#i seriously mean it

[starpirateee]

I truly love your fanfiction, it is amazing!

Your docket is already probably pretty full and I’m not sure if this is too complex or just not a good prompt but this idea keeps buzzing around my head and I’m not a good enough writer to write it myself so I thought I might as well ask.

What if Curt went back in time to before the fall and was able to change his actions so Owen was fine in this timeline. However Curt is haunted by the memory of the monster his partner became in the original timeline. He tries not to let it show because it’s not fair to this Owen but sometimes he can’t help himself.

Hi anon!

First of all, thank you!! Second, I know I'm running on a pretty full roster rn what with the.... Everything, but a vast majority of everything that ends up in my inbox gets written at some point! So let me see what I can do!

"So… What, this is a do-over?"

Curt didn't so often find himself in a good enough mindset to consider what Barb was doing these days. Every day had been a barricade of emptiness, of feeling so insatiably alone in his thoughts because there was something so formerly present in his life just… Missing, and that was hard to come to terms with. He had tried to cope since digging his grave with his own two hands, but that wasn't easy either. Just cope, as if that was something that could be done. Just cope, as if he had any say in the matter.

Just cope, like every fiber of his being wasn't aching to do something right by him, even just to have the capacity to say his name out loud. For all he'd haunted him in the last four years, he deserved better than to be left to the formless void that currently made up Curt's mind.

When Barb suggested something that had been prevalent in her research for longer than he'd been paying attention, he finally got a little bit of his spark back. She was suggesting to him a way to do everything over, to start from the beginning and make sure that none of this shit ever happened in the first place. On one hand, it wasn't fair, because Curt had been thoroughly haunted for years now, to the point where he'd convinced himself that the best course of action was literally to kill the love of his life in point blank range. He'd lived with the ghost of that man for longer than he cared to admit, and it had become more and more obvious by the day.

Those who said he was digging himself deep into the throws of his own depression were wrong. Those who said he drank to forget were wrong, too. This was all about getting rid of the past, sure, but he knew that he'd never be able to forget it.

Still, Barb's idea of a do-over was very tempting, and it wouldn't be the first time that Curt had given himself up for the sake of testing out some new theory of hers. Maybe one day he would even learn to recognise the effects of what he'd done to himself by letting her run her hypotheses on him… But, today was not that day.

She nodded, confident that she knew what she was doing. It took a lot to see through what she had once felt for Curt, especially given that it was so obvious that he was anything but okay over what he'd had to do, and that had led to a whole number of open doors and things he wouldn't have admitted to anyone else.

"Yep. That's what it should be, anyway. You're gonna go back to '57, and… Just like you said, you're gonna get a chance to do it all over again. I don't know if this is the right idea, Curt…. I mean, that date?"

"You asked me to pick," Curt answered, a little too sharply for a man as nervous as he was. "And I've made my choice. June 12th, 1957."

"Okay, I just wanted to know you were sure you'd rather go… There than anywhere else."

"Barb… I want to fix things. I want to be the one to make things right, in the one way I never got the chance to. Would you give me that much, please?"

He was going to take the place of his idiot former self. He was going to swap out, and pretend like he had been there the whole time, and that all of this was meant to happen. By no means was he ready for it, but he'd managed to convince his aching mind that he was. God damnit, he couldn't even bring himself to think of his former partner's name without opening up a wound that was never meant to be there, and he deserved better than that. He deserved the honour of being known, the pleasure of staying alive following the avoidance of certain obstacles.

All of those obstacles were his fault. He knew fine well that he was the only person capable of not making those mistakes again, of saving him, even if he couldn't save himself.

"Okay, Curt. June 12th, 1957…. Good luck out there."

Curt managed something of a smile, and held his hand up in a mock salute. He took a breath, rounded his shoulders, and tried to remember exactly what conditions he was going to be letting himself into.

1957 was exactly as he remembered it to be. This facility, the one that he was standing in front of now, was exactly as he remembered. Only… This one was in tact. Not yet blown to the ground by a series of bad miscalculations and a judgement which— again— rested entirely on his shoulders. There were certain things that he knew he had to fix, and he tried to work them out over and over again, just to make sure he had the right course of action here.

