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formerlycookierunauprompts · 9 months ago

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Requested by @deirdredeity (I accidentally deleted the og ask because tumblr was being fussy) :

OMG?? 🤯🤯 whattttt omgggg fuck being an anon I’m the one who requested the flustered reader shi (mmm was an anon bcz I didn’t wanna embarrass myself but whatever) omg dayumm you went crazy with it and I’m more than satisfied 😍 you always EAT (get it? haha.. eat.. and shadow milk.. haha) I love it tysm ❤️❤️ glad that I didn’t accidentally break a rule hehe.. we love girlboss girlfailures in here 😘 didn’t expect it to be that spicy but nevertheless I am GLAD ty for this juicy piece also you said currently he’s sealed so continuation where bro is UNsealed? 🤯🫣 (jk don’t take me too seriously I have a mental age of 5 jokes aside thank you i really appreciate it, it turned out super well way beyond expectations I was expecting like a few pickup lines or smooches but definitely not this it blew me out of the water hard tytytyty ily❤️)

Alright bet I get to go crazy again

Requested Prompts #43 - 💓

There's a ringing in your ears, what the hell happened? You just wanted to take a nap... yet it feels like you were in a dome of glass that just shattered. You can feel a poking against your cheek, it's something large, metalic and- wait. You crack open your eyes, just enough to see the intimidating form of Silent Salt staring you down. You're lucky that the beasts consider you... actually, you don't know what they really think of you. Do they think you're their pet? Their friend? a Frenemy? Well, either way you were their warden. " Silent Salt...?" You groan, pushing yourself up from the ground. Silent Salt says nothing, merely just pointing a ways in front of you to- ... hold on, WHAT THE FUCK??? " THE SEAL???" You exclaim, looking at the humongous crack in the realm of the seal. It pulsed with a blue, shadowy energy, which could only mean that Shadow Milk had escaped. And that was bad, very bad, because it meant that you were failing at your job. And... with how big that crack was you doubted that Elder Faerie was on the outside trying to wrangle Shadow Milk back into the seal... Meaning that you had to go outside to get him back in, but doing so would leave the other beasts unattended. Either way, you're failing at your job. So what choice do you really have? You look back at Silent Salt. " Uh... thanks for letting me know?" You said to him, to which earned you a thumbs up in response. You quickly pondered on your choice before looking back to Silent Salt. " Try not to escape while I'm gone, I don't want to double fail at my job." You tell him before running off towards the crack in the seal.

----

As you expected, everything was chaos. Possessed faerie cookies lingered, danced, and fooled around all around you. There were quite a few things that were on fire and the echoes of twisted laughter almost mocked you as you steeled yourself. None of them were who you were looking for despite the resemblance he'd dressed them up in. " Dammit... where would he go if he got out on his own?" You muttered to yourself as you looked around. Fortunately, you could narrow it down to a few places, unfortunately you realized that you are but one cookie. You cannot traverse the entirety of Beast Yeast in just a few minutes or so, it'd take you a few days realistically and by then all the other beasts would have likely gotten out! Were you really fucked no matter what? Probably. You took a deep breath, if anything he'd probably be in some kind of gigantic theater- Well wouldn't you know, there's a gigantic theater right over there that's just oozing with Shadow Milk's aura. There was no way he wouldn't be there, and so that's where you'd go. Hopefully you'd be able to drag him back to the seal.

----

Shadow Milk watched as those pesky little heroes ran about, celebrating as if they'd truly won. Those poor, ignorant fools! They really thought that they'd actually sealed him away in the tree again? They'd been running around in his silly little maze ever since he'd taken hold of the new half-a-cookie guardian's little friends! It was honestly quite pathetic how they hadn't realized they'd been tricked into a false sense of security, he was literally the beast of deceit! Everyone's most beloved Trickster! Tricking them into this just felt too... easy, too boring. He could try his hand at getting Silly-Vanilly to chop down the tree, all he has to do is show him the truth! And why wouldn't he want to know the truth if he embodied it? Unless he was willing to live in a lie... then he was much farther from the Truth than Shadow Milk thought- His train of thought was interrupted when the doors of his theater of lies swung open. " Hm?" That was... odd. Elder Faerie certainly shouldn't be alive, White Lily and co are stuck in his maze of deceit, so then who...? There you stood, looking quite peeved off if he had to say so himself. " Oh! Little Warden, how thrilling that you've come to make an appearance!" He chirped, casting his view of the maze to the side. The maze could wait, his little warden was here! " Shadow Milk Cookie!" You called out, pointing at him accusingly. " You will return to the great seal immediately! And that is an order from the Warden of the Seal!" You commanded him, don't mind the quick pov switch but it was frustrating enough that Shadow Milk escaped in the first place, and now he had the audacity to give you such a smug grin in reply? " Oh Little Warden..." Shadow Milk began, laying on his stomach as he rested his chin on the back of his hand. " It's so so so cute that you think that you can order me around like that~! I'm a free cookie now, and that means that I can do whatever I want again~!" He chirped with a flourish of his free hand, you could see the excited mania dancing in his eyes, you couldn't allow this to stand. " Okay, but you haven't actually earned your freedom at all. You just waited until the seal was weak enough so you could break out!" You retorted, which may have been the wrong thing to say judging by the way his grin dropped for a moment. He soon broke out into a maniacal cackle, seeming to have found your words hilarious. " Ehe he he ha ha hah! Sure, I may have done that, but does it really matter?" He teased, reaching out a clawed hand and picking you up by the edge of your cloak. You shrieked as you were hoisted into the air, you didn't have the protection of the seal that kept you from crumbling while in the real world, so your life was in a lot more danger here. " Ack- Put me down! Or at the very least hold me properly!" You protest as you squirm in place, you feel a shudder run through your dough as the beast before you lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

" And why should I? You adorable little morsel~" He purrs, flipping you around in his hand so that you were laying on your back on his palm instead of dangling in the air. God fucking dammit, he was doing this again. He knows every, single, god damn weak spot of yours and by god does he abuse them frequently, mainly because they mostly relate to him. " You-!!" You protest, quickly shutting up when you feel his breath wash over you like a wave of hot air. And the way he's looking at you is already making you weak- No, you have to stay strong. " You know..." You hear him begin and fuck when did he get so close? There's a certain glint in his eyes, one that both intrigues you and makes you fear for your life. " I never really got a taste of you like I wanted to... Care to let me just have one little bite? Or maybe just a taste... either would be fine~" He teased with the low, stupidly sexy voice of his. You could already feel his lips at the tips of your little cookie feet, ready to open and swallow them whole if you let him. You could already feel your face turning cherry red, and you knew that he could see it judging by the slight excitement that made itself known in his eyes. You felt tempted to indulge him, but you also didn't want to lose your feet... But maybe he'd go back to the seal? No, he wouldn't... Would he? Or maybe he won't just go for your feet, he's teased you multiple times about gobbling you up in one bite. So if you give him this will he just... eat you? Apparently, you took too long to decide. You felt something moist and blue against your arm, a semi-satisfied hum creeping out of the beast holding you captive. " Mmn... I was right, you really are a sweet little treat. One that I can have all to myself~" Shadow Milk purred, his face looming over you as he left you to process what he'd done. You were in for a long ride, weren't you?

----

AUGHIJBSGHGKSHG I CAN'T, I CAN'T WRITE ANYMORE/lh Shadow milk... you bastard why must you make me FEEL THINGS????

but, uh, i hope you enjoyed and if anyone wants to continue this then PLEASE.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #crk #cr kingdom #shadow milk cookie #cookie run au prompts #beast yeast #shadow milk cookie x reader #warden!reader prompts

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gorbalsvampire · 5 months ago

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Clarimonde Explains It All

She’s not what I expected.

You say “elder vampire lady” to me and I’m picturing floor-length crimson ballgowns, nails and cheekbones you could cut yourself on, lips the only thing about her with any colour in it.

Clarimonde is five-five of boho chic; dress over jeans, big hat on the back of her chair, OG Doc Martens she's not been assed to lace up all the way. She does have long nails, but I’m pretty sure they’re fakes. There’s a tiny glass on the table in front of her, and it’s empty; can she keep it down?

She leans back to air-kiss Dominique, real old-school mwah-mwah lovely-to-see-you-babe; introduces herself in French, and smiles when I stutter my way through my je m’appelles and have to say in English, “but everyone except my mum calls me Tish.”

“Tish. My pleasure. So, why has Dominique brought you to see another old lady?”

Dominique glances at me — permission granted — and I explain there’s something I’m not getting from her and she thought hearing it in another voice would be good for me.

“I’ve lived a very boring life, my dear. Dominique has been around the world three times and left a trail of nonsense in her wake, what could I —“

“It’s the way you tell it,” says Dominique, rolling her eyes. “And of the two of us, who’s been on television?”

It’s Clarimonde’s turn to roll her eyes, and she does it with a little sniff that’s much more my idea of “elder vampire.”

“I was immortalised without my permission,” says Clarimonde. “You shouldn’t let poets lie to you, Tish; they tell you that you’ll live forever, they neglect to mention ‘as a petty pretty monster who leads innocent young men around by their dicks and away from God’. It could be worse; look what happened to poor Louis and his confessional. How many books of revision to his life story are there, now?”

“For real? The guy from —“

“Yes. The first at least is a true story. There’s a grain of truth at the bottom of all the stories. For instance; mine is truly the world’s oldest profession. I liked being called a ‘courtesan’, I wasn’t keen on ‘moll’, ‘whore’ has always been an insult…”

“What do you think of ‘sex worker’?” It’s out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying. Go for woke, I guess.

“Matter of fact, boring — but honest, which has its charms.” She smiles. “But — to stay on topic, because Dominique is making the face,” and she is, “let me forestall the inevitable question. Him too, and he was a piece of work.”

“The thing Clarimonde does so well,” Dominique explains from her end of the sofa, “is talk about men.”

“About a specific class of people,” says Clarimonde, and her pout looks like she wants to poke her tongue out of it. “Mostly men, who did awful things, frequently to women, and who happened to be like us. I’ve collected vampire stories ever since I was in one, and for the longest time they all had something in common. Take Dracula. Born in the fifteenth century. In the nineteenth, he re-emerges with a grand plan; he’ll move himself to what he’s been told is the greatest city on Earth and he’ll re-invent himself as a modern monster. What does he do when he gets there? Obsess over the first girl he gets his teeth into, and stalk his solicitor’s wife to punish the man for escaping, or whatever mad reason he had. Not just a monster but a failure. Why do you think that happens?”

“He’s got really poor impulse control?”

“And you said she didn’t get it.” Clarimonde laughs behind her hand, and for a second I can see her in costume-drama gear, peeking over a fan. “He’d been around too long. Once he’d been an empire-builder, and he remembered being that, but — did he really remember? Can the mind hold on to what it was five hundred years ago? Four hundred? When we cheat ourselves and say we were better people as little girls, from only ten or twenty years away?”

“I get it,” I say, practically talking over her. “I think. You’re saying he was trying to be who he thought he was, what history said he was. But really, he was… just a vampire.”

“And what a piece of work is a vampire?” she purrs, declaiming at her little glass. “Just a being who thirsts. A paragon of animals. Over time, we forget what else we were. Dominique brought you to me because I’m old. Because there are so few older. I’m a simple girl at heart; I take money and a little blood from people who have both to spare. It’s a simple rule, and it’s not a big plan, and it’s not much to hold on to.

“I keep my memories in stories. I don’t know if I’ve always looked this way, or if I saw that girl pretending to be me and made myself like her. Do you know Louis went back to his maker in the end? After everything he told, everything in that book, he went back on bended knee because he’d started to believe what was made up about him afterwards. He went back to a man he’d tried to kill and he thought he was in love. But he’s still alive, and he’s doing no harm to anyone but himself. And maybe one day I’ll wake up with a rosary in my hand and a pretty boy in my bed and I’ll hope to God he paid for it. That’s what happens when we live too long, Tish. We start believing what they say about us.”

One of the core impulses behind Bloodspell was "literary vampires are real but the version of their stories you get is off." Deconstructing the vampire as antagonist/romantic hero, y'know?

#bloodspell #indie ttrpg #vampire oc #original vampire fiction #oc: laetitia #oc: dorian #oc: sylvester #oc: dominique #clarimonde #la morte amoureuse #interview with the vampire #dracula #(i can use tags for literary references right?)

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brotherslayer · 3 months ago

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Do u think Derrick would ever think of pursuing og penelope romantically and in one of your posts u mentioned a senario where derrick kidnapps penelope when she runs away with iklies... Would he paint himself as a love interest or would be continue being an asshole brother... And if og penelope ever came to know about his feelings how would she react

I fear og Penelope is only side hoe material to him.

I'm not sure if Derrick would ever want to sell Penelope the illusion of a love story. He doesn't love her. He lusts after her. These two are entirely different things. I don't think Derrick would lie to her, unless we are counting him saying what he believes to be true. At the same time I don't believe he would return to his asshole brother persona either after retrieving her. He's experienced her loss for the first time and this awakened something inside him. What would change about his treatment of her is that he would become more possessive, controlling, protective, slightly guilty and at times strangely gentle.

Though that doesn't mean he won't stop being cruel to her if she resists. He'd keep her alive in ways that make Iklies' murder look merciful. Instead of starving her as punishment he'd have her forcefed by servants when she hunger strikes. She'd be kept in her room like a madwoman in a padded cell. Restrained. Sedated with pills and injections like a rabid animal. The abuse would play out on a psychological and sexual plane that is invisible to others. Once it looked like an elder brother disciplining his unruly younger sibling but now it looks like a benevolent nobleman taking care of his mentally ill relative. He would gain a reputation of a Samaritan next to his status as a war hero.

