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roguerambles · 1 year ago

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A Moment of Respite

Blood of Zeus - Heron x Hera's!Daughter Reader

Warnings - 18+Only.

I've had this sitting in my drafts for ages and I want to get it out before I try any Season 2 stuff. Plus I just like the idea of these two, okay--

Kind of a Part 4 to Trouble.

Enjoy the Rambles!

Training was not going well.

You cringed as Heron flew across the arena, crashing into the sands with a pained groan. The automaton returned to its standing position dispassionately, and beside you Zeus sighed heavily.

It had been days since Mother had left Olympus, taking some of the other Gods of Olympus with her to the Underworld. Hades had apparently allowed them sanctuary, although he declared he would be taking no further involvement than that.

...your wrist ached as the memory of Mother’s hand grasping you, Hera and Zeus’s raised voices, Mother’s betrayed expression melting into a fury you had never had directed at you before flashed across your mind.

You had chosen to stay on Olympus, and Mother and Ares had left, others at their heels.

“Zeus.” Hephaestus spoke from behind you, his voice low and gruff. “This isn’t working.”

Zeus’s jaw clenched as Heron went hurtling across the arena once more, kicking up a dust cloud of sand as he crashed into the ground with a loud, painful sounding thump. “He needs to unlock his potential.” His large hands gripped the stonework of the balcony in front of him. “Soon.”

You were not much of a warrior, but you were fairly certain that if Hephaestus’s contraptions broke every bone in Heron’s body, that would be rather counterproductive to improving Heron’s combat efficiency.

As Zeus and Hephaestus continued to bicker in hushed voices, you felt a warm presence appear at your side. Apollo sighed as he leaned against the balcony, peering down into the training ground where Heron stumbled to his feet once more.

“He doesn’t give up, at least.”

“Is this really the best approach?” You nervously played with your hands as you watched Heron get up and be knocked down, over and over.

Apollo shrugged. “Athena is too busy preparing the defences, and Ares is with Hera. We don’t have a lot of options, training wise.”

You both continued to watch for a while, and you could feel your stomach sinking the longer it went on. Heron barely glanced your way.

You had not spoken since the night Mother had left, but the memory of Heron shocked expression as he looked at you – really looked at you – and the blind panic it had created in you made your stomach churn. You had fled to your room and would probably still be there if Hermes hadn’t forced you out.

“You should say hello.”

Your head snapped around to stare at Apollo, you was still looking out over the balcony. “I should what?”

“You should go over and talk to him.” Apollo replied casually, as though he were suggesting something completely normal. “The staring is getting a little old.”

“I am not—I am not staring.”

“Heron!” Apollo called out abruptly, loudly, and to your horror Heron actually looked up towards you. “Would you like some water? We have plenty over here—”

You turned to flee somewhere far, far away, only for Hermes – where in Tartarus did he come from – to appear, blocking your way with a small, but noticeable smile.

Traitor!

Zeus sounded displeased. “Interruptions are not—”

Apollo grabbed his father’s arm and began tugging him towards the stairs, so suddenly Zeus stumbled. “You are correct, Father, we should check the equipment on the other side of the arena—”

Zeus looked confused as Hermes joined Apollo in practically dragging the King down the stairs. Hephaestus rolled his eyes and stalked towards the automaton, muttering something about “those bloody sons of Zeus”. You were rooted to the stop as Heron slowly approached, his head low, as though he were struggling to meet your eye.

Your heart clenched as Heron busied himself gathering water, taking somewhat longer than was required for the task. The silence was so dense you felt it were almost choking you. You scrambled for something, anything, to say, but your mind was a void of disjointed words. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t tell you. Please don’t be angry. I’m sorry for Electra, I’m so—

“…you’re short.”

You were yanked from your frazzled thoughts when Heron finally said something. You looked at him in confusion, while Heron cringed, looking frustrated with himself. “I…pardon?”

“I just mean….” Heron rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but directly at you. “You…the others are….you look different. Not bad, you’re beautiful, I just mean—”

“Oh. Oh! Right, yes, well, I wasn’t born like the rest of them. Mother—she made me out of clay.” Heron lifted his head to stare at you blankly. You felt your cheeks burn. “It is…unusual, I know.”

“…I’m sorry, was that rude—”

“No, no, not at all, you should hear how Apollo and Artemis were born—”

Silence fell over you again as you both fumbled over your words. You were torn between fleeing the arena altogether and staying exactly where you were because awkward or not you and Heron were talking. Over his shoulder you could see Zeus and Hephaestus by the automaton, and knew Heron would be pulled away soon. You inhaled deeply, steeling your nerves. I am the Queen of the Heavens daughter, by the Fates, act like it. “Heron….I am so sorry. About…about your mother.”

Heron looked pained, his fingers clenching around the waterskin in his hand. “…it was Hera, wasn’t it?”

It wasn’t a question, and you both knew it. You bowed your head, yours eyes beginning to sting. Do not cry. This isn’t about you.

“…yes.” You forced out, your throat feeling thick. “Heron…Heron, I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry—”

“Why?” Heron cleared his throat, tossing the waterskin down. “It’s not your fault. You weren’t even there.”

“But….” You bit your lip. “Mother…I mean… Hera is—”

“Your mother, I know.” Heron wasn’t quite looking at you again, but he didn’t sound angry. Grief clung to his voice, and you fought the impulse to reach for his hand. “And Zeus is my…father. That alone made mother and I targets for Hera’s wrath. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Heron—”

Heron started to laugh.

You faltered, and watched as Heron hurriedly clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as though startled by his own reaction. “I…I am sorry.” He choked out, eyes wide even as you caught glimpse of a mirthful smile behind his fingers. “Please…please continue…”

Your anxiety was briefly overpowered by confusion. “What…what is so amusing…?”

Heron’s shoulders began to shake. “I…I assumed your parents would disapprove of me.” He said, and the words seemed to break something in him. He doubled over, grasping his knees, eyes squeezing shut as he began to laugh even harder. “Now…now it turns out your mother is Hera. And…and I am the bastard son of her philandering husband….!”

You stared owlishly at him as his laugh grew louder – you could see Zeus and Hephaestus watching from the side-lines, their expressions suggesting concern that the automaton had hit Heron harder than they had feared.

“That’s…well yes, that is….Heron….Heron, it’s not funny!”

Heron tried to reply, but it came out as a wheeze. “I…gods…I had no idea…!”

You could feel a smile beginning to creep onto your face and tried to squash it, but Heron’s laughter was infectious, and was the most happy you’d seen him in…well, a while. “Well…no, I suppose…I suppose you are not what my mother would consider an ideal suitor…”

That brought on another wave of near hysterical laughter, and you found yourself giggling along with Heron, until you were both cackling like lunatics in the middle of the arena. You slumped against Heron’s shoulder, clamping a hand over your mouth as you saw Zeus heading towards you both.

“…if you are both finished?” He asked dryly, his eyebrows raised. Heron’s laughter stuttered to a stop, but he didn’t move away from you, the feeling of his body against yours leaving warmth against your skin.

You reluctantly straightened up, brushing away non-existent creases in your dress. “I suppose….” You gestured wordless at the arena. Zeus eyed you cautiously, before clearing his throat and turning back towards the automaton, as though he were examining it. Heron rolled his eyes slightly as you bit down a chuckle – you supposed he was trying to give you both a moment.

“Wish me luck.” Heron gripped his sword, his free hand rising to sheepishly rub his neck. “I think I’ll need a fair share of it…”

You laughed slightly, reaching out to gently pat his arm. He smiled in response, before sighing and trudging after Zeus.

“I think that went well.” Hermes said cheerfully from behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin. “Don’t you think that went well, Apollo?”

“Indeed!” The Sun God chirped, appearing at your side. “See? All is well that ends well.”

“You two do remember…” Artemis sighed from somewhere behind you – when did she get here? – “…the approaching civil war, yes?”

“Small victories, dearest sister.”

You flushed and turned to stride back towards the stands, while Hermes and Apollo snickered to themselves. Artemis rolled her eyes as you sat beside her, although a small, teasing smile began to tug at her mouth. “Although….I did notice he didn’t deny it when you described him as a suitor.”

“Artemis!”

You blushed furiously as the Goddess of the Hunt laughed, and your stubbornly kept your gaze ahead, focusing on Heron on the sands below, feeling just a little bit lighter than before.

#blood of zeus #blood of zeus x reader #boz x reader #heron x reader #blood of zeus heron #boz heron x reader #blood of zeus apollo #blood of zeus hermes #blood of zeus Artemis #boz apollo #boz hermes #boz artemis #boz heron #hera's daughter!reader

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sleepy-aletheas · 6 months ago

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From a completely crack theory perspective, the Primal Constructs could be late Deshretian creations that came at the end of his rule, before he went into the Golden Slumber.

The thing with the Primal Constructs is, that their description is awfully vague — there is the bit of text of them being a part of Deshret's research into a taboo (with them it could be "Inferring with human evolution" for a few reasons), them being marked by mantras that are in connection of Deshret's dreams and ambitions of (re)creating Paradise, and them now being mindlessly protecting the dreams of their Lord, even when that utopia and all the promises never came true.

This might seem like a random pivot, but remember Liloupar? The Jinn that cursed three generations of her family to ruin Gurabad? Yeah, so, at one point, she came up with the 'briliant' idea to exchange human slaves with jinni powered machines (and ultimatively torturing them until they lost their minds and in a sense, their souls). Then Deshret came back once it was all done, punished Liloupar...but the machines were never mentioned again. If Ferigree's position into the present times (pre-Traveler intervention) is anything to go by, the trapped Jinni were left in these machines...

So my proposition is that Mehrak (and Benben for that matter) might have Jinni souls inside them, and through bonding with their companions (in Mehrak's case Kaveh — who I might add has a lot in common with Deshret (i'll die on this hill)) they could regain "humanity", or maybe something close to it. Sentience for sure.

So meanwhile Mehrak and Karkata are both automatons, they're inherently two things, because Karkata should be fully human made, meanwhile Mehrak could be hosting a faded Jinn soul that is slowly being coaxed into sentience and gaining its own personality and personhood.

