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dw-writes · 7 months

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The Invasion...Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Mad Sweeney could not recall the last true believer he had. Sure, he’d been brought over as one of the Fair Folk, but it was different. A sliver of the truth, a dim shadow of what he was really owed. The belief of someone who followed traditions, not him.

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

That changed when he laid eyes on you and he found that one didn’t have to believe in the myth to believe in the man.

A/N: I am.... SO SORRY. this chapter really shouldn't have taken me [checks calendar] LOL ALMOST A YEAR TO WRITE HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think!!! And i'm sorry ahead of time for the pain :3 (not really yall were expecting it) also enjoy the latest crossover to happen in this series. i hope you enjoy!!! :D

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Big Easy

Beautiful Aphrodite had only ever felt rage twice in her long life - once, thousands of years prior, as she watched the carnage that unfolded to retrieve the prize that she had given young Paris, and second, when she saw you.

You, sitting in an empty room, eyes glassy from too much alcohol and manufactured self-doubt. She knew what it was from, had felt your heart chip throughout the night from across the country while you fitfully slept under the concerned gaze of a new friend. Whispers of a voice filled the corners of the quiet room.

She turned to them, her incorporeal form non-existent to your unfocused gaze and the man who sat on the floor near you. The face of a young woman filled the unplugged television. Rose didn’t recognize her – it was some different form of Media, a newer one, a viral one. The young woman stopped whispering and met the goddess’s furious gaze.

The television cracked, the image disappeared, and the room fell silent. She turned back to you and watched your exhausted eyes close. The man mumbled, lifting his head to check you, then settled back against the wall with a sigh.

She made a note to learn his name and remembered how love existed in so many forms.

Elsewhere, Rose slumped into the arms of her two loves. They exchanged worried glances above her head as she mumbled to herself, “My poor messenger.” She sighed. Her concerns traced the cracks in your heart through your long day to the point she remembered last speaking to you, when you were happy, and the events of your day played out against her eyelids.

You stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a large and bustling Athens of a different age. Your bare feet were cradled by plush, green grass while a cream-colored toga fluttered around your legs.

“We haven’t talked in a long time,” said fair Aphrodite as she stepped up next to you. You tried to look at her, but her face kept changing, as did the rest of her. She cycled through so many features like an ever-changing portrait, each paint stroke melting into the next, all trapped beneath a pale pink robe that brushed the ground.

“Have we ever really sat and talked?” you asked.

She smiled. It lit up the world. “You know what I mean.” She nodded at you. “Nice toga.”

“I’m liking the breeze,” you replied with a smile of your own.

“Yeah? It’s nice, isn’t it?” she teased. You laughed, and she watched you, her features melting and solidifying into a face that was familiar to you. You cleared your throat and looked up at her.

“Sweeney?” you asked.

She shrugged broad shoulders. “Yes and no,” Rose answered with a voice that wasn’t hers. “I’m the goddess of love, remember?” She lifted a hand into the air. “Funny, I never would have guessed this, though. Not in a million years.”

“Which part?” you whispered.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “All of it,” she replied, “None of it. You know, I thought I had a grip on these things, but you keep surprising me.” She smiled. You longed to see that smile on his real face. “Tell him soon, okay?”

“I will,” you promised.

You opened your eyes as easy as a blink, staring ahead into the purple black haze of the dark room. Sweeney snored behind you; a hot arm thrown over your shoulders. You gingerly wrapped both hands around his wrist and frowned.

Was it a warning? A piece of advice? It could’ve been anything – your friends weren’t always so forth-coming in their intentions.

You stared at the room, thinking over everything that had recently happened, watching the darkness become blue, then gray, and a watery white as the sun started to rise. Your phone buzzes with the alarm for your meds, and you squirmed out of Sweeney’s grasp to take them.

You washed your face in the attached bathroom, brushed your teeth, changed into different, cleaner clothes. You woke Sweeney and insisted he stay quiet to not wake anyone else in the house. As you two left, you wrote a thank you note for the parents, and folded up Mitchel’s number for the sisters.

“I hope they get in contact with each other,” you sighed as you followed Sweeney across the large yard. He grunted, yawning, and continued towards the water’s edge. His lit cigarette brunt orange in the faint morning daylight, glinting off a key in his hand. “Sweeney?”

His boots clomped over a rickety pier just out of sight of the house. A boat swayed at the end of it.

“You’re joking,” you called after him. He waved you off without a word. You groaned, looking back up at the house behind you, and followed him. “You’re stealing their boat.”

“Borrowing,” he grunted, placing the cigarette between his lips, “’m borrowing – we’re—” he corrected, looking up at you as he crouched, “We are borrowin’ their boat.”

You crossed your arms. “Do you intend to mosey on back up the river with it when we’re done in New Orleans?” you asked. He climbed into the boat. You looked back at the house again and scrambled after him, pinwheeling your arms to keep your balance in the small craft. “Put out your cigarette,” you wheezed, “Before you blow us up.”

“’m not gonna blow us up!” he argued.

“You have the shittiest luck on either side of the Mississippi, Sweeney, so I’m sorry if I don’t trust you saying that,” you snapped. He sat back, glaring at you, which you returned. When you didn’t budge, he slowly pulled the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it out into the water. You took a deep breath and sat down. “Someone’s gonna get back at you for that,” you mumbled.

“You were so nice yesterday,” Sweeney mused as he sat back, “What happened? Hm?”

“You decided to steal the boat of a family that wanted to help us,” you shot back with a shrug, “And it’s not even theirs! This isn’t even their house!”

Sweeney groaned loud enough to drown out your complaints, twisting around to start the motor. You braced against the sides of the boat as it started down the river, glaring all the while at his smug smirk. You settled in after a while, watching the trees pass along the riverside. “What was that about my luck?” he said as he carefully steered the craft.

“You have shit luck,” you repeated, “The only reason you’re not dying some wildly fiery death is because I’m here and I don’t have shit luck.”

He snorted, shifting on the seat, and absently twisted his warped coin charm around his neck. “Ya know, maybe you made me another lucky coin,” he muttered absently, “Ever think of that?”

You watched him before you spoke. His eyes were trained on the river behind you and he carefully steered down the gentle curves, keeping away from other boats and suspicious shallows. You didn’t answer him for a long time. You balled the sleeves of your denim shirt in your palms and pulled it closer to you, wishing it was just a bit thicker to keep out the cold air coming off the water.

“Maybe I did,” you finally said as the river became more crowded with boats. He hummed as he looked up at you, slowing the boat down and threading it through the crowd to the dock. “Maybe I did make you a lucky coin,” you repeated.

He snorted as he climbed out of the coat. He held out his hand to you. “Bein’ facetious, luv,” he grumbled.

You took it, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you climbed out. “Big word,” you teased. He tugged you hard against his side. “But really,” you said with a small smile, “Always told you that it was about belief. And I really think those coins were pretty lucky if they stopped a bullet and saved your life.”

“We’ll see,” he mumbled. He squeezed your hand, then led the way out of the marina and into the crowded streets, keeping you close so that the two of you wouldn’t be separated. You eventually found your way to a less crowded area of shops. Sweeney slowed down. “Ya hungry?”

“A bit,” you sighed, “We didn’t really eat anything at the house since someone stole their boat.” You looked up at him.

He rolled his eyes and looked around, tugging you behind him to a food truck on the corner. He huffed, lip curling in a teasing sneer as you pulled out your wallet and paid. He took the food he’d ordered, and yours, and tucked a bottle of beer in the crook of his elbow as he started to walk. You followed him, taking your food with a sigh as you kept pace with him. He stopped at a statue of the Virgin Mary, then smacked the top of his beer against its stone pedestal to pop the metal top off, and chugged half of it.

You watched him, slowly eating your food, leaning against the pillar across from him. “Sweeney?” you asked once he finished his beer.

He buried his face in his elbow as he released an ugly burp. You whistled slowly. “Whut?” he grumbled, taking a large bite of his meal.

“Are you okay?” you asked. You set your food down, worry twisting at your gut, and moved closer to him. “You’ve been a little weird since we got here.”

“Just got here,” he grunted.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” you shot back. You crossed your arms, staring up into his face. He scratched his chin, then down his neck as he watched you in return. “I’ve known you too long for you to pull this shit and not expect me to ask you about it,” you gently said.

He continued to stare, his blunt fingernail scratching at the label on the bottle until it started to peel. He didn’t say anything, though. His eyes grew dark the longer they traced over your face, until, finally, they fell away. He sniffed and looked at the crowd shuffling past you, scratching the growing stubble on his chin again. “Just don’t wanna see ‘em,” he grumbled.

“Hey strangers,” came the call of a familiar voice. Sweeney groaned, dropping his head back with the sound, and turned away while you smiled and spun around.

“What a sight for—” the words shifted in your mouth as you took in Laura Moon’s new, fresh face and glowing skin, “Sore eyes, holy shit Laura.”

She smirked and twirled, holding out her arms. “Guess that old man doesn’t lie, huh?” she said.

Sweeney rolled a hand in the air, tossing the empty bottle behind him. “Then what, pray tell, are ya doin’ here, huh?” he sniped, “What, you figure that the quick ‘n easy don’t last?”

You looked up at him, struggling not to roll your eyes. “Really?” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Just pointin’ out the obvious,” he muttered.

“In a really asshole-ish way,” you replied.

He lowered himself against the pillar, leaning into your space. “Never heard ya complain before,” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes, arms crossing over your stomach. “I call you an asshole a lot, actually. Pretty sure I use it more than your name,” you argued.

“It ain’t bad enough that it kept ya from kissin’ me though, ain’t it?” he asked with a smirk.

You snapped your mouth shut.

Laura’s voice was far too loud in the crowded street when she shouted, “You what?!” followed quickly by, “Holy fucking shit,” and, “It’s about time!”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, turning to her. “No?”

“Yes!” she countered.

“That’s not the argument here, the argument is how he’s an asshole for getting on your case,” you tried. Behind you, Sweeney started to snicker.

“Uh, no, fuck that, I’m over it,” Laura said with a wave of her hand. She closed the gap between you. “You kissed this sasquatch? Seriously? What, was it against your will, or did you actually want it?” She gasped, her face alight with joy at the first taste of gossip she’d had since she died. It really gave you a glimpse of who she had been before. “Did he tell you that he—”

“Ya here for the Loa, yeah?” Sweeney cut in, coughing on ill swallowed spit.

“That’s not important right now, is it?” she countered, glaring, “Is it really?”

“Course it is,” he replied, pushing away from the pillar. It was your turn to stare at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes as he walked past. “Second longer without my coin is a second too long, Dead Wife. Let’s get this over with.” You followed after him. He tossed the bottle into the nearest trash.

“What crawled up his ass?” Laura grumbled as she walked next to you.

You shrugged. “He’s been like this since we got here. I don’t think he wants to deal with the Loa at all.” You tilted your head, then leaned towards her. “Do you know anything about the Loa? I haven’t read anything, just know what he’s told me.”

“Not a fucking clue except that they can bring me back,” she said.

“Huh,” you sighed.

Sweeney led you both around a corner and stopped in front of a small building. Above the door was a sign that swung in the humid breeze, displaying the black rooster that had started to fade in the sun. He paused at the door, rubbing his neck, then he turned to you both. “Ain’t no backin’ out of this once we start,” he said. He stared at Laura, his face the epitome of sobriety. “You wanna do this?”

She rolled her eyes and yanked the door open. “Let’s just fucking hurry up, I don’t have all day,” she griped.

Sweeney held the door open for you, his arm brushing your shoulder as he leaned down to whisper, “Stay close.”

You nodded and stepped inside.

(Rose frowned as the scene against her eyes shifted, showing you through the eyes of a goddess she’d never met.)

Bridget – lovely and strong – felt her heart lodge in her throat the moment you walked into the Black Cock. She knew the man you walked in with, knew the emotion that made him hold open the door for you, dip his head towards yours, brush your back as you passed him.

Mad Sweeney was in love with you, and you him, if your subtle lean into him was a clue, and he didn’t explain a damn thing about the Baron’s specialty if you have followed him and the woman there.

He was about to break your heart.

She knew all too well that not everyone enjoyed their partner stepping out, but even the ones that didn’t mind it never came with them to ask the favor.

He hadn’t fucking told you.

In the ten seconds it took for your trio to enter the bar, Maman Bridget’s opinion of Sweeney soured. Something must have shifted in her, too, as her husband’s fingers lightly prodded her back in question. She smiled, mirthless, and stepped out from behind the bar.

What a fucking coward.

(And then, there you were)

You watched the red-haired woman move around the end of the bar. She passed Sweeney, sharing a look with him, before she moved through a door you hadn’t noticed before.

(Imaged passed through your mind – piles of stones upon marked graves of women, women standing beneath weeping willows that shielded them from mist and shadow, drums beating against ears; but also, there were doctors in damp fields and poets writing by candlelight and rough handed blacksmiths and farms all framed by an ever-burning flame.)

You sat heavily at the bar. The weight of recognizing a two-faced goddess rested heavily on your shoulders and the back of your neck. You stared absently at a bottle in front of you, barely listening to the sound of Sweeney’s voice as he traded barbs with the man behind the bar. Your vision swam when you finally looked at him.

The man himself was tall, even lounging back against the back bar, with a top hat that made him even taller. He had deep, dark skin with the cool undertone of a clear night radiating from beneath. His bright eyes, while filled with humor, were scanning over your trio with a knowledge you couldn’t place.

The wall behind him melted away when he met your gaze. There was a history behind him, spanning centuries and countries, filled with celebrations and swearing and death and spirits and all framed by a heady smoke that filled your lungs and spilled over your lips on a shaky exhale. When you breathed in, there was life and sex and booze, singing and loud music and a sharp tang of spiced rum on your tongue.

