#she is the descender that will liberate the world

[guujikaroko]

Do you ever sit and think about how Xiao promised to essentially be Lumine's executioner. Do you ever think about how he said he'd kill for her if she wished so. Do you ever think about how Xiao spent thousands of years participating in bloodshed and massacre and thinks that it's all he was meant to be. Do you ever think about how he sees Lumine as a pure soul that deserves none of that suffering he pretty much drowned himself in. Do you ever think about how he can only feel useful to Lumine as a weapon and thus offered himself to her as one.

BUT ALSO! Do you ever think about how Lumine NEVER calls for Xiao to fight for her? Do you ever think about how she almost died fighting a GOD in Inazuma and only called Xiao after the whole ordeal was over and she wanted him to eat a dish? Do you ever think about how she absolutely refuses to use Xiao as the weapon he thinks he is? Do you ever think about how Lumine sees Xiao as a pure soul that deserves none of the torment and endeavors to give him peace in any way she can?

#help me i think i got bit by the xiaolumi bug #it's itching and scratching and i only found release by screaming in the void #anyway do you ever think about lumine's angelic imagery and xiao's demonic imagery #she is the descender that will liberate the world #he is the great demon conqueror #a bright star that gives blessings and a harbinger of doom that thrives in the darkness #but do you also ever think about how they're just... lumine and xiao #and they have their own problems and sorrows and they find solace in each other #crazy right #genshin impact #lumine #genshin xiao #xiaolumi

[ltpolari]

doesn't surprise me considering this: louisshomesharry/732996598339108864

oh

#there are a lot of fandom discourse to be had #we can argue all we like but fandom rn doesnt fucking matter #fuck anyone whos refusing to read and educate themselves and just choosing to gobble up whatever the western media is feeding them #we have descendants of holocaust survivors who grew up in zionist households but still managed to question the status quo and are #now actively supporting the liberation of palestine. #idk dude. this puts a bad taste in my mouth. #'how could the normal people let it happen' we would ask when reading history books #WELL YOU'RE LETTING IT HAPPEN NOW. and worse because we have social media now everything is broadcasted and yall just actively choosing not #to fucking care!!! #like???? you see all these posts from palestinians and just pull a wendy williams. aw she passed away aw :( #the broadcasted massacre should fucking radicalise you #AND YES i agree that silence on social media doesnt mean you're not having discussions irl whatever #but it is glaring if you're loud about other else and completely silent about this #we have update accounts in this fandom who are very quiet right now when they would be the first to post about any other world issues lol #your silence is loud and clear x #anyway. bye #a

[dystopia-incognito]

Male Werewolf x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW (minors DNI) contains sex/dubcon A short spicy story of 1,977 words about a young woman encountering a werewolf.

A little side note: I NEVER write, I'm a nervous wreck for just posting this. That being said.. I wrote this little dabble specifically for a very special person the night before their birthday as a surprise and I might never actually finish it. Do enjoy it for what it is, though! <3

Freedom. In a tranquil corner of the world, nestled by the edge of a serene lake, Y/N found her escape from the bustling village that had kept her busy for far too long. The cool, inviting water lapped gently at her feet as she sat on the grassy shore, her emotions swirling like a symphony. It was the first sensation that washed over her. As her toes touched the water's surface, she felt liberated. Here, away from the ceaseless demands of her family and the never-ending chores of the village, she could finally breathe. By this quiet lake, she could be herself, unburdened by obligations. She smiled and hiked up her modest dress a little higher to not get it wet, the lush grass beneath her bare legs seemed to embrace her like a lover. Overhead, the leaves rustled like ancient scrolls, and the rhythmic ripples of the lake provided a soothing lullaby. In this moment, she merged seamlessly with the natural world, an integral part of a harmonious landscape. The water's gentle caress on her ankles brought forth sheer delight. She wiggled her toes, savouring the exquisite sensation. With each movement, every ripple she created in the water, she found a wellspring of unadulterated joy. Her laughter echoed, blending harmoniously with the songs of the birds in the nearby trees. Her gaze was drawn to the horizon, where the sun's golden glow painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. Her thoughts wandered to the future, where dreams and aspirations converged. Her heart swelled with optimism and a sense of adventure, as if the world itself were an open book, waiting for her to write its next chapter. It was a future where her heart would find its truest desires, where every sunrise held the promise of new adventures, and where her spirit would soar unburdened.

As the sun descended lower, casting elongated shadows across the water's surface, she closed her eyes for a moment. The soft breeze gently played with her hair and gently kissed her cheeks, carrying the fragrant scent of the surrounding pines. It was a tranquil pause, a chance to gather her thoughts amidst the serenity of her secluded haven. But as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest clearing in a deepening twilight, she suddenly became aware of a presence. It was a sensation she couldn't ignore, a feeling that sent a shiver down her spine. Beyond the familiar forest clearing that had always felt like her refuge, something new and unsettling had emerged.

The tranquil harmony of nature seemed disrupted as if an intruder had entered this sacred space. She stood up slowly, brushing her out of her face, slipping hastily into her boots, her heart pounding with an inexplicable mixture of curiosity and trepidation. She scanned the tree line, her eyes straining to pierce the gathering darkness. And there, between the dense shrubbery and shadowy trees, she saw it— a pair of eyes glowing with an eerie luminescence. The intensity of their gaze sent a chill through her, and she felt a sense of foreboding. She considered the possibilities: perhaps it was a lone wolf, their eyes reflecting the fading light. Or, in the depths of her imagination, a more ominous thought took root— a creature of legend and terror.

As she slowly retreated from the water's edge, she couldn't tear her eyes away from those glowing orbs in the darkness. Her instincts told her to be cautious, to respect the untamed wildness of the forest, and to tread carefully as she made her way home. With each step, she couldn't shake the feeling that the presence she had sensed was something beyond the ordinary, something that had been drawn to the tranquil haven she had sought for solace and reflection. The mystery of those glowing eyes haunted her thoughts as she ventured back toward the village, journeying through the forest's depths. With a heart pounding in her chest, she hurriedly attempted to make her way back through the dark forest.

Fear of the possible threat had her senses on edge, and as she ventured deeper, an unsettling disorientation began to grip her. The once-familiar forest now felt foreign, as if the trees had rearranged themselves while her attention was drawn to the mysterious presence by the lake. Thick greenery pressed in from all sides, making it difficult to discern one path from another. The foliage seemed to conspire, creating an eerie sameness that made every turn look alike. Her footsteps, once confident, now faltered as uncertainty took hold. Panic threatened to consume her as she feared she had strayed from her familiar way home. The forest's natural beauty had transformed into an intimidating maze, where every tree and every shadow appeared as a deceptive mirror image of the last. As the encroaching darkness deepened, she battled her rising anxiety, pushing her body through the underbrush, trying to remember the landmarks she'd used countless times to navigate these woods.

It was a race against time and her fear, an urgent attempt to find her way back to the safety of the village before the night's secrets fully unfurled, and her fear of the unknown became a reality. As the unsettling sense of being stalked by what she could only assume to be a werewolf tightened its grip on her, she felt a growing unease that urged her to flee. Panic and adrenaline coursed through her veins, driving her to her feet as she started running through the dark forest. With each pounding step, her surroundings grew increasingly unfamiliar. Trees loomed like shadowy sentinels, and the underbrush seemed to tangle at her feet. She ran aimlessly, her heart thundering in her chest as she picked up speed, the urgency of escape driving her forward. In the oppressive darkness, the sound of her breath and the rush of her footsteps filled her ears. But then, she began to hear something else— a haunting, primal sound echoing through the trees. It was the unmistakable sound of pursuit, the creature she had feared drawing nearer with each passing moment.

The relentless rhythm of its power and grace echoed in her ears, a chilling reminder of the danger that chased her through the labyrinthine forest. She dared not glance back, for the terror had become all too real, her only thought was to find her way to safety in this perilous game of survival amidst the darkness. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her limbs failing her as she ran through the forest, her breath ragged and laboured, each step became a monumental effort. In her desperate flight, she suddenly tripped over a gnarled root, sprawling to the forest floor. Pain seared through her, but adrenaline surged through her veins. She scrambled to get up but hit the ground again, exhausted she realized, her escape had come to a heartbreaking halt.

Her body refused to obey her commands, with trembling limbs she lay there, chest heaving as she fought her burning lungs to breathe. She snapped her head up to look around, her nightmare had vanished into the shadows but she knew it was only a matter of time before it would catch up to her again. Willing herself to move, she managed to roll onto her back, peering into the direction she had come from as her eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding her. Long minutes passed, and then over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, she heard it — rustling of leaves and twigs, the eerie whisper of fur against the night air. The werewolf, with one giant leap, emerged from the shadows and fixed its feral eyes upon her.

Frozen in fear, she felt unable to breathe, dwarfed by its imposing size, she could feel the creature's hot breath as it drew near on all fours, coming as close as to hover over her. The scent of the forest and the wildness of the beast enveloped her, and for a moment that stretched into eternity, they remained locked in a tense and inexplicable stillness. Y/N couldn't tear her eyes away from the werewolf's gaze, and the creature's intelligent eyes seemed to calculate the situation, caught between predatory instincts and fascination with her presence. Then, with a hesitant and almost tender movement, the werewolf lowered its large head and sniffed her.

It was a surrealistically intimate moment, where the boundaries between fear and curiosity blurred into something she couldn't comprehend. Y/N, still frozen in place, allowed it to happen, her heart pounding in her chest. The forest rustled, the night held its breath and she and the this wild beast existed in a tense and enigmatic moment. She now was at the mercy of the unknown. Not knowing what the future held, in that fragile moment of shared vulnerability, something unexpected had passed between them.

…

And then the spell was abruptly broken as it leaned in, got a hold of her face, and licked it. Its tongue left long clammy strokes over her cheek and down the side of her neck. With its wet snout, it nudged the low neckline of her dress for access. She gasped and thrashed in sheer surprise, struggling to get away, but the werewolf muscled her back firmly to the lush forest floor. It withdrew slightly to look at her, growling a low, possessive warning which vibrated through her very being. In horror, she watched the beast's thick, viscous drool drip from its fangs and felt it land with a deliberate and heavy splat onto her chest. Shivers ran down her spine as the invasive syrupy substance tenaciously clung to the soft slopes of her rising and falling chest, lazily pooling down into her cleavage as it glistened in the dim moonlight.

She could only expect the worst, powerless, as it continued to sniff her. Its keen sense of smell and big paws explored her curvacious body, moving downwards to dip underneath the hem of her dress, sending her nerves on edge. Its snout then pushed upwards, moving her dress along with the motion, to nuzzle apart her thick trembling thighs. Her fingers dug into the fresh earth beneath her and her skin prickled as goosebumps appeared all over her body, But before she could even flinch it let her know once more, and quite vocally, she wasn't allowed to move. Taking two deep huffs of her, the werewolf's hot breath washed over her sex. A strangled noise escaped her, and then, without any warning, it hungrily began lapping at her. The sudden sheer sensation of it drew a high-pitched wail from her lips, like a wounded animal, her body curled in on itself, thighs clamping down weakly around its powerful head. Her hands shot down to grab white-knuckled fists full of the beast's thick mane as it continued, absolutely unbothered, to wetly slobber away at her. And it was too much at once. Her stomach tied in knots, and she shook with mixed emotions tumbling away inside her, even if pleasure slowly but surely bloomed in her core. Then the creature's head snapped up, licking its lips as sure goal-set glowing eyes met hers to stare her back down into submission, into the moss and dancing leaves beneath her. She was overwhelmed by it, the werewolf's sheer masculinity and assertive power made her feel more vulnerable than if she were completely exposed to him. It, on the other hand, wasted no time and grabbed at her, pulling her in and pushing her back against his hips eagerly. Her insides contracted involuntarily as it ripped at her dress for easier access to more of her body. She was met with throbbing heat on her newly exposed skin, carnal desire and the sheer size of Him against her tummy. Her mouth went dry with the realisation of what would happen next..

- FIN

#monster fucker #werewolf smut #werewolf lover #werewolves #werewolf x female reader #werewolf #my writing #please be gentle it's my first time (posting any of my writing that is) #werewolf boyfriend

[hero-israel]

Here's the thing about this narrative that Palestinian resistance no matter what form is acceptable. Jewkilling cannot exist in a bubble. It cannot be politically neutral. 1000 years of European (and Arab) antisemitism culminating in genocide have ruined that. Sorry to Palestinian activists but that's just how it works. You can't murder a Jew without it being a tragedy, without it contributing to the continued global oppression of Jewish people.

And all that said, that's just if Hamas and others only targeted soldiers and police (or at least tried as best they could). The IRA didn't go out of its way to purposefully target noncombatants. Why? Probably because there isn't thousands of years of history of English people being seen as subhuman, there isn't thousands of years of anglophobic propaganda showing English people as twisted monsters preying on children and secretly undermining Irish society. The Irish national movement was not born because English refugees returned to their historical homeland and challenged the notion of Irish Supremacy. It was a pragmatic liberation movement. Resist military occupation, undermine military infrastructure designed to oppress the people. The descendants of English and Scottish settlers would even be allowed to stay if they had won. Imagine that.

These things are all tied up in each other. I'm against police brutality, I'm against the escalation and the militarization and the mistreatment of Arabs in Israel and in Judea & Samaria and Gaza and Golan and everywhere. But killing Jews can never be righteous. Sorry to anyone who feels that way but it can't. Antizionists NEED to understand that. Jews will always feel defensive and ready themselves for retaliation because of history, because of that context. Jews keep saying "prove to us a post zionist society where we all share the land won't be antisemitic" and their concerns are completely brushed off.

There's no empathy at all. A little girl can be stabbed to death and antizionists celebrate because she was a "settler," and that brave Palestinian man was defending his indigenous homeland, by targeting the weakest of his enemies. And since Israel has mandatory military service the antizionist can surmise that no Jews are Innocent. An Israeli Jew cannot be a noncombatant. They have to, otherwise the only other explanation for why Jewkilling is acceptable to them, or even feels good to them, is that they hate Jews. And as of right now, the optics are still against that. I have a sinking feeling the optics won't be against them much longer. I inherently don't trust a "liberation" movement that's all too eager to make murdering Jewish civilians praxis. I'm sick of the internet falling for this bullshit.

One of the best asks I have ever received. Thank you for sharing it and I agree with every word.

The entire progressive intersectional social-justice frame has failed Jews (or, alternately, has succeeded in excluding them), due to being intellectually colonized by a clearly fascist ideology of incessantly hating the Jew as a poisonous alien. Try to get an online activist to critically deconstruct the social assumptions they were raised with about Jews in their Muslim, Christian, or very slightly post-Christian society... it won't go well. Funny how Jews have lived in India and China for thousands of years yet you will look in vain for examples of bitter bloodthirsty kill-your-nextdoor-neighbor antisemitism in those societies. That's because the origin, the core, of Chinese and Indian societies was not "We're the people who are better than Jews."

From a review of Richard Landes' new book "Can the Whole World Be Wrong?":

[During the Second Intifada] Israelis were described at the time as the new Nazis. But the malice that was unleashed was even worse. As Landes writes, “It was mostly about being freed from a sense of obligation to the Jews, a chance to take up again the Jew-baiting so long denied Europeans by a politically correct post-Holocaust sobriety.” Landes quotes a poisonous comment made by a member of the House of Lords and reported in the Spectator, “Well, the Jews have been asking for it, and now, thank God, we can say what we think at last.” During that time, I was told something horrifyingly similar to my [=the reviewer's] face.

Your example of Irish nationalists not going out of their way to murder British children is a good one. The oft-reached comparisons between Palestine and South Africa are frivolous for many reasons as I have explained here before, and the ANC advocating and normalizing a vision of enduring racial diversity and equality is high on the list of reasons (made possible because black African identity is not predicated on a thousand-year history of hating and oppressing whites). The case of Rhodesia is even more instructive. Robert Mugabe - ROBERT MUGABE! - pleaded with the whites to stay, to live as equals, as brothers, and work together in building a better society in Zimbabwe. Ian Smith, last white PM of Rhodesia, agreed with him and stayed in Zimbabwe. If a so-called "liberation" movement is more openly dedicated to straight-up exterminating their enemies than Robert Mugabe ever was, maybe, just maybe, it shouldn't be described as "liberation" at all.