First of all, I need to clarify Penelope is a csa victim in almost any of my headcanon AUs. I think when she was young Penelope vacillated a lot between hating him, wanting anyone but him, seeking solitude while at the same time longing for his attention and approval and feeling disgusted with herself because of it. Over time this would all swing into the opposite direction, if she once used to behave badly to keep Derrick away from her and call Duke Eckart's attention to the abuse happening at home, now she does it to keep Derrick from ignoring her. She would do heinous things to get his attention, hurt those around him because she can't touch the target of her anger, try to make him jealous because it makes her feel wanted, use her sex appeal to make other men fight for her and cheat on the noblewomen that bullied her. In short, she'd grow into the woman Derrick had always pictured her as: a jealous, greedy, attention-seeking whore.

At the time when she meets Iklies, I can well imagine that she starts her relationship with him out of spite towards Derrick. It annoys Derrick when she gets involved with other men. So what would offend him more than if the man she gets involved with was someone from the lowest stratum of society?

I envision that her and Iklies relationship starts out dubious. All her life Penelope has been objectified and abused, and now she is owning another human being who she could abuse in the same ways, because no one cares about him. Based on Cha Siyeon's behaviour, I can imagine that og Penelope would imitate Derrick's abuse of her in a softer way, but respond with childish violent anger when she doesn't get her way (think of a toned down version of Giovinetta and Idris from Lady Devil). She'd get a kick out of the the bullying of someone weaker, but becomes horrified when she realizes she's about to become what she hated and feared.

Either way something happens. She witnesses a scene where the staff or her brother abuses Iklies and is painfully reminded of a scene from her past. Something shifts. She begins to feel compassion for Iklies and senses that they are kindred spirits. The sight of him defiant in the face of his master holding a whip awakens her old self, who fought so doggedly for her rights but was beaten to the ground again and again until she gave up, and suddenly she is seized by a determination. She doesn't want him to be as broken as she is. She finds hope in his resistance and the strength to defy Derrick again. Together they run away, they fall in love but it's more like clamping onto a rock in the waves that are trying to drown them.

So when the rebellion is crushed and Iklies is brutally massacred before her eyes, her last spark of hope dies with her lover. She would probably temporarily lose her mind and never recover from the shock wholly. Penelope would lash out at anyone within her reach like a wounded animal until a soldier hits her head and she falls unconscious down to the floor. When she wakes up, she'd experience a brief amnesia. She would spend her days sitting in her bed like a doll, staring at the wall with glassy eyes and show no reaction when someone touches her or attempts to make a conversation. The only time when she comes alive is when Derrick enters her room and oh, she would hate him with every fiber of her being and fight him until the last strenght leaves her body. She'd scream at him, spit in his face, try to scratch out his eyes, kick him between the legs, rip apart his gifts or use them to attack him and hurt herself.

Derrick would use these outbursts as an excuse to lock her away. He would claim Penelope had been kidnapped by the rebels and raped. That her mind had been broken to the point where she believed she had been in love with one of them. Poor Penelope, can not even recognize the faces of her family and thinks they are the enemy. He would start to believe his own lies too and his conviction that he was right and Penelope was crazy would be so strong that even Penelope would start to doubt her sanity. With time her subconsciousness would lock away all these painful memories to protect her fractured psyche. Slowly she would begin to view him as her savior, because every other reality would be too bleak to accept. She'd relapse, regress. Penelope would begin to forget why she hated him so much. Doesn't he dispel the darkness and bring light and warmth and delicious food into her room? This is the closest Derrick could come to a "Happy End". The outside world celebrates his heroic deeds, and inside his mansion waits the Penelope from the past, beautiful and broken.

In conclusion: Derrick would believe he is healing her but he's actually killing her. He'd 100% view himself as her saviour and the rebels as the villains. There's simply no other explanation: Penelope's love to Iklies must have been stockholm syndrome and she needs to be fixed by him. He'd still feel guilty and give her gifts. What he regrets is not the abuse but that he didn't keep her on a tighter leash and let someone else steal her away right from under his nose and have his possession defiled by a stranger. He wouldn't hold back with his desires anymore, because she's already been ruined by a barbarian and "liked it". What he regrets the most is that he didn't rape her when she was 12.

And if og penelope ever came to know about his feelings how would she react

This greatly depends on Penelope's age, Ivonne's absence or presence, her other experiences with love and how he breaks it to her. If he tells her he loves her later in life, she'd laugh in disbelief. He has already convinced her successfully that he hates her. She'd be convinced this must be just another method for him to torture her. Assuming she had already experienced true love by then, she would tell him his love was fake and rotten and that real love is about more than just balls, dresses and jewelry. He could deck her body in gems and they might hide the scars on her body but not those on her soul. How can he expect her to love him after the hell he put her through? He could count himself lucky if she ever looked at him again.

Had she been a bit younger she would have asked him why with tears brimming in her eyes. Just why. What did she do wrong? Why did he love her? Why hadn't he been nicer to her, she might have loved him back? She may have imagined for a brief moment how her life had been like if she had noticed and responded to his feelings in the correct manner.

It would have been so easy if he had painted her the picture of a forbidden love story shortly after she arrived at the duchy, but Penelope wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret for long. She would have bragged about it in front of others. I also don't think he likes it when she's too happy. I have the feeling whenever little Penelope followed him around nagging him to play games with her or opened her mouth to happily chatter nonsense, he'd feel a blind rage inside him surging up and has to fight the urge to smack her. He just doesn't like her as a person. The words "I love you" would refuse to come over his lips, which would cause Penelope to doubt him. She might be naive, but I feel like she senses deep down that he hates her and wants to hurt her. In my mind I can't imagine a world where Derrick would serious court og Penelope. Derrick prefers to take a noble lady as wife to keep up appeareances and keep Penelope locked away like a dirty little secret.

Overall I think she'd feel dread, betrayal and hurt in a place where she never thought to shield herself against Derrick's attacks. It's like her whole world turned upside down. She always wanted his love but now that she has it, it makes her nauseous. It's the ultimate rejection. He promised her when they first met, didn't he? He'll never love her as his family and now she knows why. She should have listened to him and ran. Penelope feels like she has turned into a bird that is hitting its desperate wings against an invisible net thrown over them.

#answered asks #vadd #eckartcest #tw sa mention #tw child abuse mention #headcanons #death is the only ending for a villainess #villains are destined to die #ditoeftv

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not-krys · 6 months ago

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9. Old [Ophelia, Abby, Miri]

This was more or less my excuse to make some of my characters elderly, which also means also some of the baggage that comes with it. And no, I'm not ashamed of making characters old.

Raw, unedited writing featured below! In these entries:

-We explore a scene from Ophelia's past, which was a journey through description for me, personally. -A bittersweet moment between an elderly Abby and Theo. Heavily implied/referenced major character death -An elder Miri and Simeon reminiscing about the past. Spoilers for OG Obey Me seasons 2 and 4 (somewhat, I'm still early in season 4 but I have seen one particular spoiler about Simeon and decided to run with the concept. Sorry if later lessons make this idea moot, but I just really wanted to explore the idea).

------

Ophelia

It was for the others. It was always for them. That was the mantra Ophelia repeated to herself over and over again. For Cordelia, for Rosalind and Portia. For Nicolai and the twins. For Frederick and little Viola. She was doing this for them, so they wouldn't have to suffer the poor life any more.

For them, she would become this old man's wife. No more would anyone go hungry or have ill-fitting clothes. The estate could be fully staffed, the entire house finally cleaned, fixed, and polished to a decent shine. She didn't need to rely on her capricious parents anymore.

The price didn't matter to her, so long as her younger siblings got a better life than she ever had.

She clutched her bouquet closer, the floral smell a little strong for her nose, and stood taller, like a soldier heading towards a battle that they weren't sure they'll be returning from. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor, hollow and ominous with each step. An organ nearby played the typical wedding march of Revaire, a happy little jaunt common in church halls. To Ophelia's ears, weighed down painfully by heavy gems, it sounded shrill and piercing. She could imagine this song being her welcoming tune into hell, fittingly enough. Her dress, heavy and scratchy, was also what she would imagine being pulled into hell felt like too.

Ahead of her was the head priest and beside him was the man who was to be her husband. He was slumping forward on a wooden cane, smiling at her with several teeth missing and most of his hair wispy under his hat. At one point he might have been handsome… maybe… but he more put her mind of the gargoyles on the big church in the capital, but not in the frightening way they were supposed to be. Or maybe of a goblin merchant in the fairy stories Viola loved, but with none of the personality to match. He might tumble over in the slightest breeze, he looked so frail.

Still, she held her head high, swallowed hard, and continued walking to her wedding dirge. Whispers of how beautiful she was bounced off of her, how lucky she was. It was all for her family, she repeated in her head. They were getting a better life because of her. That was the only thing keeping her sanity intact.

At last, once she was close enough to the altar, she nodded to the priest, her breath shaking in her chest. She held her bouquet closer to her nose, hoping to mask a smell that she just noticed and it was all kinds of unpleasant. The priest looked a little envious of her, not having his own escape from the putrid odor.

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Abby

Theo sat by Abby's side, her small hands covered in wrinkles and a little stiff, holding a long paintbrush. Theo, still as youthful as when she had met him, untouched by two hundred years, brown hair and blue eyes unchanged by time, watched patiently as her hand moved, graceful in memory but a little clumsy now with age.

"Just a little more," Abby said, her voice cracking.

"Take your time," Theo said gently, far more kind than he had sounded in her youth.

Silence overtook the two of them, sunlight peeking through the nearby window. Where she needed it, Theo held up her elbow, keeping her arm steady.

"…Talk about him, Theo." Abby asked, squinting her eyes. "Please…"

"Hondje… Are you sure?"

"A happy memory… for me, please?"

Theo closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh.

"Back when we used to live in Comte's mansion, he often painted outdoors. He loved being in the sun. He… sometimes I thought he was the sun."

"When you came around…" Theo continued, "Well, he was happier. More than I had ever seen him. He shined brighter than before. Blindingly so some days. I was a little jealous… Very jealous, actually. How this scared little pup that came out of nowhere had managed to capture my broer so completely so quickly… Maybe it's not what you want to hear, but any truly happy memory I have of him, you're in it too."

Theo touched her elbow again.

"Remember when I came to the house the first time? Because your auntie had sent those pictures of his paintings?"

"Yes," Abby said, "I showed you all those pictures of Vincent and me… of the children… of his life ever since we left."

"You showed me that he had lived a good life and that's something I can't thank you enough for. I had failed in that regard, even in our second lives."

"Your wish allowed us to meet, Theo, so… don't sell yourself so short. My happiness… was thanks to you, after all."

"Hondje…"

"A-anyway… you were talking about how he loved painting outdoors?"

"Yeah, he'd taken you with him. By all accounts, it should have been sunny all day. But, there was a pop up shower."

"Ah, yes. He wanted to teach me about nature painting. But then it started raining suddenly."

"It was a little late in the day, so I was just getting back from selling some of his work. I got caught up in it too. Soaked to the bone."

"So were we. We had to pack up in a hurry, the paint hadn't even dried properly, both of canvases getting smeared together with the rain water. I was so upset because I was so proud of it and thought I had ruined it."

"Broer just smiled, I remember." Theo said, "and told me that they were twin paintings now. Sebas even came by to tell us about how in the future, there was this movement in art where you don't really paint forms like normal. Sometimes, people would splash paint onto canvases without rhyme or reason. Abstract painting, he called it. I wouldn't have believed him if I hadn't lived through it myself."

Abby smiled a little.

"Vincent held onto those paintings for a while. I was a little embarrassed on how long he held onto them, messed up as they were."

"From what I remember, Comte had them put up in the parlor after you two left."

"That's even more embarrassing!"

"Even had them framed."

Abby lowered her elbow, setting her brush down.

"Thank you, Theo. For cheering me up. For staying and putting up with me."

"You'd be lonely if I didn't, and Broer hated leaving you alone for long."

"…I miss him. So much."

Theo reached up to her cheek, wiping away the falling tear with his thumb.

"Just remember that you had a hand in making his life as good as it could have been. Now I'm making sure yours is just as good in his honor. So, no more tears. You have a portrait to finish, after all."

Abby took a breath and nodded, looking at Theo, determined.

"R-right."

They both turned back to the canvas, the image reflected in their eyes of a younger Vincent, smiling as both of them had remembered.

------------

Miri

Miri sat on a bench overlooking the city, her magical staff now getting more use as a walking stick in her old age sitting by her side. Older humans weren't as common a sight in Devildom as youthful wizards and sorcerers were more common, but all them knew the sight of the elder sorcerer. It was her that helped the exchange student program at RAD flourish after all. She helped to expand it and make it the respected practice it was now. Miri had even had a hand in teaching some of the younger generations, both as a student council member and teacher. But she was older now, older than she had ever expected be, reaching her 990th birthday a few months prior. Or was it her 991st? Solomon had lost track of his actual age eons ago and Miri felt she was starting to slip into the same mindset.

Though, age really was just a number, a measurement of time really, her body was starting to feel the effect of almost a thousand years, something a normal human wouldn't experience naturally. She blamed her ancestor for her prolonged longevity, and the effects of her pacts likely didn't help, but still, time was finally catching up to her. Her vibrant pink curls had turned gray over the years, her hands now crinkly like wadded paper, her bright eyes now surrounded by wrinkles. Her mind was still plenty quick as it was when she was young and her heart just as kind.

She smiled at some passersby, some she had taught personally in her teaching days saying hello, some she still saw frequently enough on her outings around town. A familiar face soon sat beside her, a hand just as wrinkled as hers resting on top of her own hand on her lap. She smiled gently.

"Simeon." She said simply, seeing the return gentle smile.

"Hello, Miriam." said Simeon. "Everyone was starting to get worried, so I came to look for you."

"Luke let you out of his sight?" Miri giggled.

"Well… I might have sneaked out without his notice."

"He'll be so worried about you!"

"He'll understand. I wanted to see you, so I did." Simeon's eyes, wrinkled just as hers and almost hidden behind thick glasses, were just as bright as hers and full of innocent mischief. "I'm surprised Lucifer or one of his brothers isn't nearby."