You couched and squeezed your eyes shut to the man’s grin, bracing against the bar as you struggled to regain your composure. Beneath it all, you recognized a gap in your knowledge that ached in your chest and made your heart race. The lack of information made you anxious and it hurt. You refocused on the bar, scooping up a bottle near your fingers, and struggled to listen to the conversation.

“And when she is not around,” purred the Baron, his voice floating through the air, “I fuck a lot of other women.”

You were joining an already complicated conversation, you knew it, and maybe it was nerves clawing at your throat that forced your mouth open to say, “Doesn’t Maman Bridget help women with unfaithful lovers?” The air chilled for a moment, but nothing rang untrue in your skull. You glanced up from the bottle of pepper-infused rum in your hand. “What?” you asked, “I’m not wrong.” You were defensive, yes, your voice sharper than you intended.

The woman, who you knew had left through a door before, was standing next to the Baron behind the bar. She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “I like this one,” she murmured. She released the man and rounded the bar again, almost materializing by your side with her smooth movements. No wonder you hadn’t noticed her return. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around,” she said, leaning against the bar, “The Baron might even warm up to you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” you replied, “No offense.”

The Baron laughed – loud and full, a sound that echoed a little harshly in your ears – and leaned towards you. “She’s right,” he murmured, “I like you.”

You smiled. There was an air to him that was familiar, and you voice as much when you said, “You remind me of another friend who owns a bar a lot like this. I think you two would get along.”

He snorted as he leaned back, eyeing Bridget over your shoulder as she slipped behind you. “Maybe you could introduce us,” he replied.

Sweeney sat heavily on the stool next to you, grunting and leaning into your warmth. “How’s about we stop makin’ nice,” he grumbled, “I gotta favor.”

Bridget smiled. “From what I hear, it’s not like you to do favors, Sweeney,” she sighed and your smile grew tighter, “Hasn’t that been your friend’s job?”

You frowned at the way she said ‘friend’. Sweeney huffed, shifting in his seat and leaning away from you.

“The Dead Wife,” he sighed, waving a hand towards Laura on his other side, “Is dead.”

The Baron flicked the rim of his hat up and leaned close, spreading his hands along the bar. “Don’t look dead,” he said. He sniffed, long and loud. “Don’t smell dead, neither.”

“Smells Norse,” Bridget commented with a sigh. She leaned towards Laura and picked up her hair, sniffing it. “A bit Greek? A bit…” Her hand snapped out and slapped the side of Sweeney’s head. He started to protest when Bridget opened her mouth and let loose a violent rant of Gaeilge so fast it didn’t sound like words.

Laura leaned back to share a wide-eyed look with you.

The Baron laughed.

Sweeney hunched his shoulders around his ears as Bridget swore. Her voice dropped as she switched to English, “You lost the Sun’s treasure?!”

Your leprechaun swung a hand towards Laura. “It ain’t lost, it’s in there!”

“It’s not yours anymore, is it?!” Bridget snapped, “Not the Sun’s but some dead woman’s!”

“And she’ll only give it up if she ain’t dead!” Sweeney shouted.

The Baron stood straighter. Bridget’s mouth clicked shut and her eyes glanced past him to you.

“Why we’re here,” Sweeney finished.

“That’s powerful magic,” the Baron murmured, “With a steep cost.”

“We’ll pay,” Laura replied, unknowing.

Sweeney shoved his hands through his hair and leaned on the bar, ducking his head low.

It was quiet for a moment. The Baron and Bridget exchanged looks. Then, Bridget cleared her throat. “Come back at closing,” she answered, “We need time to prepare.”

Sweeney was up and out the door before she finished. You stood to follow, stopped only by the woman’s hand on your arm. Laura lingered at the door.

“You shouldn’t come back,” she said, “It’s not magic involving you.”

You frowned, feeling a calm warmth seep into your skin, but pulled away. “We’ll see,” you replied.

You left.

Laura waited outside, talking about places to stay, and started towards the main road like she knew the area. Sweeney shuffled behind her, and you after him. He didn’t look at you, didn’t slow to walk next to you. He just walked, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

The three of you eventually made your way to a small hotel not far from the French Quarter. They had one room left, and the cost left you lightheaded, but you dug the cash out of your bag and paid regardless. Once you were given the keys, you turned to see what Laura and Sweeney wanted to do until it was time to go back, but found Sweeney gone.

Laura shrugged when you asked her where he’d gone. “Dunno,” she said, “Didn’t even see him leave.”

You frowned. “Okay,” you sighed, leaning to see if you spotted him anywhere. “What do you wanna do until he gets back?”

A smile lit up Laura’s face. She led you back outside, and down the street, stopping at every shop between the hotel and the bar. You found ink for Mr. Ibis, an antique set of mortician’s tools for Mr. Jacquel, and a new toy in the shape of a bat for Bas. Laura found a cute dress, which she showed you only after you had left the store, and she changed in an alley. There were other stores, other things purchased or stolen, other smiles shared and memories made.

It was dark soon enough, and the two of you stumbled back to the bar in each other’s arms, laughing like schoolgirls.

Sweeney was already there, waiting, face drawn as he pushed the door open. He didn’t say anything as you walked past him, didn’t even look at you.

Bridget looked away from the Baron with a smile that fell the moment she saw you.

(Coward. What a fucking coward.)

“I told you not to come,” she said, leaning on the bar, “This doesn’t involve you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked, confused, a bit incredulous, “They’re my friends.”

Even the Baron looked a bit lost as he watched Sweeney. “Sex magic only calls for two people,” he explained slowly, “That who requested, and that who benefits.” He tilted his head. “And those who cast it.”

“What?” His words rang in your ears. Laura’s hands disappeared from your arm as she said something, then the Baron, then silence. Three sets of eyes burned into your face as a fourth actively avoided looking at you. “What?” you asked again.

“It’s magic,” Bridget said at the confused look in your eye, “Just magic.” It was like she was trying to soothe a burn, but instead of aloe, it was lemon juice.

“Potent magic,” the Baron added. He slid his hand up over her ass. “Only kind that’ll work for this, too.”

Laura whispered your name.

You smiled. You had to – for her, who you’d come all that way for, and for Sweeney, who…

The smile hurt. You’d rather the platitudes from Bridget.

You nodded, glancing around the room. “Yeah, I know,” you said, voice cracking, “Why we’re here.” You cleared your throat. It burned. “I’ll be at the hotel then.” The door thumped against your back as you reached it. Laura had the grace to look away as you fumbled it open and left.

Once outside, the door slipped from your fingers and shut with a heavy thunk. The hot night warmed your clammy skin and sunk into your clothes until you started to sweat.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just don’t wanna see ‘em.”

“You’re a liar!”

He knew.

(He really was a coward.)

You walked, shouldering through the thick evening crowd as your thoughts wandered away.

Why were you upset? He wasn’t yours, despite all your wants, and thoughts, and wishes. He never was, and, if you were honest, he never would be. You weren’t supposed to be there in the first place, weren’t supposed to be trailing after a man who worked for a god you shouldn’t have met. You were supposed to be home in Cairo. In your bed. Alone.

Fading.

Dying.

Dead.

Your feet shuffled to a stop. People milled past you, unseeing, like you were just something in their way and not a person on the brink of an abyss. You couldn’t tell what you were staring at – a swirl of blurring colors that spanned what must have been the road or the crowd or the buildings, it was all bright and it hurt. Heat spilled down your cheeks and your vision cleared.

A shoulder clipped yours. You stumbled, the rest of the tears rolling down your face, jolting back into your body when you weren’t even aware you’d left it.

“I’m sorry—oh,” a voice thick with a deep southern twang danced in your ears. Warm hands brushed your shoulders. “You alright, darlin’?” Your tears continued. They wouldn’t stop, even as you lifted your eyes from the ground, up past a white collar framed by metal filigree points, and met a warm, brown gaze set into a tanned and tired face. The Preacher’s brow furrowed as he muttered a soft, “Shit.”

You shrugged a shoulder away from him, mumbling something you knew was a lie, but that might’ve also been an apology.

He followed, standing close, staring past you, then turned you around towards a door. You barely heard his voice. You tried to take in more of his features, wondering why he bothered when no one else did – his hair was messy but stood in soft peaks around his head, while the sides were shaved close, and a splatter of dark freckles covered the bridge of his nose. He spoke again, meeting your gaze when he did.

The air trembled around you. Something traced his words out onto the air. You could’ve mistaken the anomaly for a heat wave if it hadn’t been at the end of your nose.

He guided you through the crowd and into a cold bar. You shivered at the sudden change, you sweat suddenly ice on your skin. His hands left you to remove his coat and drape it around you. You watched him roll up his sleeves. Hs pressed a hand between your shoulders and led you to a booth. Two other people were already sitting there, arm against arm.

“Padre?”

“Jesse?”

“Now,” the Preacher – Jesse – motioned you further into the booth, taking up the edge seat when you complied. “This here is Tulip, and Cassidy,” he quietly introduced.

You were pretty sure you gave them your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“We ain’t here for—” Cassidy’s voice cut off with a yelp.

Tulip adjusted in her seat, shooting the man, Cassidy, next to her a glare. She smiled at you. She was lovely. “You alright, hun? You look down,” she asked. Jesse next to you suddenly jumped, swearing under his breath. “Why don’t you and Cass get us all some beers, yeah?” she politely demanded. She even moved for Cassidy to scramble out of the booth.

You took her in as she shuffled back across the booth seat – her tight brown coils kept the sunglasses sin her hair in place, and her brown eyes were bright as she stared at the men at the bar. She wore lip gloss, and her freckles were just a shade darker than her soft brown skin.

She flashed you another smile, this one not as awkward. “You okay?” she asked again. Her eyes darted over your face. “I mean, you don’t really look okay, but do you wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. You mulled over her words, adjusting yourself in Jesse’s coat as you struggled to settle back into your skin, forcing yourself into the situation. Out of all the stupid things you could’ve done, you were led into a bar by a stranger, and stuck in the corner seat of a booth.

Though, there were worse things you’d done, too.

And it was a Priest that led you into the bar. Out of all the strangers, that was one that you could, maybe, trust more. And given the weird thing that happened when he spoke, it really reminded you of Anders, and you scrubbed your face with your hands with a groan. Fully covering your face, you dropped your elbows on the table and rambled out everything that had ever happened – from meeting Sweeny in Cairo, to sitting in the bar with her at that moment. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you barely registered Cassidy or Jesse returning sometime towards the early middle of your tale.

Tulip took your hand and wrapped it around a beer, the polite look on her face replaced with a familiar frustration.

“Now, I ain’t one for religion,” she started, quickly rolling her eyes as Jesse cleared his throat. “Wasn’t,” she corrected, “But someone wanted us to meet because I think we are uniquely qualified to help you out right now.”

Cassidy slapped his bottle on the table, leaning in curiously. “Yer man really a leprechaun?” he asked, “Flighty fuckers, ain’t they?”

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, clearing your throat.

“Nah, I’m old, yeah, been everywhere in my hundred years, and I ain’t ever come across a shrewder or fucked fae than a fuckin’ leprechaun,” he answered.

You properly grabbed the beer and had a long drink. “And how—”

“Oh.” Tulip slapped his arm. “Cassidy here is a vampire,” she said casually, then waved a hand at Jesse next to you, “And Jesse has the literal word of God in his chest.”

“Tulip,” he sighed, as though it was a long-worn topic of contention.

The edges of your world became a little more defined the longer you sat with them. “A vampire, a priest, and a woman,” you mumbled, “I’ve been in weirder situations.”

“Yeah, alright,” Cassidy said, waving his hand in a circle over the table as he adjusted in his seat, “Circle back – how the fuck did ya land an invitation to the Oester party?”

“Oester?” Jesse whispered to you.

“Easter,” you clarified.

He nodded slowly and sat back, draining his beer in one long gulp.

“Everyone’s always clamberin’ for that, fuck, even the Oester in fuckin’ Qatar has a hard time gettin’ invited some years!” Cassidy continued.

“There’s more than one?” asked Tulip.

“You also said there were multiple Jessues?” butt in Jesse over her.

“Jesi,” Tulip corrected.

“I think it’s just Jesus, ya know, both plural and singular,” Cassidy mumbled.

“We’re lookin’ for God,” Jesse continued, sighing, “Big G, God. Was he—”

You shook your head. “Sorry, Father. Just Jesus.”

“Jesse,” he insisted.

The conversation continued in a similar vein, you giving them more details, them sharing their story. The table collected a large amount of beer bottles as the hours passed.

Sweeney drank just as much as Bridget danced. It was a dance she’d done numerous times, one that he partook in at least once, one she’d done in front of others who owed favors, who needed magic so desperately that they’d toe the line between death and sex just to taste it. She twisted in time to music that formed on the air. Sweeney’s eyes slipped past her, past the figures that appeared around her, to someone she had yet to see. She threw her head back as old words slipped past her lips, and spotted the figure, the one who clouded the Irishman’s mind as the world grew hazy and the magic grew hot. Bridget was grinning when she turned to him, traced her slim fingers up his thighs, which parted for her.

“And, for a moment, I thought you were hung up on the dead girl,” she crooned against his clothed stomach.

Sweeney snorted.

“But it’s someone else,” she teased. Her lips grazed the skin of his neck. He twisted his head away from her. His knee started to bounce. “Bet you’d be more into it if the Informant were here, kneeling between your knees.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his ear. “Just as eager to take your cock as you are to give it.”

