#the horrifying fate of a mortal forced to be a god against their will and all the drawbacks that come with it

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #tsaritsa #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #tsaritsa x reader #this is. technically not a sequel but not a prequel but a secret third thing (mental health crisis) #kidding i just wanted 2 write the prev fic from more reader oriented pov bc it wasnt fucked up enough!!!!! #i need fucked up reader who is irreparably changed in horrifying ways!!!!!! and they cant die bc teyvat kinda needs them 2 uh #exist at all. and if u die well thats it. hits reset button #the horrifying fate of a mortal forced to be a god against their will and all the drawbacks that come with it #where is love to be found when they all cannot see themselves as anything but beneath you? there will always be imbalance #oh they try. they claw and scramble and beg but being the creator has changed you. #none of their worship. none of their sacrifices and gifts and pleas make you feel a thing and what a haunting thing it must be #do they reject it? delude themselves into thinking that they must try harder? #or do they accept that this is a god? absolute. horrifying in its entirety. something that even the archons cannot truly understand #a manmade god who seeks absolution in only the most heretical. the most blasphemous #literally shaking chewing on the bars of my cage LET ME OUT #i love deep dives like this sorry 2 everyone i made think i was normal my bad #i just think immortality and godhood r funky concepts and i love making them WORSE #also this took so long because i was playing b@Idurs g@t3 3 erm. censored so it doesnt show up in tags PLEASE DONT SHOW UP IN TAGS #taking i need the tsaritsa to bite me to a whole new entirely worse level!! #i just think (starts talking for 5 hours straight and doesnt Shut Up) #this one is also. considerably more openly fucked up then the other fic. even if its hidden behind flowery language uh. take it seriously. #okay im done no more angst its fluff from here on out i need 2 be NORMAL. i am a normal well functioning adult. maybe.

[heartmii]

TOA 01

✮⋆apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: angst, mentions of blood, anything else anyone sees and is uncomfortable with please let me know!

✮⋆˙ woo chapter two!! I'm excited to release this but also super nervous because I added a twist that I'm not sure everyone will love but I mean, it's a story about mythical beings so I decided to just have fun with it!

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“What did you do?” Anger seethed through the ex-god, his shaky breath competed with the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. Apollo’s eyes snapped to the now smug smiling emperor, the fury in his chest growing. 

“Oh? Are you not happy with what you see?” Caligula asked, voice laced with fake concern. He clicked his tongue, his eyes surveying his servants in dissatisfaction. “The gods,” he sighed, shaking his head. “So hard to please. You surprise them with the dead love of their life, and still, it’s not enough for them to say thank you. Such egos, it’s a shame, really.”

Apollo swallowed, an attempt at soothing the dryness that was now overtaking his throat. “That’s not possible. It’s an illusion. It has to be…” he faltered, his body deflating as he dropped onto the ground.

 Apollo was a god turned mortal. He was from the mythical world and saw many things, things that one alone could not comprehend, things that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be able to happen because it went beyond the natural order of the mortal and mythical world. Yet, somehow, you being brought back from the dead was not an acceptance that came easily to him. 

It’d been years, years, since your death, but you lived. Alive in Apollo’s mind. There was not a day, not a century, not even a millennium, that Apollo did not think of you and the bittersweet memories you two shared. Your grace and your beauty, along with the essence of your soul, were immortalized for eternity in his heart, where he could forever nourish your memory and honor your legacy. 

Please… Who was he kidding? Honoring your legacy? Him? Apollo had done nothing but trash on everything you stood behind! If anything, he went against what you fought so desperately for. There was blood on his hands. The blood of many innocent lives he so easily discarded with no regard for their being. The option of others having a choice was previously nonexistent in the ex-god’s mind. He’d force many people to do his bidding and castigate them if they rejected. 

Including those he loved after your time. 

His heart clenched as Daphne’s horrified face filled his mind. Her expression contrasting his hopeful one as he chased her through the forest surrounding mount Olympus. It was Eros who, so full of spite, caused her to hate the mere thought of Apollo’s face. So much so that she begged her father, Peneus, desperate for help. He’d heard her prayers and granted her salvation.

 But even after the last branch formed from Daphne’s outstretched arm and she had fully become a prospering laurel tree, Apollo did not allow her to rest peacefully. He had plucked the leaves from her branches and formed what was now known to be one of his most notable symbols. The laurel reef.

 Daphne didn’t love Apollo. No, she despised him so much that she believed death was better than remaining on earth with him, but even that he had stolen from her. 

Just like you, Daphne was immortalized in the memories and stories of people but met the tragic fate of being forever tied to the very god that she had died escaping, tainting her name with his own and taking away her right to a peaceful death. Apollo may not have been the one that forced her to take her last breath, but it was he who pushed her to such a state of helplessness that she felt there was no other option. 

Perhaps that was why the thought of you being alive was so agonizing to him, because then you would learn about the monster he had become and how all of those promises he made to you under the moonlight had become nothing but empty words he spewed under the drunken spell of love.

 How could he look you in your eyes now? Eyes that always glimmered with determination as you spouted your ideals and all the great you planned to do in the world…how could he look at those same eyes and say that he failed to do what you had dreamed, what you both dreamed. Even if that dream died for Apollo a long time ago. 

Caligula considered Apollo for a moment before grabbing your arm and moving you back into his line of sight. He turned back to the ex god, his smile now wicked and sadistic, vastly enjoying the conflicting grief in his eyes.

“You haven’t taken a proper look at him. As he was once your lover, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ve memorized his body. You should have no trouble deducing if he’s a fake or not.” 

How odd was it that Apollo, who had been literally fighting for his life these past few months and wanted nothing more but to evade conflict, wished he was dodging swinging swords, and running from giant monsters that chased him and his friends instead of being here, simply standing and being forced to stare at the person most precious to him. 

Yet, he had succumbed to the small part of him that was a tad curious if it truly was you. 

His breath staggered, and he stood on wobbly legs, anxiously meeting your stare, only to regret it immediately. 

There they were, those eyes. Hypnotic as they had willed Apollo into your grasp, and enchanted him with an infatuation that ran deep in his blood. The same hunger swirled within them in a way that could only be described as honest passion. The intensity made Apollo’s heart skip a beat, and he trembled under your gaze. 

It was said that one’s eyes were the window into their soul, a quote which honestly was quite dated and overused, but as you searched deep within Apollo, he felt his own soul stir in response. His body had recognized its missing piece and, like a magnet, it fought to connect again.

Your souls were bound to each other. The fates decreed that the moment you two met. There was no way Apollo wouldn’t have known if you were a fake. 

In case he was completely wrong and in over his head, he took action to make sure he was absolute in his observation. It hurt to tear his sight away from your face, but he allowed himself to survey the rest of you, as Caligula suggested. 

His eyes roamed your body with a frown. 

 How strange. You appeared to be… out of this world. 

Your aura, although it had always been charming, was different in a way Apollo could not put his finger on. Something about you filled him with an irresistible sensation he had never felt with you before. 

Could it be Lester’s human hormones could not handle the gorgeous sight of his past lover and therefore appeared to be more appetizing than usual?

No, that couldn’t be it. Yes, mortals could definitely be extremely tempting creatures, but they didn’t hold the same weight and power as they did with gods. Many felt enchanted just by the mere sight of one. It was not a simple task to break away from their inviting aura and fight the urge to give in to their desires. 

Your aura was similar; An inviting force emitting from you. But how? You weren’t a god… were you? 

Apollo gagged internally at the thought, his insides twisting at the possibility of you being a deity. 

Being mortal was the very essence of your existence. It was nauseating how you nurtured the role like it was your life’s purpose, facing no fear towards things such as death or illness, claiming that these tragedies were simply just a part of being human and running from it would do nothing but force you to live in a world of clouds where you’d constantly be lost amongst the fog. 

Becoming a deity would’ve made your death a vain sacrifice for what you believed and enduring an eternity of grief would’ve been for nothing. Days of forcing the sun to shine upon the earth when Apollo himself was lost in the overwhelming darkness of his heart as his guiding light, his sun, was gone. Constantly, he searched for another you because the void left in him hurt too much, but of course, none had come as close to his heart as you did because in the end, all he wanted was you and he caged his heart behind iron bars out of fear of experiencing grief on that level ever again. 

There was only one who had been close to unlocking his heart again after you. His dear Hyacinthus. Oh, how the boy had reminded Apollo of you in so, so, many ways. The both of you were graceful, heads held high as you smiled at all that you loved. Adored by many as anyone who came to meet you was always enthralled by your allure and hearts of gold. But alas, love was never in Apollo’s favor, and his precious Hyacinthus met a tragic fate when he was murdered by the conniving and envious wind god, Zephyrus. 

It was almost comical how similar your deaths were. A sadistic joke played on Apollo. All hope he ever had for another love as great as you and Hyacinthus went out the window and following that was a now numb and manipulative god who allowed himself to know his lovers but never allowed them to know him. 

All of that guilt he felt for abusing his authority and refusing to see his lover’s as equals, all the shame for not living up to par with what you wanted, would’ve been for nothing. Along with the stab of knowing that you didn’t choose HIM over your ideals when he would’ve burned the world for you, was all too much. No, you couldn’t be a deity because then Apollo would never forgive you. 

He could not bear these thoughts and, for once, Apollo was glad when Caligula spoke to him as he had distracted him from the fogginess building up in his eyes.

Caligula waved his hand in the ex-god’s face, surveying him. “I’ll take the dumb look on your already idiotic face as confirmation that you’ve recognized that this is the real deal.” He turned to you, “I know how, uh… different…Apollo must look to you. Surely, it must be traumatic to come back from the dead and your once powerful and radiant lover is now pathetic, weak, and ugly. Do you believe this to be the god you once loved?”

Apollo huffed, once because he could not deny that Lester’s face was, in fact, idiotic and again because of Caligula’s question. Your eyes were good, but they weren’t that good. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been blessed with seeing beyond the mist, a trait that could’ve saved your life.                  

“You ask him a question he cannot answer. He would not recognize me in such a body—“ 

“Yes.” You cut him off and stepped closer. Apollo sucked in his bottom lip as your hands had come up to run your fingers through his hair. Oh, how he missed your touch. The way you handled him like he was a piece of glass. Then you spoke again, your voice being in that delicious and melodic tone that made heat travel up Apollo’s neck to the tips of his ears. Damn this body. 

“Although in a different body, your scent remains the same… how bizarre. Might it be your soul I smell?” You muttered, your fingers dragging down Apollo’s cheek. 

Apollo shuttered at your touch, the coolness of your finger soothing his warm face. But as much as he wanted to allow you to continue your exploration of his body, he could not shake off what you had said. “My scent—- What does that mean? — How is your nose even that good?—“

“Bravo! It appears love truly conquers all!” Caligula clapped, pulling you away from Apollo and making the ex-god frown. Something wasn’t right about you, besides being a walking corpse. Death was not his domain, but as far as Apollo was aware, coming back from the dead did not include the nose of a hellhound. 

“What did you do to him?” He asked Caligula, pinning his arms to his side as they had once again trembled. 

Caligula stared at Apollo questioningly. “What did I do?” He laughed. “You are funny, dear. This fiasco was not my idea. All I want from you is to squeeze out the final essence of godhood that’s left in that lanky vessel. If you were smart, you would’ve directed your attention to the only witch in the room.” 

Apollo’s eyes swiftly met Medea’s sadistic ones. She had silently been watching the previous conversation from the side. Gods, he was so caught up in the sight of you he had forgotten all about the Wicked Witch of the East.

“How rude of you to put me on the spot. I haven’t prepared my speech.” Medea purrs and approaches, circling around you before landing her hands on your shoulders. “On the contrary, love does not, in fact, conquer all.” She said, referring to Caligula’s earlier comment. 

“Instead, it leads people to their doom. It makes them think with their hearts and not their heads. The most powerful beings,” Apollo cursed himself for flinching after she had eyed him with a knowing look. “Have been brought down onto their knees in the name of love. As you all know, I, myself, have been a victim of this. After Jason betrayed me.” 

“I don’t understand.” Apollo interjected. “I had nothing to do with Jason’s betrayal against you.” 

“Oh, I am aware. But that is not why I brought him up.”

“You see, my heart had never bled as much as it did when I was in love. I yearned to serve Jason. To become half of his soul as his life, his goals, had become my own. I was high on that feeling. A feeling you must know well, yes?” The smile on her face was one Apollo did indeed recognize. 

A smile that did not reach one’s eyes, that was all for show to hide your true misery. He hated sympathizing with the witch, but he knew exactly what she meant. 

