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free-for-all-fics · 2 years

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Namor fic ideas continued. Pls tag me if you write or get inspired by any of these. Like always, there are no rules. (Warning: Some of these may possibly have Dark! Fic leanings or potential and will be marked with 🥀. If Dark! Fics aren’t your thing, that’s okay. Just ignore those prompts. Please don’t harass me or others or start arguments in the comments. Thank you.)

1. A Beauty and the Beast and/or 1,001 Nights AU where Namor is full of bitterness and grief over what the colonizers did to him and his people, so he decides all humans are the same and has many killed in quick succession after one night with him, before sunrise. After her father does something to invoke Namor’s ire, Reader offers herself as the next bride/sacrifice to save her father’s life. After seeing the cave with the murals that Namor paints himself and realizing how much he cherishes stories, she gets an idea. During their night together, Reader begins to tell Namor a tale he’s never heard before, but she does not end it. The king, curious about how the story ends, is thus forced to postpone her execution in order to hear the conclusion. The next night, as soon as she finishes the tale, she begins another one, and Namor, eager to hear the conclusion of that tale as well, postpones her execution once again. This goes on for one thousand and one nights, during which they fall in love. Until eventually reader must confess to Namor that she’s run out of stories to tell.

2. Eros and Psyche AU with Namor and human reader. The plot is up to you. I just love this myth so much.

3. Reincarnation AU where reader has been reincarnated many times over the centuries and the many different ways she and Namor have found each other and fallen in love over and over again. Until maybe Namor finds a way to make her immortal-ish like him?

4. Reader is either fully Talokanil or Namor’s daughter and she was in love with a human until they died. "But I loved him, and now a piece of me is shriveled and dead." "No child, a piece of you has bloomed. It may be painful, but that is how we grow. You are a daughter of the ocean, whose love is infinite. Never lock your heart away, keep it open and facing the sun." Namor tells her. The waves cooed lovingly.

5. Reader is out at sea with friends/coworkers for oceanography or marine research and gets into a really bad situation when a Talokanil is accidentally killed by the people she’s with. She’s falsely believed to be the killer and brought to Talokan before the king to face sentencing and punishment for her crime. Oh no, how is she going to get out of this?

6. You’re an adventurer that finally discovered the location of the lost treasure your father died searching for. But you didn’t expect A. It’d be deep underwater. B. That there’s an entire kingdom full of people who live there and C. The treasure is guarded and protected by a feathered serpent god who may or may not try to kill you.

7. Even though you did everything you could, you’ll always regret leaving him the way you did. Every year since you parted, you’d go to the same beach for summer vacation. Now an old woman, you sit in a small, dilapidated hut by the sea, staring into the horizon. This time, you walk towards the surf, but it pulls back from where you step. "After all this time," you murmur, "He still does not forgive me."

8. Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box inspired: Namor and reader were once deeply in love and betrothed long ago; but before they were to be wed, something cataclysmic or catastrophic happened that jeopardized Talokan. Reader was going to stay by Namor’s side to help him rebuild and recover from the disaster, but she changed her mind and broke off their engagement, deeming it too unsafe for her to stay. She left Talokan. “If I remain here, all those dear to me will die. I’m sorry, K'uk'ulkan, but there’s someone else I love who needs me even more than you.” She had said. All this time, Namor thought she meant another man, that reader had fallen out of love with him. Despite what he perceived as her betrayal, he had written countless letters to her, putting them in a precious bejeweled music/puzzle box that was once a betrothal gift. He entrusted a Talokanil to deliver it to her, but the box kept getting stolen, and he lost hope it’d ever reach her. But what he never knew was that when reader left, she was carrying their child. He finds this out years later, when his daughter is an adult and finds him, bringing back the music/puzzle box he once gifted reader. Inside, It holds reader’s last letters to him, before she died. “My dear, K'uk'ulkan, are you well…?” It starts. (Or if you want it to end happier, you could do something where he and reader finally reunite. Maybe reader is still alive and older, but still as beautiful as he remembered her)

🥀9. A child has fun at the beach: building castles in the sand; trying to swim under the waves as they come in; running at the birds and scaring them into the sky, away from the bloated bodies still in their swimwear. Nearby, Namor pauses reading for a moment to call out, "Don't go too far, my child."

🥀10. Sort of Ring/Ringu inspired. Your mother went to the beach near her house every night. Until one night she came back, pregnant under unknown circumstances. During her pregnancy, neighbors would whisper that the father had to be something inhuman and kept their distance. After she gave birth in a cave, she left you on the beach and spent the night waiting for him to come. She was hoping you could be taken by the waves, and raised under his care. But when she returned in the morning and found you were still left there in the sand, she decided to care for you herself. When you were a child, you and your mother were strolling around the beach, when something or someone grabbed her and dragged her into the ocean, never to be seen again. You’d suddenly been left alone. This event caused you to develop aquaphobia and you spend years avoiding the ocean, still uncertain of who your father is, how you came to exist, or if what you witnessed was even real. Is what the neighbors had been saying true? Were they right to ostracize you and your mother out of fear? Was your father a monster of the deep, a sea demon? Did you inherit supernatural powers from him? You don’t have the answers for the millions of questions swimming in your head, until either your mother or father unexpectedly resurfaces, and finally reveals that you’re half-human, half-creature/mutant. Where does your life go from here?

#namor x reader #namor imagine #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor fanfiction #namor fic #random thoughts #random ideas #fic ideas #some of these I got from Reddit so I can’t take all the credit #don’t think too hard about it

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ariel-seagull-wings · 7 months

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THE MAGIC MIRROR

@princesssarisa @themousefromfantasyland @tamisdava2 @adarkrainbow @professorlehnsherr-almashy @the-blue-fairie @softlytowardthesun @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales

(A russian fairy tale from Aleksandr Afanas'ev's collection)

In a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there lived a widowed merchant. He had a son, a daughter, and a brother. One day the merchant was getting ready to sail to foreign lands to sell various goods. He planned to take his son with him and leave his daughter at home. Before leaving, he summoned his brother and said to him:

"I leave my entire household in your hands,dear brother, and I beg you to look after my daughter. Teach her to read and write, and don't lether misbehave!"

Then the merchant bid his brother and his daughter farewell and set off on his journey. The merchant's daughter was already of age and possessed such indescribable beauty that you could not find her equal if you walked around the whole world! Her uncle began tohave unclean thoughts that would not give him peace day or night.

He made advances toward the maiden, telling her, "You'll either sin with me or you won't live on this earth! I'll kill you and then run away myself!…" The girl ran towards the bathhouse with her uncle on her heels, and when she got there she grabbed a basin full of boiling water and soaked him from head to toe. He was laid up for three weeks and almost didn't recover.

A terrible hatred gnawed at his heart and he began to think of ways he could repay the trick with one of his own. He thought and thought, and finally wrote his brother a letter:

"Your daughter is up to no good, she gets around, never sleeps at home,and doesn't listen to me."

The merchant received the letter, read it, and became very angry. He told his son, "Your sister is shaming the whole family! She deserves no mercy: I want you to go home this very minute and chop the incorrigible girl into little bits and bring me her heart on this knife. Then our family name won't be the laughing stock of good people!" The son took the sharp knife and headed for home. He arrived in his hometown in secret, without anyone knowing, and began to investigate: how was the merchant's daughter really living?

Everyone unanimously praised her as a quiet, modest, god-fearing, obedient girl. Having heard all this, he went to see his sister. She was overjoyed and welcomed him with hugs and kisses:

"Dear brother! How did the Lord bring you this way? How is our dear father?"

"Oh,dear sister, don't be so quick to rejoice. My homecoming is not a happy one: father sent me with orders to chop your pale body into little pieces and bring him your heart on this knife." The sister burst into tears.

"My God," she said, "why such cruelty?"

"I'll tell you why!" said her brother, and told her about their uncle's letter.

"Oh, brother, I haven't done anything wrong!"

The merchant's son listened as she told him what had happened, and then he said, "Don't cry, little sister! I know that you're not at fault, and even though father told me not to accept any excuses, I still won't punish you. Better if you pack your things, leave our father's house, and go wherever your eyes lead you. God won't abandon you!"

The merchant's daughter didn't think about it for very long. She packed for her journey, bid farewell to her brother, and left. Where to, even she did not know. Meanwhile her brother killed a stray dog, cut out its heart, stuck it onto the end of the sharp knife, and took it to his father.

As he handed over the dog's heart he said:

"There, I've fulfilled your parental command and executed my sister." "Served her right," replied his father, "a dog like her deserved a dog's death!" For a long time or a short time the beautiful maiden wandered the wide world, and finally she went into a thick forest. The trees were so tall she could barely see the sky. She walked through the forest and suddenly emerged into a large clearing. In the clearing was a white palace made of stone surrounded by an iron fence.

"I'll pay a visit to that palace," thought the girl, "not everyone is mean, after all, so it should be all right."

She entered the palace, but didn't see a human soul in the halls. She was just about to turn back when suddenly two mighty bogatyrs galloped into the courtyard and entered the palace.

They saw the maiden and said, "Hello, beauty!"

"Hello, honorable knights!"

"Look, brother," one of the bogatyrs said to the other, "we were bemoaning the fact that we had nobody to look after things at home, and God sent us a little sister."

The bogatyrs let the merchant's daughter live with them, called her their sister, gave her the keys to the palace, and made her the mistress of the whole place. Then they took out their sharp sabers, stood chest to chest, and made a vow:

"If one of us dares to encroach on our sister's honor, the other will hack him up without mercy with his saber." So the beautiful maiden lived with the bogatyrs. Her father in the meantime finished buying goods overseas, returned home, and a short while later remarried. The new wife of the merchant was an indescribable beauty. She had a magic mirror into which you could look and find out what was happening and where. One day the bogatyrs were getting ready to go out hunting. They instructed their sister:

"Make sure you don't let anyone in while we are gone!" They said goodbye and left. At that very moment the merchant's wife was gazing into her mirror, admiring her own beauty. She said:

"There is none more beautiful than I in the whole world!"

But the mirror replied, "You are fair, there is no doubt! But you have a stepdaughter who lives in the thick forest with two bogatyrs, and she is fairer still!" The stepmother did not like these words at all. She summoned a mean old woman. "Here," she told the servant, "take this ring and go into the thick forest. There you will find a white stone palace. In that palace lives my stepdaughter. Bow to her and give her the ring, and tell her it is a present from her brother!"

The old woman took the ring and set off for the forest. She arrived at the white stone palace, where the beautiful maiden saw her and ran out to meet her. She was keen to learn news from her native land.

"Hello, granny! How did the Lord bring you here? Is everyone alive and well?"

"They live and chew bread! Your brother asked me to inquire about your health and to give you this ring as a gift. Here, put it on!"

The maiden was so happy, happier than words can describe. She took the old woman inside, gave her all sorts of food and drink, and told her to give her regards to her brother. In an hour the old woman pushed off for home, and the maiden admired the ring and decided to put it on. She did, and right away fell over as if dead. The bogatyrs returned home and entered the courtyard, but their sister did not come out to meet them. What was the matter? They went to her room and found her lying there dead, not saying a word. The bogatyrs began to grieve; death had taken the very thing that was most beautiful of all!

"We must dress her in new clothes and put her in a coffin," they said. They began to prepare her and one of them noticed a ring on the maiden's hand.

"We can't bury her with this ring, can we? We had better take it off and keep it as a memento."

They took off thering and immediately the fair maiden opened her eyes, gasped, and came to life.

"What has happened to you, little sister? Did someone come to visit you?" the bogatyrs asked.

"An old woman I know from home came and gave me a ring."

"Oh, you're so disobedient! Not for nothing did we tell you not to let anyone in when we're not here. See that you don't do it again!" A short while later the merchant's wife again looked into her mirror and found out that her stepdaughter was still alive and beautiful. She summoned the old woman and gave her aribbon, saying:

"Go to the white stone palace and give my stepdaughter this gift. Tell her it's from her brother!"

The old woman came to see the maiden again, persuaded her with all sorts of clever words, and gave her the ribbon. The girl was overjoyed and tied the ribbon around her neck. Right away she fell onto the bed as if dead. The bogatyrs returned from their hunt, saw their sister lying dead, and began to dress her in new clothes. They took off the ribbon and she opened her eyes, gasped, and came to life.

"What happened, little sister? Was the old woman here again?"

"Yes," she said, "the old woman from home came again and brought me a ribbon." "Oh, what will we do with you, little sister? We begged you not to let anyone in when we are gone!"

"Forgive me, dear brothers! I couldn't help myself! I wanted to hear news from home!" A few days passed and again the merchant's wife looked into her mirror. Again her stepdaughter was alive. She summoned the old woman.

"Here," she said, "take this strand of hair! Go to my stepdaughter and kill her once and for all!"

The old woman bided her time until the bogatyrs went out hunting and again went to the white stone palace. The fair maiden saw her through the window and couldn't help herself. She jumped up to meet the old woman:

"Hello, granny! How does God find you today?"

"Still alive, deary! I've dragged myself out into the world to come see you."

The fair maiden led her into the palace, gave her all sorts of food and drink, asked about her relatives, and told her to give her regards to her brother."

"Alright," said the old woman, "I will. And you, deary, you probably have nobody to search your head for lice, do you? Let me do it for you!"

"Go ahead, granny!"

She began to pick at the fair maiden's head and braided the enchanted strand into her hair. The maiden fell right over as if dead. The old woman cackled and left quickly so nobody would catch her. The bogatyrs came home and went into the palace. They saw their sister lying dead. For a long time they looked her over to see if there was something that should not be there, but they found nothing! So they made a crystal coffin, one so magnificent that you couldn't imagine it, one that exists only in fairy tales. T

hey adorned the merchant's daughter in a brilliant gown, like a bride on her wedding day, and laid her in the crystal coffin.

They placed the coffin in themiddle of the palace's great hall under a canopy of red velvet with diamond tassels and gold fringes, and hung twelve lanterns on twelve crystal columns. Then they wept bitter tears, for they were seized by a great longing.

"What do we have to live for? Let's do ourselves in!"

They embraced, said farewell, went up to the highest balcony, held hands, and jumped. They struck the sharp rocks below and thus ended their lives. Many years passed. A certain prince was out hunting. He went into the thick forest, released his dogs, separated from his huntsmen, and set off alone along an overgrown path. He rode and rode and suddenly found himself in a clearing and saw in the clearing a white stonepalace.