"I… may have used a little magic to help me escape. I can still have my own life, you know."

Simeon laughed. "They all mean well."

"I know. It's just frustrating to be treated fragile, that you'll break at the slightest little thing."

"It is a strange thing. I tried to stretch my back this morning and it made such a loud crack, it startled Luke and Raphael. Solomon just laughed and said 'mood'."

Miri sighed.

"Mammon refuses to let me take stairs by myself anymore. I'm not that helpless!"

"It is their first time being around elder humans regularly. Be patient with them, Miriam."

Miri sighed again.

"You're also taking aging well. I mean… do you miss being an angel?"

"Sometimes," Simeon shrugged. "But I don't regret becoming human."

"For… because… because of me."

"To save the three realms, and for you. Saving you I'll never regret, no matter the consequences to me. Growing old with you has been a treasure I've never thought I'd ever experience."

"Simeon…"

"Living life with you, really, I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"You're making me blush…"

"You always did look cute when you blushed."

"I'm too old for that kind of stuff."

"You're still cute, you know."

"Flatterer."

"Not if it's true."

#krys's adventures in fanfiction #wip wednesday #ikemen vampire #obey me #7kpp mc #7kpp #ophelia of revaire #abigail clarke (oc)#theodorus van gogh (ikevamp)#miriam (obey me oc)#simeon (obey me)#there were also entries with Maddie and Clara #but I couldn't get them to where I wanted them #felt out of character with some of them #so I took them out of this entry #maybe I'll repurpose them for a later entry #who knows

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gehenna-calling · 7 months ago

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updated vampire roster

lyssa breach - she/her - playlist 215 y/o, 9th gen malkavian

trying so hard to hold it together :)

has had a number of strange collections through her kindred life, currently is focused on collecting relics of violence

specialises in auspex (has five dots in it)

incredibly curious about basically everything, much to her detriment

quintus fourier boylan - he/him 9th gen malkavian

mathmalktician

hears the cobweb through radios, broken televisions, white noise

gets premonitions, may or may not be receiving messages from malkav himself :)

has a slightly fraught relationship with his sire and a recently broken blood bond. he's getting better i swear

isa breach - she/her - playlist 215 y/o, 9th gen tremere

an au that got out of hand

comes from entirely the same background as og lyssa, except she was embraced by a tremere rather than a malk!

this has had pretty significant knock-on effects, so she is pretty much a separate character in her own right

specialises in path of blood, still has some auspex

does a lot of very dubious scientific experiments investigating vitae

just altogether horrible <3

hellebore - they/them - playlist 243 y/o, 11th gen nosferatu

sad wet creature alert

originally from venice, has had a Turbulent Past and now works for the ivory tower

as big on secrecy and anonymity as you might expect

spends most of their time travelling around in a minivan, "solving problems" for the camarilla

constantly coughing up brackish water as a side effect of their embrace

desdemona - she/her - playlist 58 y/o toreador

currently exists in 1980s oregon, though i might bring her forward to the modern day at some point

a poet! an artiste! literally every toreador stereotype squished into one dramatic little creature!

prefers to deal with mortals rather than camarilla politics

has quite a name for herself in mortal poetry circles

still pining over her tragic lost love, whom she will never see again, so dearly departed (they broke up)

ever/everett - any pronouns - playlist freshly embraced tzimisce in their early 20s

very recently embraced into the sabbat and has no idea what's going on

was attacked by their sire on a night out

a former medical student who proved to have natural aptitude with vicissitude, which promoted them from shovelhead

has been kept very isolated by their sire, as they're still very much known to be missing in the area where they were embraced

harrow - she/her giovanni embraced in the 80s

brawler who's unable to do necromancy and has the world's largest chip on her shoulder as a result

simultaneously problem child of her branch of the family and so, so eager to prove herself loyal

has a bunch of edgy cool tattoos!

lachlan bryant - he/him 19 y/o caitiff fledgling

finance student with a podcast, picked out as a ventrue embrace but turned out a caitiff :(

has been a kindred for like a month and is doing terribly

was embraced illegally and has been charged with hunting down his sire in order to save his own skin

his memories of his embrace are Fucked due to excessive use of cloud memory, so he's piecing together what happened as best he can

laurence "laurie" stoker - she/he/they hecata (originally giovanni)

a former insurance salesman turned giovanni ghoul

diablerised their bastard sire as soon as possible after their embrace

evading the diablerist allegations. barely

REDACTED, aka "red", the rat king, eyes in the dark, etc etc - any pronouns nosferatu elder & primogen

the giant rat who makes all the rules

left wales after her sire and all her coterie were torn apart by werewolves. still nursing that grudge

7'2 of coat hangers and bad jokes. always smiling

specialises in obfuscate, imitation and mimicry

#there's so many of these fuckers #text #my ocs #lyssa #quintus #isa #hellebore #desdemona #ever #harrow #lachlan #redacted #laurie

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elendsessor · 1 year ago

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Whats ur fave monhun game and fave monster in the series? It can be based on the fight itself or aesthetics, whatever u want

for favorite game it’s mh4u hands down. it was technically my first monhun game but i quit playing it not long after i first got it lol. it was back in 2015 and little me couldn’t understand the controls and didn’t even want to try. quarantine made me try the rise demo and eventually buy rise, and while waiting for updates to come out for it since i got super into it, it reminded me that oh yeah i do recognize that series name, found my old copy of 4u, and fell in love. i wish i gave it a chance earlier than i did and want to strangle little me for not trying and getting mad over controls. old school monhun hits so different. absolutely nailed atmosphere and though i still really like where gen 5 took things, i feel like they’re proof that better graphics and models =/= automatically better experience. there’s a charm to older games that i don’t think will ever be captured and that just goes for where modern gaming has gone in general. 4u perfected the look while giving straight up some of the best locals in the series (i love heaven’s mount), the jank is never too, y’know, janky, generally the franchise has fantastic music but the use of wind instruments in 4u’s is mwah, i love the towns, i love the extra stuff, the story might not be the forefront but it’s really solid, the monsters are great, it’s such a damn fantastic game. (also being able to use items on the bottom screen is the best thing ever.) it’s dos 2 electric boogaloo. maybe the day i can finally get frontier to run properly on my pc since i know it’s hard to set up the private server stuff i’ll love it too since it’s also just more of dos and i think that’s a good sign.

favorite monster is so hard tho. elder dragons are inherently interesting and mostly well executed so it feels a lil cheap to say one’s my favorite but fuck it. it’s a three way tie.

while not an elder dragon exactly since it doesn’t have elder dragon status, i love chaotic gore magala. i love the magalas and their lore in general but chaotic amplifies all that. it’s not just the depressing nature of it but the concept of “hey what if this butterfly like monster doesn’t molt properly” is so interesting. sunbreak made it a lot cooler tho since wow it has an ecology intro finally and while the og fight is already one of the best fights it was improved a lot in sb. i don’t really like the sb version of its theme tho. og theme was fantastic the cover of it is pretty mid.

gogmazios is also fantastic. buildup is amazing. this really is the living embodiment of the industrial revolution’s consequences in my mind. lore wise yeah disturbingly cool. love the fight to death it’s perfect. also love the weapon designs especially for the greatsword. what else can i say it’s a big demon kaiju :)

and of course i love shantien. only issue is that i haven’t been able to properly fight him bc frontier technically no longer exists. i’d argue for most games you can get a near full experience from watching a playthrough, but for action games like monster hunter where there’s a lot of depth i don’t think watching gameplay footage gives it justice. (of course playing a game yourself provides the best experience possible in most situations too but especially nowadays it’s not that easy anymore. emulation isn’t as simple as i think people make it out to be either. it’s all based on preference but to me i like to play older console games on the consoles they were intended for whenever i possibly can.) basically i think that’s the only thing that holds him back from being my fave. if i ever get a private server to work and finally get the chance who knows he’ll probably beat out the rest of these guys. tbh it wouldn’t take much his design is amazing and his theme is god tier. those two things alone are why i love him.

honorable mention for this goober i just like because he’s super stupid

#sorry this was so long ;-;#shantien answers #monster hunter

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phenomenalgirl9 · 1 year ago

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Episode 1

(OG story of my Naruto OC)

"Aline! Stop sleeping during class!"

-"Sorry sensei~"

"Aline what is the fuction of Golgi body?"

-"The power house of the cell?"

"That's Mitochondria!"

"Who will shoot first? Aline? Okay, come up"

- *takes in a deep breath and starts shooting kunais aiming for the target*

"Aline! Very good, not a single miss"

"Aline you barely passed the written exams, you need to do very well for the Practicals"

-*Nods in tiny*

"Kaya Aline, will go in next" the proctor declared and she nodded. "Don't worry you're gonna do great!" Riki whispered to her. She entered as soon as the last candidate walked out. She walks in to see the villages Elder Granny sitting there beside their sensei and the sensei of the other section.

Basic chakra jutsu (wind style storm breathing)

"Come forth child" the Granny said as Aline timidly stepped up. "We'll see 3 jutsus from you, you can choose from these four". Aline shook her head and said "I'll do all four". "Are you sure" the other sensei said, but her sensei gave her an assuring smile. "Cloning jutsu" she said making the hand signs and there stood another Aline beside her, waving her hand. The teachers seemed impressed. Next, she asked her sensei "Sensei please throw a Kunai". "Are you sure?" The other sensei asked and Aline nodded. Her sensei casually pulled out a kunai and threw it at Aline and within a fraction of seconds the kunai hit the nearby empty chair. And there stood Aline in the corner. The three examiners nodded their heads in appreciation.

Next, walking on the wall, that's a piece of cake for her really, she does pretty much everyday to catch her brother who's always up to shenanigans. She didn't even need to do a hand sign, really, she simply walked to the back wall and started walking on it, and reached the ceiling. She threw a peace sign and kicked the wall to come down at the perfect fighting stance. The last, special chakra infuse test "Please hold onto the papers" she said, and she took a deep breath and made the hand-signs "Wind style, Storm breather" and she blew, and immediately the wind picked speed as high speed wind left her mouth which also left them spellbound. No it's not something strange for a 13 year old kid to be so good with elemental chakra, but it's strange for the kid who barely passed the written exam. "Good job Aline, you may step out, you'll get to know the results tomorrow" Sensei said and she bowed and walked out. "How was it?" Riki, her only friend, more like the one who has always stuck with her asked. She nodded and walked off.

"Onichan!" A young child shouted he ran and hugged Aline as soon as she left the academy. "Akio! How was school?" She asked, patting his head and the kid started rambling about the new things they learnt.

_____________________________________

"Aline! It went your way!" Sana screamed. "Copy that!" Aline said jumped for it, catching the duck before it could fly away again.

"Good job guys, the feudal lord would be very happy that you found his favourite goose"

"Finding lost cats, dogs, toads and ducks! This is stupid" Aline grumbled. "First of all this is Goose, but I agree with her Sensei!" Sana grumbled. Sensei Takashi Mitsuya, the sensei of Team 5 of the new sand genins, just sighed and kept walking as he made Riki hold the duck goose.

_____________________________________

"So after many pleas we have received a new kind of mission" Mitsuya Sensei said "Where are Aline and RIki?" he asked after looking around. "They went to drop Akio to school" Sana said "There they come".

"So what's the mission today, Sensei?" Aline asked, "Today we track a thief or thieves. Some one tried to break into the museum, we need to know why and where they are, so far as the curator says, nothing has been stolen. The news in confidential, so I need the mouths shut" He said and the excited kids nodded, finally being able to do a new mission.

They reached the museum and found the curator at the door with some guards. "You came? The thieves have run away" the curator said. As you crossed the guards. "We're here to look into it further" Sensei said. "This way" he said and the 3 Genin walked straight towards the scene as their sensei stayed back talking to the curator talking note of important information.

"Look at the glass? They shattered it and entered? Amateurs" Sana said. "But it's strange, why would such dumb people even try something like this? Like, look at the footprints, they're not even trying to be careful" Riki was saying and suddenly thunder struck onto his and Aline's mind as their eyes went wide "It's like they wanted to be caught!" Alone exclaimed " It's AMBUSH!" Sana completed the sentence and they ran to their Sensei. "... Yeah we sealed the gates immediately, this is the only exit and it's guarded.-" the man was interrupted by the trio. "SENSEI! THE PUPPETS WERE AMBUSH" Aline said and Mitsuya's eyes went wide. "check the floors! Now! You three guard the door!"

"In formation B" Sana shouted and Riki and Aline took positions. 4 chunins still guarding the area. Suddenly, a short scream shot out from one of the Chunin's in the corridor, and they all looked towards them on alert, 2 of those 4 dropped to the ground screaming in immense agony. A man in a long grey cape appeared, Aline quickly drew her fans to deflect the thin needles that were thrown in their way.

"Careful" Riki said as he deflected the next kunai and Sana threw a Kunai with a bomb instead. "Watch out for his needles" Aline warned and then shouted "Formation D" and the three of them attacked together. They lunged and surrounded the man. Who was looking at the three of them, the Chunin's all down or too hurt to move can't be of any help. More footsteps sound as they know the others are on their way. Suddenly, Aline notices that the thief's eyes square out on Riki. She immediately rushes and pushes him away and now the man is suddenly right in front of her, and before she realises she felt a sting on her arm. Her eyes started getting hazy as she tried to focus on the four bars tattoo on the man's neck. A piercing scream left Aline's mouth as she dropped to the ground holding her arm. It felt like her arm was on fire from the inside.

"It's Burning sorrow!" Riki exclaimed as Mitsuya picked Aline up, a few of the Chunin's who were following him, now went after the thief who broke into a sprint the moment Aline dropped to the ground.

"Quick we need to take her to Lady Chio. Now!" Mitsuya exclaimed. "Aline stay with us!" Sana said worried at the girl who was still groaning in pain. "It hurts! It hurts! Let me just rest!" She pleaded. "No!" Riki screamed as he and Sana followed their Sensei who ran as fast as he could. "Think of Akio and Gudetama!" Sana reminded her, or her brother and her little ginger floor ball. I hope those two are safe, Aline thought.