He had to stop himself from setting the explosives timers to three minutes. That one had been the most fatal mistake, the one that had cost him the most. He was allowed to at least keep the decision to blow the place to the ground, because without that decision, they'd have both been caught, and imprisoned, and the torture would've been real that time, rather than a mockery put on by the world's most incompetent man and one who was only pretending the whole time.

But, to counter that, he had to ignore the need to counter the point about the safety barricades, because then even if the worst did happen again, they'd be ready for that eventuality, and it wouldn't be so bad.

Most important of all, he had to stop himself from taking that goddamned snack break in the middle of the job. That fall was caused by that. Caused by him believing wholeheartedly that such a menial little step wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

God, thinking about it like that had really made him realise how badly he'd fucked up. How right he was to blame himself for all those years, even if there was a small part of himself trying to run that it couldn't have possibly all been his fault.

Because it was, wasn't it?

Okay. Couple things to remember, but all should be fine. Take the blueprints, eliminate the chance of being followed by the ….. present Agent Mega, and make the escape without any of those slipups. Simple.

"Simple," he muttered to himself, solidifying his plan in his head. This was going to be easy. This was a sitch, he had this in the bag, and he'd had more than enough time to think about it since he'd done it the last time, so he was convinced that this was going to go better. This… Could not possibly be as bad as the last time.

Getting rid of his double was the surprisingly easy part. He'd made sure that nobody could find the bastard, and that would count doubly for when the place was blown to the ground. That was one part of the track covered, and he already felt a little better about what he was about to do because of that. If the first part— disposing of a version of himself that was arguably more capable and less prone to the throws of alcoholism— was that simple and went that smoothly, then he had hope that the rest of it would be just as smooth.

He took the blueprint file and slipped it into the inner pocket of the leather jacket he'd travelled in. It wasn't the same getup he'd been wearing previously, but it was certainly more comfortable and a little more bearable too. New outfit, new course of actions, new outcome. That's how it worked in his head, and it made a whole deal more sense than it had any right to.

Making his way through the halls of the facility was the hard part. He knew he was bound to get caught at some point, because this had all happened before, and it probably didn't matter where, because as far as he was aware, they already knew that he was in the facility, so it was only a matter of time before—

"Ha! Agent Curt Mega himself! And here I thought they were joking about you…"

A voice from behind him. Not one he thought he'd heard before, but this particular patch of his past had been rather blurred over by the rock bottom that he'd hit not two months after the first time he'd found himself in this situation. He raised his hands slowly, not bothering to turn around. Getting caught, that was a constant. That was the only way he could start to get out in the right company, and the only way he could set everything else into motion.

He felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head, as the agent dared to get a little bold and crossed the distance between them. If Curt was trying to do exactly as he had last time, he'd have put up a fight until they had no choice but to flip that gun and give him a hefty blow to the side of the head. This wasn't that time, though, and he knew exactly what he had to do to set everything up right. So, true to a nature that nobody saw coming from him, he went peacefully.

All was going exactly as smoothly as he'd expected. He'd ended up with the same poor bastard who didn't really know what he was doing, and it was just the two of them alone for a while. Perfect opportunity to throw a few meaningful insults his way and pretend he wasn't already aware of how little damage this man could actually do. He swore that guy bruised his knuckles trying to land a good blow to the face… Where did they dig up agents like that?

It hit a block when he heard another someone enter the room from behind, and chuckle to himself. The laugh alone was enough to turn his blood to lead, but the voice that came after was a lot worse, and almost sent him into shock despite the fact that he knew exactly what was coming, when it should've been coming.

"You're even stronger than your reputation suggests, Mr Mega…"

That accent wasn't so much of a botch job as he recalled, but it still sent a deep shiver running all the way down his spine. Not so much because the man was intimidating at all, or knew how to make an impact, but because that voice and whichever identity it went with came back to one man and one name. One true voice. One true set of personal history that really did not have it's benefits, as far as Curt was concerned.

Owen Carvour.