It seemed his face wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings either, as Madea had nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction. “I needed something against you, Apollo. But what was something that would hold such great power over an ex-Olympian God? It couldn't be physical, no, that would be too merciful. I needed something, or someone, that could cause such turmoil within you that the thought of even fighting against it would cause you great sorrow.” 

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Putting in all that effort into destroying little ol’me.” 

She sneered, her eyes narrowing. “I studied you. Studied how I could control you, and imagine my surprise when I found out about an unclaimed lover of yours.” Her hands go to you, caressing your arms and making Apollo livid. “It seems not everything made it into the history books.”

Grime stained Apollo’s face, becoming one with the hot tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands ached as he pulled apart dirt from the ground with none other than his fingers. He could’ve called someone and ordered them to do the laboring task on their own. But he refused. He had to do this alone. He had to bury you himself. 

 No one should be able to see you, to touch you, to be around you. Not anymore. You were too sacred, too precious for this cursed world. But Apollo was selfish. He took you away from the earth, took you away from the rest of your family, just to have you rest under his domain. 

The god’s choked cries turned into loud sobs as his fingers dug deeper into the sacred dirt of Delos, shimmering gold tainting the soil. He welcomed the blood seeping from his hand; the pain was deserved. It was nothing compared to what you must’ve felt when his father had struck you down, but he needed to feel something. Anything that would compensate for the agony you went through before drawing your final breath. 

Delos, where he and Artemis were born. The land that had once been his aunt, Asteria, who had transformed herself into a floating island to get away from the advances of Zeus.  Where she provided sanctuary for his mother as she ran from the wrath of Hera on earth. This is where Apollo would bury you, a place that would now provide you sanctuary as it did for his family. A place where you could rest unbothered by the world. 

The hole was deep enough now, and Apollo had pulled himself out of it. A coffin waited for him and he involuntarily walked towards it, dragging his hand against it. The coffin had been turned from a simple block of stone to a grand piece of imagery. All along its sides had Apollo carved into it, creating depictions of milestones in your relationship. The first time you met, along with the time he revealed to you he was a god followed by the countless times he’d let you play on his lyre and of course, the first ‘I love you.’ Amongst many more. 

He was gentle with the coffin when he picked it up, moving slowly when he brought it over to the open ground. Apollo bit his lip, holding back his weeping so that he could focus on lowering you into the hole. 

It was done. You were really gone, and Apollo would never be yours again. 

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes bleak. He was sitting on the ground, painting a gravestone. 

Grass crunched behind him as someone approached. “You’re burying him here?” 

Apollo’s wrist kept moving, his brush creating faces on the gravestone. Still, he answered, “Cut the crap, Artemis.”

Artemis crossed her arms, frowning at her brother’s words. “I was born here too, Apollo. I have just as much right to be here as you do.” 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Apollo snapped, the brush falling from his fingers. 

“Knew what?” Artemis asked. 

“Don’t lie to me Artemis.” Apollo stood, finally facing his twin. “You knew father would kill him!” 

Artemis flinched as she caught wind of Apollo’s face, the puffiness under his eyes red and throbbing. Yet she recovered quickly, shaking Apollo’s arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He placed his hands back onto her, gripping her in more of a desperate plea than before. “Please, sister, tell me the truth. Did you know that father would kill him?”

. “I…” she started, her chest growing heavy as she felt Apollo’s fingers shake against her. Swallowing carefully, she moved her eyes to your grave. “Yes, I knew… we all did.”

Apollo’s grip on her tightened, his eyes becoming glassy at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sworn to secrecy? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Father is frightening. I understand if he forced you to swear on the River Styx—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.” 

“What…?” 

“Oath did not bind me to not say anything to you. I simply chose not to.” Artemis stated, throwing Apollo off of her once again. Her head held high as she watched for his reaction. 

Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. “You knew how much I loved him, you knew father was going to kill him and you didn’t tell me! I don’t understand, Artemis. You are my sister, my twin, my blood. How… how could you?”

“That is exactly why! Apollo, you are my other half. We are two sides of the same coin. We might be related to the others, but their bond is not like ours. That boy was leading you to your demise. I have nothing against him, but you are who I care about most. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I didn’t want to see my brother subjected to an eternal punishment, either.” Artemis finished, her own resolve fading as she too shook at the thought of Apollo being hurt. 

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Well, sister,” he started, malice seeping into his voice, “It seems you’ve failed anyway because a life without him is the worst punishment I could ever endure.” 

“Demigods!” Medea yelled out, bringing awareness to Meg and Jason’s presence in the room. They couldn’t speak anyway, not while they were stuck in the wind tornadoes Medea had stuck them in. “This is important. Pay attention.” 

“Delphi was a known city-state of ancient Greece. A city state where you, Apollo, were the patron god of. But the Delphi that lives in myths, the one that we know, is not the Delphi that has always been.” 

Through the corner of his eye, Apollo watched as both Meg and Jason’s expressions formed into one of confusion. 

“Once upon a time ago, Apollo betrayed Zeus. However, that’s not a surprise, that is a story that still lives. What didn’t make it, though, was the entire punishment your father had you experience. The gods said you were forced to build the gates of Troy alongside Poseidon. But what they failed to mention was the part where Zeus took everything from you. Your lover and your city. Isn’t that right?”

Apollo opened his mouth to speak, eager to defend his story. He knew where this was going and dread filled his stomach.  

Medea spoke before he could. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part! The original Delphi had its own royal family, a family that your boy-toy had been born to.” She comes to your side, raising your hand up. “Here stands the last prince of Delphi before its initial destruction. After a few years, Apollo rebuilt Delphi and got rid of all the evidence of its history. But thanks to my digging, I could uncover all of this.” 

Behind him, the Pandai were ready to lunge forward and capture Apollo as he had taken on a defensive stance against Medea. “Who told you this? The only person who knew about where I buried him was my sister.” 

Medea scoffed. “Oh, please, if you want to hide the body of your dead lover, do it somewhere that’s not your famous birthplace that everyone knows about. It was the first place I checked.” 

Apollo’s eyes ripped away from hers as blood rushed to his head. She was right, and he was an idiot to think that if someone wanted to find your body, they wouldn’t look on Delos. In his defense, it had been four thousand years since your death. 

Medea smirked at the red dusting Apollo’s cheeks. 

“Everything fell into place for me after that. You preserved his body well, I expected dust only to find that his body was enchanted to stay in good shape. It was perfect for my plan. I needed to bring him back from the dead without actually bringing him back, as I did not want to deal with Hades. He needed to be undead. I looked for spells beyond Ancient Greece and came upon the perfect solution within the dark arts—

“I’ve had enough of your talking,” Apollo sneered, glaring at the witch. “What have you turned him into?” 

“Patience.” She hissed, “I sacrificed my rarest properties along with human blood to create an elixir that would wake up this sleeping beauty. It took days to restore him to full health. But finally, when he did wake, he was radiant. No longer was he a meek mortal. His senses had heightened as he was now strong and blessed with speed, his ears picked up on sounds from miles away, and a nose made for hunting. There’s more, I'm sure of it, but he is still fresh and needs time to develop. So what did I turn him into, you ask?”

Medea sent Apollo one last wicked smile before dropping information that made the ex-god wish he was dead. 

“I have turned the long-lost Prince of Delphi into a vampire.” 

#pjo x reader #pjo x male reader #trials of apollo x reader #apollo x male reader #apollo x reader #trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus

[merrysithmas]

If Anakin actually embraced his demigod-ness what would he actually do? Like if he’s not doing Jedi stuff or something similar is he just chilling on some Force God planet until something requires his intervention? 

LOL hmmm... eat space grapes off the vine? swim shirtless through the pools of time? practice his Form V as a constellation in the sky?? cause blackouts with his rage? storms with his sadness? drought with his despair? sunshine with his wonder? run his fingers through the ebony hair of the fates, picking out the strands of his loved one's lives and uncoiling them just to gaze...

but honestly! If we go by The Mortis arc in TCW, The Father firsts tests Anakin to see if he is truly the Chosen One. He forces Anakin into a situation where his children, The Daughter and Son (who represent the Light and Dark), threaten the lives of Obiwan and Ahsoka. The two people most important to him (and another tick against the idea that Anakin & Padme had 100% genuine selfless love for each other).

The Father threatens Anakin with the death of either Ahsoka or Obiwan, and asks him to choose which Child's rage he will control- the Dark or Light.

Anakin, unwilling to choose between the two he loves most, LITERALLY moves the stars and heavens above him, shifting the sky from night to day and back again and pulls on his divine power to subdue both the Light and Dark, freeing both Obi and Ahsoka. It is my favorite scene in all of Star Wars.

After witnessing this, the Father is convinced of Anakin's birthright. He begs Anakin to take his place on Mortis... saying that he is growing too old and weary to watch over and control his children anymore, and that they will be thrown out of balance without his guidance.

It is much like the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Indiana is met by the ancient knight in the sacred temple who offers him his sword, utterly grateful to be relieved of duty... seeing this new Knight appear to take up his place as guard of all that is good and just.

That is what Anakin's job is.

To enact his balance of will on the Force-plane, not the mortal plane where mortals are unfit for it - where they can die and suffer the wrath of the gods in immediate and horrifying ways.

Anakin, who is adamant the Chosen One is a myth (out of self protection), tells The Father he cannot abandon his friends and must leave Mortis. This action is very much akin to Luke's when he leaves Dagobah to save Leia and Han and Yoda warns him not to go. Anakin is terrified to leave the mortal realm, unwilling to take on the responsibility, and deeply attached to humanity. He loves them.

The Father warns Anakin that should he leave Mortis he will forever regret it for the remainder of his days.

This can also be seen as a vague allusion to the chaos that turns out to be Luke and Leia, and the ultimate hardships of their lives. Perhaps had Anakin taken up The Father on his offer, and had been able to wrangle the The Daughter and Son into submission and balance, acting as a sentry who understood both the Forces of Dark & Light and the mortals of the Galaxy, then Anakin's own son and daughter (who share his blood and thus his immortal inheritence) would have happier, easier lives and even joined him on Mortis.

In truth, I think Anakin would be miserable and lonely on the plane of the Force Gods. Just as he is miserable and lonely on the mortal plane.

The Force did torture and torment him as a creation. He can be neither happy or totally content in either place. His human heart longs for his mortal friends, and his god soul longs for higher purpose.

His truly is a tragic existence until he dies - where he can be in the afterlife, the magical Force Netherworld, with Obiwan. And we find out in TRoS Luke and Leia also become Force ghosts- and I like to believe Ahsoka, too, so all his children can be with him.

Which is to Anakin, finally the best of his both worlds.

But fr I picture Obiwan and Anakin in the force going on epic supernatural Quests and mulling over the fate of mortals with Anakin trolling people with visions and horrors to "test" their resolve and their preparation for their dark sides - taking on the role of the Ghost of Christmas Future but with far more trolling and he's like laughing to Obi-wan when he materializes home, Obi you should've seen his face when I showed up as his dead girlfriend...! or causing visions which swallow rotten people into the ground like the pits of Sith hells, causing them to wake in abject terror with an unseeable Anakin grinning over their beds wearing Force Sunglasses 😎

Ultimately, I think Anakin, as the Chosen One & master of the Dark Side in life, would take on the afterlife role of caring after and protecting those who are very strong in the light - he'd have a genuine affection for them and consider it his celestial duty to prepare them to face their Dark Sides in order to confront their balance, inner selves, and their capacity for destructive power. He'd want to protect them. That would be his primary patronage although he'd go about it in amusing and sometimes rather grim ways. He'd be very compassionate but brutal about it - a reflection of the extremes of his life, which is the source of his great wisdom.

As for Obi-wan I picture him tending a very cosmic garden planting strife for some, watering some happiness to bloom for others, watching well-deserved wishes take fruition as beautiful blossoming berries after many years of waiting for other certain souls... I picture him keeping a very endless, very eternal library with boundless tomes. Sitting in the sunlight, making careful notes in the margins of people's lives... little reminders or helpful suggestions, that turn up on the mortal plane as nagging feelings or sudden inspiration.

But ultimately they are in the Force having fun together and taking on missions in the Netherworld as they discover, even further, the unknowable reaches of the incredible Force.

#anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #leia organa #obi wan kenobi #obikin #ahsoka tano #also anakin throws a huge fit from the force whenever someone down in the mortal plane wants to date luke or leia (or ahsoka) #and obiwan is like !?!? because Anakin is causing a black hole or hurricane or star implosion #and then he sees it's about han solo again or the mandalorian and rolls his eyes and goes back to gardening #lmao

[jknerd]

PSYCHE

Name: Psyche Age: 21 -> Immortal Aliases: Anima Gender: Female Occupation(s): Princess (formerly), Goddess of Soul/Spirits and butterflies Relatives: King Minotlas (father), Queen Ganymedea (mother), Aglaura (older sister), Cippidae (older sister), King Argol (1st brother-in-law), King Ishmil (2nd brother-in-law), Eros (husband), Hedone (daughter), Aphrodite (mother-in-law), Ares (father-in-law), Hephaestus (uncle-in-law), Erotes (brothers-in-law), Phobos (brother-in-law), Deimos (brother-in-law), Zeus (grandfather-in-law), Hera (grandmother-in-law) Interests: Sewing, solving puzzles, tea time with Persephone, Aphrodite and other wives Character Psyche was a mortal princess who become a goddess of soul and spirits. She was youngest of three princesses in a kingdom and one of the most beautiful among them. People, including priests, compared her to Aphrodite and many even went to extent she was much fairer that the goddess. As Aphrodite’s temple was neglected and deserted in favor of Psyche, Aphrodite was even more outraged Psyche, the princess of her country, didn’t even bother to organize her temple, deeming it as sacrilege. As punishment, she sent her son Eros to make Psyche fall in love with a vile and hideous being. However, seeing Psyche’s beauty when asleep, Eros fell in love with her and decided to spare her from mother’s wrath. Concerned that while the entire nation praised her beauty yet no one asked for her hand in marriage, her parents asked for advice to the prophet of Delphi. Devastated that she had a fate of marrying “powerful, monstrous creature no god would dare go against”, they were forced to sent their youngest daughter away. Psyche didn’t even get to bid goodbye to her older sisters who were already married to then-princes of Assyria and Hittite. Arriving in palace, she was greeted by invisible servants and her husband who would visit her in the dark of night. One day, she begged her mysterious husband to see her sisters and he allowed. Horrified of her marriage life, her sisters’ concern goes overboard from believing their sister’s husband was gaslighting or abusing her, they told her to identity his face and if the husband is monster, she must kill him. Scared, Psyche obliged her sisters as she prepared the oil lamp and knife. Shocked in awe to see her husband was actually Eros, she dropped her knife waking him up. Psyche broke down as Eros left her. But, determined to reconcile, she searched for him and found Demeter’s temple to be barren and neglected. As Psyche cleaned the temple, she have discovered the reasons behind Aphrodite’s hatred towards her. With Demeter’s guide, she arrived to temple of Aphrodite. As the goddess angrily blamed her for misery of her son, Psyche asked for forgiveness and accepted four tasks. Despite the hardships and near death, she finally reunited with Eros and both officially got married. Later, they had a daughter named Hedone. Although she has become a goddess of souls and spirits, she was able to visit her family occasionally. Among the Olympian in-laws, she is very close to her father-in-law Ares as she learned he was the one who set Eros free during her near death experience. She was also one of the deities congratulating Ares’ rise to power in Ancient Rome as major god. She express joy and happiness with her wings fluttering golden dusts. In Fairly Odd Parents AU: Being one of the Olympian goddesses survived from the downfall, she lives with her husband Eros in the Fairy World. Her jobs were the measurer of godchildren’s souls and a teacher of Elementary school Poof and Foop attend; mostly on classes of flight and sports related. In Grimm Adventures of Billie & Manny AU: As a goddess of souls/spirits, her duty is the measure the dead’s souls, estimating amounts of good deeds and crimes through percentage. She is considered as reaper-in-training and a part-timer like Hermes. She was often seen calming her husband due to a stress from his business. She is also a friend of Grima as both interact in many occasions. In Disney Retelling - Heracles AU: Presented in Olympus to celebrate the birth of Heracles, she has given baby Heracles a gift of strong mind. Later, she watches Ares’ anger with her mother-in-law and husband in concern. When Ares and Hera attempted to use mind control to force Heracles to kill Megara and others, Psyche was the one who activated Heracles’ strong mentality, preventing the curse. Later, she was seen celebrating in Heracles’ wedding.

#Greek Mythology #Psyche #Fairly Oddparents AU #Grimm Adventures with Billie & Manny AU #Disney Hercules AU

[the-world-annealing]

Vecna, who thwarts apocalypses

-Three Worlds Collide (2009) Vecna, so the D&D sourcebooks will tell us, is the god of death, knowledge, and 'evil secrets'.

Death and knowledge have two obvious overlaps, of which the first is simply that lore which relate to mortality. Funeral rites, the fate of the dead, those spells that bestow the curse and blessing of lichdom. The second is even more direct: the notion of taking knowledge to your grave, of your secrets dying with you.

But what are 'evil secrets'? Secrets have no moral essence: they are just poorly-known facts. An attempt to attach moral valence to them falls victim to the is-ought binary: nobody's ultimate values are based in facts. The simplest explanation is perhaps that they are secrets which can be used for evil, and which are used for evil more easily than for good.

With this conceptualization, we also explain the absence of a mirror god of 'good secrets': good is a lot less fragmented than evil. If you were a good person, who uncovered a secret Orphan-Feeding Spell, it would not stay secret for long. If you were evil and discovered an equivalent Orphan-Starving Spell... why would you bother to freely share that with anyone else? Why would anyone?

But even with the portfolio explained, there's question marks surrounding Vecna.

Vecna's backstory is fragmented and inconsistent. Some identify him as human, others as half-elf. It's unclear who (if anyone) sponsored his lichdom, how he survived his apparent destruction, and how he ascended to divinity. A much more blatant inconsistency shows up in the backstory of the Eye of Vecna: if the artifact was all that remained after Vecna's betrayal and death at the hands of Kas, why do the sources invariably describe Kas as plunging his sword into Vecna's eye? If any part of his body should be utterly destroyed: it's this one!

We know that throughout history, Vecna has repeatedly gone up against forces that should reasonably trump him (Greater Gods, the Dark Powers of Ravenloft, the Lady of Pain) and come out reasonably alright, without showing much more power than you'd expect of an intermediary deity. This suggests something about him makes them hold back.

Finally, we note how 3rd edition's Deities and Demigods suggests that Vecna has the power to instantly learn when someone 'uncovers, discloses, or otherwise writes down any secret that contains information that could affect the lives of five hundred people or more', a power that flows directly from his portfolio as god of secrets.

With this, we can put together a reasonable explanation for the mysteries surrounding Vecna.

We start with a powerful servant of some god of knowledge. Perhaps a demigod, perhaps an angel, perhaps a devoted mortal mage. The particulars are irrelevant and unknowable.

This servant, by random chance, discovers how to destroy the world. Perhaps spells that summon archdemons and elder evils can be devised by mere mortals. Perhaps you throw a patch of brown mold into the plane of fire. Perhaps a spell that detects cities can be turned into a weapon of mass destruction. Perhaps Wish and Simulacrum combine to get you infinite self-duplicating wizards.

The servant's discovery is the first of those things euphemistically called 'evil secrets'. The servant is horrified, both from the knowledge itself, and the realization that the gods built a fragile world. The gods know of every part of the world, and said it was good, and yet their joint creation can easily rip itself apart. His master is an incarnation of knowledge, perhaps the concept of knowledge itself, and did not see this coming. And if the gods themselves can't be trusted to do things right, who can?

"Nobody but me should know this" is a novel thought, in these early days of the world. Certainly, few have thought it as strongly. And the gods are made of thoughts and concepts. The servant latches on to the notion of confidential information and rides it all the way to a weak form of godhood.

The pantheon takes note, and many of them appear to demand an explanation. In response, he reveals a glimpse, the barest glimpse, of his destructive secret, enough to cause a cataclysm, not enough to end the world. And as the gods look on in horror, the godling speaks:

"This destruction is inevitable, because it springs from a flaw at the heart of your creation. Destroy me, and another will learn what I learned. Fix this flaw, and others will remain. Whether today or tomorrow, all you have made is doomed."

At this blasphemy, the gods of war and battle jump forth, and slay the newborn god, and cut him into many pieces which they scattered about. But it is not long before the gods fell to despair: their world was doomed. They could not predict its points of failure, their minds naturally unfit for the task of spotting flaws in their own creation.

Then, from within their midst, the godling's remnant spirit whispers:

"I, too, do not wish for the world to be unmade. Return me to what I was, and I shall guard this secret and many more. No mortal shall learn of this world's frailty and the tools of its undoing, and the world may endure for many eons more."

This, the gods accept, however grudgingly. They restore the godling, his new body a mutilated corpse in some grim reminder of the other gods' greater might. They grant him dominion over destructive secrets, death, and the dealing of the latter to protect the former. They create a cover story for this new god's ascension, containing enough truth to be plausible. And with that, they quietly hoped it would be enough.

It was: the world has not yet ended. Sometimes an ambitious mortal comes close to changing that, but their plans never go off quite right. Some die under mysterious circumstances, their notes torn or missing, others meet their demise at a party of adventurers that happened to be in the right place at the right time. A few are recruited by Vecna's church himself, and subtly redirected towards less-risky endeavors. And as the world endures, the other gods watch in silent gratitude.

The gods will deny all of this, of course. To admit they are flawed, and rely on another to cover those flaws, would be a double blow to their pride. It would greatly weaken the mortal faith that they depend on. What chaos and destruction might arise if any mortal learned?

As you might see, that means the pact between Vecna and the other gods is part of Vecna's divine portfolio. The other gods realized this too late, and are now powerless to reveal or break it. Only Vecna has that power, and he shares this tale with none but his most trusted cultists.

And what of those destructive secrets that Vecna suppresses? He learns them, of course, and as their inventors die, only he retains them. Vecna has gained enough knowledge to end the world a thousand times over, but for now bides his time. For all his power to unilaterally end the world, the other gods can still destroy him if he tries to blackmail them.

But year after year, Vecna's knowledge grows. It's not a matter of whether he will one day discover some tool to bootstrap into omnipotence, it's when. Until then, he's more than happy to keep things running.

#hi stranger things ppl i'm sorry this is not your blorbo #vecna #d&d #d&d 3.5 #d&d 5e #worldbuilding #d&d deities #a love letter to players who like breaking the game #and a plausible excuse to stop them #with a lil sprinkle of x-risk thrown in #d&d villain #I am crediting but not linking to Three Worlds Collide for various reasons if you know you know

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1

A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

Summary:

Now, I’m sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which he’d been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.

The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.

This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.

Chapter 1: Mother's Gift

Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.

A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.

Mother had a gift for him.

Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these ‘family meetings’ they’d been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely he’s been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.

Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded man’s confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.

Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?

“Moreau” Mother Miranda’s voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatore’s brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.

“Y-yes! W-what… is it… M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you… j-just like you asked” Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.

“So you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my children” the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatore’s soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.

“Y-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would… I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need… I’d d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!” The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when he’d arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his mother’s hands.

“I know you would, Moreau,” Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatore’s head, “which is why I’ve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.”

Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?

‘Too long’ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.

“Moreau. Look at me” Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.

The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatore’s perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Miranda’s figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.

“Y-yes... Mother?” Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.

“Are you ready to collect your gift now?” The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.

Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Miranda’s question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the woman’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m ready Mother… I-I’m ready for... my g-gift now… can I… c-can I have it n-now… p-please?” Salvatore begs, pulling at Miranda’s hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded man’s cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.

“Of course, my child” Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatore’s and instead placing it along the man’s hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.

As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didn’t have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?

It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.

Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.

Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.

Oh how wonderful that would be!

#salvatore moreau #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil 8: village #mother miranda #beauty and her beast #fic #mine #chapter 1 #re8 #re8 village #re village #salvatore moreau x reader #moreau x reader #moreau x oc #salvatore moreau x oc

[zerokogane]

I need to scream about certain fics so here are some of my favorite persona 5 fanfics (be warned most of these of not all are going to be shuake and ongoing)

Pt 2 https://zerokogane.tumblr.com/post/652917516478349312/lappel-du-vide-xov-persona-5-archive-of-our

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995579

Ongoing, shuake, rated M, 300k+

Description:

What do you mean?” Ryuji tilted his head.

“It’s called Just Die. It reduces the SP needed for Insta kill skills like Mudoon or 'Please Die for Me' to zero.”

Ryuji and Ann blinked and blinked again trying to figure out what Morgana is trying to say. He watched as the gears churn in their head and they come to an epiphany, their faces growing horrified at the implications.

“Wait, you are saying. Joker can insta-kill literally everything in this palace. WITHOUT using SP at all?!” Ryuji clarified in astonishment because there is no way there isn’t a catch to this. “Without repercussion?!”

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Or the NG+ au where Akira knows more than he lets on, the Phantom Thieves start to suspect one of their own, and Akechi is in for a wild ride.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767610

Series 6/7 completed, no ships, ratings vary per part. 700k+(all 7 parts)

Discerption or first part in series :Forewarned

When Akira Kurusu is ten years old, his parents die in an accident.

One year later, he comes to Inaba. He doesn't expect to find family there, and he doesn't expect to find a hidden world of monsters inside the TV.