Kaveh is like this close to committing a sin with Mehrak, like he's playing a really dangerous game. It's just a matter of time Mehrak gets even more sentient when it's already this far. I know Kaveh keeps it in check, but man... I hope they'll talk about this one day. Either that or Kaveh will always brush it off, as if he didn't get some ancient core to build it??? Also, I always love your thoughts, thanks for loving these two so much!

hiya! thank you for your ask! i'm so glad you enjoy my posts :") <3 Mehrak’s existence is so ??? funny to me. we have tighnari’s story quest detailing the akademiya’s ban on research into mechanical lifeforms, directly alongside kaveh building his own mechanical lifeform and parading it around, sending it on solo coffee retrieving missions whilst everyone in sumeru looks on smiling <3

Mehrak’s legality hasn’t been mentioned at all in-game as of now, and as it’s been used consistently, both in kaveh’s hangout, a parade of providence, and now nahida’s birthday event, with not one mention of legality or potential trespasses, makes it seem that that’s how things will stay - especially since Cyno has met/is aware of mehrak’s existence during the battle scene during a parade of providence (then again, cyno did meet the wanderer during this event, and yet in nahida’s birthday event it seems he’s only HEARD of the wanderer through sethos??) but even then, since Cyno trusts Tighnari with karkata’s continued existence, it’s likely not a stretch to say that to Cyno, Kaveh can be trusted with Mehrak’s existence (it’s all very iffy)

Mehrak’s existence, overall, has had little focus other than its usage in battle, its official introduction in a parade of providence, where kaveh stipulates it has low intelligence, and was built to assist him, as well as being incapable of talking back and giving him ‘attitude’ (implicitly comparing mehrak to alhaitham), and in kaveh’s hangout when he works on designing a building. It’s only in recent events, such as cyno’s second story quest, and now in nahida’s birthday event, that mehrak has gotten more mentions, and now a spotlight, which is all in relation to coffee, tying back to alhaitham and kaveh’s improved relationship (the coffee analysis will be in the updated essay finally!!). as of right now, overall, mehrak doesn’t appear to be a major focus

It might be strange for the game to mention now that mehrak has been an illegal creation all this time, unless it’s a significant plot point that has to be resolved, but if mehrak is further explored, like in the temple of silence for example (hoyoverse I am once again asking), then perhaps this collective ignoring of a crime occurring will be explained away, if mentioned at all? It’s interesting that tighnari says it might be possible that this ban is reversed in the future, but as for whether that will actually happen, and the implications of this, aren’t clear

Mehrak’s accepted existence in general poses so many questions. I’m interested in the specifics of the ban, like does it depend on the autonomy of the machine in question? Abattouy aimed to make Karkata essentially human, capable of individual thought, processing, emotion, and conversation, which definitively broaches on the intersection of mechanical and biological life which caused the Akademiya to ban this type of research in the first place. So if a machine is able to act on its own, irrespective of human interference, then this is what the akademiya would want to prevent

In mehrak’s case, it’s unclear as to what its limits are, but from what has been shown so far, it seems that mehrak can only act on kaveh’s commands and when held in battle – it’s uncertain rn whether mehrak can act independently of this, but as kaveh invented it to only assist in certain matters, it’s doubtful. But then again, we don’t have a great scope of whether it can experience emotions, as it has shown signs of being distressed in a parade of providence when kaveh states that it can’t talk back, and when being scolded by kaveh in nahida’s birthday event

if mehrak has limited intelligence, it's interesting to compare mehrak with karkata. abattouy was attempting to make karkata understand human language, and be able to respond in order to have conversation, which was proved impossible, whereas although mehrak only speaks in beeps, kaveh is shown to have a thorough understanding of what it’s saying? Mehrak can be programmed to recognise people’s voices, but seemingly also language, as mehrak can obey spoken command, which is what abattouy tried to accomplish but was unable to with modern technology.

Mehrak, on the other hand, understands kaveh’s basic requests – which is made even funnier in kaveh’s old sketchbook, where he says that more than anything he really wants mehrak to understand what he’s saying. he got his wish but at what cost???

Mehrak being made from ancient technology, belonging to that of king deshret’s civilisation, offers many interesting paths that could be explored in future events, as besides the primal constructs roaming around, the puzzles in the desert, and now the temple of silence, no technology really exists from that time. Someone commented that mehrak’s presence in nahida’s birthday event, in conjunction with the event being based around ancient technology with the wedjat eye, could be highlighting mehrak’s irregularity in modern day sumeru – potentially foreshadowing for a future event that could further expand upon mehrak? If this is the case, I am all for it, there are so many questions concerning kaveh’s little light <3

#kaveh #mehrak #talking about sumeru lore unlocks my blabbering i'm so sorry (i will do it again the first chance i get)#mehrak is such a mystery box (heh) to me since it's never talked about what should the protocol for mehrak's existence be #like is there an akademiya standard limit of (possible) sentience for automatons? is this favoritism at play? an open secret?#i do still think sumeru is gonna doom itself from poking where they really shouldn't with these sins and mehrak is at the front of it #i lost my train of thought somewhere idk anymore

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jjwolves · 1 month ago

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Hello! Your writing's great! Um... Sorry, just a bit unsure because I don't normally request things in fandom spaces... If it's okay with you, could you write something platonic with DBBQ Ena where the reader:

1. Has a hard time trusting her salesman side.

2. Is scared of her meanie side.

3. Can't help but have a squish (that's platonic attraction) on her?

Basically just... The reader doesn't wanna feel like Ena's solely just trying to sell them something nor do they want her to be angry/insulting towards them... Also, gender-neutral reader please. ._.

If you can't or don't want to write this, that's completely fine! Have a nice day! óuò

DROOPY LIKES YOUR FACE ✦•··············•✦•··············•✦

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA the Worker X Reader (Struggling Platonic)

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~700 words, ~3 mins

Warnings: Slight Language

You’ve been working with ENA for a while, and you’re pretty sure that you understand the pattern now. Froggy usually orders you and your partner in crime to go out and squash any problems which need squashing. You do your best to get the job done, and when there’s time, you try to find some reprieve from the crushing reality that this is probably going to be your job forever. You try to talk to ENA. You think that you’d be up for getting drinks later, but it’s hard to get along with her at times.

You two could be friends, you think, as you march through the realm of the carpenter and do your best to avoid any saws which would saw through the room you’re traveling through and send you into the abyss surrounding the tower. Adjusting your tie, you glance over at ENA as you walk. She’s chipper (heh) and red as her head swivels to face you, body unaffected by the movement like an automaton. “The ambiance here is palpable! Would you be willing to buy a jar of it?” Thinking on your environment, you make a joke—don’t you mean pulpable? ENA takes a moment to process before startling you with a switch-up. “CAN IT!” You jump and look away, returning to your nervous tie adjusting. At least she acknowledged it.

ENA is able to get through a door while you wait and idle about near a mouth on the wall that sucks on lollipops endlessly supplied by you suit’s pockets. Hopefully it’s too busy tasting raspberry and rootbeer-adjacent chemicals to notice that your work buddy is intruding in its domain. It takes her some time but eventually she circles back to you and you can stop feeding the thing. “You’re a good worker.” ENA smiles inscrutably. You’re thankful for the compliment, but you wait for the catch. She follows through. “And good workers know amazing deals when they see them. Would you be willing to trade a few lollipops for this stylish ribbon I found?” Should have known.

ENA makes you anxious sometimes. She doesn’t mean to, probably, but she ends up doing it anyway. Once in a while you’ll drop something or tell a ‘potential customer’ something less than flattering—but true—about your services. After the tool hits the floor or the words are out your mouth, you tense up, hoping that she wasn’t around to hear that. You look around. All clear. That is, until you look directly in front of you to see ENA wearing a jagged frown and holding a megaphone. “THAT’S ANOTHER INFRACTION! ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US TERMINATED!?” You jump back and apologize profusely, tripping over yourself. ENA’s face straightens into something more neutral, however, after your blubbering has subsided.

You take a break with your coworker (friend?), making sure to hide away from Froggy so that he doesn’t see you two slacking. It’s awkward and silent until your coworker speaks up. ENA looks thoughtful when she turns to you. “I apologize for the behavior of my employment.” She fidgets with her hands. “I’ve never really invested in a friend before… So please forgive me as I update my software.” Feeling a gentle smile on your face, you say that it’s alright. You’re both working on getting along better, after all. “Speaking of which. Friend. Earlier you had complained about not having any, ‘iced coffee’, as it were. Consider this a payment towards my forgiveness.” ENA reaches to grab something from her invisible item-space. You begin to say that she doesn’t need to pay you anything, but your words die as she places something in your hands. It’s coffee, frozen into a cube the size of your head, attached to the end of a freakishly large popsicle stick. It’s practically a warhammer. You’re baffled. ENA is quick to go white at your reaction. “DON’T LAUGH! IT ONLY COMES IN VENTI! God DAMNIT!” ENA throws her hat down in a fit of rage. You’re thankful for the strange gift from your even stranger friend.

A/N: You have a nice day too, Anon! Geez, guys, I'm sorry if you send in a request and it takes a while to get to it. I try to work down the list of requests by date and there's quite a few (which I am very thankful for). I do try to make every hc list or story very richly detailed, so it takes time to get done. The fics would lose what makes them special if I shotgunned them, haha. Stay tuned, and if you have a request you really really want done ASAP then you can always commission me! Comms take priority after all. :o)

#ena x reader #x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #dream bbq ena x reader #ena fandom #reader insert #platonic x reader #imagine blog #imagines #writeblogging #writers on tumblr #writeblr #ena headcanon

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sebastianswallows · 1 year ago

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The Little Death — 2. A dream of life

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: a bit of voyeurism

— WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk

The best art imitates life in a compelling way. If it imitates a dream, it must be a dream of life. — Darwi Odrade

She confessed with regret that she did not, in fact, have one of those pain boxes. A Gom Jabbar was available in the palace and in fact was in the Harkonnen's possession as far as she knew, but that was just a poisoned needle tipped with meta-cyanide. What he was after was the… active part of the humanity test. That was only at the disposal of those sisters qualified to carry it out.