The prince dismounted, went up the staircase, and looked around the palace chambers. Everywhere he looked the palace was richly adorned, but there was no sign of a mistress' hand anywhere: it was all abandoned long ago! In one hall there stood a crystal coffin and in the coffin lay a dead maiden of indescribably beauty. There was a blush on her cheek and a smile on her lips, as if she were merely asleep. The prince approached, looked at the maiden, and stood rooted to the spot as if held there by an unseen force. He stood from morning until late evening, unable to tear his eyes from her, with a troubled heart. He was riveted by her maidenly beauty, more wondrous than you could find anywhere on earth! His huntsmen had long been searching for him everywhere, combing the forest, blowing their horns, and shouting for him. The prince stood before the crystal coffin and did not hear a thing. The sun went down and a thick gloom set in. Only then did he come around. He kissed the dead maiden and went back.

"Ah, your highness! Where have you been?" his huntsmen asked.

"I was chasing an animal and lost my way."

The next day, at first light, the prince went out hunting again.

He galloped into the forest, separated from his huntsmen, and by the same path came to the white stone palace.

Again he spent the entire day standing by the crystal coffin, not taking his eye off the dead maiden. Only late at night did he turn back for home. The same thing happened on the third day, and the fourth, and the rest of the week.

"What's going on with our prince?" the huntsmen wondered.

"Let's follow him, brothers, and make sure he's not in any trouble." So once again the prince went out to hunt, released his dogs in the forest, separated from his entourage, and set out for the white stone palace, this time with the huntsmen on his heels. They came to the clearing, went into the palace, saw the crystal coffin in the great hall, and their prince standing before the maiden. "Your highness! It's no wonder you spent a week in the forest! Now we won't be able to leave until nightfall, either!"

They stood in a circle around the crystal coffin looking at the maiden, admiring her beauty, and did not move an inch from morning until late evening. When it was completely dark, the prince addressed his huntsmen: "Do me a service, brothers, a great service: take this coffin with the dead maiden, bring it to my palace, and put it in my bedroom. But do it quietly, so nobody finds out. I'll reward you handsomely, with more gold than you've ever seen."

"Reward us as you will, prince, for we are glad to serve you!" said the huntsmen.

They lifted the crystal coffin, carried it into the courtyard, mounted it on the horses, and took it to the royal palace. There they put it in the prince's bedroom. From that day on the prince thought no more about hunting. He sat at home, not setting foot from his bedroom, admiring the maiden. "What is the matter with our son," thought the queen, "It's been so long since he's come out of his room, or even let anyone in. Has a sad longing overtaken him, or maybe some kind of illness? I should go and check on him."

The queen entered his bedroom and saw the crystal coffin. What was it doing there? She asked around and gave an order immediately to bury the maiden, as custom demanded, in the damp mother earth. The prince wept, and then went into the garden and picked some flowers. He took them to where the dead beauty lay and began to comb her light brown hair and adorn her head with the flowers. Suddenly the enchanted strand fell from her braid and the beauty opened her eyes, gasped, sat up in the crystal coffin, and said:

"Oh, how long I slept!"

The prince's joy was indescribable. He took her by the hand and led her to his father and mother.

"God sent her to me!" he said, "I can't live without her for a minute! Pray give us your permission to marry, dear father and mother." "Marry her, son! We shan't go against God's will, and you won't find a greater beauty anywhere in the world!"

Tsars don't waste time: on that very day there was a wedding and a great feast. The prince married the merchant's daughter and doted on her. Some time passed and she wanted to visit her father and brother.

The prince asked his father.

"Alright," said the tsar, "go, my dear children! You, prince, go by land so you can check on the state of affairs in our realm, and your wife will go by sea, a more direct route."

They prepared everything for the princess' journey, equipped the sailors, and appointed a general to captain the ship. The princess went aboard and they sailed onto the open sea, while the prince set off by land. The general saw the fair maiden, coveted her beauty, and began to make advances. What do I have to fear?, he thought, since she was in his hands, and he could do whatever he pleased. "Love me," he said to the princess, "If you don't, I'll throw you into the sea!"

The princess turned away without a reply, her eyes filling up with tears. The general's words were overheard by a sailor, who came to the princess later that evening and told her:

"Don't cry, princess! Put on my uniform and I'll dress in your clothes. Go out onto the deck, and I'll stay in your quarters. Let the general throw me overboard, I'm not afraid. I'll just swim to shore, since we're not far from land!"

They exchanged clothes and the princess went up onto the deck, while the sailor lay in her bed. At night the general appeared, seized the sailor, and threw him into the sea. The sailor swam and swam and by morning reached dry land. Meanwhile the ship docked and the sailors went ashore. The princess also disembarked, rushed to the market, bought herself a cook's outfit, put it on, and in this disguise went to work as a servant in her own father's kitchen. A short while later the prince arrived at the merchant's house.

"Hello, father!" he said. "Accept me as your son-in-law, for I am married to your daughter. Where is she? Hasn't she arrived yet?"

And then the general appeared with news:

"Your highness! A great misfortune has befallen us: the princess was standing on the deck when a storm came up and began to rock the ship. She began to swoon and was swept into the sea and drowned!" The prince began to grieve and cry, since he knew there was no return from the bottom of the sea. Her fate had been sealed! The prince stayed with his father-in-law for a few days and then ordered his entourage to prepare for the journey home.

The merchant arranged a large farewell banquet. All his relatives and the local merchants and boyars gathered for the feast.

His brother, the mean old woman, and the general were there, too. They ate and drank and refreshed themselves, and one of the guests said:

"Honorable friends! Why are we just eating and drinking? That's no good; let us tell tales!"

"Alright! Let's!" all the guests shouted, "Who shall begin?"

One guest tried but didn't know how, another was no better, and a third's memory had lapsed from the wine. What to do?

One guest chimed in and said:

"There is a new cook in the kitchen who has been to many foreign lands and seen many marvelous things. He's a master at telling tales!"

The merchant sent for the cook. "Entertain my guests!" he said.

The cook-princess relied:

"What shall I tell, a fairy tale or a true story?"

"Tell us a true story!"

"Alright, a true story. But with one condition: if anyone interrupts me, they'll get hit on the forehead with my ladle!" Everyone agreed. The princess began to tell the story of everything that had happened to her.

"And so," she said, "there was a merchant who had a daughter, and before he went overseas he entrusted his daughter to his brother's keep. The uncle was full of desire because of her beauty and would not give her a moment's peace…"

The uncle realized that she was speaking about him and said:

"These are lies, dear people!"

"Ah, so you think I'm lying? Here's a ladle to the forehead for you!"

Then the story came to the episode with the stepmother and how she questioned her magic mirror, and how the mean old woman went to the white stone castle of the bogatyrs, and the stepmother and the old woman shouted in unison:

"What nonsense! That's impossible!"

The princess hit them on the head with the ladle and continued her story, telling about how she lay in the crystal coffin until she was found by the prince, who brought her back to life and married her, and about how she set off to visit her father. The general knew he was in trouble and said to the prince:

"I'll be going home now, if you please. I feel a headache coming on…" "Sit a while longer," replied the prince, "you'll be alright!"

The princess began to tell the story of the general.

He couldn't stand it and said, "It's all lies!"

The princess whacked him on the head with the ladle. Then she cast off the cook's garments and revealed herself to the prince:

"I'm not a cook, I'm your lawful wife!"

The prince was overjoyed, and the merchant as well. They rushed to embrace and kiss her. Later they held a trial. The mean old woman and the uncle were shot by a firing squad. The stepmothersorceress was tied to a stallion's tail, and the stallion galloped across a field and scattered her smashed bones over the bushes and the gullies. The general was put in prison and his place was taken by the sailor who had saved the princess. From then on, the prince, his wife, and the merchant lived a long and happy life together.

#fairy tales #folklore #fantasy #literature #snow white

3 notes · View notes

lgg5989 · 2 years

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MavDad: Unsent Apologies

A/N: Here's the next installment of MavDad! Thank you to everyone for reading and your support. As always please leave ideas for future chapters in the comments! 💜

Warning: Angst (TO THE MAX)

MavDad Masterlist

Also on Ao3!

---

Bradley was convinced that he had been punished. He wasn’t sure what for but he couldn’t think of another reason the Navy would send him to the middle of nowhere Afghanistan. He wasn’t doing much in the way of flying and even when he was, there was never any excitement, it was always bombing runs.

He had shipped out here from the states almost two years ago and he was itching for a change of scenery. He had submitted request after request to be transferred to a different squad, to be placed on an aircraft carrier, to be stationed state-side, anything to get him out of Afghanistan’s beating sun. He might be a Californian boy, but even he had a limit to how much sun exposure someone could suffer.

It appeared that he was stuck. With no sign of getting out of the desert, he dug in and tried to keep his mind off his troubles. With unreliable phone reception and few people to call, most in the Navy themselves, Bradley settled for writing letters to keep in touch with people.

Phoenix wrote to him the most often of all his friends. While they were the closest in their friend group, they had made a pact that they wouldn’t cross any lines with one another. The Navy was work, and family for the both of them, and they weren’t willing to risk that for a night of fun.

—

Rooster,

I’m not sure what you did to earn a spot in the God-forsaken desert, but you must have pissed someone off. At least on this ship I get to pretend I’m on a cruise, you’re just surrounded by sand.

Our missions have been few but we have at least seen a few enemy aircraft while on patrol. Oftentimes they see us and bug out, there aren’t many people willing to go up against the F35, most don’t live to tell the tale, or so I have heard.

Did you hear that Hangman has a confirmed kill under his belt? He is never going to let us live it down. I did some digging though and it was a museum piece from the Korean War so honestly it barely counts as a kill.

I hope you have been keeping up your pool skills, the next time we are both state-side I guarantee I will beat you in our usual game. These sailors have confidence, but no skills to back up their egos, I am a very wealthy woman.

Anything new going on in BFE?

Phoenix

—

As Bradley sat, contemplating what he wanted to put in his answer to Phoenix, he found himself unable to write. He was distracted, his mind wandering to Mav, as it often did, sitting in the desert gave one lots of time to think.

After seeing him at the cemetery, Bradley hadn’t heard from him. The birthday cards and calls stopped coming, even when he was still stationed closer to home. He was angry with himself, for letting Mav leave, for being Rooster, and letting the opportunity to have his family back slip through his fingers. He was angry with Mav, not only for pulling his application, but also for giving up on him. Apparently the love of a father did not run that deep.

Making sure that no one was around, Bradley grabbed the shoe box out of the bottom of his locker. Inside he had the pictures of him and Mav from graduation, birthday cards, and letters. There were nine letters, all in Bradley’s handwriting, all addressed to Mav.

When Brad found himself with writer's block it was usually because he had something, or someone, else on his mind. More often than not that someone was Mav. Half of the letters were unfinished, usually getting crumpled up in a frustrated haze and thrown across the barracks. But Bradley could never stand to let them be thrown out, or risk them being found, so he would eventually pick up the crumpled ball, flatten it back out, and put it in his shoe box.

As he sat back on his bunk, the shoebox sitting in his lap acting as a small writing surface, he started to pen letter number ten.

—

Mav,

I’ve written this letter 10 times now and I still don’t know how to start it…Hello? What do you say to the man who you have been ignoring for 14 years? It feels like you have finally given up on me, and maybe you have a reason to. I haven’t been the best company, I haven’t been company at all really. I didn’t realize how much I relied on your calls until I didn’t have them anymore. I miss them, and, honestly, I miss you too.

Why did you hold my application to the Naval Academy? What did I do to make you go behind my back? Why didn’t you trust me to make my own decisions? At 18 I wasn’t a grown man, but I knew what I had to do in life. I knew what I wanted to do in life. Why did you try to take it from me?

Flying is the only place I have ever felt close to dad, and you knew that. You know that feeling better than anyone else. How could you expect me to give that up when you do it every day? What makes my case any different from yours?

—

Bradley dropped his pen on the bed, his hands coming up to rub his face, the heels of his palms pressing into his eyes until all he saw was white behind his eyelids. Every time he wrote this letter, tears of frustration were always begging to be released.

He needed to finish this letter, maybe if he actually finished one and got it out of his system then he wouldn’t have to write any more.

—

You said I ‘wasn’t ready’ but what does that mean? I have doubted my flying for years, thinking I’m not ready but I don’t even know what I’m not ready for.

I know that I haven’t been easy on you. Every opportunity you have given me to start the conversation I let pass me by, just like so many other opportunities in life. I can’t find the courage to initiate anything myself. Hell, I still don’t have the courage considering how many times I have written this letter and not sent it.

I’m stuck in Afghanistan, but I’m sure you already knew that. Whenever the Navy decides to send me state-side again, I want us to talk. I want our little family back. I know we are missing a few pieces, but I don’t want to think of what would happen if I wait any longer. If something happens to one of us before we can put this behind us, I’m not sure I would be able to forgive myself and it wouldn’t be fair to you. This has gone on too long, by my own choice, but I am done letting my anger keep me from having a relationship with you.

Bradley

—

Bradley carefully folded the letter into thirds before putting it in an envelope. Like all the others, he wrote Mav’s address at the hangar on it before moving to place it in his shoe box. As he lifted the lid, his CO came into the room. Bradley dropped the letter on the bed and stood at attention, “Sir.”

“At ease Lieutenant,” he said quickly, “Something has popped up on the radar and we need you up in the air, now.”

“Yes, sir,” Bradley said quickly, he ran out to his jet, performing his final checks quickly before climbing inside. Mav’s letter forgotten on his bed.

—

After a long afternoon of flying patrol, Bradley returned to the barracks worn out. He stripped out of his flight suit and grabbed a shower, trying to get all of the sweat and sand off of his body. When he opened his locker again, for a fresh set of clothes, he noticed that his shoe box was missing. Bradley panicked for a moment before remembering his writings earlier. His panic that the letter was gone spurred him into action, he made his way to the bed in only a towel. The shoe box was right where he left it, but there was no letter. Opening the box up he counted the letters, two, four, six, eight…nine. Where was the tenth one?

Bradley dropped to his knees next to the bed, the floor rough against his bare legs, thrusting his hand under the bed. When he felt nothing, he stuck his head under to make sure he hadn’t missed it. As he stood up, the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Williams.

Williams was a fighter pilot, call sign Redneck, he was from a small town in Georgia and he had the accent to prove it. Everyone on base had a running joke that the man needed a translator to follow him around.