He shrugged her off with a growled, “Shut up.”

She arched an eyebrow as she stood, though that Cheshire stretched further across her face. “C’mon, let’s play pretend, hm?” The room filled with an eerie glow. Sweeney rose from his eat. “You be the burly Irishman.”

“Shuddup.”

“I’ll grant your favor,” she purred, voice lilting as Sweeney stepped closer.

“Shut. Up.”

It wasn’t her voice that said, “Make me,” but she squealed when Sweeney scooped her up and pinned her to the wall, anger and frustration brewing hot in his veins. It wasn’t her he saw when he hiked her skirt up and pulled her legs high around his waist, nor when he tilted her hips up and pushed his cock into her with no preamble.

In the haze, he heard the Baron and Maman Bridget laugh.

As the red settled over his eyes, he slid a hand up the back of the figure on his hips, swinging them around, pinning them to the column behind him. They were tighter than hell on his cock and warmer than the sun against his chest and he felt himself swallow his own name as he kissed a mouth he’d become familiar with.

The fingers in his hair were yours.

The thighs he gripped tight were yours.

The voice that mewled and moaned in his ear as he touched and bit groped the right places was yours.

And while part of him knew it wasn’t you – wasn’t really you taking his cock like you were built for it – the rest of him desperately wished it was, and convinced him to enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

(Laura knew that Sweeney only touched her the way he did was because he imagined it was you, and she desperately wished her imagination was powerful enough to picture the man she kept telling herself she loved, rather than seeing the one she really did.)

Jesse fumbled with the lock to your hotel room for the third time, swearing beneath the din of a party going on down the hall. Cassidy stated that he was sober, that he could open the door, but Tulip hushed him and pointed out that he was carrying you on his back, so he was too occupied to do so. He didn’t argue with her, nor point out that she, too, was drunk.

You cheered when Jesse finally opened the door.

“’ey, I got it,” Cassidy said as he shuffled inside. You were vaguely aware of him ushering Tulip and Jesse away, of him telling them that they needed to get home, and to call a taxi or an Uber.

“You text me!” Tulip halfway shouted around him, waving at you as you were deposited onto the bed.

You flashed her a thumbs up before Jesse pulled the door shut.

Cassidy turned to you, rubbing his neck, and dug through the only bag in the room, mumbling something about getting you a change of clothes.

It gave you a chance to really look at him, really take in his features. He was tall, with hair long enough to stick out in difference directions, and soft brown eyes, and was freckled from his previous days in the sun. His voice was soft as he handed you the clothes and advised you to change. He steadied you, helped you tug off your stubborn shirt and put on your clean one, then sat you on the toilet and grabbed a washcloth.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, surprisingly sober, given how much you drank.

He knelt and started to wipe your face; his brow knitted together at your question. Then, he sat back on his heels, his arms draped on his knees.

“I’m a real right bastard, love—”

You swiftly corrected him with your name.

He lifted his hands, apologized, and continued, “But I ain’t gonna leave someone alone when they’re hurtin’.” He paused, then sighed. “Specially with somethin’ like this.” He gave you a small smile.

“I don’t deserve it,” you whispered, sniffling. You wiped your nose with your hand. Cassidy held out the damp cloth. You took it, chin trembling, “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You don’t,” Cassidy agreed. “Fact, from what y’ said, that Sweeney’s a fuckin’ arsehole and deserves an asskickin’, but that’s from the outside.”

You waved your hands, rolling your eyes. “No, I—” You sniffled against and dabbed your nose with the cloth. “No, I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve your company, I don’t…” Your voice cracked and dropped to a whisper as you continued, “I don’t deserve to be here. Someone else does. Someone stronger, someone kinder, someone smarter.” You hiccupped and covered your face with the cloth, leaning over your knees.

Cassidy sat on the floor at your feet, folding himself around your legs and the toilet as much as his long limbs would let him. He looped his arms around your back. “That’s the shitty booze talkin’, y’know…” he murmured, sighing gently, “An’ I dunno who you think is better. Yer plenty strong, from the sounds of yer story. Kind, too. Smart as a fuckin’ whip.” He frowned. “You deserve what ya put into the world, and y’ve put a lot of good out there.”

Your sob tore through his chest like a stake.

(Cassidy’s heart broke a bit and stitched back together with a bit of love he carried for you until the day he died.)

“Then why…” you trailed off.

He sighed. “Others just put shit out there, too, and that’s a bit bigger than the good sometimes.”

You scrubbed your eyes with the cloth until they burned, then sat up, wiping your cheeks. He took the washcloth, carefully wiping your nose with the corner.

“Know it ain’t much,” he whispered, “But ‘m glad someone like you’s here.”

“I wanna go home,” you whispered, and he felt it in his gut that you didn’t mean a place.

He sighed. “Me, too,” he said, and in that moment, you knew he didn’t mean a place either, and wondered if Tulip was right about the serendipitous meeting.

Your chin trembled. He helped you up, guided you to the bed, tucked you in, then sat next to you. He flipped the television on. You reached over and flipped it off.

“You’re a vampire,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder, “Tell me a story. Tell me your story. I’ll commit it to memory.”

He snorted. “Why you wanna do somethin’ so silly like that, huh?” he asked.

“Everyone deserves to be remembered,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “And everyone’s important enough to be remembered.”

Your phone buzzed on the blankets. Cassidy scooped it up. He tilted the screen towards you.

“He’s really enjoying fucking that dead flesh,” read a text from your sister, sent over one of the social media apps on your phone.

“That somethin’ she’d say?” Cassidy asked, glancing at the phone, “You said somethin’ about gods and the like, too, when y’ were tellin’ yer shit.”

“Never,” you whispered.

He turned the phone off. “None a that, then,” he mumbled, tossing it somewhere on the bed. He threw an arm around your back. “Get comfortable. It’s a long story.”

“Those are the best,” you yawned.

He spun you a tale of two kids playing at being Freedom Fighters in a land you’d grown familiar with, about how one died in battle, another in the streets.

You drifted off sometime during his re-telling of the 70’s.

Old stone homes crowded the darkness of your sleep, looming over you like specters of a past you didn’t know well. You padded barefoot down cobblestone roads and turned a corner to find your familiar library at the end of one.

“Hello, you,” you whispered as you made your way over, pulling open the clean doors. They creaked and slammed shut behind you. It was dark inside. Not dark enough that you couldn’t see, but the once warm candles were no longer lit, instead being scattered, and broken across the floor. You stepped over them with a frown as you walked in.

Thrown across the main room were books – the floor was covered in pages that were ripped and stained, and shelves were knocked against each other. You knelt to pick up a book and sighed. An ache bloomed behind your eye as sobriety quickly approached.

“Leave.” A voice in the sudden silence made you jump. You dropped the book, rising to your feet. A figure stood beside a tipped over shelf. Its eyes reflected what little light filled the room. You gulped, shifting back as it inched towards you. You scrambled for the door and the bright light beyond it, panic clawing at your throat as the thing ran after you. You pulled the door open.

Its hand smashed the door shut. “You don’t get to run away from this!” it snarled over your startled screech, “You don’t get to just decide it’s over!”

“Stop it!” you screamed. It roared against your back, then fell silent. Its heat surrounded you. You swallowed, turning to see whatever it was that haunted your library.

You stood toe to toe, its bright, knowing eyes watched you. Its chest heaved and its arms trembled. You shivered, backing up against the door. It stepped back.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

It opened its mouth and hundreds of names poured out. You covered your ears as the sound of them echoed in your head, pounding against your skull, everything building until it was undecipherable noise.

Fingers wrapped around yours, cold against your hot skin.

Rose opened her eyes, leaning away from her two lovers to pick up her phone. She’d sent a message hours ago, calling on an acquaintance she hadn’t met in decades, cashing in her one and only favor to him.

Her message was the address of the hotel and your room number, attached to the request, “Take them home. Cairo.”

He’d replied, “Done,” and dropped a pin showing that his phone was at the same location.

She sagged with relief and sat back against the couch.

The man saw the read notification beneath his pin, then slid his phone into his pocket. It was easy for him to pick the lock of your room – old doors, old locks, they were nothing for his deft fingers. Though, he swore when he dropped the lock pick, scooping it up into a wide palm as he checked the door. Satisfied, he swung the door open.

Cassidy looked up from gently prying your hands from your head.

The strange man looked around the room. The television had been unplugged at one point, as had the small clock radio. A cell phone sat on the blankets, turned off. And a vampire was tending to the one Rose had sent him for.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Cassidy grunted, standing tall, making sure he was between you and the stranger. The man laughed harder.

The sound was finally enough to wake you. You pushed yourself up, rubbing your sore eyes, and squinted at the man standing in your room. He tilted his head back, somehow larger than Cassidy was before you. “Rose sent me,” he said, waving a hand, “Here to take you home. To Cairo. Let’s go.”

Cassidy glanced over his shoulder at you. You swung your feet off the bed, shrugging, still half asleep and not quite sober as you groggily responded, “Take me home.”

“Y’sure?” whispered Cassidy.

You looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. “I’m sure.” Then, you pointed at your bag. “Give me your number. I’ll update you. And stay here, at least until nighttime. The room’s paid for.”

He hesitated, and gave the man another wary look, but did as he was told with a shrug. He eventually turned back to the man again. “Wait, who’re you?”

The strange man grinned, his laughter finally subsiding. “Call me Iartaithe,” he answered with a wink, “It’s a name.”

“Okay, but why’re you laughin’?” Cassidy asked as he grabbed your bag. He fished for the pen you pointed towards, glancing over when you saw you rubbing your eyes again.

“Just absurd,” Iartaithe replied, “Whole thing. Absolutely fucking absurd.”

“Yeah,” you muttered as you stretched your arms above your head, “Tell me about it.” You waited as Cassidy scribbled down his number, then stretched to grab your phone and turn it back on. You looked up at him. “Can you tell Sweeney where I’m going?”

“I can tell ‘im to fuck right off,” Cassidy replied. You smiled. “Guess I can,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” you said, “He’ll worry.” Then, you frowned, wondering if he’d show back up at all, and remembered that, despite what you wanted from him, he really was still your friend. He’d show up. And he’d worry. But you also knew that you couldn’t stay there anymore, especially alone. You appreciated Cassidy’s company, but you knew he couldn’t stay. You needed to go home. You needed to see Bast again. “Thank you,” you repeated, looking up at Cassidy, “Really.”

He flopped onto the bed with a loud sigh, tapping your phone with his finger. “You better fuckin’ message, or I’m comin’ to find you instead,” he threatened, “Fuck God. He can wait another fuckin’ day.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, yawning, and stood, scooping your bag off the floor. “Promise,” you swore.

Iarlaithe leaned back against the door, and stepped out into the hall when you followed. You gave Cassidy one last glance, waved when he did, and shut the door on him and everything that New Orleans had brought you.

~*~Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~

@hannon-say || @divadinag || @superflannel || @jinxy-toast || @the-bluest-hour || @karmabites2313 || @siedrkona1991 || @hstott || @lakeli || @massivecolorspygiant || @leximus98 || @weirdo125 || @fleeingdawn-blog1 || @madamecoyote || @postgradandstupid || @hopplessdreamer || @ceyruh || @animatenebrae || @ultrablackwidower || @callmemaeverick || @loisbaggings || @fictional-hooman || @babypink224221 || @quietwitchworld || @mags-writes || @sunshine-gumdrop || @theonlylolland

#the invasion series #american gods #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #pablo schreiber

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i-amtransexual · 1 year

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Please tell me about ur alien guys :)

NICE ok this will get long as shit so there will be my main guy (who has funky lore) and then my melting, gelatinous crying species (who have funkier lore) and then no more becuase ahahhaha i need to sleep

starting with the basics, there are multiple universes, and they are classified into "series" of universes. my main guy, Ooble who is my little minecraft sona, exists in a different series of univereses to the other alien guys. Ooble, originally from universe "⊣", within the series "ᔑ - ᑑ" gets sucked into the series of universes "ℸ ̣ ╎⍑ᓭ ||ᒲ" (which is basically just all my oc's and their worlds shhhhhh)

ok worldbuilding over, Ooble is an alien! what kind? who knows, he certainly doesn't and he doesn't care. he lives in the world of minecraft SMPs now and seeing as he isn't human, or at least a species of any living thing found on any SMP ever, he is alien to them, and that's how he defines himself. he's a very funky dude, full of transsexual swagger and he has no eyes but can see as if he does. no eyelids. no emoty eye sockets, just smooth skin. fun fact he can see like a human, but no one from his place of origin can see like that, through shenanigans involving gods he was given the gift of human sight. very fun. he also has freckles that are little purple stars, and sometimes they fall off of his skin and when they hit the ground they eventually grow into flowers with star shapes. unless it's snow then they just kinda melt into it and look like purple blood lmao. It's a sign of health, he's very unhealthy if they don't fall off, cuz it means all the germs and bacteria the stars catch are kept in him and that is not good.

