#he is carrying him the baby is fading and Shadow is saving his life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tornado1992 · 2 months

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Sonic has always loved the golden color, that specific yellow was such a beautiful, lively color.

Red is his obvious answer to the “what is your favorite color?” question, but if they told him that he had to choose only one color he could see for the rest of his life, he knows golden yellow and baby blue would be the ones fighting for the throne.

How could they not? Those were his little bro’s colors.

Every time he looked at Tails it was like the sun had embraced the sky into a tiny fluffy ball, making both of them brighter and brighter, shining against each other, the softest shade of sky blue being evolved into a heart warming sun.

Tails was the infinite answer to the happiness question. His unstoppable potential to achieve anything he wanted, the endless possibilities of a wide happy future for him, the one who always accompanied him in his worldwide runs, just like the sky.

His brother was a soft light that warmed his heart everyday, a bright path to follow when he fell to deep in the dark, a reason to keep fighting for.

Yeah, Tails felt like the sky. But he was Sonic’s sun. And if he had to fight all his life to make sure that those bright baby blue eyes keep shining and that golden yellow fur keeps glowing, then he’ll fight till the world itself ended.

His world was ending. Slowly.

It was so sudden, so uncanny, and so, so unfair. They were happy, they were running together, they were laughing and racing each other until Tails abruptly fell from the sky, Sonic almost too late to catch him. “Just a headache” he said while being cradled in Sonic’s arms. Headaches were not supposed to make you faint, but Tails was fine, so it had to be okay.

It stated slowly. Tails kept fainting for some time, they worried, they went to the hospital and all the doctors said it was nothing. He started to vomit every time he ate, they returned to the doctors and the same answer was given.

He couldn’t sleep, they no longer believed the doctors.

His tails went limp, he couldn’t fly anymore, and his bright yellow fur was fading its color, he took matters into his own hands and after lots of analysis and test they got an answer for his predicament.

Tails was sick.

His fur was no longer shining, his eyes were no longer sparkling. Bright golden being rebalanced by an ashy sad yellow, and baby blue being covered by an infinite gray shadow.

Leaving a dark cloudy sky with a sun no longer shining.

His tablet was getting thinner by the day, Sonic could always carry Tails easily, he was a big brother, it came in the job’s description, so if he had to help Tails stand and walk for some time it didn’t matter, he’ll be by his side until he recovered. Until he no longer had to apologize for not finishing Amy’s cooking, until they’d stop bringing him to Angel Island trying to get the Master Emerald to heal him.

It didn’t matter how long would it take, he’ll be with him until he shines brighter than the sun once again.

Why

That was his only question

Why him? Why did it have to be him? Why wasn’t there any existing cure yet? Why didn’t even Tails had an answer? Why couldn’t Sonic do anything about it?

Tails was eight years old, eight, he hadn’t reached double digits yet, his birthday still too many months away. It could’ve been anyone, anyone but him. He had so much yet to live, and he told Sonic he knew he was dying.

A non believer would pray to a god to save their child. A believer would fight their god to save their child.

Sonic has already killed so many gods, and he’s already prayed to the ones that were left. So why wasn’t his sun shining again?

What deity did he annoy this time? What could’ve offend the universe so much that it has to take it on his baby brother? Why couldn’t it just burn the whole world down? Why couldn’t every enemy he’s ever faced come back and fight him? Why couldn’t reality just rip both his legs out instead? Why did it have to be Tails?

Sonic was willing to fight, bleed and die for that kit, so why couldn’t they just taken Sonic instead?

When his fur no longer showed any yellow brightnes and started getting covered by his own blood anytime he tried to speak they knew it was too late. When not even an over analysis on Shadows blood gave any hint of a cure, when not even Eggman’s biology knowledge and failed antidotes could even slow it down.

Not any deity, not the Master Emerald, not Sonic. No one could save him.

There was no solution. This was a threat he couldn’t outrun with Tails in his arms. An unforgiving curse slowly taking away his pride and joy to never give it back. A mocking laughing unknown force killing the only thing he would chose over anything else, his sun and sky, his kid.

Amy showered his forehead with kisses every time she came over, reading him bedtime stories to try and help him sleep, spoon feeding him his favorite ice cream when he was too weak to do it himself and too embarrassed to ask his brother. Knuckles stayed near their home, ready to assist in case there was an emergency, always bringing handmade wood toys so the kit could still play with something even if his arms were weak enough not to hold a small wrench, it wasn’t tinkering, but it made him a little bit happier.

They both told Tails how much they loved him every single time they were with him.

And Sonic couldn’t.

He hadn’t tell him that he loved him, not enough times before all this, never enough.

He couldn’t tell him he loved him now, not with words. He couldn’t voice that well known fact. Because his little bro already knew. Because it was something that was supposed to be shown with actions, not words. Because it went unsaid.

Because telling him he loves him now would mean accepting he’ll be gone. Accepting he lost, accepting he will lose him.

Sonic refused to lose him.

He needed to run, he needed to go away, because if he stayed, he didn’t think he’ll be strong enough not to crumble if they take his light away, when they take his light away.

He didn’t run, because that’s his brother, because even if his own heart is threatening to stop every time he looks at the cub’s small trembling frame, his heart wasn’t the one stoping in real time. So he stayed.

He stayed when Vanilla came over to check on Tails, to gift him a knitted beanie and matching gloves so he wouldn’t be cold in his own bed, the bed he hadn’t left in weeks. He stayed when he couldn’t properly take a bath by himself, helping him cleaning and brushing his fur while memories of baby fox fangs and campfires invaded his mind. He stayed when Tails couldn’t do anything but cry at the aching in his bones, and Sonic couldn’t do anything but hold him close.

His heartbeat was slower than usual, and that was already too slow.

And he was so, so cold. He wasn’t supposed to be cold, no, his golden fluffy fur was supposed to keep him warm.

The memory of his little squeaky voice was still engraved in Sonic’s mind, even if it had been months without properly hearing, and yet…

“I’m sorry”

“What’s that buddy?”

“I’m sorry, for making you wait for me to go”

No.

Why was his eight year old brother apologizing? Why did his kid feel the need to apologize for not dying? No. He knew exactly way, the reason were his feet’s constant tapping on the ground whenever he had a medic visit. The reason was how his own smile fell whenever the kid wasn’t looking at him. The reason… was because the kid just wanted to go, and Sonic wouldn’t let him. Sonic wanted him to get better, Sonic wanted him to stay with him. Not to let him go.

How could he? When he hasn’t had him for enough time? When he still had so much to live? When he still needed to apologize for not giving him the life he deserved? When he still needed to tell him that he loved him without feeling he’ll lose him forever?

Ten seconds of silence. Two voices in unison. The same feeling behind them, different words.

“Forgive me”

“I love you”

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic and tails #unbreakable bond #they are cosmic truth #they’re brothers your honor #hmmmm this wasn’t very wholesome

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 10 months

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𝕰𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 (Kung Lao x Pregnant! Reader)

Official Masterlist

Summary: a curse threatens to shatter the happiness of Kung Lao and the expectant reader. As the curse takes hold, the reader descends into madness and paranoia, convinced that their unborn child is a demonic presence. Desperate to save themselves and their loved ones, Reader attempts to take drastic measures, leading to their confinement and protection. With time running out and hope fading, Kung Lao and his allies embark on a perilous journey to break the curse and restore Reader's sanity.

Word Count: 4.5K words

Warning/s: mega angst, self harm with the intent of killing your baby in the womb. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION!!

This was written as a request for @eemr1000 thank you for your request and I hope you like it!!

8 months in.

The sun's gentle rays filtered through the billowing curtains, casting a soft glow upon the serene bedroom of an expectant couple, Kung Lao and his pregnant wife, who would usually be glowing with her pregnancy. Their shared sanctuary, once filled with laughter and anticipation, now exuded an undercurrent of unease.

Eight months had passed since (Y/n)'s pregnancy began, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of new life. Lao, ever watchful and supportive, revelled in the joy that emanated from his beloved. Their love had blossomed amidst the chaos of battle, forging a bond that could weather any storm.

But as the months wore on, a subtle shift began to take hold. It started with fleeting moments of unease, like a ripple on the surface of a calm pond. (Y/n), once vibrant and radiant, seemed to carry a weight upon her shoulders—an invisible burden that cast a shadow over their once harmonious existence.

Lao noticed the subtle changes in his wife—the way her laughter became more forced, her smiles tinged with a hint of melancholy. Concern etched lines upon his face, his heart heavy with worry. He longed to understand the source of her inner turmoil, to bring back the light that had dimmed within her eyes.

He had just been in their kitchen, preparing the woman a hearty breakfast which usually she would eat with great haste and gluttony - a trait which he loved about her. She was definitely a hungry pregnant, and even when she had put on some weight due to the pregnancy, he still adored the way she'd happily chow down on any dish he prepared for her.

This time though, it was different.

As he returned to their bedroom, a plate of toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon in hands, he observed his wife, lying on her back, drawing circles on her round belly while she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"I made you breakfast, my love," Lao announced, his voice gentle as he approached her. "...I'm not hungry..." she croaked out, her eyes unmoving as the remained glued to the ceiling.

Lao's brow furrowed with concern, his heart sinking at the emptiness in her voice. He set the tray aside and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently caress her cheek.

"That's not like you," he murmured, his voice laced with worry. "is something troubling you, (Y/n)?"

Her eyes flickered, momentarily meeting his gaze before drifting away once more.

"There's...something...wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't shake this feeling, Lao. It's like a dark cloud following me wherever I go."

Lao's heart clenched, a harsh sense of fear swelling within him. He had always been her rock, the one who stood by her side through every trial they had faced. He couldn't bear to see her suffer, especially when he couldn't pinpoint the cause.

"Tell me more, my dear," he pried, clasping her hands with his and rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs.

Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the torment that churned within her.

"I...I fear for our child, Lao," she confessed, her voice quivering. "These thoughts...they whisper to me, saying that our baby is not what it seems. That it's something...dark...sinister."

Lao's heart shattered into a thousand pieces, the weight of her words crushing him. He couldn't bear to witness her torment, nor the doubts that gnawed at her soul. But he knew that he had to be her anchor, her unwavering support, even in the face of the unknown.

"(Y/n), you..." he began, trailing off, not entirely sure to say as he shook his head, smiling and trying to lighten the mood, "you're going to be okay. You're...you're probably just anxious and overwhelmed with everything that comes with pregnancy. It's natural to have some fears and doubts, but we'll face them together, my love."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and desperation. She wanted to believe what he was saying, to simply brush off these horrid feelings and continue her pregnancy as it was, carrying their child to term. But the darkness that consumed her thoughts refused to release its grip. It clawed at her sanity, infecting her mind with doubts and paranoia that threatened to unravel everything they held dear. Her longing for peace warred with her fear, creating an agonizing turmoil within her.

She didn't say anything, though, she simply looked at her lover, giving him a single nod.

He leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss to her temple before he left the room, his intention with going out into the courtyard and practicing his training.

As he prepared for his training, Lao closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to centre his thoughts.

As the days passed, since (Y/n) had initially admitted that she felt something off about that their child, her state seemed to worsen. She continued to refuse food, and would not sleep either. Her days would be spent staring into the void blankly, as she tapped her belly and muttered unintelligible words to herself.

Growing anxious as their baby's due date became closer, Lao called upon the thunder god, Raiden, and his friend Liu Kang, for assistance, hoping to resolve whatever was happening with his poor wife.

"Thank you for coming, Lord Raiden," Lao thanked the deity, as they entered his home. "I fear that something is deeply troubling my wife. She's been consumed by this darkness, and it's taking a toll on her physical and mental well-being."

Lord Raiden's eyes, filled with an otherworldly wisdom, scanned the surroundings. He could sense the turmoil that enveloped the place, the lingering aura of despair and fear.

"I sensed a disturbance, a darkness that clouds this place," Lord Raiden remarked, his voice resonating with an ethereal power. "But fear not, Kung Lao, we shall do everything within our power to uncover the truth and bring light to this situation."

Liu Kang stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Lao's shoulder.

"We're here for you, my friend," he said with a determined tone.

Lao gave him a grateful nod, smiling briefly at his best friend as they continued into his home.

Lao led Lord Raiden and Liu Kang through the corridors towards (Y/n)'s chamber. The air grew heavy with tension, a palpable sense of unease filling the space. Lao's steps quickened, his heart pounding in his chest, eager to find answers and provide solace for his suffering wife.

As they entered her bedroom, a horrifying sight became evident.

(Y/n) had a knife held above her. And the target?

The womb which carried their child.

Before any of them could react, she had brought the knife down in one swift movement, driving it straight into her stomach. As she did, a cry of pain echoed throughout the bedroom, and Lao and Liu were quick to rush to her sides, restraining her so she could do no more harm to herself.

One of Lao's hands cradled the knife which was stuck in her, afraid to pull it out as to not let her lose too much blood.

She was squirming, begging to be let go, begging to carve this cursed child from her body.

The scene was a devastating tableau of despair, and Lao's heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he witnessed his wife's anguish and desperation. He knew that time was of the essence, and they had to act quickly to save both (Y/n) and their unborn child.

His eyes teared up as he looked toward Raiden.

"Lord Raiden, please! She needs help!" He begged, his voice trembling as the tears spilled from his eyes, having to shout over (Y/n)'s screaming and crying.

"Be strong, Kung Lao," Lord Raiden said, his voice firm yet comforting. "We will do everything in our power to help her."

Raiden, his demeanour calm, approached the situation, conjuring a surge of energy within his hand as he used the other to carefully draw the knife out of the woman. As he did this, he sealed the wound to the best of his abilities, enough to keep the bleeding at bay.

Tears streamed down (Y/n)'s face, her breathing laboured and weak. She had began to calm down, drowsy from the blood she had lost which had pooled on the ground below her.

As the immediate danger had passed, Liu Kang quickly fetched some clean towels to help staunch the bleeding, while Lao maintained his gentle hold on (Y/n), careful not to exert any pressure on her injured abdomen.

He gently repositioned his wife, so that he could cradle her body like she were a child. He pressed his forehead to hers, unable to stop the choked sobs which passed his lips.

"The baby is unharmed," Lord Raiden confided, sending a wave of relief over Lao. "though, I do sense something sinister within her. A curse."

"Who would've placed a curse on her?" Lao's voice trembled with a mix of confusion and anger.

Raiden approached the woman once again, kneeling down in front of her as he placed a hand on her stomach, gently as to not cause any further harm. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to concentrate on the sinister force that had infected the woman and her baby.

And suddenly, he realised the familiarity of the magic.

"...Shang Tsung." he muttered, opening his eyes again as he drew his hand away.

Kung Lao's eyes widened at the revelation.

"Why would Shang Tsung curse (Y/n) and our child?" Lao asked, his voice filled with a deep-rooted fury. "What does he gain from inflicting such pain upon us?" "I have no clear answer for you, Kung Lao," Raiden admitted regretfully, his tone tinged with frustration. "It is possible that he seeks to disrupt your life and sow chaos, relishing in the pain and suffering he inflicts upon others."

Upon this news, Liu Kang returned to the bedroom, fresh towels in hand as he came to (Y/n)'s side again.

He and Lao helped (Y/n) onto her bed, the two men removing her bloodstained clothes, mindful of her fragile state. Their movements were slow and deliberate, ensuring they didn't cause her any additional discomfort or pain. Lao didn't mind allowing his best friend and the thunder god to see her in such a vulnerable state, considering they were there to help her and two of his closest friends.

Raiden had assisted by fetching a basin of warm water, bringing it back so that they could proceed with her cleaning.

With gentle strokes, Liu began to cleanse the wound on (Y/n)'s abdomen, carefully removing any traces of blood. His touch was tender, his focus unwavering as he tended to her injuries with the utmost care. Lao stood by her side, holding her hand tightly, offering silent reassurance and love as he observed the process.

Though her eyes remained closed, the tension in her features seemed to ease slightly, as if the physical care provided by her husband and friend offered a brief respite from the torment she had endured.

The room remained hushed, filled only with the sound of gentle movements and the soft splashes of water as Liu Kang worked. As he did, Lao decided to gather some fresh clothes for his wife, his trust in his friend unparalleled.

Leaving (Y/n)'s side momentarily, Lao quietly stepped out of the bedroom and made his way to the wardrobe. He selected a soft, comfortable set of clothes, mindful of her delicate condition and the need for gentle fabrics. Each item was chosen with care, a silent gesture of love and consideration.

Returning to the bedroom, Lao placed the fresh clothes on a nearby chair. He leaned over (Y/n), brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as he silently conveyed his love and support.

Lao picked up the clean clothes and began to dress her in them. He moved with a tenderness born out of an intimate understanding of her needs, his hands moving skilfully yet gently as he adorned her in the fresh garments.

With a final kiss to her forehead, Lao whispered, "You're strong, my love. We'll get through this together."

