If people want there to be, maybe! I genuinely didn't mean for 2022 to just never happen, last year was absolutely awful for me for a lot of reasons and by the time the problem with the blog was resolved I just couldn't do it. I know that the fandom is starting to wake back up a little with MK1 coming out soon and the sequel finally filming. Do people want the week this year? We could just use last year's prompts.
Several people have expressed interest in doing the ship week again after missing last year. What date ranges would be best for people? The prompts would be the same ones from 2022.
Longer than my usual fic fare on here, and for good reason too! Have some Shaolin Rowdyboys (Kung Lao/Liu Kang)... As a treat.
Kung Lao had always hated his birthday.
What better a time of year to be reminded of his name? The endless expectations that befell it, and him. The Wu-Shi’s way of life dictated that birthdays were less important than the days spent treasuring the principles that preserved life and taught temperance. However, when one was the descendent of the Great Kung Lao, heir to the Kung dynasty and the seeming sole determinant of its honorable: Exceptions were made. And just as exceptions were made in that vein, exceptions were made here as the young man sat solitary in the grass, staring balefully at his reflection in the water.
“What are you looking at?” It was such a petty thing to say, especially with no one to say it to. But sour was the mood of Kung Lao, who swept the water with a hand and washed away the sight of his lips puckered, then pulled into a sneer, and brows drawn in irritation. Today he’d foregone training with Liu Kang to take stock and spare the man his spite, It was pure restraint and the presence of his hat that kept him from flopping back into the dirt of Bo Rai Cho’s old fishing haunt, not wanting to dirty what he had so meticulously polished the day before. Blood, he could clean, but the various fixings of critters and crawlers that lay dormant in the ground were another story. So stalwart and steady he stayed, neck stiff from the fierce manner in which he observed himself on the water’s surface. Scrutiny was at home on the face of a Kung, never satisfied with less than what they could grasp in their hands and share among their kin. Glory for one was glory for all. Conquerors? No, of course not. Competitive? In spades, especially when it was a matter of who championed their legacy and when that very champion was not a Kung.
Liu Kang, he was everything in a champion that he couldn't be, by everyone in earshot’s estimation and many more who were not. Even Kung Lao’s calculated confidence and cutting critiques of those who challenged couldn't fight off this constant onslaught. It was his worshipper, the doubts that rebounded in the walls of his mind and threatened to knock him flat if his wits weren’t about him. If it was not the constant comparison, then it was the constant chatter among the Kungs about how thoroughly their heir had disappointed, letting a man outside their family carry the legacy better than the one born and bred for it. It was… Exhausting, to say the least.
Anger came and went; but the bone deep ache stayed. It was not that he resented Liu Kang either, he could never, would never let what festered in him touch his friend. If anyone in the realms was good to him, it was the Order of Light’s chosen one, and Kung Lao’s chosen. There was little doubt where Liu was concerned. Still, he envied him. Perhaps not as he once did, filled to the brim with anger, swelling with confusion when Raiden declared that it would be him to ascend the title of champion and all of the privileges with it. Time and turmoil made Lao realize that it was no privilege to be what Liu Kang was to the realm: a sacrifice, not born as Lao was but bred to the specifications of the Elders and Elder Gods alike. No, he didn’t envy that. Point in fact, he resented it. Because Liu Kang was more than the sworn sword of the realm, the perfect piece in an eternal power play. He had strength in spades, possessing an intelligence beyond his years. Firm, but gentle, More benevolent than any god he had ever known and fervent in his passions. A complete and unequivocal force for good, be it in battle or the soft, gentle glow of his palms as he lit the lanterns at the Wu-Shi for the children who feared the dark and shivered in the cold. All of these traits were coveted, something one wanted to have for themselves.
However, that was not what drew such discontent from the heir apparent, no. What Kung Lao envied was his name. He could hear his parents now, aghast at how a Kung could look upon someone so common with anything other than pity. ‘The name from nowhere’, they used to say.
A name from nowhere, and still the very best of things- the best of men made from it. His mind flew to Liu Kang, lost in his own world as he moved through a spirited round of strikes. Brutality measured and patience prospered, beautiful in blood all the same. Especially when he smiled at him. It made his heart beat and his cheeks burn. It took visible effort for the warrior to tear his mind from this line of thought, regretfully guided back to what had brought him here today.
My name, it is a burden because it is not mine. Because I can be no more than ‘Kung Lao’. sans any sort of greatness. Forever carrying the mantle of not their honored ancestor, but instead the marked lesser of the champion. Unworthy of the title, and unworthy to walk the same ground. Perhaps if he humbled himself, overcame his fierce temperament and looked beyond something so trivial as titles and truly focused, he would be just as good if not greater than the Kung Lao for whom he was named.
He scoffed at that, turning from himself. Better to discard that notion with the aspiration of being Champion.
“It is you who will carry our family, and the fate of many more when you come of age as Chosen. One day, people will look upon you, the reason does not matter.” His mother once said, the picture of dignity and grace as she tended to him. He’d cried, as many children did when exposed to the sharp edge of a well placed word and the newfound discovery of a foundation easily shaken by a bigger and badder beast than the dark.
“Protection, guidance, reverence, scorn. You must allow a soul to see your fear. Never let them witness your shortcomings, not even in your most private moments, Kung Lao. Should you find yourself in the dirt, ravaged, you cannot make room for doubt. You must do as your ancestor, the man whose greatness for which you were named, did.… Abandon your ego, and endure.”
“Endure.” He parroted, lips pinched in a thin line. Fingers clenched tightly in the blades of grass, Kung Lao gave into vice and ripped them from the soil, tossing them into the stirring winds with a spare thought for Lord Fujin. If only the wind could carry him from this as well as it carried the errant earth.
A sudden crunch of branches underfoot sent him sprawling into the stream. Hand and hat were at the ready before he inevitably found himself softening, heart slamming in his chest.
Oh lord. Turns out starting school left me with even less time than I thought possible. So with a hearty apology and a heady thanks, I offer you these badges for those who made a single, spirited contribution t LiuLaoWeek2021! Post-mortem of course, and just a taste of things to come~