It was painful to think of him as alive, after he'd spent years convincing himself that he was dead. It was painful to be here right now, feeling the wrap of chains digging into his wrists and knowing there was nothing he could do to get away from hearing that voice again. For once, he couldn't run. for once, he had to stop, and he had to think. He couldn't let himself seem suddenly afraid, or anything that wasn't the suave confidence that he'd portrayed the last time this went down, because then Owen would ask about it in the event that he did actually let him go.

The last time Owen was behind him in this positon, he was dead set on actually killing him, on making that impact he had seemed so incapable of in this facility, and making sure Curt bled for his mistakes. That would never happen again. Because Curt knew he was going to fix this. Because Curt— who had already seen all of the mistakes and all of the consequences— was not going to come all the way back here and end up fixing nothing.

He had to save Owen. If nothing else, the two of them were going to make it out alove tonight, and he didn't care what the price was.

He put on a cocky little smirk, and looked over his shoulder at the disguise Owen was wearing that near enough managed to fool him something chronic. God, he really was so good at this, wasn't he? He really was such a fantastic actor, and he really did relish in it… He was right, he was definitely cut out for the stage.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this…"

Curt was trying to keep himself together, to try and keep from passing out. It was getting more and more difficult by the second, but he was trying, and that had to account for something. The man behind him was a stranger by all accounts, and there was nothing about him that would even suggest that the two of them had met before, yet… This wasn't the first time he'd mentioned this supposed grudge match that he had against him.

He tensed, trying to focus on one thing at a time, and trying desperately to ignore the fact that there was something painfully personal behind each of the mad assassin's words. That they didn't themselves cut and leave a mark. That there was something between them that he could never figure out.

This Owen hadn't killed so many people in cold blood, and he didn't delight in torturing the life out of him. And he was never going to be that man, either. Curt knew he should feel relieved at that, but all that remained in his chest was a stagnant, dormant panic, waiting to erupt.

Keep it together, Mega.

"That so? Well, that all depends on what they're saying about me, doesn't it?" He managed, in the smoothest, most put-together tone he could, one that well matched the smirk pulling at his lips.

The fake Russian hummed, his eyebrows raising. "They say you're quite formidable. I was ready to prove them wrong, but it seems I have my work cut out for me, no?"

"Do your worst."

This back and forth was familiar to him, as was every stage of the so called "torture", which really wasn't painful so much as it was vaguely irritating and very funny. That poor agent they'd recruited didn't know what he was doing in the slightest, and it took all of Curt's energy not to laugh whenever something went wrong.

Eventually, Owen had "taken what he wanted" out of the interrogation, and lined up the barrel of his gun. Curt could see that it was pointed at him, just as it was last time. That was a false sense of fear, striking him while he was supposedly "vulnerable", but this time, it struck a little more of a chord than probably intended.

"I am going to single handedly dismantle EVERYTHING you ever believed in!" Owen dared to step down, closer towards Curt, and pushed the unwavering barrel of his gun straight out towards Curt's forehead. In that exact moment, Curt wished he would just pull the trigger, and be done with the heartache for another day. Add another number to his already expansive tally, and move on.

He said the only thing he thought he could in the moment, the only thing his mind would let him say.

"We used to share those beliefs…"

He closed his eyes, hoping to god that this wouldn't have a different outcome this time, that he hadn't accidentally brought back the ghost of Owen to torment him all over again in a way that was more real.

But no, it was exactly the same as last time. Owen lowered his gun, the incompetent henchman was shot twice through the knees, and then Owen was once again behind him and setting him free before the bastard could even hit the ground.

"Owen-" Curt breathed, hoping that he was able to pass it off as relief that all of that was finally over, and not as the fact that he had been genuinely worried that Owen would shoot him while he couldn't defend himself. He needed to pick himself up. He couldn't let himself carry on knowing that the dead Owen still lived on in the confines of his mind. He'd finished that job himself, he was not going back to it now.

"You goddamn bastard, really let him loose on me, didn't ya?"

"Took me a while to find you, I'm afraid… But even after that, it's always rather fun to watch people try and knock some sense into you, don't you think?"