Raiden had explained to Kung Lao that the only way to break the curse was to locate Shang Tsung and have him directly remove it, or wait until the pregnancy was over and the child was born.

The weight of the situation laid heavy upon Lao's shoulders, and he knew very well that he couldn't simply wait around while his lover suffered the horrifying effects of the curse. The thought of allowing (Y/n) to endure more pain and torment was unbearable to him.

With steely determination, Lao looked at Raiden and spoke with conviction in his voice.

"We cannot wait any longer. We must find Shang Tsung and confront him. I cannot stand idly by while (Y/n) suffers. I will do whatever it takes to protect her."

Raiden nodded in agreement, his gaze filled with a mix of empathy and resolve.

"I understand your anguish, Kung Lao. Let us track down Shang Tsung and put an end to his wicked deeds once and for all. We will not rest until (Y/n) is free from this curse."

As much as he didn't want to leave (Y/n)'s side, he knew that he had to deal with this. He had to be the one to put the sorcerer in his place, he had to be the one to ensure that Shang Tsung knew to stay far away from his family. He wouldn't rest otherwise.

He left (Y/n) in the hands of his best friend, Liu, allowing him to take care of her while he set out on this treacherous task. He trusted no one else with her.

With a heavy heart, Lao bid farewell to (Y/n), knowing that she was in capable hands. He assured her that he would return as swiftly as possible, his determination fuelling his every step.

The path to Shang Tsung's lair was fraught with danger, testing Kung Lao's physical prowess and mental fortitude. He faced formidable adversaries, engaged in gruelling battles, and overcame treacherous traps with unwavering focus.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kung Lao stood at the threshold of Shang Tsung's domain. The sorcerer's presence loomed before him, a chilling reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon (Y/n) and their unborn child.

There, the sorcerer stood, menacing, as he looked down at Lao and Raiden from his place atop the top step of his grand staircase. He clapped his hands together a few times, providing a condescending applause to the warrior who had made it this far.

"Well done, Kung Lao, for making it this far. I sense your goals, why you're here," Shang Tsung sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But do you truly think defeating me will erase the curse? The curse upon your wife and unborn child runs deeper than you can comprehend."

Kung Lao's grip tightened on his weapon, his eyes burning with rage.

"Tell me, sorcerer, why did you curse them? What is your sick game?"

Shang Tsung chuckled, relishing the opportunity to taunt his adversary.

"Oh, Kung Lao, it's simple. I curse those who possess something I desire. Your bloodline is powerful, and your child would have been a threat to my plans. How could I forget your ancestor, the great Kung Lao? By cursing your wife and child, I ensure that their potential is forever tainted."

Kung Lao's jaw clenched as he listened to Shang Tsung's twisted explanation.

"You dare meddle with my family's fate for your selfish desires?" Lao spat, his voice laced with defiance. "You underestimate the strength that runs through our bloodline. We will rise above this curse, and your plans will crumble."

Shang Tsung's eyes gleamed with malicious delight.

"Oh, how amusing it is to witness your futile resistance. Your confidence will be your downfall, Kung Lao. I eagerly await the day when your hopes are shattered."

Each word which fell from Shang Tsung's lips seemed to fuel Lao's rage more and more. The sorcerer's callous disregard for the lives he had affected, his arrogance in underestimating their strength, ignited a fire within Lao that burned with an intensity he had never felt before.

With a primal roar, Lao unleashed his fury upon Shang Tsung, his strikes swift and powerful. Every blow carried the weight of his love for (Y/n) and their unborn child, driving him forward with unwavering determination.

The clash of their forces echoed through the chamber, the sound of metal meeting magic reverberating in the air. Lao's resolve hardened with each exchange, his movements precise and calculated. He had honed his skills for this very moment, and he would not let Shang Tsung's curse go unanswered.

With every strike, Lao channelled his frustration, his anger, and his love into his attacks. He fought with a determination fuelled by the knowledge that he was not only fighting for his family but for all those who had suffered under Shang Tsung's cruelty.

Their battle became a dance of fury and skill, as Lao anticipated Shang Tsung's every move and countered with unparalleled precision. He weaved through the sorcerer's dark spells, dodging and deflecting them with a grace born of years of training.

Lao's weapon, a testament to his heritage and training, sliced through the air, meeting Shang Tsung's defences with unwavering force. Blow after blow, Lao pushed himself to the limits, refusing to yield to the sorcerer's malevolence.

The chamber crackled with energy as their powers clashed, the very fabric of reality trembling under their duel. Lao's determination radiated from him, his eyes burning with an intensity that matched the blazing fire within his heart.

In a final, decisive moment, Lao delivered a devastating blow, striking at the heart of Shang Tsung's defences. The sorcerer's grip on power weakened, his face contorted with a mix of disbelief and defeat.

He looked down at the sorcerer, a scowl on his face, though he felt a sense of relief wash over him. He was defeated, it was over now.

A harsh cackle echoed throughout the land, and Lao furrowed his brows when he found that the source was Shang Tsung.

"I did tell you...that defeating me would not remove the curse..." he wheezed, the smirk on his face emanating the evil in his cold heart, "she will carry the curse...until your child is born...though, she'll likely kill herself before then."

Lao's heart dropped as Shang Tsung erupted into more evil laughter. He realised what he had just done - perhaps this was an unintentional rouse, one to get him away from his self destructive wife.

Without wasting another moment, Lao began on his journey back to his home. His steps were frantic, fuelled by a mix of fear and guilt. Raiden tried to reassure him that this was not his fault, though nothing could've convinced him in that moment.

As they arrived home, the first thing Lao did was rush to his room, where his wife would be resting. However, he was shocked to find that she had been bound to the bed by ropes which were tied to each corner of the bed, with Liu Kang sitting patiently beside her. She was asleep, but breathing heavily and sweating, all pale.

"What is the meaning of this? Why is (Y/n) restrained?" Lao's voice trembled with a mix of concern and frustration as he approached his friend. "Lao, I am sorry that it had to come to this, but it's for her own good," Liu began holding his hands up in a way which he hoped would display his sincerity. "She has become too dangerous...so much that not even I can keep her safe without going to drastic measures. First, it was the baby she was trying to harm. But now...it is also herself."

Liu approached (Y/n) again, ushering for Lao to join him as he brushed the hair away from her face and pointed to her throat.

"Do you see that?" he asked, referring to the little cut which was present where he pointed, "had I not caught her wrist at the moment I did, she would've drove that knife right into her throat."

Lao's heart sank as he saw the cut on (Y/n)'s throat, realizing the gravity of the situation. The mix of concern and fear washed over him, and he struggled to hold back tears of anguish.

"(Y/n)," Lao's voice quivered as he reached out to touch her cheek gently. "I'm so sorry my love..."

Tears welled up in Lao's eyes, threatening to spill over, as he leaned closer to (Y/n), his forehead resting against hers.

"Please, hold on for me. It'll all be over soon, I promise."

As he whispered to her, the tears in his eyes finally spilled, falling onto his lover's face. He began sobbing, cupping her face in his hands.

Raiden placed a hand on Liu Kang's shoulder, catching his attention as he turned to him.

"Come, Liu Kang," he said, "let us give them a moment alone."

Liu nodded once, and they left the room.

Lao's sobs filled the room as he held (Y/n) close, pouring out his heartache and desperation in that intimate moment. He clung to her, his grip firm yet gentle, as if trying to transfer his strength and love into her wounded soul.

Outside the room, Liu Kang and Raiden stood together, their expressions solemn and resolute. Liu's eyes glistened with unshed tears, mirroring the pain he felt for his friend and the woman he considered family. Raiden's gaze held a mix of sorrow and determination, his commitment to their cause unwavering.

It was horrifying to know that nothing could be done about it except for wait it out, though they would assist Kung Lao in these trying times and ensure that (Y/n) and her baby would come out of this situation safe.

Screams of pain echoed throughout the Kung home, as the three men rushed around the house, gathering the supplies they would need for the delivery of (Y/n)'s baby.

Kung Lao asked that Liu gather towels and a basin of hot water for his wife, while he asked that Raiden stay by her side and use his powers to keep her pain to a minimum.

Though, even when the pain had subsided for the most part, the screams continued. Screams of terror.

She did not want to deliver this baby.

Even so, Lao was determined to have this baby come into the world, healthy and happy. He knew his lover was bewitched, that her heavy reluctance was only a result of Shang Tsung's evil.

He and Liu entered the room, frantic as they prepared everything for the birth of this child. Kung Lao approached his lover, who was writhing in her restraints, trying to break free. He grabbed her hand, leaning over her and brushing the hair out of her face.

"(Y/n), my love, I am here with you," he whispered, his words a soothing melody amidst the chaos. "You are a beautiful warrior, and your strength surpasses any curse."

He could feel her grip tightening on his hand, her fingers digging into his skin, seeking solace in their connection.

"I...I can't..." she shuddered, shaking her head. "I can't...I'm so scared."

"You must, (Y/n)," Lao encouraged her, squeezing her hand a little tighter, "you have come much too far to give up now. You mustn't let Shang Tsung's evil cloud your mind. Have faith in me."

In amongst all of her fear, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her when she stared up at her lover, who was just as afraid and desperate as she was in that moment. Even when she was convinced that she was about to give birth to the anti-Christ, she would always feel more compelled to trust Lao, even if all she had was his word alone.

Lao noticed the way she seemed to relax a little at his words, and he felt his own body relax as well, looking toward Liu and Raiden, ready to give them instruction and ensure the safe delivery of this baby.

He established that he wanted Raiden to use his powers to ensure that (Y/n)'s pain was kept to a minimum, while he and Liu sat by the end of the bed and delivered the baby themselves.

(Y/n) clasped onto Raiden's hand as tight as she could, while he administered his healing power through their contact. The other two men had finished preparing things on their end, watching as the baby began surfacing as Liu held a towel beneath the site and Lao had his hands ready to guide the baby's head.

With each push, (Y/n)'s determination grew stronger, fueling her resolve to bring their baby into the world. Kung Lao's hands, steady and gentle, guided the baby's head as it began to emerge, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

Liu Kang swiftly and delicately caught the baby, cradling the tiny, wriggling form in the waiting towel. The room was filled with a collective gasp of awe and overwhelming joy as the cries of their new-born filled the air.

Kung Lao's eyes teared up as he took in his child for the very first time. In that moment, as he held their baby in his arms, the world seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was the precious life they had brought into existence.

Despite being covered in muck and blood, Kung Lao saw nothing but beauty in their child. Every tiny feature, every wrinkle, filled him with an overwhelming sense of awe and unconditional love.

With trembling hands, he reached out to gently wipe away the remnants of birth from their baby's delicate face. Each touch was imbued with tenderness, a silent promise to shield their child from harm and to be a constant source of love and support.

Naturally, he would approach his exhausted lover, and bring the child to her, gently laying the new soul onto (Y/n)'s chest. The baby's small form rested against her, their heartbeats synchronizing, a physical manifestation of the unbreakable connection between mother and child.

Kung Lao's hands gently supported their baby's delicate head, his touch light yet steady, as he watched (Y/n) marvel at the miracle lying in her embrace. Their child's tiny fingers curled instinctively around (Y/n)'s own, as if seeking comfort and reassurance.

Silent tears cascaded down (Y/n)'s cheeks, mixing with tears of joy and exhaustion. They looked down at their child, their eyes filled with a blend of overwhelming emotions. In that moment, a newfound strength and tenderness radiated from within them, a fierce maternal love that knew no bounds.

Upon viewing her daughter for the first time, (Y/n) felt her paranoia and fear wash away. She knew this would happen - because the curse was broken, and she and her child had survived.

Together, they basked in the miracle of their child's arrival, their hearts overflowing with a love that seemed to defy any limits. In that sacred space, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside faded away as they forged an unbreakable bond as a family.

#kung lao #kung lao mortal kombat #kung lao x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #angst #writing requests

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darabeatha · 9 months

Text

I have these few characters that I would like to write but would prefer to have a single blog for one of them; if u had to pick one that sounds the most interesting to you, who would it be?

Joseph Desaulniers : 'Don't be fooled by his elegance, or you might become an item in his collection in a split second.' A photographer trapped in the chains of grief after the death of his brother. He became obsessed with time and the chance to save the memories of his deceased brother as well as to find a way to trick death, this has lead him to experiment with photography and the occult with the hopes of being able to preserve people (and even himself) from the natural finite concept of life.

Frederick kreiburg : 'The aroma was on me, but it slowly faded with time. Once it faded, it casted me into the abyss, where the light from my eyes extinguished.' The composer, a man born with the prestigious last name kreiburg, a family composed of exceptional musical talent which each member shared since birth. Frederick have believed that music would be his salvation and that like the rest of his family, he would be granted a muse and a musical talent for as long as he lived just like the rest of his family, and thus become a shining star of art, but the gods loved him no more, and over time as Frederick grew, this promise of a musically gifted son would gradually fade, leading Frederick to become a shadow of what talent is and to rely mostly on his beautiful appearance to maintain a semblance of the life he's been accustomed to rather than relying on a now 'exhausted' talent.

Ithaqua: 'It is believed that every winter, the hear of footsteps soulds like thunder will come from the depths of the forest covered by a snowstorm, chilling voice in the silence of the winter night is clearly hearable. The Unlucky guys might see the starry sky covered by a huge dark cloud, the cloud body has a human profile, and that above the human body, is an angry and distorted face, like a human face that has been distorted, giant horns with wind and snow, withered hair waves like Ghosts, and there are two bright stars that seem to be eyes shining in deep purple. According to few survivors, the people found by Itaqua, will be brutally played and hunted; some victims will even become monsters like Itaqua, dragging the feet burned by the freezing cold. Never end up wandering in the wind and snow forest.' The night watch; born in a town in the far north that held a doctrine that every inch of its land must be pure, it was believed amongst other beliefs that if a woman gave birth to a deceased child, then she she would have carried the child of a demon. This is precisely what happened one night with the wife of the magistrate, and after contemplating the seemingly stillborn twin next to his baby brother, with the fear of condemnation, the family decided to abandon the baby and carry on a life as if nothing had happened. The news arrived shortly after, 'the Noel family gave birth to one boy tonight.' That seemingly lifeless baby thrown into the forest in a raging blizzard regained his heartbeat somehow, and regained a mother that same night. The adopted youth who had now reached adulthood, would not retain a life of warmth much longer, and his adoptive mother was eventually found and accused of witchcraft. He never understood why his mother, a devout believer of God, would be beaten by the intruders as a "demon", nor did he know why the mother who taught him language and culture was unable to utter a half a single word to the intruders. What he did know, however, was that the leader of the men who took his mother had a face almost identical to his. This could help him rescue her, but by the time he had murdered his brother and taken his position (with the advantage of carrying the same face) his mother would no longer recognize him as her own adopted son and would only scream at the sight of him after all the pain she had endured, seeing the image of the young man's biological brother who had tortured her rather than her son. 'When foolishness becomes the root of evil, civilization protects none. He chose to shed his human shell and return to the root of foolishness, becoming the fear of fools - Ithaqua. And as for his real name, perhaps the only person left in this world who knows it can no longer call out for him. But to him, that's no longer important.'

Weeping clown joker: 'Perhaps Joker really was a natural born money tree as his parents suggested. All he could do to make himself feel needed was to tolerate and play dumb.' Perhaps Joker was, as his parents said, a born circus cash cow. And he can only exchange forbearance and foolishness for the only remaining sense of belonging, so Joker, who has always been submissive, "naturally" became the weeping clown of the circus. He was accustomed to limping on the stage and using his funny face and uncoordinated limbs to make the audience laugh. Maybe Joker can't tell whether the behavior after the clown makeup is a forced performance that goes against his usual character, or a real emotional release deep inside.

Known as the weeping clown and the backbone of the circus hullabaloo, the man have never learned his real name, or would it be more accurate to say that he's never have the courage to question it? 'Born with a sad face and a deformed right leg, perhaps Joker really was a natural born money tree as his parents suggested. As Joker was used to resigning to adversity, he "naturally" became the weeping clown of a circus. He got used to limping on the stage and made the audience laugh with his ridiculous face and awkward limbs.' Sold to the circus by his parents due to his physical conditions, weeping clown has known for the majority of his life only the circus and the circus alone. This changes when one day, a couple arrive at the circus ; Sergi and Natalie. Sergi brought joy and laughter onstage and quickly became the new sensation, replacing weeping clown almost immediately, but Sergi was a slave to the bottle offstage, and started hurting his mistress who sought comfort in weeping clown. Because of this, weeping clown eventually ended confronting Sergi, AND in the heated argument, he got thrown a mix of acid in the face and ruined his life forever, but after this happened, weeping clown would sought revenge and eventually provokes a fire that ends up devouring the entire circus to the exception of the tormented poor dancer Natalie. After this incident, no one could find weeping clown nor his corpse anywhere, the only thing left were the ashes and the faceless corpse of sergi.