She was certain Feyd would do away with her once she explained how and why she didn’t have what he was after and prepared herself internally for death. But it never came. He paused in thought and nodded, and his cool eyes moved away from her with a shadow of sadness to them. Then he turned around, his broad shoulders clad in black exposed to her, and walked toward the table.

“You will come with me.”

He picked up a shigawire reel and shoved it in a compartment of his suit, a small pocket at the side of his chest, then walked right by her on his way out of the room. She followed obediently.

The palace was quiet, free of the usual fuss that filled it during the day — servants scrambling, scraping like traumatised automatons just trying to survive — but as they walked past the way she came she heard a violent sound from the direction where her old room was. They’re destroying my things, she realised.

Her eyes turned to Feyd-Rautha’s back once more, the smooth black of his clothes and white of his skin, and she wondered what plans he had for her. Would he be more subtle with his killing than his brother was, or… more creative? Would she be able to use the stunning word and paralyse him in time to get away? Would she have to kill him instead?

“Am I going too fast for you?” he asked over his shoulder. It was not an honest question, as she could tell from the smile in his voice.

“No?”

“Funny. I can hear you breathing.”

She bit her lip and glared at the back of his head.

They passed from the most shadowed places of the palace into the well-lit ones where snow-white lamps hung in the air. There were more guards in this area too, and she gradually realised they weren’t going to the prisons. They were going to his quarters.

“After you,” he said, stopping in front of a jaundiced pair of double doors guarded on each side by armed guards as still as statues.

She looked up at him warily as she stepped forward. He was still smiling in that cocky, boyish way, but something was incongruent. His awkward pose — not quite facing her, not quite to the side — the bent of his back as if he tried to make himself seem shorter, his arms somewhat aimless at his sides… He was trying to be polite and he didn’t know how.

She stepped inside. His room was nothing like what she imagined. The natural pale yellow of the Arrakeen stone gave it a softness that was at odds with the black linens on the massive bed. Moonlight streamed from the twin window slits on the opposite wall, and on the smooth tables lay an array of little boxes, pots, and cases left half-opened. There was a scent of ink there that cut through the modest smell of disinfectant. He’d only just moved in… He hadn’t had a chance to make the place his own yet.

As she analysed these new surroundings, Feyd stepped in and the doors closed behind them, leaving them alone. The palace seemed all the more distant now.

“My lord na-Baron?”

“Hm?” he muttered as he walked right past her, going to place something inside a drawer by the bed — the shigawire reel.

“W-what… what would you have me do?”

“You can do whatever you like.”

Her eyes slid toward the door. “Can I leave?”

She didn’t expect him to say ‘yes’, but she expected even less what he said next.

“Leave?” he chuckled, looking at her over his shoulder. “Where would you go? You’re my Bene Gesserit now.”

And he continued preparing himself for the night as if it was the most normal of circumstances. A part of her, the most human part, felt offended, but from the periphery of her mind, her training whispered to her what was really going on.

Feyd-Rautha kept his back turned and his attention on the objects in his possession — diskettes of reports he sorted for later reading, the daggers at his belt, the signet ring around his finger — and he spoke to her most dismissively and distantly. He was treating her like a stray cat he had just found and brought into his bedroom. Now he was letting her explore her new home, but he still did not dare to look at her directly, to watch her as openly as he desired. In his every move, however casual, there was nervous self-awareness. Completely opposite to how confident he’d been before he met her.

She’d served the Fenrings before, and the Atreides after them, but until now she had never quite felt owned. Still, if it was a kitten the Harkonnen wanted, that was what she would provide.

Without addressing him, she stepped sideways and turned, letting her posture loosen. Her head tilted back in a light stretch to relieve the tension of expecting death. She moved in a wide arch, slow steps, small sounds, while her fingers traced the surface of the wall for no reason in particular, just to absorb its texture.

“Why do you want me?” she asked in a low and silky voice. Seduction seldom failed with arrogant young men.

“I told you,” answered Feyd rather too quickly, his head bowed as he pretended to clean one of his blades.

“You’ve never had a Bene Gesserit of your own…”

“And it’s about time to have one.”

“Would the Baron approve?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, finally looking up at her. He smiled at the sight of her slinking across the room, dark dress trailing behind her. “Things can change, even in House Harkonnen.”

She paused mid-step to smile back at him. “Changes awaken something in us…”

He gave a noncommital hum and started walking to her, his head tilted in a thoughtful way.

“What sort of things do they teach you?” he asked. “At your… Bene Gesserit school?”

“Many things,” she said with an inviting tone. “Control of the self, the mind, the body… Understanding of history. Political strategy.”

Feyd came to a stop before her, a trepidation into his step. He walked until he cornered her in a darkened divot of the room. Standing a full head taller, he looked down into her eyes.

“What do you want to know?” she whispered.

He frowned, that strange smooth brow ridge wrinkling quite innocently, and his eyes betrayed transparent thoughts. He didn’t know what he wanted to know, but he knew he wanted something.

“What does… a Bene Gesserit do?”

“That depends on what our master wishes.”

“But what do you usually do?”

“We teach. We advise. When asked, we serve.”

“Did Paul Atreides have one?”

“Yes. His mother, Lady Jessica.”

The hints of jealousy were faint. There wasn’t much to envy in the dead… But he looked at her with that strange look in his eyes again, that speck of a little boy lost, and something in her instinctively wanted to cup his cheek, to pet him, and hold him close. She did not doubt that something inside of him wanted it too, and her body was just responding to the subconscious observation.

“Can you kill?” he asked.

“If I have to.”

“And have you?”

“Not yet.”

“In that way, I’m better than you, Bene Gesserit,” he chuckled.

And suddenly, his hand came up to grip the back of her neck. She was startled by how quick the movement was, how his body gave no tells that he would make it. A true predator. He pulled her closer, strong fingers tightening against her nape, pressing her against him. Beneath his armour, the plates of his body were strong. Every feminine part of her responded with a cascade of lust — not at the hidden hint of beauty but at the symbol of his pride. He wasn’t just a pampered princeling living through his allotted years of beauty. He brought his body to the peak of its potential. The motion pulled the veil off her head, and his eyes went to her soft mane of hair. His grip stayed firm, but his gaze traversed this new part of her as if it were a landscape, with hills and dales and quiet streams, all flowing down.

“Na-Baron,” she whispered, hand coming up to grip his wrist.

“Shut up,” he said, blue eyes still focused on her hair. “Go to sleep.” And then he let her go.

He turned from her and walked away with the energy of someone ready to run off — but there was nowhere for him to go, and his steps slowed. She watched him as she rubbed the sore back of her neck, watched how his head bowed for a moment as if he’d just woken up, how he walked toward the large square bed, how he started taking his clothes off…

He was a strange sight indeed. A broken psyche that reflected the duality present in his features — cold and frightful, soft and gentle, brutal but not so much from the absence of affection as from the presence of cruelty on top.

“Where shall I sleep?”

“Hm? Oh…” He looked around as if only just considering that fact. “Whenever you like,” he said, giving up quickly on thinking about it. “But here, in this room. You don’t get out of my sight, little witch. Not until I decide I can trust you.”

He pulled the layers of clothes off. First the armour on his back and shoulders, then the belt around his hips, and the second skin of the black suit that hugged his body.

“And… what shall I wear to bed?”

He paused and turned to look at her. His chest was as white as his face, but strong and chiselled, far less delicate. It shone with the sweat of a long day beneath the yellow light.

“Wear?” he rasped, his lips twisted in a quizzical smile. “Why should you wear anything?”

She settled for sleeping in a chair in a corner of the room. Feyd had gone to sleep completely naked, and he’d not been shy of parading his body around. She watched without fear, without shame, taking note of all the ways his muscles worked, the stretch and give of the skin, the scent of sweat, of blood.

Noting how much he seemed to like her hair, she did not cover it again, and after he fell asleep she quietly took the top layer of her clothing off. The Harkonnens were used to having their servants quite exposed, but she was not about to give him cause to think that that was what she was. If she wanted to survive, she had to walk the tightrope of perception. She had to be above him, as well as below. A knowledgeable Bene Gesserit sister, with all the guileless charm of a kitten.

She remained in her shift, a long grey piece held up by two thin straps, and used her dress as a blanket. She did now sleep but instead pretended to as she entered a state of Prajna meditation.

The secret pathways out of the room became known to her, faint currents invisible to the conscious mind. A spy hole existed in the western wall, covered on both sides by thin material. To the north, a doorway with no handle led into another room. Beyond it, sounds of restless sleeping. Three figures — feminine? Outside, the guards stood watch, but one was close to sleeping.

She was almost at the point where exhaustion caught up with her too, and like a slow receding wave her meditation ended. Her body lay relaxed and limp, head resting on her shoulder, hands folded. But with the last thread of her extended senses, she caught the taste of struggle in the room. Rapid heartbeat, frantic breathing, shifting eyes behind closed lids. Feyd-Rautha was dreaming.

Soundlessly, she slid off the chair and left her dress on it. The floor beneath her naked feet was cold as ice, it made her want to shiver, but she maintained control of every muscle as she walked toward the bed. Feyd’s body was twisted in the silken sheets, twitching, tense. Jolts disturbed his restful state as if in his mind he tried to get away from something. She could almost see the phantom trace of touches on his skin.

He slept on his front, arms thrown above his head, legs spread. His tossing made the sheets slip off his back to reveal a taut, tense expanse that ended in soft cheeks. Beneath them, the faintest hint of hairless, purpling swells and a limp length. He was so vulnerable…

As she got closer, she could hear him mutter words in a foreign language. Was that what they spoke on Giedi Prime? She could make out influences of galactic language all the way to those of the old Earth, but it was just enough to only guess what he was saying. The tone, nevertheless, was clear. He’s afraid, she thought.

She crouched at the edge of the bed where his naked foot hung off the side, her brow crested with worry. He was dangerous, she dared not touch him, and however much she wanted to wake him as a simple human kindness she wanted even more to see where his nightmares led.