There was a teasing edge to Owen's tone, one that Curt had so sorely missed over the last years. He stretched out his back, ignoring the way that his wrists felt, and then accepted his gun from Owen. This was starting to feel familiar again, and he liked it. Now was only the getting out part, and he'd been running his instructions to himself since he'd gotten there, so he knew exactly what he had to do to ensure that this Owen— the Owen that was willing to laugh with him, and share his missions, and toast to the end of it all— stayed alive no matter the cost.

That, after all, was the only reason he'd come back.

"Sure, sure… When are you ever gonna let me do this shit to you?"

"Good luck catching me, first."

The time came for he and Owen to make their escapes through the compound. Owen was the one who led the way, as he always did, looking like he was making up a plan on the spot. Curt once again got that call from Cynthia, the one where she sung Owen's praises as she did every time the two of them had the chance to speak, and once again told Barb that he had to blow up the entire facility.

While that did throw Owen off his rhythm a little, he was able to regroup in good enough time to formulate a different direction to all of this, and Curt was listening so intently to the every intonation in his voice that he completely forgot to take the snack break in the first place. His voice sounded so wonderful when it wasn't broken by years of trying to be someone else. He'd forgotten how rich it was, how full of intent his every word was… When he realised that he'd missed it off completely because he was too engrossed in literning to Owen actually talk to him with intent again, the two of them were on the floor, ready to set up their charges.

Still, Curt wasn't going to be one to back down from a challenge… He was just going to… Listen to Owen this time, give them that extra minute.

He started unzipping the bag on the ground, looking between all of the handmade explosives devices they were going to be using to blow this place to kingdom come, and with it, hopefully, all of the memories that came with a knowledge of the future. "Hey, Owen." How he'd missed just getting to say his name like that, and to someone who would respond to it as well? "Remember our record?"

"Sorry?"

"Y'know, our record. Last one was Berlin, I think. We got outta there in six minutes or something.. Think we can beat it? How about five?"

Owen deliberated on that for a while, trying to decide whether five minutes was really a fitting definition of breaking their record. They needed to go above and beyond for this, and go out in a blaze of glory if Curt was really that insistent upon blowing the place up. He shrugged. "Not enough… Four?"

"Four?" Curt raised his eyebrows like he was surprised, or impressed. "That's the spirit! Four, if you think we're gonna make it out in time."

"Sure we can. Do you doubt it?"

A little. He'd seen how badly three minutes could go for them both, adding only a minute extra didn't seem like it was going to cover what they needed to cover. Suddenly there was doubt there, and he thought Owen could see it too. "How about I meet you halfway?"

"Four and a half?"

"Four and a half still breaks our record," Curt pointed out.

"That is true…" Owen hummed, toying with the idea of it. Then he nodded, satisfied. "Four and a half minutes it is, then. What's that… Two hundred and… seventy seconds?"

The bomb timers were set to seconds. The two of them had to convert as fast as they could, come up with a number they could both agree on, and then lock that in. When he put it like that, it sounded awful, like they had no time at all, but Curt supposed that it was much better than a mere one hundred and eighty.

"Two…. Seventy, yeah. Three hundred's five minutes, right? So yeah?"

Owen nodded dutifully, and the two of them set about locking in the times in their respective areas. Curt felt strangely assured this time around, that things were finally starting to look up. He'd campaigned for more time, and that felt like the right move to him. That felt like something he knew he should be doing.

They passed the charges between each other, covering a lot of ground all at once. Owen made the suggestion to lock the barricades, but Curt said nothing at first, lost in his own head a little bit. He knew that protesting was the wrong move. They needed those barricades to get them by if something was to happen to either of them, and now that they had a little more time on their hands, they may have actually been able to do something about it if the worst was to come to pass.

"Curt?"

"Barricades… Remind me?" He asked as if he didn't already know, and Owen sighed. That was fair, but he needed to know what they did, so he knew how much of a correct measure it was to not ignore the request.

"They're the levelling doors on the silo, they'd prevent either of us from being pursued, and besides, it might be useful if you're planning on levelling this whole place… Might stop some accident or other."

"Right. And you can do that?"

Owen shrugged. "Should be easy enough… I see no reason why I couldn't."

"How fast?"

"Fairly fast, I'm rather confident with what I'm seeing."

"Okay. Do what you gotta."

