguru to still be there, watching over him. like always.

the bright light at the end of the airport glimmers, tantalizing, mesmerizing. suguru is right — there’s only one way to get out of this. only one way to make it back alive.

and it’s risky. very much so. it’s a gamble, the greatest one gojo’s ever made, even worse than that time twelve years ago with the reverse cursed technique.

it’s a gamble, all or nothing.

binding vows are dangerous, fickle things. built on equivalent exchange. give something and get something, of equal value. sacrifice and gain.

gojo’s thought about it, before. a morbid curiosity.

what could he possibly gain by offering the greatest treasure of the jujutsu world?

he lifts one hand up, to caress his face. lingering over the skin of his eyelids, now closed. but he can still see the cursed energy around him. burned into his retinas.

the six eyes. the blessing of sight.

a blessing. a blessing he never once asked for, one he was simply born with. born with all this power, doomed to live above the rest. all for a pair of eyes that never seem to see the things that really matter.

and, really, it’s a gamble.

gojo takes a deep breath, and then one large step forward.

(buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)

the light comes closer, and closer. lotus flowers bless his path. he takes seven steps forward, and his path blooms out before him; one flower blooming by his feet for every step he takes. seven steps north.

i’ll give you everything, he speaks to the someone watching the world. a god, a natural order, himself — it doesn’t really matter. i’ll give you all six.

in exchange —

the light is close, now. so close he can almost touch it. it burns his skin, but he doesn’t falter. he doesn’t look away, eyes seeing through the blindness and reaching out for something. something alive.

don’t let me die, he bargains. give me enough of it to kill him.

i still have things i need to do.

one more step, out of the airport —

(and satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.)

a binding vow is made.

the six eyes dissipate, like vapour drifting off into the darkness of a never-ending cosmos.

when gojo opens his eyes, he’s met with a cold, gray sky.

the world shifts on its axis before him.

everything looks different. he can’t see, but he can, it’s just not the same as before. it’s naked, and raw, and surface-level. not enough to sink his teeth into.

he can still see cursed energy, feel the flicker of it all around him, but it’s hazy. it’s not clear enough, not enough for him to get a good grasp on — like the world lost its saturation. like everything got tilted slightly to the left. an eerie feeling that something isn’t as it should be.

and wow, okay. this is new.

but gojo parts his lips, weakly, and breathes in — and the air tastes the same as ever. cold, crispy. it fills his lungs and he exhales it through his nose. a human act. a breath of life.

i’m still alive.

it’s an odd feeling, like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. like someone stripped him of everything that makes him him. an strange sensation, heavy, entirely impossible to ignore. however —

the gain after the loss hits him almost immediately, embracing him with a burst of cursed energy so violently overwhelming that his sight becomes entirely irrelevant. it devours his very being.

everything becomes a blur.

— i’ll give you everything.

so, in exchange…

give me enough cursed energy to go on a good rampage.

the cursed energy within him spikes, so sudden and violent that gojo fears his skin might break open. buzzing like flies inside his veins, a vibrant burst of life, every colour in the universe. all the power one can expect from willingly casting away the greatest jewel of the jujutsu world.

gojo moves his fingers. he can feel them, finally — all limbs intact. positive cursed energy flows from his brain, no longer exhausted beyond comprehension. enough, more than enough to give him access to every possibility within his soul.

belatedly, he realizes that his sight isn’t the only thing that’s been weakened. the control he’s grown so used to having over his cursed energy is dwindling, and fast; that firm grip seems to have left with the six eyes, replaced by a set of shaky hands. gojo has experience, and for now, it’s enough. but he still has to concentrate to contain the nearly overwhelming flicker of his cursed energy, stinging his skin as if it can’t fully be contained by his body anymore. prickling his veins. it feels a little like trying to keep water from running through the gaps between your fingers.

and he feels naked, in a way, suddenly living without something that defines his very being. a little hollowed out. a little wrong, like someone reached a hand through his ribs and pulled out his heart.

but damn, does it feel good.

his cursed energy output is all-encompassing. his mind feels more clear than he ever remembers it being, and it’s like the world is at his fingertips. something similar to what he felt twelve years ago, but still so different.

it isn’t ascension, not even close. quite the opposite. but that feeling of freedom is still so abundant. it’s all he can see before him; endless possibilities.

twelve years ago, satoru gojo faced a certain man, and rose to the skies. he will never, ever forget it. that flicker of eternal solitude, the burst of overwhelming euphoria. that sense of everything being just right.

twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.

everything feels different. everything looks different. things won’t be the same, ever again — but maybe, suguru was right. maybe that’s not such an awful thing.

to be reborn. to be given a choice.

gojo opens his eyes, and finally takes in all the sights before him. everything happens in a blur, so fast he can barely catch up — his body acts before his mind, and suddenly he’s face to face with sukuna.

not megumi, but sukuna. fully incarnated.

and he looks displeased. almost frustrated.

”how?”

the look of pure shock on his face is more satisfying than gojo could ever put into words; the satisfaction of seeing a king fall to his knees.

somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears a cacophony of voices, awfully familiar in a way that has warmth blooming in his chest. the students, he assumes — voices of shock, and something he tentatively recognizes as relief. but he doesn’t have the time to let his guard down, just yet.

(no matter how much he’d like to look back at them and give them a self-assured peace sign, bask in their smiling faces.)

instead, he answers sukuna. ”a binding vow,” he grins, and he thinks he must look a little manic, gesturing towards his eyes with his thumb. ”gave these puppies away. didn’t expect that, did’ya?”

sukuna looks at him, for a second.

then he laughs, loud and ugly, grotesque. taunting. he looks at gojo with something that almost resembles pity, something bordering on disappointment.

”pathetic,” he spits, all teeth. ”what good is living if it’s not at the top?”

gojo simply smiles.

he recalls that one question. eleven years ago, somewhere close to the ruins of the very street he’s standing in now. the question that flipped his entire world upside down.

(are you the strongest because you’re satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you’re the strongest?)

a grin breaks out across his lips. his cursed energy pulsates inside his veins, eager to be let loose, and he takes on a fighting stance. parting his lips to speak, unsure of whose question he’s answering.

”well, we’re about to find out.”

the sky is gray, grayer than ever. even so, all he can see is that familiar shade of blue. as clear as it’s always been, even without the six eyes.

gojo smiles.

just keep watching, suguru.

this time, i definitely won’t lose.