The last thing she remembered was the face of the village granny, who sounded frantic when team 5 brought in the groaning and shattered in pain Aline, before she saw darkness.

_____________________________________

She felt groggy, her eye lids felt so heavy. There were hushed voices around her. Some of them sounded very familiar and some sounded unfamiliar. Very slowly Aline tried to open her eyes. She shut it immediately as the light stung her eyes. She slowly reopened them, she felt channels made into her wrist and stomach, which hurt. She slowly looked around and found Riki's sleeping form by her bed. She wanted to call him, but she couldn't, her throat was way too parched. "ALINE!" a very familiar voice broke the silence of the room, as Sana and a granny entered the room. Riki jerked up and looked at you, both your friends teary eyed. You tried to form words but you couldn't. The Granny rushed to give you some water. By then Sana was full on sobbing and Riki was wiping his eyes. "Do you feel any pain anywhere?" Granny asked, and you shook your head no. "Now, now. She's up stop crying" she said and walked out.

"Guys?" Aline called out with wide arms and the two rushed to hug her. An out of breath Mitsuya was then seen on the window. "Aline!" Mitsuya called "My child!" He said and hugged all three. "Sen-sei! Can't-breathe!" Aline croaked out. "Oh sorry" he said loosening his hold. After they talked about how she felt she asked.

"Where is Akio? How is Gudetama? What about the thief and the scroll?" She asked as realisation hit her.

"Calm down. Akio is at school, it's Wednesday. You were out for 5 days, you were barely breathing when we got you here, thanks to Lady Chiyo and her team, you're alive!" Sana said. Aline realised the granny was Lady Chiyo and nodded. "Gudetama is fine, I'll get Akio after his school today, don't worry me and Riki helped out Grandpa while you were here" Sana assured Aline, to which the girl smiled. "And the thief and the scroll?" Aline asked.

"The scroll was found, the thief dropped the scroll and ran when he was surrounded by our Ops. We think it was a rogue" Mitsuya said. "He had this tattoo, like 4 bars beside his eye.

"4 bars?" Riki repeated.

_____________________________________

Main Post

#naruto #naruto oc #ninja #fic #naruto fic

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market-spy · 9 months ago

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Decoding the Crypto Jungle: A Sneak Peek into the Cryptocurrency Market

Hey there, crypto enthusiasts! If you’ve been living under a rock or perhaps on Mars, worry not! We’re here to spill the beans on the latest cryptoverse gossip. No dancing robots involved, we promise.

The Prelude: What’s Cooking in the Crypto Cauldron?

So, there’s this thing called cryptocurrency, and no, it’s not the new superhero in town (although it might feel like it). It’s a digital currency that’s all about cryptography and decentralized networks. Imagine your money having a secret handshake and a superpower to resist inflation. Cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin and Ethereum are stealing the spotlight for making transactions faster, cheaper, and cooler than your traditional payment systems.

The Big Numbers: Cryptocurrency Market Rollercoaster

The crypto market, according to our trusted crystal ball (aka market research), was valued at a modest USD 4.06 billion in 2021. Hold your horses; it’s predicted to skyrocket to USD 13.18 billion by 2030, riding the rollercoaster of a 12.5% CAGR. Strap in, folks — we’re in for a wild ride.

Breaking It Down: Bitcoin, Ethereum, and the Gang

Bitcoin: The OG of crypto, holding the largest market share in 2021. It’s like the wise elder, silently nodding at all the newcomers.

Ethereum: The fastest grower in the crypto block party. Banks are eyeing it, and if federal approval happens, we might witness Ethereum reaching celebrity status.

Others: Ripple, Bitcoin Cash, and a bunch of others are like the cool kids in the crypto school. They’re making noise, but Bitcoin and Ethereum are still the prom kings.

The World Tour: Cryptocurrency’s Regional Adventure

North America: The reigning champion with a 42% market share in 2021. Thanks to friendly regulations in the US and Canada, cryptos found a cozy home in the neighborhood.

Asia Pacific: The rising star with China and Japan gearing up for a crypto adoption party. Although, they might need to work on not being the overprotective parents limiting access.

The Drama: Cryptocurrency Market Dynamics

The Heroes (Market Drivers):

Cryptos are like digital superheroes for secure transactions, holding the key to the kingdom (or your digital wallet).

The growing use of digital currency is attracting young investors looking for that sweet return on investment.

The Villains (Market Restraints):

Lack of regulations is the Lex Luthor of the crypto world. It allows manipulation, leading to high volatility and newcomers losing their superhero capes (capital).

For More Information: https://www.skyquestt.com/report/cryptocurrency-market

The Gladiators: Cryptocurrency Market Competitive Landscape

Picture this: A fragmented market where big players like Alcheminer, Bitmain, and Xilinx are flexing their muscles. It’s a high-stakes game, and everyone wants a piece of the crypto pie.

The Star-Studded Cast: Cryptocurrency Market Top Players

Drumroll, please…

Bitcoin

Ethereum

Binance Coin

Cardano

XRP (Ripple)

Solana

Dogecoin

Polkadot

Terra

Chainlink

…and many more!

The Gossip Column: Recent Developments & Trends

Bitmain showcasing a hydro cooling data center. That’s one cool move in the crypto summer!

Bitstamp publishing the first crypto plus report. Who knew cryptos had their own magazine?

The Epilogue: What’s Next in the Crypto Saga?

As the crypto tale unfolds, Bitcoin remains the wise old sage, and North America continues to be the party central. With regulations, trends, and a sprinkle of innovation, the crypto market is a blockbuster in the making.

So, there you have it — a sneak peek into the thrilling world of cryptocurrencies, minus the robotic jargon and unveiling ceremonies. Stay tuned for more crypto drama, because in this market, every day is a new episode!

About Us-

SkyQuest Technology Group is a Global Market Intelligence, Innovation Management & Commercialization organization that connects innovation to new markets, networks & collaborators for achieving Sustainable Development Goals.

SkyQuest Technology Consulting Pvt. Ltd.

1 Apache Way,

Westford,

Massachusetts 01886

USA (+1) 617–230–0741

Email- [email protected]

Website: https://www.skyquestt.com

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thelastofuspcdownload · 1 year ago

Text

The subsequent High Thing in The past Of Us Computer Download

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apompkwrites · 2 years ago

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the broken kingscholar || leona kingscholar

masterlist characters: falena (platonic) genre: angst contains: reader is demeaned a lot, implied physical abuse, verbal abuse summary: the elders of the kingscholar palace drive (name) kingscholar away. away from palace life. away from their words. away from everything. notes: so this fic is labeled with falena as the character but will go under the leona masterlist along with leona's name on the title because leona doesn't really appear but it's still his family name and it is a part of the sibling series. also once again please keep in mind if you comment on a fic, i will only add you to that character's masterlist unless you specify all characters :)) parts: [og post] | [the lesser kingscholar (1)] | [the broken kingscholar (2)] | [the two kingscholars (2.5)] | [name pending (3)]

tired. that was the only word that could describe how you were feeling. except, you weren't tired in the same sense that leona was. no, you were drained. tired of being treated that you were.

it was that time of the day again. time for the elders to demean your very existence. they had the decency to do it in their own room. of course, that didn't matter much when your lessons ended and you were told to wait outside instead of going back to your room.

"honestly, prince/ss (name)... the nerve of that child..." ah, that was your etiquette teacher. she had no issue with insulting you to your face, albeit indirectly.

"oh, what did they do this time?" a voice you recognized as your magic teacher sighed.

"all of my lessons are going down the drain for them!" she complained. she probably threw her hands up in exasperation. she did that often. "each day they forget what i taught them! at this rate, they'll end up tarnishing the kingscholar name all on their own."

"ah, it's the same for you?" your magic teacher hummed. "they have been stuck on the basic lessons for magic. i fear king falena will be sorely disappointed when he visits them tomorrow..."

"basic lessons? as in the lessons that even the slums of the sunset savannah ace with flying colors?"

"exactly."

why...? why were they like this...? why did they find so much joy in your suffering?

...why did you even stand for it? why did you subject yourself to this treatment? you were a kingscholar! right?

the brief surge of motivation quickly left your body. you... could not call yourself a kingscholar. you could not put yourself on the same level your beloved brothers were on. they were leagues above you. they were the beloved princes of the savannah while you were... nothing. just the sand under their boots.

you know what? what's wrong with just leaving? you could start with this door.

you turned on your heels, quietly walking further and further from the elders' room. and the further you walked, the quieter their voices got. thank the seven they got quieter.

leave was all you heard in your ears. leave because it will get quieter. everything will get quieter.

quieter? yes, quieter. that's exactly what you want. quiet those words you could never escape from even in your own home.

leave. leave. leave leave leave leave leave leave.

you halted in your walking, stumbling back to reach your door. you hurried inside, ripping the sheets off your bed. they were torn a bit, remnants of your angered outbursts that were the only thing keeping you calm in the eyes of the public.

they were torn, sure, but they were intact to hold your essentials. laying them out on your bed, you got to work tossing some clothes onto them. you didn't need much, you could find some later.

your drawer was pulled out harshly, rattling against itself as if it were crying out in pain. your wallet was tossed inside carelessly, a few madol had fallen out and you quickly scooped them up. it wasn't much, but it should be enough for what you needed. what else--

"prince/ss (name)!" you jumped at the sudden shout and banging on your door.

"shit...!" you hissed under your breath, throwing your pillow over the sheets. you scrambled to hide the evidence of your plan, hoping that the way you would open the door would be enough to do so. before you could do anything more, your door was burst open.

"how many times must i drill this into your head?!" your etiquette teacher's voice pierced through the air. "a royal is expected to answer the call of their name! and now look! your chambers are unacceptable!"

ah, there it was. her infamous lectures she loved to end her lessons with all because she was unsatisfied with the results. you kept your head down, your chin almost tucked into your chest completely. all you had to do was bear it. bear with it because once they left...

you could leave.

"and haven't i told you that you must wait until you are dismissed?" she growled, leaning down to get at your level. she lifted your head, forcing your nose to line with hers as she stared into your eyes. "haven't i?"

"...yes, ma'am," you muttered, your nails digging into your palms.

"so why do you keep doing this?!" she snapped, her fingers that were holding your chin up moving to shove your head to the side. "how many times must we drill this into your thick skull?! how many times must we tell you this so that you will not be the downfall of the kingscholars?!"

"unless that's your goal," your magic teacher chimed in. "are you plotting to dismantle the kingdom from the inside?"

you...? dismantle the kingdom...? did they truly think that low of you...?

"...i take your silence as an admission of guilt," he snarled, standing beside your etiquette teacher.

this... was different. they were different. not once had they dared put their hands on you or direct magic towards you outside of lessons, let alone offensive ones. they had not dared to raise a hand to you because... that was what your brother commanded for them.

he made them swear to never lay a finger on you, so why? why are they doing this?

did... did falena go back on his word?

"we will not allow you to tarnish the kingscholar legacy," one of your teachers growled. at this point, you couldn't tell which one was speaking anymore. "from now on, we will drill these lessons into your head until you finally understand it."

"your chambers are unacceptable," the other teacher grumbled, kicking one of your clothes that you had tossed to the ground. "get this clean before tomorrow before king falena arrives. or else your lessons will be worse than they already will be."

you didn't know how long it took for them to leave, but they did. they slammed the remnants of the door behind them, uttering a spell under their breath to replace the broken wood.

if you stayed one more day... what would await you? now that the elders were willing to use force, what will they do to you? what would happen when you step into their quarters to begin your lessons?

you wouldn't make it out alive.

with trembling hands, you continued to throw necessities onto your bedsheets. you ended up with a few clothes to last a few days, ones that the elders had deemed "unfit for royalty" that you did not dare part with.

"...tonight," you declared to yourself, tying the bedsheet together to create a makeshift bag.

you could only hope the kingscholar name thrives for the sake of your brothers. your brothers and no one else.

"your majesty?" a voice called from the other side of the door, lightly tapping at the wood. "your majesty?"

"mmgh..." falena groaned in response, tossing in his bed and throwing his arm over his eyes. he dreaded this day, yet also looked forward to it.

for one, it was another day without leona. for all the grief he gave him, falena would miss having him around the castle. having him whisked off in a black carriage to a place he could not follow forced him to come to terms with the fact that his precious little brother was not so little anymore.

no longer could he reminisce on the times when he and his little siblings would run through the castle's halls, avoiding their father with every twist and turn. no longer could he reminisce on times when his little siblings would gang up on him because he always had the best reactions when a beetle was tossed onto his back or a maggot was placed in his hair.

he could no longer have that, but at least he still had his baby sibling. they were yet to reach the age to be eligible to enter night raven college so he could cherish their time just a little bit more.

"your majesty! i... am sorry to bother you but you must get ready for the day! prince/ss (name) is awaiting your arrival!"

ah, speaking of. falena tossed his sheets off his body before rolling off the bed, letting out a groan when his body hit the floor.

"your majesty?!"

"i'm okay!" he called as he pushed himself up. "i'm... i'm okay! i'll be right there!"

it didn't take him long to get ready. it was the same routine every morning. get his clothes from his closet, all of them were the same so he never had a choice. brush his hair, once again, he had a set hairstyle that rid him of choice.

"(name) is in their room, i assume?" he hummed to the attendant outside his door, brushing away the sand in his hair.

"yes, your majesty. they are scheduled to begin lessons after your visit," they informed him, bowing their head.

"so... the longer i stay the later their lessons begin?" falena hums to himself, earning a nod from the attendant.

"of course, sire."

"perfect!" before the attendant could continue, falena was already rushing down the hall. every day he had passed his sibling's room, hoping to fit time to visit them. alas, nothing had gone his way. every day the elders had more tasks for him to complete that took up a majority of the day. and when he did have time off, (name) had already been whisked away to complete their lessons for the day.

