#Teacher Slain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stiltonbasket · 2 months

Note

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan.

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun.

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem.

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong.

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier.

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu.

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand.

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son.

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead.

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem.

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils.

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it.

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying.

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing.

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth.

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle.

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there.

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within.

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two.

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty.

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy.

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight.

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave.

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward.

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin.

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes.

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him.

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded.

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve.

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand.

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him.

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled.

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

#svsss #bingyuan #binggeyuan #the scum villain's self saving system #my fic #i live to serve and i have delivered #this is my first foray into multichapter svsss fic so please reblog if you liked it/would like to see more!#shen yuan's name is still shen yuan btw #we will unravel the backstory behind the name he's using Later #as well as some other.....backstory #;)

372 notes · View notes

staretes · 7 months

Text

finally, before you

synopsis: he's been dreaming about this moment for centuries, but what will happen when he's finally reunited with you? w/c: 0.8k tags: blade x reader, angst, reader was blade's lover when he was yingxing (a bit ooc for blade? idk please tell me if it is) a/n: i posted this by accident twice while it was still cooking in the oven argh. i mostly typed this in school while my teachers were teaching hehe but tbh i think my writing style got alot more loose here which idk if i like... i also dont know how i feel about the flow of this but ack enjoy

blade awakes, face gently cradled by blades of grass. when he looks up, the countless stars glittering in the midnight sky greeted him, just like how they greeted him on those nights when he went to watch the vast starry sky with you. "he didn't come to the luofu to find friends, much less love" he had firmly told himself, but the thought quickly lost itself in you, the stars, and the nights you spent with him. he’d thought he had lost those nights forever.

could it finally be? his heart quickens as he hurried to stand up. the boundless expanse of grasslands that could be found at the edges of the luofu stretched as far as he could see. blade’s scarlet eyes dart frantically across the field, before they landed, with a triumph, on a figure gazing at the stars. you. blade’s heart leaps at the sight and he hastens to reach you. he could wait no longer, he thinks, for every moment for the last seven hundred years, his heart burned in your absence. he had longed to see the sweet smile on your lips and feel your soft skin on his again. “(name),” he called softly, hoping to finally let his gaze rest upon your bright eyes under the stars once again. startled, you whip around to face him. you stand up, and your eyes search him, and he feels your gaze pierce throughout his body, looking him up and down. “yingxing…” you mumble , not sparing his eyes a single glance. blade opens his arms hesitantly, desperate to feel your embrace again. you jolt back, and your trailing gaze lands on his hands. his hands. his hands have slain too many, dripping with the blood of so many innocent lives. he whose hands are burdened with the weight of death and violence, how could he even think of touching you, tainting you with his sin? you turn on your heel and run, farther and farther away from him, and he's left standing alone in an empty sea of grass, watching your body disappearing in the distance, with only the stars twinkling at him mockingly.

blade awakes, drenched in cold sweat, chest heaving, gasping for air. it was just a another dream, he reassures himself amongst shallow breaths. just like the dream from the night before, and the night before that, and the many, many nights before. you’ll love him, forever, no matter what, he tells himself, and it’s this faith that relights the small fire in his heart to reunite with you on that fated day in that promised land.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

the moment had finally arrived.

the chains of life that burdened blade for so long snapped, and his body arched gracefully as his body fell to the ground with a soft thud. the raging fire of mara was put out as he fell deeper into the sweet embrace of death. the peaceful silence enveloped him as he seemed to float, float away, higher and higher, transcending towards the paradise that he had longed for for centuries.

…

blade awakes, face gently cradled by blades of grass. he looks up, and the countless stars greet him once more. on the xianzhou, where death is a distant concept, rumours swirl of the soft melodies heard when one finally finds peace in heaven. blade is sure that it's this tune that serenades him as he stands up slowly, looking around.

he doesn't have to look for long before your figure, sitting on the blanket you once shared with him, watching the stars twinkle before you. you're humming a tune, and he realises that this is the melody that's he's been hearing since he awoke. slowly, he walks towards you.

before he can call out your name, you turn around and meet his gaze. your eyes light up and a radiant smile forms on your lips. mara-ridden centuries of separation have warped and faded blade's memories, but he's still taken aback at how your beauty far exceeds the many versions of you in his dreams. his heart rate quickens as his parched eyes drink the sight before him. "yingxing!" you beam as you stand up. your voice was still as melodious as ever. the sound of his name forming from your lips was the most heavenly song blade has heard in a long time. it seems, you have been eagerly waiting for him too. you open your arms, awaiting his embrace. this is the moment he’s been dreaming of.

his dreams.

blade tries to move, but he finds that the many seeds of doubt planted in his stomach have emerged. imaginary vines shackles his limbs and he finds himself unable to move. he tries to talk, but the thorny weeds have suffocated his throat, leaving no voice to even whisper your name.

after everything he's done, he doesn't deserve to even face you.

so this time, he's the one that turns and flees, further and further away from you.

#[✦ - archives!]#almost tagged this in the fluff tag whoops #blade x reader #blade imagines #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade x gn reader #hsr imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #blade angst

339 notes · View notes

asumofwords · 9 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond and reader really be going through it together, call that shit trauma bonding ok? I'm so tired but also so keen to pump out these chapters for you so that we can finish this month long journey that has been Smoke, Fire and Ash. You are all the best!!! I love you so much! Enjoy <3

Chapter 93: Stoking the Flames

What are women but an object for men to possess?

A body they can press their hands into, and mark with their teeth. Giving them validation that they are men, man enough, above status, better born.

Noble.

A vessel for their cocks, ears to hear their woes, and arms to hold them tenderly when needed. A body for them to take out their anger, a body for them to act upon their lust. A way for them to let out the rising tensions within their own bodies without repentance.

A good wife should never say no. A good wife should never fight back. A good wife should have 'yes' at the very tip of her tongue, 'thank you' in the back of her throat, 'please' at the ends of her fingers, 'more' between her thighs.

A good wife should be smiles and curtseys, kisses on both cheeks and eyes, embroidery wheels, and laughter. The womb for his child, the mother to raise them, the teacher to teach them, the cook to feed them, the cleaner to keep the house tidy for them all.

A tongue that is bitten and raw, teeth that are chipped and broken, words unspoken and kept between brittle fingers and chewed lips. A body bent to his will, when he wants, without question because he is your husband, and that is what you are meant to do.

But you were not a good wife. At least, not in a way of being complacent and weak.

You were far more than that.

And Aemond now knew this.

Your confessions to one another seems to have begun to pull the seams between the two of you back together. Each thread being tugged, to make you whole.

To burn together. Not apart.

As one.

And despite the horrors that you had faced, despite the losses that seems to continue to mount against you, you knew that you had a duty to your mother. To the realm. To your husband even. And this duty extended itself to dining with the King without argument. To dining with the people who watched as you were dragged to the throne room, all teeth and claws, to watch your ally be slain before you.

A warning.

A threat.

Their victory.

The Greens believed in their heart of hearts, that the Maester was the only eyes in the Keep. Or at least, you suspected Aegon to believe this. Alicent, despite her sometimes lack of spine and wherewithal, had a paranoia that often worked to her favour, not to her mental health, her chewed and battered fingers and all round jumpy demeanour could attest to that, but perhaps to the way things always seemed to fall in line around her, no matter how messy.

The maids were silent as they doted on you, as though the simplest of touches would pull a carefully laid brick in your very being, and the rest of you would fall down, tumbling to the surface below with a crash.

It was a black gown you wore, not only in support of your mother, but in mourning of the mother you would not become.

High necked, and tight sleeved, the bodice wrapped around you tightly, false dragon scales lining your bust with a dark leather, the sleeves cuffed over your middle finger in a sharp point. Skirts of sweeping black, and hair braided tightly behind your head, not a hair out of place, not a strand left loose.

Stiff.

Strict.

Together.

A vision of power, despite how powerless you felt.

Aemond wore black leathers, a similar scaling press at the front of his own chest, buckles of gold reaching right beneath his chin. His own hair pulled back into a half braid at the back of his head, large rings upon his fingers, and his sweeping black leather coat that used to strike fear in you.

And so you walked, as one, in unity.

One in loss.

One in mourning.

One in fire and blood, and rage and grief.

Walking as one to the Small Dining Hall where you knew the both of your strengths would be tested by the King and all those surrounding. By the Council. By the Dowager Queen and the Hand. All eyes would be upon you, and all lips would no doubt utter false senses of condolences and meagre hints of regret.

You were exhausted.

Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

And as Aemond walked you through the corridors, he kept with your pace, his hand in yours, letting you squeeze his tightly. Preparing yourself for the inevitable.

When you had entered the Hall together, the room instantly became silent, and the thundering roar of blood in your ears filled the noise instead. Each step that you took seemed to echo, and each breath that you breathed seemed to rattle within your lungs.

All eyes were on you.

Not Aemond.

You.

And your eyes were on Aegon.

He matched your stare with equal verocity, violet eyes glinting in triumph.

I won, they said.

And he had.

For now.

No one spoke a word as you sat in your seats, nor did they stop their silent staring at you either. It was worse, you thought, this false pity. Worse than the usual disdain or hatred.

It made you feel weak.

“Princess,” Aegon began, tone low and filled with false sorrow, “You should be resting in your chambers.”

You cleared your throat softly, shifting in your chair as you watched the tables reaction.

Everyone seemed to be on edge.

“I have rested plenty. I have a duty to my husband, and he a duty to his King.”

Aegon nodded solemnly, as though he was not the catalyst for your losses, “You are a good wife to be sure. And strong.”

You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around at the Lords and Lady Alicent, who watched you with cautious and sad eyes. The table was full of food already, piled high with meats and legumes, gravies and sauces, and large decanters of wine and ale.

Turning to Alicent, you gave her a terse smile, “Lady Alicent, might you say a prayer to begin?”

Alicent blinked at you doe-ishly for a moment, before nodding, holding her hands in front of her, “May we pray to the Father,” She began, and all Lords bent their heads to look at there hands in prayer, whilst Aegon kept his eyes on you, “And ask him to guide the child lost to the Stranger gently where it may rest."

You let your gaze meet Aegon, and fire erupted within. His lips were pulled forward in a pout as he looked at you, then to your husband beside you, who’s head was diligently bowed, and eye slid shut.

Alicent continued her prayer as heat rose within you, “May we pray to the Mother, for mercy and peace, and ask her to give blessings for a new heir.”

You swallowed thickly, hands in your lap tightening into fists, “May the Crone guide us forward, and show us the path to strength and unity.”

The prayer ended, and all eyes fell upon you again, some looking away as your gaze met theirs, others offering you a sad smile in brittle support.

“I pray to the Father,” Aegon began, hands tucked under his chin as everyone warily looked at him, “I ask that he delivers divine justice, and judgement upon my actions, and pray that he forgives me of my misdeed which led to the loss of an innocent babe.”

You breathed heavily, teeth clenched as he looked at you.

“Very good, My Lord.” Otto Hightower praised stiffly from his side, whilst Alicent looked as though she had turned a shade of grey.

Aemond dropped a hand into your lap, stopping the way one of your own pulled at the skin of the other meanly. His large fingers pressed between yours, squeezing it in a subtle show of strength, a show of support. A sign that he was there with you.

An attempt to ground you.

“I pray that he delivers such justice indeed.” Came you cool response, reaching forward to pour yourself a goblet of wine, bringing it your lips as you did not trust yourself to hold your tongue.

The Lords around the table began to eat, and their own chatter rose amongst each other, replacing the once stale, stagnant air. And as they spoke, Alicent asked after you.

“Might there be anything that you need, Princess? Perhaps we could go to the Sept together and pray.”

An attempt at kindness.

But kindness did not come to the Lady Alicent easily.

You swallowed, feeling Aemond’s hand still in your lap, “That is kind of you, Your Grace. But for now, I think I need time to spend with the Old Gods first.”

The older woman gave a crooked smile, “Of course.”

You all ate, yourself and Aemond staying quiet, listening to the filler conversations that the Lords tiptoed around, all the while Aegon continued to stare at you in a way you could not describe.

Was there remorse there behind his eyes?

“My condolences to you, brother, and to you niece.” Aegon spoke quietly to you both, “It is no easy thing to lose a child.”

Jaehaerys.

Aemond’s eye was cast down at his plate, before he gave a solemn nod.

The hand in your lap tightened.

“Have you written to your mother and father to tell them of the loss?” Aegon inquired, placing his cutlery softly against his plate, he was treading carefully.

Too carefully.

He was worried for your parents reaction.

“I had not the chance to tell them I was with child, and it would seem silly to send them such notice of losing one they didn’t know I had.” Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth.

“Of course, it would be difficult to say such things over parchment. A far better conversation to have in person, when one can convey the misfortune of it all. Not at all what I had intended, I would never wish anything like the loss of a child upon a mother.”

You ground your teeth down in your jaw, Alicent and Otto watching you and Aemond carefully.

“Your apologies are too kind, Your Grace.” The words were sour in your mouth, "You were not to know of the outcome of such a thing.”

Aegon’s violet gaze searched your face before he asked a new question, “And how are you faring? Is the new Maester tending to your needs?”

The new Maester.

“He is perfectly acceptable.” Came your stiff response.

Aegon smiled, “Good. Did you know that he was the one to treat Aemond’s eye when he lost it?”

Aemond’s hand twitched in your lap, and it was your turn to soothe him.

“I did.”

“Then you are in good hands.”

“Indeed.”

You finished your meal, and as the Lords continued to dance around you, you decided that you had had enough. Standing from your chair, you offered no bow, no apologies, but instead stiffened your posture, holding your hands in front of you as you had been taught to do, and excused yourself from the Dining Hall.

Aemond followed you, curt farewell on his tongue.

Your maids dressed you for bed as soon as you entered the chambers, and soon enough you are beneath the sheets, calling out for Aemond to join you. He crawled in from behind, the heat of his body engulfing you. You rolled in your spot, turning to face him before you asked him to hold you.

Aemond pulled you tight against his chest, lifting your leg over his hip to slot his between yours. Not in a sexual way, but in a way to have you as close as possible, to have all of you pressed against him. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you lay in the dark of the chambers.

“I wish things were different.” You whispered to no-one. It was just something that you wished. Something that you needed to speak into existence, for you feared if it was not said, it would not be true.