With a long and frightful wail muffled by the pillows, Feyd dragged his strong beautiful body upwards, curling like a snake. He pulled his knees up to his chest and started shaking. Every now and then, his foot would kick. The sign of running in a dream. The whiteness of his body, pure and pale as chalk, the hairlessness of even his masculine parts, it made him look so fragile, so defenceless. A fascinating specimen. To think, the step just before the Kwisatz Haderach would look like that...

She let her body fall down to the floor and propped herself against the mattress, her cheek upon the bed. And she watched him, following the shadow of his dreams, for as long as the night went.

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

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foolishxprincipalitee · 9 months ago

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I have the brand of autism where I can work customer service jobs but I also tend to start speaking like what media I'm consuming. Anyway, just know that at a hotel in Aotearoa New Zealand tonight a guest asked the front desk person if they were watching them struggle to park in the tiny garage on the cameras and the automaton currently being fed Arthur Conan Doyle replied, "Not with any judgement, my dear fellow, but only with sincerest commiseration."

#sherlock holmes #autism #my posts

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asha-mage · 13 days ago

Note

where are you on the 'is P Carlo' debate post DLC? feels like the issue only got muddier

Where I was before, which is 'P isn't just Carlo in a new Puppet body but he also isn't entirely a separate being- rather he is a little both and neither'.

I actually think the DLC in general did a really good job of maintaining ambiguity on the subject- enough so that everyone will walk away having their existing point of view affirmed. Two characters who knew Carlo extremely well (Rosaura and Lea) come to radically different conclusions after meeting P, while P himself gains more parallels and more contrasts to Carlo.

I've said from the beginning that Lies of P doesn't answer this question for a reason. In-narrative Gepetto is the only person obsessed with drawing neat lines between what is and is not 'Carlo', because the version of 'Carlo' he is chasing is one that isn't real. Gepotto wants everything to break down into clean neat rules, structures, and binaries. He wants P to just be a automaton copy of his son and useful vessel for carrying out his plan- it doesn't matter if he has Carlo's skills, bonds, memories, ergo. He is a Puppet and a Puppet Can't Be Human, and Carlo needs to be human, needs to match up this idealized perfect version Geptto has in his head, or else Gepetto won't have successfully erased his mistakes and gotten his second chance. Rather then drawing conclusions based on what's in front of him and living with ambiguity and uncertainty, Gepetto starts from his idealized world and his idealized son and works backwards, doing whatever atrocities are necessary to get to that romanticized vision, without any regard for what anyone else needs or wants.

That's part of the difference between Gepetto and Romeo in their pursuit of bringing Carlo back: Romeo would have been perfectly content with P and he valued P/Carlo's freedom and well being more then his own selfish desires, deciding to mercy kill him rather then let him be chained by Gepetto after he realizes he can't persuade P of the truth. Romeo makes his choices based on what is rather then recklessly and callously pursuing what he thinks should be.

It's also the difference between Gepetto's efforts to resurrect Carlo and P's resurrection of Sophia. P's gives Sophia new life not because he misses her or because of guilt or regret, but rather to set her free and finally give her the chance to live her own life, something the game telegraphs very heavily through the butterfly symbolism. Again he places Sophia's well being ahead of his own desires or feelings, something Gepetto categorically can not do.

Any clear cut answer to the question undercuts the point Lies of P is trying to make. 'P is Carlo reborn' undercuts P's central arc of slowly gaining humanity through building relationships and breaking free of the neat clean rules lain down for him by Gepetto, while 'P is not Carlo' undercuts his most important relationships and their character arcs, since if P isn't Carlo then the King of Puppets isn't Romeo and the new Puppet at the end of Rise of P isn't Sophia- meaning Romeo's desperate attempts to save P wheren't an active choice but him just following his pre-programming/the wishes of someone long dead and Sophia's isn't really set free, but rather a facsimile of her is created solely so P can feel better, which is the exact thing he just fought Gepetto about.

Instead Lies of P rejects the premise of the question, because it isn't important to begin with. P is both himself and Carlo, both a Puppet and human, both a lair and a hero. Whichever answer is technically true, nothing changes that P is inherently worthy of love, autonomy and respect- things that Gepetto denies him in every version of the story. P himself probably doesn't real know where he ends and Carlo begins and that's okay, because the bonds, both the ones from before Carlo died and the ones P built after he awoke, endure and give him reasons to keep fighting and growing and making the world better. It's those voices that call to him during the final battle to give him the strength to defeat the Nameless Puppet- Antonia, Eugénie, Sophia, Vegini, Romeo, and those relationships that matter.

Overture only reinforces this idea because it is all about P coming to terms with Carlo's past, confronting the grief and pain left behind by Carlo's passing, and figuring out what he can and can't do about it. Throughout the DLC everyone heroic wants to save somebody: Gemini and Alidoro want to save Lea, Lea and P want to save Romeo, and of course Romeo, we know, wants to save Carlo (which Gepetto will prey on), but pretty much no one gets to save anyone, at least not long term. But just because they can't be saved doesn't mean their lives don't have value and the struggles to preserve them don't matter. Those relationships and the ripple effects from the acts of kindness and heroism taken in their name matter and stretch forward in time. Lea still falls in the end, but Romeo was held by his mentor one last time before Gepetto got his claws into him, and Lea dies knowing that their is hope for the future- that the love and loyalty and kindness she gave to Carlo isn't just lost to the void, but is carried forward by P.

The exacts of who P is and is not don't matter. What matters is that he is loved.

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pookalicious-hq · 7 months ago

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blue velvet... jinx x reader

| 1.4. progress not perfection | prev | next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for eachother. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities word count: 6.4k

present day: age 23

The sea of bodies sucked you in from either side, a swirling tide of motion and sound. Figures twisted and jostled, their voices rising over one another in a cacophony of excitement as they vied for a glimpse of Progress Day’s marvels. The air itself seemed to hum with energy, the sharp scent of steam and fuel mixing with the sweeter notes of caramelized nuts and fresh pastries. Somewhere nearby, a musician’s lively tune spilled over the noise, adding a whimsical rhythm to the chaos. The skies above were dotted with colourful banners snapping in the wind, their vibrant hues adding to the sharp contrast of the gleaming metalwork around you.

You tugged your hood lower, the fraying edge brushing against your cheek. Your wings, folded tightly against your back, twitched with the urge to stretch, but you kept them carefully hidden beneath your cloak. You’d made sure to preen yourself before leaving—the careful shaking off of loose feathers, the smoothening of your clothes so no stray plume could give away your presence. The last thing you wanted was to leave a trail. This was one of those rare moments when you could blend in, wander the city unnoticed, a fleeting chance to lose yourself in the celebration. A chance to be anonymous.

Still, you allowed yourself a small indulgence. The half-eaten pastry in your hand was sticky, crumbs clinging to your fingers as you weaved through the press of people. The sweet, greasy scent clung to the air, masking the slightly metallic smell of the machines around you. Your sharp eyes flitted between the vibrant displays, absorbing the cacophony of sights: clockwork animals that chirped and hopped, automatons strumming clumsy tunes, and an inventor passionately proclaiming the future of pneumatic transport.

You couldn’t resist. It was too tempting.

As the inventor’s voice crescendoed into the dramatic pitch of a sales pitch, you let your fingers brush against the edge of your cloak, a small static charge crackling through the air. The spark zipped into the exposed wiring of the machine, and the entire contraption jerked violently. Its spindly mechanical limbs flailed, thrashing through the air, smacking into the inventor’s leg and sending him tumbling into the air like a ragdoll. He landed in a tangle of metal and steam, and the crowd erupted in startled laughter.

You grinned, stepping away from the scene before anyone noticed you had been involved. Mischief always seemed to find you when you least expected it. In a crowd like this, no one ever connected the dots—Piltover was too busy admiring itself to worry about one little disruption.

As you sauntered away, a small voice called out behind you, tentative and high-pitched.

“Um, excuse me, miss?”

You paused and turned, blinking down at the small figure tugging at your attention. The little girl, no older than seven or eight, gazed up at you with wide, earnest eyes. Her dirty-blond hair framed her face in soft waves, and her tiny hands were clutching something in front of her.

In her grip was one of your feathers, big and gray, its edges tipped with silver like moonlight on dark water. It shimmered in the light, reflecting the kaleidoscope of colours around you.

Your heart sank.

Shit.

You’d made sure to shake out your wings before you flew up—checked every inch to make sure there were no stray feathers left behind. So why now? Why this one?

“You dropped this,” she said, as if it were a treasure instead of an accident.

“Oh,” you started, trying to hide the momentary panic in your voice. You reached out to take the feather, tucking it quickly beneath your cloak as you flashed the girl a forced smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

For a moment, she hesitated, eyeing the hidden feather with wide, curious eyes. You bit your lip, embarrassment creeping up your neck. But you couldn’t help the soft, genuine chuckle that escaped you. “You know what?” you said, crouching down to her level and gently taking the feather. “Why don’t you keep it?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then her face broke into a smile so bright it made the noise of the crowd feel distant. “Really?” she gasped. “For me?”

You nodded, tucking the feather carefully into her hands. “Tell you what,” you said, leaning in close, your voice taking on a conspiratorial whisper, “this feather isn’t just any feather. It’s magical. I got it from a storm bird all the way in Ixtal.”

Her face lit up, her small fingers brushing over the edges of the feather as if expecting something to happen. “A storm bird? Like, one that makes lightning?”

“Exactly,” you replied, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “They’re rare creatures, and their feathers are said to bring good luck. So, if you keep this, you might just find yourself a little magic of your own.”

She gasped in awe, clutching the feather to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you very much!” she beamed, barely able to contain her excitement.

Before you could say anything else, the girl’s mother appeared, her hands already reaching out to tug her daughter away. The woman’s eyes flicked over to you, scanning you from head to toe with quick, dismissive contempt. The glint of judgment was unmistakable in her gaze.

“What did I tell you about talking to strangers?” the mother snapped, her voice sharp and cold.