“Williams, did you see a letter on my bed earlier?” Bradley asked him. Williams bunk was a few down from Bradley’s so he figured there was a good chance he would have seen it.

“Nah’ no lettah’, jus’ tha’ there box,” he said before opening his own locker and heading to the showers.

Bradley groaned, he quickly pulled on some clothes before heading to the mailroom. Someone must have grabbed his letter off his bed thinking they were doing him a favor. As he rounded the corner into the room in a rush, he almost took out the mail attendant, “Slow down Rooster, you already missed the outgoing for today, running isn’t going to bring it back.”

“Dammit!” he said under his breath, “Stevens, did someone bring a letter from me here?”

“As a matter of fact, your CO did. He said you were called out on patrol and he didn’t want you to miss the outgoing haul today,” Stevens said to him.

“Shit!” Bradley cussed again, turning around to leave, slamming his hand into the doorway.

As he made his way back to his bunk, his mind was running a mile a minute about what had happened. His CO shouldn’t have been going through his personal items! Well, the letter was out on the bed, but that’s no excuse! Maybe it won’t reach Mav? Maybe it will get lost before it can get back to the states? What if Mav didn’t respond? What if he had waited too long and Mav didn’t want his forgiveness? What was Bradley going to do now? He had promised in that letter to make up the next time he was state-side.

***

Ever since Bradley’s letter had been accidentally sent, he expected to get a phone call or text from Mav, but nothing came in. For weeks he slept restlessly, waking early, all of the questions and worries he had flying around his head wouldn’t let him sleep.

One particular morning, three weeks after the letter had been sent, his brain came to the conclusion that Mav had ignored him. Bradley had dragged himself out of bed and to the tarmac early, trying to keep the thought off his mind, running routine checks on his jet when his CO approached him.

“Rooster, it looks like today is your lucky day,” he said as he held out a piece of paper to Bradley.

“What’s this sir?” Bradley asked, as he looked over the document.

“You have a ticket out of this hell hole,” the older man said, disappointment in his voice, “You are being called back to Top Gun.”

Bradley’s heart sank. It was like some sick hand of fate had mailed his letter and was sending him home to deal with the consequences. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted a way out of Afghanistan.

“But..why sir?” his confusion, and apprehension, showing on his face.

“They don’t pay me enough to tell me those things, Rooster. Get your gear together and be ready for transport tonight, 2200 hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Bradley said, his mind beginning to whir again as his CO walked away, dismissing him with a salute.

He was screwed.

—

Mav was working on the P51. She needed some general maintenance done and he had put it on his list a few days ago. While his hands were in the engine, his mind was on the Darkstar project he had been assigned to a few years ago.

Today he was shooting for Mach nine. They had reached Mach eight a few weeks ago, but they delayed the Mach nine test in favor of making a few changes to the jet. At Mach eight they realized that the canopy glass was getting too hot so they changed the material to something that was more heat resistant, while also going through and ensuring that the plane was still flight ready.

Checking the time, he decided to head over to the hangar a little early for his flight. He had to do preflight health checks as well as aircraft checks and there was no harm in getting started a little early.

As he went to leave, he made a mental note to pick up the mail that he had the post office hold. He had been gone on a motorcycle trip the week before, using some leave he had accrued, and with no neighbors at the hanger, it was easier to just have the mail temporarily stopped.

***

All Mav could think about as he walked down the deserted highway was how nice a glass of water would be right now. He had ejected from the hypersonic jet before it could explode. The air had been thin and he struggled to take a breath until he was under ten thousand feet.

With the two times he had to eject from an airplane before, you would think that he would be used to it already, but this was something else altogether. He was moving so fast that when he ejected, he thought he was a goner. The fact that he had survived this was a miracle to God himself.

For a moment, when he had ejected, his life flashing before his eyes, all he thought of were the good times with Bradley. He wondered if the kid would care at all if he burned in, if he would cry at the funeral, if he would attend at all.

***

Following Cain’s orders to report back to Top Gun, Mav headed back to his hangar. He grabbed a quick shower, before packing a bag. He took a look around his trailer, unsure of when he would be back. He shut off all the lights before making his way to the Ninja, pulling off the dust cover.

As Mav guided the Ninja out of the hangar, closing the doors behind him, he wondered why Ice would call him back to Top Gun. Navigating the bike towards the highway, Mav made the familiar ride to North Island.

The mail sitting at the post office was forgotten, his mind too busy questioning the reason he was going back to Top Gun. One letter that had arrived about a week and a half ago was more beat up than the others. In fact, it had traveled halfway across the world, and was addressed from one B. Bradshaw.

A/N: The next chapter is centered around the TGM movie, if its not out tomorrow expect it on Fri-yay!

#top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #maverick mitchell #top gun fanfiction #rooster top gun #top gun #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #carole bradshaw #goose bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw

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ellayuki · 1 year

Text

24122022 - BBC Merlin

and the fairy tale continues (we're alive, we're alive, we're alive)

"Happy" 10th anniversary to the episode that broke all of us!

The first thing that happens, when they finally get back to Camelot, some long, tiring days later, is that Arthur sleeps for three days.

It worries everyone, worries Merlin more than anyone, for all of Gaius' reassurances that the king needs the rest after dying and then coming back to life, but in the end, Arthur wakes up, groggy and cranky with hunger, and no different that he'd been a week ago.

In the meantime, Merlin mourns.

Mourns Gwaine, when he learns of his death from Percival. Mourns even Mordred and Morgana and the kind people they used to be.

And he wonders what will become of him.

Because Arthur might have forgiven him with his dying breath, but that was then. And magic is still forbidden in Camelot.

("You worry too much," Gwen tells him, holding his hands tightly in her own like she hasn't done since before her coronation. "Arthur will change every law in this land before he puts you to death."

Merlin smiles weakly. He'd like to believe her. But, "I lied to him all these years. He said it's all forgiven but… how can things ever be the same again?"

She looks at him, something knowing in the corner of her smile. "Maybe things shouldn't be the same. Perhaps… Perhaps some change will be good.")

It's another three days before Arthur finally puts him out of his misery, when Merlin's already ready to head for Ealdor, never to return again.

"You've lied to me, for ten years," Arthur says from his throne, crown on his head, back straight, and Guinevere's hand in his. "Some of my advisors insist I try you for treason as well as for sorcery."

Merlin breathes. He stands alone in the middle of the gathered crowd, and he can feel every single pair of eyes on him like never before. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel afraid. He doesn't feel much of anything other than the way his heart beats in his chest at the thought that this is finally it. This is the day he loses everything.

But if he dies, then so be it.

He doesn't regret a single day of the years he spent in this kingdom, in this castle, at Arthur's side.

"If I'm for the gallows," he says, meeting Arthur's eyes and ignoring the murmur in the throne room. "Might I request an executioner's axe bring me a swift end? I know burning at the stake or hanging are the usual methods, but… I'd rather it end quickly."

Arthur frowns. "The gallows? Oh." He huffs, and something about it makes Merling blink. "Oh, you really think-" He huffs again, and shakes his head.

"Will it be exile, then?" Merlin asks, confused. Well, not that confused. Arthur is merciful, at least. More so than his father ever was. Merlin wouldn't have seen Arthur awaken from his three day sleep, had Uther still been alive.

All at once, Arthur's entire posture… deflates. "You really are an idiot," he says. He looks up for a brief second, like he's asking the gods for strength (which, rude). Then, he stands up. "How many times have you saved my life since you have been in my service?"

"I told you it's not-"

"How many times, Merlin?"

Merlin sighs. Shrugs. "Lost count, honestly. You have a tendency to attract danger that, quite frankly, has become tiring, Sire."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. The murmurings in the hall rise in pitch. "I see. And have you ever hesitated?"

Merlin straightens his shoulders. "Not even once. Even if you annoyed me to the edge of my tolerance half the time. Even if I was locked up in your damn prison cells or when you expressly forbade it."

"I understand." Arthur nods, then sits back down on his throne. "Alright. Well, that settles it."

Merlin catches the way Guinevere tries to smother a smile out of the corner of his eyes. And- "Sire?"

"Your punishment, and I will not hear a word against it," he says, directing that last part to the entire room, "will be thus: You'll live out the rest of your life as my manservant. I will not have you leave my sight from today on."

And it's… not what Merlin expected.

And it's everything he had hoped for, deep down. For Arthur to know him, and accept him, and not from him to the pyre.

He bows, deep, and for once, not mocking. "As you command. Thank you. Sire."

("Did you really think I'd have you executed or exiled?"

"It would have pacified some of your advisors and the nobles, Sire."

"...you really are an idiot, Merlin."

"Yes, yes.")

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #guinevere pendragon #by moi #fic #my fic #2022 fic #merlinfic #on ao3

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destinyimage · 2 years

Text

Satan’s Silenced You. Here’s How to Stop Him.

Do not leave quietly. Those four words possess untold power.

First, they are a command to launch the life you were born to live. Second, they are a warning of the perils of remaining silent.

You are at a fork in the road. You must choose wisely. One road leads you to horrendous punishment. The other takes you to untold rewards. That is why leaving quietly is the worst thing you can do.

Mordecai sent a message to Esther that contained another four words that jump off the page:

“If you remain silent.”

We have heard so much about the danger of speaking out. We are buried under words of advice designed to compel us to mind our own business.

We know all about the dangers of speaking up, but rarely do we consider the cost of remaining silent.

“If you remain silent.” Mordecai is telling Esther that disaster is looming. She is a key to preventing the disaster. And finally, disaster will come to her if she remains silent.

That is what I am also telling you, dear reader. Disaster is imminent in our nation, and you are a key to averting that disaster.

Here is the entire message to Esther from Mordecai:

Do not imagine that you in the king’s palace can escape any more than all the Jews. For if you remain silent at this time, liberation and rescue will arise for the Jews from another place, and you and your father’s house will perish [since you did not help when you had the chance]. And who knows whether you have attained royalty for such a time as this [and for this very purpose]? (Esther 4:13-14 AMP)

Here are the specific words of Mordecai to Esther that are the heart of this message:

For if you remain silent at this time, liberation and rescue will arise for the Jews from another place, and you and your father’s house will perish [since you did not help when you had the chance] (v. 14 AMP).

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He is warning her about what will happen to her if she does not speak to the king. In essence, Mordecai is saying, “Here is what is going to happen if you leave quietly: the life you are trying to protect will be destroyed. The possessions you are hoarding will be taken from you. In short, what you fear the most will come upon you. And the only way to protect everything you love is by facing evil head on and not running from it.”

God is saying the same thing to an elite core of American Christians. Esther faced a menace, and now so do we!

What is happening in America is not a conspiracy theory. A puppet president’s cognitive decline is being censored from the news. Any story or event that proves that the Leftist-Socialist narrative is a lie is being silenced. When thousands take to the streets to protest tyranny, it is blacked out by the news media. When you speak anything that opposes this Socialist takeover, Facebook and YouTube will ban you. The FBI hunts down parents who speak out against the sexual perversion and racism being taught to their children in classrooms. Those who oppose the vaccination are being fired, shamed, and led away.

Your lukewarm Christian friends tell you that things are not that dire, insisting that “it is all in God’s hands.” They abuse truth by denying that God needs willing vessels to save people from evil. We the Church are His body. We are His hands and His weapon to destroy the works of the evil one.

Then we hear the tired excuse that, “We should be preaching the Gospel, not politics.” Almost always that excuse comes from pastors who have been preaching everything but the Gospel.

Suddenly, they are evangelists!

But the true evangelists are the first to call for action against political tyranny. They realize that if freedom dies, we will not be able to preach the Gospel. Andrew Wommack said, “First we must preach the Gospel. Then we must fight to preserve the right to preach the Gospel.” (Later in my book, Do Not Leave Quietly, I deal directly with the subject of politics in the pulpit.)

But Esther was in no condition to receive this message from Mordecai, because her life was still a fairy tale. And she was in denial. We know this because she was aware of the genocide that Haman planned against the Jews even before Mordecai told her.

Esther 4:4 says this, “When Esther’s maids and her eunuchs came and told her [what had happened], the queen was seized by great fear. She sent garments to clothe Mordecai so that he would remove his sackcloth, but he did not accept them” (AMP).

Mordecai is wailing in the streets dressed in sackcloth. But Esther is still in denial and sends nice, clean clothes to Mordecai. She thinks that by dressing him up, it changes the situation. Denial loves outward appearances. I call those clothes “glad rags.”

Esther is a wonderful person, but in her current condition she is a threat to her own people. So it is today that we have wonderful preachers with good hearts, but in their current state of denial they are a threat to both the Church and America.

They know what our government is doing to the Church. They know very well the agenda of tyranny that is unfolding in our nation. The lockdowns, masks, forced vaccinations, control of the media, and sponsorship of looters and rioters are all clear to them. But still they persist in preaching sermons that put glad rags on Christians.

Again, I am not talking about bad people. I am referring to good people who are in denial. Yet even a righteous preacher can be poisonous! Proverbs 25:26 says, “Like a muddied fountain and a polluted spring is a righteous man who yields and compromises his integrity before the wicked” (AMP).

It is not the first time in history that this has happened. Wanting to look good in the eyes of an evil culture has been the downfall of many preachers. Charles Spurgeon said, “It is a very ill omen to hear a wicked world clap its hands and shout, ‘Well done,’ to the Christian man.”

Other Christians think declarations of authority, entitlement, and victory exempt them from the war to free our nation. “We’ll sit back and just watch God work.” This too is denial.

They nurse a myth that Communism cannot happen here. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, the famous Russian novelist, said, “There is always this fallacious belief it would not be the same here; here such things are impossible. Alas, all the evil of the twentieth century is possible everywhere on earth.”

Not only can Communism happen here, it is happening here.

And to deny it is madness.

But we also cling to the subtle and deceptive delusion that it cannot happen here because somehow American Christians are more valuable than Christians in the underground Church.

This tragic mutation of victory and blessing is rooted in defeatism. That is why they never take it to the streets. Much of the Church is like a platoon that has barricaded itself in the barracks and has never gone to war. Why? Because they secretly believe they cannot win. They can only carry on a continuous rehearsal for war.

Why will Esther’s punishment be so severe? The next phrase says it, “Since you did not help when you had the chance.”

Here is the truth! Of all the reasons God will punish the compromised Christians of America, this one stands out the most: “You did not help when you had the chance.”