ONTO THE OTHER GUYS.

don't have a name for this species of alien yet, but they come from the universe series "star trek AU's and star trek inspired stuff."

theses guys are kinda like slime in minecraft in that we all now they are gelatinous, squishy, goopy, viscous guys, but also when they hit you they're solid. that's what these guys are. BUT the catch is that hitting them with projectiles or swords doesn't work, as it just goes through them. the only way to really kill them is certain poisons, drowning them in various liquids or melting.

drowning works because if you water them down enough they can't keep a consciousness, and as long as you keep their container large enough, or just dump them into a huge body of water like an ocean they cant reform, unless someone spent years collecting every part of goop they cold find from a giant lake their beloved was drowned in years ago and pouring it all into a bucket over the years to hopefully eventually wait for their lover to reform into a shell of their former self. (spoilers much?)

melting is pretty obvious, if you heat it too much they can't keep their form and also eventually they are so liquid they get boiled off into nothing. some poisons work, but some are too think or too thin and get squished out. gotta be the same viscosity ya know.

they feel no (phyisical) pain cuz they have no nerves! their bodies are solid-ish enough to be able to take different forms, kinda like shape shifting except they are see through and it's only into shapes like a square or a human and they have nothing you can see internally, like organs for example.

basically, conscious goo, but they take form of things so it feels like there should be a brain in the bit of goo shaped like a head, but there isn't. those who have practice can get very detailed sculpting, eventually being able to look like they have the shape of eyes and with great practice some even learn how to move lips in time with their words!

but the FUN part is their tears. they can cry, which is about the only "human" like thing their bodies do. And their tears can be used to heal people. After they cry, if that liquid is collected, it eventually solidifies into a very thick healing slave, kinda exactly like hair gel but sparkly and alien tears. this healing stuff is highly sought after, and thankfully very little is needed to heal some serious wounds. i'm talking a teaspoon to regrow an arm kinda thing. the people running their planet, which only consists of three countries as it's mostly ocean which is dangerous, thankfully cut a deal with United Federation of Planets, where basically once you translate all the fancy legal mumbo jumbo, it is incredibly cheap, almost free and mostly readily available for everyone across the galaxy, as it never goes off and their planet has hundreds of years of this stuff, because of even longer reason that i can expand upon another time.

but that's just the healing tears.

a smaller percentage of their population, about 2 percent, have a very differnt effect on someone who uses their tear-gel-thingy. theirs tears carry their emotions, and the exact amount of emotion behind it. and it can only be felt through eating them. they are tasteless, and if you give someone too much they will die, so it is used as a very expensive, very secretive method of killing people.

for example, if one of the goo guy's brothers dies in a really awful horrible way, and the tears of the sibling's immense and painful grief are collected, anyone who eats merely a spoonful of this will be so over come with grief they would immediately have to lay down and sob until they were in pain. if they were given a few tablespoons, well they may as well just die right then and there. but also, if these were tears of joy, from a goo person's wedding, and someone ate those, the level of joy could be used as a highly sought after recreational drug.

that's why the percent of the population that has tears such as these are kept as the best kept secret of the planet, never allowed to leave the planet or tell anyone outside of the most trustworthy of people their secret. until now, when Otour boards a starship, the E.F. Unity, as the first ever member of their species aboard a federation starship, being of the ones that cry the tears that don't heal, but this is somehow unbeknowest to their planet. oh and what shenanigans shall ensue.

#holy fuck it is 11 minutes past my beddy bye time gn all #THANK YOU ANON FOR LETTING ME RAMBLE :DDDDDDDDDD #my alien guys.yay #asking

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pumpkins-s · 6 years

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I put in an ask a little while ago asking how Ritzie got her nickname, and I'm not sure if it got swallowed up by tumblr goblins or if you're intentionally avoiding it cause spoilers so I figure I'll ask again and if you don't wanna answer you can just ignore again but - yeah if Ritzie's name is Isabel then how in the HECK

djsfhdfh yeah sorry I think tumblr ate that one? It’s definitely not a Big Spoiler I’m worried about so--

It’s actually not a very Exciting or Long answer. It’s pretty much a Ladybird Situation.

Social Worker: ....RitzieRitzie: mhmmSocial Worker: ...Is that...your given name...?Ritzie: yeahSocial Worker: ...Why is it in quotesRitzie: I gave it to myself. It’s given to me by me.

#when I first wrote Ritzie in I wasn't sure if her nickname was self-given or made up by Yuu #but over time it solidified in my head as a self-given name #Ritzie Lamae #SLAOS talk #sorry if that's not as exciting as you were hoping for dfjgh #Anonymous #asks #questions for Nik

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

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Okay so I finally came up with a Soulmate AU request to celebrate your (very well-deserved) milestone! How about a soulmark au with poly frontier? I’m really curious to hear your thoughts on how everyone would handle having the same mark as four other people! (Aside from Will and Benny of course - so maybe everyone else has two marks while they each have one??) - Ghost

ghost, my first fandom friend, by biggest encourager of self-indulgent chaos... I sincerely hope you enjoy

warnings: this takes place "in" my poly frontier au, which means it's 18+.

and by in, I mean this is an au to my au, so just... yeah. you know what's happening.

soulmate requests / follower celebration

They knew, deep down that they were soulmates before the marks came in solid.

Even when there was just the faintest echo of shading, almost a bruise of a moment, they already knew.

Because the four of them, and Tom, had willing gone to hell and back with each other. They had felt the lifeblood bleed out of each other, and given their very breath to try to make up for it, sacrificed... everything, for each other. Not for their country, like the thought, and it wasn't even for the greater good that they survived - it was the men who's eyes found each other's across the fire that fortified their souls. And they'd been pushed and pulled and stretched together, and when only four remained, thoroughly broken and then healing together, they knew.

Months into therapy, each on their own, and a lifetime into tired phonecalls with quiet apologies, the tattoos solidified.

It was Santi who organized the dinner

"Can... can I ask you guys something?"

"A little late for that, don't you think?" Will’s words were without bite, and he sipped his drink carefully.

"Fuck off," he said begrudgingly, endearingly. "Your guy's... came in, too?" That part was false confidance, a thin veil over wild fear.

"Yep," Frankie's tone was matter-of-fact, satisfied. Glances and nods, they all... processed it. Benny swallowed the last of his drink and Frankie's knuckles ran over his thighs. Santi inhaled deeply before letting the breathe out slowly, trying to ignore the slight tremble of his hands.

It was messy, the soulmate talk. They'd been having it all their lives - the intricacies that even the world's most powerful governments still couldn't untangle. And Frankie and Santi each had two.

Will dragged his thumb through the condensation on his glass, looking involuntarily at his brother.

"I need to tell you guys something." Their heads shot up to look at him, and Benny almost laughed.

"There's someone else."

They were looking at him in blank shock, an appropriate reaction.

"Fuck."

"You know this... how, exactly?"

"Childhood friend. She got two, in college. Matches Will and me, the same as you guys. " Ben sounded almost giddy, his words making the chaos real.

"Mom hated it - was sure one of us was going to die or get our heart broken. But then we saw your guy's and -"

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything before now?" Frankie was mad. It was too much - it felt unreal.

"She said she didn't want to choose either brother, said it didn't feel right."

"Now we know why, I guess." Benny's hand ran across Frankie's shoulder, his attempt to make light of it all had been put aside.

"She?"

"Yeah."

Pope dragged his hand along his jaw, drink forgotten. There was a familiar glint in his eye, and Will knew he felt it too - like it or not, it felt right. Frankie would take longer to convince - he looked like he wanted to crack his head open and cook whatever was inside.

"You guys should meet her."

Catfish made a strangled noise, and Will couldn't help but kiss his temple.

"Whenever you're ready."

It took weeks.

Frankie went silent for ten days, ignoring calls and texts, before Will came home and found him on his couch.

They talked for awhile and it was nice, different than therapy. Not about being Delta, not about Columbia or cocaine, they talked about... you. About how you'd been Will's first love, since he was a pretend knight in shining armor, and you'd asked to be the dragon. About how he'd seen that same look in Benny's eyes when you'd been the only one to turn up at one of his high school shows. Their long talks, trying to figure out how to move on from their soulmate, how impossible it felt until they all met on the force. About how scary it was, for all these friendships to become something so... unknown.

And over chili, Frankie sighed, and agreed to meet you. Because of Will, he was already in love with you more than he'd admit even to himself.

They invited you over to Santi's for dinner, not wanting to cause a scene at a restaurant.

Benny hugged you the moment you walked in, crushing your nerves and your ribcage at the same time. Your hand cradled his cheek, a reassuring touch.

Then Will gently pulled you into his arms, harboring you against his chest. He asked questions into your hair, and you grabbed fistfulls of his shirt before you nodded.

The one they introduced as Frankie - Catfish - didn't touch you but he might as well have. He stepping into your space, looking right into your eyes, standing over you like he was as tall as Ben. His words were kind, and careful. His tattoos matched yours.

The other - Santi, Pope - dropped the package of farmer's market veggies he'd been holding onto the ground. Then he shook your hand, while the others shot him looks like he'd grown an extra head. You wondered if Will had texted you the wrong names - he didn't seem excited to meet you like they'd said. If anything, he seemed caught off-guard, like there was a confidance you had taken away. But his tattoos matched yours.

Your nerves returned.

Food helped, polite conversations melting into teasing stories and giddy laughter. They ate a lot, and you smiled when they shared bites with each other. Under the table Benny’s hand found yours, and squeezed before he got distracted. Above, Will touched your cheek and for the first time, you let yourself lean into his warmth.

And when you began to clean the dishes, something shifted. Frankie's hands ran over yours in the soapy water, and he seemed startled, but he shifter closer to you, both of you flushing as you sought the touch again.

Moments later you stumbled upon Santi looking at the stars when you took out the trash. It was flattering, that such a man would be nervous because of you. Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek, and he pulled you into his arms, grab so tight you though you understood his fears. His palm held your head against his neck,, and you wrapped your arms around his broad ribcage. Will found you like that, and leaned against the doorframe, watching.

You felt like you were free falling, and you could tell they felt it too. It was a lot to take in, but no one seemed like they wanted the night to end. Trading stories and sharing glances, it dragged on and on, until Francisco caught you yawning, and coaxed the evening to a close.

By the time he succeeded, you knew, and so did they. Marks be damned - this was it.

Your first individual date was with Benny. It wasn't as easy as either of you expected - his own anxiety about the situation finally catching up to his excitement. He was a good friend, always had been, always would be, and you knew him like the back of your hand. Dating had been off-limits for so long.... it was going to take time to rewrite.

"I just... I love you. I love you all so much." Your Ben was always honest. It would've felt like a crazy thing to say, on a first date, but everything about this wasn't traditional.

"I love you too, Ben, you know I do." Your voice was quiet, trying to convey how strange this was for you, too, and he let out a long, slow breath. After awhile, air full of thoughtful silence, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled, soft and happy.

His rough hands found yours again, and this time, he didn't let go until he had to.

When you met Frankie for lunch, you felt suddenly shy. His dark eyes felt like they could see right into your heart, and you fidgeted, hoping he liked whatever he saw.

He talked like he knew you, and you felt like he did, a strange comfort in the chaos of your worlds. When your wrist bumped your glass he caught both, hand lingering on your skin as he ducked his head and pulled his eyes away.

Words came easier, then, and more and more, until suddenly you felt like maybe fate know what it was doing.

Frankie was thoughtful - so thoughtful and careful and kind, you watched him in awe, tempted to hug him without abandon. And he talked with passion, about your boys, how they saved him time and time again, and how he took care of them, when you couldn't.

You realized, as you kissed his cheek goodbye, that he was the one who helped change Benny's tire, so he could make it to your birthday party a few years ago. Footsteps already on the way down the street, your heart tugged, begging you to take one last look at his fluffy curls and steady eyes. When you turned back, he was watching you, hands in his pockets, and you wondered as you waved if it was too soon to say you were head over heels for Francisco Morales.

Dinner with Santi felt the most like a first date, of all of them. He was quick to flirt, but his eyes held yours, and his smile was perfectly crooked, and you knew he meant every word.

He told you information, rather than stories, rambling excitedly, one train of thought stringing into the next. When he realized his tangents, he flushed, wringing his napkin as he apologized.

"Don't," you shushed him, "Tell me more, please."

He was silent for a moment, pausing to drink you in, heart racing in spite of himself. And then he resumed, and you thought maybe you got it.

For years, he'd had loves all around him, but... you were his first opportunity to be romantic in a dramatic way, as intense as his heart had ached for, silently. It was lovely, watching him settle into his skin, and when he kissed your temple that night, it was a thank you, and a promise.

Despite all logic, the free falling and stumbling steps towards whatever came next, he made you feel safe.

It was a familiar grassy hill, you met Will on, one you'd climb to when you were teens who needed to talk.

He sat close - closer than he ever had - but enough away that you could move, if you wanted to. It was strange, talking about the others with him, seeing the relief in his eyes as your honesty poured out. Moments later, he matched it, and you saw that golden glow as he smiled.

"I'm glad, really I am."

You waited.

"But..." gently, you bumped into him and he looked at you, blue eyes questioning. "I know you, Will."

His smile grew.

"Could I... I want to kiss you." It wasn't really a question - and he held himself back, watching for your response. There was no need to add I want to kiss you because I've been waiting to, aching to. Since we were kids - let me kiss you first. Please. Both lf you knew what he meant.

You weren't sure who leaned in first, but his hands, grabbed at your cheeks, fingertips in your hair, and his lips were warm and soft.

It, all of it, felt like home.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk

#triple frontier poly fic #poly frontier #au au #soulmate requests #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #francisco morales x reader #benny miller x reader #maybe i dont know people #elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule

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dylanobrienisbatman · 3 years

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comparing everlark and malina you are going to make my cry. they are both so good and it totally explains my idea to rewatch thg movies shortly after finishing tgt books (i haven’t done that yet though). i always thought they were similar but so many people compare malina to everthorne and it chips away at my soul. anyway, just wanted to say i love the malina/mal posting you’ve got going on. i am very comfortable with the energy you’ve created in the studio. <3

AUGH thank you!!!! I’m glad the energy I’m putting out is a good vibe! And now I’m gonna rant because you gave me an inch and I’m taking the mile here.