Aemond only pulled you tighter against him, small hum vibrating his chest as he kissed the top of your head, keeping his lips against your hair.

“I wish he was dead.”

Spoken into existence again.

Aemond’s chest stilled, before breathing again gently.

You licked your lips, inhaling the scent of your husband. Musk. Sandalwood. Smoke.

“I wish Aegon was dead.”

You felt hot air blow against the top of your scalp, but Aemond did not move to stop you, and so you let the roll of thoughts tumble out of your mouth. The thoughts and words which had been hiding in the back of your throat, your tongue bitten and bleeding, teeth chipped and raw.

“I can still feel it.” You breathed, heart beginning to race in your chest, "I can still feel the way he felt inside of me. The way he forced himself inside of me.” Aemond’s hands tensed on your flesh, and you felt the familiar sting of tears on your eyes.

“I remember it all. The fear. The terror. The pain.”

Another sharp blow of air atop your head.

“I called out to you, and he would not stop. I tried to stop him. I tried-“ You hiccupped, feeling a sob wrack your body, “But he was so strong, and I couldn’t move, and all I could do was pray you would come home and save me.”

Aemond murmured your name so quietly that you would have missed it if his breath were not above your ear.

“I hate it. I hate him. I hate that I know what he felt like. I hate that he was inside of me. How he laughed at me. How he mocked you. I think about it and I feel sick. I feel so sick and horrified at the thought of him in our bed again.”

Tears slid down your cheeks, and you felt Aemond press another kiss to your head, though his body was stiff, and vibrating with energy.

“Sometimes,” You licked your lips, tasting your salty tears as your voice crackled, “Sometimes I’m thankful we lost the babe.”

Aemond’s chest stopped again, no hot air of his breath moving across your scalp.

“B-ecause,” Your voice wavered, more tears beginning to fall, landing in the crux of your neck wetly, “What if the Moon Tea hadn’t worked. What if it was Aegon’s.” A sob fell from your lips. “What if-“

“Shh.” Aemond whispered atop your head, shifting so that your body was now atop his. You curled atop him, his hands coming to hold you against his body as you felt his chest rise and fall raggedly beneath you.

“Ēdrugon, byka mēre.” Sleep, little one, The One-Eyed Prince whispered atop your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead gently, “Ñuha idaña perzys, ȳdra daor pendagon hen ra.” My twin flame, don’t think of such things.

“Nyke vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry, You sobbed into his chest, feeling him hold you against him impossibly tight.

“Shh, konīr iksis daorun naejot sagon vaoreznuni syt.” There is nothing to be sorry for.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

398 notes · View notes

corruptimles · 2 months

Text

Refreshed OCs from a story I wrote about 10 years ago that involved elemental powers and fighting shadow creatures

None of these guys are the main characters

Uria - Part of Linnea's specialized task force for eliminating Malum, constant use of his powers just in case

Slaine - Ex(?) pyromaniac on a leash to help Linnea's task force for a lighter sentence

Silas - Drama teacher, carries flares as he unfortunately attracts Malum, that's a mask tied behind his neck

Erick Nicchi - Died 5 years prior to story protecting his younger brother Kei

Karla Hasek - Ren's older sister who never believed in why Ren disappeared when they were younger

#art #character design #I dont have a drawing tag #this is my OC tag #ESG #Uria #Silas #Slaine #Erick #Karla

54 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 7 months

Note

Do you have any ideas/tips/tricks on running a campaign with (former?) bandit-likes as the protagonists? Inspired by your deep dive on the archetype, kinda had ideas of 'main prophecied adventurers are slain by the party, have to take over for the prophecy so as the world wont explode', but if you have alternate ideas or ways to spruce it up, super open.

Adventure: Where the Low Road Leads

Through unworthy means the sword has come to you, and with it you grip a destiny that some part of you knows is too glorious for your dirty hands. You can't help but think perhaps this is your chance to be remembered for anything other than an ignoble end.

The Sword can come into possession of the party in any number of ways:

As the original asker suggested, it would be a great opening for an evil or dark-grey aligned party to pull it from the bodies of a group of adventures or bountyhunters who were hired to stamp them out. If I were running this as the start of a campaign I'd have the story pick up shortly after the fight and subsequent looting has taken place, to ensure your anti-heroes are set on the right course.

Alternatively the sword could very easily be found in a treasure horde, picked off a corpse lost in a the wilderness, or bestowed upon them by some wellmeaning patron.

All that matters is that the sword finds them, and then shortly after that the dreams start: Pitched battle in darkened corridors, a few valiant warriors standing against an onslaught of robed figures and formless horrors, warriors bearing the same amber and knot design that decorates the hilt of the sword's crossguard. The last echoes of a desperate struggle.

After one or two of these visions a strange messenger arrives: Jott, a boisterous homunculus delivering a greeting and a communication stone from his master Telbhar the Wizard. Mostly bound to his far off tower these days, Telbhar is relieved beyond measure that he managed to tack down whoever was in possession of the sword, as it is the keystone in a great undertaking he has been involved in since his youth.

As Telbhar explains, back when he was but an apprentice he and his teacher served a now extinct group known as the Order Fulgoric, who battled many evils in their day but perished preventing an incursion from an unknown otherworldly entity. The blade, Sequester, was crafted to shut out that entity forever, but it was lost in the final rout against the entity's cultists and though the ritual of its summoning was disrupted, the entity ended up half in, half out of our reality, bleeding out its corruption into the world.

Challenges & Complications:

As you may have guessed, Telbhar is not being completely forward with the truth. He was in fact one of the cultists trying to summon the otherworldly entity on the day the Fulgoric order made their final march, and though he fled while his fellow acolytes were being slaughtered he retained enough of their knowledge to reconstruct the ritual many years later. It didn't matter, the Order had succeeded in trapping the entity between worlds and the only way to un-trap it was lost with the sword. Telbhar spent decades searching for it... only for it to resurface in the party's possession. Now he either needs to convince them to bring it to him, or find a means of picking it off their corpses.

The entity the cultists were attempting to summon was a powerful quori dreamspirit known as Uaxt, which was spoken of by ancient sources as a thing capable of granting wishes. Called "Yearning beyond reach" by those that studied it in the past, the entity's true power was in mass delusion, creating waking dreams that would seep across entire kingdoms like a plague. While its body remains entwined through the depths of the dungeon, flash fossilized by the energies of botched planear travel, its mind is imprisoned in the blade, slowly taking root in the party's minds as it uses their dreams to reconstitute itself.

Consider introducing Telbhar when the party is in a deep bind, most in need of wizardly council. It should not be directly related to the sword, alternatively, if your party ends up wanting to seek out a lorekeeper of some kind you may consider introducing Telbhar first and have him ask them to seek the sword in return for helping them with their current woes.

#press start #wizard #low level #cursed item #quori #treasure #lorekeeper #evil party

130 notes · View notes

meepispeepis · 4 months

Text

The Storm Before the Calm

~Ok, I'm finally getting on that MK1 cringe! Got ALOT of inspiration from these lovely creators and their combined arts of "oops, Kung Lao's dead again" works. And the brainworm is demanding that I finally put this into writing so, here we are! Once again, huge shoutout to these lovely artists who gave me the inspiration and please do check them out!~

@helsensm // @novicedraws // @randyzorra // @d3rpydoods

~Before we continue just wanted to put some mild context to ensure this makes sense. This isn't part of some long-winded series, so you might as well think you've flipped open a book and started reading in the middle of the story. Fire God Liu Kang starts getting deja vu as certain coincidences and events start playing out that are too eerily similar to how things played out during the MK9 game (Raiden getting a message from his future self and trying to interpret in time what that message meant to save the future - long story short: nearly everyone died and no one came out alright :D). All roads were seemingly leading to Kung Lao dying in his timeline and Liu Kang struggled on how to cope and deal with this. On one hand, he did not want his friend-…His new teacher…To die, especially since he tried so hard to tailor make this timeline to ensure everyone got a happy ending.

Yet, at the same time, he refused to stoop down to Kronika's level and start altering the timeline until it was his "perfect" utopia. However, his fears and suspicion about the situation become even more realized when Raiden gets gravely injured and the only thing that prevented him from kneeling over was the thunder amulet infused with his person (and some other magical shit, idk). From this, Raiden gains his iconic white hair, and this gives Liu Kang a heart attack. To make a long story short, Kung Lao ends up dying at the hands of the villains (In this short story, it's assumed that Shang Tsung is wholly responsible or had a hand in his death), Raiden is going through the stages of grief, but he's going down the same dark path as the previous Raiden, now becoming Dark Raiden. And Liu Kang has to finally interfere.~

Still confused? Too late, now on to the story! Next Characters: Raiden, Kenshi, Johnny Cage, Liu Kang, Shang Tsung, Mentions Kung Lao, Raiden's Sister (named her Fuji :D)

Word Count - 6,094 Ships: Raiden/Kung Lao - Hints of Kenshi/Johnny Cage

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (but with less blood), Character Death

It was over.

It was done.

They stopped Shang Tsung and his nefarious plot; it was over. This was the part where everyone patted each other on the back, did a whole hoopla about "the power of friendship saved the day," locked up the villain, and went home. But maybe that time was lost a long time ago. Ever since…

Ever since Kung Lao died.

Aside from Johnny, Kung Lao always knew how to lift everyone's spirits, that didn't involve excessive Hollywood references that most of them didn't get. His self-confidence and pride always seemed to ooze onto everyone else. If Lao says he can do it, then so can we! It hurt everyone when he was unceremoniously slain by General Shao and Shang Tsung, a clean cut to his neck with his own weapon. And you know, it wasn't until that day that Liu Kang was gravely reminded that these men never had to experience death in such a manner. Each of them knew how to fight, added to the additional training they got with the monks at the Wu Shi Academy. But Liu Kang never taught them how to kill, to maim, to perform the one act no ordinary person should ever have to do.

When Kung Lao died, it shocked everyone. The only one seemingly keeping themselves together was Kenshi. Coming from his Yakuza background, he has done plenty of dirty that he wasn't proud of. But Johnny? Liu Kang still remembers the reviving actor's disbelief, trying his damndest to do all he could for Kung Lao, even pleading with Liu Kang on what to do. But perhaps the one person who was hurt the most that day was Raiden. They were friends, childhood friends…lovers, even…Liu Kang can never scrub away the scene of Raiden being the first to notice his friend wasn't getting up (he was the closest to the body) and slowly descending to hold his boyfriend tightly. Raiden blocked out the world at that moment; the rest of the crew had to step in and finish the fight while Raiden grieved over his friend.

And things were never the same after that.

It was over.

It was done.

Kenshi and Johnny already shackled the unconscious Shang Tsung and started tending to their wounds. There was silence between them as they repaired themselves, barely making glances to the other. It wasn't until Kenshi spoke up, pointing out that Johnny was wrapping the bandage wrong and took the reigns in patching the star up. Johnny didn't put up a fuss. In a small way, he's kinda glad Kenshi said something. To break the silence and bring back that camaraderie they once had before. Feeling Kenshi touch him again, a wave of memories started flooding back to Johnny. The days when the 4 of them (Johnny, Kenshi, Kung Lao, Raiden) were always in each other's spaces. Arms thrown over each other's shoulders, whenever they were in a goofy mood; they were always leaning against the one nearest to them. That intimacy, he misses it.

"There," Kenshi softly says, completing the last patch on Johnny to ensure it wouldn't get infected.

Johnny couldn't help but return a sad smile and nod, "Thanks, Kenshi."

Then the silence began again as they both sat in silence, waiting for Raiden and Liu Kang to return once they were done with what Johnny called "the super laser beam like in that one Marvel™ movie." When they heard the sound of roiling thunder, that was their cue that the other pair had returned. Kenshi was the first to look up to see Raiden floating high above them, with black clouds shadowing him. It was a near-terrifying sight. His glowing eyes and hair, the crackles of lightning sparking off him, and the foreign look of godly contempt that was plastered on his face. Doesn't help too, that they each learned some time ago who Raiden was before Liu Kang altered the timeline. With this display of power, Raiden might as well be a god.

"Hey, Raiden, no need to worry! We had this one in the bag." Johnny gestures over to Shang Tsung, still enjoying his dirt nap. "He'll be going away for good once we figure out what our version of Arkham Asylum should be for the bastard."

Kenshi scoffs and shakes his head slightly, but it wasn't one out of annoyance. He knows what Johnny is trying to do, lightening the mood.

Raiden, however, does not reciprocate; remaining still as a statue in the air. Kenshi stares back at Raiden, anxious about what the thunder go-his friend, was thinking.

"…Hey, Raid-bro, we were told there was a chance of blue sunny skies when coming out here. Care to move the dark clouds out the way?" Johnny tries again with being jovial, but Kenshi can hear the hint of anxious tension in his tone.

After another long silence, Raiden finally descends, but where he was going was toward Shang Tsung. Johnny and Kenshi rise from their seated area as they closely watch Raiden slowly meeting the ground. By the time Raiden reached the surface, almost as if on cue, Shang Tsung started to stir awake, perhaps thanks to the constant thunder cracking in the area. Shang Tsung was already a beaten mess, with dried blood and dirt caked on his freckled face. His brown eyes meet with Raiden's glowing white eyes, and he has the gall to smirk at him. The prisoner readjusts himself, sitting straight up as he leaned against a tree.

"Love what you did with your hair, Raiden." Of fucking course, Shang had to go there.

Kenshi and Johnny both do their best to not flinch and cringe upon hearing that, knowing full well that it struck a nerve with Raiden, even if the farm boy wasn't showing it.

And as if Shang was further egg-ing Raiden on, he starts looking around, as if he's expecting someone to be here, but they happened to be missing. "Now, where is that pompous, hat-throwing circus act you often dragged along with you? Called in sick?"

"That's enough, Shang Tsung. Don't let us muffle you too." Johnny was the first to speak on everyone's behalf, his rising anger apparent as he growled.

Shang ignored Johnny, his eyes still trained on Raiden, meeting him eye-to-eye. "Oh~, don't beat yourself up for his departure, Raiden. You can rest easy that he died a prideful fool who didn't know when too much was enough."

"Hey, shut the fuck up!"