The Church is crippled by two contradictory doctrines that frame America as either “not needing to be saved from tyranny” or that say, “America is too far gone to be saved.” Both extremes are the worst thing to say. They are the natural enemy of reformation and revival.

The Church in Germany, Russia, and China had one thing in common: they did not recognize the threat when they had the chance. They did not act while there was still time.

By the time you read this, the term cancel culture may be passé. I will use it anyway, because satan is using it, more than anything else, to destroy our freedom and our witness.

Do not be fooled by the fact that cancel culture seems currently to be more about books, words, and politics. Satan is doing something we see in old movie plots. The husband kills his wife, but also kills two other people chosen at random in order to make it look like there is a serial killer in the neighborhood.

If the Leftists were to openly cancel Christianity, it would be too controversial. So they cancel other things on their way to us. But make no mistake, we are the target, and we have always been the target.

When I wrote the book Vessels of Fire and Glory, it was to call a remnant out of the compromised Church. A key verse for the book was 2 Timothy 2:20-21:

But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay, some for honor and some for dishonor. Therefore if anyone cleanses himself from the latter, he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified and useful for the Master, prepared for every good work.

It is a fact that many nations throughout history, when they faced a grave threat, built elite fighting forces. God does that too. Vessels of Fire and Glory summoned that elite force out of the great house, the Church, that Paul said had vessels of both honor and dishonor. The promise was that if anyone would separate themselves unto God, they would become vessels of honor, “prepared for every good work.”

My goal in that book was to explain that God was drawing a core group into special intimacy with Himself in a way that would unlock strategies to save our nation. They must become an entirely new weapon. But what is that weapon supposed to do, and how is it supposed to do it?

If that book called you out of something, then this is calling you into something—the fray!

It was not fair that Esther should have to face such a massive threat. And it is not fair for you, either. But there it is.

As Shakespeare said:

“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”

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rowanrabbit · 3 years

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You are the strongest warrior in the land. The king of the gods, impressed with your power, summons you for an important task: The primordial giants of the bygone era—enemies of both god and man—have all been destroyed save one.

“Defeat this final beast,” he says, looking down from his throne, “and his reign of terror will end forever.”

You bow low before the king and promise to obey his command.

You travel to a range of mountains by the sea, to the top of the tallest peak. At its center is a deep crater filled with bubbling lava. Scraggly brown grass crunches beneath your feet as you approach the lip of the volcano, and you call a challenge down into the burning liquid below.

You stagger back as a black hand shoots out of the fire. A terrifying giant pulls himself from the mouth of the volcano, rising higher and higher until he looms over you. His skin is the color of coal, lanced through all over with long veins of smoldering red heat. His eyes are like twin suns burning in the center of his face, and his long hair and beard are composed of sweeping tongues of fire threaded with streams of thick grey-white smoke.

“What do you want from me?” he thunders.

“I’ve been sent by the King of the Gods,” you say, unsheathing your sword, making your intentions clear.

The giant closes his terrifying eyes. “So my son has sent you to slay me,” he says. “So be it. I grow tired of this world.” He turns his head to gaze out over the sea. “I no longer recognize it, and nothing ties me to it. The god-king betrays me and his mother is already dead.” He turns to you then and leans in closer, and you can feel the enormous heat rolling off of him. He points to a spot on his chest that glows huge and red-hot. “Here is my heart. Pierce it through with your sword and be done with your task.”

His unexpected speech touches your heart. How can this broken old man be the dangerous beast from the tales? You stay your sword.

“I cannot kill you,” you tell him, “or your sadness will haunt me forever.”

“There are worse things to be haunted by,” says the giant, but still you refuse. He bows his enormous head. “Will you be punished for failing your quest?”

“I’m supposed to return with your heart,” you admit.

He nods, and bends down to reach into the lava pooled at his knees, then straightens with a red-hot rock bigger than your head clutched in his fist. He reaches over the lip of the volcano, and you step back as he drops the rock onto the ground nearby. The scraggly grass beneath his enormous hand burns instantly to blackened crips. You marvel again at his size. You could sit in the palm of his hand if his molten skin wouldn’t roast you alive.

“Take this rock once it cools,” he says, “and tell the god-king it’s my heart. He won’t know the difference.”

You take a seat in the dry grass. “Will you speak with me while I wait? I don't know much about your kind.”

“As you wish,” says the giant. He tells you stories from an ancient age when the giants ruled the earth, and the new gods were not yet born, and the humans were barely more than animals, though all of that would change with time.

When the rock is cool enough to touch, you carry it back to the king of the gods, and offer it up as the heart of his father. The king is fooled, and you receive your reward.

And even though you’ve finished your quest, you find yourself returning to the peak of the volcano again and again, to hear more stories from the fire giant. He seems to enjoy your visits, though his melancholy is never entirely dispelled. You long for a way to comfort him. You wish you could touch him, but his burning skin would wound you too terribly.

One day you bring him unsettling news: The king of the gods has discovered your ruse, and he knows that his father still lives. You’ll be killed for deceiving him once you’re caught, and he’ll send more warriors for the head of the giant.

“If only we could hide, or flee,” you say.

“There may be a way,” says the giant, leaning close, his burning hair crackling around his face. “Far away over the sea is the land of the giants, the place where I was made long ago. The gods can no longer find this place, but I still know the way. In all these years I’ve never wanted to return, but now it could be a haven for us.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” you ask, impatient to be gone and beyond the reach of the king.

The giant leans closer still. “It’s not a place where humans can survive. In order for you to accompany me, you must be destroyed and transformed.”

“Then destroy me,” you say. “I want to go with you, however it must be.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure.”

So the giant seizes you in his burning fist, and before the shock of the pain can make you scream, he plunges you into the liquid fire at his feet. The pain you feel then is not physical, but something deeper. It’s not just your skin and your flesh and your bones that burn but your very soul, melted down into liquid and reformed into something harder and stronger, transformed into something alive with fire.

When he pulls you out of the crater, he holds you up in the palm of his hand, and steam rolls off of your marvelous new body. You’re made like he is now, molten black skin marbled with streaks of burning red. It is no longer blood, but fire, that runs hot and alive through your veins.

“I’m still small,” you say, and the giant laughs—a sound you’ve never heard before.

“You will grow larger with time,” he says. You stroke the skin of his palm, immune now to its immense heat. He leans in closer and you touch the skin of his face too, and run your hands through the flames of his hair. Cradling you against his chest, he carries you away over the sea, striding heedless through the waves, powerful enough to withstand the dark waters, steam billowing off of him in great clouds, taking you away to the land of the giants.

#short story #fairy tale #exophilia #giant/tiny #giant x reader #monster boyfriend

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malereader-inserts · 3 years

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Let Your Soul Breathe

Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale x Male!Reader x Crowley Summary: Life is suffocating, sometimes you just have to stop and relax yourself. Word Count: 1,355 Warning: Undertones of Blood, Injury, Depression, Self Harm.

The supernatural isn’t really limited just to demons and angels.

You would know all too well about them, from a young age you were an unfortunate son of one of the greatest hunters in Europe. Meaning, that you were to be trained under them. You hated your childhood because you didn’t get much of one.

The moment you were able to know what was wrong and right, you were taught how to handle a blade and how to handle a gun. You were still in school because your mother fought your father that you should have a basic education. She expected the best from you, after all, you came from a very strict household and as an only child - your parents looked to you as continuing the great name.

You excelled in school as well as your parents teaching you each supernatural. You could argue that you had a boring childhood other than the exposure of blood and murder at a young age. As you got to high school, most weekends your dad would take you to hunts to learn about the supernatural physically.

By the age of sixteen, as you were ending high school, you had already made a name for yourself in the supernatural side of life. The kid that was merciless, the kid that had no emotion.

You weren’t shy to kill, you never show any fear if you were caught out in a bad hunt. God wished to hate you but you were one of her dearest creation because after all, God is the only one who really truly see behind close doors.

How you often hate yourself, how you cry to yourself, how you would harm yourself if you did bad that day and your father wasn’t there to give punishment.

Creatures often hide among the shadows and hear how your father abuses you, shouting and smacking you. Even the evillest creature would flinch at the sound of contact and they fear you because of how you respond.

“Thank you sir for correcting me,” You had a dull tone.

When your father died alongside your mother, under mysterious condition, the supernatural had celebrated not for themselves but for you. Because tales had spread that you stood in the woods, unable to move, and actually appreciating the beauty of the woods.

For once, they heard you laugh.

They gave you a break, any monster would hate to admit that they cared a little too much about you.

You continued your education in peace, well, as much peace you could give yourself.

After all, you were still in that mindset that you were a hunter. So, even after excelling in your high school and sixth form, even earning your degree - you were still a hunter at heart.

As you grew up as a lonely man, you stumbled across a demon and an angel - the first to show empathy, well at least from the angel. And from years since you met, they were there pestering you.

Forming a friendship and a bond, eventually, a loving relationship.

They taught you many things, and that you don’t have to shoulder the world. It was almost as if God was giving you a present, forgiveness for the pain you had to endure.

“(Y/n), darling?”

Aziraphale walks into your apartment with Crowley right behind him, next thing he saw was one of your boots barrelling towards him. Crowley caught it effortlessly as Azirpahale had dodged impact.

“Leave me alone.”

They see that you have just returned from a hunt, you were tired and obviously angry. Most hunts, nowadays, were just you sleeping them off with minor injuries. It looks like you managed to cope with a bigger injury you had sustained, but you were in no mood for company.

“Yeah, no,” Crowley responded, throwing the boot to the ground as he grabs Aziraphale’s wrist to follow you to the bedroom.

“Clingy,” You shouted at them, slamming your bedroom door at their faces.

As they open the door, they managed to catch on to your slight muffled moan, telling them that you had jumped on your head as you lie down. Aziraphale sighs, shaking his head as he struts towards you.

“I’m cleaning you up, you cannot be in bed in these filthy clothes.”

“It’s had worst on here.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked.

“Like cu-”

“I think that’ll be enough,” Aziraphale interrupts as he lugs you up into a sitting position, “Crowley, my dear, fetch some clean clothes.”

“Sure thing, angel.”

You rolled your eyes, for a demon Crowley is surprisingly obedient, though you allowed Aziraphale to strip you down. He cringes at your wounds as he held his hand over your body, allowing his miracle to close them up for easy healing.

Aziraphale does not mention the cuts upon your arms, nor he mentions wounds looking like they were self-inflicted upon the thighs, he silently heals them knowing that he wouldn’t be able to miracle away the scars that will be left behind.

Aziraphale hands you to Crowley, who is less gentle than the angel as he dresses you up. Though, he doesn’t miss the chance to give you a boop on the nose and a sweet peck upon your lips.

“Bad hunt?” Crowley asked, getting himself comfy at your side.

“Bad day, bad week, bad month, bad lifetime,” You exclaimed, though there was no anger behind your words anymore, there wasn’t the venom that they were greeted moments before, “I cannot wait for the day I die.”

“Now, don’t be saying that-” Aziraphale scowls at you, but you merely waved him off.

“You often forget that I am just human, I will die eventually. And if not by my own hands than so be it rather a creature of the unnatural.”

“Sweetheart, that’s the depression talking-”

“Then let it talk, let it infest my mind and rot the insides. I rather be dead than live this shit life.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a pointed look, “Listen, babe, angel doesn’t have the best of words on this situation, he might come off as patronising but he means well.”

You grumbled as you turn your head to not look at your boyfriends, Crowley looks at Aziraphale who motions him to continue to talk.

“But, you shouldn’t be wishing your life away, after all, what is life if not lived at it’s fullest?”

“I never had the opportunity to do so,” You reminded them as Aziraphale placed excited hands upon your knees, making you look at him.

“Then, start now! It’s never to late too allow your soul to breathe. Tomorrow is a new day and I’m sure that the vampires, werewolves, and whatnot can find a new hunter to fight.”

“I can piss them off, entertain them, you know? You should really invite me to your hunts, babe, we’ll have a real good laugh.”

“Crowley, not now!” Aziraphale snaps as you chuckled, “Why don’t you sleep, we’ll be awake to watch over you.”

You were going to argue but there was a look in Aziraphale’s eyes that you did not want to tick off. You sighed as you shuffled down in the bed to lie down. Aziraphale lets out a joyful noise, you now understand why your demon boyfriend can be so obedient because your angel boyfriend can be terrifying.

They sit in silence, waiting to make sure you have drifted off to sleep as Aziraphale and Crowley lie on either side of you. Crowley messing with your hair as Aziraphale had a book on his lap.

“Crowley, dear, do you think he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine, (Y/n) is a strong lad,” Crowley replies, “Plus, he has us two, who better than us to take care of our dearest boyfriend.”

Aziraphale gives the demon a suspicious look as Crowley lazily smiles him off. Aziraphale knows that Crowley is up to something and yet he was somewhat terrified to know what it was.

So, you and Aziraphale pretend that you don’t know why the vampires, werewolves and whatnot are scared of a certain red hair snake demon, though it does fill you with entertainment to Aziraphale’s dismay.

#Aziraphale #aziraphale imagine #crowley x male reader x aziraphale #aziraphale x male reader #anthony j crowley imagine #anthony j crowley x male reader #good omens #good omens imagine #good omens x male reader #x male reader

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 3 years

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The shifting narrative of God’s interventism and how it reflects on the narrative on John

This post will ignore the issue authorial intent entirely because I can, but it’s also about authorial intent in a way, but I also don’t like to talk about things as happening “accidentally” because a) a serialized story like Supernatural, especially one that got renewed for much longer than anyone could possibly expect or hope in their wildest ambitions, structurally relies on serendipity, because that’s how stories work when they’re work in progress, b) a television show is an extremely multi-authored text and the chance that something happens out of the intent of any of the multiple layers of creators is kind of... statistically negligible. So, yeah, that’s my stance on the topic. Anyway.

The shifting narrative about God is simultaneously something that hangs on fortunate storytelling clicks on an essentially programmed narrative. At first, we don’t know where the fuck God is. Cas starts looking for him with little success. Raphael says he’s dead, Cas doesn’t believe it. Dean relates to his struggle because he knows the feeling of not knowing where the fuck your father is and going looking for him with little success, not knowing if he’s even alive. Then the theory that gets assumed as the truth is that God has left. He fucked off who knows where, who knows why, leaving his creation to struggle alone. Also essentially how Dean had felt after John had died; in that case there was guilt for his demon deal and everything, but the most cruel weight on Dean’s shoulder was that John left him alone to struggle with his devastatingly horrific instructions he doesn’t understand. The angels are also left with horrific instructions they don’t understand. No wonder Cas does his own ‘demon deal’ in season 6, as he desperately tries to do what he assumes his father wants from him, but he doesn’t actually know what that is.