#if gojo comes back at the cost of his six eyes i expect a personal letter from akutami #dont lose hope gojo nation has our man ever failed us before???#im in so deep in my delusions that i dont even see them as delusional anymore im like yea he'll be fineee #its just a lil scratch!!!!#title taken from king oedipus... btw..... pls appreciate my commitment to the symbolism #cuz yknow. gouging your own eyes out as a symbol of your weakness and blindness to your destiny <333 yea. im normal abt this concept #i just think gojo is soooo protagonist of an ancient greek tragedy coded.............#gojo satoru #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen 236 #jjk 236 #satosugu #jjk 237 #jujutsu kaisen 237 #that should b all the tags....#im not used to writing non-x reader stuff i feel so vulnerable and lost without that tag

232 notes · View notes

ocularpatd0wn · 1 year ago

Text

i can't stop thinking about mac and charlie having sleepovers when they were little kids. staying up late talking nonsense, giggling and laughing so hard ms kelly comes into the room to tell them, with a worried face, they'll get sick if they don't get some proper sleep. them laughing even harder as soon as she closes the door.

charlie cherises those sleepovers because sleeping next to mac makes him feel safe. mac cherises those sleepovers because sleeping next to charlie makes him feel loved. they both feel like the presence of the other sleeping next to them grants them the one thing their own families have deprived them of, the missing piece that keeps them from considering the houses they live in their actual homes. that's why, even as years go by and neither of them knows how to love properly, even if they keep hurting and mistreating each other in numerous occasions, charlie and mac will never go their separate ways. they need each other to feel like they belong somewhere. they need each other to feel like they have a home.

#iasip #its always sunny in philadelphia #it's always sunny in philadelphia #its always sunny #charmac #i should write a fanfic about this concept #they make me so sad #mac mcdonald #charlie kelly #mine

274 notes · View notes

madbard · 4 months ago

Text

Sanctity

A Killer Sans story.

Every child dreamed of the Angel.

When Sans was young, he had imagined it as a skeleton, beaming with all the radiance of the stolen sun. Each evening, he kneeled beside his father and whispered the poetic words of prophecy, voice faltering at first, then growing steady as the tale of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. Later, he would kneel with his brother while his father vanished into the lab. Each night, he dreamed of the moment when the Angel would tear down the barrier, at last letting the bright and deadly sunshine in.

Everything could be attributed to the Angel. If a monster was successful, it was because they had a place in the prophecy, an important role which would contribute to their eventual freedom. If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. They were not the Angel’s chosen and would never be free.

(Did Sans have a place in that prophecy? If he was chosen, then why was he so fragile? Why would it be so difficult for him to make it to that future? Sans had asked his father that one night, after their prayer. Nothing would ever break that silence.)

When Gaster’s final experiment went up in flames, Sans imagined it made a light brighter than the sun. He imagined its light was like the palm of the Angel, taking his father with it – or casting him, finally, into the infinite darkness of the earth. He spread his father’s ashes on the remnants of the lab and then, as an afterthought, on his younger brother’s scarf. He laughed at the funeral, quietly. He shook the chill hands of fear and doubt from his soul. He had faith.

(Some monsters whispered that the prophecy had been interpreted incorrectly. They whispered that the Angel would indeed free them – that their dust would one day mix with the river and thus find its way to the ocean. Sans ignored them as best he could.)

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeleton. But lounging at his post one day in early adulthood, he was surprised to see it take the guise of a child. He was even more surprised when no one else seemed to see it for what it truly was. It turned to him, looked him in the eyes. Then raised a single finger to its lips.

Sans followed the Angel. He watched it navigate through each encounter with kindness and grace. He watched it befriend his brother, the captain of the guard, the royal scientist, and even the king. He watched it destroy the barrier and finally baptize his people in the all-destroying light of the sun. He felt its eyes upon him, and in that moment knew the gaze of something truly unlike himself. Come and see, those eyes said. He saw the prophecy come true.

He stood with his brother in the light of the Angel, the light of the long-awaited sun. For a moment, he thought himself in heaven.

Then he woke in hell.

That first time, he didn’t even see the Angel arrive in Snowdin. His eyelights flickered slowly as he wandered the icy streets in a daze. The air was still, and thick with a scent he refused to recognize. They had escaped, hadn’t they? After years of prayer and service, monsterkind was finally free. His mouth curved around a quiet, desperate prayer. This had to be a dream…

Just outside of Snowdin, he found his brother’s scarf.

Funny, how these things worked. Sans’ first impulse was to find the Angel. Something had gone wrong, certainly – something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. But he had seen the Angel treat his brother with kindness. It would have protected him… right?

Perhaps he already knew…

“Sans.”

Sans spun around, gripping Papyrus’ scarf. The Angel stood behind him, eyes almost as wide as its smile. A silver knife glinted in its grip. His whispered prayer froze as his eyes went dark. He stood still.

“what happened?”

“Nothing much. And everything.” The Angel stepped forward. “Give that to me.”

“where’s papyrus?”

“Free.” The Angel took another step forward, and Sans felt a chill creep up his spine. “You remember being free, don’t you?”

“i…”

“Don’t you want to be free again?” This time, Sans didn’t have time to respond. Its knife had already slashed through his chest.

The second time, Sans woke in the early hours of the morning. He took a shortcut into the woods, stepping onto the abandoned path which led to the hidden door. Even so, he didn’t quite understand. Even so, he didn’t quite believe. Fear made a nest in his ribcage.

This time, the Angel killed him first, separating his head from his shoulders, and Sans woke up back at home.

If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. Sans fell again and again. Each time he died, the Angel would say something different, something new. It spoke of the sun’s rays, the way they warmed at first then burned and bleached and ruined. It spoke of the sins of the surface, the suffering of the Underground. It spoke of an endless loop, from which they would never be free. “Better to end it now,” the Angel whispered, wiping blood from its blade as Sans crumpled to the ground.

The loop continued endlessly. Bit by bit, Sans stopped praying.

The loop continued endlessly. He began to fight back.

The loop continued endlessly. The angel’s words changed.

“Do you know the difference between an angel and a god?” the Angel asked once, after Sans dodged its blade. Sweat dripped down his skull, and the air seemed to frost his ribcage as he gasped for breath.