He finds both.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227510

Shuake, ongoing, rated T, 300k+

Discerption:

In the Present...

...Akira and Goro are the famed Detective Princes of Tokyo! They've solved countless crimes and brought justice across the city, gaining allies and confidants wherever they've roamed! As election season approaches in the distance, and ominous warnings are whispered into their ears, will they be able to weather the storm to come?

In the Past...

...two young boys, abandoned by society and family alike, find each other. Will they be able to handle everything else they find, in the years to come?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989186

No ships, ongoing, rated T, crossover with bnha(sorta ? jokers in their universe but he doesn’t know why ) 280k+

Discerption:

“Foolish mortals!” Yaldabaoth’s shadow fell over them like a death shroud, “The sin of rebelling against a god is severe. As punishment, I banish you to other worlds unknown!”

Something changed in the air, like the snap charge of electricity after a thunder strike. No, this was more than that. The world shifted and changed and contorted, the weave of fate was unnaturally pulled by the God Of Control, creating fractals in the flow of time and space.

Joker’s teammates gasped as bizarre, otherworldly doors came into existence.

One, a pair of silver doors with alien markings, cracked open just a hair to reveal a large, terrifying eye. Another, a glowing paper door that would be at home in any vintage Japanese mansion. The third, a grand golden gate decorated with eyes and horned demons, bubbling black sludge dripped from its maw like tar. The final one was a fluctuating cloud of purple and black mist.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656152

Shuake, ongoing, rated T, 250k+

Discerption:

From a young age, Akechi Goro was forced to accept that life is not fair. When the world is full of injustice and seems determined to throw that in your face at every chance it gets, what are you supposed to do? Sometimes you just need to tear the whole damn system down.

Meanwhile, Kurusu Akira just wants his friend back. He never meant to become a delinquent, much less the leader of the Phantom Thieves, but he supposes he’s never been very good at staying out of other people’s business.

(A soulmate au where writing gets transferred to each other’s skin. As a result, they become long-distance friends… until Akechi lets his jealousy and anger get the better of him, that is.)

( if you turned off by soulmate au’s trust me it’s good and it’s not as big part of the story as you would think, or not used in the “normal” way....idk your just gonna have to trust me one this one if the story sounds interesting cause it’s really good rant over)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781733

Ongoing, shuake, rated M, 300k+

Discerption:

"Love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticule, and together, achieving a singular purpose against statistically long odds."

In which Goro Akechi joins the team during Kaneshiro's palace arc instead of Makoto.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30827231

Ongoing, will be polythieves but we don’t know the specifics yet, rated M, 29k+

Discerption:

Yaldabaoth had been told of the Mythical Trickster. He had laid out the plans for his game expertly, all the pieces and threads in place, ready to pull the Trickster into the trial that would determine humanity's fate.

His plan, however, did not account for what he actually received: Twin Tricksters.

No matter... surely, this would not lead the game too astray. Would it?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818682

Ongoing, no ships with Akira but there is ann/shiho, rated M, 44+k

Discerption:

When Suou Akira is arrested for a crime he didn't do and sent to Tokyo for probation, all he wants to do is live as quietly as possible and return to his family in Sumaru City. Of course, things don't work out the way he wants them to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31362848

One-shot completed, shuake, rated T, 7k+

Desertion:

'Akechi takes back his initial thought about this being an absolute pleasure to watch as the man, who was only a few mere feet away from Akira, whips his hand and flinging the freshly brewed two hundred and five-degree boiling hot coffee straight into Akira’s face.

Directly hitting Akira’s Glassless bare face.'

Or the one where Akira deals with a nasty, entitled customer and Akechi is perpetually in denial.

(For Akeshuake Hurt Comfort Week, Day Three, prompt: Illness/Injury!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30837995

One-shot completed, Shuake, rated T 21k

Discerption: Pretending is part of Goro's daily life, masks hiding his true intentions and feelings are things he uses very often.

However, the idea of lying about his relationship status never occurred to him.

Yet, now he is in a "relationship" with Leblanc's barista to trick his colleague and the therapist who doesn't know that they don't know each other.

And between medical appointments, dates, and his personal investigations, Goro must now manage the storm that is his emotions when it concerns Akira Kurusu.

Where is the line between pretended and true love after all?

or

A Fake dating couple therapy story where Goro and Akira use lame excuses to date.

#p5 #p5r #p5s #joker p5 #shuake #akeshu #ren x akechi #akira x goro #ryuji x akira #akira x akechi #ren x ryuji #akira kusuru #ren amamiya #goro akechi #sakamoto ryuji #ann takamaki #yusuke kitagawa #haru okumura #makoto nijima #ao3fic #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic recs #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list

[phantom-le6]

Film Review - Mortal Kombat Legends: Battle of the Realms

Staying with Warner Brothers animation for one last review while taking a break from superheroes, it’s time to take a look at the second film in the Mortal Kombat Legends duology.

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

A couple attempts to protect their infant son, Liu Kang, from pursuing Tarkatans, who are sent to prevent the infant from fulfilling his destiny of defeating the Emperor Shao Kahn. They tear the father apart and mortally wound the mother, and then prepare to devour Liu Kang, but are stopped by Lord Raiden, who kills them all. The dying mother asks Raiden to tell their son that he was loved by his parents before passing on, and Raiden takes his leave with Liu Kang to train him for his purpose.

 Following the events of the previous Mortal Kombat tournament, Shao Kahn declares war on Earthrealm in retaliation for Shang Tsung's defeat at the last Mortal Kombat tournament on the inter-realm island. Princess Kitana, Kintaro, General Reiko, and Jade lead the emperor's first wave invasion force of Outworld laying siege against a Shaolin monastery but they are repelled by Kung Lao, Jackson “Jax” Briggs and Kurtis Stryker. At the onset of their assault, the Outworld commanders are confronted by Johnny Cage and Jax’s partner Sonya Blade.

 When Cage and Blade are soon joined in stymying the incursion force by Liu Kang and Raiden as negotiations fail, Kahn appears himself, petitioning Raiden to participate in a final Mortal Kombat tournament to decide the fate of their world once and for all. The thunder god agrees and he ventures to the realm of his overseers, the Elder Gods, to put forth his commitment to this ultimate contest.

 Meanwhile, just as plans for the final competition are being drawn, Scorpion reawakens back in the Netherrealm after having died a second time upon Shang Tsung's island. He is confronted by the maddened Elder God Shinnok over the death of his favoured servant Quan Chi. Shinnok wants Scorpion to go to Earthrealm to use the key embedded in is soul to retrieve the final piece of the Kamidogu, but Scorpion refuses and flees to Earthrealm to escape. Shinnok then hires the Lin Kuei clan to retrieve Scorpion. Back in Earthrealm, Lin Kuei members Smoke and Kuai Liang (the new Sub-Zero and brother of the original) are summoned by the grandmaster to hunt down Scorpion. They are horrified to witness their missing peers having undergone cybernetic biomodifications as a means to strengthen the clan, and that they are expected to do the same. In response, Smoke and Sub-Zero rebel, with Sub-Zero being the only one to flee successfully.

 Back at the Shaolin Temple, Raiden returns to his troops after making arrangements to hold and participate in the tournament while relinquishing his immortality. Once the Earthrealm warriors heads out for Outworld, Scorpion makes his presence known to Raiden. He mentions how the key to Shinnok's prison had been bonded to his soul and came to the protector of Earthrealm for advice about its purpose. Raiden informs him about the key’s relation to the Kamidogu, which is a supreme magical relic from a bygone era that could doom all the realms if reassembled.

 At the start of the tournament, Cage is defeated by Kytinn warrior D'Vorah; Sonya defeats D'Vorah and Li Mei; Kang defeats Jade; Stryker defeats Baraka; and Jax successfully defeats Kintaro by ripping his arms out of their sockets.

 Back on Earth, Scorpion is being pursued by the now cybernetic Cyrax and Sektor in a dockside shipping yard. The trio are soon interrupted by Sub-Zero, who is out for revenge against Scorpion for killing his brother, but even he is outmatched by their superior enhancements, and the arrival of a cybernetically Smoke tips the balance further. With their enemies overwhelmed, the three cyber-Lin Kuei apprehend Scorpion and make off to the Temple of Elements. At their destination, they force Scorpion to open the gate leading to their prize. As they prepare to eliminate him once upon accessing its gateway, they are interrupted again by the vengeful Sub-Zero. Scorpion tries and fails to explain to Kuai Liang why he killed his brother, but succeeds in forging a temporary alliance with him against the Lin Kuei. The two are still no match for their robotic assailants and are left for dead upon their acquisition of the artifact as the mountainous hall collapses on them.

 As the second half of the final tournament is underway, Lao and Stryker are killed by Shao Kahn and Shang Tsung. Kitana rebels against Kahn instead of fighting against Raiden only to be beaten into submission. Kang defeats Shang Tsung regardless of a setback and spares him.

 Within the Netherrealm the Lin Kuei realize too late their employer was Shinnok, learn of his plan to revive the One Being and bring an end to all of creation, and they subsequently betrayed and killed for their services.

 During the final stage of the tournament, Raiden loses his battle against Shao Kahn and dies in the process, enraging Kang to defeat Kahn and win the tournament. Celebrations are cut short however as Shinnok finally succeeds in resurrecting the One Being, who appears to use Shinnock as a vessel for his power. With the aid of the Elder Gods, Sub-Zero, and Scorpion, Liu Kang engages in combat with the One Being while Johnny, Jax, Kitana, and Sonya protect civilians from Kahn’s remaining army.

 In the aftermath of the battle, Kang manages to absorb the One Being's power and uses it to separating the realms into their original state, including Kitana’s realm of Edenia. Sonya and Johnny share one final kiss while Liu and Kitana hold hands in hard-earned peace. As they do so, the sky is filled with lightning, possibly implying that Raiden is not truly dead.

Review:

When I reviewed the previous Mortal Kombat Legends film, I stated that any film of this franchise has to nail three key elements. First, including the tournament the computer game series is based around along with enough exposition for a new audience to understand what it’s about.  Second, a respectable level of Fatalities to honour the key thing that separates Mortal Kombat from other fighting games.  Three, accurate representations of the characters from the source material. Scorpion’s Revenge did better than the live-action reboot on the first count while not quite getting enough exposition in, it brought the Fatalities and other game elements in very well, and it got the characters very close to the source material.  How, then, did its sequel do?

 The answer on elements 2 and 3 is about the same; if anything, the Fatalities of the first film are probably topped in quantity and certainly topped in terms of sheer goriness by those in this film.  That along with the numerous elements thrown in from the extensive lore of the games makes this film a real delight for any MK fans who have played a lot of the games.  On the first element, that of exposition to explain the tournament and keeping that as the film’s overall focus, that’s where Battle of the Realms falls short.  As I see it, there’s three reasons for this.  First, it’s a sequel.  Second, the film’s commentary states the film makers were condensing a huge amount of lore and a lot of characters into just two 80-minute films, so some things went over-board out of necessity.  Three, as Warner Brothers’ DC productions often show, the studio often supposes people already know their franchises from other formats, meaning they often fail to sufficiently consider first-time audiences.

 The reality is that much like the Injustice computer games that are made by the same people behind Mortal Kombat, film is not the right story-telling medium to get such a huge level of lore across. Unlike general superhero films, things like the Injustice Elseworld or Mortal Kombat have grown and developed in serialised formats that have a lot of time to develop long, in-depth stories. When forced to adhere to the time-constraints of a film, you lose the depth and time that story needs, and it gets diminished as a result.  I honestly believe Warner Brothers need to remake both projects as shows, either for general TV release or to go straight out on Blu-Ray like the films (I don’t want to buy into a streaming service for such things, thank you very much).

 Otherwise, the film is good and worth a watch if you like Mortal Kombat done to a decent standard in film format.  However, for me, it’s still not nailing what I want from a non-interactive audio-visual re-telling of Mortal Kombat, and doing that is my challenge to Warner Brothers.  TV series for actual TV or Blu-Ray, not a streaming show or web-show at all, that fully shows what Mortal Kombat is and focuses fully and solely on the tournament.  Oh, and a bit more tournament organisation being made apparent would also be a good idea; like the first one, the tournament scenes felt like a total free-for-all with no sense of round-by-round progression.  End score here is 6 out of 10.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Creatures in the dark Part 2

Pairing: witch!Steve x Reader

Warning: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, allusion to non-con.

Words: 2454.

Summary: A monster dressed in human flesh was waiting for you in the woods.

Part 1

____________

That night neither your grandfather nor you returned to your beds. Despite being afraid of revealing your secret, you told him everything: about the Plague and your encounter with the dead and the boy with a lantern who you thought came to save you. Your grandfather, and old, but tough man, had cried upon hearing your story, and you cried too. You didn't remember him dropping a single tear when his wife or grandson had died, but now his face was all wet.