“God has left” is maddening, and everyone is angry about it, but it has its own dignity. God has left us without clear instructions, we are confused and in pain and evil runs amock but at least, we suppose, the evil of it is our own doing. We are alone and we do our best, our best is simply not enough. We wish he gave us guidance, but he won’t. He wants us to figure it out ourselves, possibly. We don’t actually know what he wants. But maybe that’s the point. It’s possible he doesn’t even know what’s happening, he just has left the building entirely.

But then Chuck reveals himself. We find out that he never actually left. He was there. “I like front row seats. You know, I figured I’d hide out in plain sight”. He simply chooses not to intervene. He chooses not to answer. He chooses to be hands-off. He presents himself as a laissez-faire parent, because, he says, it’s better for his children to have the responsibility they need to grow up. He’s absent, but in a different way than we thought! It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s happening or isn’t interested in knowing what’s happening. He’s here, he knows what’s happening, he just stays there and watches as you stumble and struggle and scream. It’s worse, and it pains Dean so much he isn’t even afraid to yell at God. You know we’re suffering and you just don’t give us any support, any comfort.

You’re frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on, real hands-on, for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created... would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being overinvolved is no longer parenting. It’s enabling.

But it didn’t get better.

Well, I’ve been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it has.

Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you’re trying to justify it.

I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don’t confuse me with your dad.

At that point of the show, the writing team almost certainly didn’t have the s14-15 twist in mind. So this was probably intended to be Chuck’s truth. Later it gets twisted (retconned?) into a lie, but about that later.

Here, Chuck is really good at manipulating the conversation. Dean has a perfectly valid point, because there IS a middle ground between being overinvolved and not being involved at all. There is a middle ground between enabling your children and abandoning them completely. But Chuck hits Dean where it hurts, plays the emotional card, basically tells him that he’s too emotional to understand, too emotional to think rationally about it, because he mixes his feelings about his father to the issue and thus cannot see it clearly. He basically tells him he’s too close to it to get it. You don’t understand parenting, Dean, because you’re too blinded by your emotions about your own little life and cannot see the big picture.

It doesn’t really matter here if he’s telling the truth or lying, it already says a lot about Chuck that he’s emotionally manipulating Dean, silencing him by hitting the painful spot.

But the thing is, 11.20 immediately presents Chuck as a liar. He makes Metatron read his autobiography and the very first line is a lie (“In the beginning, there was me. Boom – detail. And what a grabber. I mean, I’m hooked, and I was there.” “I’m hooked too, and yet... details. You weren’t alone in the beginning. Your sister was with you.”) and the stuff he talks about his experience as Chuck is not exactly truthful about anything (“That, you know, makes you seem like a really grounded, likable person.” “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “You are neither grounded nor a person!”). Metatron calls him out (“Okay. There are two types of memoir. One is honest... the other, not so much. Truth and fairy tale. Now, do you want to write Life by Keith Richards? Or do you want to write Wouldn’t It Be Nice by Brian Wilson?”). Chuck SAYS he chooses truth and gives Metatron a different manuscript, supposedly containing the truth, to which Metatron reacts positively. Metatron believes it, and we believe it with him.

Oh! Oh, this! This is what I was talking about. Chapter Ten “Why I Never Answer Prayers, and You Should Be Glad I Don’t”, and Chapter Eleven “The Truth About Divine Intervention and Why I Avoid It At All Costs”.

Nature? Divine. Human nature – toxic.

They do like blowing stuff up.

Yeah. And the worst part – they do it in my name. And then they come crying to me, asking me to forgive, to fix things. Never taking any responsibility.

What about your responsibility?

I took responsibility... by leaving. At a certain point, training wheels got to come off. No one likes a helicopter parent.

This is sort of what he later says to Dean, except that to Dean he talks about “beautiful creatures” “my baby”, talks about helping, none of the harsh tone he’s using here. When Metatron accuses him of hiding from Amara, he retorts “I am not hiding. I am just done watching my experiments’ failures”. What a different language, uh? Then Metatron asks him why he abandoned them, and Chuck answers “Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me”. Then, he admits he lied about “learning” to play the guitar and so on, because he just gave himself the ability, and then appears to Dean and Sam, after Metatron’s passionate speech about humanity.

So, no matter the authorial intent at the time - the truthiness of Chuck’s words was already ambiguous. He kept lying and being called out, or silencing the conversation with some good ol’ gaslighting.

The season 14 finale introduces the big twist: it was, indeed, all a lie. The whole of it. Chuck didn’t abandon shit. It was all him, minutely controlling the narrative of the universe, putting the characters through all the pain and struggles for his own amusement.

The “absent father” narrative was a lie.

What does this tell us about John? Nothing, according to the authorial intent that shines through Dabb’s Lebanon. But we don’t give a crap about Dabb’s authorial intent about John! He’s just one dude and plenty of other authors have painted a different picture. So I’m going to read the narrative the way I want, because I can, and the narrative allows me to. It’s all there.

I’m suggesting that the fact that Chuck lied when he talked about being a hands-off/absentee father parallels how Dean and Sam prefer to think of their father as an “absent father” when that’s not exactly a reflection of the truth.

You left us. Alone. ‘Cause Dad was just a shell. [...] And I-I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe.

Setting aside how “I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” sort of retcons and cleans up the Winchester family picture painted by ealier seasons, the fact that John didn’t really count as a functional father figure and Dean and Sam were essentually alone is not incorrect or anything. It is true that John would leave them to their own devices a lot, thus the long stays in motels, the hunger, the food-stealing, and all. But John wasn’t always absent, at all. He trained them as soldiers, he disciplined them, he was around enough for them to be intimately familiar with what happened when he drank. He drove them around.

It’s almost like it’s preferable to Dean and Sam to spin their own “absent father” narrative, putting the accent on the time they spent alone, painting their childhood as a time they had to grow up on their own, rather than acknowledge they grew up under the thumb of a controlling, looming figure they would regularly live in fear of, even when he was not physically present.

The “absent father” narrative is what Dean and Sam need to use to avoid confronting the reality of the father figure whose moods and whims they had to dance around. “I know things got dicey... you know, with Dad... the way he was. And I just... I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should have. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, probably looked like I took his side quite a bit.”

John shaped their lives. He shaped their identities. Even in the episodes where he abandons Dean or both children somewhere, he’s portrayed as the figure who drives the car. He symbolically drives the car, you know? John shaped Dean and Sam’s relationship with each other, both on a surface level (the conflicts) and on a deeper level (the parental dynamic).

Heck. The entire first season of the show plays on John’s disappearance as the “elephant in the room”. John is there by not being there, you know? And after he dies, his death - his absence - is again the elephant in the room for Dean, the weight on his psyche that he shatters under.

It is not wrong that Dean and Sam had to spend long periods of time without John. But John structured their lives in quite minute detail. Where they needed to be, what they needed to do, what they must not do, everything had to follow John’s instructions. A drill sergeant, the narrative called him, ordering how his sons needed to live their lives. That’s no absence, except on a level where Chuck not showing himself and pretending he’s not there can be considered absent. That’s a presence, not necessarily always physical, but semiotical and psychological.

John is an absent father as much as Chuck is a hands-off god. He even writes himself into the story around the time Cas has the “season 1” phase (let’s go look for dad/let’s go look for god), which is when John actually was alive and appeared. Then he was no longer physically there, but he was still shaping his characters’ lives, just like he’d always done.

The “absent father” narrative on John is that - a narrative. Spun by the characters themselves because it’s easier and actually kinder on John. Or, better, it allows them not to be crushed by the psychological implications of having to accept that their father was such a looming, minutely formative figure in their lives. They know, but they can wave the “absent father” idea around to avoid thinking about it.

“I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” is something easier to tell yourself. I was the one who did it all. But he wasn’t, and that’s the problem. The fact that John was their father - Dean’s and Sam’s - is the problem. But ironically, blaming himself for every failure is a better option for Dean than fully acknowledging John’s abuse. As long as he blames himself, he has control over it. The moment he acknowledges the extent of John’s influence, he loses control over the entire narrative of his own identity and the family identity, the family dynamics. That’s scarier, just like realizing that God manipulated everything is much scarier than the alternative. “God abandoned us” was indeed a better option, and “John left us alone” was a better option. But neither was true, and the characters faced the implications of the cosmic level, but never got to face the implication of the familial level, because the narrative always danced around it and then Dabb’s apologist version “won”.

But what’s been put in the show is still there. The narrative of John’s abuse is still there. Nothing can take it out of the story.

#my spn thoughts #spn meta #dean and john #dean and sam and john #dean and chuck #dean and god #spn 11x20 #spn 11x21 #spn 14x20 #spn 12x22 #et alii #spn #long post

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sereisstuff · 3 years

Text

ɪɴꜱᴛᴀɴᴛᴀɴᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇꜱ

noun

plural noun: curses

a solemn utterance intended to invoke a supernatural power to inflict harm or punishment on someone or something.

Tale of the story: Jungkook; a demigod. Fell in love with a mortal, in most stories the mortals die. What makes you think this one is any different.

Plus size reader (Not implied, but I only write for plus size readers so any, and every story on my page that I’ve written is implied, plus-size reader)

Warnings: self-inflicted harm (not intentionally) mentions of blood. Swearing? very rushed. Little dialogue at times. Angst! Fantasy.

Inspiration was when I was staring out the car window like four hours ago, so do what you will with that information. Song's I recommend is a runaway from aurora and the seed.

Not proofread

Your hair bustled in the wind, mimicking the waves before them. A deafening shriek, melodiously flowing through the air as the heavy roars of Poseidon fell before you. Oh, how you wished this day could end, it was all due to your imaginative stupidity which led you to your untimely decisions. Your curiosity piqued a much greater meaning as you stumbled upon something you shouldn’t have, something so tender that not even your callous human hands could grasp.

It was a warm day when you stumbled upon Jungkook bathing under the waterfall, by far the most exquisite figure you’ve ever laid your eyes on. It was odd, he was handsome, so handsome your mind couldn’t comprehend his features. So defined in the most perfect places but even his flaws held beauty. Something you wouldn't ever say to yourself, you were so busy lost in his exotic features that as you examined him, your once starstruck eyes turned into shocked ones.

His feet replaced by fins connecting his toes, strong legs glistening under the water almost gloss like. If you hadn't gasped aloud, you wouldn’t have caught the creature's focus. His charismatic eyes faded into anguish and he held his breath as if you would slowly forget him, which you wish he implied on you at this moment.

Jungkook was a rather charismatic being, so full of life. He told you many things, the beings he encountered, his descendancy and you were absolutely enchanted by it all. Jungkook went from being the eye that captured you to the person you needed the most. So much had happened that the dangers you encountered soon became normalised. He wasn’t a god nor was he human, he was a demigod.

And you can recall the very moment he told you…..

“You know, I’ve known you for a while now. Yet, you still can’t give me a direct answer as to what you are? Who you are? You know so much about me but I know nothing about you” you asked, it was very true. You often got lost in your rambles that by the time he watched you walk into the night back to your residency, you no longer had time to ask him who he truly was, it was almost like you forgot. Every. Single. Time.

Jungkook stared at his reflection beneath him, toes curling just before the water and he wondered. Was it truly something he wanted you to know, did he no longer honour his people's secrecy, it was as if the water would always be a part of him and just like the tides. He was pulled from his desire to feel ‘normal’, that the other part of him wanted nothing more than to run from the ocean.

“I don’t know what I am either” he spoke, voice tough in correspondence “I’m many things, to many beings. I’m a prince to countless, an heir to others. A beast of life to some, but to you and your people, I am a demigod. A halfling cursed with humanity, I’m telling you this because as we’ve ventured, I’ve given you my trust and you’ve done nothing to betray it” Jungkook's voice was soft, as always. His curious gaze lifted from beneath his fallen hairs, strayed from their roots and moved like silk from his eyes as the wind touched his bristles.

Your bottom lip curled between your teeth in thought, it wasn’t hard to believe because at this point in time. This was the least likely to be the most unbelievable.

“If you're a demigod as you say, and your source correlates with the water. Does this mean your father is….poseidon?” came your question, your needy eyes now meet by his doe ones. His brows furrowed in response as if it was hard for him to communicate.

With his intense gaze, he nodded, ever so slowly. It was a painful nod, one stricken in fear. Jungkooks charisma faded into his clouded mind and you led him astray from his defences. He didn’t enjoy this, his shared vulnerability felt unnatural, it wasn’t the way he was taught. His humanity was often correlated with Beastiality by his people and the emotions that flooded his mind felt so distant to him. It wasn’t like he feared his people, he just feared their intentions with those who they didn’t deem worthy of knowing of them.

“Then why do you seem so human-like, is this my perception of you? Am I meant to know of your existence because if that’s not the answer, must I fear for my life” you asked slowly, making sure every word you spoke made it through to him, your tendency for empathetic traits seemed to come into play and by the looks of it? It seemed sickening to him.

The sun was led astray by the clouds and your moment was soon to end, the lake he visited you was by the ocean. Covered in a deep forest with a subtle pathway of dirt to lead you back home.

Jungkook let a giggle escape his mouth towards your idiocy “You don’t need to fear for your life as long as I’m here. My mother presented herself as a human during the time she met my father, a woman with such beauty had grasped his attention. It’s hard to say why I’m like this because she herself wasn’t a human. My father says it’s because the moment they collided was what I was imaged after but these days I don’t believe much from his mouth” a slight husk to his tone deepened at the mention of his father.

“As long as you're here aye? What are you, my protector? My guardian? Jungkook my saviour” you cooed falling helplessly on his hooded chest to lighten up his dampened mood. The information was enough to suffice your curiosity, just enough to vanquish your questions and you didn’t want to risk his sadness for your rambling mind.

Jungkook lifted a ringed finger, resting it on your head in a comforting motion. Surprising you. You sat awkwardly, legs laid upon each other as you laid on his thighs unintentionally “Protector has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He asked, his childish tone was back once more letting the serious resonance fade into the abyss of his mind once more.

“More like Jungkook the fish, when have you once protected me, it’s always me protecting you. Like that time a kid tried throwing water at you and I pushed you out of the way” You continued, feeling the heat of your cheeks fire in adornment, he never held you this intimately. Only a peck to those plush cheeks of yours and a hug, usually you were doing the hugging...