There was a one-sided back & forth, Shang Tsung constantly taunting the quiet Raiden while Johnny was trying to get Shang Tsung to stop talking. Eventually, Johnny starts grabbing the sorcerer by his ruffed-up shirt and tries intimidating him into keeping his mouth shut.

There are benefits to being half-blind and wearing a blindfold. Kenshi has been looking head, seemingly staring into nothing and nowhere, but the sight that Sento gave him allowed him to keep his peripherals on Raiden. Watching him closely to ensure that he doesn't do anything stupid. And Kenshi would be right to watch Raiden because the younger man started to approach the arguing pair.

Kenshi steps in front of Raiden, "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"Get out of my way, Kenshi," Raiden's voice was like a coming storm, eager to wreak havoc on anyone and anything that stood in its way.

Kenshi had to choose his words wisely, one wrong move or phrase and he will erupt. They've seen it happen more than once. "Please, at least let us wait for Liu Kang before-"

"Ha! Still letting that proclaimed Fire God lead you around on a leash, Raiden?"

Kenshi now physically cringes before making a sharp turn toward Johnny, "Shut him up!" Kenshi can see sparks crackling of Raiden and he further obscures his view of Shang Tsung. "Raiden, he's trying to get into your head. Don't let him!"

"He knew, you know? Liu Kang? For someone who altered the timeline to fit his "perfect vision," a lot of strange coincidences have been happening as of late. I mean, I became a sorcerer when I was supposed to be a beggar. And you were a simple farm boy. But look at you now, a master of the storms and the skies," Shang Tsung side-eyes Raiden deviously, "He must've known that Kung Lao was going to die."

"Get out of my way!" the air starts to pick up, his hair and clothes ruffling in the wind, and more lightning static bounces off Raiden.

"Ok, time for your muzzle, dog," Johnny approaches with a mask-like device meant to silence individuals who wear it. As he tries to place the mask on Shang Tsung, the sorcerer hits him square in the dick (a technique he has learned to adopt later down the line thanks to the foolish actor), causing Johnny to have the wind knocked out of him as he backs away a couple steps. "N-not cool, man! Not cool!"

But this landed Shang Tsung a couple more minutes. "He could've prevented it, Raiden. Kung Lao may have died at the General's hands, but you know who truly caused his demise? Liu Kang could've stopped it all from happening. He went through all the effort to neuter you and me. Because of his biases over a timeline that no longer exists! He claims that he "doesn't interfere with affairs" because he wants us to become masters of our own fates, but we were never in control of it to begin with. Liu Kang decided for himself what we should be; all I did was defy his logic and plan."

"JOHNNY!" Kenshi shouts as he tries to hold Raiden back, the young man now struggling to get past the blind swordsman.

"I'm working on it!" Johnny replies as he hurries back to Shang Tsung with the mask.

"I SAID GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!" Raiden screams.

He can feel it. He can feel the amulet infused into his body responding to his anger, his grief, and his drive for vengeance. The condensed storms locked away in that amulet desire to give Raiden that release. Kenshi grunts as he starts feeling shocks ripple through him while holding tight onto Raiden.

"RAIDEN DON'T LISTEN TO HIM; YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS!"

"Liu Kang could've saved your friend, Raiden. You know this as much as I do. He has the power to do so; he simply didn't use it. All under the idea of restraint. That's what makes you and I so powerful. We're not afraid to take the power we're given and use it to its nigh limits. The one who you should be angry at is the man who calls himself a friend to you."

Finally, Johnny wraps the mask around Shang Tsung, silencing him until it's eventually removed. But the damage was done. It wasn't until now that Johnny noticed that Liu Kang still hadn't arrived.

"Where's Liu? Kenshi, where's Liu!" Johnny says as he anxiously watches the struggle between Raiden and Kenshi.

Kenshi doesn't get a moment to entertain an answer as Raiden yells at the top of his lungs, a bust of electrifying energy emitting from him, from the amulet, knocking both Earthrealm warriors back a considerable distance. The pair lang roughly on the soil in an audible groan as they jerk and hiss at the shocking ripples still assaulting their bodies. Kenshi was the first to slightly recover, but it must've been some time before he regained his senses because when Kenshi frantically looked for where Raiden had gone, he saw the thunder wielder punching Shang Tsung to a bloody pulp.

"Raiden, ugh! Raiden, stop!" It hurts for Kenshi to get up, but he ushers all the strength he still has and rushes over to Raiden.

Kenshi rips Raiden off of Shang Tsung and doesn't bother to look the sorcerer over (that's what he gets for running his mouth), keeping his attention wholly on his friend (and his hand on the hilt of Sento).

"Raiden, we've been over this. Please, don-"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!!"

Kenshi isn't given a moment to calm the man down as bolts of lightning come arcing towards the swordsman. Kenshi dodges out of the way, unsheathing Sento in the process; the line of shocking energy completely decimates a nearby tree. The time for words was over; now it's time to, in Johnny's words, bring out the "Hulk Buster."

Raiden raises his hand to the grey skies above, capturing lightning in his hand before hurling various sparks at Kenshi. The swordsman goes on the defensive, dodging and ducking behind cover, trying to avoid actively harming Raiden. But the more he placed distance between him and Raiden, the more Kenshi was bobbing and weaving past his thunderous attacks. Kenshi would be mildly saved as Johnny surprises Raiden by grabbing him from behind and trying to restrain him.

"Raiden, pull it together, man! We don't want to hurt you!" Johnny struggles to say, the shocks of lightning constantly snapping at him.

Kenshi rushes out of hiding and builds up momentum, hoping to get one good, non-lethal, strike in to knock Raiden out.

"Where the hell are you, Liu Kang..." Kenshi muttered to himself, slightly out of breath as he was exerting all his power into running and reaching Raiden as soon as possible. "Johnny! Hold him down, just a bit longer!"

"I'm-ACK, FUCK!" Johnny shouts as he feels another shock of electricity course through him, "I'M FUCKING TRYING!"

Raiden was howling like an animal, trying to shock Johnny off him. Lightning bolts were falling out of the sky as it struck the grounds around them, destroying everything it touched. It was almost like the lightning strikes were even chasing Kenshi as every bolt of lightning was always some inches away from hitting the swordsman.

He was close, almost there, just a bit more.

Raiden finally throws Johnny off him, elbowing him sharply in his face. Conjuring every bit of power of the storm, Raiden fried Johnny. The pained screams from the actor nearly shake Kenshi to his core.

"JOHNNY!!" Kenshi screams.

Raiden notices the swordsman approaching and disrupts his abuse of his friend to focus on Kenshi, redirecting the powerful blast and hurling it at the blind swordsman. Guided by Sento, Kenshi locks himself in a blocked battle with Raiden's powerful lightning attack, locked in a Harry Potter wand duel as Sento protects Kenshi from the attack. The mystical powers of Sento was able to withstand the ever-present assault, but Raiden was unhinged, not withholding the full potential of the thunder amulet. Then the impossible happens.

Sento cracks.

Kenshi quickly rolls out of the way and tries to get to safety before Raiden completely breaks Sento. But Raiden saw this coming, using his other hand to conjure a whip-like lightning bolt at Kenshi, lassoing him and dragging him to the ground, before giving the swordsman a devastating shock.

"Raiden!"

For once, the farm boy actually stops his assault. Leaving Kenshi and Johnny unconscious after constantly being shocked to near death. Raiden looked behind him, and there he was.

Liu Kang.

The Fire God stares at the scene in utter shock, eyes darting between the sizzling Johnny and equally as cooked Kenshi. Raiden, eyes & hair slowly dimming in brightness, keeps his eyes trained on Liu Kang.

'He could've prevented it, Raiden - Liu Kang could've stopped it all from happening - Liu Kang could've saved your friend, Raiden. You know this as much as I do.'

Shang Tsung's words echo in Raiden's head.

"...Did you know he was going to die?" Raiden, for the first time, speaks coherently. Possessing the soft voice that he's known for.

"What? Raiden, what hap-"

"ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!" In that same instance, Raiden's voice booms like thunder (even the skies above respond, crackling thunder in the distance with his anger), his white hair and eyes glowing brightly. "YOU KNEW KUNG LAO WAS GOING TO DIE, DIDN'T YOU!!" Raiden points his electrifying finger at Liu Kang accusingly.

Liu Kang's mouth opens and shuts before he finally answers Raiden. "...Certain circumstances and events that transpired hinted that Kung Lao could die. But not once did I know for certain that Kung Lao would meet his untimely death."

There's a long, silent pause between the two; only the roaring wind breaks the stillness. Liu Kang dares to break his eyes away from Raiden, looking for the one Kenshi and Johnny were supposed to contain, Shang Tsung. It looked like in the scuffle, he used that opportunity to get away, his hairpin lying on the ground dirtied with blood and dirt. Whatever Shang Tsung said to Raiden, it riled the former thunder god. Liu Kang kicks himself for being unconscious for so long. The device he and Raiden went to disable knocked the wind out of him and rendered Liu Kang out of commission for a moment. When he awakened on the vacant platform the device was on, Raiden was gone.

Liu Kang looks back at Raiden, the man's head now facing the ground, fists balled. The next thing that comes out of Raiden's mouth breaks the Fire Gods' heart.

"Why did you let him die," his voice cracks, and Liu can hear the tears Raiden shed.

"Raiden...I..."

"Even if you didn't know fully that Kung Lao would die, why didn't you tell us! Why didn't you save him? Or let us help you save him!" Raiden sobs, his knees feeling weak.

"...I did all I could, Raiden. I tried to protect him...But I couldn't shelter him. I had to trust that Kung Lao would make the choices necessary to follow his own path. I wasn't going to take that choice from him."

"How would he know what path to take if YOU NEVER TELL HIM WHERE IT WILL LEAD HIM!!!" Another sound of roiling thunder, lighting sparking off Raiden as he snaps his head toward Liu Kang. "You could've told him, us, what could've happened! You could've stopped this!"

"I did not want to burden you with the knowledge I knew and felt!" Liu Kang raises his voice, not to match his anger, but because the winds were picking up and the thunder was practically deafening him. "I didn't want you or him to spend every waking moment; questioning each move you took, each decision you made! I wanted both of you to become masters of your own fate!"

'He claims that he "doesn't interfere with affairs" because he wants us to become masters of our own fates, but we were never in control of it to begin with. Liu Kang decided for himself what we should be.'

"No...NO!!" Raiden shouts as he slings a lightning bolt at Liu Kang. A shot the Fire God effortlessly dodges.

"Raiden, please!"

"YOU CREATED THIS TIMELINE. THIS NEW UNIVERSE! YOU COULD'VE PREVENTED THIS! YOU HAVE THE POWER TO, I KNOW YOU DO!"

Another reckless throw of a lightning bolt, scorching a nearby tree as Liu Kang steps out of the line of fire. "Raiden, please, you have to understa-"

"I LOVED HIM, LIU KANG! WITH ALL MY HEART, I LOVED HIM!!! AND YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME! YOU DID THIS TO ME!!"

Raiden rips open his shirt, revealing the amulet fused with his person, a permanent reminder of the trauma everyone endured...That he endured...

"BRING HIM BACK! BRING HIM BACK TO ME!" Raiden's feet crackle with electrifying power as he lunges towards him, performing a move Liu Kang knows far too well as Raiden flies at him like a speeding torpedo, locking Liu Kang as they both collide into various trees.

Liu Kang grunts as their movement is halted by a large rock, but he's not given a moment of reprieve as Raiden starts socking him in the face multiple times. Screaming phrases that Liu Kang could not focus enough to bear their meaning. He's then thrown about in a large circle, and when Raiden releases his grip, Liu Kang goes flying again.

Liu Kang crash lands into a nearby lake. It takes him some time to gather his strength to swim out of the waters. He coughs and spits out blood, Raiden isn't holding back, the powers of the amulet having provided him with strength and vigor. But he was still mortal. Liu Kang can take a beating, but one wrong move and a bit of force; and Liu could kill Raiden. Liu Kang assesses his surroundings, mainly looking for where Raiden has gone or where Raiden could potentially come from.

Fortunately, Raiden's rageful cries gave him away as he came crashing down like a speeding bullet from the sky toward Liu Kang. Hoping to catch him in a flying kick maneuver. Liu Kang was able to block the attack, the force of the kick skidding them both further from the lake that Kang emerged from. There is a back-and-forth between the skilled fighters as each attack is swiftly blocked by the other. Well, more like Liu Kang was the one being swift. Raiden was filled with hatred and rage, his attacks were more akin to a wild animal attacking and defending itself.

Liu Kang had to hold back. Unlike Kenshi, who somewhat matched his power level, one wrong flaming fist and Raiden could be K.O-ed to his grave.

"Raiden, I am not your enemy. Everything I did for Kung Lao, I've always had you in mind! Whatever Shang Tsung told you-"

"Oh yeah, go ahead!" Raiden opened his palms and bent his fingers, colliding his hands on each opposite side of Liu Kang's head, sending shocks of electricity to his head and disorienting the Fire God as his ears started to ring. "Blame it all on Shang Tsung! Blame every single problem and inconvenience on the fucking sorcerer! Because gods forbid you take any responsibility for yourself and own up to the fuck up THAT YOU MADE!"

Raiden grabs Liu Kang in a crushing hug and sends both of them flying in the sky, high enough for Raiden to send a highly concentrated bolt of lighting onto Liu Kang; Raiden being able to withstand such powerful energies. Liu Kang screams in anguish as he's tased ten times over, and then thrown back to the earth below. Liu Kang leaves a crater where he landed and for a moment, doesn't move from his spot.

It took every fiber of his being and willpower to slowly get himself back on his feet. Liu Kang didn't even have to look to know that Raiden was behind him. Between gasps, coughs, and hacking up blood, Liu Kang tries to plead with Raiden.

"...Raiden...I don't want to hurt you...I know you're...Grieving. He meant everything to you as you did to him...But Kung Lao wouldn't want us to fight. Not like this..."

There was a long pause, yet again.

"Don't you dare tell me what Kung Lao would've wanted. You don't get to speak for him or anyone, like you always do!"

"Raiden-"

"You think you know what Kung Lao would've wanted when you knew nothing about him. Not like I did. Do you want to know what Kung Lao would've wanted? You want to hear it from someone WHO ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOWS HIM!?! Let me tell you!"