Once the first ray of sun reached your house through the crack in a wooden shutter, the old man rushed to the witch living in a hut at the end of the village while you stayed home, putting more ash to the door. You didn't know whether the monster lurking in the woods could walk in the daylight, but you didn't want to risk it. Maybe he wasn't as powerful as the Plague if her mark prevented him from casting a spell on you, yet he was obviously strong enough to tear a human being apart.

You had no idea how much time you spent there all alone, praying in the corner, but your grandfather returned with both the witch and one of the elders, all of them with grim expression on their dirty faces.

"Not good, not good." The old woman whose grey hair were covered with a bleak blue scarf told you, spinning around you and shaking her head. "Not good at all."

"What's not good, granny Iva?" You asked, calling her the same way you did when you were a little girl. "What do you see?"

"The blessing of the Rotten One does no harm to you, dearest child, but she gave it to you for a reason. The boy you saw was no boy at all. His scent is all over you." Her quiet raspy voice sounded like a thunder to you.

"We'll wash it off!" Your grandfather exclaimed in despair. "I'll bring water and wood to the bathhouse-"

"Silly man, no water can help you wash it off her." The elder said in return, stepping closer and looking at your forehead suspiciously. "What's already done can't be reversed now. Besides, if the Plague herself had told you it's your fate to meet the monster in the woods, we mortals can do little about it."

"But he'll take me away. He will drag me out of the house and eat me alive!"

"No, my dear. That horned monster doesn't eat human flesh. He came to claim you." The old witch whispered, taking the red like blood beads out of her pocket. "To wed you, whether you come willingly or not."

Horrified with the revelation, you felt hot tears falling down your cheeks, and your grandfather quickly embraced you, dropping a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the two angrily, he shouted, "I'll better die than give her to that creature."

"Whether you want it or not, there's not much we can help her with." The witch bit her dry, chapped lips. "My magic has never been as strong as his even when I was young and powerful. But I keep wondering why Plague had given you a blessing, yet asked you not to run from the monster. Why? What is the meaning behind her words? What strength did she grant you with her mark?"

"H-he said I wouldn't rot now." You muttered, leaning closer to the old man. "Nothing else. What other strength could it give me?"

The woman motioned to the elder, and he returned to the door, opening it a little. Before your grandfather had snapped at him furiously, the witch pointed at something on the floor. As you looked there, you saw nothing suspicious and furrowed your brows. What was there so special? As you turned your head to the woman to ask her, your grandfather suddenly gasped.

"Look! Your shadow!"

Carefully observing it again, you realized yours was much longer than shadows of others, though you were all standing close, and it couldn't possibly be the play of light. You gulped down and bit your tongue painfully. What was that all about? What was this power, if there was any at all?

You slowly moved your arm, and the shadow moved its own, following your command as it always did. Except for its length, there was nothing particularly strange.

"Ask it to move by itself."

"What do you mean? How do I ask for it?"

"Just make a wish, it's simple."

Your grandfather was pretty much terrified with witch's words, and for a moment you thought you had never seen him like that in your entire life. The elder, however, didn't look suprised even the slightest bit, and the old woman was almost eager to see what would happened next.

Chewing your lips to bits, you closed your eyes, scared and confused. The next moment you heard one more gasp, knowing that your shadow did exactly what you demanded it to - detach itself from you and move to the wall behind the witch. Dear God, she was right. The blessing gave you something you shouldn't have.

"I don't understand anything at all!" You exclaimed loudly, tearing yourself away from your grandfather and moving back, covering your face with your palms. "Why didn't she tell me about it? And why give me power if I can't escape the monster, anyway?"

"If you can't run... it doesn't mean you can't fight." The wise woman muttered under her breath, but all of you heard her, and you chocked on air. Fight? Fight this deadly creature wandering in the woods?

You asked the shadow to move to the other wall, and it did it again. Dear God, maybe the witch was right.

"Teach her!" You heard your grandfather's desperate voice and saw him gripping the witch's wrinkly arm. "Take whatever I have, but-"

The elder rolled his eyes at this outburst, shaking his head with irritation. "Are you out of your mind, old fool? We will do anything we can. I have not become the elder to watch young girls being snatched away by monsters."

"And now shut up, you two. We don't have much time before the boy comes back. Bring me the bread, the blackberry, and a few candles, now."

____________

It had been two long days before the witch sensed your monster was coming back. You barely slept, spending all your time listening and doing what granny Iva had told you, watching the miracles you could now do all by yourself. She was right, the Plague did grant you power, and though you barely knew what to do with it, even the possibility to fight the creature brought you so much joy.

The woman called him the witch boy. You found it odd: was he the son of some other witch living in the forest? Laughing at you, the elder pointed out the clear difference: granny Iva was a woman who learnt witchcraft, but the boy was the one who was born with magic coursing through his veins, able to see the ghosts and cast spells most humans couldn't. He was only half mortal, and he was probably born to an evil spirit and a human woman. Judging by the huge antlers growing from his head, he was most likely the son of Yeev, the evil deer living in the Northern forests. People used to make human sacrifices to him, bringing him women he apparently mated with. Granny Iva had never heard of him having any children, but maybe one of those poor sacrificial brides was able to bear Yeev a son.

You wouldn't be able to defeate the boy right away, you realized. Although the Plague had granted you power, it would take time to learn how to use it, and the monster would hardly wait for it. You would have to go with him and figure out how to defeat him all by yourself. However, your magic would be enough to keep him from harming you, and it was already something.

That night granny Iva had given your grandfather a sleeping potion secretly. He didn't know that you would still have to leave with the monster, and you couldn't bare watching the old man struggle against it. It was better to put him to sleep.

When the monster opened the door, you had already been prepared to leave and turned to face him, suddely seeing not the skinny boy, but a huge bearded man who barely fit into the door frame. The ash near the door burnt out the very same moment he stepped inside, blue sparks flying the air.

"Were you waiting for me?" He smiled, walking into the house, his body muscular and strong as if he were a blacksmith.

You gawked at him, unsure whether he was the monster you were waiting for. Where was that little boy with a lantern, unhealthy pale and terribly thin?

"Don't look so surprised, little one. I took this form because I thought you'd like it better." Crossing the room, he barely looked at the elderly man, snoring lightly in the corner, and moved closer to you as you backed away from him involuntarily. "Don't be so cold, love. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, looking displeased and clenching your fists. That monster dared to play with you.

"This isn't funny, boy. Why would I care what form you take?" You said, figthing the urge to grab a handful of blackberries your pockets were full with and force them down the creature's throat. "Just get it over with."

Looking at your grim face, he offered you to take his hand, watching you intently with those dark blue eyes of his, and you reached out to him, biting your lips. You had definitely built up some courage from the night you met him, you thought, as he drew you closer, touching your hair. Running his fingers through it, the boy - the man - smiled at you again and drew a little symbol on your forehead, watching you becoming more nervous. Tensed, you furrowed your brows.

"Let's go." You urged him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. "I don't want my grandfather to wake up and see you taking me away."

The man hummed with content and went after you, closing the door once both of you were outside. Feeling the chill in the air, you rubbed your shoulder and looked back at the man with irritation. He was still smiling at you, and you didn't like it.

Turning away from him, you had placed a few blackberries into your mouth, trying not to smash it with your teeth, and then immediately closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and pressing your mouth to his. The man had opened his lips as if he welcomed you. You felt uneasy when he took all the berries willingly. Apparently, he knew of granny Iva's witchcraft.

"You can give me more." He whispered, his short beard brushing against your gentle skin. "It will be more fun this way."

You growled in frustration at his insolence, grasping a handful of blackberries and showing them into his mouth. Taking them all obediently, the man forced your hand to his lips as he licked the dark juicy drops from your skin, slipping his tongue between your fingers. Your face was growing hot with every passing second, but his grip was too strong to push the monster away.

All of a sudden, the antlers on his head appeared again, surrounded by a halo of cold blue light. The magic was starting to show his true colors.

His mouth was dirty with a few berries that got smashed when you pressed your palm against his lips, and you felt an odd urge to lick the little dark spots in the corners of his mouth clean. Damn, he was using his own magic, too.

"Let's go." You grumbled and started to walk in the direction of the woods, not wanting to awake the villagers. The man laughed behind your back and took your hand, speading up.

The silence between you as you moved was unbearable, but you didn't utter a single word until you finally reached the forest, the mist spreading slowly in between the trees. Glancing at the man, you saw he was still in that new form and chew your own tongue. When he was small, it was so much easier to imagine how you would outpower him.

"Could you please turn into the boy again?" You demanded as he came closer - you tried to hide your fear beneath the irritation.

The man chuckled, "Are you saying you'll be more obedient if I stay like this?"

Reaching out to the pocket of your dress, you smashed a few berries in your palm, colouring your skin with the sweet juice, and drew a sign on your arm before the monster reacted. You felt the wind growing stronger as you smiled at him wickedly. If the Plague herself had given you her blessing, you wouldn't become a mere prey of the creature wandering in the woods. You were not a sacrificial lamb.

The man jumped at you the next moment, and you two rolled on the ground, fighting for dominance. Cursing and growling, you bited and kicked and pushed, feeling the creature's cold hands caressing your body through the clothes. No, you wouldn't let him take you like that. Not now, not ever. Gathering all your strength and covering your palm in smashed berry pulp, you grabbed one of the antlers, and the man moaned under you, his huge form slowly changing until you saw a skinny boy lying beneath you. Amazed, he stared at you and stroked your hips lovingly with his arms growing warmer, licking his lips.

"You are so pretty." The boy muttered, looking at you through his trembling lashes. "Kiss me. Please."

Although you wanted to get up, instead you leaned closer, dropping a kiss to his soft discoloured lips and brushing your nose against his. Inhaling his earthy smell, you moved away quickly, glaring at him. Damn it, his magic was still bending you to his will.

"Don't you understand I won't stop?" You grunted, squeezing his antler stronger and making the boy wince and moan again, sitting on top of him. "I will learn, and I will fight you. I'm not gonna be your obedient little girl, listening to your every whim."

"Fight me." The boy whispered, and you felt something hard rising beneath you, brushing against your thigh. "Charm me; curse me. Do whatever you want to me, love. Just stay close."

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @lovelydarkdaydream

#skinny steve rogers #pre serum steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #yandere

[power-of-ages-writeblr]

Gods Don’t Die

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

-

-

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

The nameless being before him only laughed.

o0O0o

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

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

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

o0O0o

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

They won’t.

o0O0o

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

“It is cruel.” Cautions Hestia.

“It is dishonourable.” Admits Ares.

“It is selfish.” Explains Dionysus.

“It is childish.” Chides Hera.

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

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

Nobody argues.

o0O0o

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it isn’t.” She responds.

o0O0o

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

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

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

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

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

Athena doesn’t know what to say.

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

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

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

o0O0o

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

o0O0o

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yacoka]

AMOR FATI

──⊱ aut simul stabunt aut simul cadent

character(s) — akaashi keiji

pairing — akaashi keiji x reader

genre — angst

warning(s) — blood, death, war, mortal wounds

word count — 1700+

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

Your first meeting was in the midst of battle, the scent of death heavy as red mist sprayed through the air, the sounds of men fighting and dying all around you. You were two soldiers on opposing sides, powerless pawns destined to die for your countries in a senseless war that had waged for years.

You had entered the army with no hope, only the desperation of keeping your family fed. There was no other way to earn money, not in a war-ravaged country barely surviving the failing economy while the rich hid in their castles built on the bodies of slaves. Your weak arms, arms that had never carried a sword before, now swung it robotically. It was an extension of your body, and you had long numbed yourself from the guilt and horror of taking another’s life. You did what you had to, for your family.

It was the same every day. Fight an already lost battle, get injured, get sent back to recover. Pain wasn’t a foreigner anymore, and you learned to tune out the sharp pain into a dull ache. Until him. You felt the it as the sword sliced through his neck, the death blow sending you reeling as you felt his life gushing out with the blood that leaked from his throat.

Terror and shock filled your veins, jolting you from the numb haze clouding your mind. Your hands scrabbled at your untouched throat, coming away dirty, but still blood-free. How can there be no blood? How can that be when you could feel it trickling out of the phantom gash, filling your lungs with its sticky, thin heat. It just didn’t make sense, how did it, how did it, how did it-

Your eyes met his, and the questions died out as you watched the life leave his eyes. A hollow resignation that faded into a look of nothing, and it burned into you as you choked on his blood. That was the first time you died together, in fear, in confusion, in relief.