“You didn’t need to, I’m not a mermaid. A tale isn’t going to spontaneously pop out of my ass, you just made us both look like idiots” He laughed, sending you into hysterics “Let me have my saviour moment dammit, in my mind that was quite heroic of me don’t you think” you tried lifting yourself from his thigh but his grasp was too strong, that not even your head moved from his stoned hands.

“Not at all, heroism can’t even be the definition of what you did. Maybe embarrassment? Or, even better. Dumbass?” you shot up from his hand, defying his strength. Planting your hands to his side so your face was merely away from his face “I am not a dumbass, I did what I thought was right at the time, I should have let the water hit you, very very ungrateful if I may say so myself” you didn’t really notice the proximity at first, to fired in your own mind to notice Jungkook's doe eyes widen at the mere feel of your breath heating his cheeks.

Your ramble continued as he gulped, heated in nervousness. His eyes turning a pale blue, covering his chocolate brown eyes with a slight desire but mostly fear of his actions.

“Ah, y/n” he tried but you continued over him “-remember that time your fingers started doing that sticking together thing like a fin and I took my gloves off, mid-winter to cover yours which by the way. You never gave back, I don’t care because you can keep them but living under the water and all, I feel like I should have given them my final wishes at least”

Jungkook coughed, staring into your eyes, placing a soft hand onto your hips in hopes of it grasping your attention “By the way, were you trying to make a mako mermaid reference and I’m only just getting it now because that would make me feel like a dumbass, which I’m not. I’m not implying that you are either because you're smart but you're also a dick” Your words were switching so fast that he panicked and planted a kiss onto your soft plump lips.

Oh, how warm they felt, your eyes widened in shock. Feeling his soft lips move rhythmically against your own, unable to comprehend his movements as you stared at his thick lashes coating his lids, finally sinking into his tender touch.

Jungkooks fairly large hands are planted on your wide hips, his touch so tender in fear of hurting you. Even his kisses lingered on your lips as he struggled to move from their enchantment.

From that moment onwards you both lingered on the thought of it, treating the other more softly. Graciously, he treated you like a porcelain doll in fear of losing you. He always kept one hand clasped to your own, for what he called his mystical rope.

But moments like that also end in tragedy because even if you found love. Your demise soon followed you to your meeting place, in hopes of seeing him by the dock you awaited. Staring dreamily at the moon above you, your eyes playing with the stars surrounding it and your heart warmed at the tranquillity falling before you, everything seemed to be so full of majesty.

You were so lost in a daze that you didn’t notice the feet pandering behind you, a hooded figure stood before you, lips uncovered but eyes hidden in disguise. This moment wouldn’t have scared you, unmatched to yours and Jungkook's odd adventures, still, the knife they had in their hand glistened under the moonlight and that made your heart race scarcely.

“Y/n?” they asked, voice full of femininity.

You nodded, eyes in search of their own. “Lighten up, I’m not here to hurt you” they laughed, removing their hood painfully slowly, revealing a young woman. Mid-fifties with healthy skin and strands falling down her face with the colour of lightning streaks befalling them, her doe eyes and thin brows reminded you of something but as you gazed into her eyes, you felt the fear vanquish.

“Who are you?” you asked, it seemed as if you’d been doing that often nowadays.

The hooded woman sat beside you, her large, golden streaked blanket resting on her slender shoulders fell like a pool surrounding her due to its thickness. It seemed warm on the inside. “I am no one.” she gave, wisely making you roll your eyes “no one? Everybody's someone” you replied, disliking the ungiving answer she so happily gifted you.

Her slender jaw spread as she released a mocking laugh “Darling, some want to be perceived as someone. I am the embodiment of no one, by now I know your shock is an action of acting. I know of your adventures, I know of your discovery. So take me as I am because I may come back in a different form next time around; the concept of matter is how you mould it, when you are matter, you are anything.”

“You are no one” you repeated in hushed whispers, to which she hummed in reply “-yes, I come as a heathing warning for you my dear” her long black hair swished like magic around her but she was so unfathomed by it, by everything. You couldn’t even feel her energy, her being was untraceable, it was almost like she was a concept of unperception “a warning? First, you stand before me with a knife, then you lecture me on matter and now I’m receiving a warning for something I may not have even don-”

“No, not of what you have done. What you’ve meddled in, as you may know. The prince you're waiting for” she was cut off by you immediately “How did you kn-”

“I’m speaking” she demanded, she flicked her slender fingers in the with fast-paced movements, the advancement made your posture straighten and your mouth shut, ziplocked “I heath a fate made warning; A prince will someday meet his demise, secrecy is leaked and unfathomable death may plague all lands unless the loved are sacrificed. Unlike many, whom may not understand that. I come to you in the form he was conceived in, despite never appearing before him. I have come to you, I have deciphered the riddle for your understanding. Jungkook has always been the son of the cursed. Unless you sacrifice yourself for him”

“I know your love for him is prudent and rooted in for all of eternity so I ask you this? Is your love so strong that you're willing to lay down your life and wait for him in the next? Or are you so obsessed with what he is that your love is a manifestation of your unlived fantasies' ' she spoke with such anger, your breathing elevated as the moon disappeared within the clouds and her eyes turned a bright blue with black surroundings. Her hair floated in the air and she once more reversed her curse she placed on you, watching you fall to the floor, coughing from the unused air within your lungs.

“What’s it to you? Yo-you were never there for him. He grew motherless, your sudden support seems awfully unwilling” you screamed, her power raised the winds and the tides grew with it. “You know nothing of magick my dear, scream all you want but what’s set in stone cannot be changed by faith. I protect him from the shadows and nurture him from afar. He doesn’t need me, he’s a prince, a son of a god. He can handle himself.”

She stood, using her power to light up the sky around you in an array of lighting. Strong her movements were, the tips of her fingers swirled as a barricade of wind surrounded you both, blocking the outside world off, the anger rising around you couldn’t be heard from your standing point and your fear suddenly grew. Was what she said true? Were you merely going to be a sacrifice in fate?

“Do you love my son?” she asked, this time. Her hands placed on your cheeks, warming them and disclosing your fear. You didn’t hesitate, nodding your head almost immediately, causing her saddened doe eyes to close, squeezed shut in thought. Her cries kept from her throat and she apologised “I’m so sorry for this.” She whispered. Suddenly, her hands lit and your mind eradicated into an unfathomable pain, but just as it arrived. It also left and instantaneously you felt trapped.

You watched from within your eyes, as she gifted you her golden knife. Placing her soft forehead against your own, whispering sweet nothings until she backed away and looked atop into the sky before slowly disappearing into the air like ash.

“No, no, no” you repeated watching as you unleash a cut on your skin.

It was a quick, swift moment. The knife pierced at your skin and sliced your innocence, it was damn near painful but your mind was so overrun with memories that the pain you inflicted upon yourself felt no less painful than the crack in your heart. It was a damned ending from the beginning but just like most, happy beginnings end horribly because it’s too good to be near true.

You were mortified by what was to come but just like the pain of birth, the pain of new beginnings and the entrance to humanity. Death could mimic its transition and your boat was rocking. But you didn’t regret any of it, you knew the moment he told you of what was to come that this was your sacrifice, your tears watering the board creaking beneath you as the raging waves swindled the currents beneath you, at this point. It no longer felt like you were endangered by anything, your trapped consciousness merged into one and you walked to the edge of the dock.

Rivers of blood trickled down your arms and you cried from within, just a moment ago you awaited your love’s arrival but now you’ve become his only path of living. It was all unfair.

But just like that, your will vanished and you fell. The drop wasn’t too far but you did, your hair sunken into the water, the tides pulling you further beneath its weight and you felt weightless. It felt serene, the suffocation of your lungs was unkempt but then again, you couldn’t feel anything. Not even the siren screamed before you as Jungkook saw your floating body and silken blood dragging from your arms like leashes. The gash inside of your belly was doing its unholy work.

He had you in his arms, strongly wrapped behind your head and your waist as he stared at you, eyes stricken in fear and pain, shooting from the wanted with you in his arms, landing on any near-surface. Using his arms as a shield from your pain, he couldn’t understand the sudden change in environment but he knew of whom when he saw your floating body.

All he saw was red.

The rain began to fall from the sky, masking his hefty tears from his eyes. He couldn’t see your breathing so he reached a hand above your mouth, whispering incantations as his tips felt the water pile, lifting from your purple lips and a cough escaping your mouth.

“Come on, y/n. You can’t do this to me, not now” He cried sullenly, “please” he pleaded, resting a head on your cheek, the once tender warmth released with thin streaks of breathing and ice-cold skin, his cries mimicked the thunder as he rested his hand against your stomach praying to the ocean for strength, he no longer cared about himself because in a world without you, there wasn’t a world of hope. Of adventure, of love. He couldn’t bear the thought and if you left, he would too.

He screamed a growl like one as his hands lit in blue, heavy harshed breaths escape his mouth and his heart patterned. He didn’t care for the wind prickling at his raised hairs, the lightning striking before him because if he could save you, he couldn’t save himself.

“Please, breath baby. Please.” he sobbed.

The wounds barely healed as he leant an air against your chest, unable to hear your lively heart. Breaking him further “Why, why her out of all people. Why not me, out of all people you took the one person willing to love me” He wailed into the sky, falling against your corpse body. His tears falling against your salty face.

“Just five more minutes would have felt like an eternity more if you gave me the chance.”

He curled up beside you in the rain, ignoring the storm happening around him. His arm wrapped around your flat body as he sunk into your neck with loud sobs. His smile broke from him and the strings to his heart no longer played its serene melodies as he saw you, riddled with death.

It was churning, moments ago you awaited his love. His oddly cold warmth he provided and now you laid in the eye of all rage. Your thoughts are alive once more, but faintly. Just like the faint beat of your heart that caught the attention of your lover. His weakened hands pushed his body up and laid an ear against your heart, the strum of your strings beating once more gifted him something more, life couldn’t leave your body just yet.

His tears stuck to your face and the magic within them, secured into your veins and simultaneously he watched your wounds turn into sigils of protection, scarred into your body. Your breathing returned as Jungkook hovered above you, his fin-like hands placed beside your messy strands as he tucked the swindled roots behind your pierced ears, awaiting for your eyes to open once more.

“Am I just that important” you whispered barely, the movement of your lips made him laugh in joy. His breathing heightened as his chest pumped in and out.

He gripped your cheeks making you hiss in pain “shit, sorry” he muttered, still eccentric in glee. Just like the sea, you wanted to continue living so you fought fate. The comfort of your lovers' hands against your stricken features was extremely comforting and just like that, the heavy rain turned into hushed whisps.

“I promise to never leave your side again, never” he promised as he straddled your head within his strong arms.

“Fine by me” you coughed, voice still weakened by the taste of death.

Jungkook laughed, staring into the sky with hatred. One day he would get his revenge but for now, his focus was solely on you, and only you “I should have known better, I’m so sorry” he apologised frantically, you placed a hand on his naked arm, shocked that all this time he wasn’t clothed “It’s okay, Jungkook. It’s not your fault”

“You're wondering if I’m cold, goddamit y/n. You were dying and you're worried about me”

You shoved his head weakly “leave me alone, it’s hard not to worry about someone you love”

Jungkook pecked your cheek, tiredly “I love you too”

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sunlightwoo · 3 years

Text

san francisco vapor

☀︎ pairing: apollo!eric x fem!reader

☀︎ genre: reincarnation au, fluff and angst, slice of life au, greek mythology au, enemies to lovers au (sorta), immortals au (WARNING: mentions of arrows being shot from a bow)

☀︎ wc: 1383

☀︎ plot: It was coincidental that you ended up being in the mortal world because of the punishment that you had implemented on yourself. However, for some reason it seems as though fate had other plans, because now you were stuck on Earth with the one person that you were running away from in the first place.

☀︎ a/n: hey guys!! welcome to week 2 of my summer project, aka the storms of broken hearts collection!! for this week, this is my piece that is a part of @wavesmp3‘s tale as old as time collab, in which it is the modernized version of apollo and daphne’s myth. i hope you guys like this piece for this week, since next week i’ll be posting the prequel to ride along!!

STORMS OF BROKEN HEARTS | TBZ MASTERLIST

San Francisco, the Golden City.

You were currently writing the rest of the menu for your cafe onto the chalkboard that was supposed to be hung on the wall as you felt some sort sensation at the edge of your fingertips. The start of a new season was always an exciting time for you as the thought of the new customers that were already lined up at the start at the door after hearing about the new boba place that you just so happened to own.

After years of perfecting different recipes and creating different pieces of baked goods and drinks, you were finally able to open the little cafe that you named, Sunlight’s Apollo. The cafe was meant to heal people, as a way to put them at ease of their troubles and worries of the world, but for some reason you wanted to stick with the concept of the sun and Apollo since it felt more familiar to your heart that way.

You wanted to remember your first life, for as many centuries that you have remembered living through in multiple lives, but nothing had worked. Not a single memory of your first life could spark, and you wonder if it was because of something that might’ve happened back then that might be preventing you from remembering.

However, all that you could think of was how excited you were to open your cafe in a few moments of time, and how accomplished you felt for just doing so all on your own with the help of your friends that just so happened to be your coworkers as well.

The day already flies by like a blink of an eye as customers come and go, waves of these individuals rushing in and out of the small place with smiles on their faces made you feel pleased. You were doing something right, you think to yourself as you glanced at the clock to see that it was already 6 in the evening, the golden hues of the sunset falling in through the glass windows and into the place.

It was quiet and peaceful as there were probably four customers that were enjoying the last few sips and crumbs of their treats, your two friends already leaving since it was almost time for closing and you wanted to close for the night. You could’ve sworn that one of them, Sunwoo, had turned the sign to close, because the moment that you see the next minute pass by, a new individual walks in with a step in his pace.

You looked up from where you were cleaning the back counter to make eye contact with them, ready to greet them when you suddenly noticed something as soon as you locked eyes. A wave of nausea somewhat hits you as flashes of memories started to appear in your mind, from sitting by a body of water to being shot with an arrow that you presumed to belong to Eros, you assumed that this was your first life as you remember begging your father to turn you into a tree to run away from him.

Him, who had finally walked through the door of your cafe with pride on his face.