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #israel #palestine #zionism #palestinians #jumblr

[skyeventide]

honestly, Luthien and her descendants don't own the Silmaril because she fought for it or because of weregild or whatever. the weregild situation in the Luthien drama is the weapons of Curufin that Beren takes from him; that's the payment, the weregild, the gold you pay for a wrongdoing. it's Angrist and Curufin's other weapons. not the Silmaril. you need to understand that Tolkien says super explicitly that the Silmaril ownership system is morality (and therefore religiously) based. he declares super clearly, black on white, that the sons of Feanor had right to the Silmarils before that right is forfeited because of their deeds, that presumably meaning Alqualonde's theft of ships and ensuing fight already. that right is forfeited, not as payment, but inherently, metaphysically, which Tolkien also reinforces by having the Valar, authority of Eru in the embodied world, bless them so that only clean hands can touch them. but mind you, what clean and moral hands means is completely arbitrary. the dwarves don't burn for killing Thingol, Beren doesn't burn for killing the dwarves. am I meant to read, say, the dwarves' overreaction to an insult as justified killing, then? as moral? it's okay if they kill someone because he's not giving them what is theirs? it's not possible to construe this narrative unless we understand that its fate is simply not a force of balanced moral judgement, but a force with a specific aim, and it's not possible to make of the story an even field because of it. fate is such that Beren can cross through the girdle; Melian cannot keep him out. in short, the Silmaril's ownership is not a consistent external logic, it's an internal morality that hinges on religious exceptionalism and fatal, near-authorial say-so. remember that Glorfindel is reembodied early explicitly because he aided the divine plan in saving little Earendil: religious favoritism and authorial say-so are a thing (they're the same thing. this is a story, nothing exists that the author doesn't decide. that the in-story divine plan corresponds with the story the author wants to tell and therefore pushes forward with the deus ex machina, that makes it ultimately nothing but Tolkien's say-so). remember also, however, that the final fate Tolkien envisions for the Silmarils is the liberation of their light to remake the world. the imbuing of their beauty for everyone to share. and whatever my opinions on that, it's miles better and a much more apt fate than whatever hoax a rigged religion-based sort of moral ownership represents.

#quenta noldorinwa #''you aded god and therefore you're getting rewarded'' is something I find deeply distasteful when people believe it #but it's hilariously annoying when it happens in a story where the deity #is a CHARACTER

[zvaigzdelasas]

It’s odd nowadays to imagine the liberal city of San Francisco officially flying a Confederate flag for any reason, but sure enough, there it was, officially flying over San Francisco’s Civic Center Plaza. The city’s Black population, including Richard Bradley, was not happy about it.

The flag was actually part of a historical effort. It was flying with 18 other flags from American history, detailing how the country had changed over its 200-plus years. [...] [S]upporters of the local Spartacist League, Spartacus Youth League and Labor Black League for Social Defense [were uneasy] with seeing it raised in a public square. In 1984, the groups descended on Civic Center Plaza to protest its inclusion in the historical project.

One of those protesters was Richard Bradley, originally from South Carolina, who grew up with a personal view of what that flag meant. He came dressed as a Union soldier and would make history by climbing the flagpole and tearing the Confederate banner down. Some 37 years after the event, San Francisco’s ABC7 affiliate aired a story about a local school, Dianne Feinstein Elementary, voting to change its name. The reason it was dropping Senator Feinstein’s name was because she was Mayor of San Francisco at the time, and after the rebel flag was torn down, she ordered a new one put in its place in an attempt to curry favor with the pro-South Dixiecrats coming to the city.

With news of the school renaming, photos of Bradley tearing down the flag resurfaced on the internet. ABC reporter Lyanne Melendez reached out to find Richard Bradley via a broadcast in January 2021. Bradley, it turned out, was alive and well at age 70, and was once again living in his native South Carolina. He told the reporters that even at age 70, he would climb any pole once again to take down a Confederate flag, saying it represents the ugliness of the world we live in. He also thought dropping Feinstein’s name from the elementary school was a good idea.[...]

Feinstein finally gave in to the protestors in 1984 after replacing the flag the first time. The second time it was torn down, a member of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union Local 6 burned the flag. As it burned, the crowd cheered and broke into a rendition of “John Brown’s Body,” an abolitionist song sung by Union troops during the war.

[sevilemar]

I got such an amazing gift from a fellow player in DnD today, I am still glowing with happiness and excitement.

I made the conscious choice at the start of the campaign to play a very young, very naive religious fanatic in a world designed to only contain shades of grey (Shulassakar in Eberron). Suffice it to say, I did not intend for her to live very long.

What I did not know before our first session was that a fellow player decided to play a very liberal, very hedonistic blood cleric Dhampir named Corvin, whose morality is firmly on the darker side of grey. We clashed from the beginning, and I had already attacked him once, but was stopped by other members of the party. I also saw him help and heal others, and we had each other's back in a few fights. For someone like Selise, who was born into an eternal, holy war to keep one of the Overlords from taking over the world, that means a lot.

I was just accepting that maybe, just maybe, 'good' might include other things than I was taught, when we went to the desert to find an old battlefield that became a manifestation zone for war and strife. Because Corvin hadn't fed for several days on the journey, he went into a blood frenzy, killing and feeding on a swarm of blood bugs.

Long story short, after he found himself again, I challenged him and we ended up fighting each other, becoming more and more locked in and angry until it truly was to the death.

As a player, I was hesitant at first. I had never taken such a big swing before, and it felt wrong to attack another player. Thomas and me had talked about it once it was clear our characters may be headed that way, and our GM and the other players had OKed PvP as well, so all was fine on the consent front.

And still I needed the dice to make the final decision, and I was quite shocked when they decided it was time to fight. But now I was commited, and so I went for it with a heavy heart. I love my Selise, and I really did not want to kill another player's character. It was a long fight with lots of dice rolls for me, since the third PC tried to stop us. Well, mostly me.

Halfway through, Corvin asked Selise if he will ever be safe in her presence, and I had to actually think about it. I talked myself through it out loud, and came to the shocking conclusion that no, he would not be. And after that, when we both knew this was to the end, I lost my doubts, and it became so much fun. I still did not want to kill Corvin, but I was OK if Selise died, and I knew it was OK if Corvin did.

In the end, Corvin had one hit point left, Selise had 4, and it was the third player's turn. She decided to use up all her inspiration to get the two NPCs around us to grapple me. I got out of her grasp, I got out of one of the Elf's grasp, but the third one pinned me down in a pool of blood. And then it was Corvin's turn. He casts Toll the Dead, my dice rolls, and it is only a 10. Selise is dead.

And then this motherfucking blood cleric, this awesome player and very kind friend, uses all his inspiration to cast a ritual and make me into a Dhampir like himself.

Fuck me, I did not see that coming.

It is such a beautiful, beautiful gift to a fellow player, a way to take the big swing, see it through to the end, and still keep a beloved character, and give her such an interesting new twist.

And Thomas told me after the game that it was his plan all along if we ever got here, and our GM knew about it, too. That means he thought about this, thought about a way to both let me be true to Selise, and let me keep her as well, and it is such a kind and generous thing to do that I'm still crying about it now.

And now it is my choice where we go from here. There are so many cool possibilities, because as Shulassakar, Selise is basically a mix between Aasimar and Yuan-Ti, descended from the Couatl: god-like beings with wings and a snake's body, and what does that mean for her now?

But that is a thought for another day. Today, I will go to sleep with a stupid smile on my face, firm in my conviction that telling stories together is good for the soul. Good night, gentlefolk, or god day, and may the story gods look upon you favorably always!

#dnd #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #d&d #kindness of strangers #who became friends

[moonmacabre01]

Hey, I wanted to show y'all my Swap au ^^ Uuuhh list of what and how characters were swapped under cut(incomplete list)(warning: long af)

Kirby: Swapped with Dedede. The king of Dreamland, brave and noble! At least, that what he wants you to think. In truth he's gluttonous and kind of childish, and a bit of a coward. But he has a good heart, willing to step up whenever Popstar is in danger! If he manages to avoid getting possessed first . . . At least his friends will be there to snap him out of it! He's scared of spiders.

Dedede: Swapped with Kirby. The brave and darling hero of Dreamland, Dedede would much rather play and eat than he would fight. But when push comes to shove and evil threatens his home, you can count on him to be there! Always willing to make a new friend, he'll happily welcome any newcomers, even if they aren't what they seem at first.

Bandee: Swapped with Meta. commonly known as Brave Knight, he and his crew are well known and much wondered about among residents of Popstar. More laid back than one might expect a knight to be, he's none the less formidable in battle. He and Kirby are old friends and trusted partners, despite rifts in the past.

Meta: Swapped with Bandee. Kirby's second-in-command and Dedede's best friend, Meta's often anxious or insecure about his abilities, and will turn to his friends for support. But under the fear, he's skilled with a sword and has a noble heart, and people have surmised that he has the makings of a great knight. He has an extraordinary sweet tooth he likes to indulge in, with a particular fondness for chocolate.

Ribbon: Swapped with Queen Ripple. The selfless queen of Ripplestar, she didn't hesitate to send away the crystal shard with her younger sister when Dark Matter attacked. Even after her possession by Nebula2, she remained as kindhearted and fair as ever. After the king of Dreamland helped liberate Ripplestar from Dark Matter, the two struck up a close friendship.

Ripple: Swapped with Ribbon. The younger sister of the queen of Ripplestar, she went on a quest with the hero of Dreamland after her planet was attacked by Dark Matter. After Ripplestar was freed, Ripple became close friends with Dedede and Drawcia. Though rather clumsy and a little anxious, she's full of energy and possesses an brave spirit equal to that of her sister.

Drawcia: Swapped with Adeleine. A painting brought to life by a mysterious artist, only to flee her creator and come to Dreamland, where she started to create art of her own. After joining a quest to liberate Ripplestar from Dark Matter, she discovered friendship to be a joy like nothing she'd ever imagined. Nowadays she splits her time between Popstar and Ripplestar, painting the many views.

Adeleine: Swapped with Drawcia: An artist derided and mocked by her peers, she left her home planet to wander the galaxy. In her travels, she found a wonderous paintbrush capable of bringing her work to life. Remembering the scorn with which her art was treated, her heart darkened, and she vowed to show the galaxy the beauty of her work - by transforming the world into a one of paint. After her attempt was foiled, she disappeared, but the work she created with that mystical brush remains.

Sectonia: Swapped with Taranza. The queen of a land in the sky, she gave her love a gift, a mirror rumored to grant wishes, unaware of it's true nature. Tricked into believing her subjects planned to rebel, she descended to the lower world with the plan to take it's hero as protection. however, she mistakingly took the king instead of the hero, and Dedede immediately followed in pursuit. Her love was defeated and his lies unraveled, and ever since she's been trying to do better as a ruler.

Taranza: Swapped with Sectonia. A mage unsure of his abilities, his beloved queen gifted him a mirror rumored to grant wishes with the idea it might increase his power. And so it did, but it also warped his mind and body, and his love became controlling and possessive. He tricked his queen into the believe her subjects planned to rebel, in hope she would turn to him for protection. Instead, against his wishes, she descended to the lower world to take it's hero for her guard. Eventually he was defeated, and the truth of what he'd become revealed much to the grief of the queen who'd loved him to the end. Never the less, it is hoped he is happier now.

#kirby #kirby au #kirby fanart #kirby of the stars #kirby characters #dedede #meta knight #bandee #queen sectonia #kirby ribbon #queen ripple #drawcia #swap au #kirby swap au #my art #digital art #moonmacabre01

[undertale-anomaly20]

Mortal Kombat 1 x reader: Prolouge

The screen shows a dark void where sand drops through the neck of an hourglass into a heaped pile. the camera focuses on a single slow-falling grain of sand that bursts into a cosmic light. The light pulses and myriad galaxy clusters resolve in an abyss. the camera passes the many galaxies to focus on one galaxy as it spirals radiantly in the dark.

"Having liberated the Hourglass and become Keeper of Time, my next task was to restart history" Liu Kang's voice echoed out as the camera dove into the Galaxy through its clouds, to the asteroid belt around its solar system, and past a planet or molten rock "Not beholden to past events, I was free to craft a new era. It was with humility and restraint that I approached this blank canvas. After careful preparation, I began work. Painting over the darkness"

The black screen soon had multiple small bursts of light across the screen, then stars as it slowly descended onto the earth's atmosphere horizon where the sun shone in the center of the horizon "After eons passed, I sketched out the realms. After eons more, I brushed them in with life"

the camera soon zooms in on the earth revealing the clouds "In my new era, all beings will have the opportunity to find peace. Whether or not they do, will be their responsibility. For my power only permits me to begin this endeavor. It is the duty of mortals to finish it" The camera flies through the clouds, past them to the landscape below through the mountains to an open land where a lake lays with a statue of two dragons intertwined in the center in the distance. the title appears on the screen

Mortal Kombat 1

The screen fades into black.

The scene opens on a dreary, rainy day as (Name) stands in her empty bedroom packing the last of her belongings. Five years ago, in this world at least, she had been an eager, optimistic young woman. But the events of her last involvement in the Mortal Kombat universe had taken their toll on her and now she was a bitter, stubborn, and hostile woman who had seen far too much. With no family left in the world, (Name) decided to move away and put the past behind her.

As the rain continued to pour outside (Name) packed away her possessions, lost in thought. Her mind was filled with the memories of her life before, both the good and the bad. She had loved and been loved by her friends, by her loves and her daughter, laughed and cried with them through the victories and the loss, and seen dreams come true. But she had also seen heartache and sorrow, The death of Mileena cracked her heart, and the death of Hanzo fractured her soul but her daughter, Calithea, dying in her arms was what truly broke her. The image of her turning to sand in her hands is something she can never forget and never forgive. Logically, in the back of her mind, she knew Liu Kang had to do it but that was snuffed out instantly as she remembered how she begged and pleaded with him to stop but he didn't even look at her nor did he even hesitate to continue. She could never forgive him for what he had done. She couldn't even grieve properly, She couldn't just go to a therapist or vent to anyone because in her world it never happened, and if she did she would have been called insane and thrown in an asylum. The best she could do was go to a doctor for anti-depressants which barely did anything.

Having no person to unburden her emotions too, (Name) was left to suffer such tragedy all on her own. Even though she was sent back to her world she still carried that same pain with her. Everywhere she went, she could still hear Calithea's cries for her.

(Name) sighed as she placed the last photo frame in her box before taping it up. Even though when she was sent back to her world she went from being 28 to 20 years old the same age as when she left. She was now 24 with a 30-year-old mind. She stands back up looking around to see if she missed anything giving the viewer a good look at her.

She had long (hair colour) hair at tailbone length tied into a bun, a white singlet that hugged her curves, an orange oversized flannel, blue denim jeans, brown lace-up combat boots, and a brown hobo crossbody bag containing her Phone, its charger, her wallet, some gum, wireless earbuds, and her anti-depressants that she received from her doctor.

Physically she didn't look that much different from her 20-year-old self apart from the dull look in her eyes and the neutral expression she wears permanently. many of her old neighbors worried for her since she used to be so bright and cheerful and wondered what changed her into the woman she is now.

She sighs putting the box to the side and looking at how empty the room is. Over the 4 years, she had gotten rid of anything that reminded her of the world she once lived in and avoided anything Mortal Kombat-related. She sighs as she picks up her bag and pulls out her phone, checking the weather, to see if the rain won't be letting up. She looked so tired as she glanced at the window realising the rain wouldn't stop till tomorrow. Everything she owned was sent to her new apartment apart from a few things leaving only her wide-flat screen TV, her PS5 plugged in, a Collectors edition box, The art book for the game, and one unopened game out with a note on it. Though she hated the Mortal Kombat franchise the company sent her a test game of the latest one.

Mortal Kombat 1

"Fucking idiots" She grumbled walking over to the unopened game picking it up, with a scowl, and reading the note. It was a small printed note new Roman times print.

Dear (Name),

We are writing to thank you for agreeing to be part of our Beta Testing team for our upcoming game! We are looking forward to your help in making sure that the game is as perfect and entertaining as possible for our players.

We are sending you the only existing copy of the game for you to play through and report any glitches or bugs you may find. We understand that it is only a beta build of the game and that there will probably be some issues, and we greatly appreciate you taking the time to report any issues you may find.

Once again, thank you for being part of the Beta Testing process and helping us make the game as good as it can be. We look forward to seeing your feedback.

Sincerely, WB games

She sighed agitated "I only agreed to do it because I needed the money," She said as she sat on the floor she opened the case and took out the disk. She slipped it into the PS5 slot picked up the remote and turned the TV on "Let's get this over with" she muttered as she set it up to download the game. While she waited she picked up the art book for the game, That they sent to her exclusively, looked through the concepts of the game, and looked at the different locations. after about 2 and a half hours she watched the title screen roll in "Finally" She said closing the book and picking up the controller ready to play.

2 hours later

"WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO THE TIMELINE!?"

(Name) looked at the game in shock. She had started with the tower stories rather than the actual story mode. So far she got the gist of some things.

Kuai Liang was a scorpion and was going to marry Harumi, Hanzo was a 15-year-old boy, Sindel was going to die, Lie mei was a kombatant again, Shao Kahn was alive, Mileena and Kitana were twins, Tanya and Mileena in a secret relationship? (Name) groaned pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes in frustration "Jesus Christ Liu Kang...making the timeline a reboot" She said before dropping her hand from her nose as she looked up at the roster for the next ladder. It didn't hurt her that Mileena was with Tanya if anything She felt slightly happy that her former love found her happiness. Her eyes soften "Well done, Beautiful" She whispered.