The darkness seemed endless, and the solidity of the nothingness beneath your feet was disorienting. Every step was so, so heavy, and yet so, so light. You screamed, you cried as you begged whatever power there was to free you from this silent hell. Didn’t you suffer enough? Hasn't life taken too much from you already? Could they not spare you this small mercy of moving on?

You awoke days, weeks later, screaming as you struggled past the dead bodies piled upon you. This was no mercy, you screamed at the heavens, tears streaking through dirt caked upon your face. The only response that came after was a sharp, biting rainstorm that drenched you to the bone, filling you with a chill that lingered long after the storm had stopped.

It was a miracle, they said. A God-given gift to win the war, they proclaimed as they shoved you back into your suffocating armor, stuck a sword in your hand and tossed you back onto the frontlines. Every cut, every slash, you felt them just as strongly as you did years ago, when you were nothing more than a mere novice on the battlefield. And you embraced it, the only thing grounding you from the unsettling emptiness that lay within you.

And so you swung your sword like a dutiful little soldier, cutting down enemies and stealing their lives from them, tucking the memory of the light draining from their eyes at the back of your mind. Brown eyes, black eyes, green eyes, blue-

Gunmetal blue that stared right back at you, shining brightly beneath the grime upon his face. Those unnerving eyes that stared right past your freezing walls and into the dark crevices of your mind. You never broke your gaze once, not even as your swords clashed and you gained new wounds. Even as he laid the killing strike that sent the both of you to your knees, your hands clutching the sword stuck cleanly into your chest.

“Your name,” you gasped, forcing yourself to stay a little longer, blood spilling from your wounds, painting the ornate handle red.

“Akaashi Keiji,” he choked out, his previously calm eyes now panicked. His hands clutched at his chest, broken nails leaving a frenzied trail of red.

“Th-that’s a be-beautiful name, Akaashi Ke-keiji.” A weak smile rested upon your pained face as the darkness claimed you, his name lingering upon your lips.

The third time you met was surprisingly not amidst battle, but in the neutral ground where both sides had called a ceasefire to recover their dead. You had been lifting the body of your fellow fallen soldier, his face mutilated to the point of unrecognizability when Akaashi snuck up behind you, bending down in the guise of inspecting another fallen body near you.

“I didn’t catch your name the last time,” his voice was low, steady despite the horrors laid around you.

There’s a slight pause as you hesitate. Was it safe to give your name when you now knew neither of you could die? What if he used it against you? A glance at the man crouching down beside you had your name slipping out before you could stop it. It was only fair that he knew yours. After all, you had his name too.

He stood then, grunting slightly as he hefted the body across his shoulders, tilting dangerously close to you. “Why does it keep happening?”

You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you didn’t have the answer to that question. How could you explain why you two would always die together, and come back alive once more, just to repeat the vicious cycle? This was a question no mere mortal had the answer to, and you left him there, with a single word.

“Fate.”

You had begun to lose count of the number of times you had died and come back to life, the vicious cycle becoming a mundane routine to you now. And as you performed yet another deadly dance with Akaashi, you picked up from your last conversation, having been cut short by your deaths.

“So what did you want to be, before you got dragged into this war?” You panted, darting back as his sword swiped through the air, narrowly missing your stomach.

“A writer,” he replied, bringing his shield up to block your attack. There’s a resounding clang as your sword crashes against it, and you grunt as you pull back from him.

“I could see it,” you hummed, before letting out a short gasp of pain as his shield knocks into your face. There would be some ugly bruising later on, you think mournfully. “Leave the face out of this, pretty boy.”

“Sorry,” he jumped to avoid the swing you take at his ankles. “What about you?”

There’s a pause in the conversation even as you continue to parry. You never really thought about your dreams before, and the saddening realization deflates you a little. “I don’t know.” You admitted. “I never had any dreams, and I was raised to be a soldier.” You lunged at him, successfully sticking your blade into a chink in his armor.

Your heart twinged as you watched his face screw up in pain, and you fell to the ground with him. The pain may have been mirrored onto your own body, but the sight of his dying hurt more than any mortal wound ever could.

“See-you-next-time-I-guess,” he wheezed out, a bloodied hand reaching out to caress your face with a gentleness you had not yet seen from him. Smiling sadly, you covered his hand with yours, returning the sentiment and faded back into the darkness, awaiting your next encounter.

Somehow, through all the gore and death that hung between you, you had fallen in love with him, and him with you. The first confession escaped through his dying breaths, and you didn’t get the chance to return it until the next duel with a glittering smile and the agonizing knowledge that you wouldn’t be able to hold him in your arms, nor kiss him. Nor live a normal life with him.

A year of killing and watching each other die had passed, but the ache in your chest only grew every time you watched his figure walk up to yours. Every step he took is heavy, and his shoulders are slumped, weighed down by the impending death.

“Why do we keep doing this?” You cried out, tears streaming down your face as you defended yourself.

“Because it’s the only way we’d get to see each other,” came his steady reply, even as his eyes brimmed with tears filled with love and anger and regret. These were tears he’d never let fall, for to do so would mean giving up the tiny shred of hope he had left.

“What if we ran away?” Your voice is filled with desperation, your swings losing their determination.”

Akaashi pressed his lips together tightly, eyes flickering away from yours for a second, almost as if he was considering the possibility. But the words that follow shatter your foolish hope. “They’d only catch us and force us back into this, you know that.”

“But I hate this! I hate having to kill the man I love, over and over again, watching the life drain out of you as we die for a war that will never be won.” It doesn’t matter that the soldiers around you could hear your traitorous proclamations. You’ve been through too much, died too many times to care anymore.

“We don’t have a choice!” He roared back. His hard gaze softened. “I don’t mind dying, for a second with you is worth a thousand deaths.”

With a yell of frustration, you let your guard down and his sword, one that you’ve grown accustomed to over time, ran straight through you.

“See you next time,” you grinned weakly at his horrified face, blood dribbling down your chin.

“You’re an idiot,” he snarled back, wrapping his hand around yours and squeezing tightly. “I’m supposed to take the hits, not you.”

You shook your head at him, and with shaking hands, you yanked him to you, pressing your lips tightly to his. If you were to live a life of death and misery, you deserved to have at least this. This small piece of mercy in a merciless world.

“I can’t always be the reason why we die.” You whispered against his lips.

“And I can’t bear watching you die.”

#akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu akaashi

[not-close-to-straight]

Lost and Found (Winteriron)

A peek at the first chapter of a winteriron commission for @striving-artist! Set between IM1 and 2 and ft. a WS!Bucky who was wiped/abandoned by Hydra before Avengers and CATWS. 

Can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

***********

“Tony!” Pepper was using that specific tone of voice, the one that meant she had tried and failed to get Tony’s attention at least three times, and God help her, if he didn’t respond right now she might actually scream. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“I was listening to every word you said, Pep.” Tony turned from the window and forced a smile that was just a little bit too bright, a little bit too wide. “You said if I didn’t stick to the script for tomorrow’s hearing they might actually come and forcefully take the suit and that’s the last possible thing Stark Industries needs right now.” 

“Right.” Pepper’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And then I said--” 

Tony tuned her out again, slouching against the upholstery and staring out at the scenery passing alongside the limo. Washington DC was ugly and boring, the senate committee hearings redundant and frankly ridiculous, and he had too much on his mind to give a damn if his continued arrogance in front of the senators reflected poorly on the company. 

He just didn’t give a damn. 

Ton had to make a concentrated effort not to scratch at the patchwork lines bleeding out from beneath the arc reactor and setting his chest on fire. The little gadget he used to test the toxicity in his blood had registered nineteen percent this morning, and he had to clench his hands into fists to stop from checking it again. He had to present at the Expo tonight and the thought of putting on a show for the people made him want to vomit. Pepper was disappointed in him again and that made him want to vomit for an entirely different reason. He was tired and he was in pain and nineteen percent shouldn’t sound so scary but it did and Tony was terrified.

“I think it’s important for Rhodey to be there tomorrow, I know you said it isn’t necessary but a testimony from the Colonel about the merits of your suit could--” Pepper stopped again, disappointment leeching into the words. “Tony, are you listening?” 

“Have you ever eaten at one of those diners? One of those beginning of a horror movie diners?” Tony didn’t bother pretending he’d been listening and Pepper gave one of those sighs that signaled she was nearing the end of her patience. “You know, where the lights always flicker and the food is shockingly greasy and the one waitress should probably be a hundred years old but she’s sort of always fifty three? One of those.” 

“N-no, Tony. No I haven’t eaten at one of those diners.” Pepper put her tablet down and sighed again. “Are you okay? You’ve been weird for days and I thought it would pass but it hasn’t and--” 

“I’m going to stop and get some food.” he interrupted. “Lunch. You want lunch? We should get lunch.” 

“Tony.” Pep began gently, calmly. “We should go over a strategy for the committee tomorrow. I’ll order in lunch. Maybe we can call Rhodey and he can--” 

“I have to get some lunch right now.” the limo slowed to a stop for a red light and Tony opened the door and almost jumped for the sidewalk. “I’ll call you later okay, I just really need lunch. I need lunch. Is that so weird? Don’t look so worried, I’ll be back soon.” 

“Tony?!” Pepper called for him in confusion and a fair amount of worry, but Tony shut the door and took off at a quick job away from the car, away from Pepper’s disappointment away from the doom that was nineteen percent and the oddly horrifying thought that he’d die without ever having eaten at some sketchy diner with less than edible food. 

Looking back, Tony would call this a nervous break down but right now he was only going to call it lunch and as his expensive shoes scraped along dirty streets and the corners he turned led to grimier places and broken streetlights, Tony felt the ever present crush in his chest ease as he got further and further from all those expectations and closer to something sort of like anonymity.

Not that a man in a three thousand dollar suit and two hundred dollar haircut was anonymous in this part of town, Tony stuck out like a sore thumb as he jogged across the tracks and headed right for an ‘Open 24 Hours’ restaurant sign, but it felt good all the same. 

Not going to look too deep into why being nobody felt like a relief. Today was not the day for an internal therapy session. Tony could only handle one crisis at a time. 

Inside, the diner was everything Tony had expected and somehow quite a bit more. The tables were covered with plastic table cloths, the silverware was mismatched and his shoes stuck on a sticky spot at the door because that’s just how these things had to be. The waitresses were ambiguously middle aged, chewing gum and tapping pens on worn out menus, wiping their hands on faded floral aprons and shouting orders back to the line cooks in rapid fire repetition. 

The booths creaked and sagged, the Daily Specials placard was dated 2001, and when someone came to give Tony a cup of water, it was in a cracked Coca Cola glass that may have been bright red at one time and only had two ice cubes floating in lethargic circles along the rim. 

“Hi.” Tony tried to smile up at the waitress, at her teased up high hair and vividly colored eye shadow. “I’ll take maybe-- maybe pancakes. And coffee.” 

“It’s two in the afternoon, sugar.” she popped her gum and raised severely plucked eyebrows. “You want pancakes?” 

“Uhhh yes?” 

“Your funeral.” she said flatly and Tony-- well Tony didn’t know if she was teasing or not so he forced out a chuckle and leaned back into the uncomfortable booth to try and relax. 

His phone was buzzing in his pocket, over and over until it blended continuous and he knew it was Pepper calling probably first in panic, and then in anger. She didn’t understand why he’d gotten more reckless lately, why he was abrupt and then immediately sorry, why he couldn’t concentrate for more than a minute and why his always present anxiety had gotten harder to hide. 

Not her fault, of course. Tony hadn’t told her about the blood poisoning or that the reactor was killing him or that being forced to confront his own mortality for the hundredth time since that fateful day in Afghanistan was screwing with his head. 

Not her fault, and if Tony could just get his mind off of nineteen percent and onto something else then it would be okay. He could fake it through until it got too bad to hide and by then he would have made his peace with it all, right? He just needed to get his mind off it, he needed a new project and he needed--

Oh hello. Tony’s rapidly spiraling thoughts slammed to a halt when his mindless scanning of the restaurant patrons ended in the far corner of the diner, on a figure sat staring out the window at the gathering clouds, looking blank and empty and just as out of place as Tony felt. 

There was a glint at the guys neck that looked like dog tags, a flash of blue eyes beneath a curtain of dark hair, and even though Tony’s gaze lingered over the sheer size of the hand gripping a coffee mug, his attention was caught solely by the breadth of massive shoulders--

-- and a left sleeve that hung limp, pinned up to the guys shoulder and almost shocking with its emptiness. 

I can fix that. The thought popped unexpected into Tony’s mind, a line from some movie he’d sat through with Rhodey’s niece just the other night in attempt to be the Fun Uncle instead of the Drunk Uncle. I can fix that, the character said as he went through and all but rebuilt a schoolhouse and then kissed the tears right from some pretty girl’s cheek. 