“sorry. i god no idea.” The knife whistled past his ear, and a hushed “angel’s sake” escaped his mouth before he growled and swallowed the word.

“I’ll give you a hint.” It attacked once more, and this time it didn’t miss. It walked over to his dissolving form and whispered to him. “An angel is a servant. A god serves no one.” It stepped back. He died.

This time, the Angel approached him with an altogether different kind of smile.

“But what is a god without an angel?”

Sans said no in every way he could imagine. Loop after loop, death after death. He joked and danced around the question. He sent another attack. At his lowest, he pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Angels live forever.”

“when everyone else is dead?”

“Angels are never alone.”

“i wouldn’t be alone if it wasn’t for you.”

“Angels are powerful. They are beautiful and loved.”

“heh, that’s kind of a loaded comment, isn’t it?”

“Angels know their purpose.”

“what would a lazybones like me want with a purpose?”

“Gods are tireless. I can keep going forever, and nothing will ever change.”

“…”

“You were made to serve me.”

The funny thing about prayer? Repetition makes it meaningless. There is performance to it, certainly. There is what prayer symbolizes, there is the essential power of routine. But once the words become instinctive, the meaning can’t help but diminish. After enough repetition, prayer becomes little more than muscle memory for the weary. And when the weary recite it, how then can they hope to see God?

Sans kneeled in the hallway, bones aching, magic all but spent. Somewhere before this moment lay the memory of the sun, the way he had rested in its blinding light. Even before that, the echoes of evenings spent in prayer with his father, torn carpet barely cushioning his bones. Those memories were lost now, or buried. So many deaths – had there truly been anything before this? Could there ever be anything after? Sans didn’t know. Eventually, he no longer cared.

“and if i said yes?”

It paused and stared at him. A chuckle started low in its throat, stopped just behind its teeth. Sans wished he could feel a twinge of anger or fear at the sound. He just felt tired.

“Just for one round. Just to try something new.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that makes a difference.” The god stepped forward, knife glinting in its hand. Sans closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow. Instead, he felt the warm handle slide into his skeletal grip. “Go forth, my angel. Do as your god commands.”

There was a momentary darkness. He woke at the foot of his bed, hands folded. Eyes dark.

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeletal figure. After maturing, he discarded that image as a figment of childhood’s vivid ego. For a moment in time, doesn’t every child worship a god that looks like them?

Sans was not a god. Through the snow, the water and the flame, he became the angel of death. The flash of his knife answered prayers, scattered dust in the river that it may one day reach the ocean. He remained by his god, always. He watched, as if outside himself, as his knife found the faithful and the faithless alike. He watched his brother die.

“That prayer, in his final moments – you know, before he forgave and spared you. Didn’t you teach him that?”

“…”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’s hypocritical when you’re the one that killed him.”

“shut up.”

“Ooh.” The god smiled and leaned forward. “But it’s new, isn’t it? Isn’t it better?”

“no. no, it isn’t.”

“Hm.” The god nodded. “Do it again.”

The funny thing about prayer? Its meaning is only found through repetition. Sans scoured through the Underground again and again, knife faltering at first, then growing steady as the path of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. He made a sacrament of death, and his god glutted itself on the dust in his path. He became something truly unlike himself – did that now make him holy?

Holy enough, he decided, waking among flowers with his soul burning bright outside his body, a strange tarry fluid dripping from his eyes. Holy enough for this.

It seemed to know what he was planning. At least, it didn’t look surprised when he brandished his weapon. Nor did it fight back. It only spoke. “You know, you were nothing before me. And you will be nothing after.”

How easy, to kill a god. In the end, how stupidly simple. The Angel laughed as he killed his god with its own gleaming knife, and it laughed too, bright blood staining its teeth.

“i killed you.” The Angel giggled. “does that make me god now?” The god lay still. Its chest had stopped moving a long time ago. The Angel finished his prayer anyway. He had to be certain. “actually, nah, not sure i like that… hey, i’ll figure it out.” The Angel rose to his feet, staggered a bit, then bowed his head. “go to hell.”

What is an angel without a god? From then on, the Angel drifted from world to world. He recited prayer as he always did, utterly divorced from meaning. His knife brought whatever his victims chose, and he learned to see the afterlife in their dimming eyes – the reflection of paradise or punishment, a final acknowledgment of the waiting dark. He laughed in the moment before a creature crumpled to dust – something about it made his soul sting, sharply. It made him feel alive.

Sometimes the Angel would glance over his shoulder, searching for his god’s approval. When he caught himself doing this, his posture would stiffen suddenly, and he would cease his prayer. In those rare moments, a victim might escape. In that way, news spread through the multiverse of his arrival – though ‘Angel’ was not the word they used.

Even to the multiverse’s darkest corners, the Angel slowly became known, and this filled certain people with a cool excitement. Gods watched on and wondered where his allegiance might fall. But this Angel had little patience for deities.

“Aren’t you just fantastic!” The Angel paused, then straightened, turning through the snow of decimated universe to face a small, skeletal figure, dressed in a stained scarf and splattered with ink. “A Sans who no longer believes in anything, but still sees himself as the Angel! A Sans for whom death has become prayer, because prayer never led to anything but death. Odd, definitely – I’d guess your creator was feeling pretty ambitious when they made you…” The skeleton tilted their head. “I’m not sure they succeeded.”

“who are you?”

“Ink! God of Creation. You see, I helped make this universe, so… whoa there, let’s not be too hasty!’ The Angel had raised his knife and taken a smooth step forward.

“god, you say?”

“Hm. Maybe I shouldn’t have said – wow, you’re quick!” Ink swung a massive brush through the air and the Angel’s knife skittered across the brushstroke’s obsidian surface. “Look, sloppy or not I think you came from a place of real excitement and love! I’d like to –”

Ink never finished his sentence. Blinking, the Angel darted around the obsidian shield and raised his knife to stab this god in the chest. He managed to spill a vial of red paint, so much like blood that he smirked, believing for a moment that he had already won. Retribution was brutal and swift.

The Angel no longer felt fear. His god had cured him of that, through the endless resets. Still, Ink’s rapid-fire attacks quickly had him on the defensive, constantly dodging and side-stepping to avoid strike after inky dark strike from the god’s strange weapon. Each time he brandished his knife, he was ambushed by a new attack from a new direction, all coinciding on his form as he struggled to fight back, struggled to survive.