#;ooc #ooc #(copy pasted some parts of the wiki btw bc i found it explained more simply)#also #tw for u.nborn b.aby; death; h.omicide; c.ults; t.orture #(adding the dots bc I fear c.reepy b.ots following me)#i think each is very interesting so i lit cant pick!#i was going to add o.rpheus too but O

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shattered-catalyst · 2 years

Text

Drabble: Oh My Za what does he choose?!?!

Tw for emotional manipulation

Not my best but pretty cool for covid brain.

A single light bulb delicately turns on its wires, gaunt like a skeleton. It's shadows cast dramatically to the walls in high relief. Catalyst doesn't have to think twice; he knows the nerve gas, A.rcade. for the second time this month.

Vision glassy and sweat slips along his brow. Plantively he looks up at the television screen before him, the only other light source available. An obvious visual prompt toward the camera's red flashing light was a sign that read 'look here' .

" Arcade I have proven myself capable of finding a camera." He isn't going to show he's testing his body until he can move or testing his binds.

Arcade had a show set up so he should watch it. Seemed like the decent thing an actor could do for a zealous director. Wanna be director.

A click and the television turned into the most punch able face he hadn't gotten to punch yet. " Are you making yourself comfortable? I remembered juice boxes this time." The flashy glasses and the over sized furniture, what nature couldn't give to him money had. In excess.

The villain plays with one of many remote controls on his desk, hovering a drone close enough that Catalyst is tempted to spit at it. But he doesn't not yet. " do you know what I enjoy about you?" A rhetorical question obviously but he'd bite.

" I'm photogenic and camera ready."

"No!!" His hand slams the desk " no you - you know how this works. I am in control you are not! You're the perfect case study for potential clients- you show just how dangerous and thrilling this game can be AND you never try and find me."

Okay it was for complete lack of trying on Catalysts part. What can he say? Arcade was a normal self harm tactic he used on himself? Most kids did e cigarettes he did underground fight clubs and getting kidnapped by a narcissistic with a game house obsession. Could anything get more New York City than that?

"The last time you showed me a vid I became a vegetarian. What life change are you hoping to inspire this time? Eliminating plastics? I do like turtles." His voice carries off a thought catching his attention. " Did I give you one?"

" give me what?"

"A turtle, from turtle pond specifically. I was relocating them. Trying to process a bit of my own trauma and backstory.All relevant. " the television blinks and whurrs to show Krakoa . For a few moments he's thankful.

This limited what torment he was about to experience, at least to the island of krakoa. The glittering sands and pristine waters were far cry from his smog filled life in dilapidated housing.

" I wanted to show you just how right you are. It IS a mutant Mojoworld. Every aspect of this society is dedicated to glorifying a life style succumbed to waste and opulence." The bold colors of the gala and the nightly parties raged on the screen.

Fading to the enclosed sanctuary of the Bower and its orphans, " just like you would be. Left out and abandoned at the pearly white gates of mutant paradise just because of how you were made. " reaching fists are met with empty air. the colicky cries encased within reverberating within his skull. Zas vid he hated babies crying and it set off a heavy alarm bell in his mind. He tries to mentally run to that place he knows he needs to be to make it out of this: the Shatterst.r II mindset. The mojos play thing. He had to survive no matter what role he was forced to play bastard or otherwise.

"With no Xmen around there weren't any heroes to save you were there? Cast adrift to your fate and then continually left out of the mutant rise and fall." Blurr of flora and bursts of green foliage a crossed the screen. He can almost feel the air as cleaner and fresher. His hatred for Arcade builds. His hatred of Krakoa grows deeper into resentment.

Wisely he holds his tongue not saying a word, any reaction would just give him for fuel for the fire. The game master has already gotten so much from him, Catalyst didn't want to sacrifice anymore of his private emotions or thoughts to his entertainment.

"Although I think at our next stop you will agree with me when I say there are no more Xmen."

The crucible was beyond anything he could prepare himself for. To say it was his downfall would be to sell it short.. His stomach shredded to ribbons then and there as an ex mutant fights for the right to be reborn with their powers.

" Look familiar? On Krakoa only the strong are considered mutants. The weak or the distorted are cast aside."

No no this couldn't be right it couldn't be that bad.

His heart rate increases as every ounce of emotional control starts to leave, wretched finger finger by finger from his hole. The Xmen would never!! Shatter.star would never!!

His throat is parched dry and body set trembling with horror as the untrained mutant battled valiantly to be seen as worthy. For existing. It was a slaughter.

" They call this the crucible: a fight proving their mutant bravery to die in combat. Only then have they earned the right to be reborn with their abilities."

Catalyst shakes his head, slowly at first but as Arcade continues his merciless onslaught the reality continues to play out before him. " they have a resurrection queue but of course if you're an xman or one of their chosen people you get expedited. Tell me, how does that sound?"

This whole thing was a bad fever dream. Had he really escaped mojoworld just to watch another one begin again before him. " they watch Mojo broadcasting television Catalyst! If it is for their entertainment and their ease of life then they do it. There is no other motivation anymore."

Honestly if he could start this all over with a choice between being gutted alive and watching the videos playing out on screen about Kra.koan life. He had known about Gabbys death, but to witness the other pieces falling into place through video was devastating his heart and what he can only pray is a soul.

His lungs are white hot in his chest, the tears are cried in his heart as the tour continued. Showing him the housing condition standards and how civilian mutants were treated differently. How there was spotty education and medical care accessibility.

It was agonizing and when it finally comes to a halt he knows he's dissociating heavily but he can't fight it. He can't fight any of it. Not even when Arcade says. " Mojo discarded you as an earth shaker and I intend to find you as an earth breaker. join us in stopping Kra.koa. you will be rewarded with the peace of mind knowing that you stopped the inevitable."

#long post tw #xshapedportal #👀

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Note

congrats on 2k followers!!!!!! you're such a wonderful person and you deserve to be celebrated! for the emoji fic fest i'd like to send in the following emojis for raleigh becket: 😚☂️💦

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! And thanks for the congrats and kind words! 💗

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Under My Umbrella

Pairing: Raleigh Becket x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, random silly song references, Raleigh being a big dorky softie but also (shockingly!?) down to fuck immediately Word Count: ~1.6k Emoji Prompt: 😚☂️💦 (key words are in bold)

The breach is closed. The war is over and he saved the world and everybody knows.

And that’s the problem. Raleigh Becket doesn’t like the way the spotlight overcomes him. Light he never chose, so blinding as it glows. The way the masses flock like moths drawn to the halo set above him and blindly believe they love him. That’s not love—they know of what he did to save the day when push came to a cataclysmic shove, but truly they know nothing of him.

It’s a shame to live in fame. Beneath the shadow of his own overblown name. He doesn’t have the massive ego, to embrace the role of hero, to indulge when strangers scream after him everywhere he goes. He worries that his life won’t ever be the same.

That was what drove him to this small town tucked away and hid, a little off the grid—and he’s felt better ever since he came. He’ll never be completely unknown, but at least the crowds are tame, and leave him well enough alone. He’s so alone lately it’s almost lame.

He likes it that way though. Likes his routine of waking up and waiting at the bus stop, working at his humble job. The pay is low. Even more so when business is slow. And Raleigh savors the simplicity, the contrast to the constant flash of cameras when he was recently living in the city. Even the weather helps his cause by often shrouding this small town in rain and snow.

He’s the new golden boy in town you haven’t met. You’ve heard the rumors of a cutie who just moved here but you haven’t crossed paths yet. When you hurry to the bus stop this fine morning, find yourself caught in a downpour without warning… that’s when you finally set eyes on Raleigh Becket. Suddenly the rain is not the only thing getting you wet.

You would have made sure to bump into him much sooner had you known that this is what your ass was missing. Even when his mane is damp-darkened by the rain you can still tell he’s got a bright blonde head of hair. Big eyes as blue as the Pacific and deliciously pink lips just made for kissing. You could swear, you’ve seen his face somewhere… but even if you hadn’t you would still shamelessly stare.

You’d missed the forecast so arrived at the bus stop without an umbrella in hand. The golden god has one but you do not want him to think you’re staring at him as a hint that he should share it with you; that’d be a bitchy thing to do, to make such a passive-aggressive demand.

From Raleigh’s end—once he’s calmed himself down after reacting to the most beautiful girl who’s ever come around the bend—he clears his throat and clumsily invites you now to join him where he stands.

“Y-you can stand under my umbrella.”

He just says it with no introductory words. You find it cute as fuck that he’s so awkward. It’s a good thing too, given the awkward vibes uncontrollably coming off of you. “–ella, ella…”

You had just murmured it quietly… then bitterly regret that shit immediately. Cursing yourself silently for your idiocy. Maybe the poor guy doesn’t even know this reference to a song from the 2000s or whenever it was.

But apparently he does. The next thing that he bashfully goes on to say: “… ey, ey, ey.”

Suddenly all your insecurities about your stupid sense of humor fade away. All you can think about is standing under his umbrella and hopefully sitting on his cock later today.

***************

This bastard smells so fucking good it isn’t fair.

Can probably hear you breathing him so deep but you don’t even care. Standing beside this total stranger you have never felt such comfort anywhere. That subtle clean scent of simple unscented soap… mixed with the warmth of honeycomb and home and hope… cinnamon sugar muffins, sweet and soft and fresh out of the oven. Smells so wholesome you can’t cope.

You want to say something but don’t even know what. After a few seconds of silence steal another glimpse up at his gorgeous face and have to stop yourself from moaning like a slut.

… That’s when it hits you who he is. You were too caught up in his beauty that you hadn’t even realized who this hero truly is.

And Raleigh senses it the moment that you recognize—picks up on that familiar jolt of such starstruck surprise, that makes him feel like he’s an object for a sea of prying eyes. Less of a person, more a prize. It kind of hurts him, as he wishes he could meet a pretty girl and flirt a little bit, without his reputation far preceding him and getting in the middle of it. Wishes he could carry on like all the ‘normal’ guys.

Then he remembers he’s an awfully shitty flirt. That helps a little with the self-pitying hurt.

You gather up your fallen jaw to ask him the obligatory question as it’s naturally the only thing to do. “Are you…”

But then you pause—notice the shadow fall across his gaze of blue—you hate to think you were the cause. You can’t begin to process all his thoughts and what he’s been through, but you understand on some level that just because the whole wide world regards him with applause, that doesn’t mean you have to stand here and remind him that it’s true.

And so instead you just finish the sentence with something painfully dumb. The words just come, because all two of your brain cells are doing their usual stupid dance. “… are you into piña coladas by any chance?”

The sadness in his gaze fades a bit as he casts you a curious glance.

You backtrack to explain your silly words. You’ve referred to a super old song yet again, even older this time and he might not get it so you have to explain. You feel so fucking awkward. “I–I just thought that maybe since we’ve already gotten caught in the rain… we could work backwards…”

Before you can carry on with your explanation, Raleigh’s blushing face lights up in realization. His adorable pink cheeks flush red. “Oh my God I’m so sorry that went right over my head!”

He’s so fucking precious you can’t even stand it. Too cute to be true. You laugh off what you’d said and just shoot the shit, for a few minutes—or more than a few—till the two of you realize the bus isn’t coming and that you are stranded.

“Well, I guess I’ll just call in sick today.” He shrugs but shocks himself a little bit ‘cause that was not at all a Raleigh thing to say. He’d never lie about his reason for an absence from the job. Yet he might have to, if he hopes to carry on chatting with you, all day here under his umbrella at this lonely little bus stop.

“Me too,” you coo, smiling up at this wholesome heartthrob, then nervously shuffling your feet and looking out into the steady sheets of rainfall that surround you. Wondering whether or not he took the hint that you were asking him out on a date with that piña colada thing. You hope he didn’t; if he had gotten the hint, he isn’t answering.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, he picks up on your anxious energy and hits rewind. “Back to your piña colada question—I’ve, uh… actually never had one.”

Your heart perks up in happiness based on the promise in his tone. The promise that the two of you won’t have to spend this rainy day alone. The next words out of your mouth are a little flirtier than they should be maybe, but he’s such an innocent baby, that you just can’t help but have a little fun. “I’d bet there are a lot of things you’ve never done…”

Blue eyes go wide as if your insult was obscene. But Raleigh can’t stay mad at such a pretty girl. “What’s that supposed to mean?! I’ll have you know I saved the fucking world!”

And just like that he’s fucking told you—even though his tone is playful it’s still true—and though you obviously knew, he finds he’s no longer compelled to hide that part of him from view. The way he always used to do. As if he knows that you want all of him and not only the surface-level shit, as if you see into him more than just a little bit, whereas the rest of the world sees right fucking through.

He knows that you only just met, so maybe it’s too early to be feeling shit like this but he’ll take any glimpse of hope that he can get.

You take his hand and feel his pulse in sync with yours as your hearts race. Pure fucking joy. “C’mon golden boy, I know just the place.”

The place for his first frozen pineapple coconut drink. The place for his first indulgence in a new fucking kink: screwing someone he only just met in the bathroom of this little diner and whispering filth in your ear as he rails you so hard that the force of it might break the sink.

Through all the purity of Raleigh there is definitely something fucking dirty and you caught it from the first blink. Now you’ve gone and stirred it up in him turns out he’s even dirtier than you would ever think.

You standing under his umbrella was the start; you lifting him out of the shadows over his head sparks a new light in his heart. And you awakening new sides of him is honestly the sweetest fucking part.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

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cinnamonrusts · 3 years

Text

i’ll see you in the village -- 2

parts: 1

This village is nothing that you thought it was going to be. You interact with some locals and Chris does some homework to find where you are when he cannot contact you. (chris redfield x f!reader) (a/n: it’s a long one, bois. thank you for all the love)

✧.* ✧.*

As the terrifying sounds echoed through the dilapidated village grew closer to where you stood, your blood ran cold and you reached for your gun but stopped; because, you knew that if you opened fire you might blow your cover. However, whatever created these noises did not sound like a friendly neighborhood pet. Person? Dog? Creature? Whatever it was, it sounded dangerous.

“Come out!” you yell as your head whipped side to side, desperate to get a glance at what it was that was playing this game with you. “Come out!” you scream again, but are only answered with a sharp arrow which hurdled through the air and embedded itself in the wooden fence beside your head. You curse loudly, your life almost ended, and you probably wouldn’t have realized it if it did.

Before you popped off any rounds in retaliation, a strong arm pulled you back from behind. Their rough, dirty palm was pressed firmly against your mouth and they shushed you quietly. The person pulled you into a darkened home and quickly closed the front door that was opened just enough for the two of you to slink through. Your mouth opened to speak once you felt relatively safe from whatever horror lurked in the shadows of the night. “Quiet, girl,” your savior spoke. With the faint moonlight that shined through the boarded up window, you could make out the face of an elderly man and to his right was presumably his wife - who was armed with a double-barreled shotgun and the nose of it pointed at a small hole in the door.

They didn’t explain anything besides telling you that being quiet is the correct thing to do. The same blood-curdling screeches grew closer and thuds on the roof caused you to jump. “Do you have a gun?” he asks and you nod as you place your hand on your hip where it was concealed under your clothing. Sounds of snapping wood from above draw the attention of the wife and she proceeded to pump shells in the general direction of the intruders. One of her shots hit whatever it was and it scurried away. Screams of pain were the last of its noise before the thuds stopped and sounds of it tearing through the front yard verified it was gone.

✧.*

A brief amount of time passed before the two locals spoke. “You’re an outsider,” the woman said as she leaned her firearm on the wall beside the door. “Yes, that is true, but I’m nothing but a traveler from a town far East of here,” you lifted your long skirt to curtsey for the couple, “I’ve come here to spread my fortune telling for all to enjoy.” The man scoffed and shook his head before he took a drink from a dirty mug. “Mother Miranda does not cater well to outsiders,” he burped, “--Especially those with talks of necromancy and fortune telling.” Mother Miranda? Score.

“I promise I have no ill well to you, the locals, or this Mother Miranda that you speak of.” The man scoffed once more but his wife shushed him, “You’re welcome here, dear.” she placed a hand on your shoulder and grinned a gummy smile. “Thank you,” you say and the three of you exchange backstory to your lives, until you try to push for some information about Miranda. “Who is this Mother Miranda?” you ask finally and hope that the tape recorder that is hidden in your waistband had begun to record once you bumped it with your wrist. A glimmer of light sparked in her dark eyes and she walked over to the main wall across the way. She pushed herself onto her toes and reached for a dusty painting of a woman that hung crooked above her head.