Raiden forcefully turns Liu Kang to face him before clocking him in the face.

"Kung Lao would've wanted to know how he was going to die so that he could prevent it!"

Another crack.

"He would've thanked you for trusting him with this knowledge so that he could come back home with me in peace!"

Another crack, blood staining his knuckles.

"HE WOULD'VE WANTED TO LIVE WITH ME. SPEND THE REST OF HIS LIFE WITH ME! HIS FUCKING BOYFRIEND!"

Another crack after Liu Kang weakly tries to block his other fist attack.

"HE WOULD'VE WANTED TO DIE PEACEFULLY. WITH ME BY HIS SIDE! NOT IN A FUCKING REALM THAT HE DOESN'T BELONG TO, FACING DOWN A HORNED-FACED FUCKER AND THAT DAMNABLE SORCERER! TO ONLY DIE BECAUSE THEY USED HIS WEAPON AGAINST HIM! LEAVING HIM TO BLEED ON THE DIRT!"

Another crack, an uppercut that sends Liu Kang stumbling back some feet.

Liu Kang spits out another glob of blood mixed with saliva. "We all can't choose how we die, Raiden."

"Yet, you chose for him to die there."

Something within Liu Kang snaps, anger was boiling. "Kung Lao chose to not listen to me when I asked him to not interfere, Raiden!" Liu Kang tries to hold back the poison he truly wanted to emit.

One too many times has he heard this. How Liu Kang was the reason Tarkat exists. How it's his fault that Kitana and Mileena's mother was dead. How it was his fault that Shang Tsung and Quan Chi were in deplorable working and living conditions. How it's his fault that Reptile and Smoke lost their loved ones. How it's his fault that events and circumstances that did not go in their favor, even if it was out of everyone's hands, was HIS FAULT.

He was tired of it. Tired of explaining his reason for not keeping the position as the Keeper of Time. Tired of defending himself against the actions and motives that others have. Tired of expressing how while he may have remade this timeline and altered events, he never once had it planned to control the lives of mortals; leaving their motives and fates in their own hands and suffering the consequences of doing so.

Red and blue flames start to erupt from his arms where his draconic tattoos were printed, his eyes giving off a godly glow.

"I already told you why I withheld that information from him. I wanted him to have peace. Both of you, to have peace." Liu Kang tries his best to keep his calmly attitude as he picks himself up.

"And how do you know he wouldn't be at peace if he at least knew what was coming!?!" Raiden spits back at him

"And how would you?"

Even with his soothing voice, he definitely struck a cord with Raiden as he goes for a swing at Liu Kang. This time, Liu Kang grabs his fist and twists it, not enough to break the bone, but to cause painful strain.

Raiden shouted in mild pain as he tried to swing his other free hand at Liu Kang. Similarly, Liu blocks the attack, grabbing his wrist and unintentionally burning him slightly.

"Raiden, I'm not going to say this again. Stop this." Liu Kang looks Raiden dead in the eyes. Despite his calm face, there was a silent roaring flame behind his features. The kind of look that screams "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you give me reason to."

Yet, Raiden did not listen. He headbutts Liu Kang successfully, forcing Liu Kang back with a bleeding nose. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. In a fit of rage, Liu Kang yells as he punches Raiden square in the face. He didn't use his full godly strength, but it sent Raiden flying through multiple trees before slamming against one tree trunk. Liu Kang huffs and puffs, the anger slowly dying down and the realization of what he did quickly coming to him.

"Raiden!" Liu cries as he rushes as fast as he can to the former thunder god.

When he found his body, Liu Kang feared the worst. It happened as the old Raiden said. They were always destined to fight, to kill each other, and Liu Kang couldn't avoid it in this timeline. But the moment he heard Raiden's labored breaths, Liu Kang felt an overwhelming relief wash over him.

"Raiden! Raiden, I'm so sorry! I didn't- I didn't mean to," Liu Kang was stumbling over his words as he held Raiden upright, unsure of how serious his wounds were.

Raiden was going through the shock of it, breathing not only labored but in quick succession. Liu Kang tried to help Raiden match his breathing, to calm him down from the pain and shock.

"Are you," Raiden swallows between shaking breaths and stuttering speech, "Are you going to l-let me die? Like you did Lao?"

Liu Kang meets Raiden eye to eye. Raiden was bleeding from his head, streams of red running down his face with twigs and sticks entangled in his white hair. He's never going to let this go. Whatever Shang Tsung told him, it infected him like a parasite. As long as Raiden lived and breathed, Kung Lao's death will always be Liu's fault.

...Unless...

Liu Kang huffs, he never thought he would have to do this again, not since Shujinko. Liu Kang positions Raiden as comfortably as possible as one would be leaning against a tree with multiple broken bones and aching muscles.

"No, I want to grant you peace. I know that you don't want to hear this...But Kung Lao would've wanted you to find peace with his departure."

Liu Kang starts building up flames that run up his arms, performing the many monastic dances he learned from the previous timeline and the current. As the flames roared, they soon floated to Raiden and encompassed him. They never burned him. Raiden tries to crawl away from the dancing flames, believing them to char him to a crisp.

"Kung Lao would've wanted you to look fondly on your friendship and love, and seek to replicate that love with others. He would've wanted you to live happily, even if he wasn't there to provide you with that happiness."

"L-Liu Kang, what are you-wait...No!" Raiden's eyes start to water as he can feel his memories slipping. Not just the ones with Kung Lao, but everything before Liu Kang found him. His previous adventures in Outworld, in the Netherealm, in Chaosrealm, his ventures with his closest friends...The first time Kung Lao told him the three words, "I love you." Everything. "Liu Kang, no! Don't, please don't!"

Liu Kang, almost coldly, ignores Raiden's pleas as he takes it all away. Reverting Raiden back to the simple farm boy from Fengjian who simply wanted to protect and guide his village.

"...You are right, Raiden," Liu Kang says between paused breaths, trying to hold back tears as he committed the deed. "It is my fault. I shouldn't have thought that I could groom you or Kung Lao to become protectors of Earthrealm like you were before. I shouldn't have taken you away from your family, your friends, and your home in hopes of raising you to become grand warriors. I have placed your loved ones and you in so much danger...All because I clung onto a life that no longer exists...I'm sorry."

With that said, Raiden passes out from his injuries as Liu Kang finished the last of the memory wipe. Liu Kang stares at Raiden's slumbering body, and he can't help but scream and cry.

Finally allowing himself to grieve ever since that fateful day.

Fuji finished up the last of the clothes just in time when dinner was ready. She was having a hot pot this night, filled with various greens, potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, radishes, and various mushrooms. All placed into a chicken broth seasoned further with a tomato and pork bone soup base. Fuji sits at the table with a bowl full of the soup and she does her best to not look across the table...Where her brother Raiden would be...

Raiden told her a long time ago that he was placed in a very powerful position and hard at work with Mr. Kang. He brings back money and unique souvenirs with questionable origins. And he always makes sure to visit her occasionally when he's coming back to Fengjian.

But this was one of the many occasions where the house felt too big, even with their elderly mother and father sleeping in the other room. She missed having her older brother around, for the longest time, he was her only friend. Her closest friend. I mean, sure, they were siblings, and they had their "sibling moments," but with him gone, she never felt more alone. But her being alone wasn't the main problem for Fuji, it was Raiden's sudden silence.

Ever since Kung Lao's passing, Raiden hasn't been returning her calls, answering her letters, or even visiting the family. Doesn't help, too, that none of his friends live in Fengjian, and aside from Kung Lao and Johnny's number (she's never calling that man, btw), she can't even reach them to know what's up with her brother. It's gotten to the point where she has saved up some money to take a week's vacation to the U.S. where her brother is currently working (or so Raiden told her).

Before Fuji knew it, she was already done with her bowl (2 bowls actually) and she saved the leftovers for her parents when they awaken. As she was washing up the dishes, she hears a knock at the door. Hmm? Who could be visiting her at this hour?

…Could it be!

"Give me a moment!" Fuji says hurriedly as she dries her hands; making her way to the front door. A tiny bit of hope fills the young woman. Could this be Raiden? After so long!

She swings open the door, hope and glee plastered on her face, but it quickly turns to confusion and worry. "…Liu Kang…Raiden!?!"

Outside was Liu Kang carrying a bandaged and mostly healed Raiden. "I'm sorry to come at such a late hour, Fuji. May I come in."

"What happened to my brother!?! Did someone mug him? Was he attacked?" Fuji ushers Liu Kang to enter the home and shows him to Raiden's old room, still possessing his old belongings even before he left.

Despite her questions, Liu Kang did not answer her. She asks again and again about her brother's condition, who did this to him, and why, but she is met with silence. She watches Liu Kang gently place Raiden on his old bed, and just as he came unexpectedly, Liu proceeded to walk back outside.

"W-wait! Liu Kang, please, tell me what happened! Who hurt my brother! Why did this happen-" Fuji tries to stop Liu Kang by grabbing at his wrist, but she saw something that shocked him.

Liu Kang's eyes were red as if he was crying not too long ago.

"…What happened…"

There's a long pause between them. All that Liu Kang does is slightly tilt his head toward her, his white eyes meeting hers, before saying, "I'm sorry, Fuji. Your brother has been relieved from his service…And this will be the last time we will see each other."

And just like that, Liu Kang left. Fuji watched Liu Kang leave, fading away in the horizon, with more questions than answers.

"Ugh…My head."

Fuji nearly scares herself when she hears Raiden in the other room and moving about. She rushes back to him and helps support her brother when she sees that he is still unsteady.

"Raiden! Liu Kang, your boss from the States dropped you off, and you're bandaged, and unconscious, and Liu wouldn't tell me why you were like this and-"

"whoa, whoa, Fuji, slow down! Start over, who's Liu Kang again?"

Fuji pauses. "…Liu Kang…Your boss…"

"Fuji, I have no idea who that man is," Raiden hisses in pain as his muscles start to ache again. It's only now that he realizes that he was bandaged badly. "Did he do this?"

"I-I don't know. I thought…I thought you would tell me…"

"Well, I don't know who I angered to get this treatment, but if this Liu Kang fellow helped me back home, I'm surely appreciative. I'll have to lay back down. Can you get me a hot towel, please?"

Fuji helped her brother back to bed and gave him his requested towel, but she found herself staying in his room for the entire night as if she were a child again. She couldn't sleep as she was plagued with questions about what happened to Raiden. Better yet, the line of work that he was in that he got this terrible treatment. And unfortunately, she might never get those answers again. Raiden doesn't remember anything in the past couple of years, even seemingly forgotten about Kung Lao's death and funeral. His memories were missing and he couldn't give a reliable answer to what happened in his life past the day that he went into Madam Bo's restaurant after a bet with Kung Lao.

Even worse, she can't ask Liu Kang. Because just as he promised and foretold, they never saw Liu Kang again. - ~Holy shit this was longer than I anticipated. Also, I do not like Liu Kang's memories loss powers, but will I use it for the sake of angst? You fucking know I will bby! This is my pseudo-first fan work for an official fandom and I hope everyone liked it. Once again, a lot of this was inspired thanks to the lovely artists who contributed to the "oops, Kung Lao dies again" AU and I want to thank them for jumpstarting this silly little AU in this silly little game about beheading people with your bare hands. Sorry if there were some grammatical and spelling errors, was working on this throughout the evening and past midnight (quite literally 4:26 where I'm at lmao). I might make a sequel to this because I'm getting ideas of Kung Lao returning, but not as he used to be (Revenants in MK1, ayo?)~ UPDATE! I have now officially made a writer's blog so that this doesn't get lost in my clustered main blog! Any future installments about this and other writing pieces will go to this blog! @420thewritersroom

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 1 #MK1 #Raiden #Liu Kang #Kung Lao

60 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 1 month

Text

Failed Objective

KTJL!Boomer x Black Canary, word count: 4k commission: BIT DIFFERENT BUT this was a commission for a friend, one of my rare attempts at character x character work! it is heavily inspired by their headcanons of black canary, but it's boomer and someone who could easily destroy him 💙 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fighting to fucking, vaginal sex, size kink hellooo

Metropolis was quiet, unusually so. And even stranger considering the danger that had taken over the once, albeit infrequent, safe and bustling city.

Fresh off yet another battle, throngs of their enemies slain (or defeated… it was hard to think of the right word) lay just metres away from where they had stopped to collect themselves. The shade of the building provided a pleasant respite from the unbearable sun of Metropolis and offered them just a moment of calm while the four unlikely colleagues caught their breaths and tried to reconcile their thoughts and their actions. The peace didn’t last very long, however, as Amanda Waller’s voice interrupted them.

“There’s another out there, close to your current location. You’ll have to eliminate them.”

“Jeez, Mandy! Whatever happened ta ‘hello’, hun?”

Harley rolled her eyes as she pointed to her ear, smiling immediately afterwards as she spoke once again to Amanda Waller. She’d been the quickest to adapt to the communication method. It wasn’t the first time she’d had full conversations with the voices in her head, and to boot, she was a bit of a sucker for a strong leader.

“Just teasin’ ya! Now, who do you want us to gut next?”

She cocked her weapon, narrowing her eyes as she looked around the plaza the four of them were standing in.

“I hope it’s that Constantine cunt…”

Digger chimed in, similarly making an attempt to look effortlessly cool, cocking his weapon but dropping it in the process. He continued as he scrambled to the ground to pick it up.

“... he’s always undercutting my share of the pu-”

“Enough. My finger hovers over the shock button, Harkness. Please bear that in mind.”

Digger mouthed her words silently, mocking her words, but looking around him to figure out if she could see him.

“I can see you. The surveillance camera opposite you is under our control.”

Eyes wide, mouth downturned, he quickly forced on a sheepish smile and mouthed ‘sorry’ to the seemingly omnipotent eye in the sky.

“Enough. Who’s the target?”

Deadshot was the only one of them capable of focusing on the task at hand, for which he had quickly received the moniker of ‘teacher’s pet’ from Digger, an offering which had won him a swift punch to the arm from Floyd.

“Dinah Lance, alias Black Canary.”

“Ooooooh, more eye candy.”

Harley’s joy beamed from her smile, met with a similar one, albeit more leering in nature, from Digger. Interrupting their shared appreciation for the category of ‘women who could, and would in Digger’s case, beat them to a pulp’, Waller’s voice cut in.