Was this the true power of a god? Something cold settled in the Angel’s soul, causing it to fizzle. He began to seriously consider retreat.

But to where?

The Angel tried to step into another world, but Ink was on him the moment his portal closed, taking advantage of the snow’s blinding afterimage to dig a painted blade into his back. It was dark here, and cold – far colder than Snowdin ever had been. Another blow, and the Angel’s soul shuddered again. This time, he felt fear.

Was this it? Was this where he died?

Another blow.

Perhaps this was right. Perhaps this was what he deserved…

Another blow and sparks flew from his soul, igniting terror and pain. This time the Angel screamed. This time, his mouth shaped a word he’d sworn to never say again.

“ANGEL!!!”

Ink lunged forward, but before his final blow could land something warm and strong gripped the Angel’s ankle and dragged him into the infinite darkness of the earth.

When the Angel woke, he imagined for a moment that he was dead. His sockets could not focus because there was nothing to focus on – the world seemed to have vanished into a brilliant white expanse. He lay there, soul burning, weeping black, emotionless tears. A minute? A year? If the figure hadn’t spoken, the Angel might have lain there forever.

“Greetings, little angel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The Angel leapt to his feet. Across from him stood a strange, dark figure. At first, he might have guessed that it was a skeleton – but a tarry black fluid not unlike the Angel’s tears covered every bit of the monster’s body, leaving only a single teal light to stare into his sockets. The Angel might not have recognized Ink’s power, but he could feel this monster’s strength – could feel it in the way the very air seemed to bristle against his presence. This was no mortal. This was beyond anything the Angel had seen.

“what have you heard?”

“In general? Ah, little one, that would require some time.” A fluid black tentacle slipped from the creature’s spine and wrapped around the Angel’s shoulders, immobilizing him. The Angel was still. “But you were asking what I had heard about you. So I will oblige. I have heard that you are a harbinger of death. Some have gone so far as to call you an angel, but I know better than that. After all, what is an angel without a god?”

“i already killed my god. i don’t need another.”

“I do not desire your worship. Besides, there is a title which suits me far better than god.”

“what do you want?”

“A fighter. Someone with little respect for the likes of Dream and Ink, who would aid me in destroying my enemies.”

“you want me to kill gods for you? i would do that anyway.”

“Well then, little god-killer. I have a place for you, if you’ll take it.”

“…and if i say no?”

“Then I shall leave you in the first universe that opens up beneath our feet. You will be free to cause whatever destruction you wish. But if you choose to follow me – oh, you will see and experience far greater things than you could ever imagine.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Very well. You may return to your dreary existence. But you are limited when you fight alone. You will be more powerful at my side.” The figure extended a tarry hand. “I am not like the other gods. I have no need for angels. But you aren’t exactly an angel anymore… are you?”

The god killer stared at the dark figure, stared at his extended, toxic hand. The dead grass beneath his knees felt like torn carpet. He remembered a different hand, a hollow palm. Prayer was simpler then. The words didn’t yet matter, not like his father’s cool hand on his skull, not like his brother’s chirping voice. The angel wasn’t present in that space. It was only them.

His soul flickered.

“no.” Killer rose to his feet, meeting those deadly teal eyelights. Viscous black fluid burned into his hand. “i’m not.”

The prophecy was fulfilled. The Angel was dead. And for the first time, a prayer was granted.

End credits music:

34 notes · View notes

eggmacguffin · 1 year ago

Text

Omegaverse-

Against: Weird, bad sex. Insufficient reproductive healthcare across the board.

Defense: From an anthropological standpoint, because omegaverse came about in a community where the given hobby is creative writing, it unintentionally reveals a lot of interesting ideas about concept of gender and gender roles as understood in the societly and by the individual writing it, including the frequent inclusion of gender oppression as seen in this new world. What makes a body male or female? What forms of sexual oppression are included for "romantic value", and what is excluded? What does the author see as "natural" gender role vs. what is manufactured and therefore criticized within the work? For instance, Omegas in an office setting often experience workplace harrassment and discrimination, but rarely have seperate dress codes from Alphas and Betas. The active chore of womanhood is removed while the passive sufferings of womanhood remain. Omegaverse written by trans feminists can be (intentionally or unintentionally) a truly fascinating study in gender-centric worldbuilding & a biting form of satire.

Coffee Shop AU-

Against: Banal. Unchallenging. Falls under the fanfic sin of paragraphs dedicated to describing plot irrelevant foods that the author likes.

Defense: idk. Catholicism-friendly?

#obviously please don't take this too seriously fanfic is a hobby & a labor of love and people should write whatever makes them happy #this is NOT a call for people to write less CSAU's or. dear god. more ABO #fanfic #omegaverse #i dont engage much with either of these genres. i just thought the concept of this poll was very funny #em chatter

59 notes · View notes

ms-spkhd · 9 months ago

Text

thinking about a Blast From the Past steddie au tonight. like, think about it for a second--steve as the sweet, well-meaning himbo raised in a fallout shelter and eddie as the cynic who shows him the world as it is:

The year was 1962, and an atomic bomb had just dropped on top of the Harrington household.

Okay, not really. It was actually a fighter jet that suffered a mechanical failure just above the little plot of land the Harringtons called their home, but Walter Harrington took it differently. Far differently.

See, the thing was that the man was living in a state of paranoid delusion over the Cold War--terrified of the possibility of an outright nuclear holocaust over the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Soviet Union. He had been carefully building a fallout shelter under his home for his wife and possible children to live in with the works--canned food, running water, and even a working television.

And one day they went in and simply never left. The explosion right when they closed the door was tangible proof that the nuclear war was happening right above them.

A few years later, around 1968, a baby boy was born in a fallout shelter with no one but his mom and dad to keep him company.

They raised Steve the best they could, even if Walter Harrington was a mad genius and Madeline Harrington was a borderline alcoholic. Even if the boy was living in a perfect little time capsule of the fifties and early sixties. Walter made sure to educate him right and teach him how to be a sociable gentleman--even if he had no idea what swear words or the concept of sex were. That was for another time. Although, twenty-four years came and went for Steve Harrington, his father still owes him 'another time'.

Steve Harrington grows twenty-four years in perfect seclusion, but that changes at the flick of a switch.