I can fix that. Tony was on his feet and moving before his brain even caught up, idly scratching at the arc reactor heavy in his chest as he made a beeline for that back booth. He had a new piece of tech for the suit, something flashy and incredible responsive and just last week Tony had come to the conclusion that he’d never get a new suit finished before-- before-- so the arm sat abandoned in a case down in the lab. But it wouldn’t take more than a few tweaks and some tests to turn the piece of armor into a working prosthesis and if he was gonna do that, maybe it should be for a wounded war vet who looked like life had just chewed him up and spit him out and left him for nothing. 

I can fix that, and it would be for a good cause and maybe that would help Tony sleep a little better at night. 

“Hey, can I join you?” Up close the guys eyes weren’t just blue, they were glacier pale, shifting between blue and grey and boring into Tony like they were seeing through his core and for a split second, Tony regretted just showing up and sitting in the soldier’s booth. 

But Tony Stark was the king of handling awkward moments so after a brief second to compose himself and to notice the soldier’s left shoulder sat lower than the other-- interesting-- he started talking. 

“So my name’s Tony, and I’d like to say I’m not usually this intrusive but lets be honest, nosiness is actually one of my better qualities.” 

The soldier only blinked at him, and Tony rushed on, “So I work in the general area of robotics and that sort of thing. Prostheses and um-- protective gear? And I can’t help but notice you’ve only got the one massively bulging bicep and I’d like you to let me help you with another one.” 

Those pale eyes darted around the room, clocking exits and obviously sizing the other patrons up like he thought he might be in danger and Tony was reaching for the guys hand to comfort him before he realized what he was doing. He jerked back because boy howdy wouldn’t the press have a field day if they caught sight of Tony Stark holding hands with a man, and cleared his throat. 

“This uh-- this isn’t a scam. Or a trick or whatever. It’s just me here, no one is waiting with cameras or a ‘gotcha’ moment or whatever else you’re worried out. I get the need to check exits and worry that someone is gonna grab you but that’s not what this is.” 

Silence, and Tony cleared his throat again, feeling both parched and ridiculous but damn it he was too far in to back out now. “I can buy you breakfast and we can talk, maybe? I’d like to get you fit for an arm cos you-- you soldiers go through enough shit as it is, you deserve to come home with all your limbs. I can do that for you. For free.”

A flash of Afghanistan and the kids that had lost their lives defending him, and Tony softened his tone. “Not going to cost you anything, we can do it at my place or if that’s weird I can bring my equipment to you or we can meet a neutral location or a doctors office.? Where are you staying, anywhere close?” 

Belatedly Tony realized there was a good chance the soldier was homeless, especially if he was around this part of town, especially if his personnel file was stamped with PTSD and honestly, why the hell wouldn’t it be? Tony needed a stamp like that for his goddamn forehead. 

“You can come stay with me.” he said out loud, knowing full well Pepper would shriek about him bringing home a perfect stranger. “I have plenty of room, there’s a whole side of the house I don’t even go in. I’ve got a place in New York or if you prefer the beach you could come to Malibu or...” 

Silence, and Tony kept talking because that’s just what he did, “It’s a win-win for both of us, you know? You’ll get a top of the line arm and a place to stay for a while, I’ll get someone to listen to me talking while I work and I’ll do a little good for the world to help my chances getting to heaven, because I will need all sorts of help in that sector.” 

The guy just kept looking and Tony finally laughed a little, shoving his fingers into his hair and disrupting the gelled style. “Alright you know what? I’m starting to sound creepy even to my own ears so here. Here’s my number.” 

hH scrawled down his digits on a napkin and pushed it across the table. “You call me if you want to give it a shot, okay? Doesn’t matter if it’s tonight or a few weeks from now just maybe do it within a few months? This offer-- “and me. “-- has an expiration date and no pressure, but it’s already sort of going going and soon to be gone, yeah?” 

Tony got up from the booth and grimaced when his shoes stuck to the floor again. “I’ll get out of your admittedly awesome hair and leave you to your coffee. Have a good day and um-- sorry about ambushing you like this.” 

“...what’s your name?” the soldier’s voice was low and smooth, a hint of an accent that sounded almost Russian edging the letters. 

“I’m not real used to people not knowing that already.” Tony muttered, and then, “Tony. Everyone just calls me Tony.” 

“Tony.” the guy stood up and he was outright massive, looming several inches of Tony and dwarfing him in his shadow. “We leavin’ now, or what?” 

“Oh, you’re--” Tony blinked in surprise. “You’re coming? That speech worked? Which part of the millions of words I just said convinced you?” 

“None of it.” the soldier shrugged, then flinched when his left shoulder pulled uncomfortably. “But I got nothing to lose, and you’ve got bout the prettiest smile I think I’ve ever seen.” 

“...what?” Tony didn’t mean to grin but he couldn’t remember the last time a simple compliment had quite literally warmed him to his toes. “You like my smile.” 

“Sure do.” red lips twitched up at the corner like the soldier wanted to smile too. “We goin’?” 

“Yeah, yeah right now.” Tony tossed a handful of bills on the table, whistled for the waitress and pointed to the pile so she knew to apply it to his bill as well, then shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking the soldier over again. “What can I call you?” 

The big brunette hesitated, started to speak and then stopped, started and stopped like he couldn’t quite remember his name, which was insane right? Who didn’t know their own name?

“...James.” he finally said. “...My name is James.” 

#winteriron #commission

[whereisstevethestove]

Stealing Kisses and Stealing Bones: Flying Dutchman AU.

Fandoms: Sanders sides and technically the lore behind the Flying Dutchman.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Remus, Janus

Relationships: Roman/Virgil, Remus/Janus Main

Additional tags: Mer AU, Pirate AU, Human AU, Siren!Roman, Siren!Virgil, Mer!Janus

TWs: Slight Rape (there’s a forced kiss.)  Harpooning

Word count: 1347

Summary:  How does a mer come about with a name and a lover?

Notes: So mer and sirens don’t actually have names.  Some do take names, like how Roman did, but others, like Janus don’t.  Also, Happy Birthday Steve the Stove, this is your gift!

AO3

He floated lazily under the ship, counting the barnacles that had collected under it.  Fallen Atlas was an old ship, probably the oldest still on the seas, despite the fact that she was barely twenty five years old.

But he’s been following it for a few years now, the captain and his husband were a strange couple, both had seen him at some point in time and yet had made no move to catch him.

Strange indeed.

The golden mer sighed softly.  It felt like time to find a new ship, there wasn’t really anything waiting for him here, and the direction that the Fallen Atlas was heading indicated a port where they were to stop.

He decided on one more voyage.  Then he would find a new ship to follow.

…

The mer looks up at the grinning pirate.

“Hello fish.”

The mer can feel his eyes widen.  It has almost been two years since someone acknowledged his existence and he’s not ready for that.   So he bluffs his way through a conversation and leaves.

It was high time to go anyway.  He dives deep, intent on starting a bone collection, perhaps he can show his collection to the purple and black siren that he had heard singing recently.

…

Roman has taken a mate when the golden mer visits him, bringing a string of bones and pearl to gift them.

“You should take a name.”  Roman wraps an arm around him and he shakes his head.

“Names hold power siren.”

“Indeed, but I am tired of singing loudly when I desire conversation.”

“You?  Sick of singing?”  Roman’s mate teases, his storm grey eyes glittering.  Roman rolls his eyes and shoves back gently.

“Hush Virgil.”

The pair look so happy and the gold mer can’t help but feel like the one who’s stuck in the third navigator’s seat, completely unneeded.

He ends up leaving after a bit, promising to return.  

…

Remus may be the captain of The Dutchman , but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make it so the crew takes breaks.  Currently the crew is below decks and they are anchored far enough from shore that it doesn’t violate the ship's curse.

“Hello?” Remus looks over the side of The Dutchman.   “Hello fish.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”  The gold mer is looking up as Remus climbs over the ship’s railing, a rope securely in one hand.

He thinks back.  “Five years almost.”

The mer tilts his head.  “You changed ships.”

“Indeed!  I’m the Captain now.”

“Hmmm.”

“Can I get a name, my vision of the deep?”  Remus coyly winks and the mer seems unimpressed.

“I don’t have one.”

“Excellent, I shall give you one… Darian.”

The mer wrinkles his nose.  “No.”

Then he’s gone, diving down and under the ship, leaving Remus to go back to the deck of his ship.

…

Damien, Dee, Deceit, Jeremy, Ethan, Evan, Snake, Scales, Fish, even for one horrifying time, the dreaded nickname of Tiddyliscious are all words that Remus cycles through and the mer rejects it.

Until the fateful storm where he saved the drowning captain and the latter called him Janus.

It’s a pretty name and the mer rolls it over his tongue as he leaves the ship after a few hours of tailing the ship.

He tells Roman and Virgil of it and they both seem to like it.

Janus himself finds it mysterious.  It fits, considering he has gold scales up one half of his face and the older sirens sing of the god of lies, a two faced being.

…

Janus starts bringing Remus bones.  Some are from sailors that he finds, others are from fish and one is a lucky bone from a leviathan.   The captain takes them with a grin and Janus can’t help and blush at the things that the other teases with.

He’s never desired a mate, not like Roman with his fancy whimsy, but being able to tease and have a creature to bring gifts to is addicting and as the weeks pass, he finds himself following the ship more.

It’s nice.

Until he slips up.

…

Remus can feel the burning hot anger coursing through him as he slams a knife into the table in front of him, his first mate sighing and pulling it out.

“Captain…”

“Do not tell me to be calm Ange.”  Remus growls.

He saw it happen, of course he did.  The Dutchman is hardly seen, constantly treading the mortal world and the spirit world and so when regular mortals are near, it’s hard to see the ship.

Of course the other ship had to be pirates.

Of course they had decided to take his lover.  Remus looks back up from his pacing.   “I’ll kill them all.”

“Captain, isn’t that excessive?”  Ange asks and Remus whirls.

“No.  A mer should not be hunted for sport.  And they left him tied to the deck of their ship.  We protect the souls we ferry and we are going to extend that to mer.”

“It’s not just because you like him, right?”

Remus grits his teeth.  “Tonight we take back what belongs to the sea.”

After all, Remus has respected the sea and her children since he was a child.

…

Janus is delirious.  He can feel his gills weakly moving against the sides of his neck, and he knows that he’ll be dead by morning.

He wasn’t expecting the harpoon.  Most pirates don’t believe in mer and sirens anymore and Janus had gotten careless, coming up during daylight with some bones to give Remus.

Instead he had been harpooned and dragged up here, tail bleeding profusely.  The captain of this ship had gripped his jaw roughly, planting a claiming kiss on the mer’s lips, to which Janus had responded by biting the latter’s bottom lip so badly it had almost pierced a hole in the man’s mouth.

Unfortunately it hadn’t and the man took a sharp knife, dragging it across his cheek and through the gold scales on his face.

If he survives, which is unlikely, Janus knows that he’ll never be as hauntingly pretty as he used to be.  Many mer were scarred, but defacing was rare.

He’d cry, but he doesn’t have the energy to.

…

When Remus storms the ship, he lets the crew slit the throats of the pirates, instead heading to Janus and gently untying him.

“Fish?  I’m lifting you up now.”  Remus carefully brushes the matted hair out of the mer’s face.   “Will the water help?”

Janus blinks up at him, gold and green eyes unfocused.  “Yes.”

“Okay.”  Remus lifts him and carries Janus until they’re both at the side, dark water fifteen feet below.

Remus kisses him, a warning before he falls over the side, protecting Janus as they hit the water so the other can breathe.

…

The harpoon scar heals into an ugly ropey thing and Janus hides his face from Remus for a long time afterwards, embarrassed by the scars that clearly show his weakness for the captain.

It’s not until one night when he jumps from the water to the deck of the ship that  Remus captains that the other gently grabs his webbed hand.

“Look at me love.”

Janus turns his face.  “I can’t.”

“It’s about the scars, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

One of Remus’ hands rests itself on the harpoon scar and the one that was holding his hand travels up to the scales on Janus’ face.

“Love, you could never be ugly.  I promise.”

Janus finally looks up, gold and green meeting hazel.  “You’re not lying?”

“I never would.”  Remus leans forward and kisses the corner of Janus’ mouth, where skin, scar and scale meet.  

…

There will be more moments like this, stolen hours.  There will be times where Janus leaves, after all he is a mer and they belong to the sea before belonging to a human.

But Janus will continue to steal bones to give as courtship gifts and Remus will continue to steal kisses from him.

It’s a precarious balance, but one that works for the pair.

The captain and his mer, stealing kisses and bones.