That was definitely the right move. Curt smiled a little as he passed Owen on the way back to the main floor, and Owen looked up for a brief moment and managed a smile of his own. This was one fight that— after all this time and all that thinking about it— Curt was finally going to win. Tonight, he was not going to lose Owen. Tonight, he was going to walk out of here with his head held high, and Owen was gonna be right there by his side.

[midethefangirl]

surrender - hopeless (i'm falling down)

tags: angst, seriously y'all are going to hate me for the three chapters of this fic, pregnancy (unplanned but not unwanted), quan chi is a douchebag here, warning for attempt at forced abortion (i'm about to trigger my own filtering system), hurt no comfort, pre-MK1, and of course it is bireena centered but bi-han makes not physical appearance in this fic.

summary:

notes: continuation of @ladybug023 's spy!sareena headcanons inspiring my writing. I decided to splice this into three chapters because the word count went beyond 3k words and I hate writing super long stories when it comes to platforms like Tumblr. the chapter title is gotten from the lyrics of 'Hopeless' by Breaking Benjamin. also, if you want to join a tagging list for updates, please, let me know and i'll add you 😁❤️

word count: 1.6k words

also cross posted on ao3

part one of surrender; part three of i'm weak so what is wrong with that (i added a new tag for this)

The deepest circle of the Netherrealm was one of the most dreaded locations in the Netherrealm and for a damn good reason. 

It was the place where previous overlords of the Netherrealm banished offending denizens to be tortured by the onis. 

This was the last place Sareena wanted to find herself in but what had she expected the moment she found Quan Chi at the Lin Kuei foregrounds? 

Regret ran through her mind as she awaited her judgment, her palm flat against her lower abdomen, the recent news bringing mixed feelings. 

She and Bi Han had always been so careful… but it is not 100% safe , came that little voice in her head. 

She had lost focus of why she was in the Lin Kuei and now, she was paying severely. Here she was awaiting Quan Chi’s arrival while in Bi Han’s mind, she was as good as dead. 

The last thing that the cryomancer would remember was how she betrayed his clan, how she betrayed him . How she lied to him. 

How could she have deluded herself into thinking she could keep up with the lie she had allowed to fester? How could she have believed that she could stall her day of reckoning? 

Her wishful thinking had done nothing but land her in this mess where her fate and that of her child was dependent on the whims of a dangerous sorcerer. 

Bi Han would never know that she was carrying his child - not that she was aware herself until the onis Quan Chi had assigned as her torturers - Drahmin and Moloch - had somehow detected it. 

The Netherrealm was basically hell, where demons, onis, tortured souls and every possible personification of evil walked about but they had a few rules they followed. 

One of them which was her saving grace, at least, in this moment - a person with child was off-limits. Harming a person with child was seen as a death sentence, enough to have the perpetrator in the deepest circle of the Netherrealm. 

It could be her saving grace but knowing Quan Chi, any assurance dwindled by a great percentage. The sorcerer was from Outworld, not a native of the infernal realm. Sareena doubted he’d respect this rule. 

Ha , Quan Chi respecting the rules of the Netherrealm? That was as laughable as the many dreams of liberating the realm from his hands. After overthrowing Lucifer with the help of the Sisterhood of Shadows, the sorcerer had made himself a tyrant, keeping denizen under his thumb. 

Anyone who dares to defy his dictatorship ended up in the position she was currently in. Either that or on the run like Ashrah, which did not seem so bad right now. 

Quan Chi had gained unilateral control over the Netherrealm and he showed great disdain towards its rules. This one would be no different. 

Hell, he’d torture her himself, unborn child be damned. The thought of that had the demon clutching her abdomen protectively, if she had to fight to her last breath to protect herself for the sake of her child, she’d gladly do that. 

The heavy sound of boots against the stone pavement had her alert, her eyes looking up to see Quan Chi flanked on his sides by Drahmin and Moloch. 

She sat up straight, her back against the wall as she finally came face-to-face with the brown-skinned sorcerer who stared at her venomously. 

“Why is she still here, unscathed?!” He turned towards the onis, his tone miffed as he spoke like she was not right in front of him. 