“Luckily, she doesn’t seem to be under the same influence as the rest. Brainiac might have overlooked her. So this should be an easy task. Try to do it quickly.”

In the silence, the four members of the squad looked to each other, and only when Harley shrugged her shoulders did Deadshot speak up.

“There’s no point in wasting time by having all four of us go after her. You heard Waller, she’s just… normal.”

“Exactly! She’s just normal! And she’s… my buddy…”

“And are you willing to risk your head for her?”

Harley considered for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that loyalty, while important, was not worth risking Waller’s wrath for. Lowering her head, she appeared to have accepted that Deadshot was right. They needed to do as they were instructed.

“We can’t take any chances. There’s no telling what she would do for her more ‘heroic’ friends. So, who wants to volunteer to take her out.”

“Well, I refuse!”

Turning on her heel, Harley left the group, leaning against a wall as she quietly prayed that they wouldn’t be successful in eliminating the so-called threat her friend posed. To her, working together would make more sense. But it wasn’t worth fighting over right now.

“Well? Who’s taking her?”

Digger stepped forwards, arms outstretched.

“I suppose I can do it, the rest of you would only make a mess of things.”

“Ok, that’s settled then.”

Without further conversation, Deadshot launched himself onto the top of a nearby building, closely followed by King Shark and Harley as the three left Digger to deal with their newest target.

And trudging dangerously close to her own worst nightmare, Dinah stepped carefully, quietly, through the concerningly empty streets. The mess, she imagined, was likely down to those she knew well enough to recognise it can’t have willingly been their own actions. It was definitely the influence of Brainiac that had pushed the Justice League off the deep end.

As she turned the corner, taking a moment to settle her nervous breathing before facing potential threats, she found a fate worse than death waiting for her.

One man, standing alone, finger in his ear as he dug around disgustingly, pulling it out to take a glance, grimacing at whatever he had found, and then putting it back in there. She couldn’t really look away, though. And there was only one man she knew of who could be so compellingly revolting.

Hordes of Brainiac’s victims, the threat of enemies that looked so far beyond what she imagined the physical limitations of even alien worlds to be, a group of meta-humans hellbent on death and destruction. Stressful, to say the least. Concerning? Frightening? Now, it all paled in comparison to the sheer irritation of one single man.

And then, he noticed her.

“Well! Hello, gorgeous!”

George Harkness. Digger. Captain Boomerang. Whatever moniker chosen, they all amounted to the same thing. A grade A cunt.

“You’re looking good, Canary. Almost a shame what I’m about to do to ya.”

A flash of concern crossed over her face and she struggled to hide it. What exactly did he mean by that? And why was he there alone without the rest of the squad she had heard he was with? Instantly, she knew she should consider him a threat, or at least more dangerous than she might have considered him before. He was a bit loose, determined, and clearly felt he had nothing to lose in the middle of a battlefield. Whatever it was he thought he was about to do to her, Dinah was painfully aware that he wasn’t joking about it.

“Can’t have you wandering around here trying to help out your mates. Who have all gone mental by the way, case you missed that.”

He liked to talk. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice. If it hadn’t been for the words, and the mouth they came out of, Dinah might have been willing to admit that the accent did something for her.

“And Waller’s orders were to kill the Justice League. So I guess that includes you.”

Digger pointed to her with both hands, cocking his thumb with his finger guns, his smile oozing over his face with self-satisfaction. He really was going to try and kill her. And while it should have been terrifying, it only felt irritating to Dinah. Yet another obstacle to overcome.

“Hello! Over there! Oi! Little birdy, can you hear me?”

It was only by sheer willpower, or miraculous and divine intervention, that Digger had managed to survive this long in life, or at least that’s how Dinah viewed his existence. There can’t have been any shortage of people who wanted to snuff that life short, to be the one to finally shut him up for good, and every second in his presence only further served to bolster the idea that Dinah might have to be the one who did it.

“For the good of humanity. I’d be doing everyone a favour.”

She was swiftly pulled from her admittedly, and worryingly so, delightful daydream by his coarse and irritating voice echoing out in her direction.

“Oi, Canary!”

Ignoring him, Dinah took a deep breath, grounding herself, trying to cling to the modicum of control she had left.

“Hello? Canary!”

His sing-song tone was so patronising, so taunting. She snapped in his direction, knowing that she was giving him exactly what he wanted, a reaction, her attention.

“What!?”

“Do you uh… D’ya like any other kinds of birds?”

“What?”

“Do you. Like. Any other. Kinds of. Birds. Other than, y’know, canaries?”

Sucking in air through her gritted teeth, Dinah rolled her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. It was odd, how playful and childish this all seemed. Both of them were in a position where they knew they were eventually going to fight, and likely to the death of at least one or the other. She supposed that was just his nature, and it was sickening to know it was having an effect on her.

“Just asking, cos you look like you might enjoy a cock-a-two. Ha! Get i- OOF!”

Digger crumpled over into himself, clutching at his stomach where the lump of debris had hit him.

“Did you throw a fuckin rock at me?”

“I did! And you can consider that a warning, Captain.”

Dinah’s intention had been to spit the word with so much vitriol that there would be no mistaking the cruelty behind it, teasing him for having what she considered to be the worst alias she had heard so far. But, as things so often did with George, the acknowledgement of his name, the station it gave him, and the sexual implications he had imagined surrounding it, only served to stroke his ego. Truly, if he hadn’t believed that the back and forth bickering between them was laden with sexual tension beforehand, this was all he needed to confirm it.

“Listen, Sheila, you don’t wanna piss me off or else- AH!”

Another chunk of rubble hit the side of his leg, falling to his foot and crushing his toes. As he yelped and lifted his foot, hopping on the spot like a ludicrous depiction of some slapstick children’s cartoon, Dinah ran to him, fists clenched and ready to strike him. It was him or her.

Her first punch was a direct hit. Dinah’s fist coming into contact with Digger’s hard abdomen, sending him crashing to the ground where he lay in the foetal position for a moment before scrambling, once more in a comically pathetic fashion, to his feet. He bounced a little, his fists up in the air.

“That’s how you wanna play this then, huh Canary?”

Dinah nodded, offering him a smug grin as she raised her fist once more, aiming for one of his ridiculous mutton chops and the fragile jaw underneath. But he caught her, his palm cupping her hand, his fingers curling around it.

“Aw, not fast enough, sweetheart. You wanna try again? I’ll give you another go. Nobody who looks that pretty can be expected to get things right on the first go. Except me, of course.”

Her second strike caught him in his moment of self-congratulatory bullshit, cracking loudly against the side of his strong, aquiline nose.

“Aw, fuck!”

He cupped his hands over his face, catching only some of his blood, the rest of it trickling down his lips and chin. Pulling them away, he shook the blood from his fingertips, eyes screwed shut as he braced himself for retaliation. Dinah was distracted, entirely, by his profile against the bright sky. The curve of the bridge of his nose, the way his lips pouted out, his chin, the drips of blood that fell to his chest.

And then she felt her neck being pulled.

Digger’s fingers entwined in the longer strands of hair that sat on her shoulder, pulling her up and letting her fall back down onto her back.

“C’mon then, get up. I hate to have to hit a girl, but I draw the line at beating one without a fi- FUCK.”

From her position on the ground below him, Dinah kicked a leg out, meeting him directly at the top of his thighs, just left enough to catch his crotch in her aim. The heel of her boot made contact hard enough to leave a distinct mark on his testicles, as well as his ego. She was beating him, and that was getting to him. When he recovered, standing up straight and facing her, Dinah could see he was seething, teeth gritted, the froth of his saliva spitting out from between them and onto his lips.

They collided once more, Dinah’s arms around Digger’s waist as she attempted to knock him over, Digger’s arms pulling at her arms, fingers digging tight into her skin and producing stinging, bright red welts. Punches were swung, contact was made, and through it all Dinah found that for the first time in a while, she was enjoying herself. It served as a distraction, at least briefly, from the state of affairs she and her friends found themselves in. Beating the shit out of George Harkness was giving her a reason to keep going, to strive against what felt like the crushing weight of futility.

There was something else, however. Something more than that. Something that made her heart race, adrenaline pumping alongside another feeling. And as she breathed in the scent of his sweat, masked only slightly by his cheap cologne, Dinah realised what it was.

Arousal.

Her beating heart, flushed cheeks, the way she was chewing on her inner lips and gums, trying hard not to let out any sounds of exertion as she knew they would be perceived as the moans of pleasure they really were. She was getting off to fighting with him. It was difficult to tell whether it was the violence, or the pain, or the satisfaction of seeing the smug smile wiped from Captain Boomerang’s perpetually self-satisfied face. But there was a bit of her that knew mostly, it was because she was attracted to him. A fact that hit her harder than any of the blows that Digger had landed so far.

For as long as it could continue, she was happy to push herself to exhaustion. Having Digger at her feet, having him thrust himself, all strength and force behind him, at her body. It was embarrassing to admit to, but it was hot.

Just as she was beginning to enjoy herself, much to her surface level chagrin but deeply embedded satisfaction, Digger stood back. It was like he could sense her brief happiness and was determined to put a stop to it. Typical of him, really. But as he stood there, silent and panting, his eyes trained on her, he kept going until his back was against the wall of the closest building, his feelings echoed Dinah’s. Standing metres apart, he watched as she too took the opportunity to catch her breath. Staring. Gazing. Leering.

“Wise to keep your eyes trained on her, Captain. Don’t give her the upper hand. Unless she’s planning on putting it on your co-��

His filth-addled mind was distracted as she made a move, and he jumped back, bracing himself for the next attack. Instead, he watched as she brought her hand to her face, wiping her bloody and slightly swollen lip on the back of her hand. It was difficult not to admire her, the strength, the composure.

“How hot is she!?”

Not that he hadn’t noticed before, obviously, but now he had time to really take her in, when she wasn’t coming for him with a fury he’d rarely seen in anyone who hadn’t spent over an hour with him. Still, he felt that only made her more attractive. He’d always had a thing for a thicker woman, someone who could hold their own. Someone who would make it a bit of a challenge for him to get to them. And that was certainly Dinah.

The way her chest moved, exaggerating the way her ample breasts spilled over the top of her bodysuit.

“How often do you get bonza tits and an arse attached to the same person?”

Her strong arms, holding her as she leaned back on them to stare back at him with a puzzled look.

“Christ, she could tear your cock off with a handy... But it’d be worth the risk, eh?”

Her thighs, thick and muscular, covered in the ripped fishnets. She looked dishevelled, tired out, panting and desperate.

“Fuck’s sake, Digger, stick to the task at hand, mate.”

It was almost impossible for him not to give in to his more lustful desires, but he countered it with the deal that once he had saved the world and was a renowned hero, he’d treat himself a little.

“Me and you, Admiral. We’ll shag as many desperate groupies as we can handle once we’re world renowned heroes. But for now, focus. Focus!”

“Hey!”

He was snapped out of his perverted fantasy by Dinah’s voice, calling out breathily from across him. He looked towards her, narrowing his eyes. The stinging pain around his nose and eye sockets flashed, and for the briefest of moments, his arousal was superceded by his irritation that she’d got the best of him in their fight. But only so far.

“Yeah? What do you want? Lil bit more for ya, Dinah-mite? I’ll give you a minute to straighten your tits out before we get back to it, huh?”

“No need. You going soft, Captain? Giving me a head start, which I definitely don’t need. You want to fight me, come and fight me. You wanna act like you can beat me, come prove it. Do it.”

Stupefied, Digger stared with the gormless grin she was growing very familiar with, his mouth hanging open before crossing into a dismissive smile. An incredulous laugh accompanied his frantic head shaking as he pointed at her aggressively.

“You want me to hit you? Uh… no. No. It’s some kind of trick.”

“Weren’t you going to kill me?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Oh my god, but what?”

“WELL! I’m kinda… If you must know… I’ve got a bit of a stiffy now. Hitting you now kinda feels like that’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

Without meaning to, and before she could stop herself, Dinah’s eyes flitted down to Digger’s crotch. The thick bulge, impressive even from this distance and under his pants, sent a twinge down her spine, and she braced herself as she felt her clit throb. It felt pathetic, to give in to the desires she considered taboo, the ones she hid from most of her friends. But it felt like end times. Surely, surely, she deserved to indulge a little. Get a bit dirty, amoral, bad.

“There’s simple solutions to that problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, trying to discern what was going on.

“Like what?”

Dinah stayed silent, raising an eyebrow back at Boomer, but keeping her expression neutral. He could think what he liked, and she knew his thoughts would immediately rush to the filthier options. And while she was happy to entertain those if they came up, there was always the backup plan of amputating the little, or large, fellow if things didn’t quite go her way. In the face of her silence, George laughed again, scoffing at her.

“Nah, you’re fuckin’ with me, birdy!”

Standing up, Dinah shrugged her shoulders, letting out a laugh herself.

“It’s pathetic. You’re a ‘villain’, albeit one with shit branding, but here you are following orders.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t jumping at the opportunity for an excuse to get rid of you?”

“The fact that you’re so clearly not capable of doing it?”

Seething, Digger took one step towards Dinah, hesitating before he took another and deciding against it. Instead, he raised his voice and continued to shout to her from his safe distance.

“Uh… yeah… well… Fuck you!”

Dinah rolled her eyes, completely enraged at how she still found him almost irresistibly attractive despite his severely lacking wit and charm. She knew there was something about him though/ It wasn’t all bruises and blood. Pain only got her so far, in fact, it was an indulgence she rarely confronted, especially not with Oliver, and definitely not with any of her friends within the League. It was him. He was taboo, he was dirty and disgusting. So it felt only natural that she would find him to be an adequate target for her matching desires.

“I’m a villain, yeah. But you’re supposed to be one of the good guys, aren’t ya?”

She waited, not responding. It felt like a trap, like a bit before he got to the punchline.

“Then how come you’re out here flaunting your arse around for me to gawk at?”

It felt good to know that he’d noticed. But his base level misogyny didn’t merit a response.

“Or better yet, how come you’re so keen to get dicked down by the Digger? Don’t you have a fancy little boyfriend? Or has Green Arrow gone evil like the rest of them?”