“This -- this is our wonderful, Mother Miranda.” she placed it in your palms and you brushed away a thick layer of dust with your thumb. The painting was faded but you could still make out what this woman looked like, and it was identical to the photo that the BSAA showed. Another spot marked off on the mission bingo sheet. “She keeps us safe and has for longer than we have been around.” she continued to praise the blonde. “She does? What about whatever is out there!? Does she keep you safe from that?” Your insult hit a nerve because the man stood from his seat, “How dare you insult our Mother in our home! You will feel her wrath!” he continued to yell, despite hiding away from the thing just outside the door. He proceeded to kick you out of their home and closed the door behind you, then locked it so you couldn’t get back in.

You knocked several times and attempted to apologize, but the same shotgun used to save your life was now pointed at your forehead. When you could feel the sensation of the firearm aimed for you, your hands raised instinctually in the air and you backed away slowly, your eyes never moved from the barrels. Never again would you see this couple.

✧.*

Once again, you found yourself alone in the dark village. Maybe the large castle that loomed over would be a good place to investigate next? You wandered toward the center of the crossroads and your thoughts drifted from subject to subject before being interrupted by the sound of a horse’s gallop. Another villager?! Hopefully they’d be nicer than the last pair. You turned to wait for the horse to approach but were horrified at the site that soon was before you. On the animal’s back was no man or woman, but a grey skinned creature who wielded a burning stake with a charred human remain pierced through the middle. It looked like one of the drawings you found in the old fairytale book your mother read to you when you were a small.

There was no time to scream but just enough to pull your pistol off your hip and shoot into its face. Unlike any human but just like the BOWs you’ve dealt with previously, it took the bullets like a sponge. Instead of wasting any more ammo, you decided on your best bet, and that was to run - run fast. The terrain was unknown but you did your best to go in any direction that was not the same way as your assailant.

The creature slashed the burning spike around in the air as it tried to hit you with it but you managed to duck and dive each time he did it. Soon, you saw a hope of escape, a line of trees. You continued down your path and once you reached the wooded area, you threw yourself down the only option you could see -- a steep hill and then tumbled down. The horse cried in fear and bucked upward, it wouldn’t allow the hostile creature to chase you any longer.

Your hands covered your head as you bounced off the hard, icy ground. Each hit, bump, and scrape burned through your body but you hoped that at the bottom you’d be safe. When you reached the bottom, you rolled out onto a dirt path and narrowly missed being trampled by a horse drawn carriage. The stallion that carried the wooden neighed loudly as it’s hooves dug into the ground. Your vision was blurred from your trip down the hill and you could barely make out a rather obese face of a man who peeked his head out from behind the curtain of his carriage.

“My word, I nearly flattened you into a pancake!” he cried as he pulled the fabric back completely. Your breaths were heavy and short as you remained silent, eyes fixated on the Caucasian friendly face. The man encouraged you to enter his wagon and you hesitated to accept but did once you pushed yourself up from the ground. “Unlike those bewitching women who lurk in that castle... I don’t bite!” he giggled. The gentleman introduced himself as “The Duke” and gave you a short tale about his travels in this village. Duke explained that it wasn’t always this way and it was once full of rich life and light, but it’s all different now... “What about you, my lady? What is it that brought our paths to cross one another?” he asked before he blew out a puff of cigar smoke. You coughed several times and waved your arm in the air in an attempt to waft the smoke from the small room. “Well...” you started and then proceeded to tell the imaginary tale that you told the couple previously.

✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

“Dammit!” Chris yelled and slammed the dashboard of the vehicle he was passenger in with his fist. The truck that was to transport Ethan and his deceased wife had been taken off the road and the infant, Rose, was most likely gone or dead. He began to bark orders at his squad in frustration before he came to his senses and took a deep breath. Miranda must’ve been behind all of this... and took Rose. “There,” he pointed at a rugged map of the local area that was taped onto the truck’s wall and turned to Umber Eyes, “Miranda’s village is there, and I bet so is Rose.”

A female interrupted from the back of the caravan, “Alpha, that information you requested came in.” she brought over a laptop and set it in Chris’s palms. The bright screen in the dark caused Chris to squint as he read through the document. Your BSAA photo was the largest thing on the page and beneath it was the detailed report of your newest mission, the one that brought you to Europe. He gritted his teeth - thoughts of the BSAA sending you on what could be a death mission crossed his mind. Chris reached into the breast pocket of his black overcoat and pulled out his phone, then held down the 1 key to speed dial your cell. It rang several times before informing that there was no voicemail set up. He huffed before he tried several more times. Each call ended the same way and Chris felt anxious.

“Lobo, ping on [Y/N]’s phone and find her location!” he ordered, his voice cracked just the slightest as his anxiety peaked. Lobo nodded, gave his superior a thumbs up and typed away on his laptop. Chris not only was concerned for Ethan and baby Rose, but now your whereabouts plagued his mind. He was confident in your capabilities but he knew how dangerous Miranda and her subordinates could be.

Chris sat in silence with his thoughts as the vehicle turned around and headed in the direction of Miranda’s village. He reached into the same pocket as earlier and pulled out a wrinkled photograph of the two of you. It was from your first mission that the two of you ever went on together. It wasn’t too long ago, maybe three or four years but it felt like a lifetime now. His calloused thumb ran over your smiling face and he hoped that you were okay...

The moment of silence ended, “Alpha, her phone pinged in the same location as Miranda’s village.” Lobo informed as he turned the screen to Chris. A brief moment of relief washed over him but if your phone was there, then where were you? And why weren’t you answering?

Little known to you or Chris -- the cellphone laid in the middle of the dirt road, left behind as you road off in the carriage with the Duke. The screen lit up brightly in the dark air and the generic tune jingled in the stillness of the night. It continued to do this several times as Chris continued to call and worked on pinpointing the pings. On the final ring, a feminine hand reached down from above and picked the phone up. The screen flashed, “CHRIS” over and over. The call was ended by the person, they took the phone firmly in their palm and crushed it with their strength.

Now, there was no way for Chris to communicate with you and someone was now on your tail...

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #chris redfield x reader #reader x chris redfield #chris redfield/reader #chris redfield #resident evil 8 #resident evil village

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the-night-writer1 · 3 years

Text

A Shadow From Another World

This is a crossover story between The monkie twins au (timeline a) and the possessive au by @urlocalllama . It takes place in the 2 and half months before season two of their au.)

short description: life seems to be perfect for the moment until a mysterious injured kid around Mk’s age some how ends up in the Sun family’s garden.

The afternoon had been going well as Macaque took a stroll through his family’s new garden. Three days had past since Wukong and Macaque’s wedding, so the monkey was still taking it all in. It felt like he was dreaming even though he knew he wasn’t. His beloved was now officially his husband and they had two more little ones on the way. Life was basically perfect at the moment Macaque thought with a smile on his face.

Then Macaque heard something large crash into a tree behind him. The monkey quickly turned around to see a boy around Mk’s age slumped against the tree he’d crashed into, unconscious. Macaque cautiously walked to the mysterious brunette while mumbling under his breath as he approached,” What the hell is this?”

As he got closer the kid’s injuries came into full view. The mysterious kid had deep slash marks across his chest absolutely destroying his shirt, there were also a lot of nasty bruises on the kid and the monkey could hear his weak wheezing. It was as clear as day to Macaque that this kid been flung out a brutally nasty fight. However, that didn't explain why or how he ended up in their garden. Macaque couldn’t help but feel his fatherly heart sink in his chest as he looked at the kid. This kid was most likely his son’s age and laid before him brutally beaten. He carefully bent down and picked the boy up. The poor kid stirred only as Macaque started to carry him inside the Manor.

“Shh... save your energy bud. You’re safe now” Macaque said in a gentle fatherly tone. The kid seemed to relax hearing his voice, which Macaque was thankful for. He must of sounded like someone the kid trusted it make him easier to treat.

To say the least there was a silent panic amongst the people who could understand was going on as the boy was brought in.

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

“ So have you found anything about him yet?” A familiar voice asked as Shanyao was slowly coming too. Shanyao laid there on the sofa listening to her slightly echoing voice. That was Mei right? What was going on why was she questioning who he was. The last thing Shan could recall was pushing Mk out of the path of an oncoming attack then he blacked out.

“Not really but we found his phone and Red’s about to skim through his phone-” That was clearly his brother’s voice, wait a minute why didn’t they recognize him? Also oh fuck Red the phone destroyed had his phone.

“Bull boy don’t you dare break my phone” Shanyao said grumpily as he rubbed his eyes, his head was pounding as he sat up and it too bright in the room for his head as he continued," and can someone enlighten me on why you guys suddenly dont know who I am? To the point Red son has to go through my phone?”

He was met with a panicked silence as the three looked at each other in confusion. It unnerved him badly so he turned to look at them. After taking a moment to see his was shirtless and bandaged up. They’d even changed his pants into pajama bottoms he didn’t recognize.

“Xiaotain please say something you know silence like this freaks me out and I am already beyond confused-” Shan said before stopping as he turned head to the three of them and a snow white baby monkey in his brother’s arms. Shan could recognize the three of them even if they did look different. It still sent a shiver down Shanyao’s spine as the four of them stared at each other. Fear and confusion in all fours minds as they stared at each other for what felt like years.

“How do you know our names?” Xiaotain asked finally breaking the silence , though Shanyao could sense the fear in his voice.Red Son being behind Mk with Shanyao’s phone which hadn’t been powered on yet in his hands.

“Turn on my phone and you see a picture of me and my faternal twin brother on the lock screen.” Shanyao said as he raised his bandaged hands up to show he was harmless. Red son did as he said to Shanyao’s surprise and showed the other two Shanyao’s lock screen. This just caused more confusion. Red handed Mei the phone and walked over to Shan. He seemed to be studying Shan’s very existence as the baby monkey started to demand Mk’s attention.

“How is this possible? I don’t have a twin. The only sibling I have at the moment is yueming” Mk said confused as he looked away from the him in the picture to Yueming. There was only one think different between that Xiaotain in the picture other than the obvious fact he was a monkey, was the way they styled their bangs.

“Alright mystery boy before we get to caught up in this situation whats your name” Mei asked as she looked over at Shanyao.

“Shanyao but usually its just shorten to shan” Shan said as he looked back to his bandages and realized his scarf was gone. He was also enterally debating turning off his glamour. Since that Mk didn’t have his on to Shan’s knowledge but he just didn’t know and his head was pound too bad. Thus Shan just laid back down and covered his eyes.

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

macaque sat on the edge of him and Wukong’s bed while he stared at the back of the mysterious boy’s hoodie. It was his cartoon symbol, and to Macaque’s knowledge he didn’t have a hoodie. This hoodie wasn’t like any one of his merch lines. It had to be custom either way however, as the hoodie had a seal on it. Not a parasitic seal however, more of tracker like seal. The kind Macaque was debating putting on Mk’s clothes after the date kidnapping. Though the seal seemed to be malfunctioning flare with energy ever couple of minutes before dying out.

They were both originally looking for a name on the boy’s clothes when Macaque got distracted by the seal. Wukong was about to look over the boy’s scarf but a moment he also got distract. the scarf wasn’t made out of the normal scarf fabric but a soft, light, breathe able, red fabric that be perfect for a baby blanket rather than a scarf. Wukong then shook his head and got back for looking a name.

‘ Shanyao’ was written on the inside of the scarf in a faded gold. Most likely written with a fabric marker but that wasn’t what made the monkey king’s heart jump in his throat while looking at it. It was the fact the name was written in his hand writing and there was no mistaking it. Wukong put his hand on his husband’s shoulder to get his husband’s attention. Macaque turn his head and Wukong showed him the name.

They now had more question and less answers. Great.

#possessive au #the monkie twins au #timeline a #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid au #shadowpeach #lmk macaque #lmk wukong #lmk shanyao #lmk red son #lmk mei #lmk mk #lmk yueming

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (07b)

word count; 7053

summary; as the tragedy of the chemical fire begins to wind down, the aftermath leaves the entire team in shock, and in need of a little comfort.

notes; this is the second half of part-7, I just know you guys are going to love it by the end.

warnings; minor character deaths, reference to panic attacks, vomiting, chemical fires.

Finally, the dam broke, and you tried to hold in the tears that wanted to release, the boy on the sheet twitching aggressively in his unconscious state as his body struggled to keep functioning. Your hands felt heavy as you pressed your hand over the neat stack of cards, dragging your hand over the pile and spreading it out to display all of the colours, before your fingers were brushing over what you were certain was the first of this colour card to be issued yet today.

A black card, feeling ominous in your hand, the weight of the card feeling more like bricks as you lifted it up, and you allowed yourself to shed the first tear. You didn’t want to tell Thomas, to let him know the real extensions of what you were seeing, but there was nothing for this boy that you could do. He wouldn't make it to a hospital or into surgery, his injuries were far too extensive, and so you let your legs stretch out from in front of you, the black card looped around his neck as you tried your best to make him comfortable.

The wipes you used were soothing instead of antibacterial, cooling skin that had been destroyed by flames, red and bleeding as you tried to soothe him, wiping away the traces of his injuries to try and clean him up.

There was a hope, that family was coming for him, that you were cleaning him up for a reason, helping him to look more presentable as you wiped traces of black ash and dust from his skin, all mattered in brown-red stains and sweat, tears under his eyes, and you removed it all.

It was moments like this that you had to remind yourself why you did this job at all, working along him carefully all the way to his fingertips as you wiped him down, adjusting the torn shreds of his clothes around him to hide the extent of his injuries as best as you could once you’d padded the deep slashes across his torso, bandages already beginning to seep through with red, but you adjusted his shirt down to over them. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was radically better than it had been.

Tanned flesh was beginning to lose colour and his body motions were beginning to grow fatigued, and once you had adjusted him as best as you could, you were simply left to wait, sitting by the young boy’s side, and whispered reassurances into his ear with every twitch he made, sometimes resurfacing long enough to feel his pain, back arching and screams of pain leaving his lips, and you bit back tears, before letting them flow freely once again when his pain carried him back a state of illusion.

You loved this job, because in 99 out of 100 cases, it worked out. You helped pregnant women escape elevator shafts and father’s life long enough to see their baby born too, and you helped kids escape a life they didn't want to be in, and have the courage to create a new path. You helped nurses of amnesia patients escape burning rooms when they’d given up all hope, and you saved the elderly from suffocation on the gas leaks within their own homes.

You were damn good at your job, but sometimes, there were moments like this one that made it all that much harder.

Making a mental note of where you lay within the chaos, you hauled yourself up onto your feet, families weaving around as they all made to seek out their family members, and you were glad to notice that less and less people were being removed from the building. As you weaved through the channels made in the grass, the green stands worn away under multiple foot and wheel prints into muddy dirty tracks that would take weeks to fix, you made your way towards the ambulance you’d arrived in.

The weight of your body was heavy, every footfall feeling like it weighed you down more and more, your arms hanging by your sides, and you knew that tomorrow you would be riddled with pain and aching muscles, the over-exertions, everything from fixing up simple wounds, to hauling around men who were 200lb of pure muscle to help move them into recovery positions or lift them onto stretchers when they were too weak or injured to do it themselves, workmen who were twice your size, and the strain was making itself known.

You were numb, for now, and it was a sweet and blissful relief to know that the racing of your heart was creating enough adrenaline to dull every pain you had. Well, except for the headache that had been throbbing behind your eyes for hours now and making you feel a little nausea, but you could handle that, as long as you were able to finish this day without anything else. You must’ve dealt with over a hundred people at least, possibly more, the workload doubled with Newt too, and you were ready to crash into your bed, dreading the hours of shift you still had remaining.

The flames were beginning to be tamed, the blue tint to the smoke was fading as the chemicals were burned away, thick clouds of black smoke as the orange glow died down, beginning to be extinguished. There wasn’t much equipment that you had needed before, and yet now, you were grabbing ahold of a heart rate monitor and an oxygen tank, the mask to match it, and one of the stretcher pillows that had been discarded to the front of the ambo’ to make more room on the trolleys.

Hooking the monitor under your arm, you moved it to sit comfortably balanced on your hip, before you were letting out a sigh, your fingers hovering over the drawer of medicines and needles that you hated going into. Newt had stuck a small skull and crossbones sticker over it, one that had an eyepatch and a pirates hat on it, a joke between the two of you after you’d gone through the drive-thru at McDonalds on the way back from a call only a few weeks ago, getting a collection of pirate stickers in a happy meal box.

That drawer was only ever dug into if all options were out, if you were simply trying to relieve some of the pain that a patient was in, because they were in agony, and wouldn't make it to the hospital. Enough to bring down someone's pain levels, to let their heart relax, because once their brain stopped fighting to keep them alive and hiding the pain, they often didn’t drive too long after that.

Swallowing thickly, the jars within rattled a little as they clinked against one another. Shifting through and turning them in your hands, you found the container labelled with the medicine you were searching for, a fresh needle in a plastic packet, and you held both of them in your other hand, adjusting the equipment in your arms as you hopped down from the vehicle once again.