The year is 1992: supplies are dwindling Walter is growing sick, and Steve is tasked to bravely set foot in the nuclear fallout to retrieve more material. (The only reason why Walter assumes they can even get more stuff is because he observed the outside world when the shelter unlocked and mistook it as a post-apocalyptic mutant society.)

The moment Steve made it outside his little bubble, he was utterly fascinated by the world--how different the people were outside of his television and his little books, how bright the sky was outside, how the irritable man on the bus wouldn't accept the money he tried to give him, how the bus moved and didn't fling him right off his seat.

(He even saw an adult bookstore. Dad told him that those things were filled with poisonous gas. How were they even to operate if they were filled with poisonous gas? That's dangerous and totally inconsiderate of the general public's safety.)

Anyway, he tries to follow the grocery list that Mom and Dad gave him the best he can, stocking up on poultry and tissue paper and the works. But by the end of the day, he doesn't know where he came from. Not a single sign or building or person can give him a single clue where to go.

After a few hours of wandering, suitcase in hand, he comes across a store with WE BUY BASEBALL CARDS written on the window.

Golly, Steve loves baseball cards--could look at Dad's collection for hours, and with the collection he has, he could make a pretty penny selling them for supplies. Despite the little hobby store being beside an adult bookstore with poisonous gas, he scampers right in.

"I see you're looking to buy baseball cards," he says breezily to the gruff, scary-looking man behind the counter.

"That I am," he replies.

Steve pulls a few from his jacket's inner pocket. "Well, these are a bit old, you see, but I was hoping you still might be interested."

The gruff man yanks them from his hands, a spark in his eye. He looks delighted to see them, and it fills Steve with an excitement he hadn't felt at all today. Nobody has been this happy over something he's done today. "Woah," he gasps, then covers it with a cough. "Mickey Mantle rookie season...how much do you want?"

"I was hoping to sell all of my cards, actually!"

The man sputters incredulously. "All of 'em? Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm not sure what that means, but all I have are hundred-dollar bills and I need something smaller. Like, uh...ones, tens, fives..."

"Tell you what, I'll give you five hundred in small bills for all you got."

Steve smiles brightly. "Oh, that would be wonderful, sir--"

"Five hundred for a case-full of rookie season Mickey Mantles, Rick, are you fucking joking?" A deep voice cuts through Steve's thanks from the other side of the small store. He turns around to find a man leaning against a magazine rack, arms folded sternly.

The man is unlike Steve's ever seen before. Long, long limbs and big brown eyes that look traced with black and smudged around the edges. Pretty lips, too almost girl-ish, in the way they were big and plush like the women he'd see on the television. The strangest thing about him, though, was the curly hair that tumbled past his shoulders.

He looked mad, though. Madder than mad.

"Tell the poor guy you're fucking with him," long-hair-pretty-lips says to the man behind the counter, who bristles.

"Were you raised in a fucking barn, Munson? Who told you to interrupt on business?" Rick counters. Steve was really not appreciating the amount of f-words dropped in the conversation, it was uncouth.

"Sure I was!" Munson saunters towards the counter and Steve's eyes follow him like a moth to a light. "But my morals go past your business practices at this point. You remember the ninth commandment, yeah?"

"You shut your Goddamn mouth--"

"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate how you're using the Lord's name in vain like that," Steve says firmly.

"See?" Munson smiles. It's like sunlight. "He gets it."

He plucks the baseball card from Rick's hand and holds it over his head when he tries to reach for it again. "See this little thing?" He says to Steve sweetly. "This guy costs six grand alone."

"Get out of town! Really?"

"Oh yeah, big guy. Selling the thing would give you a small fortune, and Rick over here is trying to con you out of it."

Steve frowns. "Is that true?" He asks Rick.

"Nothing but," Munson says in place of him. He slips the card back into Steve's hands and gives them a pat.

"The Hell is even keeping you here, Munson?" Rick sneers. "Did the gig you won't shut up about fall through like they usually do? Better to bum it out here than in your shithole apartment? Stop loitering in my damn store and make like a fucking tree. You're banned."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Munson says rolling his eyes. He looks at Steve, then the door, gesturing at it with a flick of his head. "I'll see you out, Beaver."

He walks them both out the door, stopping to gesture at Rick strangely--hands balled into fists with only his middle fingers up--before stepping outside onto the sidewalk.

"Well merci, Monsieur," Steve says appreciatively, because Dad taught him French was always to be used on such occasions.

"What, you're French?"

"Oh no, I'm"--he thinks back to what Dad told him if a mutant asks where he's from. Gosh, he thinks he's supposed to be--"out on business."

"And you don't even have a clue about the little business trick that Rick tried to pull?"

"No...no, I--"

"Yeah, doesn't matter." Munson shrugs. He smiles sympathetically at Steve before turning on his heel and walking off. Oh boy, what would he do without him?

He follows him like a lost puppy, that's what.

"...You going the same way?" Munson asks incredulously. Steve shakes his head.

"Well, I'm following you."

Munson stops in his tracks, blinking, and Steve almost runs into him in his state. "Me?"

"Well yes! Where are we going?"

"We?" Munson asserts. "I'm going back to my shithole apartment, and judging by that jacket you're wearing, you should be taking the next left and hop-skipping straight to the barber college."

"Oh, I'm lost, though."

"Aren't we all?"

"Say, did you just get banned from that hobby store because of me?" Steve says to change the subject.

Munson sighs. "Seems like I did, sailor. The place was shitty anyways, with that dickhead running the operation. Wayne could get better cards from a different joint."

...dickhead? Steve's never heard that leave the seams of anyone's lips before. "Dickhead?"

"Yeah, he's a real fucking loser. A walking talking penis capable of human speech."

Steve gets queasy at the image he's concocted in his head. He leans against the nearest brick wall, his suitcase tumbling to the ground as he drops into a contemplative squat.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Well, the mental image that I..."

Munson's eyebrows scrunch before he reaches out a hand to Steve. He takes it, letting the man haul him upward. "Look, man, where'd you park your car?"

"I came by bus."

"Aren't you full of surprises."

"I am?"

"Okay look." Eddie raises his hands, palms splayed in the air. "It's your first time in Los Angeles, right? Everyone wants a taste of it, I know, and you're out for business and fucking famished. You got the opportunity to see the great big world outside of your little bubble and you got excited--but you took a bus and got mixed up in the middle of San Fernando Valley without a clue in the world. Am I correct?"