Dinah’s face felt hot. Red. Embarrassment? Or shame? With a healthy dose of rage?

“Does he not mind you getting shared around? Cos if you’re looking for a rooting, I’ll deliver. Just wouldn’t want to have to kill him too.”

Her fists curled up into balls, her own fingernails digging into her palms, stinging, bringing a tear to her eye as she fought back the urge to wince at the pain.

“As if Robin Hood would have any choice about being cucked by the real alpha male here.”

“Don’t talk about him.”

He put both hands into the air, pursing his lips and frowning.

“Touched a nerve there, birdy. Maybe we should stop beating around the bush and I should give you what you want. A last treat, before I give you the old shreeeeeeeeck.”

He dragged his thumb across his neck, frowning and looking to the ground in an act of false sadness.

“I mean… since you’re so desperate.”

“Say that to my face.”

“Gladly.”

Stomping over to her, Dinah prepared herself for the worst, still not quite steady on her feet by the time he had reached her. But instead of being knocked backwards by a swift punch, she felt Digger’s lips clamp onto hers, his tongue being pressed forcefully into her mouth, down her throat, his fingers holding her head in place as she choked against him.

She pulled back, and the sudden lack of his hands against her made her collapse to her knees.

“You think you’re choking now? You haven’t seen anything yet, babe.”

Unzipping his pants, Boomer got to the point quickly. He hadn’t been lying about being stiff. He was rock hard, bobbing as he freed himself. And Dinah’s assumptions were right. He was huge. Enough that she stared unblinking at his thick, long cock for a few seconds, bright blue eyes wide and sparkling. Digger caught sight of them and raised his eyebrows.

“Come on, love. We’ve both got work to do. You’re prolonging the inevitable here a bit.”

“I don’t… “

She hesitated, reticent to offer him the truth, to admit defeat to him. But she really had no option.

“... I don’t think that’ll fit… in my mouth.”

“Well then, clever girl. What do you think we should do? Where else might old Digger’s amazing, impressive, massively huge, big, fat cock fit? Hm? You hardly need to be Brainiac to figure that one out.”

Without any further instruction, Dinah settled on her heels, easing herself onto her back on the ground as she unclasped her body suit and let it spring up her stomach. In a swift motion, she pulled both her fishnets and underwear down and spread her legs as wide as they would with everything bunched around her ankles. It felt so submissive, so dirty, to give in to him so easily, but she was beyond fighting. Now, all she wanted was the pleasure that he was so willing to give her.

Not leaving any time for regret to settle in, Digger managed to pull his eyes away from the sight of Dinah, spread open, displayed so explicitly in front of him, so wet and willing. Leaning down, he shuffled between her legs awkwardly, biting his lip with his tongue pressed out in concentration as he got into the right position, then letting his mouth open wide in a toothy grin as he rubbed the slick head of his cock against her cunt, letting her arousal coat him as he pressed between her slowly and carefully. She was soaking wet, easy to slide into, but he took it slow, easing the head past her lips, almost feeling the satisfying pop as he entered her.

Her body reacted with a convulsion, back arching, hands gripping helplessly at the ground below her. She tensed, but realised that was the worst course of action, and focused on trying to relax her body, to make room for Digger as he pushed his cock further into her. Even once he was up to the hilt, enough that it felt like she was choking on him, he was aware that there were still a couple inches left. But he chose not to push his luck. Instead, he started pumping in and out of her aching, soaking wet cunt, watching her squirm as he picked up the pace. His hands travelling down her front, cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples between his fingers through her clothes, the drool from his mouth spilling over his lips and onto her cheek as he mindlessly rutted.

Dinah could feel herself writhing below him, dangerously close to him noticing her hips as she bucked them up to him. It really wasn’t her intention to feed his ego, to let him know that she was enjoying this. The feeling of his body rutting into hers, his cock stretching her apart. In fact, she barely wanted to consider that fact herself. So, trying to hide any semblance of pleasure her body might express, she brought her hands to her mouth, clamping them down over the lower half of her face. At least that way he couldn’t see any smiles, any glimmer of a grin, and it would hold off any sounds of satisfaction that managed to escape her tightly closed throat.

Digger was quick though, which surprised her, since he was someone who had as yet been unable to conquer the Flash. With a swift manoeuvre, he wrapped his still gloved hands around Dinah’s wrists, lifting her arms up and pinning them above her head. He transferred the hold to one hand, clearly thinking he was strong enough to keep her pinned there, hopefully not realising that she was letting him think that. With his free hand, he taunted her, wagging his finger in front of her before pushing back a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eye.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so, babe. There’ll be no covering your mouth when you’re with the Captain.”

His wide smile creased into his cheeks, eyes narrowing with a boyish lust that made her heart flutter. And her entire body throbbed as he leaned in, strands of his hair falling into her face, his nose close enough that it was almost touching, his breath hot on her as he spoke.

“Besides, little birdy… I wanna hear you sing.”

With one final push of his cock inside of her, her cunt stretched and still not able to take his entire length, Digger hit the spot. A shrill screech fell over Dinah’s lips, her body shuddering in surprised ecstasy as she realised what was happening. Digger Harkness, a man who had so far failed at everything he’d set out to do in life, had succeeded in giving her the best orgasm she had ever had. One swift pummeling from his thick, long cock had her trembling under him, clinging to his back, fingernails digging into him as she tried to keep him inside of her, riding the waves of pleasure with her.

And quickly behind her, he le tout his own cry, triumphant, victorious, as though he had achieved something he thought impossible himself. His cum, warm, thick, coating Dinah’s insides. A win in his books. One he intended to tell everyone of if he survived what Task Force X were there to do.

He pulled himself out from between Dinah’s plump, swollen lips, watching his own cum drop out of her and onto the ground she lay on. He let himself rest beside her, just to get his bearings, and let the blood rush back to his head before continuing on with his day.

“Listen… you keep yourself quiet and hidden in one of these buildings, I won’t have to kill you.”

Dinah smiled, keeping her gaze aimed at the sky above them, trying to hide the genuine glee she wore on her face.

“And, little birdy… if you tell me which one you’re hiding in, I might come by for another visit.”

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #captain boomerang fanfic #finnie writes #dinah lance #black canary #kill the justice league #suicide squad kill the justice league #suicide squad: kill the justice league

45 notes · View notes

coldalbion · 4 months

Text

The thing about one's partner cooking you and others a vast meal of roast pig and onions and potatoes and other sundry delicious things, when they themselves are vegetarian, as an act of love and Yuletide giving?

Well, I'm just grazing on leftovers since I woke up, and I keep thinking, "I'm just doing as my ancestors have done for thousands of years after a big midwinter feast."

I think of boar as beast-of-battle, as lord of woods, fierce and terrible, the way pig is the eater-of-all, who is eaten - slaughtered, cured, crisped, cooked and condimented.

And with a mouthful of pig, teasing apart the protein changed by heat and condiments, now cool, I keep thinking about how pigs can go feral and regrow manes really quickly, or how chickens revert to having a breeding season. I keep thinking about how the pig feast continuity is also a break, a crack, a ritual that is both highly domestic, and yet loosens me from 21st century modernity in a way. An ancient ritual that simultaneously fetters and loosens.

I wonder, are these the moments of dis/continuity, liminal in-between eases that hint and beckon that we are, I am, in eating the-eater-of-all that is pig, realising something of the feral/domestic slash. Somewhen, where the environment, the interplay of more-than-chicken, more-than-pig, more-than-human fields and forces summons new-old responses to what is ever-ongoing.

Maybe that is what it is to eat, and be eaten in turn. To ever be one-with-many, to be an emergent coalescence bubbling up from the ancient fermentation of ancestral grief's, joys, and hopes.

To be gone in a scant century if we stretch to our most, and yet be part of billions of those centuries across thousand of years of recognition of sun and moon and stars, and the way they shape our worldings?

Freyja, mistress of sorcery, taker of first of the battle-slain, teacher of Odin who himself is Slain-tamer - she rides a boar.

There is something here, as ever, about hidden things within the "human" of modernity, numinous leakages, signs and wonders, portents and portals, left behind ritual spoor so old that is purely "what we do, what happens".

All that is required is that we notice, and do not give up sensing, for the sake of making sense.

53 notes · View notes

searchingforserendipity25 · 10 months

Text

something something maglor and maedhros being burned by the silmarils as equivalent to the divine judgement they might have faced in valinor (but with zero of the amelioration surrender might bring).

something something maedhros' torment under varda's hallowing being too much like morgoth's torture. being under the punishing power of one valar is not so different, in the end; the despair is very alike, and all the more final.

maglor lingering on and on in a state of celestial horror: closing his eyes and seeing the great expanses of the starkindler's dominion, darkness and numberless lights, and the burning fire of the heavenly bodies turned against him in loathing and revulsion.

on him is a sentient judgement that does not wane. older than the world, the oldest justice beyond the circles of the world. starlight burns him at night worse than the scorching sun at midday; and nothing can ever heal the wounds of the silmaril.

he clings to the laments and the regret, and repeats the same songs, with the same exact words, lest the terror of the hallowing on unworthy flesh and unworthy spirit claim him entirely.

he clings to the story of his life, which is the cause for his pain, and the only thing that keeps him from being swallowed entirely but the great expanses of the heavens, the tremendous heights that pried open his mind and revealed the filth of his self without ornamentation or ambiguity, and do not relent. truth, absolute and immense and foul - and in the end, the despair is very bad.

the eldar are not made for absolute truth. the eldar are made to sing, and wander, and -- not this.

maglor sings, and wanders as he sings. he loses words. names, verses, speech, the thing for which the elegy is sung, until only the voice remains, very like the sea. not all the solemn and linear and familiar songs of the eldar can stand forever as a shield between the hugeness of the starlit skies, and neither the sea nor the heavens care about his regret.

he does regret. he must. all that is left of his own history, in the great vastness of nebulas and suns that lingers always beneath his lids. his hands hurt constantly, and the flesh beneath his skin breaks and steams sometimes as if it were old wood with hidden embers. the bones themselves blackened, warming him always with a fever like the moment of epiphany at the end of a long fast.

if only he had not yielded to maedhros' will! but then, that is only another illusion so swiftly burned away as a veil of mist in the morrow at the touch of the silmaril. the jewels would never be given to those who had slain the blood of the kindred, were they the best behaved and most patient of penitents.

no unholy creature would be suffered to touch any hallowed thing, in valinor. even the valar were not so cruel. maglor yielded, and yielded, and yielded; he can only regret it, and never enough, though all the unbearable loveliness of the midnight sky be set to consume him with righteous wrath.

he does not return among elvenkind. maedhros is dead, and carcaroth is dead, and morgoth is cast out. there is not much left in arda that shares great kinship with the thing he is; and that, he knows - for the stars are keen and absolute teachers, judges with no pity - is a righteous and holy thing.

#maglor #maedhros #varda #the silm #have been beset by maglor brainrot (more than usual) but am too tired to make a decent post (life is indeed cruel)#but the cosmological horror of the burning by the silmarils is so so interesting

146 notes · View notes

lady-zoras-artroom · 3 months

Text

Splatoon OC time! This is Stormei! She was the Octo Samurai’s pupil and trained under him. However, after learning of his defeat and demise, she swore revenge on the one who had slain him.

She is devoted to her people and is willing to find solutions to their energy crisis. An Elite Octoling warrior loyal even to DJ Octavio. However, she begins to notice moments when she questions his authority as nothing has really changed except for the disappearance of many members. It also doesn’t help that the Squidbeak Splatoon have defeated DJ Octavio twice.

When she learns that some of her people have moved to the surface, she worries for them as their enemies still dominate the surface to this day. She is untrusting of Inklings and is willing to avoid them unless confrontation is necessary or it is the Inkling who has slain her teacher.

#artists on tumblr #digital drawing #procreate #zsocs #zsveemoart #octoling oc #octoling #splatoon 3 #splatoon 2 #splatoon #traditional art #oc ref sheet #oc reference

31 notes · View notes

songbirdsingingthings · 2 years

Text

Love-Gate - Steve Harrington x Reader

❀ Back to Navigation ❀ ❀ Stranger Things Masterlist ❀

WARNINGS: Some cursing, S4 EP3 Spoilers

Summary: Working as Ms. Kelly’s TA and having to stay late one night, you run into Dustin, Max, Lucas, and one of your closest friends, Steve. Revelations come to light and feelings are revealed.

Word Count: 2.8K

Steve was excited, well maybe excited wasn’t the right word… Steve was ready to have a stable length of time in Hawkins. No monsters, no Upside Down, and more importantly, no girl problems. The first two had remained – he and the now group of freshman kids he had continuously slain monsters with had heard no whisperings of anything spooky going on. Maybe it was the fact that El had lost her powers, or even that she and the Byers’ had moved to bright and sunny California. But, Steve was thankful for the lack of creatures and Russians knocking at his door constantly.

However, the third part of his grand plan was, unfortunately, not playing out how he would like it to. Every girl he goes on a date with turns out to be not right for him, leading him to complain to Robin at work and to you on the phone. Normally, and during the past summer, all he had to do was stroll over to Claire’s to spot you restocking the poofiest scrunchies known to mankind or trying to comfort a crying ten-year-old as she gets her ears pierced. It was a daily occurrence for him – he would poke fun at the bedazzled scrunchie that helped tie your hair in a half-up half-down (it was part of the store uniform) and you would give a fake-salute and say “Ahoy!”. Starcourt mall stores were nothing if not consistent with how awful their store uniforms were.

He’d talk your ear off about how, no matter how hard he tried, every girl he flirted with didn’t return his affections. “Poor Steve,” you’d reply, earning a playful smack on the arm from him. After his break time was up, he’d give you one of his classic Steve Henderson smiles, drum his fingers on the purple check out desk, and say a variation of “catch you later” before he’d amble off back to Scoops Ahoy. You’d watch him walk back, flipping that silly little sailors hat around in his hands, and a dazed smile would form upon your lips. However, as quickly as it appeared, your thoughts would be sobered up by a group of girls asking where the jelly bracelets were.