Slamming the doors back shut and waiting to hear them lock behind you, your eyes flickered over the scene. There were still a lot of police officers; operating crowd control, handing out water bottles and guiding members of the family through the crowd. You would give it time, not injecting the poor boy with the medicine until it all became too much for him, giving him the best chance for his family to get here before he passed, but you couldn't wait long.

Your feet dragged a little as you walked, toes scuffing against the muddy grass, and you were beginning to lose all strength, forcing yourself to go on, muscles clenching to keep them tight before you dropped everything you were holding entirely. Arriving back at the scene, the boy was panting rapidly and lightly, eyes moving beneath closed lids and jaw clenched so tight you worried he would crack his teeth, fists clenched by his side as his body remained rigid.

Placing down the kit gently, you let out a little sigh, his eyes cracking open to turn to look at you as he heard the sound.

“I-It hurts!”

You swallowed, knowing there wasn’t much more you could do as his voice cracked. He was covered with burns, and there were clear signs of internal bleeding as the organs beneath charred skin went solid, there was bruising along his body in many places from the broken bones under his skin, and with the wheezing he let out, never quite able to catch his breath, you were certain that the cracked ribs had punctured one of his lungs. “I know, kiddo, I know.”

He cried out again, a wet sound as he coughed, his entire body jerking at the sensation, and you cupped a hand behind his head, fingers finding the sticky wetness of warm blood at the base of his neck as you tried to rock him forwards, letting him cough until splatters of blood were hitting his lap and the plastic, splattering a little across you as he wretched, his entire body trembling.

When he finally managed to stop the movements, he was even more out of breath than he had been, and you lay him back down, using a glove-covered thumb to wipe at the corners of his mouth and clear away the blood and spit mix that had accumulated there. He had wretched, several times, though no bile had risen, his body reacting in every way it could now as organs began to fail and shut down one by one, and you hated that there was nothing anyone could do but sit here on watch.

Minute felt like an eternity as you hooked up the heart monitor, turning the volume down to soft beeping, as not to disturb anyone else, an uneven and erratic rate with a blood pressure concerningly low, and you were glad that the average eye couldn't read these figures, because it read like a horror story in a medical professionals eyes.

Just as you finished hooking the boy up to the machine, an oxygen mask sitting over his face, fogging up lightly inside as he took gasping breaths of the raw source, you felt a shadow fall over you, covering your eyes from the light before you were looking up.

The mother, you could tell immediately, from the sullen look in her eyes, and she didn’t look at you, her gaze sweeping over the boy who lay beside where you knelt, before she was turning, a quick call to her husband, and just like that, you were crowded by family. There were three younger siblings, and he seemed to be the eldest of them all, a pre-teen with tears already in her eyes as she looked at her brother, a child who couldn't be older than eight staring in confusion as they tried to grasp what happened, and a toddler, a fist knotted in their father’s jumper and balanced on his hip.

Sinking to her knees beside her son, she didn’t sob or scream, she simply let out a shaky breath, lifting her hand to brush dark curls out of his face, looking down at her eldest child as he began to slip away again. Setting the youngest down, the toddler wobbled on unstable legs to their mother, sitting down in the grass beside them and reaching a hand out with useless babble to place a chubby hand onto the boy’s arm, squeezing a little and cheering as they lived within a bubble of innocence, unaware of what was happening.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

A deeper voice, the father, and you turned, nodding your head to him and shifting yourself to pick up the needle, tearing off the plastic top and producing the needle from inside. “I’m just going to give him a shot of morphine, and then we’ll talk.”

He only nodded, watching as you lifted the container, pushing the tip of the needle through the rubbery covering and drawing back on the syringe carefully to fill the needle with the approximate amount, tapping the tip and checking it over once it had the right dosage within it. Finding a spot on his arm where there was still enough intact flesh to find a vein, you pressed your finger down over the pale skin, the blue vein underneath disappearing for a second, refilling weakly but marking its place, and you lined the needle up.

An uncomfortable pang shot through you as you injected the needle into his arm, pushing the pad of your finger down against the handle of the needle until all of the medicine had been unloaded into his veins. It took a few seconds to travel, and you watched him, studying his reaction to be sure, before all at once his muscles loosened and he sagged with relief into the plastic tarp as the pain finally faded away, fingers flexing around his mother’s as he squeezed with what little strength he had left.

Standing up and wobbling a little, the father followed you a few steps away from the group, and he glanced back over his shoulder to his family, hands sticking into his pockets, before he was letting out a heavy sigh. “My boy, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” You whispered, and the man only nodded, a slow exhale from him as he processed that news, before tears were building in his eyes, and he began to crumble a little. “I gave him a shot of morphine, it’s slowed down all of his functions now, and taken away his pain. He can’t feel it now. I wish there’s more I could have done, I’m sorry.”

“My wife saw the news, saw the explosion. She was so worried, straight away.” A twist of guilt moved through you, making you sniff a little as your own lower lips wobbled, and you tried to choke down tears. “I told her she’d be okay, and that he was just an intern. There was no way he was close enough to the real stuff to be badly injured.”

“My friend found him, carried him out about fifteen minutes ago. Gave me enough time to let you get here to say your goodbyes.”

“You tell your friend ‘thank you’ for me, and for my family.” You nodded, knowing how much it would mean, and he finally let his tears slip free, making it harder for you to contain your own emotions. “He’s the oldest of all four, I don’t do much for a job. I’m just a mechanic, and his mother works at a supermarket, but he was going to college. He studied biomedical science, he was going somewhere.”

You grimaced, an unstable breath sucked into your lungs, before you were blinking quickly and looking away. There was bile rising in your throat, your hand gripping at your stomach to try and contain it. “I’m going to go now, and let you say your goodbyes. I’ll return soon, okay?”

You both knew what ‘soon’ meant, and he nodded, stepping away to talk to his wife, and a look seemed to be all that was needed to communicate between them, before the first of a loud cry was leaving her lips, and that was your breaking point. You shouldered through the people, mumbled apologised on your lips, you did feel bad for pushing through them all, but you could barely choke down the vomit rising within your guts before you were stepping out of sight, hunched over at the waist as you let it go, hand reaching out for supper as you found the tree.

Nails scraped against the bark, the pads of your fingers stinging at the rough pressure, and you shuddered as you heaved, throat stinging and eyes watering as you struggled to even breathe. It felt unending, time warping around you as you realised it had only been a half-hour since the boy had been delivered to you, and that he wouldn't make it to the hour marker.

A hand came down to rub at your back, and you gasped for breath, wiping the back of your hand, covered by your sleeve across your mouth and taking a moment to yourself. When you were finally able to stand back up, stomach feeling a little more stable as you tried not to think about the dying boy lest your nausea return, you twisted to find the person who had come to comfort you.

"Officer Paris." Your words couldn't get any higher than a whisper, and even that cracked, and his hand fell back down to his side as you wrapped your arms around yourself in comfort.

“Saw you take a sudden dash, got a little worried.”

You nibbled on your lower lip, a foul taste lingering in your mouth, and he offered up a water bottle for you, a weak laugh on your lips as you accepted it with a whispered ‘thank you’. As you took deep swigs, forcing yourself not to gulp as you slowed your racing heart, you watched as the fire teams began to load the equipment back into their trucks slowly, all the work they could do having been completed by now, and you knew that there was still a lot of work left for you to do before you’d get to follow after them.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.” You whispered, screwing the lid of the water back on and holding it to your chest, using the cool liquid within to try and focus your senses. “We’re going to need a coroner down here. I know there’s some up in the building, but we have a kid, he’s not going to make it.”

“I’ll find one for you, okay?”

You appreciated the gentle tone of his voice, lowering your head to rub gently at your temples with one hand. “I should get back, we need to start getting people out of here.”

You could hardly focus as you walked back to your stations, everything seeming to slip from focus into some kind of daze as you tried to focus on what you were doing. You retrieved your bag, scooping it up from the floor and swinging it over your shoulder. There were coloured cards waiting to be collected, torn plastic bases and litters of water bottles in the mud, as well as lost personal belongings that had been forgotten in the rush.

Many people were still crowded around, waiting to be excused and waiting to get rides in an ambulance, the reds fading away into a majority of only green and yellow cards waiting, and you praised your lucky stars that you had only needed to give out one single black card today, because you weren’t sure that you’d even still be standing if there had been any more.

Flexing the fingers of your hand slowly, you focused on the sensation, head rolling from side to side, before your shoulders followed, and you loosened every single muscle you had for a tranquil moment, before setting to work. The sun was already beginning to fade on the day now, moving towards the horizon as the lighting dulled, hours having passed between caring for patients, and your first call was to begin getting people signed off.

Leaving your bag in the flooring of your seat in the ambulance, you collected a stack of forms and papers, as well as pens, taking them with you as you began to make your rounds of anyone who was left. As long as they were sentient enough to fill out discharge forms after you ran a final assessment, you could let them leave on their own as long as they had somebody with them, family or a friend, even just a neighbour or coworker, but it helped to clear out the crowds.

Newt joined you after an hour or so, having done his last assessment with the final patient, all the fire trucks being long since left, leaving police cars and vans scattered around, ambulances coming and going, and you had to ensure not to focus on the black vans with wide embossed lettering that brought a more sombre mood. Newt seemed to sense your pain, because he disappeared for a small while, returning not long after, and as you packed away equipment, the family you’d helped were now gone, the equipment you’d left with them was loaded back into the ambulance, and where words failed you, the look your friend gave you said it all.

He knew how much you’d suffered, he knew it would only cause more pain to go over and gather the equipment once the boy’s body had been cleared, and so he took care of it for you. A crew of policemen were on clean-up, as well as that of volunteers, only the shining lights of headlights and camera crew leftover as the light began to fade into darkness, and the scene was somewhat clean.

Lost belongings were piled into large plastic boxes with the police, and you filled out what felt like a bibles-worth of paperwork with the coroners, signing your name so many time your signature now just looked like a scribble rather than your name, before you were finally collapsing down into the somewhat uncomfortable cushioning of the ambulance’s passenger seat.

Silence took over your both, and as the truck started up, you left your head sway back into the headrest, eyes slipping shut as the rumble of the vehicle lulled you into as much relaxation as you could get.

As the adrenaline began to die down, you were able to feel the ache in your body, the pain that was seeping into every fibre of your body, every nerve and cell, exhaustion taking over. Raising a hand up to cover your mouth as you yawned, Newt chuckled softly, leaning over and patting your knee, before he was changing gears, and twisting on the radio to fill the cabin with the sounds of the classical music radio.

The trucks were parked away neatly within the garage bay when you arrived, the main doors up to anticipate your arrival, but the space was unusually empty, though it was understandable. After cells, members of the team could often be found milling around, sitting at the squad table and chatting, or working over the truck to check and clean equipment, filling the silence with laughter and jokes as they got along, but as you hopped out of the vehicle the second it was put into park, you were met with silence.

The echo of your door slamming shut reverberated around the empty foyer, Newt’s soon following, before he was rounding to your side, a sad look in eyes that normally sparkled brightly, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about the kid. I really thought we were going to make it through the day without a black card today.”

“Did the coroner’s say anything about inside?”

“I didn’t even want to ask. We did everything we could, everybody did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head, and letting Newt loop an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side, your head falling to his shoulder, and dragging your aching feet underneath you as you followed after him towards the locker room. You were stained with dirt, blood and grime, and you hoped the water was hot enough to soothe you and wash away your worries, already thinking about the muscle-relief body wash that you had hidden on the second shelf in your locker. “We could get in touch with the hospital, and see if everybody is okay?”

“You could call that hot doctor.” Newt squeezed you a little, a humourless laugh leaving you as you caught sight of his smirk, little energy to reciprocate the joke, but appreciating the way he lifted the mood nonetheless. “What was his name, again? David, Denny?”

“It’s Derek, and you know that.”

“Derek, that’s right.” He sighed, dreamily as he pushed open the door to the locker room, and the smell of multiple body-washes as well as the lingering heat from steam, signalling that the rest of your team had already been through the room and cleaned themselves up. Grabbing the towel and the bag of toiletries from your locker, you kicked off your boots, flexing your toes as your feet were liberated, and letting your socks follow. You were too lazy to even scoop your clothes up from the floor, stripping down to your underwear before wandering away to the shower, and closing the curtain.

Removing your final garments, you reached a hand back out of the closed stall, dropping them to the floor beside where your towel was hanging up, and twisting on the shower. Across the room, in the men’s showers, you heard Newt let out a loud and dramatic groan, a giggle on your lips as he did.

“I have never appreciated hot water more.”

“Speak your truth, Newt.” You teased, hearing his laugh as you stepped under the stream of water yourself, face tilted up into the spray and eyes closing, letting yourself be ridden of the day’s stresses. You didn’t want to look down, and see the colour that the water would run, you didn’t want to see any of it, the blood or the mud, you just wanted to let it all disappear, without having to acknowledge any of it again. Keeping your eyes closed, you reached for the wash-proof bag, unzipping it and feeling inside, fingers dancing over the bottles within to tell their shape.

Shampoo first, scrubbing through the tresses of your hair to remove the built-up grime, feeling the ponytail you’d put it in all slip away, the dull pain on your scalp soothing as your fingers massaged gently through your hair, pressing into the sore flesh, and you finally let a satisfied noise of your own bubble up. The squeaking of the doors on the other side of the room signified that Newt was finished long before you were, padding of wet feet, and as you moved onto the conditioner, you could faintly hear the slamming of his locker through the water as you washed the strands.

You didn’t hear when he actually left, the thundering of the water as it ran over your heart, the pounding of your own heartbeat inside of your head, but you sensed when he had left, the room feeling a little colder when you were alone. If a few stray tears escaped you to be washed away by the water when you scrubbed down your body and let the herbal soak absorb into your muscles, then nobody had to know, letting them be shed in honour of the boy who’d lost his life while trying to improve it.

You worked slowly and silently, wrapping the towel around yourself, and finding it a little easier to breathe as you wiped a space free in the steamed up mirror with your hand to be able to see. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest, leaving you able to take your breaths more smoothly, less ragged and strained, and your headache was beginning to fade. You felt better for being clean, your entire body aching but a little more relieved and nowhere near as tense, and you sighed, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

It was hard to forgive yourself sometimes when you lost a patient, it was never easy to watch someone die, but you’d done everything you possibly could to make it easier, and thanks to your team, he’d seen his family before he passed, and that was a blessing that made everything feel easier to bear.

Taking care of your skin and running a comb through the towel-dried strands of your hair, you were almost falling asleep as you dried it. The repetitive humming of the hairdryer was enough to make your eyes close and mind stop spinning, coming to a halt as everything began to slip from consciousness, your muscles feeling heavy for an entirely new reason, and you jerked yourself back away several times.

Following it all, you grimaced at the taste in your mouth, the bitter aftertastes of your physical reaction to the day still lingering, and so you were generous with the dollop of toothpaste you served yourself as you scrubbed lazily at your teeth and rinsed out your mouth. Scooping up your clothes and pulling on your spare set, you shoved everything grubby and used into your bag to take home, swapped with your fresh clothes, but you didn’t get dressed entirely.

Deep down, you knew that Vince wouldn’t mind if you slacked on your uniform just this once, and so for comfort, instead of pulling on another smart button-up uniform shirt, you went for your hoodie instead, the worn logo of your college in the top corner as it faded, a hole in one sleeve that your thumb would fit through, your hair pulled from underneath the collar to sit limply around your shoulders.

You didn’t care for boots, either, two pairs of socks to keep your feet warm, before you were pulling the sleeves down over your hands, and wandering away to the main room, to try and find your team, and seek reassurance and company within their presence. It was unsettling quiet in there too, only the sounds of Newt’s pen tapping on the table as he worked silently on the puzzles in the newspaper, and the sounds of the almost muted television that Thomas was staring at, one of the older ‘Star Wars’ movies playing on the screen, but from the way he was staring at it, you knew his mind was miles away.

There were only seven in the room, including yourself. Gally and Chuck were playing chess at the kitchen counter, Newt doing the puzzles and Thomas watching television, and Brenda was sitting at the other end of the table with Minho, the two of them each with their headphones in and listening to music, but sitting close enough to one another to seek comfort, and your lips flicked up a little, happy for them, taking it at their own pace. You weren’t sure where everyone else was, but logically, you would assume that they would be sleeping the day away.

Moving across the room, you reached immediately for the kettle, ruffling Chuck’s curls as you passed by, and he huffed under his breath, but a smile was on his flushed cheeks as you glanced back at him, a friendly wink for his complaints, before you were filling the tank up under the tap. Once it was clicked on and beginning to boil, you began to search through the cupboards for what you wanted, smiling as the ingredients came together.

Placing a pan on the stove, you flicked the flame onto the lowest setting you could get, and adding milk to the pan to begin to warm through, without boiling over. Opening up a bag of marshmallows, you popped on into your mouth, chewing at the squishy treat happily, and opening up the cupboard filled with assorted mugs, finding your favourite.