Steve listens in wonderment. So far, Munson's been correct in a way. He's convinced he might be psychic. He nods slowly and seriously just to see Munson flash that lighting-strike smile.

"Great, great. Which brings us to here. Correct again?"

"Oh yeah."

"Where are you staying?"

Nowhere, at the moment. Steve opens his mouth to say so, but Munson interrupts quickly. "Holiday Inn?"

"Yes, the Holiday Inn!" Steve says totally truthfully.

"Okay, cool. Cool." Munson claps his hands together with finality and starts walking. "The nearest bus station is a couple of blocks away if you take a right--"

"Don't you have a car?"

Munson stops in his tracks again. He turns to face Steve once again. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Something warm pools in Steve's gut at the pet name. Something about the way those pretty lips form that word sends blood rushing to his cheeks. "Steve," he says.

"Alright, Steve." Oh boy, his name sounds even better when Munson says it. "Rule number one in Los Angeles? Never let a stranger drive you anywhere."

"If it makes you feel any better," Steve says sweetly, "I don't have a gun."

Munson pales, then starts running.

"Hey!" Steve cries and makes haste to follow him. "I must've said something wrong, please forgive me!"

"Nope, nope--get the fuck away from me, man!"

He grabs Munson's wrist to pull him back, which is a bad move since the man starts writhing around in his grip. "I'm not going to hurt you, sir!"

Steve drops Munson's hand and raises his in surrender. "See?"

"...Just let me get to my car."

"I'll give you a Rogers Hornsby if you take me to my hotel," Steve reasons.

Munson stills. "...That's like four grand, don't bullshit me."

He pulls the card from his jacket and presents it as evidence. "See? I was holding it back." He wants Munson to feel safe. "I got two." He reaches for the other cards in his pockets and pulls them out. "And-and all these other ones, too!"

"Okay, okay. You'll give me four thousand dollars if I drive you to your place?"

"Uh-uh!"

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"And I don't have to give you a quickie in the backseat or anything?"

"Yes sir--wait, what?"

Munson blows past his question like it didn't even leave Steve's mouth. "Can you stop with the sir crap?"

"Well, I'm sorry, sir--"

"My name is Eddie."

Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Wow, what a name. It's almost like something he's heard on the television.

"Why, it's nice to meet you, Eddie."

"Tolerable to meet you too, Steve."

Steve smiles shyly, then asks, "So are you a girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well it's just your hair...it's so long." Steve points at his as an example. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Dude, it's 1992, every other guy looks like this--have you been living under a rock or something?"

Something like that. Steve shrugs.

"Well guys having long hair doesn't mean that they're girls, Steve, that's a given. It's not 1962 anymore." Eddie backtracks. "Well, I mean, dudes can have long hair and be chicks and chicks can be dudes too but that's not--"

"Oh, wow, my dad told me about one of those the last time he went here!"

"Oh that's fantastic, sweetheart," Eddie says, sugary-sweet. "But how about I drive you home?"

"That'd be a pleasure, Eddie."

#and then steve meets chrissy #eddie's roommate #and they go on a quest to help steve get supplies and also a girlfriend #but of course that goes sideways since they fall in love with each other #i swear thisll make sense if you read a synopsis of the movie trust me #im not the biggest fan of shy babygirl steve harrington but the concept of the film was too good not to milk the shit out of #i might make this a longer fic if I ever actually finish my current wips but who knows im a writing enigma #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things s4 #alternate universe #blast from the past #this movie absolutely rocks btw you should check it out #it has brendan fraser in it

46 notes · View notes

ghostofashina · 9 months ago

Text

i still think about emma's first concept and how you can see some burns on her skin

makes me think of a scenario where sekijo lost control and almost killed her with his flames, in order to make her survive dogen tried the rejuvenating waters on her, thats why she has these white strands in her hair, alas she became blind for her eyesight was burnt by the flames

also, genichiro early concept brings me to another scenario where he finds the divine child before wolf and proceeds to become her guardian - like wolf is to kuro. that would explain thet dragon's sword and his white hair. thing is, just like the second mortal blade, i wonder if the divine child's oath would have a condition for not being entirely original.

ofc everyone having a bit of immortality in a game which the idea is to end it doesnt sound like a good idea, especially in terms of fighting: we already face geni 3 times in the game, if he became immortal too that would be quite exaustive.

i just adore these concepts arts and get very inspired by it, imagining how different this game could've been - even it being perfect.

#maybe i should write a fanfic #maybe i shouldn't #sekiro shadows die twice #genichiro ashina #emma #concept art #fromsoftware

31 notes · View notes

mortiflyer · 22 days ago

Text

⇓

#i don't write fanfic and don't have an interest in it but i kinda wish i did bc i'm a writer and i feel weird posting original work that i #legit want to submit for publication on like. ao3 that is nawt my territory. but also. specifically it's so easy to build a fandom bc there #already is one so if you write enough fanfic then fans of that media will translate to fans of...you...anyways. airing some #confusion about self promo...wouldn't call it frustration per se bc i have somewhat aggressive insecurity abt my work. this also applies #to traditional art bc i'm a painter but i don't put a lot of effort into fanart (not disdainful i just have a lot of personal concepts i #prefer to develop bc ik i have the tools to do so) so when i post my paintings they basically get stranded #bc they aren't always of a popular character which is not tumblr's fault i get wanting to see art of specifically your Blorbo #BUT WHERE DO I POST ABT MY JOAN OF ARC PAINTING I'M ALMOST DONE WITH...#LIKE THERE IS NO TUMBLR FANDOM FOR MISS JOAN hnnngrrrhrhh #en ee ways idk if this is necessarily a vent but how tf do i build an audience who wants to see my original work without starting from a #place of derivation...should i just suck it up and make arcane fanart and write homophobic athlete gay sex #WELL. that was really long kiss kiss mutuals.#me yapping

4 notes · View notes

rotisseries · 1 year ago

Text

HELLO?