BOOKS SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!

When it comes to the everlark/everthorn/malina question, i think it’s yet another example of people misunderstanding Mal and Malina and what Leigh was trying to do with the story. In THG, peeta represents peace and safety and a comfortable “boring” life, whereas Gale represents war and fighting, and forever being in a space of conflict. The “choice” for Katniss isn’t about them as men, it’s about what they’re supposed to symbolise. As with all well done YA books, the message of the story in total is supposed to be reflected in the “choice” of romantic partners. The heroine will end up with the person who best fits with the overarching themes of the story, because in the end she will choose the path that best fits with those themes. THG did it extremely well, and I think TGT did too, but people seem to lack the ability to actually understand what it means.

In TGT, Alina has three “choices” in both her life, and in the men who are presented as options. The Sun Summoner, Sankta Alina, or just Alina. The Darkling, Nikolai, or Mal. As usual, the romantic plot is meant to mirror and help solidify the thematic choices the heroine has to make. Each man represents a different path for Alina, and a different outcome in the story.

The darkling is a path of darkness and power and a corruption of the self. Throughout the story it’s made extremely clear that he is and always has been a monster, and in the narrative he represents the main overarching theme of the books: absolute power corrupts absolutely. That’s why Alina can never be with him, because choosing power over everything else takes away her humanity. He represents Alina giving up on humanity in pursuit of her own power. He also represents control, over and her and her gifts. He wants to claim her power for himself, so to choose him would be to choose to give up her agency.

Nikolai represents another kind of power, and I think he’s less of a real thematically driven romantic option. She never really considers him as an actual romantic choice, which makes sense because Alina never wanted what he represents, which is political power and fame and glory. His offer to marry her makes that very clear. He doesn’t love Alina, he wants to be married to Sankta Alina, so he can claim that name and the political influence it holds for himself. He is another man who wants to claim her, and even tho he more wants to claim what she represents, it still shows that he values what she can give him rather than Alina herself. Alina choosing him would be choosing to live a life as a false “saint”, which we see clearly throughout the story that she’s not interested in, as well as once again giving up her agency and allowing herself to be used. She doesnt like being paraded around or made to put on a show. She doesn’t want what Nikolai represents, even before he shows up, which is why he’s never truly an option to her, in the romantic sense.

And then there’s Mal. Mal represents humanity and peace, and exists to ground Alina, and Mal is continuously the only one of the men who values Alina herself, rather than what she can do or what she represents. There’s a reason she always thinks of him at the Little Palace and why he always shows up in moments where the Darkling is starting to corrupt her or when Nikolai is being too much of a smooth talker. He steps in to remind Alina that power and influence mean nothing if she looses sight of who she is on the inside. Mal exists to keep the narrative themes of the story in Alina’s head. He is there to show her, and the audience, when she’s letting things go to far, or when she’s starting to become someone she’s not. I think it makes him unpopular because people think he’s trying to limit her, but he’s not. He’s trying to keep her from becoming someone she can’t come back from. He’s trying to keep her human. He represents home and peace and safety for her, but he is also her guide star. He keeps her on the path to becoming a hero, and in dying for her shows that he was the only one truly willing to allow her to achieve her own destiny, no matter the cost to himself.

Mals sacrifice is another way he mirrors the themes of the story. Alina must achieve a power too great to hold in order to defeat the darkling and banish the fold, and in so doing she must then loose that power. To save the world, Alina must sacrifice her power as the sun summoner. And Mal’s sacrifice mirrors that. For the world to be saved and evil to be defeated, Alina must give up the man she loves. He symbolises her putting the world above herself, which is then mirrored by her power being given to the world. But in the end, it’s not this wonderful life affirming moment. To lose something dear to you can be traumatising and horrific, and just because it was for the greater good doesn’t make it any awful for her. To be forced to kill Mal is HORRIBLE for Alina, but because she is the hero of the story, and because Mal has helped to remind her time and time again that she must choose humanity over herself and her own power, she does it. And in doing so, she then looses her power and

I think that’s why Malina and Everlark have the same vibes, because in the end Mal and Peeta are both the character in the plot that helps to ground the heroine and remind her of the thematic intent of the story. That peace is what we should strive for. That humanity and kindness should always prevail. That sacrifice for the betterment of the world can be noble, but it’s still devastating and traumatic. That love should be a soothing balm on your pain and troubles, and home should be where you’re safest, and where you’re most yourself.

#malina #shadow and bone spoilers #everlark #mal oretsev #alina starkov #shadow and bone #the grisha trilogy #the hunger games #nikolai lantsov #the darkling #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #they’re so wonderfully paralleled i love it

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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What are your thoughts on Jekyll/Hyde and his archetype of the human periodically changing into a monster ?

Jekyll & Hyde was the 2nd horror story I read following Frankenstein, I got it off the same library and it always stuck very strongly with me even before I got into horror in general. I even dressed up as Jekyll/Hyde as a kid for a school fair by shredding a lab coat on one side and asking my sister to make-up claw gashes on my exposed arm and paint half of my face, although in hindsight I think I ended up looking more like Doctor Two-Face than Jekyll/Hyde, but I was 12 and didn't have any Victorian clothing to use so I had to make do. The first film project I tried doing at film school was intended to be a modern take on Jekyll & Hyde, and I didn't get much farther than a couple of discarded scripts

Much like Frankenstein, Mr Hyde as a character and a story is something that's kind of baked into everything I do artistically. And it's not just me, as even in pop culture itself, none of us can escape Mr Hyde. I would go so far as to argue Mr Hyde may be the single most significant character created by victorian fiction, if only by the sheer impact and legacy the character's had.

(Fan-art by guilhermefranco)

Part of what makes Mr Hyde such a powerful and lasting icon of pop culture is that the very premise of the book invites a personal reading that's gonna vary from person to person. Because everyone's familiar with the basic twist of the story, that it's a conflict of duality, of the good and evil sides, but everyone has a more personal idea of what those entail. Some people make the story more about class. A lot of readings laser-focus on sex and lust as the driving force, and there's also a lot of readings of Mr Hyde that tackle it to explore a more gendered perspective, and so forth.

I don't particularly take much notice of the Jekyll & Hyde adaptations partially because the novel's premise and themes have become baked so throughly into pop culture and explored in so many different and interesting ways, that I'm not particularly starving for good Jekyll & Hyde adaptations the way I am for Dracula and Frankenstein. The Fredric March film in particular is one that orbits my head less because of the film itself (although I do recommend it), but because of one specific scene, and that's when Jekyll first transforms into Hyde on screen.

Out of all the things they could have shown him doing right that second, they instead took the time to show him enjoying the rain.

Just Hyde taking off his hat and letting it all cascade on his face with this sheer enthusiasm like he's never been to the rain before, never enjoyed it before, and now that he's free from being Jekyll, he gets to enjoy life like he never has before. It's such an oddly humanizing moment to put amidst a horror movie, in the scene where you're ostensibly introducing the monster to the audience, and it makes such a stark contrast to the rest of the film where Hyde is completely irredeemable, but I think it's that contrast that makes the film's take on Hyde work so well even with it's diverging from the source material, even if I don't particularly like in general interpretations of Hyde that are focused on a sexual aspect.

Because one, it understands that Jekyll was fundamentally a self-serving coward and not a paragon of goodness, and two, it also understands one of the things that makes Hyde scary: He wants what all of us want, to live and be happy. He's happy when he leaves the lab and dances around in the rain like a giddy child, he's happy when he goes to places Jekyll couldn't dream of showing up, he's happy as a showgirl-abusing sexual predator. Hyde is all wants, all the time, and there's not that much difference between his wants, his domineering possessiveness, and the likes exhibited by Muriel's father and Jekyll's own within the very same film, which also works to emphasize one of the other ideas of the original story, that Edward Hyde doesn't come from nowhere. That no monster is closer to humanity than Mr Hyde, because he is us. He is the thing that Jekyll refused to take responsability for until it was too late.

(Art by LorenzoMastroianni)

While many of the ideas that defined Mr Hyde had already been explored in pop culture beforehand, Hyde popularized and redefined many of them in particular by modernizing the idea. He was the werewolf, the doppelganger, The Player On The Other Side, except he came from within. He was not transformed by circumstance, he made himself that way, and the elixir merely brought out something already inside his soul. To acknowledge that he's there is to acknowledge that he is you, and to not do that is to either lose to him, or perish. Hyde was there to address both the rot settling in Victorian society as well as grappling concerns over Darwinian heritage, of the realization that man has always had the beast inside of him (it's no accident that Hyde's main method of murder is by clubbing people to death with his cane like a caveman).

I've already argued on my post about Tarzan that the Wild Man archetype, beginning with Enkidu of The Epic of Gilgamesh, is the in-between man and beast, between superhero and monster, and that Mr Hyde is an essential component of the superhero's trajectory, as the creature split in between. That stories about dual personalities, doppelgangers, the duality of the soul, the hero with a day job and an after dark career, you can pinpoint Hyde as a turning point in how all of these solidified gradually in pop culture. And I've argued otherwise that The Punisher, for all that his image and narrative points otherwise, is ultimately just as much of a superhero as the rest of them, even if no one wants to admit it, drawing a parallel between The Punisher and Mr Hyde. And he's far from the only modern character that can invite this kind of parallel.

The idea of a regular person periodically or permanently transforming into, or revealing itself to be, something extraordinary and fantastic and scary, grappling with the divide it causes in their soul, and questions whether it's a new development or merely the truest parts of themselves coming to light at last, and the effects this transformation has for good and bad alike. The idea of a potent, dangerous, unpredictable enemy who ultimately is you, or at least a facet of you and what you can do. That these are bound to destroy each other if not reconciled with or overcome.

You know what are my thoughts on the archetype of "human periodically changing into a monster" are? Look around you and you're gonna see the myriad ways The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde's themes have manifested in the century and a half since the story's release. Why it shouldn't be any surprise whatsoever that Mr Hyde has become such an integral part of pop culture, in it's heroes and monsters alike. Why we can never escape Mr Hyde, just as Jekyll never could.

It is Nixon himself who represents that dark, venal and incurably violent side of the American character that almost every country in the world has learned to fear and despise. Our Barbie-doll president, with his Barbie-doll wife and his boxful of Barbie-doll children is also America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde.

He speaks for the Werewolf in us; the bully, the predatory shyster who turns into something unspeakable, full of claws and bleeding string-warts on nights when the moon comes too close… - Hunter S. Thompson

There is a scene in the movie Pulp Fiction that explains almost every terrible thing happening in the news today. And it's not the scene where Ving Rhames shoots that guy's dick off. It's the part where the hit man played by John Travolta is talking about how somebody vandalized his car, and says this:

"Boy, I wish I could've caught him doing it. I'd have given anything to catch that asshole doing it. It'd been worth him doing it, just so I could've caught him doing it."

That last sentence is something everyone should understand about mankind. After all, the statement is completely illogical -- revenge is supposed to be about righting a wrong. But he wants to be wronged, specifically so he'll have an excuse to get revenge. We all do.

Why else would we love a good revenge movie? We sit in a theater and watch Liam Neeson's daughter get kidnapped. We're not sad about it, because we know he's a badass and he finally has permission to be awesome. Not a single person in that theater was rooting for it to all be an innocent misunderstanding. We wanted Liam to be wronged, because we wanted to see him kick ass. It's why so many people walk around with vigilante fantasies in their heads.

Long, long ago, the people in charge figured out that the easiest and most reliable way to bind a society together was by controlling and channeling our hate addiction. That's the reason why seeing hurricane wreckage on the news makes us mumble "That's sad" and maybe donate a few bucks to the Red Cross hurricane fund, while 9/11 sends us into a decade-long trillion-dollar rage that leaves the Middle East in flames.

The former was caused by wind; the latter was caused by monsters. The former makes us kind of bummed out; the latter gets us high.

It's easy to blame the news media for pumping us full of stories of mass shootings and kidnapped children, but that's stopping one step short of the answer: The media just gives us what we want. And what we want is to think we're beset on all sides by monsters.

The really popular stories will always feature monsters that are as different from us as possible. Think about Star Wars -- what real shithead has ever referred to himself as being on "the dark side"? In Harry Potter and countless fantasy universes, you have wizards working in "black magic" and the "dark arts." Can you imagine a scientist developing some technology for chemical weapons or invasive advertising openly thinking of what he does as "dark science"? Can you imagine a real world leader naming his headquarters "The Death Star" or "Mount Doom"?

Of course not. But we need to believe that evil people know they're evil, or else that would open the door to the fact that we might be evil without knowing it. I mean, sure, maybe we've bought chocolate that was made using child slaves or driven cars that poisoned the air, but we didn't do it to be evil -- we were simply doing whatever we felt like and ignoring the consequences. Not like Hitler and the bankers who ruined the economy and those people who burned the kittens -- they wake up every day intentionally dreaming up new evils to create. It's not like Hitler actually thought he was saving the world.

So no matter how many times you vote to cut food stamps and then use the money to buy a boat, you could still be way worse. You could, after all, be one of those murdering / lazy / ignorant / greedy / oppressive monsters that you know the world is full of, and that only your awesome moral code prevents you from turning into at any moment. And those monsters are out there.

They have to be. Because otherwise, we're the monsters - 5 Reasons Humanity Desperately Wants Monsters To Be Real, by Jason Pargin

(Two-Face sequence comes from the end of Batman Annual #14: Eye of the Beholder)

For good or bad, Hyde has become omnipresent. He's a part of our superheroes, he's a part of our supervillains, he's in our monsters. He lives and prattles in our ears, sometimes we need him to survive, and sometimes we become Hyde even when we don't need to, because our survival instincts or base cruelties or desperation brings out the worst in us. Sometimes we can beat him, and sometimes he's not that bad. Sometimes we do need to appease him and listen to what he says, about us and the world around us. And sometimes we need to do so specifically to prove him wrong and beat him again.