"your majesty!" he heard as he ran down the halls. he ignored their desperate calls, a bright smile already plastered on his face. oh, it had been so long since he had seen them and, hopefully, it would not be the last.

"(name)!" he called excitedly as he reached their door, hurriedly tapping his knuckles on the wood. "wake up! i'm supposed to check on your progress, but maybe we could sneak out into town like we used to! how does that sound, huh?"

he continued to ramble his plans as he reached down to grasp their doorknob, twisting it and pulling open their door.

"or how about we take a walk around the gardens? leona isn't here with us but i'd like to think i can give enough "brotherly advice" if you need..."

what he was greeted with was not his sibling awake in their room or their body curled up in blankets. what he was met with was their disheveled room. their blankets and sheets were missing from their bed and their pillows were tossed around. their cloest was wide open with a few clothes scattered about the floor. it looked as if it had been ransacked.

and most importantly, there was no (name) to be found.

"...(name)?" falena managed to utter, slowly walking into the room. he stepped around the articles of clothes on the ground towards their desk. the items on top were left undisturbed while the drawers were wide open. a single piece of parchment paper was placed there with a single message written hastily in ink.

don't look for me.

as falena stared at the message, all he could hear was the shrill voice of his beloved sibling. their high-pitched squeal of laughter when they were children echoed in his mind and their bright toothy smile that was only just growing in their sharp canines was all he could see.

"falena! you should have seen your face! it was just a beetle! it won't hurt!"

"falena! leona! can we go to town again? we can sneak out tonight!"

"wha?! you're gonna be king already, falena? you won't forget to spend time with leo and me, right? promise?"

"(name)!" he finally cried out, running out of their room and towards the entrance to the castle. he threw the doors open and yelled out to them once more.

never before had he felt this panicked. never before did he think that there would come a time when he was alone in the castle, none of his precious siblings to be found.

and yet here he was, all alone because one was off to school and the other was... only the seven knew where.

"(name), g-good joke!" falena stammered as he paced through the streets, ignoring the calls of his attendants behind him that begged him to return to the castle. "haha, very funny...! leona isn't here, s-so you can't laugh at me with him!"

his cries were only met with shocked and pitied stares from his subjects.

"this... this is getting out of hand, (name)! father... father would scold you if he were here right now! but... but i won't tell him if you come out now! i promise!"

more silence.

gods, he couldn't stand this silence.

"(name)! please come back!" he sobbed into his hands as he fell to his knees. he had so much he wanted to say to get them to come back.

i'll do anything! just come back! i'm sorry! i'm sorry for not being a better brother! i'm sorry for being so busy! i'm sorry you've been alone all these years, so please! please come back!

quiet... they had left and it was so quiet.

falena hated how quiet it was with them gone.

taglist: @brokenncrown @help-meplz @destinationdesignation @rainys-personal-garden

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland angst #twst angst #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland leona x reader #twst leona #twst leona x reader #leona x reader #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona kingscholar #twst leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x reader

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thenomadclan · 2 years ago

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CHARACTER BIO

Odinson (The War Leader of the OG Nomad Clan)

Name:

•Odinson or Odin

•God of War

•The Ghost Bear

Name Origin:

•Odinson / Odin / God of War- Was a name given to the humans of Earth, long before Drago came across him. During the rising times of Vikings, this Yautja was thought to have been the embodiment of the Norse God Odin, or the God of War. He was worshiped as a God till the time of Ragnarök, which was a assassination attempt on his life killing off all his clan members except for him. Eventually he was found by Drago and nursed back to health, Odinson vowed a life debt to the Yautja, but often times dueled for position of ruling of the Nomad Clan.

•Ghost Bear - When protecting his parts of Earth from Bad Bloods or humans hunting him, he’d be described as a bear from afar. Making grunting noises and actions like a bear, and then disappear, like a ghost.

Gender:

•Male

Age:

•824

Companions:

•Drago - The Original Leader of The Nomad Clan & Council of Nomads, and holder of Odinson’s life debt. However they often butt heads for the betterment for the clan.

•Rá - Clan’s mate that hunt or scout together, the greatest Archer of the Council of Nomads.

•Chaka - Clan’s mate who’s considered the fastest of The Nomad Clan & Council of Nomads, said to be the most spiritual of the OG group that he holds the title of Shaman.

•Iron Bull - A deceased Clan Mate of the OG Nomad Clan & Council of Nomads who ruled over the Americas, however was put down by Drago in WW2 of unknown reasons that Drago wouldn’t even say.

•Big Boss - The newest of the OG Nomad Clan & Council of Nomad’s who controlled the Americas, is a secret shadow partner that Odinson doesn’t trust but every time when they are together it’s a warriors greatest dream of battle of two.

•Bruiser - A Warrior that Odinson respects and who is the “son” of Drago, often wanted to have him join his Norse Clan for the title of Thor. However Bruiser proved to be too loyal to Drago to branch out to other Clans.

•Norse Clan - A clan of his own that he rules, after the fall of his own he had to rebuild. It consisted of vicious and strong warriors as well as augmented Predator Hounds, and where used during “The Purge of Drago”.

•Valkyries - Where the elite protectors of the Norse Clan & Nomad Clan, they where a group of Female Yautja Warriors with the ability to use wings to glide or fly over battlefields, they where also apart of his Harem of mates.

Skin Color:

•Has the original sandy peach skin color, with dark navy blue stripes resembling that of a Tiger.

Physical Features:

•1 Scared white eye.

•A lot of battle scars (from cuts or slashes from swords or axes to even spears).

•Chipped Mandible Tusks.

•Rings pierced on his mandibles with runic writing.

•Long thick dreadlocks with Runic rings.

•Like Bruiser, is the exact body shape of that of a tank with muscles to out rival that of a human.

Height:

•8’ 10”

Weight:

•600 lbs

Rank:

•War Leader

•Elder

•Exiled / Bad Blood

Equipment:

•Nordic fusion of Yautja armor (covered in both Yautja writing and ruins.

•Leader straps

•Fur-cape.

•A mask with Heavy Ruins, Horns, and a metal patch covering the one eye that Odinson can’t see from.

•Modified Combistick that extends more then the average one.

•Scouting Metal Falcons (like Falconers Robotic Camera) that attach to his back.

•Nordic like Wristblades forged to him by humans that worshipped him.

Characteristics:

•Wise

•Strategic

•A Battle Hardened Leader

•A Vicious Warrior

•Can be quick to temper

•Manipulative

•Loyal to the cause till it no longer interests him

Feats:

•Ruled over the age of the Vikings, having him be the reason in creation of the Norse Pantheon.

•Raged war on Earth for millennia’s.

•Was the overwhelming force of “The Purge of Drago” with his Norse Clan.

•Was able to take on a Mother Ship of Warriors trying to kill him, by boarding their own ship via a drop pod.

•Often spars with Drago & Bruiser constantly to keep his skills sharpe.

•Killed many Xenomorph Queen with his Combistick or with his bare hands.

•Survived the Yautja’s version of Ragnarök.

Pictures of Character:

-Sadly is none, for he’s a newer character to the Nomad Clan vi introduction not story wise😅-

@abdxctedd @bunnyraptor69 @black-suns-rim @daswhox @leechandoki @maynixe @mariayautja2022 @pyode-luar-ke @pykepyke @queenlybeastly @starlightholograms @wolfsnowphoenix @whereisxyro @yautja-addict @yautjagirl91 @yautjalover @yuki-suki

#predator #yautja #the nomad clan #the_nomad_clanyt #alien vs predator #avp #oc #predator oc #yautja oc #norse folklore #norse mythology #odin allfather #norse pantheon

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wind-goddess-eri · 3 years ago

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Worry (Fujin x Reader)

I’m posting this on this page. Cause I guess I’m no longer using the one I og posted on. ^_^

-------------

It was a night like every other night, the difference was that Fujin was staying the night with you. You weren't sure why but you just didn’t feel quite right. Did you tell the wind god? No, Course not. You were thinking that he wouldn't understand mortal mental illness. You just felt like at any moment you can break down and cry. But You know how to hide it. That's what scared you the most. Not that your boyfriend would be saddened by your distress but the fact that you were good enough of a hider to even yourself. You strangely felt you were ok.

It wasn’t until you were starring out the window, disassociating from everything. Fujin looked at you from across the bedroom door. Worry filled his face. "Y/N, Is there something wrong?" You didn’t answer. You were thinking about the past, the present....even the future. It wasn't until you felt his hand upon your shoulder, did you snap out of it. "Y/N. You are crying. Tell me what troubles you?" Fujin asked you. You didn't realize you were crying at all.

"Oh! I'm alright. There's..." You trailed off as you turned to look into your loves eyes. That's when it hit you like a train. All the emotions you've been holding back for years have now broken through the wall you have put up. You broke down and sobbed. Fujin embraced you in his arms.You explained everything. What you've dealt with the past, how everything until that moment you have been absolutely terrified that somehow you would have scared him away and how even if you both do stay together are you both really together? He's a god. He enters the tournaments. He could possibly die and you will never know. and if you do how do you process that.

Fujin stops you for a moment. "Please, Y/N. You are worrying about too much too fast. Nothing will happen to me. I will never leave you. No matter on how sick you are, I will help you in every way I can. Even if I have to I will stay home with you, everyday. I don't want you to worry my love. Please, shhhh, Calm yourself." And that’s when you felt on your shoulder, a tear. By the Elder Gods you made the Wind God cry! You looked at him. His expression was saddened. "Fujin...You're crying. I didn't know Gods could cry." You really didn't know or expect it.

"I may be a God but I do have..emotions. I'm sorry. I hate seeing you like this." he explained. "I love you, Y/N. I will always be by your side. Now come over to the couch and I will hold you until you feel better." Fujin picks you up off the chair from the bedroom and you both sit on the couch. You didn't really realize within your despair that Fujin set up a nice little dinner date in the living room. He even had the fireplace lite. "Babe...When.." You were so amazed at the site but also a bit bummed that dinner was now cold.

#Fujin #MK fujin #mk11 fujin #fujin x reader #my writing #short little fic #fanfic

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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I was going to write this for the Aspec Archives week, but I got overexcited, so here we are.

AU: Mythical creatures. OG Archive team.

Some CWs apply, see tags.

The sea is more than water, her elder brethren taught her, warned her, chided her. It is home and harm and hungry, and you should not face it alone. Her siblings were older, ever knowing better, boisterous and boasting braver, but even they worried, scolded and fretted when she swam out too far alone into deep waters.

It will love you, but it will not always be kind, her eldest sibling bit out, snapped to mask their anxiety. There can be no bearings, in the deep-deep down, no anchors to denote where the sky lies.

When her people sleep, they rest wedged into some secure rock or crevice, tails looped around tails so no one is lost while dreaming.

You cannot be a shoal of one, my dearest, my youngest and bravest, the oldest of their shoal had said, when she told her she was planning on taking the rising when the waters warmed. Ascending landward on the tide swell, letting the shimmering scales of her tail split into skin.

She had not used the name Sasha at that time because that was a landward name she chose with care. Her folk gather names like a garland of pearls, to be constantly strung longer through life as age advances them; names for qualities, for momentous events, for hopes and desires. Her first name, gifted by her shoal, was guttural. It starts at the back of her throat, trails off into a susurration through gills. Mer is a difficult language to learn, though not impossible.

Tim tried. There is no one singular language of those who skirt the deepwaters, so he attempts to mimic her dialect. His pronunciation stumbling, he makes tentative sentences with the butchered grammar of fry. Martin’s grammar is even worse, though he picks up the eddies and waves of the sounds easier.

Jon, like most things in life, takes it as a challenge. One day, almost stubborn with nerves, to perform his task to perfection, he pushes out a juvenile approximation of her first name. Clipped and textbook and the stress in the wrong places, but Sasha smiles, showing her sharpest teeth in delight. Instructs him where to hold the hum at the back of his throat, how to roll the third phoneme upwards like an air bubble. Jon repeats it and repeats it, quietly smug and pleased at his achievement, and the sea in her soul rocks fondly at the sight.

She broached landward in the rising two moons after her age of maturation. She was one of a handful to come to shore. A sibling in Brighton who she phones every week, another two in Holyhead. Her first shoal traverses to warmer waters when the season shifts, and she would feel the rock-hollow absence of them if it was not for Tim, inviting her to participate in a hundred-and-one inane activities that keep her from feeling swept out; Jon, with his libraries of questions and intrigues, his quick-silver tongue; Martin, who sometimes swims a little further out from them but who finds her small knick-knacks in charity shops and craft markets and leaves them on her desk for no reason other than he has thought of her.

She makes three necklaces, plain with a strong chain, a single pearl attached. And on a day where her folk traditionally string garlands of seaweed and mangrove roots and colourful plants from coral reefs in a celebration of family – there is no one word in her language for this idea; it poorly translates into hierarchies like sibling and brethren and elders, but these are not concepts that fit it exactly – she gifts them to the shoal that will anchor her in the depths of the sea, and bestows upon them names. Most Mer names are wishes for quick fins, calm waters, safe shores, and so she wishes these for them in a language they are not quite proficient in yet.

Her landward shoal is smaller than is traditional. But she loves them as treasures of her heart, and thinks she understands what her siblings told her, about anchors.

His parents, both harpies from local nests, are perplexed when his wings start coming in.

Must be a colouring from your mum’s side, his dad hums thoughtfully when Tim’s primaries grow in long and shining like struck bronze. He runs a careful finger down the central line of the rachis, and the wing shudders and jumps, the feathers still sensitive, and Tim complains that it’s ticklish. His wings are too small to fly away as his dad dives in, captures him in careful arms, corkscrewing upwards a little off the ground with Tim squirming and squealing and squawking in play, but they flutter and flap nonetheless.

The wing span’s from your dad’s side, no-one from my nest ever went more than five foot, his mother says, rubbing at the dark brown of his downy secondaries. Tim stretches them out wide, eager to boast at their length, the tips of his longest feathers reaching past his arms held out wide.