"Alright. Who's next?" She says as she flits around the screen when she finally lands on Geras selects his character and uses Sub-Zero as the cameo. His first opponent is Kitana and Scorpion. (Name) waits for the signal to fight when the intros are finished the words fight appear on the screen. She goes to move Geras but nothing happens "...What the..." She mumbles and fiddles with the controller. The strange thing is Kitana isn't moving either just standing there. (Name) grows frustrated "Come on Gera! move!" She shouts as thunder sounds off outside the window causing a flash of light across the dark room...When Geras moves.

Facing her.

(Name) is confused seeing him fully face her, as Kitana disappears, and the camera places him at the center of the screen. He places his hands behind his back "My apologies, Lady (Name), for interrupting your work" He states. (Name)'s jaw drops "How is this..." She muttered unaware of the sand slowly sifting across the floor behind her "We do not have much time. I am sorry for this, My Lady" He said looking ashamed confusing (Name) further "What are you-?!" She is interrupted by the sand behind her whipping around her room like a storm causing her to cross her arms over to cover her eyes as her braids flay erratically around in the storm as does her bag and flannel. The camera moves to her feet as they turn to sand and quickly moves up her body soon covering her. The sand formed a tornado around her before the top of it darted towards the TV pulling her in along with it.

Once the storm subsided all that was left behind was some sand on the ground before the screen faded to black

"Forgive me, My Lady...But this universe needs you now more than ever"

The scene changes to the sun that had yet to come up over the horizon, giving the landscape an eerie and missed hue. The sky was still painted various shades of navy blue and silver, fading out into the darkness of night underneath the stars. The air was still and silent as the village of Fengjian lay – untouched by any sound – just the idyllic meadows, the few tall trees, and the distant rolling hills.

(Name) was lying unconscious on the ground, on her back, with her bag around her. She stirred awake as the sunlight hit her closed eyes, making them flutter open. She briefly opens them before squeezing them shut and slowly sitting up holding her head with one hand while using the other to prop herself up groaning in pain "Ooooh...my head..." She said trying to open her eyes. Once she does she quickly takes notice of where she is. She looks around the vast land where she sees nearly nothing but rolling hills and flat fields for farming. She sees buildings in the distance and notices some of them look familiar "...no..." She mutters as she staggers to her feet and stumbles forward a bit recognising the biggest building.

The Fengjian teahouse.

Her eyes go from shocked to angry in a matter of seconds, her teeth gritted "You've got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME!" She yelled in anger. She couldn't believe that she was back in the same universe that had caused her so much pain. The tears started to flow, and she felt her chest constrict with emotion. She had been through this universe before, and the memories of the pain it had caused her came flooding back in a wave of agony. She felt so powerless, so helpless, and her anger grew with each passing second.

She couldn't believe she had been brought back here. It was like a cruel joke, a punishment for something she hadn't even done. She wanted to lash out, to fight back, to do something to make it all go away, but there was nothing she could do. She slowly started to calm down and wipe her tears.

"My goodness. Why are you crying, Young lady?"

(Name) turned her head to face who spoke to her. There stood an old woman wearing a slightly dulled pink and purple long-sleeved qipao dress, with embroidered sleeves, a purple sash around her waist, brown pants underneath, white sneakers, and a cigarette packet sticking up out of the sash a bit. her face showed many wrinkles indicating her age was somewhere in the 70s or even 80s, her hair grey pulled back into a neat and flower-like bun held together with a blue flower hairpin and a kind smile.

Understanding that the woman who stood beside her was the character Madam Bo was a shock and it truly showed "Well?" Madam Bo asked "I...I um...I'm sorry..."(Name) said looking down ashamed "I'm just lost, ma'am, I've-" "I can see that. Not many people walk around dressed like that unless they're from out of the country" Madam Bo interrupted gesturing to (Name)'s clothes and making her look down with a frown "You new or something?" (Name) looked at Madam Bo "Something like that" She replied bending down and picking up her bag to sling it across her body. She dug through it and checked her phone to see if it was working still, thankfully it still worked causing a sigh of relief to escape her. She turned to Madam Bo "Thank you for checking on me but I better get going...I need to find a way to..." (Name) trailed off shaking her head before beginning to walk away.

"I would expect nothing less from you, Viper"

(Name) stopped in her tracks before slowly looking back at, the now smirking, Madam Bo ".....How do you know that name?" She whispered. Madam Bo simply chuckled and walked past her smiling after walking a few feet ahead she turned back to (Name) "Well? follow and find out" She said and continued walking having (Name) quickly stumble to catch up to her.

The scene changes to Madam Bo and (Name) sitting at a table in the teahouse with two cups of hot tea and a large book on the table while her bag hangs on the back of the chair. The Tea House is Fengjian's heart and soul. Villagers gather here to relax, gossip, and enjoy Madam Bo's homestyle cookery. Whether you're starting your day, or winding down at night, the Tea House has a special blend made just for you. (Name) takes the cup of tea thanking Madam Bo "You called me Viper. How exactly do you know that name? Or how you know that name belonged to me?" She asked. Madam Bo smiled "Looks like you don't even know who YOU are, my dear" She replied as she opened the large book to a marked page before sliding across the table to (Name).  The old thick book was a large, rectangular object, bound in brown leather. Its pages were yellowed with age, and some were starting to come loose. The edges of the pages were worn from the thousands of times they had been read and consulted. Its spine was creased, as if its old, leather cover had been opened and closed countless times. Splashed across its exterior was a maroon pattern, which only added to its aged look. If one were to look closely, one would notice small imperfections, like dented corners, which further attested to its years of use. She looked down at the book in confusion then shock.

The book depicted her as some kind of legend. It described her to be a fierce warrior of truth and justice who would use her flames to snuff out those who would harm others for their selfish gain but would shelter those who were in need. The legend for her was that she disappeared one day never to be seen again. On the left side of the book were two paintings of her. In one of them, her hair was pulled back into a braid with a gold ribbon running through it, an orange-colored tunic underneath a gold breast/torso plate, gold wrist guards, burgundy long pants, brown boots with gold thigh guards, one-hand raised holding a ball of fire, looking at it with anger, while the other leaning on a large sword. The other one right was of her wearing an off-shoulder orange crop bra with a gold band under the bust holding an amber gem in its center, her long skirt ombres from orange to cream with deep orange clothes wrapped around her hips similar to ancient Egyptians, gold armlets and wrist guards with a silk cream colored material on both arms connected, a gold intricate collar and a light orange lily tucked behind her ear. Her long (hair colour) hair is loose and reaching the floor as she holds a ball of embers in one raised hand smiling softly at it.

(Name) was in shock and confusion at the picture and looks back at Madam Bo, who gives her a knowing smile, confused even more "I...I don't understand...how am I a part of this..." She held her tongue from saying timeline making Madem Bo believe she was at a loss for words causing her to chuckle "Your legacy has been around since before the time of the great Kung Lao, my dear, crafted into the very walls of shaolin minds and history. The name everyone hears when they see this image? Viper" She says lighting a cigarette "This doesn't make sense though. I'm not Viper...not anymore" (Name) says sadly looking away. Madam Bo looked at her for a few moments and inhaled her cigarette before exhaling "Well then...If you're not Viper anymore what do I call you?" She asked "(Name)...just (Name)" (Name) replied looking back up at her "Alright (Name). I am Madam Bo" "It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Bo...you said the shaolin know about me?"

Madame Bo nods "Indeed as do a few other cultures. Not sure how many exactly but a few at least. Each one depicts you differently but always with the same face" "Wow" Madam Bo smirks "We have a lot to talk about, My dear"

The scene changes to the morning light streaming into an old dusty room and the dust particles glowed in the air like fireflies. It was the bedroom of an old teahouse, and the furniture was a testament to the rural Chinese designs of the past.

In the corner of the room, there was a wooden bed that was almost a century old. It was made with a dark lacquered finish. The headboard of the bed was a simple design with little child drawings carved into it. On the bed was a quilt made of cotton, and it was the color of sand.

On the opposite wall of the bed was a wooden armoire. The armoire was painted in a bright red color, and its doors were adorned with intricate designs of cranes and bamboo. Inside the armoire were several shelves and drawers, filled with clothing and other items.

In the center of the room was a black lacquered table. The table was of a unique design, its legs were curved elegantly, and its surface was painted with a pattern of white and gold. On the table was a vase filled with fresh flowers, and several teacups filled with tea.

On the wall opposite the table was a large mirror. The frame of the mirror was made of dark lacquered wood, and it was intricately carved with scenes of nature. There were several shelves beneath the mirror, and on them were several items of clothing and other decorations.

On the wall next to the armoire was a painting of a rural Chinese landscape. The painting was done in a traditional style, and it depicted a tranquil scene. The colors were vibrant, and the detail was exquisite.

The room was filled with many other items, all of which were made in the old rural Chinese style. There were several lamps, which were made of brass and glass, and they cast a soft glow throughout the room. There were also several wooden chairs, and they were covered in embroidered cushions.

The walls of the bedroom were adorned with many paintings and tapestries. The paintings depicted scenes of rural Chinese life, and the tapestries were of the same style. The colors were bright and vivid, and they were a reminder of the old days.

The room was filled with a sense of nostalgia, and it was easy to imagine the people who used to occupy this room. The furniture was worn, but still beautiful, and it was a testament to the skill of the people who crafted it. The room was a reminder of the beauty of rural China, and it was a place of peace and tranquility. Madam Bo and (Name) stepped into the room "This is where you will be staying, my dear, it's been many years since someone has occupied this room" She said as she began to walk out "Thank you, Madam Bo" (Name) said smiling softly and placing her bag on the dusty bed.

(Name) is left with her thoughts as she sits on the bed. She looks down at her hands going through her memories as to how this had happened "Geras....why did you bring me into this?" She whispered to herself.

The scene changes to what seems to be a few days later (Name) isn't one to talk to anyone. where she had once been someone happy to talk to anyone now she preferred the solitude and quiet of her loneliness. It wasn't that she couldn't talk to anyone it was that she didn't want to get attached to anyone only to lose them. No smile was ever present on her face and if there was one it was out of politeness. Never out of joy. 

As she strolled through the teahouse, the smell of nutmeg, pepper, and cinnamon aromas filled the air. (Name)'s ears perked up as she heard the faint sound of a raised voice - it was coming from the kitchen. She stopped and listened more closely, attempting to understand just what was driving the commotion.

(Name) ducked her head around the corner and spotted two flustered cooks, one of them with their hair all askew and their faces flush. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening. The stove, close to the center of the kitchen, had gone kaput and wouldn't light up.

The first of the two cooks was a slim man with jet-black hair that hung over his forehead. He had sharp, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with a spark of creativity, and a slightly crooked nose that hinted at an interesting backstory. He was dressed in a crisp, spotless white chef’s coat with black buttons, dark trousers, and spotless safety shoes. To complete the ensemble, he had a white cook’s apron around his waist.

The second cook was a bigger man, but he was also tall and muscularly built. He had a rounder face, and his head was shaved close. He wore an identical chef’s coat to the first cook, but his trousers had thick white stripes down the sides. To finish his uniform, he wore a pair of heavy-looking black boots. 

The large stove, in question, looks aged and impressive, standing at about the same height as a person and spanning six square feet in width and length. Its upper surface is covered in ornate blue embossed tile framed in black metal which gives it a unique appearance. Its sides are decorated with intricate designs, from swirling dragons to blooming lotus flowers, all highlighted with small bits of colorful ceramic.

The stove has two large central openings accessible from both sides and two smaller ones at the back. They are each covered by elaborately designed metal covers. The edges of the stove are made of sturdy iron and each one is detailed with beautiful etchings along each side. There are two large trays located at the front and back of the stove and within each tray are individual removable metal bowls which are used to cook a variety of dishes.

The stove is powered by a large wood or charcoal-filled fire bowl housed underneath. The fire is controlled by two large handles located on either side of the stove. Also underneath, two metal racks act as shelves, helping to contain the heat during cooking.

(Name) stepped closer but hesitated questioning herself if was she overstepping her boundaries or being too intrusive. But she quickly squashed these thoughts, opting to help instead. She cleared her throat and made her presence known "Hey...Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked a bit nervous.

The two cooks broke off from their quarrel and looked at (Name) with surprise. They were hesitant until one of them sighed "How much do you know about old stoves?" He asked "A bit not much but it can't hurt to look," she said as she removed her flannel and knelt by the stove, taking a moment to survey the problem before opening it up. She saw immediately the issue "Well there's your problem! When was the last time you guys cleaned this thing?" She asked, her voice reverberating in the stove "There's a build-up of thick soot within the innards I'm pretty sure that's what's preventing the flint from sparking up" 

For what felt like an eternity, (Name) sank her hands deeply into the stove, searching blindly for the hard-to-find components. She was passed a variety of tools by the cooks, their faces increasingly worried as the minutes trundled by. (Name) worked diligently, her arms aching from digging deep within the machines' innards, her fingertips sore from her search.

Finally, after pushing herself to the brink, (Name) pulled her hand from the stove with a satisfaction- she had done it. Using the tools provided, she had successfully cleaned out the soot and ash build-up and, as if by magic, the flint sparked to life, returning the stove to its full glory. The kitchen staff erupted into cheers, high-fiving her in congratulations. (Name) watched as they celebrated, feeling her heart swell with pride.

The scene changed to the back of the teahouse a month later. There lay a small garden that was a sight to behold. , a collection of lush green vegetation could be found, surrounded by a simple wooden fence. Sitting at the back of the teahouse, the garden was only just in the process of becoming something more than an outlet for (Name).

(Name) had become responsible for the garden's well-being since some of the servers told her about the abandonment it received. Though reserved and unsociable due to her wishes not to get close to anyone, (Name)'s passion for the garden was evident in her approach, and her gentle demeanor often allowed her to be just the right amount of charming with a subtle hint of authority if needed.

(Name) would start her work late in the morning when the sun rose high into the sky, welcoming the day's mild heat. She could be spotted in the garden, trowel in hand, planting various fruits, berries, vegetables, herbs, and spices into the soft dirt. The summer breeze carried the hint of lavender and basil past her nose, making it difficult to retain focus. With the air full of the aroma of soil, (Name)'s dedication to the task at hand was unwavering.

The garden was a place of respite for her from the crowds and gave her the ability to avoid anyone who was involved directly with the Mortal Kombat events yet to come. With the garden rows neatly arranged from one end to the other, it was a sight to take in. The fruit bushes were lined up at the northern corner of the garden and stretched up to the edges side by side, branded with the same rust-colored wooden stakes that marked the entirety of the garden. The vegetables, such as pumpkins, beans, and squash, were placed together along the western side, each one accompanied by its sturdy trellis crafted from wood and metallic wire. The southern section bowed out inwards as the herbs and spices were planted in several mounds along the ground, creating an inviting pathway for anyone ready to explore the area.

The amount of money she spent on buying the already sprouted plants that would grow into fruits and vegetables to speed up the process of gaining fresh produce had left her in debt with Madam Bo even more due to the fact that she hadn't had any money when she arrived. She felt guilty borrowing the money from her but swore she'd pay everything back to her.

Though it didn't look like much, the garden was a beloved part of her life in the village. (Name) enjoyed no words of praise nor monetary reward, but the small glimmer in her eyes when she gave anything produced to Madam Bo to use was all that was needed to be told how fulfilled she felt when she grew her produce.

Tucked away at the back of the teahouse, the small garden was the perfect place to while away the afternoon on a sunny day. The warmth of the sun shining high above was inviting and refreshing. Surrounded by a fence of simple timber, this little sanctuary remained hidden from prying eyes. Here, (Name)'s passion for her work was showcased and appreciated, and it was here that the plants of this proud oasis were brought to life.

The scene changes to the outside of the teahouse at the back away from the garden. grunting is heard from around the corner where (Name) is striking a thick wooden post sticking out of the ground with her fists, which are wrapped up in bandages, and her feet. Her flannel is hung over a fence nearby as she hits the post over and over and over again. Her focus is solely on the post as she hits it ignoring any soreness or sting in her hands. Despite not being able to train for years she never forgot how to fight. Not after her training with the SF, not after her training with Mileena nor after her training with the Shirai ryu. Those memories she could look back on with fondness.

It had been nearly a month since she arrived back in this universe, where she trained in secret where the training post was, it wasn’t until now, as she stood at the back of the teahouse and unleashed her ferocious strikes and kicks against a thick wooden post, that she truly felt alive and in control. Her feet twisted and spun as she moved around the post, her arms jabbing and blocking as she switched between techniques. The air seemed to crackle with electricity as she attacked the post over and over again, a fierceness in her movements that belied her age.