But he never, ever goes away, as he so accurately declares in the musical

Do you really think That I would ever let you go...

Do you think I'd ever set you free?

If you do, I'm sad to say It simply isn't so

You will never get away FROM MEEEEEE

(Art by Akreon on Artstation)

#tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: disfigurement #replies tag #dr jekyll and mr hyde #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #robert louis stevenson #two-face #batman #monster tag #universal monsters #horror tag

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omegasmileyface · 3 years

Text

Not in the Job Description

heres a silly lil Danny Phantom concept based entirely off a half-awake sleep-vision that made me laugh :) my subconscious brain is a genius at coming up with things that make just enough sense to be worth writing

summary: Danny's job at a local restaurant is surprisingly fulfilling, even after being crowned Ghost King. Speaking of that job, however, there are some intricacies to it that are hard to keep in mind during everyday life.

warnings: descriptions of nausea and mild sickness

words: 2180

AO3 link

===

Honestly, life was going pretty well at the moment for Danny Fenton. He wasn't even worried that it was a false security or a calm before a storm, because this kind of semi-serenity had been going on for more than a year. It was a long-term stability brought about by adaptation and putting in effort to get help and accommodation. Jazz would be proud!

Sometime at the beginning of Junior year, the Observants had chased him down and crowned him High Ghost King (much to the chagrin of both involved parties). It certainly added responsibility to Danny's plate, along with some new sensations and a series of crises (what didn't these days?), but a little political discussion with some of the more powerful ghosts ended with Danny deciding that, at least at the moment, the position didn't require him to do much more than he normally did. More ghosts would seek him out for help and he would do his best, and some "paperwork" (though there was very little paper involved and it was a lot of talking and oaths and rituals and such) happened about monthly. Otherwise, though, the Zone didn't need much more help than that, having survived off an absent King for centuries. Well, and the ambient purpose of the King as a sort of core for the Zone, but Danny didn't have to put in time or conscious effort for that.

Eventually that settled into normalcy, and Danny was back to worrying about the balance of schoolwork, self-care, and fighting. He still hadn't given up on the prospect of someday becoming an astronaut, and he was determined to have the grades for it. Don't get him wrong, he'd gotten way better about that! He'd formed a practiced, if not entirely stable, system that kept his grades at a solid B- / C+, while getting a solid 5-ish hours of sleep most nights and not bottling things up too much. It was about halfway through Junior year that he realized, with some help from his friends, that his ghosts fights were honestly pretty civil, at least against the regulars. Civil enough that he knew they had some respect for him, and was willing to risk asking for help. So a few weeks and awkward but not bad conversations later, and he had agreements with almost all his regular "foes" not to cause trouble within Amity from 11pm to 7am, 3pm on weekdays. It was more than half the day off-limits on school days, and plenty of ghosts made up for it to a degree by making themselves more common during the "permitted" hours, but it greatly increased Danny's well-being and school performance anyway. "Rivals" like Skulker and Technus had enough respect for Danny and his Lair to abide, and plenty even cared that he was taking care of himself, even between frequent sparring. Maybe a few were really just in fear of his new crown, but he chose to cautiously pretend that wasn't a possibility.

After graduation — he made Senior year with all As and Bs! — Danny's parents had encouraged him to get a part-time job over the summer. He had been interning at FentonWorks (paid! His parents might not be the most attentive but they certainly weren't unfair) since he had accidentally revealed himself a few years back, and they had been thrilled to hear that he still intended to go into NASA if possible, and had done whatever they could to help. They recommended the job because, as good as a paid scientific internship was on a resume, it would help to have a variety of activity and the opportunity to get recommendations from employers who weren't liable to nepotism. After searching local businesses, Danny found a small sandwich shop founded by a middle-aged couple who had moved in and set up shop just before the ghost attacks began. Being close to the school but not far from the commercial sector and offering small portable food (no one wants to sit down for a meal when a spirit could come crashing through the window at any moment), the place got good enough business to pay the employees a proper living wage. Better yet, they were allowed to take home unsold food! Not to mention the owners were both very kind women who held smiling conversation with employees and customers alike. Danny was more than lucky to land such a nice job, even if it meant he had to get up at 7 five days a week.

All this is to say that it wasn't as surprising as it could have been that he was having a slow and pleasant day at work.

Both the owners were out for the day on some sort of vacation, so today it was just Danny and a short teenager named Casey manning the place. Most of their orders recently had been online due to an explosion causing road work near the restaurant and it was mid-morning, leaving work slow enough that they could afford to just have the two until lunch shift started. Danny was on cashier duty today, but unless the door bell sounded, he was helping Casey in the kitchen.

"Aw, man, we're almost out of tomatoes."

"Really?" Casey looked up to the shelf Danny was inspecting and indeed saw only 3 tomatoes. "Huh, guess they didn't restock yesterday. Well, we probably shouldn't risk needing more before the day's out, do you want me to go get more?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah, I can go. I think I could use the fresh air." He said that a lot, especially as an excuse when his ghost sense went off, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He never had liked being confined.

Casey checked the monitor to see if they'd gotten any new online orders. Since there was a grocery store just a block away, any time someone needed a quick restock they tended to just walk.

They looked up to see Danny already had his jacket on and was looking them in the eye. "Would you take over my position until I come back?"

"Of course. Ten minutes?"

With a nod and a smile, Danny was out the back door.

===

After a moment of habitually wiping down the counters, Casey went up to the register in case a customer appeared.

It was even quieter than before for a few minutes, so they busied themself with mini restocks and organization. They were in the middle of stacking some paper coffee cups when they started to feel dizzy. There had been this subtle pressure on their chest since Danny left, which they figured was anxiety for working the restaurant alone for the first time, and now it had solidified into a warm nausea that flared whenever they exhaled.

With the disinterested panic that came from having strange things happen for years, they wondered if they had missed their medication this morning. A quick glance at their phone, however, showed the notification for it checked off.

Putting the phone back away, Casey noticed the tips of their fingers were somewhat translucent. Alright then, it was definitely something to do with ghosts. Great! Just excellent. The panic was less disinterested this time.

They weren't familiar with any sort of ghost illness that made humans translucent, so they definitely needed to call someone to make sure nothing bad happened. It would be best to call the Fentons' public number so they could go over and get looked over by then. In the meantime, they should call Danny and ask him to hurry back. He shouldn't be much longer anyway.

Casey didn't even get the chance to act on their plan, however, before a short humanoid ghost appeared in the dining area. They didn't look to be up to anything, but Casey reached for the emergency ectoblaster beneath the register anyway. The nausea was getting worse, along with a new chill, and they couldn't be sure this new ghost wasn't somehow causing whatever they were going through.

The ghost looked at them with an expression that was almost desperate. "Ah! Kind human, thank you for your time." The ghost... bowed? "I am Eurusid, from the Spoken Channels. There has been a dispute which damaged public meeting grounds in the center of the Channels, and both groups refuse to allow the damage to be repaired except by the other group."

Casey's eyes narrowed. It was becoming difficult to stand with the dizziness, and if not the ghost himself, then whatever he was saying was probably a hallucination. They didn't even think about responding beyond a detached "what".

It was then that Danny re-entered the back door with the new tomatoes. Good thing, too. At least with another person there, Casey could confirm whether they were hallucinating.

===

Placing down the grocery bag and shrugging off his jacket in one motion, a skill only gained by years of laziness efficiency, Danny called toward the register. "Back!"

Once he caught sight of the teen, however, all casualness shed itself from his body and he rushed over to hold them. "Man, Casey, you feeling alright? You look really pale." The realization that their form was slightly translucent, despite the firm human heartbeat beneath, was drowned out by him finally noticing the ghost standing a few feet away. The reaction of his ghost sense had been so minor that he had ignored it.

He was surprised to see that he recognized the specter's face, marred as it may have been from worry and confusion aimed directly at Casey. "Eurusid? What's going on?"

As the ghost, still confused but unwilling to act impolitely, gathered his bearings and began to bow toward him, Danny's coworker shuddered under his hands, regaining his full attention. He thought back through the day's events for hints as to the situation, before swearing, cutting off whatever Eurusid was about to say.

Danny backed up and said, voice as clear as he could, "I recall my position."

Casey's reaction was immediate, a gasp of air like they had been kept from breathing and a return of their skin's human opacity. Danny rushed back over and put his hand on their back to steady them as their eyes narrowed and went slightly unfocused.

Figures, doesn't it? One of the many intricacies that had come up at his coronation Junior year that just hadn't come up enough to keep at the front of his mind. One of the defenses of the High Ghost Crown was the ability of the King to temporarily give their duty to someone else. As long as that person accepts, during a specified time they substitute for the King in dealing with political matters, as well as taking over as much as their ability allowed of the King's function to process the energy of the Realms.

Danny had no idea that this ability could be activated with words as vague as "take over my position", let alone that it could be used with a human. That potential had never come up during the ceremony, so for all he knew, a full ghost in his position couldn't substitute with a human. A human certainly shouldn't be able to take over any part of the energy processing, though maybe in Amity Park the average person processed enough environmental ectoplasmic energy to make it possible. Regardless of residence, though, it could not be good for Casey's body, which had no Core to properly process energy and had no human equivalent except perhaps a small emotional center in the brain, to even attempt to filter and manage some of the inherent energy of a dimension.

Their skin was still clammy and their coordination was shot. Ancients, if this is what an accidental substitution did to a human, Danny would have to word things very carefully when asking for help in the future.

"King Phantom?" Danny looked up to see that Eurusid was still floating there awkwardly. Right. He had two people here to help.

"Sorry, Eurusid. One moment, I'll be right with you." He turned back to his coworker, who looked confused and less lucid than ideal, but probably still lucid enough to realize this ghost had just called him "King Phantom". Well, he'd deal with that once it came to it. "Here, Casey, let's get you some water." He helped them walk back into the kitchen and sat them down on a bench by the back door. There was a chair in the register area, but they probably didn't want to feel exposed to the dining area like that, even with nobody but the ghost there.

Once handed the water, Casey sighed and eagerly drank from it, eyes closed. Danny rubbed his hand on their back a bit and promised to be back shortly before walking back out to meet Eurusid. Whatever he was here about was probably worth immediate attention but Danny was sure there'd be at least a solid minute of apologies on both sides before the matter was addressed. Hopefully both the Spoken Channels and Casey would be alright before the next shift came in.

#danny phantom #my writing #danny phantom fanfiction #ghost king danny #gkau crack baby !#ive been referring to this in my head as 'the wendys story' even though having it be a chain fast food restaurant doesnt quite work #ghost king hcs here very inspired by heavy on the heart light on the head by gothmoth and the a king in chains series by five-rivers #with some Pizzazz thrown in!#throne in . ha #one day ill come up with a complete and proper hc set for it but Not Today #me writing the sentence 'danny made senior year with all as and bs': dont cry dont cry dont say 'god i wish that were me'#oh also bear in mind ive never worked at a restaurant #unedited bc im impatient 😔

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sparklingpax · 3 years

Text

Farewell, Brother

a/n: Um um um. y’all know how the interaction actually went down, but I found a drabble from a little while ago where I kinda made my own re-imagining of it..........and so I hope it’s not too dramatic or...wrong? I just wanted to write this and well, after reading it over, I thought it would be ok to share....so lmk what y’all think!

....go easy on me tho...as usual, I’m nervous as hell posting anything I write....and it’s a little old....anyway *gulp* here you go ^~^

(and as always, sorry for typos or grammar mistakes, ooc-ness, or places where I accidentally forgot I reworded a sentence so there’s the thought and then the thought again--)

///

All good things come to an end. It’s just a truth of life--however sad it may be. But honestly speaking, aren’t all of them? These truths.

...

Megatron growled, optics glistening with such contempt that Orion felt his insides sqirm. He had a tendency to do that, and it served its intended purpose well, that glare did.

“I was a fool to hope fate could smile in my path,” he spat.

“Megatronus--”

“Don’t call me that!” He cut into Orion’s plea. “I am my own self, my own mech now. I chose myself name. I am Megatron. You know that already.”

Orion felt guilty. He’d forgotten in the hours passed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured solemnly, bowing his head.

“You’re….sorry?” Megatron’s tone dripped of disbelief. As if that was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to hear, and Orion had said just that.

Something bad was coming.

If only Orion had known what to say, but for once, he wasn’t knowledgeable in the field of speech...or de-escalation.

And in a moment he’d needed it most.

If only he could have saved their friendship, and none of what followed would have come to be.

“This--this unattainable reality that all but grazed my fingertips,” his eyes were daggars that swiped and cut.

He lunged forward, seemingly an impulsive act, and grabbed the smaller mech by the throat.

Orion let out a small noise of surprise before he cut it short.

“And you stole it!”

“M-Megatron, I’d do no such--”

“You stole it!” He barked, his voice rising. “You played with me, Orion!”

Orion pawed at the hands around his throat, fighting the urge to cry out. Resentment began to bubble up inside him.

Did Megatron truly have so little trust in others--in Orion--to instantly assume he’d planned all this?

Planned asking to become a leader--a Prime, no less--when he’d rather study alone in his room?

Plan to steal his friend’s greatest dream?

He bared his teeth. That resentment was beginning to seep into his bloodstream.

I did no such thing, Megatron. I’d never betray you. How dare you even think that.

But out came none of those words.