#I DIDN'T EVEN NEED THE DESCRIPTION I KNEW AS SOON AS I SAW THE COVER. THE FUCKING RINGS GIVE IT AWAYYYYYYY #why is published fic always doing that btw like I have never once seen published fic that was not very clearly and obviously published fic #anyway I stand firmly against published fic as a concept but I think if you HAVE TO DO IT #it needs to stop just being people's fucking r*ylo and dr*mione fics like we need equality it needs to be narusasu a/b/o or some destiel #get weirder get cringier. so this is a step in the right direction I guess. hate it though #what kills me is the statute of limitations on when it's acceptable to publish fanfic seems to be getting smaller and smaller #like there are several years between the star wars sequel trilogy and the love hypothesis #but I looked up when this was published it was LAST NOVEMBER #THERE WAS A MERE SIX MONTHS BETWEEN THE DROP OF ST VOL 1 AND THIS PERSON WRITING AND PUBLISHING A WHOLE STEDDIE FIC #GIRL. HAVE SOME SHAME #should I tag this. the last time I posted about published st fic I didn't main tag it but that's just cause it was h*llcheer #and I didn't really want that in my notifs. I like steddie marginally 🤏 better #steddie

35 notes · View notes

suddenlymicah · 1 year ago

Text

what if, and hear me out here, saiki kusuo fanfic with the song hey mickey

like teruhashi is gonna try to ask saiki out on a date so saiki goes to the person we're shipping him with bc they like him and is like "yo you wanna hang out after school" and the other person goes holy shit im special kusuo actually tolerates me enough to ask me to spend time with him and they go on a kindof fake date and now teruhashi can't interrupt because she thinks its a real date and that would not be what the perfect pretty girl would do and saiki starts catching feelings for the fake partner and

#im going to write this #fanfic #saiki k #kusuo saiki #saiki kusuo #fanfiction #tdlosk #it should be kuboyasu bc if teruhashi comes near them he'll beat her ass #but also kaidou seems like the most actually likely person for him to fall for in teruhashi's eyes #also saiki and saiko is like that thing with his parents and the similar last names stuff #but he also actually likes satou as a concept so it's likely he'd like to spend time with him #it could also be hairo but hairo is less chill and more polite and likes exercise so saiki might get a bit annoyed with that #i write fanfiction #if you couldn't tell #im also indecisive #leave suggestions i'll roll a die

48 notes · View notes

heirtotheempire · 1 year ago

Text

The world always needs more Thrawn angst. As in angst to other people caused by Thrawn. Hurt no comfort everybody dies. I wanna see him at his worst

#trying to write my own angst fic but i have so many ideas #like concepts for a trilogy of fics #and its kinda driving me nutty bc i have not posted much fanfic i have not written much fanfic #and ik people will not like my fanfic bc its angsty #so its kinda like. whats the point yaknow #no one wants to read a fic whete terrible things happen to good people🙏no one except me bc im weird #ah i love this character can i read about their torture?#thrawn works as a good antagonist in these ideas too its great #hmmm should i put this in the tags #eh sure whatever #star wars #grand admiral thrawn #angst #<just in case #btw if anyone seeing this wants to talk about angst puleaaasee contact me #THIS man has no written triggers and wants to hear the most awful ideas ever #images are a different story but in text im all game

20 notes · View notes

cherry-pop-soda · 2 years ago

Text

MISS SCARLET AND THE DUKE 3.04 - Bloodline

#miss scarlet and the duke #msatd #UNHINGED COMMENTARY BELOW ->#okay so first of all i just had to gif this scene because i really almost cried watching it the first time #i feel like the collective Fandom Hivemind was so busy being annoyed that william was gone for two eps and annoyed at william for the #arabella debacle (which is understandable) that a lot of the really amazing details from this episode especially #this scene got overlooked a little #this whole show just makes really good commentary on feminism #it repeatedly makes and demonstrates the point that true feminism is supposed to uplift *everyone*#this scene being one of many cases in point #i could ramble on about that concept forever but i should make another post for that #also this is my first time trying my hand at making gifs with words involved so i hope they turned out alright !!!#i had to brighten and recolor this SO MUCH dude i love this show but it is. a bit shadowy sometimes #but anyways !!! here’s my little contribution to the fandom and i hope to make more in the future :D #i’m planning a fanfic as well but well. who knows how long that will take me to write lol #don’t look at me i always write SO MANY TAGS on my posts lmfao

55 notes · View notes

mirnsey · 1 year ago

Text

Do some people who write fem!reader have the actual audacity to make things like a gynecologist or therapy appointment sexual?? (I’m busting out the double question makes for this

Like, what is the epitome of that for the doms who like the fuck men in the ass?.. like, a prostate appointment?

just.. what??

#ఌmirney’s moronic workఌ #꧁i should shut up꧂#writing #domreader #msub #oneshots #sub character #dom reader #femreader #fanfic #gross concepts #concepts #weird concepts #disgusting concepts #i.. hate this

13 notes · View notes

n3wtiepatootie · 1 year ago

Text

Weird Post Apocalyptic Story Thing

I thought about this months ago to be fr. Silly little story thing. Word count? No clue. But happy reading!

~[★]~

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Fighting, Blood, Guns, Cannibalism (Mentioned but not explicitly written out)...all that stuff-

Don't ask about the word count. I don't know.

I came up with this late at night so :3

~[★]~

God, how long had this war lasted now? 4...maybe 5...or was it 6 years? Keegan didn't know anymore. Long time. Good enough. Who was the enemy? At this point, he didn't know that either. Everyone that wasn't in his team was an enemy. That's just to put it simply. Anyone could be an enemy anymore. Elias had been dead for a long time. His son, Logan, was taken a long while back and they hadn't seen him in years now. With the ongoing war, it was hard to continue the search in all honesty. The other walker brother, David...Hesh, he was great in the field. But ever since his brothers capture, he's been quiet. A true Ghost. Floating along the fields, cold and misery being left behind as he just continued moving forward. It was about all the Walker brother could do now. The captain, Merrick, he was...almost the same. Still a captain, but there was something missing. Everyone could feel it nowadays. Always something missing.

Except they had to ignore it. Had to ignore what was making everyone keep each other at arms length, had to ignore the missing pieces, everything had to be ignored to secure and end this war. But still, even more than just their team felt off...the world itself felt off.

~[★]~

Keegan's feet drummed against the terrain as he made his way towards where a supposed enemy camp was located. He honestly hated that word nowadays...enemy. Target is a better word. Always will be the better word. Target down as compared to enemy down. Targets sighted as compared to enemies sighted. Got eyes on the target. It simply was the better word. Didn't make him feel so emotionally attached to the person he was meant to put in the ground, like they actually meant something in his life. Calling them target reduced them to just that, a target. A mere sheet he was meant to get the highest number on.