It was different from her training from years ago for sure. In the months she's been here she hadn't been able to conjure a single flame not even a spark. Her fire abilities seem to have disappeared. Once again she had lost another part of herself that she had hoped to find returning to this world as a small consolation. As disappointing as it was to lose them maybe it was for the best. She felt a little less troubled by the fact that maybe she could hide away from whatever Mortal Kombat tournament would take place and maybe then avoid whatever Geras brought her here for.

For minutes that seemed like hours, (Name) repeated her strikes and kicks until her body ached and her breathing became labored. But she pushed on, leaning into each strike and kick, her mind repeating her movements as if she were in a trance. The post creaked and groaned as it withstood her assault, but still, it did not give way. Memories flooded her mind with every strike.

Her first encounter with Raiden and Liu Kang Strike Meeting Scorpion Strike Fighting Shang Tsung Strike Meeting Mileena Strike Her first kiss with Tomas strike Falling for Mileena Strike Losing her Strike Finding Calithea Strike Losing Hanzo Strike LoSiNg CaLiThEa! STRIKE

Suddenly, a force much greater than anything she had previously exerted seemed to pass through her body. She stepped back and released a loud cry, her spinning heel kick connecting squarely with the post. The wood split in half, both pieces tumbling to the ground.

(Name) stood back, panting for breath, yet feeling strangely triumphant. She took a few paces back, her eyes fixed on the broken post then she looked down at her hands, her knuckles red, bleeding a bit, and bruised up, with a nod as she clenched them "Still got it" She said before wiping the sweat off her brow then walking to the fence to grab her flannel.

Unknown to her that watching from the top balcony of the teahouse was Madam Bo. She was smiling with a knowing glimmer in her eyes "And she says she's not Viper anymore" She said laughing to herself before walking back into the teahouse to write a letter to a certain god that there was another candidate for him.

The scene changes to the balcony of the teahouse where (Name) sits alone on the railing and looks up at the moon. She thought of all the promises she made to herself that she never kept. Tears began filling her eyes as the realization that she still hadn't gotten over what Liu Kang did to her nor was she over the fact that no one would know her as she was instead they would see a legendary hero...not the friend who stood by their side.

(Name) raised her spirited drink to her lips and took a sip. The warmth of the liquid felt comforting and she found comfort in the taste. She closed her eyes and let the wind dance around her flushed face. She had been drinking for an hour by now and borderline was drunk at this point but still maintained her balance on the railing.

"Geras...Why did you have to bring me back?"

She opened her eyes slowly staring up at the moon, her eyes melancholic and dulled, as she let the alcohol in her system cloud her mind and speak without a filter.

"You couldn't have let me be, huh? Y-you-you-you think that what? Just because I came to the last two times to help that I'm some kind of go-too for fixing his problems? News flash, Geras, I'm not!" Tears began streaming down her flushed cheeks, in frustration, as her eyes reddened and anger shone through "I'm not some toy you get to pick up and play with and then discard when you're bored! I'm alive, I think, I feel, I have a heart that beats and eyes that can see this world for what it is! A joke and an absolute joke! The story will end exactly the same as it did with the other ones! so why take me away? Why bring me back into this shit when everything stays the way it was written! Everyone got a happy ending except for me! What the fuck is that about!?"

She drops her head low for a few moments before looking back up in pain and sorrow with the look of defeat in her eyes "I've already lost...so much, Geras,...the woman I loved, The man I loved...for fuck sake my own daughter...Haven't I given enough? Haven't I suffered enough by now for you to just leave me alone?" The moon gives no reply as (Name) openly sobs into her hands, her body shaking with each sob. She allows her drunken grief to consume her as she cries unaware of the eyes watching her, from beyond the stars, with regret and remorse dancing in them. The screen fades to black with (Name)'s sobbing slowly fading.

"I am sorry, My Lady, but this is needed for this world...and for you"

The scene opens to 2 months afterward with the sun shining down on (Name) and Madam Bo as they stand out the front of the teahouse. (Name)'s clothes have changed to a white peasant blouse with sleeves to the elbows, a long ankle-length green skirt, brown flats with crossover straps, her hobo crossbody bag with her clothes, and a white wide-brim sunhat with a black ribbon around it. Her hair was in braids again but longer above her mid-thigh. The travel cart was making the last calls for departure.

"You sure you can't stay a little longer, Dear?" Madam Bo asked with a sad frown on her face as she straightened up (Name)'s shirt "Ma, I'm fine really. I promise I'll write to you every week to let you know how I'm doing" (Name) said trying to assure Madam Bo. She had started Calling Madam Bo 'Ma' around a month ago and it just stuck. Madam Bo sighed as she let her hands drop to her side and looked (Name) in the eye "You'd better. I can't have you disappearing on me" "I'll be ok, Ma, I'll come back in 3 months I swear. I just want to travel for a bit and make something of myself I don't want the name 'Viper' being the only thing that defines me" (Name) replied "I know. It was nice having you here but even I know I can't keep you here forever" Madam Bo said before hugging (Name) "Make sure you come back in 3 months on the dot" (Name) nodded "I promise, Ma, I promise!"

"Last call for departure!" The cart driver called out causing Madam Bo to let go and (Name) to quickly dash off to the cart. after a few steps, she bumped into someone causing the hat to fly off and onto the ground"Oh! I'm so sorry! Here let me get...that" The person said gently picking up the hat "No it's my fault really" (Name) said taking the hat from the man. His brown eyes meet hers as he looks at her from underneath his Chinese coolie hat not used to seeing a new face in Fengjian. (Name) quickly turns to the cart and hops onto it "BYE MA!" She called out as it drove off down the road leaving the man to watch her as she fades off into the distance while Madam Bo waves goodbye to her 'daughter' "You're here early today. Aren't you, Raiden?" Madam Bo asked not taking her eyes off the cart "I wanted to come here for once without having to foot the bill for Kung Lao," He said laughing.

The scene changes to a village bathed in moonlight. (Name) had been wandering for what felt like an eternity, even though it had only been a few days. She had turned off the main road in favor of taking the scenic route, winding her way through the villages and hamlets that dotted the countryside. This late in-the-evening air was cool and still, with nothing but the faint buzz of cicadas and distant birdsong to break the silence.

(Name) slowly made her way through the village, the full moon lighting her path as she walked. She saw as the buildings of the village shimmered in the light, their sloped roofs reaching up into the night sky. The dirt road streets were so quiet with only the occasional villager out and about. She could see people walking back to their homes, while some were huddled near the local taverns sipping from their drinks and chatting.

As (Name) walked further into the village she noticed how dark it was, shadowed alleys in the darkness, mysterious buildings lit up by the dimly lit lanterns that lined the roads. The windows of the buildings glowed yellow in the moonlight, settlers were asleep inside their homes. Along the way, she saw Chinese symbols and intricate carvings encapsulated in the walls of the village buildings, which shined in the lantern light as she passed them.

As (Name) walked further, she sensed something was off. She could feel a tingling along the edges of her skin, a warning sign that something was amiss. She kept walking, her pace becoming more vigilant and alert to her surroundings.

Just then, she heard a commotion ahead of her. It sounded like shouting and cursing coming from a nearby alley. (Name) quietly picked up her pace, curiosity getting the better of her.

As she rounded the corner, she was horrified to find a group of roughly seven men standing with pipes and clubs, surrounding a little girl, with black hair and fair skin, who was huddled against her unconscious mother’s body. The girl was sobbing and shaking her mother, desperately trying to wake her.

The little girl looked too much like Calithea.

(Name) felt a wave of pure rage surge through her; these men were preying on this defenseless woman and her child. There was no way (Name) could let this stand. She rushed forward, determined to protect them.

As she barged her way through the crowd, the men stopped in surprise. (Name) felt something stir deep within her, something she had long suppressed but which now seemed to be reaching out in a desperate attempt to protect the two civilians, and before she knew what was happening, she felt the heat beginning to build in her palms and arms. Tendrils of flames started to erupt, curling and folding around each other, growing ever larger and brighter. As she raised her arms, they began to spread outwards around her body.

The men seemed surprised by the sudden display of power in front of them and took a couple of steps back. (Name)'s flames continued to build, her anger and outrage at the injustice of this unfairness morphing and twisting the fire into shapes and colors that she had never seen before.

The flames reached out further, encircling (Name) in a protective flame that extended outwards in all directions, blocking the brutes from getting close enough to do any additional harm.

(Name) stood there, her heart racing and her emotions in a knot, feeling her power but also feeling utterly drained and exhausted. She sent a wave of fire and energy around her, pushing the men away and ushering in a sense of safety and protection for the woman and her daughter.

The men exchanged terrified looks and turned to flee before the furious inferno that had appeared before them. (Name) scoffed at the retreating forms, her hands extinguished and her fury abating.

She then looked down at her hands in confusion. She hadn't used her fire abilities in years thinking they had disappeared, and yet here they were, responding to her anger as if they had always been a part of her. She shook her head, her recent revelations pushed to the back of her mind.

She turned to find the little girl still sitting beside her unconscious mother, eyes wide with shock. (Name) knelt before her and gently asked, “Are you alright?”

The girl nodded looking up at her with big green eyes, Kaitlyns heart sank slightly as that was the only one of the few differences between her and Calithea, "Thank you, Miss" She sniffled. (Name) waved her thanks away "No problem but we need to get you're mum to a doctor. Don't worry, doll, I got her" (Name) said picking up the mother and carrying her on her back.

(Name) quickly found the local doctor’s office after walking with the little girl for a few minutes, thankfully they were still open but the looks on their faces when they saw (Name) carrying the mother and the daughter standing next to her with scratches was a sight. After some medical attention and a few hours of rest, the woman was thankfully alright. (Name) was exhausted by the evening’s events and knew she needed rest. She continued on her journey and soon found the local inn where she was able to get a much-needed night’s sleep.

The following morning, (Name) awoke to a knock at the door. She opened it to find the same little girl from the night before, with her mother behind her, standing before her, tears in her eyes and a silver necklace in her hands "Thank you for protecting my mommy and me!" she once again thanked her for her help, before slipping the necklace into (Name)’s hand and running away with her mother following after her. (Name) looked after her, moved by the girl’s appreciation. She opened her hand to find the necklace with a simple circle pendant. Her heart swelled with the girls' kindness as she slipped the necklace on yet she still didn't smile but there was a slight twinkle in her eyes.

2 months later reads across the screen changing the scene to the village where the sound of a monkey wrench being used can be heard coming from an open shed. (Name) sat in her open shed, her motorcycle in pieces in front of her. The sun was high, beating down on her and the few buildings that populated the area. (Name) had been in this village for exactly two months now, and in that time it had become her home. In the short time she had been there, those in the small town had come to rely on her for fixing their various things.

She nods to herself as she surveyed her work. From where she was sitting, the motorcycle was made up of titanium, steel, and tungsten parts - all put together by her.

(Name) had on long jeans, her white singlet, and her brown boots. Her (hair colour) hair was tied up in a high bun, ensuring it stayed out of the way as she worked on her motorcycle's engine. Not that it mattered, as she already had smudges of oil on her otherwise fair skin. luckily she hung up her flannel on the hook behind her.

Glancing around the village, (Name) thought to herself that it was hot. She thought of the heat that must have been radiating from her shed, and of how she had been there all day with no break - not even for lunch. (Name) knelt in front of her bike and inspected the engine, her brow furrowed in contemplation "Son of a bitch" She grumbled as she worked on putting the engine together. She had to obtain the specific metals so that she could have her bike run on two different fuel sources. Petrol of course to avoid any unwanted attention not like the other option.

Her fire.

She had planned this for the past month and a half. Getting the materials was easy it was forging the parts that were hard for her. Tungsten and titanium don't melt easily. Tungesten melts at 5600* while titanium melts at 3000* She had to figure out how to meld them together with steel so that she could build the bike up from scratch. using the two specific metals made her bike damn near fireproof meaning she couldn't melt it as long as she didn't use her fire at half-strength which was easy enough.

She had been training with her abilities in the fields on some nights away from any civilian life to prevent any injuries to others. They hadn't changed all that much, maybe her anger fueled it a bit too much at times, yes but there wasn't all that much different from what she used to do.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, and (Name) knew it was about time to end her day's work. As she collected her tools and carefully put the pieces of her bike back in place.

The cruiser motorcycle was a sight to behold, sleek and powerful, yet elegant and compact. It was a perfect combination of classic looks and heavy-duty performance. Its frame was constructed from a combination of titanium, tungsten, and steel, all of which lent the bike its incredible fire and heat resistance, able to withstand temperatures of up to 5000 degrees Celsius. The black leather seating was comfortable yet beautiful, the handlebars soft and easy to hold onto, and the strong headlight shone brightly during the night.

To complete the look were two side saddle bags, affixed to each side of the bike for storage. These bags were made of tough leather, able to resist wear and tear, as well as provide plenty of space for items.

Yet, the most impressive feature of this cruiser motorcycle was its ability to run on her firepower. In the event of a fuel shortage, the bike would still be able to function from the energy generated by the fire she supplied. This allowed it to be used in areas where fuel was not easily available, making it an even more reliable and attractive vehicle.

The bike was energized by the roar of its engine, capable of moving forward at an impressive speed. By its looks, it was clear that it was designed to be a reliable and steady machine, one that its rider could count on.

This cruiser motorcycle was a sight to behold, a brilliant combination of beauty and performance that was sure to make any rider proud. It was robust and dependable, able to withstand intense heat and fire, and yet still retain its style and charm. Its strong headlight and side saddle bags provided extra functionality, and its ability to run on firepower made it an invaluable tool for remote studies. This hefty, classic-looking bike was a true powerhouse that any rider could count on.

She loved how beautifully put together her bike was as she began closing up the shed with a nod of approval and locked it up. She turned around with her toolbox in one hand and her hoodie in the other as she made her way back to her little house ready for what was to come.

Later that night they came back.

The six bandits were a motley crew, all of them draped in tattered cloaks and cloaked in hoods that hid their true identities. The leader of the pack had a jagged scar running down his left cheek, and the others - six men and three women - were equally as rough in appearance.

They burst through the village in the dead of night, their cackles ringing out loud across the sleeping streets. The bandits wasted no time messing with the villagers' stalls, standing firm with their arms crossed even in the face of the enraged complaints of the angry vendors. They plundered and tore through the booths, grasping merchandise in their hands and stuffing their bags with all they could find. The leader of the bandits went around brandishing a hefty stick, lashing out at anyone who looked twice at them.

The villagers, rightfully scared of the bandits' violent behavior, stayed indoors as the bandits pillaged the stalls to their heart's content. The frightened market-goers looked out from their windows at the chaotic scene developing before their eyes, familiar faces that had been shopping there for years now dreading the thought of the bandits returning. The villagers acted like rats in a maze, waiting for the bandits to eventually release them from their fear.

The six bandits were loud and oppressive, their bulky frames intimidating and their unkempt hair billowing in the night breeze. They were clad in leather and carried daggers and swords in makeshift scabbards. Their boots stomped on the cobblestones as they began to make off with their plunder. The villagers, scared and trembling, waited hunkered in their homes waiting until the bandits had moved on.

But the bandits were unaware of the return of a legend.

"I don't think those belong to you"

The bandits look around trying to find who dared to speak out against them "Up here" They all look up to the building where the moon hangs over.

There on the roof stood a silhouetted figure loomed over them. Her mid-thigh length hair floated slightly in the wind gently, her nose and mouth covered by a black bandana, a black sleeveless shirt, black fingerless gloves, black leggings, black ankle boots with silver rivets on the sides, chains wrapped around both of her forearms, a long black pole strapped to her back and her piercing (eye colour) eyes trained on them in a glare as she stood there in a crouched position with her forearms laying on her thighs.

"What the-" "Drop the valuables they're not yours. If you do that you can walk away without any harm done. You DON'T drop them you won't be walking away from this" (Name) said in a calm and ice-cold tone of voice that sent shivers of fear down some of their spines. One of the women stepped up. "Like we'll listen to you! Fucking coward standing above us up there!" She yelled up making some of her friends laugh. (Name) remains silent for a few moments before she straightens herself up "I gave you a chance. Now suffer the consequences" she says as she walks to the side of the roof and drops into the dark alley disappearing into its inky blackness. It's silent for a few moments and the bandits begin to believe that she is all bark and no bite laughing and mocking her.

until there was a little light in the alley.

In the darkness, (Name) raised her arms and suddenly the alleyway transformed. Fire engulfed the walls and the ground beneath them seemed to ripple as flames lapped up against the stone. She had a scythe in one hand--its silver blade reflecting the orange light as its tip cut through the air. In the other was a chain of metal, glinting in the fire. While the chains were simple silver the Scythe was another story. 

The long scythe was awe-inspiring and had a dangerous air about it. It was a thing of beauty; not that of the clean and inoffensive kind, but rather, of a wild, feral beauty.