Instead, he held his gaze as unwaveringly harsh as he could manage, training it on his friend. Megatron, meanwhile, hardened his own glare, like lava solidifying itself to ashy rock.

Obstinate, inconvincible rock.

He wouldn’t stand for this.

Being picked up and threatened like this was not what Orion expected from his friend. From anyone, really, but least of all Megatron.

“Let go of me!! Or are you such an animal like the beasts you fight?!”

He snapped his words like a whip, yanking with sudden force at Megatron’s grip. Force he’d learned in their self-defense training sessions together.

The silver mech’s optics widened. It was like he realized something, and jolted back to something like control again.

He released his hold and Orion felt the ground beneath his feet again.

But the apprehension didn’t lift quite yet. Megatron took one step back, as if disgusted to be near Orion.

As if pressed by that unseen pressure of tension.

He looked the smaller mech up and down, vibrating with negative emotions Orion was sure he could feel.

Or was it...his own fear? But, why would he be afraid?

I did no wrong...I did...I didn’t do anything, right?

“You,” Megatron growled in a low tone, one that withered the fire of anger Orion was feeling.

“Brother--”

“We are not brothers, scholar!” He cut Orion off, purposefully using the impersonal term. “Not anymore...”

The look in his eyes was one Orion realized he had only ever seen directed elsewhere, never one he thought he’d be staring into himself. One he was sure the monstrosities of Kaon’s pits had seen after striking the gladiator and his pride a little too hard.

One they saw before they died.

There was a bitterness swimming up to the surface, yet a sadness pooled at its base, far below. He was clearly trying to stay in control of the situation, to seem as if his anger, and not his unstable emotions, was the driving force of it all.

But he’s like a wounded beast. He’s hurt.

Orion didn’t like that look. But he didn’t like this, either.

He uncomfortably looked to a tree in the distance.

I didn’t hurt you. I didn’t.

For a moment, Orion considered trying once more--as his gentle, naive, forgiving nature was wont to do. At least, as others said he was.

He opened his mouth to speak.

But when he refocused his gaze, Orion felt his own frustration close his mouth.

No, he realized.

Nothing he could say would sway Megatron.

It was just like when they first fought. Except this time, they wouldn’t be making up.

Orion felt a deep ache in his spark upon realizing that he’d never see the burgundy-silver mech on friendly terms again.

They’d never sit in a park and speak of philosophy and art again.

They’d never share a meal and laugh over each other’s idiosyncrasies again.

There would be no fondness between them again.

He had lost his only brother, even though their sparks had never touched in creation. Because Megatron had felt more to him than even family ever could.

I didn’t want this, I truly didn’t want this. I said what was in my spark, and you said what was in yours. I didn’t want them to hear, I didn’t to leave my place in the spectators, I....didn’t want to even leave my study...

“Never look to me that way again, scholar.”

I came....to help you....

“You are a traitor.”

I...am not the Council.

Orion watched wordlessly as Megatron bowed his helm and turned. Its rims glimmered for a fleeting moment with the golden light from a setting sun, somewhere in the distance.

Gaze hardened with resignation, the newly-named Prime stood still. His eyes had remained on the broken, angry mech as he trudge slowly down the street, washed in golden hues of the sunset.

And then the shadows, the further he ventured from Orion.

For once, Orion hated the sight of the golden skies.

Because under them he’d been given memories, and under them, they’d been ripped away as if unimportant in the first place.

///

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timelesslords · 3 years

Text

So Under Freezing Stars is finally done 😭I’m incredibly sad it's over but also so happy with the finished product and with the response it's gotten over the past few months <3

I thought it might be fun to compile some little details about the fic- easter eggs and callbacks to the original books, little thematic details and symbols I included, chapter parallels, stuff like that! Everything is below the cut to avoid spoilers, but hopefully y’all find it fun and it’s an interesting way to top everything off :’)

Symbolism/Theme

the first time Annabeth drinks nectar, she can’t put a taste to it. This is because she’s in a transitional period with her identity, where she hasn’t quite solidified a sense of home. When she wakes up after being given nectar for the second time, her mouth tastes like apples because her and Perseus had split one together back on the ship. It’s the first food they shared together after she starts associating him with the concept of home, so the nectar takes on that taste. also apples are a sacred fruit of aphrodite so, ya know ;)

Water plays a big role thematically. There’s the obvious connection to Perseus (whenever Annabeth is looking out into the sea during an unrelated conversation, it’s sort of supposed to indicate that he’s on her mind) but also the more traditional symbolic meanings of water— washing someone/something clean, renewal, rebirth, etc. all of which are themes of the book anyways so it worked out!! Chapters to watch for water symbolism would be 18 and 32 in particular but really anytime there’s an emphasis on the sea

the quote I chose for the epigraph (”Understand this if you understand nothing: it is a powerful thing to be seen”) is from Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi, one of my favorite books! In the context of Freshwater, this quote is when the main character (spoiler) meets someone from their culture who helps them realize they’re a god. It just felt like a particularly perfect way to start off the story, given how many parallels there are to that moment in Freshwater to the entirety UFS. Even without context it frames the story of one of self discovery, but particularly self discovery in tandem with another, which is exactly what I think UFS is about at its core. Freshwater is an incredible book that I owe so much to in terms of inspiring UFS thematically and I def recommend it, though please look up TWs for it beforehand bc it does contain a lot of triggering content.

another more obvious meta thing, the chapter titles switch from Latin to Greek after Annabeth realizes she’s Greek and not Roman

Chapter Parallels

ch20 is called divinity because Annabeth views the sex as akin to a religious awakening— sleeping with her lover is both an act of worship and a revelatory experience wherein she comes to terms with the godly side of her identity. But chapter 33 is called mortal because the thing that makes them special together isn’t necessarily their parentage or their godliness, it’s their humanity. Gods can’t bare their souls to one another because they don’t have one. But mortals— vulnerable and breakable as they are— have that advantage, and when they sleep together the second time Annabeth is fully cognizant and appreciative of that fact.

The drooling in sleep thing is obviously a callback to the OG books (it’s such an iconic first line I had to include it somehow lol) but it also has a thematic parallel (one that Annabeth actually points out within the narrative). That was one of the first moments she recognized he was human and not some unattainable figure, so it comes back to her later in ch33 when she's thinking about their mortality

In ch14, Piper offers to fix Annabeth’s hair as a peace offering. In ch33, Perseus untangles her hair for her because the idea of doing it herself is overwhelming for her. I just really like the idea of caring for someone else’s hair being an act of love towards that person :’)

Easter Eggs/OG Book Callbacks

Blackjack asking for fried dough at the end of chapter 4 is a reference to him always asking for donuts in the original books (yes I did google “did they have donuts in ancient rome” for that lol)

The way they fight the hellhound in ch6 (Percy distracting in the front and Annabeth sneaking around the back) is their go-to fighting strategy in the books, which Percy comments on in BOTL

Obviously Jason passing out every 30 seconds is a reference to Jason getting knocked out like 3x a book in HOO (#brason)

Fai turning into a lizard in the Athens chapter is a callback to Frank the Iguana from MOA

the masthead of the ship being a dragon is meant to be reminiscent of Festus

Other stuff!

Chapter 16 is named calm and chapter 17 is named storm bc 16 is the calm before the (literal) storm

Annabeth saying “is your head full of kelp” to percy in ch13 is the closest I could feasibly get to her calling him seaweed brain lol. I think in chapter 15 she also comments to herself that she feels like his brain is made of seaweed sometimes <3

When Annabeth decides to let Jason and Piper wake up on their own instead of waking them up herself in ch32, it’s sort of a callback to previous comments she’s made about Jason not being a morning person. She’s still scared that he’ll be mad at her, and she doesn’t want to exacerbate that by waking him up early because she knows he’s in a worse mood in the morning.

In the final conversation with Jason, Annabeth says “you’re always too hard on yourself” which is kind of a play on her last words to Luke in the original books (“you always pushed yourself too hard”). I don’t know why but I’ve always really liked that line, it feels very Annabeth, so I wanted to include it somehow. Jason isn’t dying but she does love him like a brother so that felt like a good place for it to go.

something to generally look out for is how reliable or not reliable Annabeth’s narration is. She’s not like a Holden Caufield where she straight up lies to the audience, but her thoughts and observations are not always the most true version of what’s going on. This is probably most obvious in the Luke conflict (particularly chapters 21 and 23) but also when she has to read other people’s emotions and make assumptions about what they’re thinking based on that. A lot of times she’s straight up wrong and just doesn’t realize it (this is particularly relevant in ch14 lol)

another general thing to look at is chapter titles, particularly in the second half of the book. A lot of times the title of the chapter is one of the main themes of the story and that chapter is either an important plot point for that theme or a resolution of it!

That’s all I can think of right now! I might update this later if I remember more but this is already stupidly long lol. I would apologize for turning my fic into an English assignment but if you made it this far you probably thought it was at least a little interesting, so 😂

thank you guys again for reading <3 love you all!

#UFS #percabeth #don't read this until you read the ending!#i just had to post it now so I could link it lol #last chapter is coming in 2 minutes!

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athenadione · 3 years

Text

‘you are mine (and I am yours)’

In which you can find out the hard way that demons don't like sharing. @vi-la-vi

AthenaDione and I did a thing! Everyone loves jealous Damian, but hear us out....jealous Raven? Hope you enjoy! -Vi

I’m so incredibly honored to participate in this collab. Vi practically paved the way for me to give you all the delicious demon Raven smut that ensues and did a superb job writing the majority of this piece, as always. If you enjoy and feel so inclined, you can leave a kudos HERE on A03. Vi— thank you for allowing me to be a part of your writing process. You’re such a talented writer and I’m happy to have found you :) -AD

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Not just because it had been years since she last saw him, but because ever since she met him, Anna Vandergilt had thought of little else.

Damian Wayne.

They’d met at a benefit when both were sixteen years old, and it had been love at first sight. The elusive heir finally returned to Gotham after five years abroad, doing god knows what. She’d collected every bit of information she could about him, academic transcripts, tabloids, medical and legal records. Vandergilt influence ran deep and she had no compunction about using it to fuel her obsession. Securing an internship at Wayne Enterprises as Tim Drake’s assistant was just the latest step.

And now he’s here, and I won’t let him get away again.

Damian had to remember her, the spark when their eyes met, the unbreakable connection they’d made. He didn’t acknowledge it when they were introduced, but that was fine. He was an intense, secretive man and likely just didn’t want to make a scene.

Green eyes flashed to hers and narrowed, catching her staring. She willed herself to keep it together, sitting up straighter and crossing her legs in an attempt to draw his attention to the slit in her pencil skirt. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and leggy, she knew how to make men stare.

Or so she thought. Damian had turned his attention back to Tim’s presentation, arms crossed and expression impatient. So serious. She planned ways she might be able to get him alone, with no one and nothing to distract him from her. After today, I’ll have more than just fantasies. She’d been looking for an opening to approach him all day and was sure she couldn’t wait much longer.

They broke for lunch, but just as she moved towards him she was intercepted by Tim.

“Hey Anna, can you run up to my office and grab my blue flash drive? I forgot to bring it down earlier.”

Get it yourself! she wanted to snap. An assistant position was well beneath her pedigree, and she hated taking instructions from common-born Tim Drake. Swallowing her irritation, she smiled and nodded.

When she finally returned, Damian had already gone, apparently having had a lunch appointment with someone else. Anna sighed. I’ll speak to him after work, I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to dinner and drinks. No man had ever refused her.

She spied him later as she was returning to the conference room, speaking to a dark-haired woman she didn’t know outside of his office. She took a moment to admire him in his suit, noting curiously that the girl with him was only casually dressed in black jeans and an off-shoulder top with a band logo. Unprofessional much? He’s probably scolding her about the dress code.

Just as the thought solidified, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of Damian’s jaw, tugging his tie playfully as she did so.

It was as though a bucket of freezing water had been dumped over her head. Anna stood stock-still, mouth falling open in horror. Who the fuck...how dare…?

The woman whispered something in his ear, kissing his jaw again as Damian rolled his eyes and smirked. She continued to stare, waiting for him to shove her away, glare, do something. She heard someone approach from behind.

“Ugh, those two,” Tim groaned.

“Who is that?” Her voice was tight and strained, and the man next to her gave her a curious glance.

“That’s Rachel, Damian’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” she said, at a loss for anything else.

It’s not fair. I planned...I’ve been waiting…

She shook her head, determination moving in. A minor setback. He just needs to know there’s something better on the market. Vandergilts were practically royalty, after all. Her beauty and breeding were no doubt superior. She bit back her anger as Damian dropped a kiss on the other woman’s forehead before walking away.

Just a minor setback, she mentally repeated.

Tim’s assistant had a serious staring problem, and Damian was relieved when he was finally able to retire to his office. Annoying. The older man had joked earlier that Damian’s constant absence in Gotham and avoidance of the public eye elevated him to mythical status among some of his father’s employees. He longed for this week to end, eager to be back in Jump and away from the Wayne gawkers.

His phone buzzed, distracting him from the revenue charts in front of him.

“Stephanie is insane.”

Damian smiled, eyes darting to his watch to see how much longer he’d be stuck in this office. As necessary as it was that he be here for the audit, he felt bad abandoning Raven to his siblings. Next time they came to Gotham he’d make sure it was purely recreational and personally show her the sights.

“A half hour more, then I will come rescue you.”

Then two days more, and they would be home.

A knock on the door called his attention. “Mr. Wayne? Could I borrow you for a moment. I need a second pair of eyes on this file.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at the worshipful expression on her face. The scent of expensive perfume assailed him and Damian fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. She looked at him hopefully, blinking rapidly.