Other footsteps filled the rest of the silence around him, the squad he had been given following him towards the targets. The whole team was in silence, moving more like machines than people. That's what this dreadful war had done to people, reduced even the most confident people in the military to simple pieces of hardware ready to be used for whatever program was next. Keegan didn't dwell on it anymore. It used to be just something to occupy his mind when the rooms began to get too quiet. When the laughter and whispers would die down into silence that made the room seem more like a cemetery than a lounge. In a way it was. It was for him to allow his eyes to dance around the room, pointing out which sun set first after each mission. In all honesty, it was a great place for his mind to wander considering he didn't have much else to wander on anymore. Maybe the flowers or the skies before blood painted both, but watching the soldier's morale break down was honestly good too. Until even that grew grey and Keegan's own sun began to set. Now even his mind was honed in on just the next target.

Keegan sunk to the ground, giving a flick of the wrist for everyone else to follow in suite. Which, of course, they did. Nothing more than mechanical limbs broken down to follow orders. His eyes scanned the bunker buried in the Earth's crust, his eyes raising in slight interest. There were no guards positioned outside...odd. For a target, this was already a pretty dead spot and they had barely come within 20 feet of the location. Keegan's brows met together as he felt the air shift around him. No guards. No soun-...hold on-

As the hair on his neck began to rise in time with the goosebumps on his arms, a form slammed into his back. He grunted loudly, immediately beginning to thrash and wrestle with his assailant. He heard many far off cries from all around him, but his focus was on whatever was attacking him. Loud snapping echoed in his ears as the being consistently lunged at him. Keegan's voice was reduced to mere sounds of struggle as he tumbled with the other. Sharp nails found his jacket sleeve, digging in and tearing it to shreds. The nails pierced his skin as they tore and he let out a strangled cry as fresh scarlet poured from the punctures. The person made a loud sound in delight, momentarily focusing on the wounds it had marked into Keegan's arm. Keegan didn't hesitate to press his advantage, his fingers immediately curling around his blade. He plunged it into their throat repetitively. He twisted and tore at the flesh, thrusting the blade further until they crumbled and fell limp atop him. Keegan launched them off of him, pushing himself up and back onto his feet.

His eyes blew wide as he witnessed the ambush on his squad, many of the members in a tustle similar to the one he finally got out of. Keegan went to push forward, in an attempt to help the soldier closest to him when a bang echoed in his ears. His mind was sent reeling as white hot pain burned through his shoulder. Eyes were quick to hone in on the leaking hole on his arm as he crashed onto one knee, hand immediately clutching the wound. Crimson already had begun spreading through the fabric like an infection. He bit his bottom lip, trying to desperately mask the yells bubbling in his throat.

Keegan gasped out a breathless "fall back" before he was dragging himself back into the woods in a sprint.

~[★]~

Keegan's arm was searing in molten screams, but he pushed forward, hoping to reach the extraction point. His mind had glazed over into a mere fog, had been that way since he tripped on a root. Left was right and right was left and god, it was not helping. Blood had gushed down his arm, coating his skin in the sticky substance and being generally uncomfortable. His breaths had become nothing more than soft, desperate wisps as he forced himself towards the forests end.

His body broke through the treeline into a cracked and broken street. Houses caved in and scorched with black streaks, creating a beautiful but dangerous pattern on the ruined architecture. Street lamps that used to be a beacon of light when the moon couldn't had been shattered and thrown to the ground like toys. Cracks had wormed their way through the once smooth asphalt that made up the street, driving up the sidewalks and breaking the lighter grey into a surface looking irritating to attempt a walk upon. Keegan huffed out small puffs of air as he took in the destroyed remains of what might have been a beautiful neighborhood. The stars winked down at him, taunting him of the scenery he found himself in. Something once so beautiful and strong, giving a sense of safety and belonging to so many, now destroyed by the war rampaging through each and every country.

Just like me...

Keegan fought with himself when his body began to sway. Adrenaline wearing down as he stood in the middle of the barren street and every process he had been ignoring him catching up with him. His lack of blood was the first thing that his body made sure to let him be aware of as he swayed on his feet. His vision moved gracefully, but without himself, giving him an even more dizzying feeling than he was originally dealing with. Disks of darkness swam in his sight as he forced himself to press forward, even with the sway of his feet. His hand instinctually raised to his radio, pressing on the button with a weak grip.

"This is..Ghost...Ghost 2-6, lost a lotta blood, require...send...-" Keegan placed his other hand on his temple, desperately trying to keep uo mentally and physically- "help...fuck.."

The static that followed afterward only filled him with dread. He sucked in a breath, using every bit of energy to keep pushing along as he made another attempt at communication.

"Russ to command...'m in a town...houses..ruined...shot in the...shoulder...lost..lost good amount of blood," he took a moment to pant before continuing, "need help...anyone copy?"

White noise only played from the radio and Keegan had half a mind to break it.

"A-anyone there," he whispered in a final pitiful act to call for help.

Once the static rang out again, Keegan pried his fingers away from the radio, knowing damn well that if he heard static again then he would break his radio. Maybe. It was a thought.

Keegan's head swiveled around the torn down neighborhood until he looked up at the darkened sea above him. His eyes studied the stars before survival kicked into his brain. Shelter, echoed within his mind as his body took on its own mind and began dragging him towards a small, white house before his mind could even fully catch up. The house itself was the only one on the block that actually looked to still be somewhat mostly standing.

His boots creaked against the wooden porch as he pulled himself up ever so slowly. Waves of dizziness and nausea wracked through his skull as he turned the handle, slowly pushing the door open and stumbling inside the house. He shut the door with a soft click before he turned around and his dazed eyes widened slightly with the sight before him.

The last thing Keegan saw was a young person sitting besides a fire wearing the same shocked expression as him (albeit healthier) before he collapsed to the floor and fell unconscious the moment his head made impact with the carpet.

~[★]~

Continue?

#keegan p russ #keegan russ #cod ghosts #call of duty #writing #original story #alternate universe #small fanfic #cod au #my writing #story concept #i wrote something #cod keegan #call of duty ghosts #should i continue?#cod #i wrote this #fanfic #FracturedWorldAU

8 notes · View notes