The scythe had two distinct colors, complimentary and in perfect harmony: silver and black. The pole was a black design with slim lines through it like cracks in the ground which seemed to show the inside of the scythe, slim and strong. The silver blade was set on a short yet powerful black iron arm, where the design on the handle stood out exquisitely despite its darkness. The blade itself was in the shape of a large fang but still looked very similar to that of a grim reaper's scythe. the design on it was simple for the most part, with no special designs, and no patterns but the edge of the blade was more defined as a lighter silver.

The bandits stood in shock. The female vigilante had come for them and she wasn't here to give them another chance.

She strode towards them, her movements fluid and graceful as the flames danced around her. With one swift movement, she swung her scythe, and as the lines on either side of the pole lit up with her fire, the edge of the blade glowed bright and sent the flames soaring outwards, scorching the faces of the bandits and immolating the stone. The bandits yelled and scrambled, trying to outrun the fire, but the woman was relentless. She swung her scythe at the first bandit severing his arm from above the elbow. He screams in pain but is quickly silenced by her decapitating him. Another bandit tried to charge at her but didn't get even close as she swung her scythe again upwards slicing her left leg off and making her scream and howl in pain. The man and the other two women tried to run from her. A chain flew out from the alley and wrapped around one of the women's throats choking her. (Name) heated the metal causing the chain around her forearm and hand to glow bright with the conducted heat. The glow traveled up the chain to around the woman's neck. She tried to scream but the glowling hot chain was pulled back severing her head and letting it roll on the ground.

(Name) twirled her scythe and sent out a shockwave of flame that engulfed them, burning them to ashes in a matter of seconds leaving two of the bandits alive and on their asses.

The two bandits looked at each other in horror then at (Name) as she loomed over them like a specter of hell the moon shadowing her features except for her glowling eyes that held no remorse. Just a cold dead stare "P-Please! w-w-we're sorry! we'll give everything back! we swear!" The female bandit from earlier stammered as her leader trembled in fear with sweat beading from his head. (Name) tilted her head and narrowed her eyes "....You are to leave everything you have taken from these people...then you will spread a message for me to every single one of your friends and anyone else who wants to prey on the innocent again" (Name) said calmly with venom dripping from her voice as she leaned in closer causing the pair to shake with fear seeing her grip tighten on her scythe still glowing with fire. The wind carried a chill throughout the village, the fire behind her causing her eyes to look like a predator about to pounce on their prey, her hair being highlighted by its light.

"Viper has returned. She is here to bring swift justice to the degenerates of this world, and none shall be spared her wrath"

The two bandits nod shaking and running off with nothing but the clothes on their backs into the night. (Name) stood in the center, surveying the carnage, her hair billowing in the wind. Satisfied that justice had been served, she extinguished the last traces of flame stepped away from the alleyway entrance, and walked down the street retracting her chains back to her forearms.

This was the monster she had hidden. The monster who fed on her anger, her rage, her heartbreak, and her sorrow. She may be a legend in the books but she took her anger out on those who thought they were above consequence.

Gone was the naive 18-year-old girl who looked at this world with wide eyes and a bright smile, gone was the 22-year-old who was in love and hoped for a future where she could have peace, and gone was the 28-year-old who was a mother in bliss ready to be with the man she loved. Now all that remains is the 24-year-old woman who simply existed and never asked for more.

Kindness, for her, was something she would always have but she swore to keep others at arm's length. (Name) sighs pulling down her mouth mask before returning to her small house to clean off her scythe.

As the fires had begun to die out the darkness of the night swallowed her up, leaving nothing but silence in her wake. Justice had been served, and the town was now safe. The screen fades to black.

Grunting can be heard in the darkness along with air wooshes before the screen brightens to an open field.

(Name) stood in the middle of the training grounds, her long scythe in hand. She had been practicing for hours, and her arms and hands were covered in cuts, a testament to her dedication to her craft. Holding the long scythe tightly, (Name) swung it around her like an extension of her arm. She trained for hours every day in the large field, with wooden poles that she had set up in a makeshift training area. The helix pattern of curved metal that took up more than 1/3 of the scythe's length glinted dangerously in the setting sun's light.

Her breathing was even, her stance sturdy as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes, a comforting brown, were focused and intense, her gaze fixed on an imaginary opponent. She didn't train just for the vigilante shtick she did it to release any extra energy she built up otherwise she'd end up being anxious and get frustrated. (Name) raised the scythe and began to move. She twirled it in her hands, spinning it around her body with an almost graceful ease. It seemed like second nature to her, as if she'd been born to wield such a weapon.

One foot moved forward and the other moved back as she shifted her weight again, her eyes never leaving her imaginary target. The scythe flew in circles around her, its sharp blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.

(Name) had been training with her scythe for months now, and it was starting to become second nature to her. She could feel the weight of it in her hands, and the balance of it in her body. She could anticipate her opponent's moves before they even made them, and she was ready to strike at any moment.

She moved forward, her scythe slicing through the air with a deadly accuracy. (Name) was a master of her craft and determined to prove it. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the makeshift training grounds. (Name)'s cuts glistened in the fading light of day, and her breathing was still even and steady as she moved with her weapon.

(Name) had been so deeply engrossed in her training that she hadn't noticed the sun sink low on the horizon. Her arms and shoulders ached from the effort, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She didn't bother keeping track of time while she trained instead she used her determination and anger toward this world's so-called protector to push her forward. She recalls how she had made her scythe with the intention to instill fear in her opponents or any poor unfortunate soul unlucky enough to cross her in any way. She wanted it to be strong enough to withstand her fire much like her bike. Gathering the materials was much easier than designing the weapon.

Since then, she had been training hard, learning to work with any restricting movements with bandages on the skin of her arm, what with all the cuts and scrapes she had amassed due to her intense training with the weapon. Her palms were the worst, the skin on them sore and raw. She brushed a lock of her (hair colour) hair out of her eyes and flexed her fingers.

She was clumsy at first with it in the beginning, getting cut up multiple times, dropping it many times, and missing over and over again but after a few weeks, she was a natural with the scythe. It moved through her hands like an extension of her body, guided by some of her training. She could feel it, a power like no other that thrummed through her, as she continued her training. Her determination, impressive as it was, was beginning to pay off.

(Name) left the makeshift training area and began her way back home. Her feet moved lightly across the ground as she crossed the field, she felt the cold breeze licking at her skin like a gentle caress. She breathed in the fresh, night air. Soon, she was home, her scythe in tow.

At home, (Name) laid her scythe down carefully, its weightless form settling in its place. She rested her head on her pillow and allowed her eyes to close, finally surrendering to the exhaustion of her day. All the while, she knew that when her eyes reopened in the morning, it would be time to pick up her beloved scythe once more.

This was her life now, and she was determined to make the most of it. She did not doubt that she was ready for whatever might come her way. The screen fades to black as the candle nearby is blown out.

The screen shows that enough time has passed to the point of a week before (Name) is to go back to Madam Bo's. She's packing things into her motorcycle's saddles as some villagers come to wish her well. As she places her scythe into its collapsable size in one of the saddlebags the camera pans down her clothes. An orange sleeveless zip-up hoodie open to an inch under her underbust, black shorts, black tight-fitted thigh-high boots, a black mouth mask, and yellow round duo-bubble lens goggles on her head.

"That should be everything" She mutters her mouth opened enough to see her small sharp canines as she adjusts her goggles on her eyes before hopping onto her cycle. She nods in approval as she revs up her cycle, kicks the kick-stand up, and pulls up her black mouth mask  "Atta girl" She praises her creation before taking off down the dirt road into the wide open lands.

The camera pans to a side view of (Name) on her motorcycle giving a full view of the landscape behind her. Her expression was unidentifiable due to the mask and the goggles as dust blew behind her. Her mind focused on only getting back to Fengjian and seeing her Ma again. The camera pans around to the back of her and her hood flutters in the wind underneath her fluttering hair.

She rides off down the dirt road where the camera stops then pans upwards to the blinding sun.

(I promised someone on my wattpad account that I'd post the first chapter of this book in the first week of November so here it is. Understand, however, that the rest of the chapters will take a while to get through since, unlike the previous games, I don't have transcripts of the game to go off of and it'll be hard to watch through the cutscenes of the game and type it up at the same time. until then hope you enjoy the first chapter)

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #mileena #reptile mk #mk1 #mortal kombat1 #liu kang #kung lao #kitana #sindel #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk #x reader #raiden #scorpion x reader #scorpion kuai liang #kuai liang #scorpion #sub-zero #bi-han #smoke #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada #sub-zero x reader #bi-han x reader #kuai liang x reader #kung lao x reader #raiden x reader #liu kang x reader #syzoth

[anotheruserwithnoname]

Star Trek SNW finally settles decades-old canon issues (spoiler commentary for S02E03)

(Image credit: Startrek.com)

I say spoiler right in the headline, and I mean it. Read no further if you have yet to see Star Trek: Strange New World’s latest episode, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow. (The image above is a publicity image and is also in the trailer, so it’s not really a spoiler.)

The TL;DR is: one single line of dialogue fixed nearly 30 years of canon issues. I am not exaggerating. More under the break. And this will be a long one:

To “cross the streams” a moment, it is undeniable canon (not shipping wishful thinking) that not only did the Eleventh Doctor in Doctor Who have feelings for Clara Oswald, he even considered her not his companion, but his girlfriend. That was made undeniable canon in a couple lines in “Deep Breath” when the Twelfth Doctor said “Clara, I’m not your boyfriend,” Clara replied, “I never thought you were.” and Twelve said “I never said it was your mistake.” That was in stark fact. One line of canon dialogue confirmed what many speculated and the show hinted at. This is separate from what came after, any retcons later writers did, and all that. 

Well, one line of dialogue from a guest character in last night’s episode of Strange New Worlds put into canon something I and many others have felt not only about SNW, but the current breed of Trek shows and indeed there were signs of this going back to both Star Trek DS9 and Star Trek Voyager in the 1990s.

The Romulan time agent, Sera, played by Adelaide Kane who some may remember from playing Mary Queen of Scots in Reign, states that the Eugenics war involving Khan was supposed to happen in 1992, but was delayed 30 years due to temporal wars and other interference from the future. (To be precise she’s likely referring to Khan’s birth since he was in his 30s or 40s by the 1990s, the time TOS established the Eugenics Wars took place; here he’s a kid - possibly even a Canadian kid!  The war itself is still some years away.)

That explains a lot. Why since DS9 the Eugenics Wars were redated to the mid-21st century. Why SNW’s pilot episode last year confirmed the Eugenics Wars were part of WW3, not a separate conflict.  Why the Voyager episode where they go back to Earth on 1996 featured no mention of the Eugenics Wars. Why Kirk and everyone else already knows the name Noonien-Singh (even if La’an hadn’t introduced herself by name to “Prime” Kirk at the end, he would have seen her testimony about being Khan’s descendant at Una’s trial. There is no way in this timeline that Kirk, Spock or anyone else would not recognize Khan’s name instantly when the events of Space Seed happen. Heck, even the fact the SNW Enterprise doesn’t match up with the 1960s designs that were also featured in TNG, DS9 and Star Trek: Enterprise. Or even stuff like people like Uhura knowing who T’Pring was years before they were supposedly first introduced to her in “Amok Time”. It even gives wiggle room for the fact this time-travel episode actually breaks canon with the time-travel-based episodes of Picard Season 2! (Laris would have known about Sera and stopped her, right? Sean at TrekCulture had a gripe about this in his Youtube review)

Sera basically admitted that because of people farting around with time and the temporal wars (recall that it was strongly implied in Enterprise that the Romulans were involved if not responsible for that) that the timeline has been changed. 

It can’t be denied anymore and it’s such a liberating thing. Now, SNW is free to truly tell reimagined stories (like the retelling of Balance of Terror last season, albeit that was another alternate timeline), to make T’Pring a vital character and build her, to accelerate the Spock-Chapel romance that was only hinted at in TOS. To truly let Paul Wesley develop his own version of Kirk, not to mention Ethan Peck’s Spock and whoever next plays McCoy (you know they will bring him in eventually and if SNW avoids the fate of Prodigy and lasts a few years, they’re going to have to start getting lined up for a new TOS-era series). Hell, the door is now open for Kirk and La’an to establish a “prime-era” romance - imagine a retelling of Space Seed with La’an in the picture (or at least Kirk remembering her).

This will be a hot take for some. But my rebuttal comes from Doctor Who: “Time can be rewritten.” Finally, nearly 30 years after what was thought to be an erroneous dating of the Eugenics Wars in a throwaway line in an episode of DS9 (I believe the producers even said it was a goof back then), and 22 years of people griping about how the prequel series were not lining up with what came before, either esthetically or storyline-wise (Enterprise, Discovery, SNW, and Picard S2 to a degree), we have a firm, canonical explanation. People will still gripe about politics, general quality, casting, whatever, of shows - that’s a separate argument - but at least in terms of canon, this has changed everything. In a good way.

I only wish they hadn’t killed off Sera. I got very strong Sela vibes from her (Sela/Sera? Coincidence?) and I would have liked to see her become a recurring nemesis. Then again, as I just said, time can be rewritten. 

#star trek: strange new worlds #tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow #star trek: strange new worlds spoilers

[witchthewriter]

𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐈𝐀𝐅 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞

From the lovely @agameofclothes. I thought I'd give it a crack - if anyone wants to reblog with their answers or make a separate post is all good! I would love to see your answers!

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦? 

I have no idea, honestly. Probably wouldn't be from one of the big Houses :'). Let's just say that I'm one of the main characters ... so I'd want to be from House Targaryen, a long lost cousin.

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟓 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛, 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐉𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐲, 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬) 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫? 

... None. They're terrible for the role as leader. They're all ... old mean men. Except for Renly and Joffrey. Renly is young and quite hopeful but has no ambition. Joffrey is young and awful.

However, if I were asked who I was loyal to - I would just say whoever, depends on where I am.

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫? 

Cannot and will not choose just one. I love Sansa Stark so much. Her character development is absolutely admirable. From being a close-minded, manipulated young girl, to an adult who knows how the world works. It's amazing.

Dany Targaryen is the main character in both the books and tv series for me. She's the most interesting. From practically being a slave herself, she turned herself into a loved Khaleesi, and worked her way up from there.

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤? 

A Dance with Dragons. Characters have already been fleshed out, and now it's very plot driven.

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬? 

Okay so I found this here. Looking it up, somewhere it says it's semi-canon. But I believe it's real and I fcken love it.

House Plumm - Come Try Me

𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡, 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚? 

Well, with the South being Beyond the Wall and the North being cold as fck. I choose across the Narrow Sea.

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝? 

Dany deserves it and I genuinely think she should sit on the Irone Throne. Not because her ancestors created the title and united the lands, but because she has known pain, she wants people to be free -not to be slaves. She wants to liberate.

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐲𝐝𝐨𝐠, 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐍𝐲𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐨𝐫 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭? 

GHOST! He is the MOST loyal?

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡? 

Abso-fucking-lutely not. It's full of awful men???

𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫? 

Like the other question; I couldn't pick one favourite character, so I definitely can't choose just one I dislike. And so this will be in bullet form:

Obviously Ramsay, what an awful dickhead.

Joffrey, the little shit.

In the book, Euron Greyjoy is a big big bad. Very scary. Cruel. Not like in the show where he's kind of funny and amusing. No, Euron in the books is a villain villain.

The Mountain? Disgusting.

Walder Grey and all those who participated in the awful act of the Red Wedding. Terrible.

𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐢 𝐨𝐫 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧? 

Both... but her true name is: Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.

If it means for me, than I would rather be a Queen than a Khaleesi. I want a pretty crown and to have influence over the whole realm ... (I'm very humble...)

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬? 

...dragons. I think that's pretty obvious... Imagine being a descendant of Old Valyria and being able to BOND with a DRAGON. A freaking DRAGON. A beast that would have your back no matter what???

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐝(𝐬) 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨? 

The Old Gods of the Forest.

To me, a witch, this religion relies on believing in the world around you.

An excerpt from the GOT wiki page: "nameless spirits of each tree, rock, and stream worshipped by the Children of the Forest and later by the First Men."

It seems the most pagan-like, and I would be very comfortable with following this religion.

#asoiaf questionnaire #asoiaf #sansa stark #houses #house stark #house targaryen #house tyrell #margaery tyrell #house baratheon #house lannister #house martell #witchthewriter #personal aesthetic #questionnaire #a song of ice and fire #dany targaryen #dragons #direwolves #jon snow #game of thrones #got #got questionnaire

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 19: The Bloodied

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: In this time and place, as war descends, it all changes.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Big Epic Battle, return of the Razor Crest 💙, violence, blood, passing allusion to post-traumatic stress, ho so much action, and so much lore bullshitting just go with me here.

A/N: The walker described in this isn’t any specific canon version. Somewhere between an AT-AT and an AT-ST let’s say. I dunno, picture whatever you want. Thanks for reading!

--

The room fills for the final muster. 