As you found the one you searched for, you placed it down on the counter, before another was following, and another, until there were seven mugs lined up in front of you, all mismatching in size and colour, some with pictures, patterns or writing. A generous spoonful of chocolate powder into the bottom of each one, your personal collection of hot chocolate ingredients, but you were willing to share just this once.

With a splash of boiling water, just enough to dissolve the powder, you topped each one up with the milk as soon as it began to froth around the edges, heated all the way through, and leaving a gap at the top. A sprinkle of marshmallows on the surface of the steaming beverage, and a spray of whipped cream into a pretty swirl, you decorated the top of each one with a few more marshmallows and a dash of chocolate dusting.

They weren’t perfect, there were drips of chocolate and cream along the edges, and they certainly weren’t anything you would serve at a restaurant, but as you placed one down in front of both Gally and Chuck, the looks on their faces were more than enough to confirm that they didn’t care about the appearance.

There was surprise on their features, brows raising as they looked between you and the hot beverages, whispered ‘thank yous’ as their fingers wrapped around it, pulling the mugs towards themselves and staring down at them, small smiles taking over. Minho had the same reaction, and Brenda stopped her music long enough to wrap you into a tight hug as you offered one to her, before Newt was sighing out happily, his head rolling back to look up at you when you'd placed a mug down in front of him. He’d given you a cheesy grin, and told you just how much he loved you, before taking a large gulp, and cursing a little as it burned his tongue, but not letting it deter him from repeating the action, and getting a print of whipped cream along his upper lip to be licked away.

Taking the last of the drinks to be given away, you made your way over to the couch. Thomas had seemingly had the same idea as you, a jumper on and the hood pulled up over his head to hide his face, and he jumped as you placed a hand onto his shoulder. You squeezed in apology as he turned to look at you, the sombre look on his face lightening a little bit as he tried to offer you a smile, twisting to face you a fraction more.

Rounding the edge of the couch to hand him the drink, surprise flickered over his features, before he was taking it into two trembling hands, and bringing it up to his nose to sniff lightly. He poked his tongue out, fishing a marshmallow and a scoop of whipped cream from the top, and he hummed contentedly at the flavour.

“Thank you.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, and you hoped the smile on your face didn’t look too pitying, only able to nod your head as he stared up at you, blowing on the steamy liquid as the cream melted, and your fingers rubbed gently at his shoulder where you still held on, before your hand was sliding away, stepping back a little, and his eyes snapped up from the drink to you, brows furrowing, before he was reaching a hand out, wrapping around the wrist that had been closest to him, and bringing you to a halt.

“Will you sit with me? Please?”

“Of course, I will. Let me just go and get my drink, okay?” He paused in releasing your wrist, fingers unwrapping slowly, and he took a sip of his hot chocolate as he settled back into the cushions. Grabbing at your drink, Newt watched as you went, his brows raising as you caught his eye, and you shrugged, the porcelain hot in your hand as you held onto it, almost enough to burn, and you switched to gripping the handle, swirling it a little to mix the melted cream into your drink.

Sinking down into the couch beside him, he shuffled a little closer, your legs folding under you until his thigh was pressing to your knee as you faced him, mug placed down on the table, and he leaned forwards, matching the positions, before he was running a hand over his face, and letting his gaze find your own.

“Are you okay, Thomas?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, looking completely and utterly exhausted, and you felt sorry for him, true empathy surging through you, and propped your head up on your hand, elbow on the back of the couch, as you looked at him. “You know, I think you lied to me. I think you told me what I needed to hear in the moment, but I don’t think it was the truth.”

You sighed, a short exhale as you tried to find words, and his lips flicked up at the sides, head dipping for s second, before he was looking up shaking his head slightly.

“I’m not mad. You knew what was best for me. I needed you, and you didn’t fail me. Thank you.” He whispered, the words just for you, and your lips pursed, feeling a little flustered at the way he stared at you; earnestly, eyes searching your own. “Will you tell me what happened, though?”

“You don’t want that, Thomas.”

“I do. Please, just tell me about the kid.” His request was desperate, and there was a silver lining to the incredibly dark cloud, thunder and lightning swirling within, and he choked down the lump in his throat as your shoulders sagged.

“He went comfortably. He didn’t feel a thing. I promise.” His eyes closed, a shaky breath let out, and his face screwed up a little as he tried to hold in his tears. He sniffled, before letting out a weak sigh, knowing that he was failing, and as he blinked, his lashes came back wet, a large tear falling along pale cheeks, before another was following. “His parents, they saw it on the news. They came right down, and his mother held his hand as he passed. He got to see his siblings, and his mom and dad. He didn’t die alone.”

He let out a weak cry, and you heard the shuffling at the table, the rustling of the papers as Newt moved, but his chair didn’t scrape across the floor yet, clearly waiting to judge whether or not his best friend needed him or not first.

“His dad was so proud of him, Thomas. He was the oldest of four, he was making all of them so proud, and thanks to you, he passed on peacefully.” Honey eyes that were encased with red opened up to meet your gaze, lower lip wobbling a little as he released it from where it was held between his teeth, and in this moment, he was weak. He wasn’t the lieutenant of the team, he wasn’t a leader or a fighter, he was just a man who’d experienced a tragedy. “You saved him, Thomas. You made his last moments something peaceful and meaningful.” You paused, waiting a second longer, letting him calm himself. “He told me to thank you, on behalf of his family.”

“He did?” You nodded, and his lips flicked up at the sides, a hint of a smile. Lifting a hand, you wiped away his tears, brushing your fingers over wet skin, before you were cupping one of his cheeks in your palm, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your touch as he let out a shaky breath. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He smiled, softly, twisting his head to press more into your touch, and you swept your thumb over his face, tracing soft and damp skin, the pad brushing lightly over the upturned tip of his nose, and his face scrunched up a little at the ticklish feeling. “How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, it just comes to me, I guess. What you need to hear, it’s always just the truth.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, lashes fluttering as his eyes remained closed, relaxing into your touch, and the cushions on the other side of you dipped. Glancing over your shoulder, you chuckled a little as Brenda sat down, leaning over to wrap an arm over your waist, her head coming down to rest on your shoulder, and she turned the volume on the movie up, cuddling into you a little as she sought out comfort too, a chuckle on your lips as she did.

You shuffled, sitting to face her a little more, and Thomas moved with you, keeping his face tucked into your hand, before Newt was following. On the other side of the couch, Newt slumped down, patting Thomas on the back lightly, before kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and reaching across to take Thomas’ hot chocolate, the brunette completely unaware of the theft that had taken place. Gally sat in the armchair, and Minho sat on the edge of the couch, arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind Brenda’s head, and Chuck sat on the floor.

Nobody said anything, nobody needed to, as you all simply watched the movie that had been chosen, letting the day be washed away as you served out the rest of your shift, ready to go home, and let a bad day be washed away by many more good days to come. Pulling your hand back for just as second, Thomas let out a noise of discontentment, his eyes cracking open to peer at you, a frown forming on his lips.

Lifting up a little higher, you pushed his hood down, adjusting it around his shoulders carefully, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you as everyone else watched the movie, leaning in just an inch, nothing noticeable, but enough to keep the bubble between you both, and your fingers laced into his hair.

A rumbling of bliss left him as your nails scraped lightly at his scalp, playing lightly with his hair to soothe him, the strands still very faintly damp from his shower, and he simply stared at you, head tipping into your hand as his body began to loosen of tension.

“I got you, Thomas, don’t worry.”

He didn’t respond, the first genuine smile you’d seen since the beginning of the shift being offered to you, his eyes closing, and he lifted a hand to wrap around your wrist delicately, fingers smoothing up along the back of your palm, resting over your hand and holding it lightly as you played with his hair. Turning your head to the movie, your attention was split, between what was happening on screen, and more overwhelmingly, with the intense feeling of belonging that was flooding you, never having felt more welcome than you did right now.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #thomas the maze runner #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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randomingoftherandomness · 3 years

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If you're still writing for wenzhou could you please do more pregnant wkx??? I love all the ones that you've done so far and I could never get enough!!

I love all your mpreg wkx fics. So, what about another one? Whump? When ZZS got captured back by prince Jin, WKX went to save him with the disciples but without his ghosts. He did managed to kill everyone and save ZZS, but got hurt in the process. Because of that he realized that he’s pregnant, and he almost lost his child. ZZS panicked, thankfully Wu Xi was there to save the day.

I’m gonna combine these two prompts together :) Sorry my fics have been slow this weekend... I think my eye is bleeding? Hahah... Does anyone know if using ice would work to get it better? ;-;

The Great Shaman of Nanjiang is not someone Wen Kexing would have ever expected; he looked too young, for one, and yet he had this aura about him like he was someone who would kill you in a million and ten ways and not hesitate while doing it.

He quite likes the quiet man. After spending time with him and the man who calls himself Lord Seventh, he even respects him for holding the office he has and handling a man like his husband.

As such, when Wu Xi narrows his eyes upon taking his pulse while he lays on the bed, lips pursing a little, head tilting a little in consideration, Lao Wen has to wonder what the man would say next and what would be perplexing him so.

After a moment longer where the Shaman’s brows begin to creep into a frown, Lao Wen has to ask, “Am I dying or something?”

This seems to stir the man out of his ponderings and he retracts his hand after smoothing down Lao Wen’s sleeve. His fathomless eyes study him from his brow to his belly and his gaze lingers for a beat. “Master Wen, I have to ask,” He says, slow and measured. “Did you know you’re pregnant?”

Wen Kexing has to hold back his immediate reaction to scoff. Him? Pregnant? How could that be? In his moments together with his Ah Xu, he was the one--

Oh.

His mind is immediately assaulted by the memories of their first time before New Year. And then that other time in the inn by that lake on the way to the Four Seasons Manor. Then the time before that...

Lao Wen flushes, clearing his throat.

Wu Xi sees it and smiles, rummaging in his lapels for a small jade bottle. “The child is fine. I’ll need to do a thorough examination of you but it doesn’t seem like your injuries have caused them any harm, but I would recommend that you avoid anything strenuous or life-threatening. You’ll need to take extra care. Male pregnancies are far more delicate than women’s...”

The Shaman’s voice fades into the background, lulled into the gentle sounds of the Manor in the evening. From the privacy of his and Ah Xu’s room, he can hear the sounds of Han Ying reminding the disciples to light the lanterns, the voices of Ah Xiang and Chengling bringing out food from the kitchen. The Manor bustles with activity and life, and Wen Kexing is pregnant.

Pregnant with a baby that he didn’t even know was there when he had rushed headlong into battle to save his Ah Xu. Pregnant, when he had gotten himself injured in the midst of fighting people who would not hesitate to kill his beloved. He rests a hand over his lower abdomen, feeling the give of his muscles.

He’s carrying Ah Xu’s child.

They hadn’t thought much in the way of prevention, what with the Nails still pressing down on Ah Xu’s meridians and how Lao Wen was very sure he had been sterile after all those years in the Ghost Valley.

He laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. It comes out in a half-sob. There’s so much that hangs above their heads; threats and enemies that have not been deterred from seeking out trouble with them. How could they bring an innocent child into such a world?

“Master Wen.”

Wu Xi’s eyes are dark and depthless, but when Lao Wen holds his gaze, there is a tinge of warmth there that sparks a sort of youthfulness in that ageless bearing. “Master Wen, don’t worry about what may or may not come.”

“Great Shaman, are you a fortune teller or something?” Lao Wen huffs, hiding his face for a moment before turning back, folding away damp sleeves.

“No, but I know one who is a little wily about it,” He smiles, pushing the jade bottle over to him. “If anything, you should be worried about how Zishu is going to take it.”

Sitting up, Lao Wen eyes the shadows at the door. “He’s probably listening in as we speak and should just come right in.”

Taking that as a cue, Zishu rushes into the room, eyes big and awed as he comes right to his side, holding his hand tight between his. “Lao Wen...”

“Hush,” He huffs, smiling slightly when the Great Shaman rises and leaves them be; surely to seek out the side of his Jing Beiyuan. As much as he feels a small level of annoyance whenever Beiyuan and his Ah Xu trod down their memory lane, he can’t deny that it brings him joy to see Ah Xu smile and be relaxed around someone who has known him for a long time.

“Lao Wen, may I?” Ah Xu asks quietly beside him. He follows his gaze and has to bite back the amused chuckle on his lips.

Taking his hand, he brings it gently rest over where, if he isn’t imagining it, is the soft swell where their child is growing, protected and so very much loved. This child, though unplanned, is already a thought and a notion that has taken root in his heart.

Looking over to his Ah Xu, he leans in, bumping their shoulders together. “Ah Xu,” He hums teasingly. “You got me this way. How are you going to take responsibility for it?”

The incredulous laugh he gets out of it, was well worth the ache of his wound being jostled.

#tw: mpreg #wenzhou #word of honor #wen kexing #zhou zishu #gab writes stuff

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impala-in-gotham · 3 years

Text

This Destiel/finale fix-it ficlet I wrote...

This is my first attempt at writing fic so be gentle haha but I had a dream close to this and kinda tweaked it from there but it’s basically a finale fix-it in which I’ve decided Dean’s still alive. He lost consciousness a few sentences into his speech and imagined the rest, which is what we saw. There’s just too much about “heaven” that has been used before as a façade. So here goes…

“Okay. P-Please. I'm fading pretty quick, so...there's a few things that I-...” before he can even start the next words Dean’s head lolls to the side and his eyes fall closed.

Sam feels like everything is moving in slow motion as the nightmare of losing his brother plays out in front of his eyes.

“Dean??”

Sam holds Dean in place the best he can and his dread drains away slightly as he hears Dean’s shallow breaths despite his sudden loss of consciousness.

Sam's thoughts start racing, time-induced panic ticking away. Nothing they haven’t dealt with before but this isn’t Chuck’s tale of heroes anymore. It’s just them now.

"Shit, shit, shit...the nearest hospital is still too far...I can't...there's too many bodies to even try to explain...I can't even let Dean go to hide them...shit. Shit...Jack!"

"Hang on, Dean. Just hang on as long as you can. I'll fix this."

Sam prays loudly into the empty barn, "Jack?? Jack, I know you can see this, I hope you can do something, please. It can't end like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Not after everything we've been through, everything Dean's survived, he doesn't deserve this. You know he doesn't. Please, Jack. He's not gone yet, he can still be saved. I'm not asking for resurrection here, just...just heal him, please, he deserves to be saved."

As if on cue, the barn roof starts to rattle, a few bulbs burst overhead and Cas walks through the barn doors, rushing to their side while Sam's eyes widen in shock.

"Cas?!? but...", Sam stammers out with only a little bit of shock and a lot more relief.

Cas darts his eyes straight at him and it feels like he's looking straight at his soul.

"Sam, I need you to hold him steady, I'll start healing, but I need you to slowly pull him forward as I heal, alright?... Sam?!...Ok?!"

"Yeah...Yes...Ok, I'm ready.", Sam’s words stumble out as he refocuses onto Dean's weight in his arms.

The familiar golden glow pours from Cas steadier than it did the last time Sam watched him heal Dean's hand. So easily that Sam is holding all of Dean's weight mere seconds later. Cas helps him lay Dean down. Dean's breathing has evened out, but his face is still clammy and pale.

Cas holds Dean's head in his lap for a few moments, as he pulls off his trench coat and folds it up as a makeshift pillow, easing his head onto it. The care and intimacy of the moment, it feels like Sam needs to look away, but then Cas stands and looks up at the relief and tears on Sam's face.

"He'll be alright, Sam. He lost a fair amount of blood so he just nee-".

Sam practically slams his entire body into Cas as he crushes him into a hug, "Cas, I can't believe you're here. Of course, you're here. You saved him. You always save him. Thank you, Cas. I didn't know what to do. Jack said he'd be hands-off but it's Dean."

"Of course. Jack sent me as soon as he heard you. We’re lucky we made it in time.", Cas looks around at the lifeless bodies and their lost heads strewn about, "I'll help you clean this up but first, I'll get those boys home."

As Sam piles up the bodies a familiar but long since heard sound of wings flutter near Dean and Cas is back. He's looking down at Dean with such adoration but with his matter-of-fact tone states, "They're back with their mother, who was thankful to you both...and to have her tongue healed back. I took the liberty of altering their memories. They shouldn't have to live with that trauma." His eyes still lost to watching Dean’s chest rise and fall.

"You got your wings back," Sam says without realizing he thought it aloud.

Cas smiles coyly and looks back at Sam, visibly spreading them out, while Sam watches in awe as their shadows encompass the barn behind him. "Along with a few other powers I've missed now that Jack has restored heaven to what it should be."

Sam sighs, "Yeah, about that..."