“It seems as though I have found you again.” He greets with a smile on his face, stopping in front of where the register was with a flower in his hand, and you could only let out a scoff at his manner, your entire happy mood from the entire day being ruined with his presence alone.

“You have some nerve to show your face here, Apollo.”

His human form seemed to scream everything about his God counterpart, which made you realize that it must’ve been the reason why the sun suddenly seemed brighter today and how familiar the name of your cafe seemed. Everything about him was everything that you could think of from all the times that you’ve described to your ‘friends’ the ideal boyfriend that you wanted, but it was all wrong in your eyes. You despised him for as long as you remember, and you could only think that it might be because of all the right reasons.

He seemed more confident in this form, ready to have stuff given to him at the tip of his fingers and you didn’t want to fall apart at that and become his victim. However, deep down on the inside you knew that there wasn’t a reason for him to show up unexpectedly if he didn’t want anything, and something in you had a hunch that it had to be about you.

“You can call me Eric, you know, just like how people call you Y/n, rather than Daphne,” He muses, leaning against the counter and you raise an eyebrow at how forward he was being, and for once you were intrigued with what he might’ve wanted, but it was all shut down with the next few words that left his lips.

“I want to talk about what happened to us, because it’s my fault that you ended up like this.”

Your face contorts with confusion with a hint of anger, eyes tearing away from his to realize that there weren't any more customers, but instead a locked door as it was now only the two of you in the cafe. Your eyes go back to his and there was something about the gaze of his that made you feel as though you should give him a sliver of a chance to explain, given that he had used all this time to find you once again in this life.

It wasn’t until you saw that there were two arrows that appeared into his hands and you recognized it to be the arrows that were used to be hit the day that it all happened; a golden one and a lead one. He holds them out for you to see and a moment of silence passes by, until he decides to break both of them against his knee and as if it were magic, all the hate and spite you held for him was gone.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why it had vanished, but you notice how his eyes had watered as he gazed at you with a longing look, making your heart beat louder in your chest as you weren’t sure what this could mean for you both. The silence felt overbearing as you didn’t know what to do, or whether or not you should move closer to him, however you could tell that there was some sort of tension that was present between you two that was ready to be broken by the sound of one’s confession.

“I spent millenia looking for you, from the moment that I heard you reincarnated… If I had known that I was the one making you suffer the entire time… I would’ve never tried Eros in the first place.” He whispered quietly, his voice slightly cracking at his own words and you could feel a lump in your throat as the urge to wipe his tears away felt overwhelming.

“I’m sorry that you suffered because of me.” You whispered back, looking away from him momentarily to collect your thoughts when suddenly he flashes in front of you as you blink, where you were now just inches apart from one another.

Everything seemed to flash in your own mind as you stared into his golden brown eyes, pieces of what could be your future together and it seemed risky. You were technically a deity, even though you had been reincarnated after being a tree for many centuries, and you could live for as long as you wanted if you stayed with Eric, but you wondered what would happen if you didn’t stay with him as well.

A touch of his lips onto yours had seemed to make your mind even more hazy as you felt as though kissing him was the missing puzzle piece your heart had been yearning to find. It was intoxicating, a vapor that seemed to have filled your lungs as you could only think that he was the one person that you wanted forever, no matter how bad your past might’ve been together.

“Want to start over again, and rewrite our history?”

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lacrimosathedark · 3 years

Text

Who'd like some good old fashioned name analysis?

Okay, so, I been doing so much research for Resident Evil stuff and learning shit about fairy tales and timelines and genome editing and searching for impossible Romanian poetry I got overwhelmed and went, fuck it. Why not just look at their names? Maybe I'll learn something there.

So, here I have done it. Name meanings for characters of the Mold Saga so far aka 7 and 8 aka Biohazard and Village.

(Sorry I'm on mobile I'll put a cut here when I can)

Ethan: Firm, enduring, strong, impetuous, long-lived. An incredibly consistently common and popular name. E name just like Eveline, so could be a successor of sorts to the mold.

Mia: Derivative of numerous other names of many possibilities. Mia as a word means “mine” in Italian and Spanish. Mamma Mia is a well known Italian phrase, particularly due to the ABBA song and musical of the same name, and it being the catchphrase of the Nintendo character Mario. The phrase means “my mom”.

Winters: First and last season of the year where everything becomes dormant and cold and either dies or sleeps.

Eveline: Contains “Eve”, as in both the biblical first woman. Also means a night before an event, and the game takes place in the span of one night. The name Eve means “ life”, “living one”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”. Another possible name origin is as a variant of Aveline, which is a diminutive of Ava, which is the same pronunciation as the name Eva as pronounced in Village.

Baker: Occupational surname. In older times consider an upper-middle class job, much like the family. Also adds the emphasis of the “food” and also how they essentially make more molded.

Jack: God is gracious, supplanter. A nickname for John and other related names, but also a name in itself. It is also a word with a couple meanings, including a heavy lifting tool, to steal something, to take control of something, or an everyman.

Margueritte: Pearl. French name for ox-eyed daisy. Derived from Margaret. Sounds like maggot.

Lucas: Light. Derived from Lucius which means “the bright one” or “the one born at dawn”. Luke is also an Apostle of Jesus and was a physician.

Zoe: Life. Came from the name Eve. Fitting as Zoe was practically pushed out of the family after Eveline’s arrival, replaced as the daughter of the family.

Joe: He will add. Was added as DLC. Short for Joseph. Joseph is the name of multiple biblical figures. One is a child of Jacob and Rachel and Jacob’s favorite son in Genesis (note: Jack is a nickname for Jacob) who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, but rose to become vizier, the most powerful position nest to the Pharoah, and forgave his family and brought them to Egypt. One is the husband of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who loved and raised a child he knew was not his against social norms. Another is a disciple known as Joseph of Arimathea who notably took Jesus down from the cross for his burial and testified when he revived and was gone.

Rosemary: Dew of the sea. Combination of Rose and Mary or the plant rosemary. Roses as a plant vary in meaning depending on color. Mary and its variations have many differing meanings, among them being, “beloved”, “love”, “bitter”, “rebellious”, “wished-for child”, and “drop of the sea”. There are also the allusions to Mary, mother of Jesus as she is sometimes worshipped with roses, and you say Hail Marys on your rosary which is only two letters from her name. In regards to the plant, it is relatively resistant to drought and cold, though some breeds are susceptible to frost and they don’t like too much water. They have fibrous roots, so they spread and fan out like we see with the mold. They thrive in more alkaline soils and seem to have been named by a taxonomist named Carl Linnaeus. In stories, folklore, and tradition, the plants or flowers are often used for remembrance, specifically for the dead. It’s also been used as a spice and in medicine.

Miranda: Worthy of admiration. Latin in origin. Character in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and whether she is a strong female character or not is highly debated, as she frequently defies men like her father, but often when they expect and/or want her to. She is otherwise compassionate and naive. The titular character of a Polish novel in which everyone is a mage and Miranda is a medium connected to another character, Damayanti, who is portrayed as the ideal woman and has a romance with the male protagonist, yet sacrifices her body so her spirit can experience a higher state of consciousness. Miranda can contact her soul, and disappears when she dies. Miranda in the US refers to the required practice by police of reading suspects their rights before interrogation.

Eva: Latin form of “Eve” and meaning “life”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”.

Duke: A ruler of a duchy. A title bestowed by royalty or passed through family, often given to royalty or nobility, but can be given to anyone. In France, the peerage system was abolished in 1789 (vive la révolution), brought back in 1814, and finally perma-abolished in 1848.

(Note: While the wife of a duke becomes a duchess, the husband of a duchess does not become a duke. At least, from what I gather. This shit is confusing.)

Alcina: Strong-willed. Greek origin. There are two operas using the same story about a sorceress named Alcina who lives on an island with her sister Morgana and seduces every knight who comes to the island, but turns them into plants, animals, or stones when she bores of them. When the source of her power is destroyed, she, her sister, and their palace crumble to dust. The Hungarian name for Alțâna, a commune in Sibiu County, Romania in the historical region of Transylvania.

Bela: Bela Lugosi was an actor who famously portrayed Dracula. His name is Hungarian and meant to be spelled Béla meaning “heart”, “insides”, or “intestines”, roughly translating to “having heart” or “having guts” in modern terminology, as in being brave. However it is considered a male name and as Bela is female there is also the possibility of the influence of the name Bella short an l, Bella an Italian name meaning “beautiful”.

Cassandra: The one who shines and excels over men. Name of a Trojan princess and priestess in Greek mythology. She was given her gift of prophecy by the god Apollo but, in most versions of the tale, he asks for sexual favors in return, and she initially agrees but then rejects him once she’s gotten her gift. In anger he cursed her to always tell true prophecies that no one would believe and was thus thought a madwoman. She served a temple of Athena, goddess of wisdom, handicraft, and warfare. When Cassandra was assaulted and possibly raped in Athena’s temple and dragged out while desperately clinging to Athena’s statue, Athena was so enraged by the damage done to her temple and/or her priestess that she enlisted the help of both Zeus and Poseiden to exact revenge on the Greeks for failing to punish the man who attacked Cassandra and caused the resulting damage. Zeus gave her one of his own bolts of lightning and she struck them down at sea. While Cassandra was never believed, she was always right.

Daniela: God is my judge. Feminine form of Daniel. Daniela is also a genus of moth with only one species in the genus, Daniela viridis. It is also another name for the Italian wine grape Prè blanc.

Dimitrescu: Child of Dimitri. -escu suffixes in Romanian are like -son suffixes in English, it derives from parentage (ex. Jackson is Jack’s son, Dimitrescu is Dimitri’s child). Dimitri means “devoted to Demeter”. Demeter is the Greek goddess of the harvest, agriculture, sacred law (i.e. cycle of life and death), fertility, and the earth. Like many Greek myths, she is repeatedly wronged, and rather severely, by multiple male figures. Demeter in particular is a mother who has her daughter Kore, later known as Persephone, stolen away from her and goes on a rampage searching for her and those responsible.

(Note: Considering the founders had these names it’s a bit dumb seeing as this trend of parentage -escu names supposedly came about mid 19th century (1800s for those who find that confusing cuz I do), long after the Village was founded)

Donna: Lady or lady of the home. Italian name and a title of respect. Derives from the Latin term Dominus. The Romanian form of the word (not the name) is Doamnã. The Atropa belladonna aka deadly nightshade have berries and foliage that contain tropane alkaloids including atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine which are extremely toxic and can cause hallucinations and delirium, but are also used in pharmaceutical anticholinergics. Throughout history people cluelessly used the berry juice as eye drops to cosmetically dilate their pupils, giving them a seductive doll-eyed appearance. Symptoms of belladonna poisoning are dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium, and convulsions. The plant's deadly symptoms are in atropine’s ability to disrupt the parasympathetic nervous system’s involuntary regulation like sweating, breathing, and heartbeat.

Angie: Diminutive of many names containing “angel”. Angels are messengers and warriors of Heaven, a realm souls go after death. Angel statues are also common grave markers. Children are also often told they have guardian angels, a being watching over them to protect them.

Claudia: No sure meaning has been found, but some think it comes from claudus, meaning “lame”, “limping”, or “crippled”, or clausus, which means “shut” or “closed”.

Beneviento: Good wind. Neapolitan spelling of Benevento, the name of both a province and its capital city, located in the Campania region of Italy.

Salvatore: Savior. Italian name. In the movie version (I specify as I have not read the book and the movie synopsis has more on the characters) of The Name of the Rose, the character Salvatore is hunch-backed and twisted, and has a history of not-really-acceptable religious beliefs. He was also tortured and falsely accused of witchcraft. He dies when a library is set on fire.

Moreau: Moorish, dark-skinned. French surname. Titular doctor in The Island of Doctor Moreau, in which said doctor performs disturbing and torturous experiments on people and animals, especially through vivisection, to make beastial humanoid creatures.

Karl: Free man, strong man, manly. Werner Karl Heisenberg was a German theoretical physicist who made notably important contributions to hydrodynamics, ferromagnetism, cosmic rays, and subatomic particles. Karl Marx was a German philosopher, economist, historian, sociologist, political theorist, journalist, and socialist revolutionary who believed societies develop through class conflict, and in a capitalist society this is the “ruling” class (the bosses) having power over the working class. He believed people should have equal footing and should and would inevitably fight for it. Karl Jaspers was a German existentialist philosopher and psychiatrist. His humanist ideals had him dissatisfied with the medical community’s approach to mental health and worked to improve it, and philosophizing on it after.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: Since I’ve seen accusations of the RE character and his influences being so, I feel I must state it here. Karl Heisenberg is NOT a Nazi. Both Heisenberg and Jaspers lived through World War II and neither were Nazis. Jaspers was blackwalled because of his Jewish wife. Heisenberg was forcibly drafted into the Army Weapons Bureau, but pre-war he had been repeatedly slandered as a “white Jew” and his career held back, and post-war became more political, worked against traditional primacy in the education system, and actively protested the government considering equipping the army with American nuclear weapons. Capcom reps have also stated that Karl Heisenberg has nothing to do with Nazis.)

Heisenberg: Calling mountain (could not find a specific definition, “heisen” means “to call” and “berg” means “mountain or hill”). Reference to Werner Karl Heisenberg, (explained above). Likely unrelated, but another well-known (in the US at least) name thief of Heisenberg comes from the popular TV show Breaking Bad as the alias/street name for the main character Walter White who takes the name and starts selling drugs when he is unable to afford medical care for his in-need child, but grows more twisted throughout the series. Also place name.

Berengario: Italian form of Berengar, which is derived from Germanic root words meaning “bear” and “spear”.

Cesare: Italian form of the Latin word Caesar, which is an imperial title like an emperor or empress. The word Caesar itself may come from caesaries meaning “hairy”.

Guglielmo: Italian form of the Germanic William, meaning “vehement protector” or “desired helmet”

Nichola: Anglicized form of the Greek Nikolaos meaning “victory of the people”. Also a variant of Nicholas (Considered a female variant but fuck gender roles and the description says he.). This character is also referred to as Father like a priest I looked into saints and while I found no notable Saint Nichola (meaning on Wikipedia) there are multiple Saint Nicholases, most notably Saint Nicholas of Myra, also known as the Wonderworker and the model of Santa Claus. Stories of him include gifting gold coins through a window of a home for three nights to prevent three girls from being forced into prostitution, calming a storm at sea, saving three soldiers from execution, and chopping down a possessed tree. More connected to where his treasure is found, there is also a tale of him resurrecting three children who had been murdered by a butcher who had had intended to sell their meat as “pork” during the famine.