It’s a scene similar to the first time you’d been in here, but now you’re witnessing it from the other side. Armoured and armed soldiers file into the chamber, an audience gathering before the conflict begins. 

This time though, rather than hiding in the shadows by the forge, you’re among the congregation, seeing the Armourer up front waiting as everyone files in. You stick to the back, find yourself shuffled along a row to stand uneasily by Fennec Shand. She leans a shoulder against yours, a gesture of staunch reassurance.

We got this.

Your eyes move over the backs of many helmets, scanning until you spot him. The man you miss more than you would breathing air must have been first in here. Front and centre, Din stands with his back to you and just a little side on. From your vantage point, you can make out the edges of the familiar heat sig sensor on his helmet’s right side. You can’t see any of the T visor, so he wouldn’t spot you staring at him unless he turned full to the right.

He must know you’re in here though. Whether he cares or not, you have no clue anymore.

Over the many broad shoulders between the two of you, you can’t tell if Grogu is with him.

Still, you whisper a silent entreaty, ‘please let them both be okay…’

Footsteps and shuffling whittle down to silence. Everyone waits. The striking figure at the front of the procession pushes her shoulders back, runs a gaze across the crowd, and speaks. 

‘War is here,’ she says. ‘And we are ready.’

The room fills with the beating of wrists. You and Fennec join in, tapping your comms cuff to your new wrist guard. As the sound fades to quiet again, the honorary battle commander continues.

‘We stand on the frontlines to defend our homelands. Mandalore. Concordia. Every place Mandalorians have come together to build a future. Every place the old, dead empire has tried to take from us.’

You can tell her words are meticulously chosen, because the room swells with an earnest pride and a thrum of determined energy.

‘As the Watch,’ she continues, ‘we’ve nurtured foundlings, raised warriors, and preserved our cultures. We have long held true to the words of the Creed. And it has led us through the dark. Now, we each of us have stood in the Living Waters. By the miracle of liberating Mandalore, we grow brighter. The bonds we forge and the strength we gain from them will continue to lead us.’

‘And it is with this revival that we must learn to reach into new space. We honour the Creed, as it speaks of ourselves and our past.’

She reaches behind her and once again draws out that familiar device. The one containing the texts of the Creed, its originals, its translations. The controlling lore of the people collected here. She places it down on her table.

‘Yet we have come to learn that there is more to our ancient Way than we knew. Now we have learned that the Creed goes further. It speaks of our future. And with the royal Clan Kryze guiding us, we have the way forward to meet it.’

The air pulses like a beating heart. The flames of the forge dance across the ocean of beskar. Everyone holds.

‘Bo-Katan Kryze is our leader, and she is also our guide, it is time we followed her on the path to walk both worlds. Each and every world.’

You’re puzzling over what this reverent monologue could possibly mean – what worlds? – when the woman standing before her people does something that beats the breath from your lungs and sends dizzying electric shocks through your body.

The Armourer, the devout and steadfast leader of almost every person in this room, reaches up and – with a soft hiss that echoes over the hushed crowd – lifts her helmet up, and off. An angular face, large eyes and a wide mouth. She nestles the golden mask under an arm and watches.

It remains deathly quiet for a long, agonising stretch. 

Slowly, just one at a time, and then a few, and then everyone in the place is lifting their hands to their own faces. The air is filled with the sounds of unclasping, pressure releasing. Beskar sings against itself as removed helms are cradled and caressed in gauntleted arms.

You look side to side with eyes wide and mouth agape, in crude contrast to the stoic and steady facial expressions of those around you. The unknown features of people you’ve lived and worked with for weeks are still and focused. Like they knew. Like they were prepared.

Then you’re searching. Over the arms raising and heads shaking out hair and sweat, you strain to see it. The helmet you’d held between your own hands and the man behind it. But he’s obscured. Too far away. You’re just not tall enough. Desperate, you raise onto your toes, craning your neck over the crowd.

‘Here,’ Fennec grabs your wrist and drops to a knee. You gawk for a second but she smacks her thigh with the other hand. ‘Up,’ she mouths.

This is ridiculous but you don’t even pause. You accept her boost, grasp her shoulder and let her hoist you up above the heads of the group. Fortunately everyone is distracted, some unspoken rule that no one looks around rippling across the congregation. They all stay focused front and centre, where the Armourer looks at each and every one of her people in turn.

Not at you yet though. From the very back, toppling a little, shaking violently, you sweep your gaze over to the spot you know him to be standing.

And you see it. You see him.

Dark curls. Damp and sticking to the nape of his neck and around his right ear. 

Huh. He has dark, brown hair. The sight slots into the image you’ve tried to hold in your head all this time. The sketch you’d traced out with your hands. 

Din is holding eyes front as well. All you can see of his face is the slight edge of a sharp jawline and nose. The fuzz of a scruffy beard. Hardly enough. Not enough.

Despite yourself, knowing it to be futile, you will him to look around. Look, I’m here, Din. Please, I’m here.

But you have to drop down before the Armourer, or anyone else, spots you. Giddy and a little nauseous. The grip on your forearm tightens as Fennec stands again. She leans in.

‘See what you needed to see?’ she asks.

You just let out the breath you’d been holding, hold up a trembling hand and stare hard at it. Try to steel yourself.

You hadn’t. Not at all.

A long, high-pitched siren cuts into the reverie that had engulfed the room, sweeps across the people who had just taken a step to change forever.

The Armourer speaks, clear voice projecting to every corner of the room, ‘Go, and bring glory to Mandalore.’

The whole room moves as one, helmets going back on and everyone proceeding to their assignments. Perfect, regimented, united.

Fennec Shand claps a hand to your shoulder and peels off, going to her mission, whatever that may be. Jolted back to reality, reminded of your mission, you cast about for Ari Wren, knowing you have to follow her into whatever comes next – no matter what. You spot her helmet first as it lifts up and over her head, spy just a hint of short cropped blonde hair as the mask locks back into place. She sees you too and strides forward.

‘This way,’ she instructs, fully composed like she hadn’t just uprooted her whole identity. ‘Stick with me.’

You let her guide you, all the while still looking back over your shoulder, just trying to get one more glimpse, one more look, just one.

You don’t see him again.

The first phase of the attack is nothing more than a battle of attrition. The enemy throws waves of ground troops at the Mandalorian defences. You stick with Ari Wren, barely holding onto awareness as pure adrenaline and instinct course through your veins and grant you unimaginable speed and strength. 

‘Stay in step,’ she yells. 

Shoulder blades pressed to the hot metal of her jetpack, you move as she moves. Your footwork is doing double-time to keep up with her rapid twists and lunges, the sword and shield seemingly featherlight in her hands. Each time laser fire comes at you, she’s there – shielding and deflecting.

In turn, you incapacitate anyone that gets under her guard. The close quarters lets you take soldier after soldier by surprise, sending them screaming to the ground clutching at ruined limbs.

The two of you make your way across what’s become the battlefield, move through the acrid air and across the ash-soaked scorched earth. Smoke rising all around, you position yourselves in the anticipated trajectory of their ultimate weapon. It hasn’t emerged over the embankment yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

You remain dimly aware of the rest of the battle – cover fire soaring overhead, the other fighters moving in your forward lines, and a pitched dogfight rending the sky above. But for all the chaos that has erupted since the imp forces descended, the world may as well be you and the Mandalorian yanking you out of the path of an oncoming pulse blast.

But then disaster strikes. It’s your fault. A trooper comes at your duo wielding a bayonet-clad phase rifle, the long nasty blade on its barrel glowing red hot with energy. They lay down attack fire on approach and, as Wren deflects each shot, move in to take a swipe with the sharp, searing edge. Your companion bats it to the side. She brings her own sword around fast, but the enemy manages to parry, twisting side-on.

Seeing an opening, you duck under Wren’s extended arm and take aim at a kidney. But she wasn’t expecting it and you’ve moved under her centre of gravity. You stagger each other and the split second of imbalance is enough for your foe to rend a long slice up Wren’s outer thigh, carving a line along the outside edge of her beskar.

She falls to a knee, then slumps back with an agonised cry. The assailant squares up as you stumble to regain balance. Before you can do anything, he’s drawing his rifle up to your face.

‘N--!’ Your cry is cut off by the soldier in front of you jerking sideways, a violent twist as he drops dead to the ground. Behind him, two more troopers are sprinting toward you, weapons drawn. But again, first one then the other jolts as if struck and falls.

Whirling and twisting, scanning the perimeter, your eyes finally look up and you see it. The long barrel of a sniper rifle and the curved sights of the assassin’s helmet peak over the far ridge.

Fennec Shand.

You stare for a moment until Wren barks your name. It pulls you back and you see you’re being surrounded by a rank of attackers, all sporting savage-looking shock batons. Some are already being taken out by Fennec’s pinpoint cover fire. But if you don’t fucking move soon, you and Wren are doomed.

One of the squad lunges in to attack.

Reaching back, the gaffi stick slung across your shoulders swings free and you connect it with the on-comer’s chest plate, the slugged end caving it in and sending him flying backwards. You spin to slice the barbed spear across another’s throat, blood making a crescent streak across the air.

Fennec hits one in the knee and, as he drops, your weapon rises to meet his face. The helmet shatters and your blood roars.

One after another, you never stop rotating. Cries of pain from your weapon and grunts of shock from the impact of a rifle blast work the group circling you down to the ground.

When it’s clear, you look back to Fennec, hoping she can see your nod of acknowledgement through the scope. She raises an arm to you.

Then you fall to Wren’s side, where she’s gripping her wound and cursing in fury.

‘Wren,’ you start, dropping your weapon and trying to assess the damage. ‘Hang on—'

An ear-splitting siren rips the air apart. Its meaning runs your blood cold. The walker is incoming. Wren tugs at your arm, a ‘help me up’ gesture. But you shake your head, lay your own hands over hers at the top of her thigh where blood spurts from the edge of the armour plate. 

‘No, no,’ you urge her back. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Have… to…’ she grits through her helm. But even the small movement she just made causes red to well between your fingers. 

‘Shit!’ you cry. ‘Gods, Wren. Hang on… Help!’ You look around frantically, yell into the deafening chaos of battle. ‘Help!’

Hells, think clearly, would you? You shake yourself and smack your comms. ‘I need help! Wren is down.’

Within moments, two Mandalorians have landed on either side. One, in medic garb, shoves you aside and begins to tend to her leg. They tap the ground to indicate she needs evac and you hear her grunt in abject frustration. Tries to wave them off.

‘No…’ she moans. ‘Need to…’ She tries to sit up but jolts with a cry of agony. She grips a fist tight before shaking herself and slapping her own comms, muttering into her helmet. You can’t hear who she’s talking to – why is she on a different comms channel?

Another siren has you whirling, then craning your neck up, back. A huge mechanised leg raises over the first fortifications only hundreds of feet in front of you, stomps down with a thundering crash.

You cradle your ears. Terror shoots through you. Whipping around, you look for another jetpacked fighter who could get you up there. Someone, anyone. But they wouldn’t know where to place the charges. How to time it. You sense your plan being blown to hell and panic sets in. This is it – that thing is going to wipe you all out.

Another gargantuan limb brings the monster closer and sends a garrison into full retreat. The horrifying sound of the thermal cannons warming up fills your ears with a sickening buzz. There’s no way to stop it. You look up to the heavens with defeat heavy on your chest. 

That’s where you see it. A pinprick at first, but growing larger. The gorgeous old gunship streaks across the sky, threading the needle through cannon fire and laser blasts. In a sharp nosedive, the Razor Crest is on full burn on its approach to you. It turns to make a low bank and passes over your heads. A figure drops from the hold, in a rapid descent to the field of battle not far from you.

Din hits the ground with a forward roll and releases a salvo of his whistling birds into the waiting war troopers. He’s incapacitated them in a matter of seconds as you sprint toward him. Up and fighting any and everything between the two of you, he makes his way to meet you in the middle. You can’t stop yourself from barrelling into him.

He just plants a hand on your waist and pulls you close, ‘Hang on!’ he yells.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to stifle your cry as his jetpack engages and rockets you both upwards, soaring toward the body of the walking terror. Nothing but empty air below and laser fire raining all around, you bury your face into his neck. Through the haze of fear and adrenaline, you feel him pull you tighter.

The underside streaks toward you. He manoeuvres to ascend up the thing’s body but, just as you come level with it, the rockets on Din’s pack cut out. Suspended in the air, weightless for one terrifying moment, a scream begins to bubble up as you anticipate a precipitous drop. 

But Din fires his whipcord ahead, planting its grapple at the top and swinging your bodies into the side of the massive unit. He twists his weight so he lands squarely against the side, shielding you from impact. Dangling together from the façade of the stalking, swaying machine, he nudges at you.

‘Climb!’ he yells, urging you upwards. 

‘Your jetpack!’ you shout back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got it, just climb now,’ he pushes. You reach up and grab the whipcord. His free hand helps you along, grabbing your legs and heaving upwards to give you purchase. You don’t know how his shoulder isn’t being torn from its joint, but he seems to be holding on. So you grit your teeth, ignore the cord cutting into your hands, and climb.

You hand over hand with the cord and plant your knees into the vertical surface. Push every shred of fear away and focus on what’s in front. Halfway up you glance back and almost scream again. Hundreds of feet below, the monstrosity steps through more barricades, nearing the centre of the fray. But you also see Din, who’s holding fast, looking up, watching you. You turn around and keep climbing. 

The second you reach the top, the whipcord whizzes back. You’re already scrambling toward the pilot hatch when Din’s voice crackles over your comms piece. ‘Just like you planned – you take the personnel, I’ve got the undercarriage.’ 

Gods, so he had been listening. 

Wind whips your face and the roar around you is deafening, but you get to the hatch and pop a thermal charge into the lock. Crawling back and shielding your head, you wait for the ‘croom ’ then leap forward, grip the edge of the opening, and swing yourself inside. The smoke and noise from the explosion has stunned your cabin buddies. They only manage a short shout of alarm before both find their necks snapping at unhappy angles.

You surge onto the portal, jabbing at controls and resetting target maps. The walker groans under the strain of turning 180, but the cockpit’s sights swing around until the advancing forces come into view. You set the target locking system and throw the lever into full drive before sending a quick blaster shot into the control panel. The guns below the cockpit begin a continuous barrage. You watch for a moment as squadrons scatter and tanks implode.

You back away and make for the hatch. Scrambling up onto topside, you hit comms.

‘Din!’ you cry. ‘We gotta go! Din?’

Instead of a reply, the Mandalorian rockets up over the edge and plants his feet metres from you. He strides forward, holding one hand to his helmet, shouting at R5 to bring in the Crest, and reaching his other arm out to you.

You don’t pause, moving in and resuming your grip on his shoulders. He holds for a second, then you’re fighting panic again as you launch upwards. This time though, you manage to keep your eyes trained down. 

You see the walker, marching back into its own lines, sending explosions into troopers and hovercannons. Then, perfectly timed, the detonators Din planted on the underside go off, buckling the legs and sending it tumbling into the central armoured column.

Good.

Then your vision is obscured and your momentum arrested. You start in alarm before making sense of the scene. The Crest has sailed elegantly into your line of ascent and Din has cut the jetpack, landing you both on the aft entry of the old gunship. It’s a heavy impact and the only reason your knees don’t collapse is the strong hold he has on you. You both stumble back into the hold of the ship.

As soon as you’re steadied, he lets go and makes for the cockpit. You give in to a brief moment of uninvited despair when he looks over his shoulder and barks, ‘C’mon!’ Then you’re following.

You allow yourself little beats to revel in being on the Crest again, but not for too long. The janky locker door that never quite shut all the way. The peeling paint on the ladder. The access panel that always flickered and whirred. Gods, you’d missed it so much. 

As you enter the cockpit, Din is taking his seat and engaging the controls from R5. You spot Grogu tucked in his pod, which is securely strapped into his flight seat. He looks over at you and waves his arms, burbling in excitement.

The seat on the other side, your seat, sits empty.

Your heart aches at the sight.

As if the ship senses it, the Crest groans and lurches nose down for a moment, forcing you forward. As Din rights its moorings, you flop back into the chair.

‘Get strapped in,’ he yells over his shoulder. He punches at the controls and brings the ship around to witness the skirmish taking place in the sky. The cockpit’s windows afford you a view of the aerial battle, so high up you can see the curvature of this moon and the combat below looking like a crawling insect colony. The fighters up here are intercepting and taking down enemy craft on approach, preventing any from breaking through to attack ground forces.

‘Just in time,’ Din says. ‘The Guild has arrived.’

‘Oh shit,’ you say, pulling the straps around and craning your neck out the window. You spot it. A hefty old transport frigate, Leaf Ghogal’s little army of bounty hunters, plugging a descent toward the edge of the fray, getting ready to drop a mess of bloodthirsty fighters right into the thick of it.

But Din seems unfazed. It puzzles you for a second before he flips the cockpit comms on and speaks to someone on the other end.