You stood, pushing your shoulders back as the woman’s eyes took in your worn cloak and scuffed boots—your mismatched, patched-up appearance. The clothes didn’t fit right, and the grime of Zaun still clung to your skin like an old memory. It wasn’t lost on you how quickly people like her could size you up. You weren’t part of this world.

“Come on,” she said to the little girl, her tone softening as she tugged her away. “Stay away from people like that.”

The girl hesitated, clutching the feather tightly to her chest, her wide eyes locking onto yours. You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your heart.

The bitterness crept in slowly, curling at the edges of your mind like smoke—dark, lingering, and impossible to shake off. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it. That look. The judgment, the fear, the instinct to pull away from someone different. But something about seeing it in that little girl—someone so young, so full of wonder—made it sting more than usual.

Kids didn’t start out like that. They weren’t born to look at the world through a lens of suspicion and hatred. They didn’t come out of the womb fearing people they’d never met, or fearing the things they couldn’t understand. That was something that was taught. Something that was learned, and twisted, and fed to them like poison over time.

It was the system that did that. The walls that divided Piltover from the Undercity, the invisible lines that separated the 'worthy' from the 'unworthy.' Kids weren’t born knowing the difference between the two—they learned it by watching the way the streets were built, the way the towers reached higher and higher above the polluted depths of Zaun. They saw how people in the Upper City looked down at the world below them, how they turned their noses up, how they judged everyone and everything in it.

They heard their parents talk about 'the undesirables,' the 'unfortunate ones' from below. How they were a threat to everything Piltover stood for, how the poor, the outcasts, the criminals—those who lived in the shadows—were all 'dangerous' and 'dirty.' It was the kind of talk that seeped into a child’s bones without them even realizing it, until one day, it was as natural as breathing.

That same venom dripped into the veins of the next generation, and before you knew it, it wasn’t just the parents. The kids, too, started looking at you with the same disgust. The same fear.

But that wasn’t where it ended, was it? No. The system kept feeding into that fear, kept reinforcing the lies. In Piltover, it was about power and wealth, about who owned the shiny things, who had the money to pay for protection. And in Zaun, it was about survival. People didn’t get to choose who they became when they grew up. They either adapted, or they were crushed by the weight of the world around them.

It didn’t matter if you were born in the Undercity or the Upper City—you had no control over the cards you were dealt. But the kids, they didn’t know that yet. They didn’t know how the system stacked the deck before they were even born, how it trained them to see the world in black and white, to fear anyone who didn’t look like them, who didn’t have what they had.

The little girl’s eyes had been full of that. Her innocent excitement, all that wonder, until it was tainted by the shadow of her mother’s words. “Don’t talk to strangers.�� A simple phrase, but one that held so much more weight when it was uttered with disdain. It was a lesson wrapped in a cruel package: ‘People like you and me don’t mix with people like her. Stay away. Protect yourself.’

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t the little girl’s fault at all. You couldn’t blame the kids for the hate that was woven into them. They didn’t choose to be born into it. They didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was just how the world worked. The system taught them to fear, to distance themselves, and to ignore the humanity of those who lived beneath them.

And that was why it hurt so much. You’d seen the same pattern play out over and over, each time making it harder to believe that things could ever change. Because how could they, when the foundations of the world were built on this kind of cruelty?

You let out a slow breath, shaking off the sting of the encounter. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not today.

The thought barely had time to settle in your mind before a familiar shadow flickered across the ground, and a sharp, high-pitched screech split the air. You blinked, looking up just in time to catch sight of your falcon cutting through the crowd, her wings slicing through the sunlight like blades.

“Hey there, sweet pea,” you murmured with a half-smile, but something was off.

Instead of her usual graceful descent toward you, she veered wide, circling above your head in erratic loops. Her usual comforting presence felt distant now, her flight pattern erratic, as though something had startled her. You furrowed your brow, your fingers instinctively twitching at your sides, almost reaching for a weapon, but you held back, watching her every move.

Then you saw it.

Her talons flashed in the sunlight as they dipped lower, catching your eye. In the clutch of her claws dangled something delicate—too delicate, too out of place in this bustling crowd. You froze, every muscle in your body tensing.

A single strand of blue hair, eerily familiar, dangled like a silent warning from her sharp talons.

Your stomach churned, the blood draining from your face as a sick realization crawled up your spine.

Something had gone wrong.

As gracefully as you could, you navigated through the throngs of bodies. The air seemed to tighten around you as the crowd closed in, their cheers and chatter blurring into a dull roar at the edges of your consciousness. Every instinct screamed for you to break into a sprint, to push past the mass of bodies clogging the streets, but you forced yourself to move carefully, methodically, with purpose. You couldn’t afford to make a scene, not here, not now.

You adjusted the hood over your head, the fraying edge brushing against your cheek as you ducked beneath a banner strung low across the street. A vendor called out nearby, hawking some mechanical marvel, his booming voice cutting sharply through the noise, but you barely registered it. Your focus was locked on weaving through the shifting sea of people, each step measured, your wings pressed tighter against your back beneath the cloak.

The strand of blue hair swung like a pendulum in your mind, its presence as vivid as if it were still dangling before your eyes. Jinx’s hair. There was no mistaking it. The vibrant hue was burned into your memory, a colour that belonged to her and her alone. That single strand carried weight—a message, a warning, maybe even a cry for help.

Your falcon circled above, her sharp screeches drawing a few curious glances from passersby. You clicked your tongue softly, a signal for her to keep her distance. The last thing you needed was her drawing more attention to you.

Ahead, the crowd thickened near a towering automaton display, its gleaming brass limbs performing a mechanical ballet to the delight of onlookers. You gritted your teeth, scanning for a gap, anything to slip through without shoving your way forward. The anonymity Progress Day offered was a double-edged sword—perfect for blending in, but a nightmare when every second counted.

You slipped between two gawking spectators, their laughter grating against your ears as you brushed past. A child darted in front of you, clutching a toy bird that flapped its wooden wings. You sidestepped just in time, your heart racing as you narrowly avoided knocking them over. The mother shot you a wary glance, her hand tightening on the child’s shoulder as she pulled them away from you.

That glance stung more than you’d like to admit, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Jinx was somewhere out there, and something was wrong.

Your falcon screeched again, louder this time, and you couldn’t help but glance up. She was circling tighter now, her movements frantic, as if urging you to move faster.

“I know, sweet pea,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the clamour around you. Your fingers itched to do something—spark a current, clear a path, anything—but that would only draw eyes to you. You couldn’t risk it.

Not until you found her.

You quickened your pace, your movements fluid as you wove through the crowd. The sticky remnants of the pastry clung to your fingers, forgotten, as the urgency in your chest grew heavier with every step. Sorry Bluejay, I owe you one. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, every nerve on edge as you closed the distance.

Somewhere in the city’s maze of streets and alleys, she was waiting. And you wouldn’t stop until you reached her.

The further you moved from the festival’s epicenter, the air shifted, growing cooler and quieter. The cacophony of laughter, music, and sales pitches dulled into a distant hum, like a fading memory. You kept your pace brisk but not hurried, eyes scanning every alley and shadow for signs of trouble.

This part of Piltover, on the fringes of the Progress Day celebration, was practically deserted. Banners fluttered lazily overhead, their vibrant colours muted in the dimming light, and the scent of roasted nuts and sweets thinned, replaced by the faint tang of salt from the harbour. The cobblestone streets underfoot felt uneven, and less polished, as if the city’s shine didn’t quite reach this far.

The shipyard loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged and imposing against the horizon. Tall masts and metallic scaffolding stood like sentinels, their shadows stretching long and dark. A faint tension buzzed in the air, something too subtle for most to notice but unmistakable to you.

Then you heard it.

Bang.

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the empty yard, slicing through the quiet. Your heart jolted, and before you could process it, another shot followed, then another—rapid, erratic, like thunderclaps in a storm. The sound reverberated through the metal structures, amplifying its intensity, though you doubted it carried far enough to reach the festival crowd.

But out here, where the world had gone eerily still, it was deafening.

Your wings twitched beneath your cloak, your instincts screaming for you to take to the skies and close the distance faster, but you resisted. Drawing attention now, even in this desolate stretch, was too risky. Instead, you quickened your pace, your boots hitting the ground harder, each step echoing your growing urgency.

A scream tore through the air, shrill and desperate. The sound froze you mid-step, a cold weight settling in your chest. You knew that voice.

“Jay,” you whispered, fear threading through the name.

The screeching caw of your falcon pierced the air as she dove ahead, her wings slicing through the shadows like blades. Her presence was a beacon, guiding you toward the source of the chaos.

You rounded the corner of a massive stack of shipping crates, the metallic tang of gunpowder sharp in your nostrils now. The faint glow of flickering lamplight danced along the hulls of the docked ships, their reflections fractured in the water below.

And then you saw her.

The gunfire didn’t stop. It came in bursts, uneven and frantic, each shot like a scream.

Then came the actual scream.

High-pitched and sharp, it tore through the air and lodged itself in your chest. It wasn’t just panic—it was her.

Your pace quickened, every instinct propelling you forward. You rounded the corner of a shipping crate and stopped short.

She stood on the deck of a docked cargo ship, her shoulders hunched and trembling. Her gun—the one she never let out of her sight—was clenched tightly in her hands, the barrel still smoking.

There was no laughter, no sly grin, no sarcastic quip. Just frantic, shaky breaths and wide, wild eyes darting around like she couldn’t tell what was real anymore. Her hair whipped around her in the harbour wind, and her face was streaked with grime, sweat, and tears that carved clean lines through the filth.

Scattered around her were bodies, some crumpled and still, others groaning in pain. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid stench of gunpowder, clinging to your throat like a sickness.

You’d seen her like this before. Episodes like these weren’t new—they had haunted her for as long as you’d known her. Back then, you’d been younger, just learning what it meant to be her anchor. You’d sat with her through sleepless nights and shattering breakdowns, trying to soothe chaos you could barely comprehend. It broke your heart every time.

But no matter how many times you’d helped her through it, seeing her like this never got easier.