*BONUS TIME*

By that I mean these are less important so I did slightly less research and/or didn’t feel like typing all the research so there’s less info, but it’s still relevant, so here you go!

Chris: A rare name in its own right, often a shortened version of names like Christopher, meaning “Christ-bearer”, and Christian, as in the religion.

Redfield: Literally red field. Fitting for the trail of blood in his wake because have mercy on any of his enemies, but regrettably including many of his friends and allies (rip in peace Piers Nivans).

Elena: Shining light. Greek origin.

Leonardo: Strong as a lion. Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese version of Leonard.

Lupu: Wolf. Romanian surname. Fitting as the surname of the man we saw become a lycan before our eyes.

Luiza: Renowned warrior. Polish, Portuguese, and Romanian name.

Iulian: Romanian name from the Greek iulius meaning “youthful” or “juvenile”, or ioulos meaning “downy-bearded”.

Vasile: Romanian name from the Greek basileus meaning ”king”. Vasile Voiculescu wrote a poem called Schimnicul, The Recluse in English, about varcolacul.

(Note: For those who don’t recall or didn’t notice his name in Ethan’s diary, this is Luiza’s husband.)

Rolando: Famous throughout the land. Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese variant of Roland.

Elba: Spanish form of Alba, which can mean “dawn”, “white”, or “elf”, depending on origin.

Dion: Shorter form of Greek Dionysios meaning “of Zeus”.

Wilson: Lineage surname, “Will’s son”. Very common surname in English.

Charlie: A name in itself but often a nickname for names like Charles meaning “man” or “warrior”

Graham: Gravelly homestead. Habitational surname, apparently derived from Grantham in Lincolnshire, England.

John: God is gracious. The most common name ever with the most variations.

Perlman: Ashkenazi Jewish surname. Also literal, “perl” possibly meaning “pearl” thus being an occupational name, or Perl being a woman’s name making it mean “husband of Perl”.

Emily: Rival. Latin name.

Berkoff: Could be Jewish, Dutch, or German surname. Definition not quite certain, but likely related to birch trees.

Josef: German, Czech, and Scandinavian version of Joseph.

Simon: He has heard. From Hebrew Shim’on.

Roxana: Bright, dawn. Latin form of Greek Rhoxane and Persian Roshanak.

Anton: Priceless, praiseworthy, flower.

Sebastian: From the Latin name Sebastianus which meant “from Sebaste”. Sebaste is a town in Asia Minor and comes from the Greek word sebastos meaning “venerable”.

Eugen: Well-born.Romanian form of Eugene. From the Greek name Eugenios.

(Note: This is the man who lived in the house with the red chimney.)

Ernest: Serious. Germanic name.

(Note: This man is noted to be missing in a letter to Luiza and his diary is found with the Cannibal’s Plunder in Otto’s Mill.)

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Note

Another AU idea: (I’ve been working on this one for a while)

Dream escapes prison while everyone is asleep thanks to Ranboo in his other state and George. Dream begins his plan of revenge by casting a spell in the form of a powerful potion with the help of XD (both Schlatt and Wilbur have been revived by this point) which causes each member to wake up in their own perfect fairytale they can’t escape from. At least, it looks perfect on the surface. In reality, each is a nightmare prison that they’re trapped in due to all the things and emotions they haven’t faced and are too scared to face. They’re all ignorant of what their lives were like before the dream, it’s all a fuzzy blur.

I haven’t figured them all out yet, but Schlatt is trapped in that old fairytale where everything he touches turns to gold (he ends up getting imprisoned by his friends and called a monster).

Wilbur is trapped in a Little Mermaid Daydream where he gets to live his perfect life with Sally forever, his family and friends all happy (but he ends up ruining it by going crazy and killing one of them by the end of the day, and the day resets).

Tommy is trapped in a Jack and the Beanstalk situation with Phil as his father sending him to sell the cow he named Tubbo (“No one keeps a cow for a friend!”) only to be tricked by Dream giving him magic beans, leading him to extort the kindness of Sam the Giant.

Tubbo is in a Cinderella type situation where he keeps being a doormat and being kind to his ‘family’ - Schlatt, Wilbur and Techno - who won’t stop manipulating and being mean to him. He says he wants to get out of the house one time to go to this party, and ofc his ‘family’ have to make it harder by giving him so many tasks to complete. The reason Tubbo is compelled to stay in this nightmare is because he’s scared of being rejected and alone. Eventually with Eret as his fairy godmother, he gets to actually go to the party where he becomes fast friends with Tommy, but he never reveals his name and the day keeps repeating because Tubbo doesn’t want to get attached to someone who might hurt him like his ‘family’ does.

Phil is in a sleeping beauty sequence type situation where he has to face down a powerful sorcerer who is keeping his son captive, only to realize that it was all a trick by his son to dispose of him, leading him to run for his life as his own son chases him down wanting to kill him.

Techno is stuck in a loop of saving people he’s close to from death and feeling like a hero, only for them to end up killing Phil in return. This leads him to a murder mystery situation where he has to figure out who’s the traitor, when in reality they’re all traitors, and every time he fails the day and his memory resets.

Ranboo doesn’t get a dream because “you’re already living your worst nightmare.” And Dream doesn’t think it could get better than having to sleep and try to forget in his own body for Ranboo.

Purpled and George who are neutral and kind of loyal to him in Dream’s eyes get to stay in his new server where it’s only them while everyone else stays in stasis chambers in their own eternal punishments for messing with Dream.

What do you think?

Holy fuck. We can add so much angst and creative things in this au. I can add so many fairy tales in here and I love it.

I love all of this. I love them all.

I especially love that we have everyone be in a sleep of sorts and in a fairy tale. I like Tommy, Tubbo, and Schlatt’s the best.

Ranboo’s is super sad. Oh my god. He’s already in his worst nightmare so he doesn’t get a dream.

Also, I would like to think Purpled was okay with this at first until he saw that Punz is one of the people who apparently wronged him. So now he’s going to get George to snap out of it, tell him that Dream is a dick and that he’s keeping Sapnap hostage. And drag him out of the apathetic mindset he has in the story.

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rvspberry · 3 years

Text

Idk if I’m gonna end up posting this on AO3 because it’s very different from what I usually write.

But below the cut is some Johnny Lawrence sexuality crisis angst with a happy ending if you feel like it. (Heavy Christian themes and Lawrusso ending ahead.)

He was righteous, on high, the Almighty personified. Forgiving, and gracious in victory, and good through and through. Set his mind to something and he could make the whole world come alive.

That’s how Johnny felt at the Tournament, at least, when the entire crowd swarmed the floor and lifted LaRusso onto their shoulders, and Johnny snagged the first place trophy. Handed it up like an offering, a sacrificial lamb — all that Johnny had at stake, all that he’d lost, given freely and openly to this holy being.

The crowd grew louder. Johnny called out, “You’re alright, LaRusso. Good match.”

Got a pained, “Thanks,” in return.

He’d touched someone holy and lived to tell the tale.

Once Johnny is at Bobby’s house that night, since Sid and Laura flew to Miami for the week before Christmas, he asks Bobby to pray with him.

“You okay, Johnny?”

Johnny glances up to find worried blue eyes looking over at him, sizing him up — no, not quite. Measuring him, trying to gauge Johnny for what no one could see. Bobby’s eyes are such a different blue than Johnny's, clear and crisp but never cold. Johnny wonders if Bobby sees anything, if Johnny shows anything.

“I just…” Johnny rasps, gripping the glass of water in hand again and taking a hesitant sip. They told him at the hospital that he’d have to rest. Asked if he wanted to press charges, but Johnny just shook his head. “I need some guidance.”

“No better place to look to than to Jesus,” Bobby agrees, reaching out to take Johnny’s hands. He closes his eyes, and Johnny pauses for a brief moment, body going stiff, before he follows suit. Takes a deep breath as Bobby begins. “Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.”

Daniel.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” Bobby continues.

Johnny squeezes his eyes tighter and tries not to let his grip tighten, too.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Please forgive me. Please. Daniel. I’m sorry.

“And lead us not into temptation—”

Daniel’s eyes. His grin, his mouth, his lips. Daniel’s body. The confident smirk when he gets up into Johnny’s face.

“—but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” Bobby finishes, squeezing Johnny’s hands. Johnny blinks his eyes open, jaw clenched, to see Bobby giving him a small smile. “Forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen,” Johnny repeats weakly, clenching his teeth against the urge to cry. To sob.

To throw himself onto the floor and mourn the loss of a life he’d had for years now, the life he’d fought so hard for. The life of a champion, of a winner, the life of a kid from Encino Hills. The life of someone normal, a leader, head dog even though he came into this life late, no rules established, flying blind and feeling his way into his place.

“You’re sure you’re okay, man?”

“I’m not,” Johnny chokes out. Hangs his head.

There are too many thoughts in his head, too much guilt and shame, and he can’t focus on one without the other flaring up to take his attention. Back and forth, back and forth, between Kreese almost killing him and Daniel’s sensei saving him and Daniel winning the match, to needlessly tormenting Daniel all semester and making a bigger ass of himself each and every time. Over and over, like it was on a loop.

“Do you want to pray again?” Bobby asks, voice dropping lower. “Sometimes it helps. The… repetition. Try to focus on the words this time. Focus on God. Let the spirit take you.”

Take me where? Johnny thinks, but he just tightens his hands around Bobby’s and nods.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

When Bobby leaves at the end of the summer to go to college in Oregon, a special school for religious studies, he leaves Johnny with his new number and a prayer book.

“If things get hard, turn to God,” he reminds Johnny. Pats Johnny’s back while they hug tightly. Johnny hasn’t been apart from Bobby since they became best friends at thirteen, both newly enrolled in Cobra Kai. “God has a plan for all of us, and you can find all your answers in the Lord, man. You just have to be open to hearing them even when they’re not the answers you want.”

Johnny keeps the prayer book. Says a prayer every night. Calls Bobby once a week, like clockwork, and stops drinking. He gets kicked out of Sid’s house when he turns 18 in July, gets a job as a handyman, then starts apprenticing for a carpenter, then starts working construction. It’s hard work but it’s honest work.

Every time his eyes turn to one of his coworkers, when they catch on the sweat and grime smeared over their muscles, or the curve of their ass, or the line of their jaw, Johnny recites one of those prayers in his head.

Dear Lord, please give me strength when I am weak, courage when I am afraid, love when I feel forsaken, wisdom when I feel foolish, comfort when I am alone, hope when I feel rejected, and peace when I am in turmoil. Amen.

Every time he gets asked out for drinks by his well-meaning colleagues, he politely declines and spends ten minutes praying in his car after his shift is over, hands blistered, muscles aching.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among sinners and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Every night, Johnny lays in bed and freestyles his prayers. God needs to know, he probably already knows, but he needs to know that Johnny doesn’t want to be like this. He wants to change. He wants answers. He wants to be open to them, just like Bobby told him.

“Go out tonight,” Bobby laughs when Johnny calls him on a Saturday at his usual time. “Just get out and have some fun. Go to a movie. Buy yourself dinner, whatever. Go meet someone. You’re just working and sleeping. You need to live a little, Johnny.”

Is that what God wants me to do? Johnny thought to himself. To go out and find a woman to settle down with? Is that God’s plan?

It’s what Johnny’s supposed to do, right?

“Okay, okay,” Johnny groans into the phone, ready to slam it back onto the receiver when Bobby whoops in elated triumph. “Some good, clean fun. Fitting for the best friend of a pastor’s son.”

Johnny goes to the movies. The new sequel to Alien, aptly titled ‘Aliens,’ looks halfway decent. Definitely not a good clean movie, but Johnny can live a little. It’s on its last leg, only playing the earlier showings, so Johnny snags the ticket since he figures he can be mostly alone that way. He loiters in the lobby trying to decide between popcorn or an overpriced box of candy to go with his soda. The bored teen behind the counter pops her gum and rolls her eyes as she waits for him to make up his mind.

He doesn’t fidget as he looks in the glass case, even as much as he wants to. It’s been conditioned out of him.

“Back straight, shoulders down, chin up, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Hey, can I get a large popcorn please?” comes a voice from beside him.

Johnny glances over, shaggy hair whipping around his face, and spots the one person he thought he’d never see again. Daniel LaRusso looks the same as he did before — a little taller, maybe, his long limbs filled out a little more, but still the shrimpy kid who kicked his ass.

Same eyes, same voice, same body.

Same mouth.

Dear Lord, please give me strength—

“Johnny? Johnny Lawrence?!” Daniel’s words cut through his prayer.

Johnny inhales sharply. He has to control himself. Give me the strength when I am weak, courage when I—

“Holy shit, man, look at you,” Daniel laughs, tapping Johnny’s bicep tellingly. A year-plus in construction had done wonders for his body, and his arms in particular. “Like a brick shithouse. Are you on steroids?”

“No, I work construction.” Johnny doesn’t know why his voice sounds so rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi, LaRusso. Small world meeting you here, I guess.”

“Yeah, man! You here with anyone?” Daniel glances around, as if trying to pin someone else in the lobby to Johnny, but there was no one to match him up with. No one to match up Daniel with, either.

“No. You?”

“Flying solo today,” Daniel croons, running his hands down his chest. Johnny blushes and looks up at the ceiling.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee—

“What movie are you seeing?” Daniel asks, taking the tub of popcorn from the teen and passing a bill over the counter. He snagged a handful and popped a few butter-soaked pieces into his mouth.

“Uh…” Johnny glances down at his ticket. “Aliens.”

“No way! Me too!” Daniel says around chewing the popcorn. He pauses and looks at Johnny with his head cocked curiously. “You wanna watch it together?”

O, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You. I detest all my sins because of your just punishments, but most of all because they offend you, My God, who are all good and worthy of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.

The movie theater is empty. There’s butter on Daniel’s bottom lip, shining in the dimly lit room. Johnny licks it off in the black silence of the end credits.

Kissing Daniel feels like coming home. It feels like touching something divine, and Johnny’s stained gold in all the places they touch.

Is this God’s plan? Johnny asks himself. Daniel’s fingers tug at his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp. Johnny pulls Daniel across the seat and into his lap as he swallows Daniel’s moan.

Below Johnny’s hands, Daniel feels like an answer.

#lawrusso #lawrusso fic #johnny lawrence fanfiction #daniel x johnny

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