‘You’re up,’ he says.

‘Copy that, Mando my man,’ comes a reply – a painfully familiar voice. ‘Our frenemies will be taking a one-way jump to buttfuck nowhere in 3- 2- get goin’ hahaha.' 

Still eyeing the transport a ways off, you have a perfect view of it shuddering for a moment – the hyperdrive straining in the high atmosphere. With a massive shockwave, it shooms into nothingness. The energy fallout from its rapid departure collects the edge of a soaring tiefighter, taking its portside wing and sending it careening to the ground. 

‘Woo! Two fer one!’ The disembodied voice hollers and it hits you. 

‘Wha— Torre? ’ you sputter.

‘Hey dove,’ Torre’s voice echoes around the cockpit. ‘You made it.’

‘What are y-- what is-- what?’ 

‘Making up for my bullshit, hon,’ he says. ‘Or a little of it, at least.’

Din interrupts, like you aren’t in a full tailspin over this little fucking alliance going on right now.

‘Another mercenary outfit inbound,’ he says.

‘On it,’ Torre chirps, the clacking of keys being hit in rapid succession accompanying the transmission. 

You start to say ‘where?’ but Din just points. Another transport carrier trundles just behind where Leaf’s ship was. Your eyes track it as the Crest banks across the range. Huge, fit to carry upwards of two hundred combatants. Worlds, you think. If they land it’ll be a bloodbath.

But Torre’s counting down again and the boat – blip – bends out of existence. Just like that. 

‘That’s cleared,’ Din says.

‘Roger, roger,’ Torre responds.

This is too surreal. ‘Torre,’ you shout. ‘ What-- why are you doing this?’

A long sigh slips from the speakers.

‘Your Mando came and got me,’ he tells you over the comms. ‘Told me about how that fucker Cephlate used me. And how he got to you. Fuck. For that, and for the rest… Well, ‘m sorry.’

A beat of quiet as you absorb that. Then the Crest chimes in with its alert system, alarms blaring around you.

‘And speaking of the Devil,’ Torre says. ‘His craft is inbound.’

‘What?’ you yelp. ‘Cephlate is here?’ 

‘Indeed,’ Torre answers you. ‘Got his private little army in on this shitshow.’

Ice slides up and down your spine and sends cold shards to your extremities. The freeze of a carbonite unit crawls over your skin. Him. Your side aches right where your scar has steadily faded away. But it now throbs as if fresh. Your face, where he’d held onto your chin and threatened you, burns.

The only thing stopping you from succumbing to wild panic is the T visor that’s swung round to stare at you.

‘He’s not gonna touch you,’ Din snarls low. ‘Ever again.’

You lean into your chair, breathing deep into your belly as he turns back to the ship’s controls.

‘What can you do about it?’ Din asks.

‘Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve tried hacking in but he knows my tricks. All I can give you is something to aim for.’

A string of data rolls across the Crest’s targeting system, forms into a ship holo. An ugly, heavy-duty gunner-craft. Cannons and railguns weigh the beastly thing down. The holo rotates to reveal a glowing patch on the underside. Small and tucked against the exhaust latchings. You lean forward to get a good look at it. 

‘The stitch that will unravel his shields,’ Torre explains. ‘Aim for that. And he’ll be done.’

‘Okay,’ Din says. ‘I think you’re good then.’

‘Copy that.’

‘You gonna cause trouble?’

Torre’s chuckle rumbles over the speakers. ‘No worries there,’ he says. ‘Old mate Greef here hasn’t taken his pistol’s sights off me for a single second.’

‘I’ve got him, Mando,’ the high magistrate’s voice follows on. ‘We’ll take him back when the fight is over, won’t we IG?’

‘Bye then, dove,’ Torre’s voice sinks into you. ‘I’ll always be sorry.’

The transmission cuts.

Distracted by the insanity of what just happened, you miss Din’s question. He’s fiddling with settings on the HUD and, at your silence, looks back.

‘Huh?’ you ask.

‘I can’t aim for something like that and fly at the same time,’ he says. ‘So which do you want to do?’

‘Which do I--?’ You notice for the first time an addition to the instrument bank next to the flight chair you’re buckled into. A set of ship controls, twins to the ones Din’s got a hard grip on up front. Protruding just within reach. 

‘Had to get another ship mechanic to help install it, ‘m sorry,’ he says, watching you. ‘It was fiddly. The Crest did not want to cooperate. But we did it.’

‘Wh--,' you’re speechless. You reach over and they glide easily outward so you can orient them in front of you. Giving each an experimental twist, you feel the hefty tilt and take in the trigger buttons just by where your forefingers rest. ‘Oh wow… Din. But- I can’t--’

‘You can,’ he says. ‘I know it.’

Aware you can’t waste time on doubt, you heave a deep sigh. Looking at the ship holo, at the tiny opening Torre’s given you, your fingers hover over the triggers. Something inside you makes the choice. 

‘Aim,’ you say. ‘I’ll aim.’

Nodding, he spins back around and flips a switch. The controls under your palms hum with energy and a HUD blinks in front of you. The Crest shudders as its weapons system primes itself.

Hells, how are you going to fucking do this.

‘I’ll draw him onto us, tell me when you’re ready and I’ll give you an opening,’ he says. Without further ado, he pulls his own controls back and the Razor Crest soars. 

How are you going to do this.

The Mandalorian pilots his ship through a mess of crossfire and the occasional spacecraft trailing smoke and plummeting to the earth. The menacing looking ship of the outer-rim warlord comes into view and Din positions the Crest right in front of it, racing ahead and catching the enemy crew’s attention. Pulls serpentine manoeuvrers to dodge the laser fire that begins a bombardment.

How are you—

Static crackles over the comms and the sickly, savage voice of the figure you’ve had nightmares about fills the space. Delighted, arrogant and bloodthirsty. Cephlate waxes lyrical about finally having the opportunity to ‘destroy you Mando, and all you hold dear’.

But you’re barely taking it in, fixated on the targeting system and trying to fathom how you’re going to do this.  

How, how, how—

Spiralling thoughts are interrupted by a feather-soft tendril of energy nudging at the edge of your mind. It swirls against your consciousness and seems to await permission. 

You look over at Grogu, whose eyes are shut tight and hands twitch with power. The sense of connection within you grows brighter, promises aid. Begs entry.

‘Ready?’ Din calls.

‘We have this,’ you shout. Looking at the child, you let him and the Force flood your mind, whip through your senses and snake into your arms and hands, held firm on the controls. They hum harder, some awareness deep in the bowels of the ship slips into you, a quiet there you are, where have you been? You set your shoulders and shout, ‘Now!’

Din hurls a lever back and reefs on the controls. The Crest drops into a free fall. The rear thrusters cut and tip the boat so you’re looking up into the sky. Laser fire passes overhead as does Cephlate’s ship. The glint in the underside, the break in the shield, is plain as day to your heightened senses.

You, Grogu and the Crest lock onto it and your fingers move of their own volition, releasing a single pulse that streaks ahead. Where it hits home, exactly on target, a burst of crackling, festy grey energy widens from the spot, shimmering over the whole ship. The entire shield system drops away in a few heartbeats.

‘No!’ the warlord bellows. ‘You--!'

Din smacks the comms to another channel over the top of his cries. ‘Move in,’ he commands whoever’s on the other side. To you, ‘Keep firing!’

You’re already setting up to unleash an angry broadside along the bottom of the vessel. He hauls the thrusters back on and gives you a perfect bank for the barrage to take out its engine array. When the Crest clears the front of the ship, it wheels around and you can take aim at the top-mounted cannons.

You see several other Mandalorian jets and fighters move in weapons free, your little T-Wing among them. It and the rest send explosions to impact on all sides of the vessel. Your ship makes another turn and you get to pass again – feeling feral, you zero in on the bridge and send the bow of the ship up in flames.  

It’s not long before the monstrous dirigible is listing, tilting away from the centre of the fight, toward the chordal coast where the imps’ forward party had been encamped. It disappears over the rim of the small mountain range bisecting the landscape. Moments later, a spectacular explosion reaches toward the skies.

You watch it as the Crest’s trajectory evens out, sails across the cleared air. You scan the radar, friendly craft soar around you. 

Only the roar of wind and the groan of the ship fill the cockpit. You loosen your grip just slightly on the controls as a wide grin spreads across your face. You glance up at Din, seeing his shoulders steadily drop as he relaxes. You laugh.

‘Well that, felt incredible,’ you say. He starts to turn toward you.

A burst of static covers what he says back. A boisterous voice thunders over the speakers, declaring glorious victory and the imp forces scattering like baby womp rats, the jet-packed Mandalorians running them down with ease.

You listen, fidgeting a little as a weird pang starts to bother your side. 

The comms cuts to reports of mopping up but Din turns it to low, moving dials and flipping the landing gear into standby.

You keep your hands on the gunner grips in case any last-minute moves are needed, but try to sit up a little straighter to stretch out the tightness that is drawing your abdomen into a knot. The tension of the fight setting in, maybe?

Din leans back. ‘Guess we can head in,’ he says, moving to turn to you again. Your heart beats harder, damn near straining against your chest. ‘And maybe we can t—’

‘Ebbe!’

The tiny, panicked shriek from Grogu causes you both to whip around to him. Your concern twists your guts. A strange nervous vibration is working its way up your spine, into your skull and clouding your vision. Your mouth is filling with icy shards and your ears start ringing. 

‘Grogu?’ you say. ‘Baby, wha—’

‘No!’ Din surges from his chair.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Oh Gods, no, no, no!’

That’s when you realise that he’s not lunging at Grogu but toward you. And Grogu is fine, but he’s pointing to your middle with fear-filled eyes.

Din kneels before you and chants your name. ‘Hang on. Please just, hang on, love. Stay, stay with me, hey! Stay with me!’ His confusing demands grow fuzzy and further away as he talks.

You finally look down. The haze and hot tendrils clawing at your eyes make it hard to see, but that’s definitely something sticking out of your stomach. You move a hand to it. It’s hot, and vibrating with a quiet menace. Your fingers come away bloodied. ‘Ohhhh wha…’ You fade out.

--

Prev | Next

Forgive me.

Thank you so much for reading this weird little story.

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandaloria/reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

[bayoubashsims]

The Pantheon of the Nereitria

So I don't know if I'm going through with such a complex Lovecraftian idea for the merfolk of Monkfish Bay, but so far these are the fucked up mermaids I've concocted that live beneath the Besanyonne Sea of Monkfish Bay in a kingdom called Nereitra in the native tongue of the merfolk.

Thoggus, the Dark Emperor of the Seas

A long time ago, Thoggus ruled over the SImlantic Ocean in tyranny and he was dubbed the Dark Emperor of the Seas. He had the body of a merman, the arms and claws of a lobster, and the face of an octopus. A monstrous and power-hungry deity worshipped by many a merfolk, his centuries rule was ended when his own descendants usurped and dethroned him, imprisoning him in the deep with his daughters ruling together.

Mureina, the Queen of the Sea

Mureina, eldest daughter of Thoggus and the Kraken, was the mistress of the tides who ruled over the waves and where the sea met the land. With her father deposed from the rebellion that she led, she relinquished the rest of the seas to govern themselves to convene during important times in the Simlantic Council.

Nycothena, the Queen of the Abyss

The younger daughter of Thoggus and the Kraken, Nycothena is the ruler of the abyss, holding dominion over the strangest of fishpeople. Neither good or evil, this eight-tentacled and squid-beaked cecaelian is a mistress of magic and mystery. She guards the prison that keeps her father Thoggus away from the world, keeping him from taking over the seas once again.

Nen, the Duke of the Waves

Nen was originally a diplomat from the neighboring kingdom of Squaria who had long admired Mureina but truly fell in love with her when she liberated the seas from the tyranny of her father. Now, he stands by her side as she presides over the merfolk of Nereitria as a loyal consort.

Prince Chelan, the Prince of the Tides

Chelan was, like his mother before her rule, tasked with the tides and waves and the responsibility of where the land meets the sea. As the eldest, Chelan is next in line for the throne of Nereitria. But will he stop playing with the dolphins long enough for him to start taking his royal duties more seriously? Or will it take a landlubber to set his heart where it should be?

Princess Asherah, the Princess of the Marsh

The youngest of Mureina's offspring, Asherah is often the odd one out. A romantic at heart, she immediately claimed her territory when the tides receded far enough centuries ago to create a marsh at the inlet of Monkfish Bay. She spends her days pranking the local fisherman, and secretly dreams of marrying one.

#the sims 2 #the sims #ts2 #monkfish bay

[luminouslumity]

If you're still unfamiliar with the Cait Corrain situation, this video explains it! Under the cut are the blurbs for books of the authors Corrain targeted.

VOYAGE OF THE DAMNED by FRANCES WHITE

For a thousand years, Concordia has maintained peace between its provinces. To mark this incredible feat, the emperor's ship embarks upon a twelve-day voyage to the sacred Goddess's Mountain.

Aboard are the heirs of the twelve provinces of Concordia, each graced with a unique and secret magical ability known as a Blessing.

Except one: Ganymedes Piscero - class clown, slacker, and all-round disappointment.

When a beloved heir is murdered, everyone is a suspect. Stuck at sea and surrounded by powerful people without a Blessing to protect him, odds of survival are slim.

But as the bodies pile higher, Ganymedes must become the hero he was not born to be. Can he unmask the killer and their blessing before this bloody crusade reaches the shores of Concordia?

Or will the empire as he knows it fall?

MISTRESS OF LIES by K.M. ENRIGHT

FATE IS A CRUEL MISTRESS

The daughter of a powerful but disgraced Blood Worker, Shan LeClaire has spent her entire life perfecting her blood magic, building her network of spies, and gathering every scrap of power she could. Now, to protect her brother, she assassinates their father and takes her place at the head of the family. And that is only the start of her revenge.

Samuel Hutchinson is a bastard with a terrible gift. When he stumbles upon the first victim of a magical serial killer, he's drawn into the world of magic and intrigue he's worked so hard to avoid - and is pulled deeply into the ravenous and bloodthirsty court of the vampire king.

Tasked by the Eternal King to discover the identity of the killer cutting a bloody swath through the city, Samuel, Shan and mysterious Royal Bloodworker Isaac find themselves growing ever closer to each other. But Shan's plans are treacherous, and as she lures Samuel into her complicated web of desire, treason and vengeance, he must decide if the good of their nation is worth the cost of his soul.

TO GAZE UPON WICKED GODS by MOLLY X. CHANG

In this magical epic fantasy, a young woman cursed with the power of death must decide if saving her family is worth betraying her country—the first installation of a gripping new series.

Heroes die, cowards live. Daughter of a conquered world, Ruying hates the invaders who descended from the heavens long before she was born and defeated the magic of her people with technologies unlike anything her world had ever seen.

Blessed by Death, born with the ability to pull the life right out of mortal bodies, Ruying shouldn’t have to fear these foreign invaders, but she does. Especially because she wants to keep herself and her family safe.

When Ruying’s Gift is discovered by an enemy prince, he offers her an impossible deal: If she becomes his private assassin and eliminates his political rivals—whose deaths he swears would be for the good of both their worlds and would protect her people from further brutalization—her family will never starve or suffer harm again. But to accept this bargain, she must use the powers she has always feared, powers that will shave years off her own existence.

Can Ruying trust this prince, whose promises of a better world make her heart ache and whose smiles make her pulse beat faster? Are the evils of this agreement really in the service of a much greater good? Or will she betray her entire nation by protecting those she loves the most?

SO LET THEM BURN by KAMILAH COLE

Whip-smart and immersive, this Jamaican-inspired fantasy follows a gods-blessed heroine who’s forced to choose between saving her sister or protecting her homeland.

Faron Vincent can channel the power of the gods. Five years ago, she used her divine magic to liberate her island from its enemies, the dragon-riding Langley Empire. But now, at seventeen, Faron is all powered up with no wars to fight. She’s a legend to her people and a nuisance to her neighbors.

When she’s forced to attend an international peace summit, Faron expects that she will perform tricks like a trained pet and then go home. She doesn’t expect her older sister, Elara, forming an unprecedented bond with an enemy dragon—or the gods claiming the only way to break that bond is to kill her sister.

As Faron’s desperation to find another solution takes her down a dark path, and Elara discovers the shocking secrets at the heart of the Langley Empire, both must make difficult choices that will shape each other’s lives, as well as the fate of their world.

"By turns hopeful and devastating, So Let Them Burn is a masterful debut with a blazing heart. I was captivated from beginning to end by Cole’s sharp, clever prose and by her protagonists—two remarkable sisters with an unforgettable bond." — Chelsea Abdullah, author of The Stardust Thief

THE POISONS WE DRINK by BETHANY BAPTISTE

In a country divided between humans and witchers, Venus Stoneheart hustles as a brewer making illegal love potions to support her family.

Love potions is a dangerous business. Brewing has painful, debilitating side effects, and getting caught means death or a prison sentence. But what Venus is most afraid of is the dark, sentient magic within her.