While cleaning up the barn, Sam and Cas catch each other up on what happened since they last saw each other. Sam talks about defeating Chuck, Jack bringing everyone back, and how mundane the past months of freedom have been. Cas tells Sam how Jack rescued him from the Empty as well as other angels like Michael (with Adam), Gabriel, Hannah, Samandriel, and Balthazar to name a few.

Sam throws his lighter into the pile of vamps and looks over at Cas, "It's great to have you back, Cas. Dean didn't...well more like couldn't I guess. He couldn't talk about you much after... all he told us was you made a deal and you summoned the Empty to save him from Billie...but after that, he could barely say your name. Didn't stop him from asking Chuck to bring you back", he says with a small smirk, then presses his lips together and sighs, "but it was like a part of him had shut down or just broke. He wouldn't tell me and if you don't want to, I won't push it but you're my best friend, Cas and I...I still don’t know...Can you tell me what happened?"

Cas looks into Sam's puppy dog eyes, now glistening either from the fire or the topic, and then over at Dean still peacefully asleep a few feet away. He reaches out his grace and maybe Dean's soul recognizes it because he is sleeping soundly as if he hasn't in months. Cas guesses that's probably true. Contemplating how much of the story is his to tell and how much Dean would allow him to say since Sam and Cas both know it's not that he won't, he can't.

Cas reaches out and squeezes Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry for any pain I caused you, I didn't have a choice. I knew it was the only way to beat Chuck. That only you and Dean could find a way. I made the deal to save Jack when he was dying, the Shadow agreed to take me instead but not until I had experienced true happiness. With Chuck in charge, any happiness seemed impossible, but I thought proving to Dean that he is worth saving, that all he's ever done was driven by love, not anger, prove to him why I love him." His voice betrays him by cracking on the last words. Still new to his mouth and his ears.

Cas searches Sam's face for any sort of shock or surprise but finds none. Instead, there’s a kind understanding that only Sam would have.

Sam sighs and says, "That's why." he continues as Cas' head tilts, "When we faced Chuck, he called Dean the ultimate killer but Dean just walked past him, no anger or malice, and just said 'that's not who I am'. It was because of you. He must have finally started to see himself the way you see him. How we all see him."

Cas brightens at that, looking back over at Dean, "Then it worked. The only thing I ever wanted was for Dean to love himself. I didn't ever think I'd be enough. That how I feel about him was enough after everything...after every time I tried to prove it. It was never enough before."

Sam smiles warmly, "You were enough, Cas. I've been trying almost our whole lives to get Dean to believe he wasn't a killer, that his life was worth more. I think we all tried, but you got through to him. He tried so hard after you...he tried but I could tell he was forcing it. Tonight, before you got here, it sounded like he'd given up. It sounded like the last time we lost you.” Sam shakes his head, trying to push away the image of Dean plunging a syringe into his heart, “Cas…every time we lost you it's been hard. For me too, but for Dean... it's different, each time it was different. He’d close himself off. He’d lose all faith. He’d give up. He’d want to die. I think...I think that he loves you more than he lets on. He's better when you're back. He's only happy when you're back."

Cas looks back over at Sam, a trace of a smile, "I know. I always felt it, just... well", he huffs, "We both know he's not one for words. But I know how he feels. I think his fear was more so in having something to lose. We’ve lost each other too many times."

The fire is dying down with the bodies not quite recognizable. Sam collects their gear into Baby's trunk. Cas walks out of the barn carrying Dean as if he's as light as a feather. Sam offers to drive Baby back to the bunker if Cas wants to fly Dean back instead. Cas nods and another flutter of wings echoes in the space left behind. Sam climbs into Baby, places his hands tightly on the wheel, closes his eyes, and prays to Jack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Dean wakes up. He slowly realizes he's back in the bunker, he's in his room, there's no pain in his back, and his hand is being held. He looks over to meet gleaming blue eyes he thought he’d never see again and can barely get anything out. “Cas... but how... you...?” and just pulls him into an awkwardly angled hug but holds on so tightly. It's just them. He doesn't have a time limit.

Dean feels as Cas inhales to explain but Dean cuts him off with “It doesn’t matter how. Is this real? Are you really back? For good."

Cas smiles as if his true happiness reaches a new level and simply says, “Hello, Dean." tightening his embrace, "Yes, Jack brought me back-- new and improved”.

Dean holds him and breathes in that familiar ozone smell, feels the pulse of grace within him stronger than before, something only he seems to be able to feel. "I thought I lost you forever. I thought you...wait," he pulls back to look at Cas again, "Didn't I die? I was in heaven, but it felt...wrong, you were there but you didn't come to see me, Bobby was there but he didn't even hug me after... what? 8 years?! No one else showed up. I just drove to a bridge…Tell me you didn't make a deal or -" his face freezes and his entire body goes tense, "Where's Sam?"

"No, you didn't die. Sam prayed to Jack and I came straight to you. You're healed but the blood loss left you pretty lethargic; though, I think that was your own exhaustion. Sam’s fine, he took the Impala. Should be here soon. You’re safe, it was just a dream. Those boys are back with their mother. I healed her. Altered their memories. Everyone's safe now. Sam told me everything that happened since...I...," a brief sadness flashes in his eyes before he brightens and smiles at Dean, "I knew you would save the world."

“I’ve been trying to find a way into the Empty for months, Cas. I…I read everything I could find but there was barely anything. I tried to use your blood from the sigil to summon you like what Nick tried to do but I guess I didn’t get the ingredients right or I don’t know…nothing worked. Jack never answered any of my prayers but I kept asking him to bring you back. I tried--…”

“Dean.” The tone over that one syllable calmed Dean the same way only Cas has always managed to be able to do.

Cas continued, “I’m back. Jack only recently was able to get me back but he heard your prayers. It took a lot of time and bargaining to get me and as many angels as we could save back out. The Shadow’s asleep again. I’m back and I’m not going anywhere. This is my home. I’m home.”

Dean sits processing this. Shaking off the fake heaven and submerging himself in Cas being alive and here. Now. In his grasp. He doesn't know how he gets to have a second...or seventh? chance but all that matters is everyone he loves, everyone he cares about is safe.

Dean meets Cas’s eyes and stares into the bright, deep blue he's fallen in love with so many times, eyes that have seen every part of who he is, good and bad, and says, “I love you too, Cas.”

Cas smiles very much like he did before the Empty was summoned but without tears because the one thing he wants is right in front of him. Looking at him like he is the most important being in every possible alternate universe. Still so beautiful.

Dean's eyes drift to Cas's lips as they have many times before, asking the same question Cas has yet to answer. Cas places a hand behind the base of Dean's neck, his fingers warm and strong as they pull Dean closer. Finally, their lips come together and it feels like no other kiss either of them has ever had. It feels like swirling grace entangling into his soul; it feels like being healed. It feels like every jagged piece of each other is clicking into place, completing and filling what was empty and longing before. It feels like being saved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam parks in the garage and leaves everything as-is to deal with later. He heads down the hallway to check on Dean when suddenly the overhead lights flicker but before he can run for iron or salt, the bulbs burst. First the one over Dean's door, then a few more heading his direction, then nothing. Sam relaxes and sighs deeply, “Finally!”

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sheyshocked · 3 years

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Detroit: Become Human Fic Masterpost (2021)

Updated! (3rd December - new Simarkus one-shot - Exploring a New Territory)

Organized by year 2020 | 2021 | 2022

SIMON/MARKUS

One-shots

A Bird that Never Flew - Markus’ spouse had no wings. But Markus never wished for a better husband. In his eyes, Simon was perfect just the way he was. Wings or no. Fluff, Bird people AU, 531 words.

A Child To Call Their Own - Markus finds an abandoned baby outside the New Jericho and decides to bring it home. Simon is not amused. Domestic fluff, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, 7,921 words.

A Memory of You Never Fades - After being taken in by Zlatko Andronikov, the RK200 tries to regain his lost memory, but every attempt seems to end up in vain. The arrival of Zlatko’s next victim finally sheds some light on the situation they found themselves in. Angst, sad ending, horror, Ghosts in the Machine prompt challenge, 1,659 words.

Christmas Miracle - Markus has a hard time picking a Christmas present for Simon. After he finds Simon relaxing with his new android canary friends, Lemon and Chirpy, he gets an idea for the best gift ever. Domestic fluff, rated M, 5,245 words.

Counting Stars - Simon finally proposes to Markus, but not everything goes as planned. Fluff, 1,572 words.

Exploring a New Territory - Simon is admiring Markus’ freckles and Markus is a tease. Smut, Humor, Fluff, rated M, 2,389 words.

Guarding His Sleep - Markus has a nightmare and Simon is there to comfort him. Hurt/comfort, 1,272 words.

Hair of Gold - Simon and Markus meet after the revolution and sparks start flying. There’s just one problem - Simon is a human, and humans aren’t built to last. Fluff and angst, Human! Simon / Deviant! Markus AU, 2,431 words.

His Father’s Son - It’s time to introduce Simon to Carl, and Markus is nervous. Fluff, requested, 1,649 words.

I Dreamed a Dream the Other Night - Markus dreams about Simon, who sacrificed his life to save him. Angst, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

In the Heat of the Moment - Markus invites Simon to watch him paint. That’s all fine and dandy until he decides to take off his shirt to save it from getting dirty. Simon snaps. Rated E, fluff and smut, 3,831 words.

Let Me Make It Up to You - Markus has to postpone his “date night” with Simon and feels the need to make it up to him somehow. Rated E, fluff and smut, 5,989 words.

Manfreds’ Secret Family Recipe - Carl had a secret recipe for chicken soup that never failed to make Markus feel better when he was being ill as a child - unfortunately, he passed away before he could teach his son. Now Simon is sick and Markus does his best to take care of him. Fluff and humor, sickfic, requested, 1,176 words.

My Alpha and Omega - Markus is an Omega who always passed as an Alpha at the college. But when Simon, his fellow Omega, friend, flatmate, and a secret crush in one person, starts nesting whenever he gets close to his heat, it leads him to a stunning revelation. Tooth-rotting fluff, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, 3,129 words.

No One Likes Doing the Laundry - After moving in together, Simon and Markus agreed to take turns doing the chores. However, there’s one neither of them likes. Domestic fluff, 939 words.

Sleepover - Simon, who has been nursing feelings for their charismatic leader ever since he could remember, has nowhere to go after the revolution and Markus is so kind to take him in for the night. Fluff, sharing a bed, first kiss, requested, 2,905 words.

There’s a War Inside My Head - Simon is still haunted by memories of the war long after it’s over. Markus is there to comfort him. Hurt/comfort, PTSD, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

We’re Carried Ever Onward Upon a Hope of Home - Markus wanted a safe world for his people where they would live in peace and love whoever they wanted. But once he accomplished this, he still felt something was missing. Simon rectified that. Fluff, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Words You Weren’t Meant to Hear - Simon never told Markus he loved him. And then one day, he got injured. Hurt/comfort, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Multichapters

Of Golden Mirrors and Secret Admirers - Simon becomes a resident mage of a small village called Far Waters, but there’s something that makes his job difficult. His feelings for Markus, son of a local artist. Fantasy AU, fluff, mutual pining. Chapters 6/6, 21,515 words.

When the Wolf Comes - Simon has been married to Markus, the town’s greatest hunter, for years. But then a tragedy struck and Markus didn’t return from the hunt. People said he was killed by werewolves. Simon doesn’t believe it though. He keeps searching for him in the woods, hoping his beloved will one day come back. Werewolf AU, Dark Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chapters 5/?

ECHO/RIPPLE

Stay Proud - Echo and Ripple spend a wonderful day at a Pride festival. Fluff, minor Markus/Simon, 2,022 words.

MARKUS/NORTH

We Made the Same Mistakes Like Friends Do - Markus loves North way too much to let her die. So he foolishly accepts Perkins’ deal. Angst, implied character death, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

RK900/GAVIN REED

Luck of the Irish - Nines gave Gavin a four-leaf clover to bring him luck before a difficult case, but he rejected it. Now he’s injured and Nines finds out that maybe, just maybe he treasured the gift more than he initially showed. Fluff, Of Roses and Ravens prompt challenge, 1,335 words.

DANIEL/LEO MANFRED

Fighting Our Demons - Daniel and Leo were both fucked up. Badly. There was no lying about it. But at least they had each other. Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Withdrawal, 746 words.

GENFIC

And Now, His Heart Beats Inside Your Chest - Without Simon’s sacrifice, Markus would have died, and their cause with him. But sometimes, living with the consequences turned out to be much, much harder… Angst, past Markus/Simon, character death, OC, 1,724 words.

Autumn Blues - Hank doesn’t like autumns. Connor makes him fall in love with it again. Angst with a happy ending, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

A Wonderful Child From Not So Wonderful Family - Before Kara was broken by Tod and then fixed again at the store, she had a nice relationship with Alice. They even planned their future together. Fluff and angst, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Companion of Hounds - Connor had to keep a good relationship with his partner. So he lied. However, some lies eventually come true. Fluff, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Grief Can Break you, But Not Your Promise - Hank promised Cole he would live on, but keeping that promise is hard. Connor makes it somehow more bearable. Angst with a happy ending, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

I Never Meant For Us to Become Foes - Connor had half a mind to join Markus’ cause, but died too many times to tear down the red wall that was keeping him a mindless slave. Angst, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Is a Desire to Be Free a Contagious Disease? - Markus was always a special one, his touch making things come alive. Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Me? I Died For Him - Simon never considered himself brave. But when Markus’ life is at the stake, he does what he has to do. Angst, minor character death, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

The Red Queen - Humans usually associated red roses with passion. Love. But all Connor could see when he looked at them was the blood on the tiles of CyberLife tower. Angst, character death, Of Roses and Ravens prompt challenge, 349 words.

There’s No Such Thing as an Android Heaven - Connor came back four times and never feared death. Simon’s suicide opened his eyes in more ways than one. Angst, minor character death, implied/referenced suicide, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

The Smile in Her Eyes - Alice begs her parents to get her a puppy, but their landlord won’t allow having a dog. Kara finds a way to make her daughter happy regardless. Fluff, found family, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

Which One Will Prevail? - Markus hasn’t really understood the weight of Lucy’s words. Until now. Violent android revolution, Light & Shadow prompt challenge, 100 words.

You Love Him Too - North accidentaly interfaces with Simon and finds out that Markus shared his memories with him, too. And she is not happy. Angst with hopeful ending, hints of Simarkus, Norkus and Simon/Markus/North, 669 words.

#detroit become human #simarkus #echo/ripple #dbh #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #fic masterpost #dbh simon #dbh markus #dbh echo #dbh ripple #dbh traci #2021 #shey scribbles #norkus #reed900 #danleo

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forlove2020 · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 3 - Rainbows

Somehow he is waiting for the Deluge to begin. Herds of animals are being loaded onto the Ark, and despite the stories that will be passed down generation to generation until they are transcribed as holy scripture, there are actually more than two of each species there.

Castiel counts at least a dozen goats being cajoled up the ramp and into the massive ship, followed by eight camels. Noah is a smart man; he knows that inbreeding is not good for the animals and so he and his family lure as many creatures onto the Ark as possible. Two is actually the bare minimum for every species.

Castiel stands far away, like last time. He is invisible to the eye, sent to observe humans, but not interact with them. Sometimes, far too often for his liking, he is forced to bring down God's wrath upon them. Castiel does not have free will, as Zachariah so often likes to remind him. Therefore, Castiel must follow the commands of the archangels without hesitation or question.

Yet Castiel has questions. He has doubts.

But he does not dare disobey.

The last of the animals are rounded up and Noah's family darts into the Ark, peering up at the ugly grey sky with worry. Only Noah himself remains outside, facing the crowd who has gathered to jeer at him.

"Listen to me!" the old man pleads with his fellow villagers. "If you will just trust me, I can save you! All of you!"

But his warnings fall on hardened hearts. Noah is too different from the crowd, too odd in their sight. Castiel has the feeling that if he were allowed to speak to the prophet, they might understand one another. They both, Castiel thinks, know what it is like to be an outsider.

The first heavy raindrops begin to fall, soaking Noah's tunic. The water does not touch Castiel, and as he looks, sorrow and regret fills Noah's eyes. The prophet turns, and has his sons and daughters raise the plank. No one else can join them on the Ark now.

The rains get heavier quickly, soaking the dry earth. The villagers grumble as they leave, trudging through squelching mud toward their homes, unaware that they will never make it back. They will have drowned long beforehand.

Noah, his wife, and children weep for the villagers who will die as the Ark begins to float in the swiftly flooding valley.

Then, Castiel notices some commotion in the distance. A young woman is struggling to wade through the deep rapids. In both of her arms she carries a child, in one arm a little boy, and in the other an even littler girl. The whites of the woman’s eyes are wild as she stumbles through the water, struggling to reach the Ark. The heavy satchel on her back is packed for a long journey - she alone had listened to Noah and believed, but traveling barefoot and carrying two children has slowed her down. She has arrived too late.