Now, he had to resort to phone calls when there was a drag of customers at Family Video since you were busy being a teacher’s assistant at the school, shadowing Ms. Kelly in the counselor’s office. You were lucky that, for the most part, you could answer his calls. Nowadays, Ms. Kelly was up to her knees in files upon files of kids who were seeking her out for counseling. Due to the code of conduct, you weren’t allowed in the room while she was talking to the students, so you gave yourself busywork. Organizing paper clips according to size and color, cutting and filling out hallpasses, and sharpening pencils were what took up most of your days - but the pay and experience was good, so you didn’t complain. Plus, you were right there and available to take Steve’s calls… but you hated them. You hated having to hear about all these dates Steve was going on with all these different girls – hated hearing how he went to grab dinner, or watched the high school basketball game, or went to watch that new movie Top Gun that just hit theaters. Being friends with Steve Harrington was a full-package deal – you got the endless laughter and fun, but you also had to hear about his dating life.

Ms. Kelly needed you to stay late to organize some files, which would have been fine, except for the fact that it was 9:30 at night. You were feeling worse for wear with a lack of sleep and too many variables swimming around in your brain. Two kids have been found dead, the town had an edge to it again, and you hadn’t heard from Steve in a couple of days. You understood that he had his life and you had yours, but this four day period of time without a word left you feeling worried.

You shook your head, dragging yourself back into what you were doing as you re-alphabatized the files within subsections of grade. You were just finishing up with the freshmen when you heard a noise from the hall. The beam of light from your flashlight began to grow shaky as your hand trembled, carefully closing and locking the filing cabinet. Normally, you would have turned the lights on in the counselor’s room, but since it was Spring Break, they were conserving power. Taking a deep breath and arming yourself with the lamp stand to your right, you braced yourself against the corner of the room, ready to take action against whatever monster threatened you. Hell, you, Steve, and Robin had faced the Russians – if you could infiltrate a top secret organization, you could defend yourself… right? Ever so slowly, you saw the lock on the door begin to twist and shift, resulting in your breath getting lodged in your throat. What felt like hours only took seconds as the door was pushed open and you began your swing, only to halt yourself when you saw the shocked faces of Steve, Dustin, and Max.

“Y/N?!” They all yelled in unison, and in disbelief. You let out a shaky breath, dropping the lamp stand on the ground and leaning against the wall, like you got the wind knocked out of you.

“What the hell are you three doing here?!” You ask, exasperated. Wordlessly, Steve reaches out to help you stand firmly on your own two feet.

“Oh, uh, you know…” Steve begins to say as Max digs in her jacket pocket to produce a key, effectively opening up the files you tried to preserve.

“No, I don’t know, and– Max, you cannot look at those files!” You exclaim, shoving the drawer back despite the hold the red-head had on it.

“But we need to! Chrissy’s file is in here, and…” Dustin says, trailing off. You raise an eyebrow and then fully put your back against the cabinet, protecting its contents from the mock Watergate breachers in front of you.

“So that’s what this is about. You want to look at Chrissy’s file and see if it has any correlation between what’s been happening?” You ask, earning nods from all three. You closed your eyes for a second and began gnawing on your lip – a habit you’ve never seemed to break when you got nervous or were contemplating something.

“Y/N, please, can you ditch your goody two shoes mindset for just a minute? For the greater good?” Steve pleads, his expression earnest. Looking into his chocolatey brown eyes, you crumble. Huffing, you slide away.

“Fine, but only Chrissy’s file, okay? I can get in serious trouble for this.” You relent. A grateful smile unfolds on Dustin’s face while Max resumes her previous actions. “While you guys are in here snooping,” you say, making sure that a negative connotation stays on your last word, “Steve, can I talk to you a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” He says instantly, leaning against the wall and making himself comfy. With a deadpan look, you flick your eyes to the door.

“Alone?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve corrects himself, letting you lead the way out of the room with him on your toes. As soon as you’re out in the hallway, you let yourself slide down the wall so you’re sitting on the ground, Steve opposite to you. You twiddle your fingers for a bit before looking up at him again, a little shocked to find that his eyes were trained on you. “Everything okay?” You sigh and nod and then shake your head.

“I assume you and the rest have some idea of what’s happening?” You pose the question, fearing the answer. Reluctantly, Steve nods a bit.

“Max saw Chrissy in some kind of predicament, and then saw her go into Ms. Kelly’s office.” He says. At his words, your head goes into your hands. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Steve says, kind of cooing but with clear concern heavy in his tone. From anyone else, you would have hated that. But it’s Steve. He shuffles over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I’m in there, Steve, every day and I watch these kids come in. Now there’s someone that ended up dead who just recently had to seek counseling?! And I couldn’t do anything just cause I’m some stupid TA who isn’t allowed to help.” You say breathlessly, shaking your head.

“Y/N, you are not stupid. You were, like, the smartest girl in the whole school and always willing to lend a hand.”

“And look where that got me. With a low paying job and single.” You spit bitterly, your gaze on your knees laced with malice.

“Alright, that’s not fair. You’re the best person ever, everyone knows that – including me!”

“Then what’s stopped you?!” You shout, a sense of helplessness touching your expression and voice. Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. About a minute passes before he’s able to speak again.

“What?” He croaks out, his face the definition of disbelief. Before you can think of something to say, Max bursts out of the classroom with not one, but two files. It pulls you out of your conversation with Steve instantly, your goody two shoes turtle shell concealing you again.

“Max, you were supposed to grab Chrissy’s file, that's it.” You gritted out, anger clearly etching onto your face.

“Yeah, but it’s not just Chrissy. Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.” When Max mentions the other kid’s name, the second confirmed death, it causes your mind to spin. You beckon her over to where you and Steve were sitting, ushering her to open up the two files to look at them side by side. Instantly, you found the similarities. Constant headaches, nosebleeds, past trauma – almost everything was lining up word for word between the two kids. Shaking your head, you squint at Ms. Kelly’s handwriting as if it would reveal something more to you. All of a sudden, Max stood straight up, her face clearly concerned, as she began to walk towards the end of the hallway, looking intently at the door.

“Max?” You ask softly, not wanting to startle her. Dustin and Steve repeated her name, more urgency with their voices until she finally stopped and looked back at you. Her skin was so void of color and her hands so shaky. To you, it was like she saw a ghost.

You don’t remember how you got to Steve’s room – all you knew was that you were asleep on one his plaid-patterned bed, your neck bent at an unfortunate angle that will definitely leave a crick. Your eyes flutter open to see Steve sitting next to you, his fingers fumbling while flipping a page of a book. You blink the tiredness out of your eyes, rubbing away any lingering sleepy dust.

“Harrington,” you murmur, drawing his attention immediately, “you look like a fish out of water with that thing in your hand.” Eyeing you and then the book, Steve lets a little smile develop in his lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, accepting your little jab. “You slept like a rock.” He notes, almost chuckling at the state of you.

“How many hours?” You ask, pushing your hair that most definitely resembled a rat's nest away from your face. Steve twists his left arm, revealing his watch. Oh, how you adored that watch. With a simple leather band and a round clock face, it remained a constant of Steve Harrington’s.

“A little more than 10 hours.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, shaking your head a bit in disbelief. “I haven’t gotten that much in… well, I don’t know how long.” Steve shifts so that he’s laying down a bit, his head level with yours.

“We should talk about what you said,” he says, a more serious tone touching his words. This was what you dreaded.

“How about we forget them instead–” You begin, but Steve shakes his head.

“You can’t feel guilty about what’s happened.” He says, which gives you both a moment of relief and a moment of dread. Relief that he wasn’t going to mention the other thing that happened and dread as you were forced to think about the recent events.

“Steve, how can I not? I obviously knew something was wrong the minute they entered that office, and instead of looking into it, I just followed direct orders from a teacher because that’s all I know how to do. I mean, just look at me last night! I could barely even let you guys look at these files even though I knew I could trust you. I knew that shady stuff happens in Hawkins since the Russians and that huge monster that destroyed Starcourt. And yet, I paused and hesitated.” Steve gives you a pitiful look. “If I had just… followed an instinct or a gut, none of this would’ve happened. Chrissy and Fred, they would be okay and alive. Max wouldn’t be in danger.”

“Y/N, that’s not fair.”

“But it is!” You exclaim, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Wordlessly, Steve gathers you into his arms, and holds you to his chest. Your fingers grasped at the soft yellow material of his sweatshirt and you knew that your sobs were dampening the cotton, but he didn’t move. He just held you closer.

“It’ll be okay. Robin and Nancy are already on the case at this psychiatric place and Dustin and Lucas are with Max at the Wheeler’s.” You nodded and pulled away a bit.

“Sorry about… this. I didn’t mean to, well, you know.” You say, motioning with your hands towards your tear-stricken face.

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Y/N. You’re allowed to cry.” Steve says, a sad smile on his face now.

“I know, it’s just… this wasn’t what you signed up for when you befriended the happy go-lucky Claire’s employee.” You say, laughing a bit.

“Well, was all of this what you signed up for when you befriended the Scoops Ahoy employee?” Now you were freely laughing, him joining in as well.

“Secret codes and saving town were definitely not in the handbook, but I signed it all the same.” You say. Steve sits up, leaning against his headboard.

“I wanted to be your friend the second I saw you.” Steve admits, sobering your smile just a bit. “I’d seen you working dozens of times, but it wasn’t until that knucklehead Lucas stopped by to grab a gift for Max. Now, if I were you, I would’ve given him total grief for it – teased him to no end as he asked about what to get for his girlfriend. But you just smiled and showed him what you would recommend.” You were astonished that he remembered that, blinking back a look of surprise. Steve picks up your hand gently and rubs his thumb over your hand. “And then, when you began talking to me, you didn’t hold that same notion of ‘King Steve’ or whatever that shit was. I was a blank slate for you until I introduced myself. And Y/N, I swear to everything, I am the stupidest guy alive for trying to hide my feelings for you by talking to you about all my failed dating attempts, because the only girl I really wanted to date was you.” Steve huffs out, breathless from his confession. Before you have a second to think, you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands and bringing up towards you. Taking the message immediately, Steve closes the gap by pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and a bit awkward due to where the two of you were sitting, but it was perfect. Each push and pull expressed a need for each other, assuring messages of love. With one final kiss and a peck on your lips, Steve pulled back, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“Steve Harrington…” you say, out of breath, “I love you, Steve Harrington.” A dopey, lovesick grin spreads across both of your faces.

“I love you, Y/N L/N. Glittery scrunchies and all.”

“Sailors hat and all,” you shoot back.

“Monsters and Russians?” He asks, making you giggle.

“As I said – my signature remains true.” You laugh. Steve’s arms were where you wished you could spend the rest of your day, probably even the rest of your life. But of course, a call from Dustin not so subtly told the both of you to, quote, “get your asses over here” to the Wheeler’s basement. With his hand in yours and a sense of fearlessness in your mind, you knew that whatever was going to happen, it would be okay. Everything would be okay.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x #steve harrington #steve #steve stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things

625 notes · View notes

thereader-radhika · 9 months

Text

Malayadhwaja Pandyan in Mahabharata

Pandya, who dwelt on the coast-land near the sea, came accompanied by troops of various kinds to Yudhishthira.

This Pandya king is addressed by two names in the epic - Malayadhwaja and Sarangadhwaja. 'Malaya' and 'Saranga' both mean "sandalwood" and the name is derived from the Tripuranthaka aspect of Shiva, who made Malaya mountains (named for the Sandal trees that grow on it) his yoke during the burning of the triple cities. He is a very fascinating character.

During Yuddhishtira's Rajasuya, Pandya and Chola monarchs brought gifts which were accepted, but they were not allowed inside.

And the Kings of Chola and Pandya, though they brought numberless jars of gold filled with fragrant sandal juice from the hills of Malaya, and loads of sandal and aloe wood from the Dardduras hills, and many gems of great brilliancy and fine cloths inlaid with gold, did not obtain permission (to enter).

Discrimination! Discrimination!

His country was annexed by Vrishnis at some point and his father was killed by Sri Krishna himself.

It was he [Krishna] that slew King Pandya by striking his breast against his . . .

He yearned for vengeance and trained under the renowned teachers of that era for that purpose. Even if he couldn't have killed Krishna, he was capable of causing great damage, as we can see later. But he listened to good counsel and gave up his revenge fantasies for the greater good. Very admirable indeed.

The mighty Sarangadhvaja . . . his country having been invaded and his kinsmen having fled, his father had been slain by Krishna in battle. Obtaining weapons then from Bhishma and Drona, Rama and Kripa, prince Sarangadhvaja became, in weapons, the equal of Rukmi and Karna and Arjuna and Achyuta. He then desired to destroy the city of Dvaraka and subjugate the whole world. Wise friends, however, from desire of doing him good, counselled him against that course. Giving up all thoughts of revenge, he is now ruling his own dominions.

One can even say that Malayadhwajan became a karmayogi before Krishna advised Gita to Arjunan, by not chasing personal glory and fighting selflessly for the people who were consistently bad to his clan.

Praised as "hardly inferior to Indra on the field of battle" and "followed when he fights by numberless warriors of great courage", Malayadhwajan led one of the 7 akshauhinis of the Pandava faction and fought valiantly until the 16th day of the battle. I don't understand what was he doing with those Pandavas who wouldn't let him or his father (I not sure about the timeline) enter the Rajasuya yajnasala.

On the 16th day, as he was destroying Karna's army which "began to turn round like the potter's wheel", Ashwatthama challenged him to one-to-one combat. When he fought Ashwatthama, Karna destroyed the army that surrounded him and Ashwatthama destroyed his chariot, as his arrows were unable to pierce the King himself. The epic says that Ashwatthama was quite excited by this fight and didn't slay Pandyan when he got an opening because he wanted to fight for some more time. Malayadhwajan climbed a stray elephant and threw lances at Ashwatthama who narrowly escaped with his beautiful crown shattered. This infuriated him and he killed the king, his elephant and the final six warriors that followed their Lord.

At this, Ashvatthama blazed up with exceeding rage . . . and took up four and ten shafts capable of inflicting great pain upon foes. . . with three the two arms and the head of the king, and with six he slew the six mighty car-warriors, endued with great effulgence, that followed king Pandya . . .