Then an enemy's iron bullet kills her mother, Venus’s life implodes. Keeping her reckless little sister Janus safe is now her responsibility. When the powerful Grand Witcher, the ruthless head of her coven, offers Venus the chance to punish her mother's killer, she has to pay a steep price for revenge. The cost? Brew poisonous potions to enslave D.C.'s most influential politicians.

As Venus crawls deeper into the corrupt underbelly of her city, the line between magic and power blurs, and it's hard to tell who to trust… Herself included.

And because Corrain went after him as well...

DRAG ME UP

They say he’s a myth...

And Hades prefers it that way. He may do all the work, and Zeus may get all the credit, but at least it allows Hades to preserve the one thing he truly cares to have: his solitude. The mere mention of the Wraith of Khaos Falls is enough to keep order, and he is rarely forced to leave the shadows of Casino Asphodel.

She belongs in the spotlight...

And Persephone clawed her way out of Demeter’s shadow to reach it. Now she’s lead in Calliope’s Cirque production but not without great cost, and there is not enough money in the world to pay off the debt accrued for the simple mistake of trusting Zeus. Though it’s easier to ignore the bars when she still has room to fly.

Landing a residency at the legendary Casino Asphodel is everything she trained for. Meeting a man she’d been convinced didn’t exist? She could never be prepared for that. Hades isn’t prepared for her either, but it’s soon evident they’re a force when together. He gives her a soft place to land, and she makes him want to reach for the stars. But when Zeus ups the stakes, they must be willing to go all in, even if it means coming down from the sky. Or stepping into the light.

KEEP ME CLOSE

She is the closest thing Khaos Falls has to a goddess…

And Aphrodite is feared and worshipped in equal measure. She has dedicated her life to being a savior for the lost regardless of the risk, but when unknown enemies nearly assassinate her in her own club, she realizes her reckless vigilante tactics won’t cut it anymore.

He is the furthest thing Khaos Falls has from a hero…

In fact, Hephaestus is who you call when all the heroes have fallen. Still, he is the best at what he does, strengthening the city’s weaknesses and keeping his feelings out of it. When tasked with Aphrodite’s personal security, it’s easy for him to detach himself from their mutual disdain. Until disdain is no longer the only thing he feels for her.

With their enemies elusive and snakes in their midst, good hearts and sharp wit may not be enough. But he made a vow, and he will keep it. Even if it means turning newfound feelings into newfound strengths and using them as a weapon to protect her.

LET ME IN

She never cared about being perfect.

Raised under Zeus’s self-serving influence, Athena only ever cared about being right. But with Zeus gone and everything changing, it’s been difficult trying to break free of the chains he so expertly secured her in as a girl. Especially when constantly worrying about Dionysos.

And he never cared much about saving himself.

Raised under Hades’ self-sacrificing influence, Dionysos only ever cared about pleasing everybody else. But when the opportunity to prove he’s more than a winemaker presents itself —with the promise of spending more time with Athena— he has no choice but to take it.

In a bid for peace, Athena and Dionysos are sent to an ailing Thassos City to try and strike a treaty. But with war within reach and rules rearranged, wit and charisma may just fall short. But they’ve long since decided that to protect each other, blood is a small price to pay. Even their own.

LOVE ME NOW

Achilles loved playing the hero…

Being a mere man had never been enough for him. He wanted to be a great one. And when he finds out that Helen, his childhood best friend, has gone missing, taking the mission is instinct. Even if it meant returning to the place he was born and raised, a place he swore never to return to—Heraklion. But he goes nowhere without Patroclus.

Patroclus loved being one…

But being a hero was nothing like playing one. It was a senseless sequence of pyrrhic victories he'd carry forever. Yet when Achilles needs him to return to Heraklion and the arena he had been forced to claw his way out of, he says yes because… well, of course he does. He would follow Achilles anywhere.

Yet both had left more of themselves in Heraklion's notorious arena than they'd taken. So returning would not require heroes but something else, something worse, especially when Helen is not the only one in need of rescue. They both must determine not only what it means to be a man, but what it means to be a good one.

#books #bookblr #cait corrain #voyage of the damned #frances white #mistress of lies #k.m. emright #to gaze upon wicked gods #molly x. chang #so let them burn #kamilah cole #the poisons we drink #bethany baptiste #r.m. virtues #greek mythology #gods of hunger #drag me up #hades #persephone #keep me close #aphrodite #hephaestus #let me in #athena #dionysus #love me now #achilles #patroclus

[thedemonofcat]

The peculiarity of a bloodline curse lies in the fact that the event responsible for the curse's origin often fades into the distant past, shrouded in the mists of time, with hardly anyone recalling its true origin. From a very young age, Jaskier was well aware of the curse that plagued his family, a truth imparted to him long ago. The curse had been transmitted to him from his mother, who tragically passed away when he was merely seven years old.

Jaskier's understanding of his family's history was limited to the knowledge that in the distant past, one of his ancestors, driven by a deep obsession with their own legacy, possessed immense power but committed a terrible act that led to a curse befalling their bloodline. As a result, all their descendants inherited this formidable magic, but with a harrowing price - every time they tapped into this chaotic power, a gradual erosion of their sanity ensued, eventually driving them to madness.

Jaskier faced a heart-wrenching ordeal as he witnessed his mother's struggle with the curse. She had always been a kind and loving presence in his life, delighting him with small magic tricks like making the piano play on its own, just to see him smile. However, the curse's toll began to show, and his mother started to transform. Her moods fluctuated wildly, swinging from euphoric happiness to uncontrolled rage at the slightest provocation. Paranoia crept in, leading her to believe that even the cooks intended to poison her. Tragically, one fateful day, Jaskier's mother succumbed to her suffering, ending her life by hanging herself.

In the aftermath, Jaskier's father remarried and had more children with his new stepmother. Jaskier couldn't help but feel that his striking resemblance to his late mother made it challenging for his father to face him, fearing that he might share the same fate in the future. The burden of being treated delicately by everyone took its toll on Jaskier, and he reached a breaking point. Driven by a desire to break free from the stifling atmosphere, he made the difficult decision to run away from home

Attending school at Oxenfurt brought immense joy to Jaskier's life, as he relished the opportunity to learn and acquire knowledge in every possible field. Being a traveling bard suited him well, considering the curse that burdened him; he knew it was unwise to have children. Nevertheless, Jaskier yearned to make his mark on the world, and he believed his songs could be his legacy. This aspiration proved fruitful as he embarked on a journey with Geralt, the White Wolf, and his reputation as Geralt's bard soared.

However, amid the adventures, there were moments when Jaskier contemplated sharing the truth of his curse with Geralt, revealing the inevitable descent into madness that awaited him in the future.

As fate would have it, Jaskier never found the right moment to confide in Geralt about his curse, and after the harrowing events on the dread mountain, they parted ways, leaving Jaskier to travel alone once again. Despite knowing the perilous consequences, Geralt's hurtful words pushed him to the edge, and Jaskier, no longer caring about the consequences, started using his magic, slowly feeling his sanity erode. It was both liberating and terrifying, an addiction he couldn't resist.

News of Jaskier's magical feats spread, and unexpectedly, Yennefer sought him out. They had a heartfelt conversation, and for the first time outside of his family, Jaskier shared the truth about his curse with someone. In the midst of this, Yennefer asked for his help in the upcoming battle of Sodden. Hesitant yet willing, Jaskier agreed, and through some miracle, they became friends as they fought together. Their combined efforts led to victory, with Jaskier's assistance bolstering Yennefer's fire magic that engulfed much of Nifflgaard’s army.

As Jaskier continued to use his magic, his descent into madness became more pronounced. Yennefer grew concerned about the influence of the brotherhood on him and contemplated taking him away, even if it meant facing the dangers of being hunted by time, just to save her friend before he was lost completely.

Meanwhile, during a chance visit to Lettenhove with Ciri, Geralt learned about Jaskier's family curse. This revelation spurred him into action, and along with Ciri, they set out on a mission to find Jaskier. Geralt's sole purpose was to prevent his Jaskier from succumbing to the foolish pursuit of power at the cost of his sanity. And perhaps, deep down, Geralt also longed to embrace his dear friend once they were reunited.

#the witcher netflix #joey batey #geralt of rivia #the witcher #jaskier the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #jaskier #gerskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #freya allan #headcanon #yennefer of vengerberg #anya cholatra #anya chalotra #the witcher season 3 #witcher yennefer #the witcher season three

[chernabogs]

This was originally meant to be put out in October for Halloween but what is time management anyway?

SORTIGER

Inc: The Dark Mirror, Crowley, The Fairest Queen, some Draconia's sneaking in there (can't escape them) WC: 1.9k Warnings: Some depiction of violence Summary: He was as he had always been, and he knew no other way—for the concept of anything other was quite beyond his comprehension. (or: eldritch horrors your dark mirror <3)

He recalls the time before. 

In the vast expanse of black in which he dwelled, corporeal but conscious of such, only the dim glow of suns thousands of years away guided him forth. The hum of the void was his calling, and his presence was a mere brush of stardust in the night. He was as he had always been, and he knew no other way—for the concept of anything other was quite beyond his comprehension.

It was within this vast expanse of black that he first witnessed the event that is the unexpected, and frankly quite messy, act of creation. The world of Twisted Wonderland was not crafted by hands in a slow, harmonious fashion; it was shoved into being with a flash, a bang, and a disruption of the peace until suddenly it was there in its spherical form. It startled everyone who was capable of being startled, as it was something that happened in a realm where nothing ever really changed at all. 

He did not approach it first. That was one of the other hidden ones. They slithered forth in their serpentine form to taste this new offering, to feel what would become known as soil and inhale what would become known as air. In the beginning, Twisted Wonderland was a time of opportunity—a time of new growth that those who had existed so long now had forgotten. After the serpent, another crept down, and then another, until only he was left alone in the darkness. His form turned, and writhed, and debated what would be best to appear as until he finally descended in the shape of a figure like the denizens of the land, with a porcelain mask upon his face. 

In the time that it took for him to settle, the others who had come prior had already left their marks upon the land. ‘Age of the Gods’ did the occupants so accurately coin it in their fables and tales. He bore witness to the ones he had never seen before now parade themselves as superiors, claiming that the gift of magic they had bestowed upon a few now let them hold a debt over their bodies. Considering this, he avoided direct involvement with either party, choosing to be more of a vagabond than anything else. The only time he interacted with anyone was when he told them truths. 

Sortiger, he was called. Deliverer of prophecies to the masses—so long as one knew the right words to use.

He didn’t consider himself a prophet, but rather just a being that knows truths. He wandered area to area, devouring experiences he was deprived of for so long, and which this land was now giving to him in abundance. It was a liberating experience that he would not trade for any luxury that the others so hounded for. 

Sortiger, as odd as it was, also served to be the chains that bound him in the end. Magic was a gift granted to a few to provide them the tools for easier living. Unfortunately, man is as cunning as he is ambitious. If one were to hear tales of a travelling prophet, what else would there be to do then try and bind them to you somehow? There is power in knowledge, and infinite knowledge means infinite control.

___________________________________________

It was a tailor’s apprentice who tricked him, in the end. A young woman with her needle and her thread who clothed him in a false sense of security. He was unaware that she was one of few blessed with the gift of magic. Or perhaps he was aware, and he simply chose to ignore that intuition in place of emotions, instead. It mattered little in the end—she had lured him into her trap like a spider in wait, and then paralyzed him when the moment was exactly right. 

There’s magic in mirrors. 

There always has been, even before the idea of Twisted Wonderland was born. He recalls vaguely the shimmering reflections of dust in the stars; it was one of the few times he was able to see his form—a writhing, black mass, dripping ichor with a burning heart that pulsated with each bit of life that crept through his veins. The sight always unsettled him because there is no hiding who you are before an item that is meant to show you in full. 

He had fought. 

Naturally, he had fought. He was a being of unmeasurable power that was not meant to be confined to a singular realm. He had screamed unholy screams and tore at the glass with nails until they broke, and split, and bled that ichor that so dripped from his body when he was unbound, and he was free. He had spewed curses and words with a blackened tongue, his porcelain face warped in rage and, worst of all, heartbreak. 

This ire and this power are why, in her cunning, the tailor’s apprentice did not confine him to one place. There is a concept that humans share known as a panopticon; a circular platform meant to serve in prisons so one guard can keep an eye on everyone at once. 

He was not trapped in a singular realm. He was instead trapped in multiple at once. He was held stagnant with thousands of mirrors surrounding him, showing the thousands of lands that he could have walked had he listened to his instincts instead of falling into the honeyed trap of gentle words and gentler touches. There was no ceiling, there was no floor—it was as though he had been returned to that void from whence he came. 

So it goes that even gods fall prey to the whims of love. 

He considered it a mercy, then, that he did not remain in her possession for too long. After all, if one were to hear tales of a prophetic mirror, what else would there be to do then try and steal it somehow? 

But it was not a mercy to bear witness to the destruction that followed henceforth. Villages consumed by flames, steel finding more familiarity in the bellies of innocents than a blacksmith's forge. The tailor's apprentice had been slaughtered to gain access to his mounted form; if he had been free, he would have saved her, he would have wrapped her in his power and carried her to the stars above. Instead, all he could do was look in the mottled face of her killer as bloated lips tried to coax a story out of him. 

It went like that. 

From soldier, to merchant, to captain, to priests. He found himself meeting the most privileged in one moment and the most deprived the next. At one point, the term mirror, mirror, became synonymous with his existence and the prophecies he was meant to give. It may have been initiated by the woman that held onto him the longest. He met her when she was still a young girl, the crown on her head not as grand as the one yet to come. The fairest of them all—until her heart became warped with a combination of both paranoia and hate. She was as stunning as a portrait right up to the moment she met her end. 

___________________________________________

This all has little relevance. 

If one see’s enough faces, they begin to lose the ability to discern them. He has been bound in this panopticon for so long that he no longer has a comprehension of time, or of the worlds he examines. At one point, his mask begins to change—from smooth porcelain to one with a lace patterning upon his brow.

There was a princess he had met once who had a similar pattern on her face, though hers was of scales and not lace. He had not received her name, nor had she asked him any questions. She had stared into his reflection, her crown wrapped around the proud horns on her head and her eyes reflecting a sense of exhaustion that ran deeper than surface level, before she had simply turned away.

No mirror, mirror. No demands. Only a glance, and then she was gone into the night. 

He considers that encounter the reason he ended up at Night Raven College. He sees that woman once more in the form of a boy who approaches him, a pair of proud horns on his head and his eyes reflecting a sense of anxiety that runs deeper than surface level. He considers it fate to be here once more—even though fate is but a vague manipulator to a being of his stature. 

He considers it fate, too, when he encounters the human. 

“Are you certain there’s no way home?” Crowley murmurs when the students all depart to their dorms. He studies the equally masked face when asked this question. Eons of existing has allowed him to recognize one who deceives without much effort—not that it’s his place to call the man out. He must be asked the right question to do that. 

“Again.” He responds, voice lower and colder than the one used for the students. A small mercy. Crowley’s golden eyes narrow with their own darkness, which so often hovers just inches from the surface. 

“Mirror, mirror, born from the unknown—is there a way to send the student home?” Crowley then drawls out, his voice dripping with contempt at each word he utters—such a stark contrast from the usual upbeat man he presents himself as. He must keep a smile from touching those porcelain lips as he affixes a blank gaze.

“We are not the ones who have the ability to do such an act.” He replies, the answer as blunt as ever. 

What many do not know is that a mirror is not only a means of accessing a different location. Although he has serviced hundreds before to travel from one place to another, many remain unaware of his ability to let them travel from one world to another. He can never leave himself—the tailor’s apprentice made sure of that—but that doesn’t mean he can’t guide others. 

She knew that—the woman who looked like the boy with the proud horns on his head. Not the princess, but instead someone older—someone who knew him when he was still with the fairest queen. 

Queens are cunning—he has come to learn this over time.

Crowley clicks his tongue in disagreement. It’s a sharp, jarring sound that echoes in the empty chamber as he turns away to march back to the door. This inconveniences him. He has a plan that he’s attempting to follow, and the presence of an unknown variable is throwing that all off. 

Is it pitiful? The mirror considers it quietly as the chamber door slams shut. The bubbling of the green fountain at his base remains the only source of noise left. The unknown variable may construe Crowley’s plans, but he knows that it would benefit him in the end. The woman had known that too. It was why he had let her do what she had asked. 

He pulls his face back from this mirror and turns his attention towards the thousands of others that surround him. All of these lives, all existing with the freedom of movement, of choice. 

He will join them soon. The lace on his face feels more prominent then ever, and he knows, he will join them soon. 

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #no seriously what do u even tag this LMAO #anyway can u imagine being like eons old trapped in a janky mirror man #doesnt even get paid... doesnt get cleaned #not the life :///