Danny’s wings are smaller. Magpie like, bold lines of white broken up by blue and black, the same as his parents. Tim’s wings, broader, a colour like beaten brass that tips into gold at the ends, draws attention, but he’s never been embarrassed. His family never treated him differently, so he didn’t dwell on it.

He can fly, though he doesn’t often. After his parents died, and after… after Danny, he moved to London, where there’s tighter airspace regulations and permits involved, so he mostly doesn’t bother. This doesn’t mean never, however. He has learned, while working in the Archives, that from the ground, his wings have enough lift to pick up both Jon and Sasha by at least a foot. He thinks he could probably manage Martin as well, if it wasn’t for the unfortunate fact that Martin is mildly allergic to a whole host of things, including feather dander, meaning he gets a bit watery eyed whenever he gets too close to Tim’s wings, and he’s a sniffing, red-eyed mess come moulting season.

Anyway, he can always fly when he leaves the city. When it’s been too long since Sasha’s scales touched seawater, she invites him out to the coast. Jon apparently has had enough of the coast to last a lifetime, and Martin gets funny about large bodies of water, so it’s often the two of them. She swims out, the greenish scales of her tail catching the sun-struck water, and he, above, feeling the breeze brush through his cramped wings, follows her wake. When she breaches the surface in a playful arc, he swoops down, trying to catch her at the same time as she tries to splash him.

“You never thought to look into it?” Jon asks. Always brewing with questions. Tim is obligingly holding out one of his wings, and Jon, who takes everything like a project, has books out and webpages up but with no further clue as to why his colouration and span differ so from his parents.

Tim shrugs. “Doesn’t matter really, does it?”

Jon hums, clearly not agreeing, and Sasha rolls her eyes fondly, and that is the end of that.

Marysia had hoped her child would not take after her husband. She’d lit candles and attended masses during her pregnancy, worn the beads of her rosary smooth. Her child had been born on land, miles from shore, and her husband had been a grounded man, who had folded up his pelt on their wedding night for her and swore to wear no other soul than his human one.

But then her husband leaves, the box where he kept his second soul empty, and Martin is eight years old, and he wakes up one morning glassy-eyed and complaining of nausea, his lip bleeding from where his sharpening teeth have ripped the skin, and she knows her prayers were not answered.

It is not unknown, for the second soul of some folk to flourish later. But it is a rough awakening, to have one’s body grow a new skin out of itself, and Martin is off school for over a week, riddled with fever and fervour, constantly parched, crying and sweating out salt-water.

She watches his skin prickle with grey and black fur, blotching with white over his stomach as he coils up under his covers, throws them off only for his limbs to reduce to shivering. His brown eyes have gone black-shot, his cries a mix of language and barks, and Marysia fears she will lose her only child to the sea.

It will be hard for him to fit in, she tells herself. It would be best to choose one, and he has his friends and family and her on land, and who knows where his father is now, and surely it would be cruel, an unnecessary agony for him to endure some other foreign pull away from all he knows.

She does what she thinks is a kindness, though that is neither excuse nor forgiveness. After nine days, his fur has come through, sleek and soft, his whiskers twitching, and she helps him peel it off as one would do clothes, revealing sweat-sheened limbs, his eyes slipped back into brown again. His gaze still distant and feverish, he tries to cuddle into her, and she soothes him while she finishes stripping off his pelt and folding it neatly.

While he sleeps, she burns it in a fire in the back yard.

When he comes back to himself, she lies and tells him that he’s been sick with a bad fever. And he trusts her, and never questions it. He doesn’t understand that she’s burnt a part of him up, scattered the ashes to the winds, but it was for the right reasons. To keep him safe, and happy, and with her.

He grows up human-limbed and cloven-souled, and she never tells him the truth.

Sasha floats in an ever-dark, stolen away and hidden. There is a knot, a cage-trap around her legs, which have fused into her tail although there is no water. The sea, far away, like the wail in a conch shell, throbs in her soul as she strains and shouts and snarls in the wrapping of spider’s webs.

The sea is the only thing with her in the dark.

Sound has a particular quality, underwater. She hears it first, an echo that shivers through her, like being thrummed on the backdraft of some shallow wave. And then it is a wash of insistence. A command.

The compulsion uses her names, landward and seaward and it pulls and demands her attention, and she shrieks and cries back, struggling in the depths. She is being called home, up up up to breach the surface, and she cannot help but answer.

There is a crack and the sea splits, and she is choking on cold and dusty air.

“Sasha!” someone is saying. “God, is she – she’s not – ?”

“Get that stuff off her, come on. Sasha. Sash, love, can you hear us?”

A series of thuds as she splutters. A twisting, gnarling screech, and several swear words.

“Jesus!”

“Shit – shit, get her out of the way.”

“Boss, move, give me the – ”

The screech degrades into a glitching, warping scream. There is the multi-layered sound of compressed air, and crackling fire,the woosh and stench of something burning.

In time, she cracks her eyes open to the punch of light. Her tail flaps weakly. Someone is pulling great strands of silk that has clumped like poorly soldered iron around her limbs, making visceral noises of disgust. She’s cold-stream shivering, surrounded by broken wood and chippings.

“Hey, hey, we got you. We got you. You with us, Sash?”

The faint scratch of feathers against her cheek. Furnace-warm arms are holding her.

Jon is kneeling down in front of her. Holding an axe and stinking of smoke, and she knows, she knows, that it was his voice she heard, although she doesn’t yet understand why.

Martin throws a blanket over her as she shivers, her tail shrivelling and bisecting into legs. He has silk in his hair, and his fingers are trembling, but his face is broken with a look of such relief.

“It’s you,” he says, and his hand touches at his throat, at the necklace she made for him. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

It’s Martin in the end that carries her out of the tunnels, tucking the blanket completely around her. He is talking in the scatter-gun way he does when he is anxious, babbling, and she can’t bring herself to listen. He smells of soot and saltwater, and she’s never noticed that before.

She falls asleep, curled up into his hold, drained and shaken, but feeling utterly safe.

Jon is human. Completely, one hundred percent, although Sasha had joked once that way way back there must have been some Spinx in the family. Tim’s long suspected that Martin’s not quite human, no matter how he presents, but that’s Martin’s business, not his. Some folks have lineages that are rare, or mistrusted, or misunderstood, and Tim’s not one to pry.

Jon, though. Human through and through. Which is why he’s so worried.

“I shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Jon says. Martin’s with Sasha, making sure there’s no nasty side effects to her imprisonment in the table. Jon’s had a face on him for a while which means he’s Worrying with a capital W, and it’s taken hours for him to untangle himself into a blustered declaration to the rest of the class, spiked with nerves. “That place, it had her. It shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I did, but I told her to leave, a-and she could. And she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“And you think that you did that?”

“I – I know I did that, Tim, I felt it, o-or. I mean, I felt something!”

“Ok, alright. Alright. Let’s, let’s calm down and look at this logically.”

Jon goes over what he said while they struggled to rescue Sasha from the deep. It was something he said, he’s sure of it, which is why he is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the main archive office space with Tim, his trousers getting dusty and his temper scraping frayed, getting increasingly frustrated when he tries recreating exactly what he did with his voice, going through questions and commands and instructions and inquiries. And while Tim answers, it’s clearly not what Jon’s looking for, and he’s rubbing the hair at the back of his head in the way he does when he’s getting increasingly frustrated and is too bull-headed to walk away.

Then Jon, rolling his eyes and seething in annoyance, asks him a throwaway question, one of many he’s been trying – what’s your favourite colour? (seriously, Jon, that’s what you’re going with?!); What did you do at the weekend? (you know what I did, you and Martin were with me!).

“Why did you join the Magnus Institute?”

They both sit, frozen and horrified as Tim’s mouth opens and his words trip over his tongue in their eagerness to leave his mouth. As his eyes grow wide and water with tears as he cannot stop speaking about Danny, about the Covent Garden circus and Joseph Grimaldi. As Jon sits, ramrod-backed and cannot stop listening, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His expression wars between frantic and panicking and hungry.

Tim feels wrung out and hollow once he’s finished. Jon’s manic with apologies. It takes both of them a long time to calm down.

“Maybe… maybe you’re a siren or something?” Tim suggests, but Jon is shaking his head.

“It’s this place, Tim. It’s those statements, when I read them. It’s … I – I think they’re doing something to me.”

Tim looks at Jon and the light strikes off his eyes in a way that it shouldn’t on a human.

He touches Jon’s arm.

“We’ll sort this,” he promises. “We got Sasha out, didn’t we? The four of us, we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

Jon nods, and gives a small fragile thanks, and that’s human enough for Tim.

Marysia told herself she was not a bad mother. That her son was simply a hard child to love, that he had all the worst trappings of his father, his brown eyes perpetually caught with a far-away look that doesn’t know where to place its longing. But even as she sickened, and he sloughed off every facet of himself in a pathetic attempt to please her, she couldn’t find anything but sorrow in her heart to look upon the man grown over familiar in face, a growth that grew deep-set and fungal into contempt.

She almost spat the truth out to him. Once or twice, with the thought that confessing might bring them closer. She wished he’d chosen the sea instead, so she wouldn’t have to look upon her amputated, half-formed child who would always be lost.

But she never did.

And Martin finds out alone, cornered in an unlocked office, his hands dropping the lighter as a thousand eyes open and watch satisfied as they pour his mother’s choices down his throat to choke him.

It starts when Martin starts sleeping in archive storage. When Tim watches worms burrow into Jon’s skin at the same time as they latch and gnaw and wriggle under his own. When they get Sasha back, and find Gertrude’s corpse and Jon leaves and gets hurt and hurt and hurt again, and the world around them gets smaller and meaner and there is nothing Tim can do.

He takes to storing food in their desk drawers. Nothing that will go off, or won’t keep. Tins and dried goods and non-perishables. He lines the walls of Martin’s storage room with fire extinguishers of different types, fire blankets, and spare first aid kits bulging with plasters and bandages and antiseptic wipes. He buys blankets and pillows and rope and penknives. He stress-moults constantly, and tucks his feathers out of sight, irritated and embarrassed at the sight of them, and it occurs to him that nesting is not a healthy way to deal with this.

He wants his family safe. He used to think it was such a small thing to ask for.

He thinks about that when the bomb goes off.

He burns, and he is dying.

His rage and fear burn off into a different fury. That it has come to this, his family so threatened, that all he has to his name is his sorrow and trauma and frustration and vengeance.

Tim wants nothing more than to live. To see them safe. To rail and rage against what seeks to harm them. So he burns and he burns and burns, his wings aflame and his mouth twisted in a scream, and does not die.

They dig him out breathing from the rubble. His skin stained grey with ash and soot.

His new wings stretch out red as the sunset.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #alternative universe #mermaid!sasha #pheonix!tim #selkie!Martin #regularOGhuman!Jon #with added Beholding spicyness #cws for implied child mistreatment #cw fire #cw burning #cw canon typical violence #cw compulsion #ask to tag

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puttingfingerstokeys · 4 years ago

Text

a friend in need [reworked]

so here’s the OG if ye cared: The OG(tm)

I’ve added characters and koncepts. Shinnok IS in the amulet, Quan-Chi is around probably, uhh... some shit happened offscreen a la annihilation that I’m sure I can enumerate on later or whatever. Uh

Faraday Cage

Energy crackled and radiated outward, sparking off pavement, trees, vehicles, people—anything with which it came in contact. Fires had erupted all over and people were fighting them as best they could, but with little hope of relief. Destruction radiated outward in all directions from one point. At the center of that point was an angry god, grieved at great loss, enraged beyond his own ability to control.

Earthrealm could not be protected by a weak, fatherly deity; Raiden understood that now, and it scared him. His own weakness scared him. His foolishness scared him. The “justice” of the Elder Gods scared him. He would end this fight and all fights, because they, for some reason, had chosen the path of passive observation. He had to do this; there was no other way. Why did no one understand? He was singular in his purpose and not even the chosen of Earthrealm, Liu Kang, could stand in his way.

Raiden had taken his own advice, a frightful echo from a future as yet unknown, an Armageddon which killed them all, himself included. It had taken many trials and many more errors to realize his own, true meaning.

“He must win.”

Raiden had finally reached the conclusion that the “he” in question was not Liu Kang, Earthrealm’s chosen, but Shao Kahn, the bloodthirsty outworld dictator. Reality shivered under the threat of the merging, however, and still the Elder Gods did not step in. How far would this have to go? Did they know that Shao Kahn’s army was, even now, trampling the tenuous pact between the realms? Did they know it had been making rubble piles of Earthrealm cities for almost a decade? Did they care?

“Liu, over here!” It was Johnny Cage, long having grown from the self-absorbed jerk Liu Kang had once known. In fact, he was a father, and proud of his little girl, but right now, damn near shitting in his britches to see Raiden this way. He offered an arm and pulled Liu Kang to his feet. He and a few others were taking shelter behind a small building which shook with the march of outworld foot soldiers and presently began to flicker with a terrible energy.

Raiden had warned himself, somehow, that the merging of realms must begin, that this was the meaning of victory in his own prophetic words, for the Elder Gods to step in. Shao Kahn had begun his dark work, however, and still nothing moved, nothing in favor of the forces of light and justice, anyway. It seemed the Elder Gods had a different idea of what it meant to maintain balance.

Certainly, there had been debate at first. There was no guarantee the Elder Gods would step in to honor the ancient pact between the protector of Earthrealm and Outworld’s greedy dictator, Shao Kahn. The deal had been struck before the eyes of those gods, however, and between divinity and divine blood; it was unbreakable. What no one had anticipated was that Shao Kahn could, technically speaking, send his forces through into Earthrealm without entering himself, or even starting the merge.