The onis exchanged looks, obviously displaying their fear of the sorcerer who impatiently expected their answers. 

“L-Lord Quan Chi- we- w-we thought,” Drahmin started, stumbling over his words as he struggled to get his words through. 

Sareena could tell this was the moment where the sorcerer was so close to losing his shit. He rarely expressed his anger in outbursts which was terrifying in this scenario. 

“Speak up you imbecile!”

“She is with child,” Moloch blurted and Quan Chi let out a mirthless chuckle which chilled Sareena to the bones. 

“That should not stop you.”

“We cannot-. It is forbidden,” Drahmin interjected. 

He knows that , Sareena wanted to add but at this moment, her silence was more golden than whatever comeback she had on the tip of her tongue

The room fell silent as Quan Chi crouched down to her level. The demon attempted to keep as much distance as she could but she could only go so far when her back was against the wall. 

The sorcerer pressed a hand against her abdomen, chanting some incantations under his breath. Then, he jerked his hand away, recoiling as if he was shocked by electric current. 

He was on his feet now and his eyes widened, time standing still as he looked down at her. It was like the dreaded calm before the storm and Sareena could not afford to trust this silence, her eyes looking cautiously at him. 

A myriad of emotions flitted across the sorcerer’s face before settling for rage and disdain. Quan Chi’s lips curled into a sneer as he seemed to put two and two together. 

“You whore!” He spat venom. 

He knew, there was no way he would not know. 

“It is that pathetic Earthrealmer, isn’t it? He sired this bastard, didn’t he?” He jeered. “It is not enough that you failed your mission but you had to let that Earthrealmer bed you and put his seed inside you.”

Sareena could almost feel herself let out a sob. Quan Chi’s face was too calm, way too calm for the venomous words he tossed her. It was a moment of when he’d strike at her. 

And her fear was about to come true. 

“Seize her!”

No, no, no.

“No!” She yelled, the moment Drahmin and Moloch were at her sides, their hands pulllng her up. She struggled against the iron-cladded grip of the onis who dragged her out of her cell. 

“Please! Please, don’t do this!”

“I’ll get rid of that bastard if I have to. Shang Tsung would have a field day helping me,” a smug look fell upon the sorcerer’s face. 

It felt like a century had passed when she found herself in a room she was unfamiliar with. Her face was stricken with tears, her voice hoarse from her cries. 

“Quan Chi!” A voice broke through and everyone’s attention was focused on a new presence. A pair of amethyst eyes fell upon her still in the rough grips of the onis. 

The dark-skinned demon pushed through Quan Chi before reaching for Sareena. Drahmin and Moloch had released her instantly, making her fall into Jataaka’s arms. 

“What in Lucifer’s name is going on?!” Jataaka demanded, her eyes glaring fiercely at Quan Chi who was now displeased that the demon had dared meddle in his affairs. 

“Stay out of this, Jataaka,” Quan Chi shot back. 

Sareena found herself shaking, her hand instinctively on her abdomen as she shrunk into Jataaka’s protective hold.

Jataaka stood her ground, her hold firm around Sareena. The demon had a fierce look in her eyes, the kind that had even Quan Chi and his two henchmen pause.

“You would really protect a traitor? Someone who tried to leave the Sisterhood for a pathetic Earthrealmer?” The sorcerer scoffed, his question aimed at the demon who still had her arms around Sareena.

“Still a sister nonetheless. I am not going to let you hurt her, sorcerer,” the demon hissed.

This seemed to have struck a nerve as Quan Chi stepped up to her, his face dangerously close.

“She is pregnant with an Earthrealmer’s spawn. If I have to rip that abomination out of her, then so be it,” he spat.

Jataaka remained unfazed, her gaze piercing as her arms tightened around the demon.

Then, it seemed as though the demon had thought of something.

"You are not going to harm a fellow member of the Sisterhood," she reminded. “Neither are you going to lay your filthy hands on her offspring.”

Sareena wondered if the other demon had gone mad, taunting Quan Chi the way she was. The sorcerer had no qualms about ending her life or that of her unborn child.

"Are you forgetting who rules the Netherrealm, Jataaka?" The sorcerer questioned, a hint of a smirk forming on his face.