“Bluejay,” you sang softly, your voice careful, your heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst from your chest.

The sound of your voice snapped her head around. But instead of recognition, there was fear—raw, primal fear—and anger.

She spun toward you, lifting the massive weapon and pointing it at you in one sharp, fluid motion. The sheer size of it dwarfed her trembling frame, but her grip was iron-tight, her fingers dangerously close to the trigger.

“Don’t—don’t come any closer!” she yelled, her voice cracking like glass. Her wide, unseeing eyes locked onto you, her chest heaving like she couldn’t pull in enough air.

“I’ll blow ya to itty-fuckin-bitty bits!” she shrieked, her voice teetering between rage and desperation.

Her hands shook so violently that you almost flinched, but you didn’t stop moving.

“It’s me, Bluejay,” you said, your voice as calm as you could muster. You kept your hands visible, palms out, as you took a careful step forward. “It’s Y/n.”

Her breathing hitched. Her grip faltered, the barrel of the gun dipping slightly. Her gaze flicked over your face, her lips trembling as if trying to form words.

“Birdie?” she whispered, the nickname falling from her lips like a prayer.

You nodded, your heart squeezing at the small, broken voice she used. “It’s me,” you assured her, stepping closer. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Her arms dropped an inch, the gun lowering enough for you to fully see her tear-streaked face. She looked so small, so fragile like a child lost in the middle of a nightmare.

“Vi—” Her voice cracked, and her knees buckled slightly as she shook her head like she was trying to shake loose the chaos in her mind. “She wouldn’t shut up! They— They wouldn’t stop! They said I was—” Her voice broke entirely, her words tumbling out in a messy, disjointed rush. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean—”

Her words splintered apart, her thoughts shattering faster than she could hold them together.

You stepped closer until you were right in front of her, the barrel of the gun nearly brushing your chest. Slowly, carefully, you reached out and rested a hand on the weapon, gently guiding it down.

“Bluejay, look at me,” you said firmly, your voice steady but laced with warmth. “You’re okay. Whatever happened, I’m here now. I’ll protect you. Just like always.”

Her lip quivered, and for a moment, her wide, tear-filled eyes searched your face. Then the gun clattered to the deck with a metallic thud as she let it slip from her hands.

You didn’t hesitate. You closed the gap and wrapped your arms around her, pulling her trembling form against you. She collapsed into you, her knees giving out as she clung to you like a lifeline, her fingers tangling in the fabric of your cloak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, stroking her hair as her body shook with silent sobs. Your own throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The chaos around you blurred, fading into nothing but white noise. All that mattered was Jinx in your arms, her breath hot and ragged against your shoulder, and the quiet, desperate promise you made to her with every heartbeat.

For now, that was enough.

But the peace shattered as sharp shuffles of boots echoed across the dock. Angry voices followed, low and bitter, cutting through the thick harbour air.

“What the hell is wrong with her?!” one of the crew barked, his voice raw and wet with pain, clutching his bloodied side. His fingers dug into torn fabric, crimson dripping between them and staining the dock below. “You think this is a game?! She’s gonna get us all killed!”

“Useless,” another spat, his voice sharp as broken glass. His glare cut through the dim light, landing on Jinx like a predator circling wounded prey. “Always doing this shit! What good is she if—”

Jinx stiffened against you, her shallow breaths hitching sharply, each inhale sharp and jagged as shattered glass. Her trembling form grew rigid, her knuckles white as she balled her fists. The air around her felt heavy, charged, her anger flickering to life like a spark in dry timber.

“I’ll show you useless!” she snarled, her voice raw and splintering as she lunged toward the crew. Her face twisted into a storm of fury and fear, cheeks flushed, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Jay,” you murmured, your tone cutting through the crackling tension like a blade. Firm, soothing, and edged with unyielding control. Your arms tightened around her, holding her back with an ease that belied the strength it took to still her wild energy. “They’ll get what’s coming.”

She struggled, her body writhing against yours like a coiled spring, but you didn’t let go. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts, the sound raw and ragged in your ears. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to hers, forcing her gaze to meet yours.

“I've got it covered, Bluejay,” you whispered, your voice soft and steady, cutting through the storm in her chest. “They’re not worth your precious wonderful time.”

For a moment, the fire in her eyes flickered, the embers dulled by the weight of your presence. Her lip trembled, and her breath hitched again, less sharp, more uneven. Slowly, you felt the tension in her muscles loosen, though not completely fade.

But the crew, blind to the tempest brewing around them, kept going.

“She’s a damn liability!” one snarled, their voice dripping venom. “We don’t need her screwing up every—”

A sharp crack split the air, the wood beneath them splintering as electricity struck like a viper. The faint, acrid smell of scorched wood and ozone burned at your nostrils, mingling with the salt of the harbour breeze. Sparks danced at your fingertips, painting jagged, dancing shadows across the blood-streaked dock.

“You’re fucking crazy, watch it!” one of them yelled, their voice faltering under the weight of their own fear.

You stepped forward slowly, each step deliberate, the faint buzz of electricity humming around you like a storm building at sea. Your voice dripped venom, sickly sweet and suffocating as honey left too long in the sun.

“Did you forget who’s been cleaning up after your pathetic mistakes?” you asked, each word curling like smoke around their ears. “Who’s been saving your asses every time you screw up a job? Oh, wait.” You tilted your head, a mocking smile tugging at your lips. “That’s right. The ‘crazy ones’."

The crew shrank back, their earlier bravado dissolving under the weight of your words. Their faces twisted with unease, the fear in their eyes glinting like shards of broken glass under the dim, wavering lantern light.

“Let me remind you,” you continued, your voice a sharpened blade, “that without her getting to everyone first, you’d all be corpses by now. So maybe, just maybe , you should be grateful you’re alive to complain.”

One of them opened their mouth, a flicker of defiance flashing across their face, but you raised your hand again. Sparks leaped to life, sharp and bright in the darkness, casting flickering shadows that danced across their faces like wraiths.

“Not another word,” you cooed, your voice soft and poisonous. “Unless you’d like me to show you what it feels like to be really worthless.”

The crackling air hummed with unspoken tension as silence descended, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of Jinx’s breathing behind you. Her trembling form leaned into your back, her fingers clutching the fabric of your cloak like it was the only thing tethering her to the world.

Before the tension could snap further, the distant shouting of enforcers broke through the air. Their sharp, barked orders rang out like cracks of a whip, growing louder with every second. Beams of harsh, unforgiving searchlights swept across the docks, their light cutting through the murky night and scattering shadows in their wake.

You turned sharply, your gaze narrowing like the edge of a dagger. “We’re leaving,” you said coldly, the finality in your tone slicing through the rising panic like steel.

To the crew, you added, your voice dripping with the sweetest of venom, “Try not to get caught. Because if you do…” Your smile sharpened into something deadly. “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Without another glance, you turned back to Jinx, gathering her into your arms. Her head rested against your chest, her uneven breaths brushing warm against your skin. Her small frame trembled like a fragile bird caught in a storm.

The growing shouts of the enforcers spurred you into motion. You broke into a sprint, your boots pounding against the dock, each step echoing like a gunshot before you leaped into the air. Your wings unfurled with a sharp, commanding snap, catching the cold harbour wind and propelling you upward.

The air bit at your skin, the sharp tang of salt and smoke mingling in your lungs. The faint, distorted echo of festival music drifted on the breeze, growing fainter as you ascended. Below, the shouts and clatter of enforcers dulled with each beat of your wings, swallowed by the dark sprawl of the city.

“Hold on, Bluejay,” you murmured, your voice softer now, stripped of its earlier bite.

Jinx clung to you weakly, her trembling fingers gripping the fabric of your cloak as if it were her last anchor. Her breath was hot and uneven against your neck, her body curled into yours with a fragile, childlike vulnerability.

You tightened your hold, soaring higher into the night. The glittering festival lights faded into specks below, swallowed by the jagged edges of the city’s darkness.

For now, the only thing that mattered was getting her somewhere safe.

The noise was impossible to miss.

The air inside The Last Drop was thick, heavy with the pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, and something sharper—the metallic bite of shimmer, sharp enough to catch in your throat. The crowd pulsed with frenetic energy, a relentless hum of voices blending together, their laughter too loud, their words too fast, a chaotic blur that rang through the dimly lit space. The floor trembled beneath the thrum of bass from the jukebox, deep and vibrating, a constant undercurrent to the clinking of glasses, the slurred conversations, and the heat—an oppressive, wet heat that soaked into your skin, a heat that clung to your hair and stuck to the back of your neck.

You didn’t mind it. You were used to this. The noise, the crowd, the chaos—it had always been a part of your world. You’d learned to carve out little spaces of quiet, little bubbles where you could retreat from the noise, even in the most crowded rooms. Your fingers tapped idly on the edge of your glass, the sound of the condensation trickling down the sides almost lost in the ruckus. The glass was half-empty, a dull reflection of the mood that buzzed through you—too much, too fast, and yet never enough. You let the noise wash over you, the calls, the laughs, the heat of their presence pressing against you like an extra layer of skin.

Your smile was small, but it felt wrong, like an echo of something that used to mean something to you, but no longer did. It didn’t feel like it fit the moment, but you kept it there, polished and practiced, the same smile you’d perfected over years of playing a part.

You were the one they all watched—beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way they felt the pull of you, the way your power hummed beneath your skin, crackling like electricity just waiting to surge. Like bees drawn to honey, the crew and patrons swarmed around you, though most were too oblivious to realize it. They didn’t see that they were all just following orders, buzzing mindlessly through their routines, desperate to get closer to you. To take a little bit of what you had, to touch what they couldn’t reach.

As a child, the looks started off small—glances that lingered a little too long, just enough to leave a prickling sensation along your spine. And then there were the others—the more blatant stares, the open admiration that felt less like appreciation and more like an invitation to possess . They didn’t know it, but they weren’t seeing you . They were seeing something they wanted—a piece of the power that made your very presence dangerous.