The terms of his further challenge, after having lost to the warriors of Earthrealm had been untenable, however, and so, with little debate, all kombatants under the god of thunder agreed to fight for the safety and security of their realm as a veritable army, rather than allowing their fate to once more hinge on a single battle. It had not stopped Shao Khan from taking Lao from behind and nearly snapping his neck when the behatted monk was the only one he could reach. This should have killed him, but for Raiden’s quick, skilled intervention. Even then, he realized he had been afraid that the Elder Gods would see this as blatant interference, though he had never once regretted it.

The invasion was small, at first, relatively speaking, and confined to Shang Tsung’s island, the weakest place in the fabric of reality, a sort of nexus point which connected most other realms. The Earthrealm fighters were able to contain it there, using it as a funnel, but only for so long. After that, the secret invasion began. Fortunately, the marching armies of open conquest had only made themselves apparent in the last few years or so. As the fabric of reality between realms had become thin, more thin spots had appeared, making crossing realms much, much easier.

“Your tournament is canceled, puny god! I have rescinded my generous invitation!” Shao Kahn called, raising his great hammer to the sky as Outworld began finally to merge with Earthrealm, tearing down buildings and reconstructing them in hideous amalgams. People fled and were trampled; people stood and were gored. He would line the streets with bodies before the day was out and only Raiden stood before him. Raiden, who had fought his own, dear Liu Kang, who had defied him nearly to death.

Had he died? Was Liu Kang dead? Raiden could not see him. He could not see anything past the haze of fury clouding his vision and judgment. I have killed him, again, as it was said I always will, as I always must. The thought was errant, not his own, and he brushed it aside, focusing on Shao Kahn and the present. It was his only choice.

For Raiden, at that moment, there was only himself, the protector of Earthrealm, and Shao Kahn, the invader. The world around him had narrowed to a tunnel which saw only the vicious Kahn. His soldiers had massed around him, many of them clearly conscripts from Netherrealm. Quan-Chi had long been on the side of Shao Kahn. It had been his magic which resurrected Sindel, giving her Shang Tsung’s many souls and turning her into a maddened force of nature. She was gone now, but while she lived, she stole many an Earthrealm warrior from him and Raiden could see some of these, lined up near Shao Kahn, not least of all the revenant kryomancer, Sub-Zero.

Meanwhile, Earthrealm’s remaining defenders did their best to regroup. Their numbers had dwindled in recent years. They were hanging on by the skin of their teeth, but only just. Everyone was exhausted and no one could remember when last they slept a whole night in a real bed.

“He… Johnny—you should have seen his eyes,” Liu Kang gasped, slumping to his rear-end near the wall. Jacqui Briggs stooped to examine him, checking for external injuries, and wishing for a better facility in which to check for internal. She was no expert, but godly lightning probably left a nasty mark.

“I see ‘em from here, Liu, and it’s… this is fucked,” grunted the Hollywood star, handing the binoculars over to his daughter, Cassie. She shook her head.

“He said we had to let Shao Kahn win, or else the Elder Gods would never step in,” gasped Liu Kang between labored breaths. Something was definitely wrong and if it was not treated soon, it could become permanent. “They… aren’t stepping in—I knew they didn’t care about us. I…” He groaned in agony and Jacqui pushed him back down.

“Hold still, Chosen One, your guts’ve been rearranged by a pissed off god—maybe take it easy.”

“If I ‘take it easy’, we all die,” Liu Kang snapped, jaw tight. Jacqui gave him a look that suggested she would take no lip, no matter how damn chosen he was or who chose him, for that matter. She could see from the way he held himself, the way his muscles tensed and tightened, that he was going to get much worse before he got better, especially if he pushed. They might not have a choice, soon enough, but while they did, there was no point risking it.

He met her gaze—it was burning with rage and sadness—with his own. They were matched in this way, both earthrealm natives with everything and more to lose, both people who had fought, tooth and nail, against this very thing. Sitting by idly and wishing things were otherwise was not something to which either Liu Kang or Jacqui Briggs were accustomed.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, Kung Lao approached, supporting a figure between himself and Hanzo Hasashi, the Shirai-Ryu Grandmaster. Behind them trailed Takeda Takahashi, Scorpion’s pseudo son and likely successor, half-carrying Lao’s cousin, Jin. The figure between Scorpion and Kung Lao was dressed all in blue, with cracked, gray flesh. He seemed to exude chill and once they had placed him, only Grandmaster Hasashi seemed inclined, or able, to stay near him.

“Is this all that is left?” Lao’s voice was not incredulous, so much as despairing. He moved immediately toward Jacqui and Liu Kang, dropping to one knee. “Where is Princess Kitana and her force?”

Liu Kang shook his head. He explained that the last he had seen her, she was leading an auxiliary force of Shokan loyal to her and her claim to the throne, plus a few Osh-Tekk warriors, a gift from the rebellious general Ko’atal. The big man himself had been nowhere to be seen, but he was resourceful. Jade, too, had been missing, but Liu Kang assumed that if they were together, they were safe. She was much more than Kitana’s handmaiden. Their party had been split by the arrival of the irate god of thunder and Shao Kahn’s largest, most potent portal yet.

“Dad!” The three looked up suddenly at Cassie’s shout, pulled from their informal debrief. She was reaching out to an empty space where Johnny had just been standing. Before she could go after him, however, Jacqui was at her back, grasping her elbow, hard.

“No,” Jacqui hissed, “you’ll be fried—we don’t know if Raiden’s friendly anymore… if he ever was.” Cassie jerked her elbow away, but Jacqui held tight and shook her head. “I mean it, Cass. Your dad’s… gunna do what he’s gunna do, just like mine.”

With effort, she pulled Cassie back and away from the violent arcs of red lightning that were even now consuming trees and landscaping, cars, enemy soldiers, anything within the dome of the thunder god’s power—an area that was growing. Cassie hated that explanation, but not because it was foolish. Jacqui was spot on, in every way. Johnny Cage was a force of nature himself and always had been. Cassie wasn’t sure, however, that he would be enough to combat an elemental who had, in her mind, clearly gone out of his wits.

Raiden and Shao Kahn met somewhere in the middle, just beyond the portal the Outworld emperor had opened to begin the final invasion and merging of Earthrealm to his blasted home. Still, the Elder gods did not stir.

Shao Kahn’s hammer swung mightily and met a fist that moved with swift violence. A thunderclap resounded, flattening the area and then cratering it. Neither hand nor head of hammer shattered, but that was of no consequence to Shao Kahn, who reached out and hauled Raiden forward by his collar.

The thunder god looked into the emperor’s animal eyes and neither hated nor pitied him. Raiden’s rage was beyond petty ire toward the man who had caused his beloved Earthrealm so much grief over the centuries. He would simply destroy Shao Kahn. It had become singularly simple in his eyes. He had been a fool. He would end this once and for all, for everyone, forever.

Perhaps it was the look, the nearly directionless fury which met his eyes that made Shao Kahn drop Raiden. Johnny Cage, who had worked himself much closer than was probably safe, watched from still a ways off and could not quite pinpoint what it was that had Shao Kahn backing away from the thunder god.

“It is forbidden for you to fight,” Shao Kahn warned, with more authority and sureness in his voice than it seemed he felt. “You cannot engage in Mortal Kombat! You are not mortal!” Even his minions began to back away as Raiden’s arced, red lightning crashed violently into them, disintegrating here, vaporizing there, starting fires all over. Raiden’s chest heaved with the effort of either sustaining the onslaught, or holding it back, Johnny wasn’t sure.

On that heaving chest, Shinnok’s awful amulet pulsed with life and light, beckoning and promising strength. Raiden reached for it, but hesitated, seemingly doubting himself for the merest fraction of a second. It was in that span of time whence Shao Kahn regained his courage, approached, and swung again. This time, he would have caught the god of thunder on the chin, had it not been for the quick footwork of Johnny Cage.

This time, boots met hammer, though the clash was not so even. The force of the impact sent Johnny into the side of a building. His back hit concrete and he was certain he felt something snap, but if he gave up now, Raiden was absolutely going to do something stupid. Johnny didn’t understand Shinnok’s power, or even who and what Shinnok really was, or had been, as the case may be, but he knew an evil piece of jewelry when he saw it. Perhaps ironically, his experience in the film industry had clued him into its potency and danger, if the sickly green glow was not enough.

“Time for a scene change,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet and spitting blood. The tang of adrenaline was on his tongue and coursing through his veins, making him hyper focus upon this detail or that, the world around him moving in slow motion. Johnny fancied he could hear Cassie screaming somewhere in the distance, but right now, his attention was on the battle before him.

“You are too weak to use that amulet on me, or anyone, thunder god,” Shao Kahn mocked, manufacturing enough bravado to satisfy his immense ego. Raiden grimaced, as if considering whether or not the man was right. He ground his teeth and once more moved to grasp Shinnok’s amulet. Shao Kahn struck again, this time with a boot.

Raiden was forced to block this with a cross before his chest and to step back. He balled one fist and surrounded it with lightning, shaking his head. “You do not know my power,” he growled, “but rest assured, Shao Kahn, you will.” Raiden discharged the lightning at Shao Kahn, who used his hammer as a ground and laughed.

“Pathetic, and weak.” Each descriptor was punctuated with a sharp wag of his finger toward Raiden’s chest and the deadly amulet which sat throbbing with energy thereupon.

“I am not weak—I am doing as I have always done. I am protecting Earthrealm.” His hand once more rose to the amulet. “Whatever that takes, I will do it.”

With his free hand, Raiden wound up a massive store of radiant, red energy and hurled it at Shao Kahn. The tyrant was thrown back mightily, taking out a score of his foot soldiers as he flew. Raiden continued forward, his pace slow, but deliberate. The troops of outworld were suddenly cowed by this display, as if their fellows being randomly vaporized had not been enough. Something had shifted, they sensed, and they began to back away.

“You are forbidden, Raiden!” This time, Shao Kahn’s voice was laced with fear; the confidence he had earlier displayed with his first remark of this kind had evidently deserted him in the face of what Raiden had become. The deity’s hand was now resting almost lovingly, protectively covering his father’s amulet. It was as if a very small part of him still fought for his own innocence, whatever might have been left of it.

Yes, a voice whispered, emanating from the amulet, but resounding in Raiden’s fevered mind, yes, grasp the power you have earned. With it, no one will threaten you again. Earthrealm will be safe, forever. The voice which came from the cursed object was familiar and comforting. His thoughts clung to it, to the truth of it. He had earned this power. Eons of bending to the will of the Elder Gods with no reward signaled the need for it, the deserving of its power. He only ever moved to protect Earthrealm.

Meanwhile, Johnny had begun to close the distance between himself and the wrathful deity. He could feel his hair standing on end with the force of the red lightning radiating outward from Raiden’s body. He was tense; the actor could see that from where he was, and… Are those tears? He shook off the thought as a stray bolt vaporized a fire hydrant less than a yard from him; it burst into a geyser of city water which soon began raining down upon everyone in the vicinity.

Johnny ducked behind a bike rack, realized that was probably a poor choice of cover, and scuttled along on the ground until he found a trash bin that looked as if it was made of plastic composite, rather than anything that might conduct those wicked red arcs of enraged power. His heart was hammering a thousand miles per hour and for a moment, he wondered if that was the first sign of an electricity-induced heart attack. Maybe he had been struck and did not realize it.Thinking about the ramifications of that hurt his head, so he stopped and decided to do what he did best.

“Now or never,” he told himself, taking a deep breath and fully expecting to be vaporized like the fire hydrant. It would be guts, however, not water spraying about, if he was lucky. Speaking of the water... too much of it, and Johnny would be zapped for sure; he was already soaked to the bone. Oh like it’s any different than what I’m about to do, he hissed internally, covering his face to keep his sunglasses dry. He needed to be able to see for this one. Johnny simply told himself that god lightning was different than the regular stuff and, in a burst of foolish energy, tossed himself around the trash bin and ran, full tilt, toward Raiden’s position.

A wayward bolt struck his glasses, tossing them from his face and exploding stars before his eyes. Johnny stumbled and, somewhere in the distance—she sounded thousands of miles away—he thought he could hear Cassie’s voice calling his name, screaming it in raw, brutal, throat-rending panic. He prayed someone was holding her back, because if this went south, as he was almost sure it would, she would be about to fight a hurricane, armed with only a pair of pistols.

Raiden was not going to be stopped, but Johnny felt that it was his duty to try. Liu’s shouldered too fuckin’ much already—my turn, he reasoned, forcing himself to keep going, running harder and faster than he had ever done in his life.

Raiden had stopped his inexorable stride and Shao Kahn looked on in bewilderment as the earthrealm action star closed the gap, running directly into that deadly lightning. Shao Kahn had been so sure Johnny’s miserable back had broken against that building. There was something to be said for the tenacity of a cornered, wounded animal. The Outworld dictator considered the benefits of having stock like that in the breeding pits. If Johnny Cage lived through this, his life in Outworld would be relatively comfortable, Shao Kahn decided.

The god turned his head, acknowledging Johnny with eyes as red as his lightning. Sure as shit, Johnny thought, noting that Raiden was, indeed, in tears, though they did not seem to be saline, as a human’s might be—they stood out, even upon his pale flesh, catching light and reflecting it like diamonds—or perhaps rubies, stained by the power of his rage. When they fell, they seemed to solidify midair. He supposed the sound they would make might be the minute clattering of diamonds or solidified quicksilver, though of course he could hear nothing through the rush of blood in his ears and the ambient roar of battle nearly-joined.

“Stop it, man!” Johnny called, reaching a hand out. Raiden still did not move, but neither did he cease his bombardment. Shao Kahn’s forces were at a standstill, watching, for once uncertain of the correct path. Some were even edging toward the portal, back to Outworld and relative safety. “Raiden—you listening to me? You don’t hafta—”

A bolt struck him square in the chest and he dropped to his knees, eyes wide, staring with pain and fear at the man—the god—who had struck him down. Raiden seemed to shift a little at that and then to turn. Johnny had caught his attention and would have held it but for Shao Kahn’s voice. “An earthrealm fraud has halted your march, Lord Raiden—what sort of god are you?!” He urged his forces forward, but no one stirred. Shao Kahn looked around and once more met Raiden’s eyes, which were again trained upon him. The grip on Shinnok’s amulet tightened and finally, it seemed Raiden would use it.