She screams something indiscernible to the far-away figures on the Ark; the water is up to her rib cage now. They do not seem to hear her. She will drown, along with her babies.

Castiel was sent to Earth to watch the human beings and to bear witness to Heaven’s eventual triumph over Hell. He is supposed to watch and report back on whether or not the humans are following the straight and narrow path that leads them ever closer to Armageddon.

He is not supposed to interfere.

The mother wails as she hoists her children up on her shoulders to save them, even if only for a few moments from the angry, churning water. Noah and his kin have spotted the struggling woman: they are trying to lower a rope or a basket. Whatever they do will not be fast enough.

Castiel cannot stand to watch. He shuts his eyes and moves.

He has no vessel to contain his raw Grace; the touch of him would instantly kill the woman and her children. But just a sweeping push of his massive wings in the water causes the Ark to bob wildly, juddering up and down on the waves with a sickening motion, and the sea rolls the mother and babies on a cresting wave that spits them out, just in time, onto the Ark’s upper deck.

Castiel is overwhelmingly relieved. He has saved them. He knows it has happened down to the very depths of his being, and so he opens his eyes.

But he is wrong. Where the woman and children had been moments ago, there is now only rushing water and the woman’s satchel, floating like a rotten log in the water. The people on the Ark howl with grief.

No, Cas thinks to himself in shock. No, that isn’t right - I’ve done this before. I saved them. They lived. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!

Icy doubt seeps into him, a chasm opens somewhere in his heart.

Noah and his Ark float for forty days and forty nights in their wooden prison. The stories that will be passed down get that part correct. Noah communicates daily with God through prayer, and Castiel watches him with something that resembles envy.

On the day the Ark reaches land, Castiel feels one of his brethren approaching. It is Uriel, his grace fluttering just with as much hostility to equal the amount in his expression.

“You interfered, Castiel. It goes against The Plan. You knew this.”

Castiel looks over at Noah and his family, who are kissing the dry ground with reverence. “I could not save them anyway,” Cas replies, but the words feel somehow bitter and wrong in his mouth. Last time, he did save them, and when Uriel confronted him, he was unrepentant.

Last time?

This has happened before.

How many times have I been here?

What is happening to me?

Uriel cooly meets his brother’s eye. “Castiel. You are to report to Naomi, a specialist, for your insubordination.”

Castiel nods with reluctance. He has never heard of this ‘Naomi,’ but he has disobeyed, and has no doubt he is to be punished.

Before Uriel can force him to fly back to Heaven, Castiel looks up at the clear blue sky, the first one he’s seen in forty days. Something new and beautiful shines there, between the puffy clouds and the warm sun. It is a dazzling array of colors.

“It’s a rainbow,” Cas remembers, and in that moment, is struck with sudden unmitigated horror.

He has seen this before - no, not before, after now, after this particular day. After this first rainbow that shines for Noah, Cas will see rainbows thousands upon thousands of times in the following millennia. He lived through eons of loneliness and confusion, watching humanity and helping them when he could. And each time, Naomi re-wrote his brain, editing his angelic programming in efforts to fix something that was only considered broken by his superiors.

“I can’t be here,” Cas says aloud, sick to his stomach. “This is the Diluvian era. I’ve been through this already, thousands of years ago. I need to get out, I need to find, to find - Dean.”

The memories flood back. How he’d saved Dean, confessing his love in a desperate life-or-death gamble, and how Dean had wept as Cas had admitted that Dean was his one true happiness.

And then, Cas had been swallowed up by the Empty.

“Oh, figured it out again, already? Such a clever widdle angel.”

Cas whips around. The Entity, or Shadow; whatever It’s called, is standing behind him, wearing Meg’s face. It looks extremely displeased despite the bored tone It’s using.

Cas faces Not-Meg wearily. “You are going to keep tormenting me.” He’s not really asking, but rather waiting for confirmation.

“Yeaaahhh, probably,” It smiles, but there is frustration in Its eyes. “You’re just too much fun to mess with, Clarence. You’ll sleep once I know you’ve actually given up. I just have to break you first. But in the meantime,” It says, clapping Meg’s hands with false cheer, “Let’s send you back to that time you broke down the barrier in Sam’s mind! That one is classic!”

The ancient world around Cas fades to pitch black once more, but he stares at the rainbow in the sky until he can no longer make out the colors, repeating the same phrase to himself over and over each time he is shattered anew:

I love you, Dean.

I love you.

Dean.

I love you.

#Destiel #100000 destiel fics #castiel deserved better #castiel appreciation #ANGST #Sorry!#post 15x18 #suptober21 #othervorld writes

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mishastoesies · 3 years

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truly do think j*hn should have been the final boss of spn. like chuck, in one last “fuck you,” doesn’t so much revive j*hn as reanimate his corpse and give it enough life to be malicious and able to contain his god-powers, which he transfers over to him before dying and getting reaped by billie.

final arc is the reverse of the first season: sam and dean (+ eileen and whoever else you like) on the run from their own father as he hunts them down to kill them and get the narrative back in control; sam and dean were never supposed to live this long; the show was meant to end after season 5. and who saves them?

that’s right, castiel, angel of the lord, thee eve figure mother of all narrative defiance, back from the empty once again because he is nothing if not gay and annoying! he and jack use up their grace in the battle against j*hn winchester’s shambling, possessed corpse, the shadow of which has loomed large over the entire story, and with the fatherauthorgod dead, the position of god is abolished.

cas and jack are now human (and if you’re a baby jack truther, jack is 3-4), and with the thing that’s been puppeteering their whole lives now gone, the real story can begin. eileen kisses sam, cas kisses dean, and it fades to black. carry on my wayward son plays as a clipshow of the Cheesy Domestic Highlight Reel plays; eileen and sam having triplets (names: cillian, eoin, and patrick), dean and cas in cancun together on their honeymoon, jack, claire, patience, alex, and kaia dressed up for halloween, etc. etc.

#supernatural #idk i'm just having thoughts tonight

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

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lights, camera, duty commenced!

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #14 - commend ]

[ illya, g’raha & emet ] ★ [ 2,263 words ] ★ [ actors au ] passing mention of some friend’s ocs and illyanaud

commend: praise formally or officially

behind the scenes of the critically acclaimed long running tv show, final fantasy fourteen, g’raha tia is (almost) inconsolable after he reads the final act’s script

The not-so everlasting light shining down feels radiant and warm, but not scorching. In the distance, one can hear the push and pull of the tides from the nearby lake, as well as the rustling of the purple hued leaves that hung and swayed ever so gently upon the trees. A light baby blue canvas with dusty cotton candy clouds crowns lakeland, painting the perfect, serene vista for an uneventful day of shooting.

Though, Illya has to remind herself, as she looks up at the peaceful sky, and sighs in contentment that she was in the completely wrong headspace. Even though the sky above was bright and undoubtedly beautiful on this fine afternoon, she knows that all it takes is for a little bit of compuer-generated television effects magic to turn the tranquil landscape into a scene of naught but utter devastation and war.

Think termination. Think termination. You’re in the middle of a large-scale battle between Elidibus and the people of Norvrandt. The tone’s supposed to be somber and tense. You’re the warrior of darkness. You got this!

“Oh.... How could this be...?”

Her train of thought is rudely interrupted by the sorrowful moping of her co-actor, and she has to resist the urge to chide him for dragging his early morning sulking all the way into the afternoon.

“G’raha, please...” the lalafellin sighs, though cannot help but to let a sliver of sympathy slip into her tone. “The next scene’s starting soon.”

“I know, I know... But...” the man heaves a heavy sigh, hanging his head low and letting his arms drop onto his lap so dramatically she’d almost thought that his flesh really was made of crystal and wasn’t just a product of the hard work of extremely talented make-up artists. “I can’t help it. I can’t believe that my poor crystal exarch is-”

Illya can say she at least empathizes - though perhaps not to the same extent. She’s been casted into roles of characters who would meet an unfortunate demise later, but to be fair, they weren’t often major characters within the narrative of the show or film she was playing a role in.

The crystal exarch on the other hand, has played a key role as one of the many recurring supporting casts in the show. He’d lingered in the background as early as the first season, and was, to G’raha’s jubilation, finally given a main role in the fourth season they were filming.

Only to be killed off in the final act - succumbing to the crystallization of his entire body, from head to toe, in the throne room of the crystal tower after the warrior of darkness’ battle with the ascian Elidibus. His death scene was to be an emotionally poignant one... and Illya herself has spent the last few days getting into the headspace of the protagonist - who would understandably be utterly devastated by the loss of a dear friend.

It didn’t help that the crystal exarch was a considerably popular character within the international community of fans - and his significant increase in screen time was due in part to fan demands... though that perhaps made his long foreshadowed death even more of a cruel irony.

And there was nobody in the world who was a bigger fan of the crystal exarch than the actor who played him himself. It wasn’t narcissistic either, in their line of work, it’s easy to get attached to the roles they play... even more so when they’ve hovered within the headspace of their character for as long as 6 years - she would know, Liliya Liya is as big a part of her as the crystal exarch is for G’raha now.

Thus, though she felt the urgent need to get G’raha back up on his feet in preparation for the remaining scenes on their schedule to film... she could not bring herself to so callously talk down his very real and personal attachment of a character he was meant to portray well anyways.

“Oh come now... you should’ve seen this coming.” with a swagger in his step and lazy grin plastered over his expression, Emet Selch strolls over to the pair.... far too comfortable within his own role that he was speaking with Hades’ signature slur in his speech even while out of character. The man has always noted just how similar he was to the god of the underworld, and Illya wouldn’t be surprised if he’d claimed to not even be acting in his scenes at all.

“I...” G’raha pouts, looking up at Emet as his ears flatten atop his head. “I guess I was in denial of it. I thought they would maybe subvert expectations... but-”

“But that wouldn’t be a very compelling story to tell, now would it?” The older man shrugs, and Illya regrets to think that she’s inclined to agree.

“I guess not..”

The robed miqo’te man sighs, and she notes with an amused raise of an eyebrow as his tail that had once been tucked tightly to his side was now swiveling from side to side and puffed up in annoyance.

“Still! They could at least let him go out with more of a bang! Maybe... after he has a solo action scene... or give him a kiss scene to make things more dramatic!”

“Is defeating the big bad and saving the heroine not dramatic enough for you, already?” Emet’s voice is in part mocking as it is exasperated, his arms thrown up to his shoulders in a shrug. “Also I hope you didn’t mean a kiss scene with Liliya.”

“W-what-?? I-” Illya’s mouth hangs agape.

“No! I wasn’t thinking anyone in particular, honest. Besides, she’s already caught in that love triangle subplot with the twins, isn’t she?”

At the mention of the topic, the lalafellin woman’s smile fades.

“D-don’t remind me of that. I’m really not looking forward to acting those scenes out.”

She’s already read the script for the fourth season in it’s entirety... and though she has incredible respect for the masterful writing and the wonderful character dynamics that has only gotten better with each passing season... she has never been... entirely comfortable with the romantic aspects of the scenes involving the elven twins. Scenes of the pair vying for her attention, scenes where she held hands and even got unsettingly close to kissing them...

Though, she will admit... her own uncertainty over her competence in filming those scenes are a result of her own, very personal emotions... something of which Emet Selch seemed to be more than aware of.

“Is it not because you harbor actual feelings for one of them? Would having scenes of you being close to him not be a blessing for you, then?”

The miffed glare Illya’s shoots up at Emet rivals moments of shadow possession Liliya experiences throughout the show, and he can only shrug with a cocky grin as her star-spangled swirl with indignation. Anger aside, heat is spreading across her cheeks in the form of a burning red hue that reaches the tips of her short, pointed ears.

Please stop.

Her expression spells out. She’s as annoyed as she her frightened about something.

Oh dear.

“Relax. Workplace romance here is nothing new.” His words only serve to worsen the already infuriated gleam in her blazing, shimmering eyes. “Mint certainly isn’t shy when it comes to showing she’s in a relationship with Estinien. Nor your friend Laurelis for that matter. She’s still keeping in touch with Haurchefant, no?”

Illya doesn’t say anything, but her silence and the paling of her complexion speaks louder than any words she can spill from her lips.

It’s precisely because he doesn’t know. So please, please shut your mouth.

He still cannot understand why on earth she would stay so adamant about keeping her feelings a secret anyway. For all he knows, the entire cast of actors... and the whole final fantasy crew for that matter, was fully aware of their pining - and Illya’s feelings towards her close co-worker and friend wasn’t unrequited either.

Just like in the show, the pair are completely oblivious to their attraction to one another... something he’ll just have to fix with his bare hands then...

But the matter is neither here nor there, and there was something of greater urgency to rectify now.

Emet Selch turns his gaze back down to G’raha, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet... and sensing his seriousness, Illya too diverts her attention back to the sulking redhead.

“You know... you’re a very talented actor. It’s so very rare to find someone who can capture the emotions and nuances of a character as well as you do.” Emet is the faster of them to speak, and Illya can barely believe the words she’s hearing leave his lips.

Compliments and praise, genuine ones at that, coming from one of the cast’s eldest, most experienced actor who is not only known to be critical when it comes to the art of acting - but is a certified acting coach himself? The monumental honor is not lost to G’raha, as his ears perk up and he whips his head up with widened ruby eyes to look at Emet.

“Death is difficult to portray - dare I say, almost impossible. After all, how can we, who have never experienced death... truly capture the sorrow and despair in it?”

Emet Selch pauses, drawing in a breath before he lifts his hand up to gesture at the pair before him.

“Which is why this is your biggest opportunity to showcase your talents, to move the audience with not just the story, but your very acting! The only thing we can do, as men and women of this field, is to act as vehicles and carry the emotions of the story into the hearts of the fans.”

The man finally sighs, shoulders falling and arms flopping lazily to his side, the sentimentality of the words he just spoke tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Besides, even in death there is a beauty. The crystal exarch lived his life fulfilled and having realized his wish at the end. I expect you to remember that when you eventually see him off.”

There’s a silence that hangs and festers in the air for a moment, before the fur on G’raha’s tail stands and his chest puffs up in a show of renewed determination.

“Y-you’re right, Emet! The crystal exarch dedicated his life to finding a way to save others... There is no better way to end his legacy than to see the world he’s protected for so long finally saved!”

Standing onto his feet, the miqo’te clenches his hands into fists and nods before casting a glance down at Illya.

“Illya! I will act my heart out to the best I can! I’ll act so hard that I’ll make you cry on set for sure!”

The corners of her lip tugs upwards into a wide smile, glowing as the afternoon sun basks down and reflects upon her snowy white hair and the blossoms of her amethyst eyes. Even with the black of the garments she wore and the eastern patterned ribbon that held the braid around her head in place, she was luminous and blinding in her radiant presence... not unlike the heroine of their story.

“Of course! And I’m sure the rest of the crystal exarch fan club will too when they watch that episode.”

“Illya, G’raha!” A pink haired lalafellin calls out to them from a distance away, her olive green eyes wide and excited as she waves her hands high above her head. A raven haired man stands just behind her, his dark blue eyes narrowed as he reviews the script in his hands intently. “We’re starting soon! Get over here!”

“Coming! Just give us a second!” G’raha waves back with a grin before turning back to look at Emet Selch with an apologetic, yet grateful bow, his relaxed tail swaying gently from side to side behind his back.

“Thank you, Emet. I won’t soon forget your encouragements. I’ll do my best and make sure to not let everyone down.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me the nauseating mush. I was just making sure you didn’t drag your co-actor down with your sulking.”

The elder man now glances at the starry eyed girl with amusement flashing through his expression, and Illya can already feel her earlier lighthearted elation fade as quickly as it came.

“By the way... I’m sure if you asked Yoshida properly.. he’d be willing to consider writing in a kiss scene with Liliya and-”

“If I were the warrior of darkness, I’d take my crescent moon cane and stab you with the end of it......”

------

Meanwhile, a little distance away from the trio, Kaye lets out a low hum as he reads and re-reads the words upon the small stacks of paper he held, expression doubtful and confused.

“You sure this is the script to Endwalker?”

“Yeah, I am! Alphinaud gave this copy and said that he got from miss Ishikawa directly! Apparently he’s playing another major role in the next season, which is why he got the script early as a heads up.”

“But... it says here that the crystal exarch gets reincarnated? Assuming that’s not gonna be changed... that means G’raha’s gonna be...”

Kaye’s head lifts and turns, eyes wide and brows furrowing in bemusement only to see an impish smile glimmer upon Lily’s face.

“Should we tell him?”

“Hm...? Nah... He’s gonna film the exarch’s death scene soon, right? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the little surprise later, anyways.”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #g'raha tia #emet selch #illya skawi #g'raha #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #fanfic #mine #I've only had this au for a day and I've already written a fill for it lmao #*pumps fist*

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