Jataaka stood her ground, her grip tightening, “You are an outsider who managed to best us, it would do you some good to know your place and remember the rules of the realm you reside in.”

It may have sounded like an empty threat but it was anything but. The Sisterhood of Shadows have helped overthrow previous overlords, they would not give up on overthrowing Quan Chi either.

"What are you trying to get at?" The sorcerer questioned.

"If you touch a single hair on her head, her unborn child or her, you will have the wrath of the Sisterhood and Lucifer upon you. You think we will tolerate you harming a member of the Sisterhood?" Jataaka said.

Quan Chi narrowed his eyes at her, a scowl forming on his face, "Very well, then. Have it your way.”

His gaze was now on Sareena and the demon felt a chill running down her spine.

"But I will be back. Soon," the sorcerer spat before taking his leave.

Drahmin and Moloch trailed behind him like two lost puppies, leaving Sareena and Jataaka alone in the room.

The demon could feel herself shaking, she was not in the clear just yet. Her child was still in danger and Quan Chi would make sure to get rid of them.

Jataaka had noticed her distraught, the demon holding her in a reassuring embrace, "Don't worry, he will not touch you. We won't let him."

She could only hope so.

tagging: @livingdeadgirly

[valewritessss]

See I’m the type of person to always find everybody a lookalike. Whether that be another person, an animal, or an inanimate object

[bioshzrd]

this random ass guy who’s entire bit is that he can move like this is the only good wesker fan ever

[mipexch]

I WAS MADE FOR YOU // YOU WERE MADE FOR ME

[pickled-flowers]

Sex positivity is also about not calling Ace people prude and using virgin as an insult 👍 hope that helps

[oobbbear]

Please understand that when I say I grab you, I don’t mean grabbing your face or arm thats rude and creepy please don’t do that to anyone

When I say I grab you I’m saying it like I’m grabbing you like a potato. It’s my way of saying hey I appreciate and respect you let’s be friends

[chloesimaginationthings]

Jeremiah and Mike’s first conversation in FNAF 2

[koddlet]

some people have asked about making zines, and i've seen a lot of people in the tags talk about wanting to make some but don't know how... so here is a zine (technically two) about making zines! wowza! pardon the handwriting lol

there are other methods of making zines that require a stapler or sewing, but this one-page zine is the simplest form of it.

i hope this makes sense, feel free to ask if anything is unclear :]

[jackalopescruff]

wikipedia is always trying to hit funding goals and all I have to say is if they made a cunty wikipedia crop top like the USPS did for themselves theyd be funded for the next 15 years on tgirl sales alone

[lilybug-02]

Pain is a great motivator…

Part 26 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

Meanwhile Toriel:

(Loud noises don't wake her up usually.)

Artist note: I’m so proud of this :))) I know it’s a lot of dialogue and reading, but dialogue is grueling work for me. I’m glad with the art and for the amount of pages I made in such a relatively short time span -w- page 5 was super fun to work on. A lot of blood, sweat, and hours here... :) The backgrounds were a big bore tbh, but I finished them! Yippie!

[ps1demodisk]

Sorry I'm not low empathy autistic in the "mysterious loner boy who secretly cares about his friends and talks in a monotone voice" way and I'm actually just completely indifferent to the suffering of people I don't know personally and help strangers out of a sense of "this is the right thing to do" and not "I feel so bad for this person" or guilt.

I sit and listen to my friends even though I don't really care about hearing about their problems because I know they'll be upset if I don't, and despite the fact I honestly can't genuinely care about the issue itself, I care about the impact it's having on my friends and that's enough to make me want to help them through it.

Did you know that's actually an expression of empathy all of its own?

It will absolutely happen again I literally am not even sorry

[melonthesprigatito]

Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom's combat system in a nutshell:

[vyragosa]

“higgs-amelie looks like raiden”

“higgs-amelie is giving john the apostle if you know what i mean”

kojima: raikov is john the apostle

[st-hedge]

I can’t believe they’d managed to animate kusuriuri’s insane character design and then decided to make it even more insane. The most character ever

[rocketbirdie]

hitboxes