“No more.”

Cassie continued to scream. Johnny could hear her now. He was coming to, realizing that he was not, in fact, dead, nor even too terribly scorched. At the last moment, evidently, the magic of his strange heritage had leapt up to protect him, but he could feel in his bones that this would not happen again. He had one chance. For Cassie, he thought, all those kids—for Liu and Lao and Sonya, for Jax, even Scorpion and Sub-Zero, and Earthrealm. His heart thudded and he started forward, first at a trot, the once more at a leaping gallop. For Raiden.

Before the god could respond, Johnny Cage had tossed his arms around that broad, pillar-like torso. He had never realized just how big Raiden actually was, and thought perhaps he had allowed himself to retain a human size when dealing directly with them. He had to have been at least seven feet tall and change, but Johnny held tight all the same. He could feel a surge of anger and fathomless grief within his own body, as if it belonged to him, originated IN him—and it scared him. All this time, they had though Raiden was losing his mind to the desire for power, something much more understandable to a human mind. Johnny had never held tightly to the belief, having gotten to know Raiden over the years, but others, his late ex-wife included, had been downright certain.

“Christ,” he grunted, “is this what you’re feeling?”

It was then that the Outworld dictator chose to rush them. With him leading the charge, his hordes felt renewed confidence and vigor and lunged forth as one, howling their triumph over Earthrealm. Raiden was frozen in place, but only for a moment. He seemed suddenly to come back to himself, as if he had been far away, no longer in control of his limbs or actions—certainly not of his lightning.

He wrapped one powerful arm around Johnny, who still held him, and with the other, lashed a wide, sweeping arc of blue-white lightning across the crowd, releasing his hold on the wicked amulet to do so. Shao Kahn’s hammer protected him, but his troops were not so lucky. There was a smell of ozone and charred flesh left hanging in the air when Shao Kahn opened his eyes and straightened.

“Send your champion to face me, then!” Shao Kahn shouted, beating his chest, his hubris seemingly undiminished. His tone, however, was just this side of desperate, and his stance was far too eager, too frantic, to regain and retain control over this place. Johnny looked to Raiden, then back to Shao Kahn. He knew what this meant. He’d been at this long enough. The challenge had been issued years ago and Raiden had, with the blessing of Earthrealm’s defenders, refused it. Now, it would be taken up.

“So you’re declaring Mortal Kombat?” Johnny was going to be absolutely clear on this one, since… god contracts and all that—or something. He wasn’t wholly certain on this point, but it seemed to be the right thing to do. Shao Kahn seemed actually to consider this. His troops were slaughtered or retreating, Raiden was placated for the time being, but who knew how long that could last? His konquest had begun unlawfully, but for the loophole of his not quite finishing the merging of realms. That would be his next step—because if there existed no Earthrealm champions to defend her, then who would stop him?

“Yes, Earthrealm clown,” Shao Kahn rumbled, slapping the handle of his great hammer on one rough palm.

“Mime, actually,” came another voice from across a few lanes of what would have been traffic. Emerging from the alley where they were taking shelter, Liu Kang led their friends, injured and whole, into the open. He was supported by a grimacing Jacqui Briggs and a relieved but concerned Kung Lao, but it was clear from Liu’s expression that “no you have ruptured organs” was not an answer he would be hearing today. Raiden’s shoulders sagged a little in relief; he had not killed Liu Kang after all.

“Thank you, Liu—wait hang on…” Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend. The Shaolin fighter did not respond and seemed, for a moment, not to be able to meet Johnny’s eyes. In fact, if Johnny wasn’t tripping completely, he could have sworn that the guy was blushing. Still got it, he thought, grinning.

Before he could continue, however, Cassie broke into a gait he very much recognized as one that signaled extreme displeasure. Her face held a look of grim determination as she stomped toward her father. Johnny knew he was in for it and backed away, hands up.

“Whoa, whoa, pumpkin, easy, huh?” He looked between Shao Kahn and his daughter and realized he would rather face the Outworld tyrant. “C’mon—easy, what was your old man s’posed to do?”

“Not get fried by a pissed off god and leave me a fucking ORPHAN? MAYBE?” Her voice held an edge of hysterical panic he did not like. “Oh. Shit…” she stammered, stopping just as her path crossed Raiden’s. “I’m—sorry… I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” said the god, inclining his head toward her, “but you are not incorrect.”

Cassie was sheepish and mumbled another apology. Raiden seemed to understand her position, however, and addressed it no more. Instead, he turned his attention upon the waiting tyrant.

“When will this foolishness subside so that I can begin the konquest of your filthy realm, Raiden?!” Shao Kahn was growing impatient. “The Earthrealmer has declared Mortal Kombat and I accept, on the terms that, when I win, the merge will begin and you, pitiful servant of the Elder Gods, will stand aside and bow to their will as you have always done!”

Johnny’s jaw tightened at this hateful commentary upon Raiden’s character, but for once in his life, he held his tongue. Now was not the time to bandy words with dictators and monsters; now was the time to make them eat those words with a garnish of ball-crushing whoop-ass.

“It is my destiny to fight Shao Kahn,” Liu Kang hissed, eyeing Johnny, his gaze flinty. The hardness in his voice and tone belied the real fear that they were thwarting destiny and tempting a fate no one was equipped to handle. His eyes snapped to Raiden, then, pleading. Raiden shook his head. Jacqui echoed the movement. Even now, protesting this, Liu leaned heavily upon both people holding him up, in no condition to fight.

“Guess it’s not, Liu—stand back and watch.” Johnny would hear no more, turning toward his opponent and shouting. “I accept your terms, Shao Kahn—winner take all.” I mean, I’m not gunna take over Outworld, but like… it sounds pretty good when I say it out loud, his fevered brain nattered.

He must win. Raiden’s own, incomprehensible words came back to him in a sickening echo he still wondered, even now, to whom his future self had been referring. He had been so sure it was Shao Kahn, but that sureness had nearly killed his chosen champion. He met Liu Kang’s furious gaze.

“By the rules of Mortal Kombat, the challenge must be taken up by the one who declared it. I am sorry, Liu Kang, but this fight indeed belongs to Johnny Cage.”

Johnny heard his name, but no more. He was focused, utterly and completely, upon Shao Kahn, who stood a few yards hence, leaning upon the head of his hammer and observing the company with such arrogance, it turned Johnny’s guts. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his head upon broad shoulders.

“Okay big guy, you heard the god. Let’s fuckin’ go.” He dropped into a deep stance and beckoned Shao Kahn. The tyrant chuckled, the sound a raspy, hollow thing, mirthless and full of contempt and triumph for a victory he had not yet won. Kung Lao winced at the sound and whispered to his companion,

“This is insane…”

Johnny made the first move, using his distance to gain speed and launch into a combination of forceful, heavy kicks which utilized his size and the length of his legs. Shao Kahn blocked these with little effort and jabbed in return, hoping to push Johnny off balance.

The years had made him wily and this was not the Johnny Cage that Shao Kahn remembered, so cocksure and arrogant, his insecurities showing upon his countenance like a glowing sign, pushed by his own self doubt to showboat and make light of his own skill. This Johnny was an old veteran of many ugly fights; he was vicious, clever, and quick. The fate of his world hung in the balance. He would pull no punches and playing fair wasn’t necessarily a given, either.

Using the tyrant’s momentum against him, Johnny ducked around him and launched into a hard kick to the back of Shao Kahn’s head. This, the tyrant bore with an enraged snarl, a stumble, and a wide, arcing swing of the hammer. That swing, too, Johnny dodged, spitting in his opponent’s direction. “Gunna hafta do better’n that, slugger!”

“So your arrogance has not been tempered,” Shao Kahn commented. “Good, good. That will make your defeat all the more satisfying.” He laughed viciously and swung the hammer down, shaking the ground around them. Johnny found himself out of sorts for a moment, but it was long enough for Shao Kahn to catch him up in one hand, tossing the hammer aside and plying both powerful limbs to their grim task. He lifted Johnny over his head and began to bend. “Do you see your champion, Thunder God?”

Raiden, formerly watching with a mask of impassive disinterest, was suddenly assaulted by visions of Johnny Cage, broken nearly in two, over the shoulders of this selfsame tyrant. He could hear Shao Kahn’s triumphant laugh, the horrified scream of Sonya Blade, the heartbroken, barely-audible moan of Liu Kang. As he blinked, the entire scene flashed behind his eyes and, without thinking, he stretched forth one hand and fired a bolt of pure, blue-white lightning.

With a single shot, Raiden, god of thunder and protector of Earthrealm, ended it all.

Shao Kahn was vapor, dust in the light breeze that had begun to pick up. Johnny hauled himself to his feet, heart hammering once more, and looked between the two. Shao Kahn had been mere moments from snapping him in half, powerful hands crushing him wherever they reached, his back beginning to feel the strain of the Outworld dictator’s prodigious strength when, all at once, it was over and he was on the ground.

Coughing, brushing off, and reorienting himself, Johnny’s only thought was for the thunder god and he rushed back to where Raiden stood, staring, shocked (there was a pun here someplace), at his own hand, as if he had never before seen it. The amulet, curiously, remained upon his chest, unused, bearing no mark of having been harnessed.

“I…” Raiden stammered as Johnny reached him. The others watched the pair, who had sunk to the ground together, Johnny’s rough hands finding either side of Raiden’s face. They were murmuring—mostly Johnny, in point of fact—and no one was sure if they should get close.

Liu Kang directed them away and gestured that they ought to start dealing with the portal, which was still open and continuing its inexorable work. He hoped, silently, that the Elder Gods actually did decide to step in, because he was no sorcerer, nor was he a god and could not see himself becoming either in the near future.

Across the expanse of what had become the field of kombat, Kung Lao and Jacqui spotted Kitana, Jade, and a limping Ko’atal. They were followed by a few singed Shokan and some Osh-Tekk, bruised and battered, but alive. Kitana raised a hand and Jacqui returned the salute, made a brief gesture to the murmuring pair, and then to Liu Kang, still suspended between herself and Kung Lao.

“Hey,” Johnny hissed, “it’s okay—it’s gunna be fine… You finished it. It’s—”

“It is not over, Johnny Cage,” responded the god, eyes downcast. “I have upset the balance; the Elder Gods will be furious. The consequences—”

“Seriously,” Johnny interrupted, “fuck the Elder Gods—what’ve they done for us, huh?” Raiden’s eyes opened wide at these words of blasphemy and he reached out to grasp the lapels of Johnny’s vest.

“You know not of what you speak, Johnny Cage,” warned Raiden. Johnny hated that fearful look on Raiden’s face. It was foreign and wrong and did not belong there under any circumstances. Johnny scowled deeply.

“I know a thing or three about shit parents… Listen, this whole… fatherhood thing, y’know, it blows sometimes—no offense Cass; I love ya pumpkin—and it’s… like a never-ending cavalcade of horseshit, nonsense, and doubt.” He shook his head. “I had ONE. I can’t imagine being the… like, dad of a whole-ass world…realm… thing.” Pursing his lips, Johnny searched for his next words, choosing them carefully. “We spend our whole damn lives worrying and wondering if we did all we could—if we fucked up somewhere along the way and if that… y’know, if it caused more pain than it should’ve, or… more than we knew at the time, or could ever know.” He sighed. “And yeah, it’s gunna do that—it will do that. You’re going to hurt your kids and sometimes meaning well isn’t the be-all, end-all… the ends don’t always justify the means and all that shit, except when they do… But the bottom line here is that a good parent does THAT, y’know, looks back and… worries… about the process. Getting there ain’t always half the fun, big guy—and frankly, whoever-the-fuck got you here, where you are right now? They’re not the good kinda parents. Just sayin’.”

Raiden looked as if he had never been told that the Elder Gods were poor parental figures. He looked as if he had never considered them parents at all, which Johnny supposed made sense, since they weren’t exactly physical beings or whatever, but sometimes, one had to wonder at the “my ways are higher than your ways” explanation.

He, still holding either side of Raiden’s face, pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “We’re gunna be all right, man—I promise. I… we… no one’s gunna let anything happen to you—or Earthrealm, or whatever.” He had clearly run out of words, for the time being

“Thank you, Johnny Cage,” whispered Raiden solemnly. “Your faith and fair words mean more to me than you can know.”

“Ah, one more thing, though.” Evidently, Johnny was not completely out of words. “Just… Just Johnny, please? Whenever I hear the whole thing, I kinda assume I’m in deep shit—y’really don’t wanna go there with a god… ‘specially not the kind who can do… y’know, what you just did.”

Raiden regarded what he had just done very carefully, then regarded Johnny. This, he supposed, was a request he could grant, but it felt strange, not addressing him that way.

“If I am correct, then we are, all of us, in ‘deep shit’.”

“Lord Raiden,” Liu Kang called, hobbling toward them having escaped, temporarily, his captors. “Forgive me, but that portal isn’t closing itself and I…”

Raiden shook his head and stood, grasping Johnny’s hands and pulling the man with him. “I will make this right,” he promised, stepping away from the mortals and lifting into the air. Once more, energy crackled all around, but it bore the tranquil, blue-white glow that they were accustomed to seeing. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at that.

Cassie approached her father slowly. He seemed dazed. She could have slapped him, but she wasn’t sure that wouldn't trigger some kind of heart attack. Johnny’s eyes were wide, fixed on the hovering thunder deity.

“You ah… okay, dad?”

“I don’t… I dunno, kid. I’m not sure. But he is… and right now, that’s kinda what we need.”

#mortal kombat #johnny cage #raiden #faraday cage #there are tons of other characters #so I'mma just leave it at that #kung lao and a few others make brief appearances

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