#Flying Dutchman AU #Mer!Janus #Siren!Roman #siren!virgil #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #not countdown #virgil's tail is purple and black #i realized I never said that #slight rape warning #remus is a pirate boiiii #remus #romantic demus

[therainbowwillow]

Part 3, TW: Death

Hermes marches again through the snow, deeper now. The winds are colder too. A looming sense of dread hangs over him. No mortal could survive for long out here, not even the son of a god. He wonders what he’s looking for... Orpheus or a grave.

The longer he walks, the lower the temperature seems to drop. It’s been days. Days, without so much as a hint of his lost son. And what he had found, some four days into the search, was only a scrap of cloth, frozen solid long before he’d found it. It was white, though, like the nightgown Orpheus had worn, so Hermes had told himself it was a sign that the boy had come this way. 

The sun is no longer visible beyond the blinding blizzard when Hermes finds a strange mound of snow in a clearing. He brushes away the drift and discovers a face staring up at him, frozen in shock. He stumbles backwards, horrified and fearing the worst. 

He forces himself to investigate further, crawling over to the bank. To his slight relief, finds that this poor soul is not his son. How long, he wonders, before Orpheus meets a similar fate? He rises to his feet, draping a blanket over the woman. Her shade, he hopes, will take solace in the warmth of the underground. 

He carries on with new urgency, the bitter cold stinging his face. The wind howls through the trees, rendering all other noise nearly inaudible. Over the gales, Hermes hears it. A single note, plucked on a guitar. He runs for the sound, as quickly as his divine feet can carry him. 

The notes draw nearer and nearer and the air only colder. His foot lands upon something beneath the snow, finally halting him. Glass. Red wine oozes from where the bottle has cracked, freezing almost instantly. 

The song is close now, undoubtedly sung by Orpheus. Hermes looks up. He stands in a glade. Or what’s left of a glade, anyway. The wind has whipped the branches off of every tree in sight. The pelting ice crystals have torn the bark to bits. 

But it isn’t the trees Hermes notices. Rather the people. Frozen like statues on their feet. He remembers the stories he used to tell his son. How Perseus had found Medusa, surrounded by the men she’d turned to stone with a single glance. 

He spots Orpheus next, his eyes closed, leaned against a tree in the center of the clearing. The air hums with his music, the lyrics nearly indistinguishable from the howling of the wind. Hermes calls out, loud and desperate, but his cries are whisked away by the gales. 

He stumbles as near to the boy as he can get. The song peaks with strange notes, as if its singer is frightened by his approach. Hermes shields his face behind his coat. He’s so close he can nearly reach his son, shivering in his torn nightgown, stained with blood. “Orpheus...” Hermes falls to his knees. The wind rips his coat off his shoulders. “Orpheus!” The boy doesn’t look up. He strums his guitar and the wind rushes faster. The world of pure white turns black.

Hermes wakes, slumped against the frozen figure of a woman, a knife in her hands. He drags himself away from his son, away from the sculpturesque forms of Orpheus’s would-be attackers. He pulls himself to his feet and sprints, faster with every step. Orpheus will not hear him, no matter how loud he calls. Hermes can only pray that perhaps he’ll hear a different voice.

...

“Hades?” Persephone’s husband starts at the sound of her voice.

He blinks in disbelief. “You’re early. Too early. Seph, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she snaps, stomping at the ice underfoot. “The winter’s reached all the way down here. What have you done?”

He recoils at the accusation. “Nothing.”

“You expect me to believe that my husband plays no role in this?”

“Why would I?” he growls. “Nonstop work. Triple the usual number of shades coming in and it’s only August.”

The train whistle blows, as if on cue. Hades takes his wife’s hand. “Look.” He guides her to the train station. “This is not what I want, Persephone. Thousands of shades, every hour.”

But rather than shades, Hermes stumbles out of the nearest train car. Persephone shakes off her husband’s grasp and hurries to his side. “You shouldn’t be here,” she tells him. He nearly collapses into her arms. “Hermes?”

“I found him,” he mutters.

“What is this?” Hades approaches the exhausted god carefully. 

“Orpheus. He’s doing this,” Hermes says.

“Hermes, are you sure? Gods, you’re freezing.”

“He couldn’t hear me. I tried to stop him. Persephone... I wasn’t the first to find him.” She drapes her coat over his shoulders. 

“Let’s go,” Hades orders. “Somewhere warm. We’ll discuss this once you are capable, Hermes.”

“No, we’ll discuss this now,” he argues.

“Let’s talk on the way,” Persephone compromises. 

Hades guides them to his office, lined wall to wall with space heaters. Persephone sets Hermes in a chair and bundles him in blankets. 

“You say this is the boy’s doing?” Hades inquires.

Hermes nods, seeing no way to lie. 

“And how did this happen?”

“He disappeared over a week ago,” Hermes explains. “I went looking for him. I... wasn’t the first to find him. He was hurt, I couldn’t see how badly. But his attackers... they never left,” he mutters, uneasily. “I don’t know how he did it, but I felt it too. The closer I went, the colder it got. I almost touched him before I passed out. If I’d been mortal, I doubt I would’ve woken. He froze them. His attackers, I mean... like statues. Or his song did.”

Hades sighs. “I’ll send Thanatos. Put a swift end to this.”

“Like hell you will,” Hermes snarls. “He’s still my son. I didn’t come here to ask you to assassinate him.”

“Then pose a better idea.”

“We get through to him,” Hermes offers.

Hades rolls his eyes. “You tried and this,” he gestures to Hermes’s shivering form. “Was his response. Any mortal would be dead before they reached him.”

“Not every mortal. He spared me because he knows me,” Hermes says. “Send someone he knows. Someone he loves.”

“No.”

“Hades,” Persephone pleads, “He could be right.”

“He sings of his sorrow for her. His words are hard to comprehend, but I’m sure her death is what he laments,” Hermes adds.

“He lost her,” Hades reminds them. 

“You could fix this, husband,” Persephone says, firmly.

He narrows his eyes. “A deal, then. If she fails, they’re both mine.”

#when hell freezes over au #hadestown #hadestown au #therainbowwrites

[elijah-rokert-writes]

Prologue to the book I’m writing! I really hope you all enjoy it!

The flaming serpent bit down, catching Kohtmo by the ankle and bringing her to the ground. She twisted around, wincing in pain, and drove her knife through the creature’s head, killing it instantly. Quickly prying its teeth out of her leg and pulling the knife out of the monster’s head, she pushed herself off the ground, and charged towards the river just twenty meters away. These creatures can’t survive the water, or at least, she assumed they couldn’t. The wind rushed against her neck as one of the serpents threw itself at her, narrowly missing her. Pushing herself harder, she neared the river.

Out of nowhere a shape appeared before her, towering in front of her and cutting off her path. It was horrifying to behold. Mold, decayed flesh, and rotting muscles covered the creature’s bones in small patches, dripping with pus. Its body structure was almost gorilla-like, but it had the skull of a wolf mixed with a human, with blood-covered fangs that could bite through iron, and brains showing through the top of its head. Blue flame burned in its eyes and swirled around its body, illuminating every small grotesque detail as though it were daylight.

With no hesitation, Kohtmo threw herself to the side in an attempt to evade the creature, but, in an instant, it had its arm out to the side and its grotesque fingers wrapped around her neck, lifting her up off the ground. Her knife fell out of her hand as she tried desperately to free herself, but the creature’s grip was far too strong. Suddenly, she becomes aware of a presence behind her, its aura radiating almost as strong as her own, and instantly knew who it was.

“Eiginskan, you dirty excuse for a god, I knew this was coming, the strings told me so,” Kohtmo croaked out weakly, the creature’s grip almost completely closing off her throat. “You won’t win this war you are planning. Fate will not allow it.”

Eiginskan chuckled and snapped her fingers, causing a serpent to bite down on Kohtmo’s heel. “How hard could it be to win, my dear?” She cackled, almost like a dying horse if it were being beat by a bunch of children with rocks. “Reldur is growing softer by the day, and all of the other gods are weak minded compared to me, not to mention that Almanatos hasn’t shown his pitiful face in well over one thousand years.”

Kohtmo struggled to breathe, gasping between words and still desperately trying to free herself. “Fate has decreed it so that you will lose. The balance of the universe cannot let this happen.”

“My dear, you are the only one in my way who is stopping me from changing that. You speak of fate as though it is a force, but you are fate.” Eiginskan spoke, an air of authority coming from her. “And once you are gone, I’m free to off balance the universe as I see fit. So tell me, what could possibly stop me? And if you don’t tell me, I will rip apart every individual atom of this universe until I have my answer, and these strings you speak of know that I’m right.”

Kohtmo shivered. She knew Eiginskan was correct. In fact, Kohtmo knew exactly how everything was going to happen, she even knew when she was going to die and how. She tried to speak but the creature’s grip had closed off her throat too much. Eiginskan snapped her fingers again, and its grip loosened, allowing Kohtmo to speak. “It’s a young mortal thief, roughly 15 years old. Unbeknownst to him, he is the only one truly capable of changing fate, for his blood runs with the power of gods and the will of mortals. My son will destroy you, and rebuild fate himself,” she coughed out.

Eiginskan chuckled softly, “Ah, so it’s a child. Now I almost feel bad for what I am going to do to him. I’m done with you now, thank you for your time, my dear. Have a good day sweetie, and tell our father I said hi.”

With a one last snap, Eiginskan was gone, and the creature dropped Kohtmo. The serpents swarmed around her, biting and ripping off her flesh, her aura flowing out of her body as her screams filled the night. Soon, the serpents leave, and there is nothing left on the ground but a solitary knife, glowing with power.

#Elijah's story stuff

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Prompt 33?

Thanks, Anon for the prompt! Here is the drabble!

Drabble Challenge #33: “Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?” 

__________________________________________

“Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?” Fate asked me, her blind eyes staring through me, into me, seeing everything I was and everything I had been and could be.

I shuddered, staring up at the starless sky, trying to remember why things had gone so far.

Love had not been kind to me.

Deeply in love with someone who cared only for another, my heart began to slowly burn with jealousy. It charred my soul, destroyed my spirit, consuming my thoughts, taking over my dreams. Every breath was agony, each step torture as it was not with the one I loved. I was miserable. I was mad. And I thought if the world would simply just change, then I could be happy.

How wrong I was.

 I prayed to the gods. Not the ones to grant a good harvest or children. Not the ones to spare the weather or protect a loved one in war. Not even the ones who would look over those in love.

No.

I went to the dark places. The places not meant for mortals. I spilled blood on stone and bound my soul in shadow, asking for a simple request:

That the one who my love cherished would die.

Why my selfish wish was granted, I’ll never know. Perhaps they thought it humorous, seeing my agony. Maybe they knew the pain and suffering my request would unintentionally bring me. They may have been so shocked to be called upon, having thought the dark ways lost, that they felt obliged to answer. 

How I wish they hadn’t.

How I wish my words had fallen on deaf ears. That my blood had spilled on those rocks in vain. That I had returned to my village with a sad heart that I would eventually recover from. I would have grown, and eventually become grateful that my selfishness had not been granted.

But it was not to be.

The person I thought I hated was dead before I even made it back to the village. My return was greeted by my love sobbing over their broken body. Horrified, regretful, I hid in my home, trying to make myself believe that it wasn’t my fault, that I hadn’t truly caused another’s death. Slowly, over the weeks and months that followed, the village quieted down, and moved on with life. Only two people remained chained by the untimely demise… my love and myself.

I was filled with remorse, but at least the darkness was over... Or so I thought. 

In truth, my punishment was just beginning.

My mother was the next to die, slain by a bandit’s sword.

My brother crushed by a falling rock.

My best friend passed peacefully in their sleep.

Each death struck me with new grief, with regret that I had ever brought my soul to the attention to the dark gods. I went back to the stones, to the underground temples, spilling my blood over and over, begging for it to end… but there was no response.

They enjoyed their game too much.

Finally, my love, the one I had begun all this for, was found dead, his body left outside my home without a single mark.

And act of god, Said some.

A curse, Said others.

And only I knew… it was both.

I left the village traveling for years, searching, forcing myself forward despite my exhaustion and hunger. Looking for the answer. For the way to make things right.

And finally… I found Fate. A simple woman in a simple cottage, but the threads of destiny, containing all the power of the universe, were held in her loom.  She already knew my purpose when I arrived, asked no other questions but one. 

“Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?”

I closed my eyes, thinking of my family, my friends, and the long lives they were meant to live. Of the one my love had cherished, their happiness cut short by the jealousy and hatred of another. Of my love, dead, caught up in a game that they had never known about.

My existence… weighed up against all of them… it was an easy decision.

I opened my eyes, smiling despite the tears. “I’m sure.”

#writing #drabble challenge #death #violence #curses #dark magic #fate