You shifted in your seat, your hand brushing against the cool surface of the bar, and let your eyes sweep over the room again. A man—a stranger—was inching closer, slipping into the seat next to yours with that practiced, insincere confidence you had seen too many times before. His eyes didn’t meet yours; they moved over you like you were something to be catalogued, a thing to be desired, a game to be won.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, his voice far too smooth, too rehearsed. It wasn’t about the drink, not really. You knew that. You could hear it in the way his words came out, smooth but heavy with intent, the faintest trace of desperation hanging just below the surface. He was trying to draw you in, to make it seem like he was offering you something when, in truth, he was just hoping for something in return.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence settle between you, and when you finally turned your head, your smile never wavered. It was perfect—polite, cool, a mask you had worn for so long it almost felt natural now. But underneath it, you let the smallest hint of disdain curl in your eyes as you reached for the drink. Your fingers brushed the glass slowly, deliberately, holding his gaze as you did.

“On the house, huh?” you asked softly, the words drawing out, almost teasing. You took a sip, letting the cold liquid slide over your tongue, the ice cubes clinking softly in the glass. "That’s sweet of you."

The man’s smile faltered for just a moment—only for a split second, but you noticed. You always noticed. His hand lingered on the bar, just a fraction of a second too long, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, how he wanted to take more than just your attention. He wanted to claim you. But you were too sharp to let that happen.

You leaned in just slightly, your voice low, soft—but sharp enough to cut through the murmur of the room. “But I’m not interested.”

The man stiffened, his grin faltering entirely. For a second, there was an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, something between frustration and confusion. But he didn’t give up. They never did. They’d try again, maybe with different words, maybe with different promises. But the game would always be the same.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he muttered, and there it was—the line, the one they always crossed. “A couple of … things came to mind when I saw those wings of yours.” They thought they had you figured out, that you were just another pretty face, just another prize to claim. But they never realized the truth—they never saw the real you, just a reflection of their ideals.

Your eyes darkened as you leaned back in your seat, the glass in your hand tight enough to make your fingers ache. The words you spoke were soft, but they carried weight.

“Maybe I do,” you said. “Maybe you’re not as interesting as you think.”

The man’s face reddened, his words swallowed up by the thrumming noise around you. He muttered something unintelligible before standing and backing away, vanishing back into the crowd.

You let out a slow breath, the tension easing from your shoulders as you turned your gaze back to your drink. The amber liquid wobbled gently, catching the dim light in fractured reflections, but it didn’t hold your attention for long. It never did. The weight in your chest was harder to shake, a hollow ache that no amount of noise or drink could fill.

The game always ended the same way, with you sitting here, staring at the untouched drink like it held answers you’d never find. You didn’t know why it left you feeling like this—like a puppet with its strings cut, empty and slack after the show was over. The glass was cool beneath your fingertips, but your skin felt too warm, prickling with the phantom press of their stares.

What do they really want from me?

The thought slipped through your mind, bitter and sharp like the burn of strong liquor. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. You’d been asking yourself that question for as long as you could remember.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the room fade into the background. Flashes of faces blurred behind your eyelids, half-formed memories of people reaching for you, their hands outstretched, their smiles too wide, too eager. They’d always wanted something—a piece of you, a piece of your power.

But love? That was different. Love was supposed to be soft, wasn’t it? Gentle. It wasn’t supposed to come with strings attached or sharp edges hidden behind kind words. You’d seen it before, a long time ago, in a life so far removed it felt like it belonged to someone else.

You tried to picture their faces—the ones you’d called family. You tried to remember the way their hands felt, the warmth in their eyes, the way they laughed. But all you saw were smudges, shapes that shifted and blurred, fading like smoke on a breeze. The details were gone, slipping through your grasp every time you reached for them, leaving only the faintest impression of what once was.

Your fingers tightened around the glass.

You thought of love as something distant now, like a language you’d once spoken fluently but had long since forgotten. The meaning was there, buried somewhere deep, but the words never came out right. All that remained was the idea of it—bright and fleeting, like the glow of fireflies you’d chased in the forests of Ixtal as a child.

A faint, sharp laugh rang out nearby, pulling you back into the present. Your eyes opened, and the bar came rushing back—the noise, the heat, the press of bodies. It was all too much, and yet it felt like nothing at all.

Love wasn’t real here, not in places like this. Not in the way it should’ve been.

And yet.

And yet, there was one face that cut through the haze. One voice that could pull you back when everything else felt like too much.

“Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice called from across the room, light and sing-song, the words laced with just enough chaos to make the air buzz.

Her.

You turned your head toward her, and there she was, weaving her way through the crowd, her braids bouncing with every step, her grin wide enough to split the world in two.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know if it was the kind of feeling you’d been searching for or just another sharp edge to swallow, but when she was near, the hollow ache didn’t seem quite as deep. For a little while, at least, you could forget the faces you couldn’t remember and the love you’d forgotten how to understand.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

a/n: hi lovelies thank you so much for your patience <33 updates are gonna be a bit slower this time around since school and work sorry <3

taglist: @deathvidal , @stupendousbananasharkcop , @titusmouser , @itosh1teru , @0sunnyside0 , @pulcen , @chuucanchuucan , @fluffygreatness , @pebble-peddle , @brocoliisscared

#arcane jinx #jinx x reader #arcane x reader #powder arcane #jinx arcane #vi arcane #arcane s2

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thisonehere · 9 months ago

Text

To Deal with a Judas

A/n: Thank you so much, @unknown-niko, for this amazing idea. It is long over due that I write it for you.

Summary: You are there to witness Bi-Han's betrayal, and you act accordingly.

Tag: Mk1, MK AU, Request, long fic

C/w: Mention of blood and killing, Betrayal, Good-Bad ending

"Kuai Liang and I will capture him," Bi-Han's voice hung low as he stared at the entrance he saw the necromancer Quan Chi walk into, his new target. "Stay here, do not let them activate the soul stealer." Bi-Han ordered Tomas. He had had just clashed with thee of Shang Tsung and Quan Chi's most powerful lackeys, a vampire, a demon, and a collection of souls. He could feel his blood pumping, his heart racing, the adrenaline flowing throughout his body, and Bi-Han loved every second of it. He wanted to go after the sorcerers next, he couldn't wait to get his hands on the sorcerers. He'd them under a mountain of snow.

"And me, Grandmaster?" He turns and there you are, eagerly waiting for instructions. Bi-Han narrowed his eyes. "You..." He trails off, what to do with you?. Bi-Han was unsure on bringing you with him on this mission, you should be home, where you'd be safe. He thought you too inexperienced to join him, you might slow him down, hinder his efforts. But Liu Kang insisted, and now you're here. He looked you up and down with his judgemental eyes, not sure what to do with you, no doubt picking you apart and seeing every possible weakness you have that would make you a liability.

"You will stay here. Stay with Tomas and keep watching just in case any more minions come." His voice was stern and his gaze forbidding. Your shoulder slumped at this, you had hoped to go with Bi-Han and fight by his side. Make up for the earlier defeat. When Nitara swooped down and attacked, she had knocked both you and Tomas aside, you remained somewhat unconscious during the fight while he and Kuai dealt with her and Sareena. You felt so ashamed of it, you embarrassed yourself in front of him, mad yourself seem weak to him, that was one of the last things you wanted. "O-oh... Very well then. I won't let you down." Conviction and passion in your voice. Behind turns his back from you as he and Kuai climbed the steps and entered the building.

You and Tomas quickly went to work ensuring that the soul stealer remained inactive. You started lookout and Tomas took care of anyone who came close, which wasn't often, everyone seemed to stay in the building. Time went on longer and longer and there was no sign of Bi-Han or Kuai, you started to worry. "What are they doing in there?" You wondered out loud causing Tomas to know shrug. "No doubt Kuai and Bi-Han have already dealt with them." He said hopefully. But something kept tugging at your heart, something was wrong. Something happened to them.

---

"Soul Stealers are deadly, but they're not enough." Bi-Han growled to Shang Tsung. He and Kuai's hand were bound in chains, they had failed and they were captured. Kuai hated the smug look on Tsung's face as they were carried away. But he stopped thinking about that the moment the sorcerer began to try to tempt his brother to join him. Worse, Bi-Han seemed to be interested in this. He tried to intervene, he begged his brother not to listen to this snake, not even as much as the entertain the thought the server was trying to pour into his mind, but he was silenced by his own brother, his Grandmaster.

The halls were filled with the marching of General Shao's and the clanging of chain around his and Kuai's wrists. Kuai was desperate, not about breaking free from these chains, but stopping his brother from being beguiled by the serpent holding them captive. Tsung mused about Emperor Ying, specifically about his army. They entered a tomb, Emperor Ying tomb filled to the brim with a silent cold warrior. Kuai's eyes went this way and that as he eyed every statued warrior, the Dragon army. Mindless automatons that could unleash unknown destruction and the subjugation of realms. It all horrified Kuai, but the look on Bi-Han face horrified him more. He looked...impressed.

Bi-Han stared at this, he climbed the steps to meet Shang Tsung, and he offered his restraints to him. "BI-HAN, NO!!!" He cried, Shao's men jump to retrain him as he calls out to his brother. His ignored his brother as he shook hands with Tsung, a pleased smile hung on the sorcerers face. "Father would turn in his grave if he saw this!" Bi-Han froze at this, he quickly wiped around to face his brother, a vile sheer on his face. "He was a doddering old fool. He did us a favor having that accident, and I was right to let him die."

"Let him die? YOU SAID YOU TRIED TO SAVE HIM!" once again Kuai lunged forward and the Soldiers pulled him back. He felt evey dizzy. Kuai felt his heart slowly break, it felt like the world was going to madness. "A lie. Because you couldn't and still couldn't face the truth. Father had...had..." Upon instinct, Bi-Han caught a knife aimed at his head. All heads turned to see where it came from and there you were standing there, tightly gripping another of your throwing knives, ready to launch it. "Y/n?! What do you think your doing?" Bi-Han's softened for a second when he realized it was you who threw the knife. He stared at you for what felt like an eternity, then they slowly narrow in fury spat at you as he throws the knife to the ground. "You...You..." but he couldn't find the words. You just stared there as you locked eyes with your grandmaster and both of you stared at each other. You felt your blood run cold under his gaze.