@celestesinsight @willkatfanfromasia @sambaridli @harinishivaa @sakhiiii @whippersnappersbookworm @favcolourrvibgior @sampigehoovu @ambidextrousarcher

#hinduism #hindu mythology #tamilculture #mahabharata #Pandya #hindu #hindublr #krishna

52 notes · View notes

mhaynoot · 11 months

Text

[ tw suicide , suicidal thoughts and intentions - orv spoilers - epilogue joongdok ]

yjh progressed so much and so far through 1863 regression turns not only to cut down the constellations and systems that made him suffer but also to find a way to either save the world or die permanently, whichever came first.

out of all the yjh and the regressions, the one who achieved that goal was the half slain by himself in the 1863rd round, the one who encapsulated all yjh's feelings of "i want to die".

the one that said "i want to live" was all that was left.

yjh remembers renouncing his regression status. his character trait.

"yoo joonghyuk, former regressor."

but he who hated his regression the most, who experienced suffering like no other because of it, chooses again to regress once more to save kdj. he tries not to think why but does anyway when the the scenario nights once again drag on long and agonising.

"are you sure?" people had asked right before the group regression. as if he would have ever brought it up as a suggestion if he hadn't been sure.

was he sure?

yjh closes his eyes.

he remembers renouncing his regressor status. he remembers delcaring not only that he will lived this round - this life - fully but that he will live solely for the ending in which kdj was an anomaly. he remembers kdj too. the little twist to his lips, the downcurved tilt, and his eyes, yjh was always reflected into his eyes. but they only saw him then. "I was twenty-eight, and I was an employee of a game company. my hobby was reading web novels…"

yjh remembers.

"yes, I'm sure."

but more than reliving the hellish nightmares of the scenarios once more, it only completely breaks him when regressing still fails-fails-fails-

(like kdj had told him over and over again)

two years passes by. time is supposed to ease grief. he should have moved on.

yjh breaks into the museum to grab the broken [final ark] with no real plan and fights hsy with his all so she could kill him because that's what he wanted. because yjh wants to fucking die and had tried everything from clutching a gaming mouse to training to talking endlessly with his teacher and sister but still- still he finds no purpose in life after the failed regression.

he imagines that guy yelling at him, calling him a sunfish.

even though he was free from the scenarios, free from the regression skill, can grow old normally with all his loved ones into a happily ever after. in a world surely and carefully forgetting the secnarios, erasing almost everything of that nightmare. today, the night sky is forever dark with only the glimmer of weakened constellations. yjh had saved the world and his companions and his sister and himself. it was everything he had ever wanted. everything that could have ever made him happy.

kim dokja, he grieves and grieves and grieves.

it is only the dumb blind faith and hope of a hacked brained plan that lets him live until he's shooting through space with a faint, infinitely burning wish.

and because of course nothing ever goes right, the ship breaks down and then everything else is breaking down and he's drifting through space in the vast loneliness and hollowness of his own dying stories.

1, 2, 10, 100, 333 days of drifting.

it is the kdj's story that revitalises him again and again as he reads and rereads and reads more and more

until, finally, he could understand kdj just a little more.

he wonders if this is what it means to have a soulmate. to have someone who completed him so much. who is his everything and to know he is everything to that guy too.

they are each other's beginning and end, salvation and damnation, life and death.

and then,

on death's door, he draws his sword. he regrets but he does not give up.

words echo between his ears in his final moments. that guy was right in the end. of course.

he dreams of fighting and that damn journey to the west remake and he dreams-

his eyes search around, always desperately searching. it's like chasing a ghost. like trying to bridge a bridgless gap between him and-

"where is kim dokja?"

"captain!"

everything in him knows it, knows what happened even if it remained a dream in his memories. the stories vibrantly holding him together was proof enough that he got saved by that bastard. he'll be damned if he ever reveals the truth to biyoo that though.

they crest and bob through the ebb and flow of the wordlines and the universe.

some worlds a peaceful. no scenarios.

yjh wonders if the stardust reincarnated in these worldlines is happy. selfishly, he hopes not and that they'll always wish to come back. to stay. he's already doomed countless worlds for this purpose. spreading this dream of destruction for a single man.

its with these selfish wishes, they drift through space and the brief stops along the way.

some, he leaves faster than others. it depends on how quickly he and biyoo can find a suitable webnovel author. but it doesnt always go all that quickly. authors. they're reclusive annoyances. yjh thinks of hsy and her first appearance and edits the latest update with particularly brutal comments on her prose. so some worlds, they linger on.

somehow, he finds himself on a high building in every world. sometimes they're in seoul but not always. all cities eventually start looking the same anyway. similar but foreign concrete city scapes. large, open skies.

that guy had said the view was beautiful.

"wake up, yoo joonghyuk."

centuries and world lines drift by.

he was not the 41st yjh and she was not the 41st shin yoosung. they had lived and grown to become the them they are now. had both been touched by that guy and his actions. her more so than him.

sometimes, he gets caught in her visage. on the way she smiled or her eyes gleamed. nebulae dwarfed in comparison. every bit of her father.

more than her eyes and her smiles, it was the way she talked. that slightly annoyed, flippant wit. she talks so much now, babbling, scheming, or just talking for the sake of talking. like she was making up for the years of being pretty much nonverbal. or the years of travelling alone. although, her father had always able been to understand her quite well. maybe it was a connection between parent and child.

yjh didnt try to remember his own child, they were always there. a small swaddled thing. it was a worn out grief. memories so bright it faded. a life too short.

biyoo's dad had said he understood. he had never lost child. had sacrificied himself over and over again to ensure not a single one of his went through that cut fate.

yjh knows that kdj had never experienced it. but yjh understands kdj too.

every world, she finds recent trends in webnovels and the world news and what strange "gimmick" the world operated on. some had game systems like the star stream. some had an old apocalypse lingering. some were in the middle of a breaking world. nothing quite bad enough to not find an author, of course.

he wonders if kdj was thriving in those less peaceful worlds like he thrived in the star stream. yjh selfishly hopes not. hopes that something is irreversibly missing in a life without his companions, without yjh.

even if they only stopped in the world for an hour, biyoo always finds the time to report her findings to him. she settles into the arc beside him and rambles on about how the different systems compared to each other or talks about a popular webnovel and the characters in them. the arcs they go through.

something in his chest loosens at the fimilarity. it wouldnt do to get lost in the memories of another person in someone else but he was a regressor.

maybe she understands that too because she always continues to talk even when he stops responding, stops looking quite at her.

he was glad she was there with him. in this long journey.

in the arc, through the worldlines, on the highest points of city buildings, he edits the story, he adds his own chapters. he finds their memories and their stories and writes it all down. he types with fingers tracing only a singular name.

he reads more.

he writes more.

protagonist, reader, author.

the star stream seems to be finally over. their epilogue was upon them.

that pivotal last chapter had not be written yet. the one where kdj comes home.

yjh settles his hands on the keyboard.

as he enters the stratosphere, as the cockpit burns and lights through earth's blue skies like a shooting star, and he finally breathes in the air his and kim dokja's world again, yjh thinks about his long journey. about his 0th turn. about 1865 regressions. about answers and questions and the future. about his happiness.

the [ark] slams into the ocean. he can already see lee jihye screaming at him in the distance. the rest of his little nebulae wait for him. his little sister looks ready to beat him up.

he looks at them and smiles.

as he's pulled towards his and kim dokja's companions, moved back into their embrace and circle as if he's never left, he thinks about his long journey. about his 0th turn. about 1865 regressions. about answers and questions and the future. about kim dokja.

yjh thinks about every stardust that scatters through the wordlines that he had visited. some of them had been peaceful. some of them less so.

yjh hopes each stardust reincarneted into these worldlines are doing well. that they are warm and eating well and are loved. and, yjh hopes that he could still find the ending where he can love that guy and show it to him too. tell him, eventually.

#orv #orv spoiler #joongdok #hawrites #sad yjh hours #sorry #someone said yjhs nickname for kdj was that guy #and now im abusing that #grief #tw suicidal thoughts #very rought first draft i wrote on the chrome app

62 notes · View notes

actual-bill-potts · 1 year

Note

Just stumbled across your Silm ficlets and absolutely loved them. If you still need salvation from your boring experiments, may I throw some options for prompts your way (with no pressure at all)?

1. The canonically alluded hunting trip Finrod takes with Maglor and Maedhros. What happens there? Where do they go? What do they talk about?

2. The very underrated friendship between Fingon, Aegnor, and Angrod (with Fingon stood as they ever did Aegnor and Angrod...). Anything with these three, in Valinor or Beleriand. Some horses would be a major bonus.

3. Another underrated friendship: Fingon and Húrin! Fighting together in a battle? Húrin trying to figure out elven jokes? Whatever strikes your fancy.

Thanks for sharing your writing!

Angaráto and Aikanáro did not come to find Findekáno until the hosts had settled in to rest beside the stolen ships. He had not expected them to come at all; in truth, he was surprised that the host of Arafinwë marched still with his father and uncle at all. There was a heaviness in the air that he misliked.

But as Findekáno was wearily contemplating the dark stains on his clothes, trying not to think about the bright spray of blood that had spurted from the neck of the Teleri woman he had killed, and wondering if it was worth the effort to change, he felt the air thicken around him. A sharp tang, as if a lightning strike had embodied itself nearby, filled his nose, and he turned to see the youngest sons of Arafinwë standing before him.

It was difficult to meet their eyes.

Angaráto spoke first, as always. He said, with a casualness that seemed forced, "We found the body of our old swimming-teacher on the docks."

"Ekkaiadil was his name," Aikanáro added quietly, "and he used to slip me taffy, when Amillë was not looking."

A wave of nausea washed over Findekáno, and he had to look away. He did not know what to say. He could feel their eyes on him, bright and unfriendly.

Finally he said, "Then why are you here?"

Angaráto's mouth twisted. "We offered aid to Alqualondë. They did not want it. We are too Noldo - Olwë's grandchildren, and those who follow Olwë's grandchildren! Such is the wickedness Fëanáro and Nolofinwë have visited on the Teleri."

Aikanáro said, with the air of someone who did not want to speak but could not help himself, "Atar fell on his knees before Olwë, and asked if he could do anything to make amends. Olwë laughed in his face. 'Bring back the swan-ships your brothers have stolen, unstained with blood; bring back those your brothers' hosts killed in their madness; bring back my daughter, unmarred by the grief of your family! Until then, no Noldo shall be permitted to touch my people, neither to harm nor help.'" He sounded almost bewildered.

"Findaráto was not present at that audience, for he had rushed to provide what aid he could do to the wounded; and he was almost slain when they realized who he was. He is weeping now, and Artanis beside him hurts to look upon, so bright is her rage; and Artaresto is cold, and will speak to no one. That is what your family has done to ours," Angaráto concluded, and moved to turn away.

But Aikanáro hesitated, and said, "Why did you do it, Findekáno?"

"They were going to kill my friend," Findekáno said, feeling ill all over again at the memory of the moment, of Maitimo helpless on the ground, the rage that had washed over him, and the cold clarity that had followed when he saw silver hair clotted with blood. "I could not see another way to stop it. And I did not stop to ask why - why any of it was as it was. I simply acted."

That did not seem like enough, to his ears, and he added softly, "I am sorry, cousins. I know it does not change anything. But I am sorry." He caught sight of the bloodstains upon his clothes again, and this time he could not quell the wave of gorge that rose in his throat. He turned and vomited upon the grass.

Aikanáro sprang forward to support him, one hand snatching Findekáno's braids away from the worst of the mess, the other on his shoulder. Angaráto did not move.

When he was done, Findekáno shakily wiped his mouth and turned back. Aikanáro let his braids go as if burned.

Findekáno said, again, "I am sorry."

Angaráto said, "We followed the host of Nolofinwë for you. And almost I would turn back. We had words with Findaráto about it! For he refused to leave the host of Nolofinwë, bloodstained as they are, for love of Turukáno; and I said to him, how can you hold fast to your friend the murderer? Do you love our people so little?

"But he said, I will not leave my friend to be caught between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë: my friend who only wanted to help, and is being torn apart by guilt. I cannot help my mother's people; they will not let me. She will not see me. But I can help Turukáno."

"I did not understand, and told him so," said Aikanáro, "and he said: Go see Findekáno. Perhaps then you will understand. And I do. I do! I pity you, and besides many of our people will not turn back, for they loved Haru well and love Fëanáro still. We cannot leave them. I will not leave you."

But Angaráto said coldly, "I do not. I do not understand how you could look into the eyes of my mother's people and slaughter them as you would an animal. I do not forgive you, Findekáno; and I will not follow you."

"Well enough," said Findekáno, feeling a strange sort of relief. He was too heart-sick to wish for any company.

Angaráto again made as if to turn away; but just then even the lightning-strike of his presence was overcome by the overwhelming feeling of death in the air. Findekano felt the ghosts of flames on his skin. A shiver ran through him.

Then he heard the Voice.

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you,and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

"Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death’s shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken."

In the aftermath, when the feeling of a strangling whip of fire had faded from around Findekáno's neck, he had naught to say. Maitimo, condemned. Himself, condemned. His father, condemned. His friends -

Aikanáro looked shocked; but Angaráto was white with rage. "So they condemn us!" he spat. "Us, who followed out of love and loyalty! They condemn my brothers and my sister, my cousins and my people; they paint us with the same brush with which they paint Fëanáro."

He looked to Findekáno, his eyes blazing. "I will follow you after all, cousin," he said, "for I loved you well, and still do though I should not; and because no one deserves the Doom that has been laid on us both. My people are innocent!"

Findekáno said, lowly, "You could still return. 'Little pity' is not none; and after all you are innocent, along with your father. Do not follow me into the teeth of this grief!"

Aikanáro said firmly, "I will not leave you to face it alone."

And Angaráto said, "Nor will I. Not now." He stepped closer to Findekáno and gripped his forearm. "I will stand with you."

Findekáno bowed his head. "I do not deserve such true friends."

"Perhaps not; but you have them!" Aikanáro said, and shoved Angaráto aside to envelop Findekáno in a hug.

Findekáno pressed his forehead to Aikanáro's broad shoulder and let himself weep.

#fingon #aegnor #angrod #silm fic #the silmarillion #my writing #sorry melestasflight i actually do not think abt aegnor and angrod very much at all #but as soon as i read ur prompt i thought 'why the hell did they follow fingon after the kinslaying anyway'#and this just kinda came out #also sorry it does not involve horses at all #i hope u enjoy anyway!!

83 notes · View notes