Kuai immediately took advantage of everyone being distracted, he elbowed one soldier in the face and slammed his chains against the others. Blood spattered everywhere and everyone put their attention on Kuai now. The room erupted into chaos, everyone in the room didn't know who to focus on. You both raised hell, Kuai slammed his chains like a mad left and right while you threw your blades at every person you could make out as a target.

During the calamity, Kuai found Bi-Han and he charged at him. Kuai slammed his chains against Bi-Han so hard that Bi-Han slammed to the ground. He didn't get back up. Kuai raises the chains over his head and brings it down for another strike. He does it again and again, if he keeps this, he'll kill him. Rage filled him, all he could see was red at the moment as he was stuck in some sort of a berserker rage. A soldier ran at him, his sword thrown. Kuai spun around about strike but acted first and threw your knife clean into his head. "KUAI, COME ON, WE NEED TO GO!" You shriek at the top of your lungs.

At that second Kuai became aware of the now awakening Dragon army. Tsung activated them and now they had their eyes on him. He bitterly looks down at his unconscious brother, there's many things he is feeling right. But he can't figure them out right now, now he needs to escape. You both rush out of the chamber, as you do you hear multiple footsteps behind you but neither of you look back.

---

"This way!" You let Kuai into the Treasure Chamber. With his pryromancy, Kuai managed to melt the chains allowing him to free himself. Kuai spotted the unconscious bodies of Quan Chi, Rain, Havik and Darrius lying on the ground. You could feel his eyes fall on your quizzically as you both rush through the room. "I followed you into the building, they found me, I left them like this." You quickly explained to him as you guided him through to the nearest exit. He knew you were a competent fighter, he always did, but he never knew you were capable of this. He wants sti impressed by this, proud of you, but his mind was racing thinking about his brother. He tried not to think about it, it hurts to much to think about. He just forces himself to run faster.

In no time you were outside the main building where the cold wind greets you. By now you could hear the yelling of hundreds of soldiers scattering here and there trying to search for you. "Y/N, THERE YOU ARE!" Tomas called as he ran up to you. He was so worried for you, one minute you were right next to him, the next you were gone. "Where have you-" he froze when he saw Kuai was behind you. "Kuai? Where's Bi-Han?" At the mention of his name both of your faces darken. "He has betrayed us. We're all in imminent danger." With that, he rushes past you both, leading the way as you both run after him.

Kuai told Tomas everything, how he was captured, Bi-Han's betrayal, his involvement in their father's death, everything. You stay quiet the whole time. "Letting father die... Forsaking Earthrealm? He's abandoned for all reason." Tomas's eyes widen at every news and revelation. You noticed the cold wind beginning to pick up, it was like it was furious and was unleashing its wrath upon you all.

"I knew Bi-Han's frustrations run deep. But I never thought--" Kuai continued to talk but your mind began to wonder as you thought of Bi-Han. You threw a knife, you made an attempt on his life. Your blood still ran cold at the thought of how he looked at you. A look of both rage as well as hurt, as if your treachery hurt him on a deeper level. What was he going to do to you the moment he got his hands on you, you knew how brutal your Grandmaster could be. Your heart began to race, you felt confused, so lost, so scared. You were in over your head, you could just feel it.

"--But we are still brothers...and you, Y/n..." You hadn't realized that was still talking until both he and Tomas stopped walking. He had turned to you both, a hand on both your shoulder as he gave you two a warm look in his eyes. "Y/n, you have proven yourself today. I am fortunate to have you by my side." You stare at Kuai, unable to speak. You gently lay a hand on his, the warmth comforting you, almost making you forget your fears. No one has spoken to you like that in years. Bi-Han's words were always harsh and critical, it seemed to be the only way to show he cared, but Kuai's words were filled with love in every word.

"Do your Oaths mean nothing!" You all freeze as the snowy winds begin to clear and calm, and there Bi-Han. His fits clenched and a scowl on his bruised face. "It is your duty to obey my will!" Kuai immediately steps forwards determination and rage in his eyes. "Not if it betrays Lin Kuei principles. We won't sacrifice them to serve your ambition." Bi-Han's fists clenched even harder, you were scared that it would draw blood. Your eyes wandered all over Bi-Han, they fell on his fist. In one of them, he tightly held your knife. He growls as he steps forward just a little. He stares all of you in the eye.

When they fall on you, you felt your blood run cold. Who knew what he was thinking about. Maybe how he'd punish you, perhaps. Give you to Shang to be his new test subject, lock you in a deep dark cell and leave you there to go die alone, or maybe he'd kill you right now if he was feeling merciful. You gulped hard as you took a few steps back.

Not waiting another second Bi-Han lunged forward with your knife. Kuai charged as well, you and Tomas stayed as you watched brothers begin to battle. Bi-Han slashed at his brother with the blade this way and that while Kuai dodged here and there to avoid them. It was like the two were dancing, Bi-Han spun and slashed with his blade, leaving a flash trail of sliver as Kuai went here and there as he avoided the blade.

He tried to avoid every strike but he found himself getting cut. For a second, Kuai thought he had caught his brother's arm before where brought it down on him. But he realized too soon, Bi-Han had the blade in another hand. Kuai is slashed across the left eye. He screams as he falls to the ground clutching his. "End this brother, embrace the future!" Bi-Han said as he extended his hand to his brother, a crazed look in his eyes as Kuai stumbled to his feet. "I want no part of it. You pervert all that it means to be Lin Kuei!" Pulling his Kunai, Kuai clenched his fist and he tries to catch his breath. He clenches fist and attempts to steady his breath, fresh blood dipped from the cut over his eye. He clenches his fist over the Kunai as he stares down his brother, anticipating him to make the next room.

But you beat him to it. You rush forward and throw another knife; Bi-Han freezes as the knife lands...right into Kuai's right shoulder.

With a cry of pain, Kuai stumbled as he clutched at his shoulder. "I... I'm sorry..." Your voice cracks as tears ran down your face. He slowly looks back at, horror slowly turns to you. "Y/n...?" You fail to meet his gaze. He looks past you and he sees Tomas, barely conscious as Rain and Havik retrain him. "I said I left them like that, never that I beat them" you mumble under your breath. Kuai angrily rises to his feet. "Y/n, what are you doing! What is the meaning of this!?" You struggle to even look at Kuai, both out of fear but also because your vision was blurred thanks to your tears. Kuai's gaze softens on you for a second. "Why?" He asks, his voice filled with pain he clutches at his soldier "I-I love you Kuai, always...But my loyalty, so much of my love...is to your brother." The fortress feels like everything has gone silent. A betrayed and broken hearted look is painted over his face, first his brother, now you. Kuai didn't know how much more he could take.

The entire fortress shakes as the skies turn green, Tsung has activated the soulnado. In the distance Kuai can hear the marches of thousands of soldiers coming down to take him. Kuai stares at the sky as he realizes everything is crumbling around him. "Kuai, please. Surrender, I don't want you or Tomas to get hurt." Kuai clenches his jaw as he lowers his gaze to the ground.

---

The soldiers came and they took Kuai and Tomas away. He didn't look at you as they bound him and led him to no doubt a cell. But you didn't care, all you knew was he and Tomas wouldn't die and you found some level of peace with that. You stood there alone with Bi-Han as the cold winds blew your hair in the breeze. You back was to him, you didn't know what to say, what could you say? You had no idea what to do next, you just betrayed your home, Liu Kang, Kuai, Tomas, all for him.

"Y/n, look at me." Bi-Han's demanding voice finally breaks up the silence. Your heart beats against your chest as you face him. "Now, I want you to, kindly, Explain to me what in Elder Gods you were thinking! Making an attempt on my life, siding my brothers escape only to capture him again. Explain, Now." His eyes beat you down with sneer, it made it so much harder for you to speak. With a shaky breath you explained that after waiting so long outside and got worried, so you followed him into the building. Quan Chi found you and he told you that Bi-Han and Kuai were captured, that Tsung was plotting to tempt Bi-Han into joining his side. You knew Bi-Han would join him but Kuai would protest, You knew he would somehow break free and stop Bi-Han. So you came up with this plan to get him and Tomas captured.

"And why did you do all this? Did you not think I could handle my own brother." Bi-Han eyed you, offended. Making it much harder to say this next thing. "Grandmaster, I think you are a marvelous man, the greatest warrior I've ever known...but Kuai is stronger than you." You could feel the rage emanating from Bi-Han as you said this. "How dare you-" he began to storm towards you. "Kuai, easily overpowered you, General Shao, and Shang Tsung while his hands were bound!" Bi-Han now stood towering over you as you defended yourself, his eyes violent. "I am your Grandmaster! I had everything under control, how dare you think so little of me?" Normally you would cower in fear of your Grandmaster when he was upset, but not today, too much adrenaline rushed through you.

"No! I think the world of you! You are the greatest thing I've ever had the privilege to be around. I count my blessings every day that I have the privilege of serving you. I adore you, Grandmaster, I will stay loyal to you until the day I die and even then my soul will be yours." It felt so odd to finally confess to Bi-Han like this. But you were desperate, and scared even. You just wanted Bi-Han to succeed no matter what. As you sigh as you finish, you lower your head to catch your breath. Bi-Han just looked at you, his eyes narrow as if he's disgusted. You hold yourself as you begin to feel so crazy. "Forgive me, Grandmaster, I shouldn't have-"

"Bi-Han." He calmly interrupted you. "I-I'm sorry?" You noticed he's holding your knife by the blade now as he hands it to you. "You may address me as Bi-Han, you've earned the right." Your body shivers slightly as Bi-Han places a hand on your shoulder. He now looks at you differently, as if he's seeing you in a new light. He then walks past you, but before he leaves you, and turns to you, impressed. "Perhaps it was a good idea for Liu Kang to send you with me. I look forward to your continued service. Now, come, we have much to do with our new allies." He turns and walks away and you quickly race after him.

A/n: Don't lie, you were shocked by the twist. Just call me Miss direction... Or miss trust... Or miss demeanor, or miss serable

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