“Ask Drake.”

She shifted, reaching up to toy with her platinum blonde hair. “Oh...he just has so much on his plate. I wanted to avoid bothering him,” she replied, voice high and lilting.

Strange woman. Damian wondered where his older brother had found this one. He hadn’t really been paying attention when they were introduced, Vander-something or other.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

She circled around the desk to stand next to him, laying the file in front of him and bending low. A fall of blonde hair brushed his shoulder and Damian shifted slightly to put some distance between them. He spent so little time in normal society it was easy to forget how bad most people were with personal space.

“What exactly did you need help with?”

“This.”

Without warning, she sat on his lap and pressed her lips forcefully against his, throwing one arm around his neck for good measure. Damian completely froze, protests firing rapidly through his mind. She tugged on the waistband of his pants and it was enough to break his paralysis. He shoved her off of him violently and she caught herself on the desk, shifting it several inches back.

“What are you doing?!”

The alarm on her face lasted only a second before being replaced with a coy smile. “Don’t be shy, I know you remember me. It’s been years, but you’re all I’ve thought about, Damian. I swear.”

“I - don’t…” Damian felt uncharacteristically frazzled. “I have - no. I’m not interested,” he finally managed.

“Please, Damian.” She tried to take a step forward and he instinctively backed away. He hated the way she said his name, he realized distantly.

“I have a girlfriend,” he said, hard edge in his voice. One who would kill you and probably me if she was here right now. Raven did not share.

The woman sniffed. “Her. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a Wayne. She can’t possibly-”

“Enough.”

He glared fiercely, daring her to try and continue. Tears swam in her blue eyes and Damian felt a touch of relief that he finally managed to get through.

“I...hmph, fine. Keep her on the side if you must. My father had a mistress. Just keep her out of my sight.”

She’s insane. What the fuck kind of vetting process do you have, Drake?

He closed his eyes and exhaled before meeting her watery gaze once again.

“Listen very carefully. I. Am. Not. Interested. I want you out of this building in the next five minutes or I’ll call security.”

“I - but - we…” She straightened, eyes glassy with disbelief as she tried to compose herself. “I see.”

Damian kept his glare on as she left the room, feeling a headache build behind his eyes. He grabbed his phone again, feeling a pang of guilt when he saw Raven's name, and called his brother.

"I fired your assistant. You're welcome."

"What? Damian, you can't just show up and start firing people!"

"I'll...explain later." Vaguely, and with as few details as I can manage.

The hint of discomfort in his voice must have given him away. "Seriously? No wonder she was staring at you all day.”

"Drop it."

"Alright, alright. Her dad's going to be pissed though, he pushed Bruce for months to take her on here. Sounds like you got your very first stalker."

Well that was a disturbing thought. Damian shook it off. "Just tell him it didn't work out." He didn't want any rumors getting back to Raven if he could help it.

Lying to an empath is easier said than done.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She snorted disbelievingly, eyes glued on the book in her hand. “Why do you feel so guilty?”

“It was a long day. I felt bad for you.” Half-truths were the only semi-effective way he’d found of getting around her lie detector. Normally Damian would smother inconvenient questions with lips, hands, and other parts of him that Raven was always deliciously responsive to, but touching her would have felt wrong right now. She deserved to know the truth before she decided how near she wanted him.

She rolled onto her side then, burrowing down against her pillow and studying him curiously. “You don’t have to spend every second with me, Damian. I’m pretty self-sufficient, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He shrugged, laying back and closing his eyes. “I’ll just be glad to get out of here. People in Gotham are a different breed.”

Raven hummed. “Fine, don’t tell me what’s actually bothering you.”

With that, she leaned over to kiss him goodnight. Damian flinched at the contact before responding in kind, and pretended he didn’t see the confused look in her eyes.

“I love you,” he said, focusing the emotion to make sure she felt it as well.

She closed her eyes, slightly mollified. “I love you, too.”

I'll tell her when we get home, he promised himself. As much as he hated keeping secrets, he knew she was going to be upset and preferred a controlled setting. Damian remembered an incident shortly after they began dating when the ticket-taker at the theater had slipped him her phone number. Raven said nothing at first, but the night ended in a supply closet instead of a screening room.

"I don't share," she whispered dangerously, legs tightening around his hips to draw him in deeper. Red flickered across her purple irises. “You’re mine.”

He smirked at the memory. We never did get to see that movie.

Definitely safer for all involved to wait until they'd left Gotham.

Anna stared at her discreetly from the park bench. He’s loyal, that’s all. And I wouldn’t have him any other way.

She grudgingly admitted to herself that the other woman was pretty, if unconventional. Pale purple eyes and dark purple hair - hadn’t anyone told her the punk rock look was out of date? She had nothing on the blonde’s classical beauty.

A hefty bribe to the Wayne's chauffeur had given her knowledge of the woman's - Rachel's - movements throughout the day. She was ordinarily accompanied by Tim's banshee of a girlfriend and one of Bruce's orphans, but had separated from them earlier in the day to visit Gotham’s Arts District. Anna waited until she saw her enter the nearly empty arboretum before making her move. If Damian couldn’t be persuaded to break things off, this one could. An affair with the office hottie - tale as old as time.

“Pardon me?” She adopted a nervous affect as she approached, eyes downcast. “You’re Rachel, right?”

The other woman tore her gaze from the plaque in front of her, violet eyes locking on baby blue. “Do I know you?”

“Anna. I work - worked at Wayne Enterprises. I’m really sorry to do this, but...there’s something you need to know.”

She regarded her silently and the blonde fought the urge to fidget. There's something off about her. What were you thinking, Damian? Finally, Rachel nodded once, crossing her arms. Anna smiled internally and fiddled anxiously with her hands, doing her best to look miserable.

“I was Tim’s assistant until Damian fired me yesterday,” she began, voice weepy. “Tim’s the one who told me about you, I swear I didn’t know before.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, something dark and inscrutable flashing in and out of her gaze. “...Excuse me?”

Anna took the low anger in her voice as an encouraging sign and continued. She dropped her eyes again and let out a harsh sob. “I’m not the kind of person who fools around with other women’s boyfriends, and-"

A massive burst of black and red interrupted her thoughtfully planned speech, demolishing the stone plaque next to them and knocking her to the ground. She screamed, covering her head with her arms. A bomb? What’s happening?

Before she could get her bearings, something hauled her up by the throat, slamming her painfully against a tree. She blinked against the white spots in her vision and the dust in the air, squinting to see what held her.

Four slitted golden eyes met her own, radiating fury so thick she could almost taste it. I’m seeing things. I hit my head and I’m seeing things. The devil tightened its hold on her neck and stepped closer, heat pouring off its red skin. Terrified beyond anything she’d ever felt, Anna felt her bladder let go.

“Did you fuck Damian?” it - she - asked in a deadly calm voice.

“Wh-what?” she croaked. No way...what the fuck is she?!

“Answer, mortal.”

She sobbed in her grasp, all her carefully crafted lies flying away in the wake of her terror. “No! I just kissed him!”

The claws (claws?!) around her neck tightened and she felt warm trickles of blood start to seep down into her collar.

“That - that’s all! That’s all I did! I’m sorry!” she cried, “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again!”

“I know.”

Shadows wrapped around the two of them and she screamed.

Stupid, stupid woman, Damian thought furiously, raising his eyes from the weeping figure on the floor. He’d put it together fairly quickly after walking in the door, and was currently kicking himself for not considering this possibility. She’s clearly deranged, I shouldn’t be surprised she approached Raven.

The woman in question sat in a nearby armchair, looking every bit the queen of hell she was. Her demonic appearance and the regal way she carried herself in this form lent their mundane bedroom at Wayne Manor the feel of some macabre court.

“Something to confess?” his demoness asked lowly.

“I was going to tell you when we returned home. This is the exact situation I was trying to avoid.” Sparks of black and red magic at her fingertips told him that was the wrong thing to say.

“You think a couple hundred miles would have saved her from me when I found out? I would cross entire universes.”

The woman before her seemed to curl in further on herself, as if trying to become a smaller target. Prayers fell from her lips, whispered and unintelligible.

“She’s not worth it. I would have made you see that.”

“That’s not your decision to make. You are mine, this was a challenge to me. A proper demon would have brought just the head.”

A loud wail met her words and golden eyes flicked downwards, oozing contempt. Damian felt a thrill race down his spine. He'd never seen her this angry - possessive. The idea that he was the catalyst, that his composed, serene Raven was burning so brightly over a stolen kiss made his blood tingle.

Apparently feeling the weight of the demon’s stare, she covered her head with her hands and tried to choke back her cries. A prey-like instinct to hide taking root.

He swallowed before speaking, mindful of the thin ice he was on. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t kill her.”

An amused sound escaped her, and Damian wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it. “Beloved?”

She finally met his eyes again, clearly unhappy with the situation. “Fine. But if I ever see or sense this creature near you again, I will tear her apart slowly. Testor ego eam.”

With that, she waved a hand and the other woman vanished in a rush of black. He didn’t bother to ask where, not wanting to push his luck with Raven right now. Hysterical as the other woman was, no one would believe anything she had to say anyways.

The demoness crossed her arms, studying him silently. She seemed to have no intention of changing back to her human form. Oh.

“I suppose I’m in trouble as well?”

“Lies deserve punishment. And you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

“You, habibti. Always.”

Her smile offered nothing but trouble and his heart started to pick up. "That’s a start."

“Oh?” he asked her, not moving from the spot where he stood. It seemed that court was still in session, and her final judgement on his own transgressions had not yet passed.

She picked at a claw unhurriedly, hooded eyes flicking over his figure. Not one to back down, he met her appraising stare inch for inch.

“Did you know that demons mate for life?” she asked without warning.

“No, beloved,” he breathed. The information was new but it hardly mattered. He had already decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her long before they ended up together. He just wondered why she felt it necessary to mention now.

“It’s a sacred bond. Actually sacred, unlike human marriages. Challenging it is the worst insult one demon can deal to another.” Her eyes narrowed, and her claws seemed to sharpen before his eyes.

“She wasn’t a-”

“No one will threaten our bond. Do you understand, mate?”

Dear gods.

He resisted the urge to lick his lips, instead pressing them firmly together. “You should know that you will never be at risk of losing me, beloved.”

“I know. I also know you will never lie to me again.” The demoness waved a clawed hand before resting it underneath her chin. She was waiting for him. He swallowed again.

“What can I do to make amends?”

Her grin widened, boarding on malevolent, as if she finally found the answer she was looking for. Lifting effortlessly from her chair, she began to stride across the room to him with measured steps.

“I have a few ideas.” She purred.

“Oh?” he asked again, displeased at how out of breath he sounded.

Golden eyes held his own, and she didn’t speak again until she was just an arm's length away from him.

Then she pointed at her feet. “Kneel.”

He felt his jaw go slack. She wants me to do what?

She cocked her head at his hesitation. “You will not kneel for your demoness?” She clicked her tongue in distaste. “Don’t you want to remedy your indiscretions?”

He set his jaw, barely suppressing a wince. When she put it that way, there was no reason not to kneel before her, even if the thought of doing so went against every instinct in his body. He did, after all, lie to her, and if this was what she wanted from him then who was he to deny her?

Besides, there would be an opportunity for her to return the favor. I’ll make sure of it.

Revealing nothing, he stared at her impassively and slowly dropped to one knee, biting back a scowl as her smirk grew.

Then, he watched as a slender leg poked out from the slit of the dress she was wearing, and a strappy, black heel. He gave her a simmering look, then took it in his hands without a word, and pressed a kiss to her ankle, trailing up the side of her calf.

“That’s very nice, mate.” She murmured, resting a clawed hand onto this shoulder. “What else are you willing to do for me?”

A light smirk replaced his features. She was asking him to seduce her. To fuck her. That was something he would be more than willing to oblige.

He promptly stood to his feet and grabbed her wrist, pulling him into his chest. To his amused delight, she went pliant in his arms— nearly purring as he captured her lips with his. He kissed her thoroughly, drowning out the memory of the other gods-awful kiss that’d been forced upon him.

Then a clawed hand traveled his cheek lightly, moving its way to the back of his head. She suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged downwards, tearing his lips from hers. He hissed when sharpened teeth latched themselves on his neck, nipping at the exposed flesh there before soothing it with her tongue.

Then she began to walk forward, forcing him to step with her— until the back of his knees touched the mattress of their bed.

“Meus es tu.” She said lowly, and she pushed at his chest, sending him backwards.

It turned into a battle for assertion. One that he admitted he thoroughly enjoyed— and intended on winning.

He took her with him, grabbing her waist to position her underneath. His smile was smug when he peered down into four golden slits, obviously dissatisfied at the turn of events.

Ignoring her bared teeth, he nudged open her legs with one knee before settling between them, then rolled against her in one swift movement, taking pleasure in the way she threw her head back with a growl.

He continued his ministrations, trailing hot kisses down her neck, just as she did to his moments before. One hand reached up to graze her breast as his kisses went farther down the middle of her chest, while his other hand roamed over the swell of her hips.

Raven in turn, was growing more frustrated with every second he kept her distracted with his teasing, light touches.

“Enough.” It was a command.

By the time he managed to blink he found himself on his back and she was straddling his waist.

Her hands encased with her dark magic. “Alliges duplicia.”

His arms lit up with her magic and they were forced above his head. When he tried to bring them back down he was met with resistance. What the hell? When he looked up his eyes widened with realization. She bound my fucking hands to the headboard.

“Raven.” He snarled in warning, tugging on his bonds. The demoness was unperturbed by his outburst.

“You will submit to me, mate.” A dangerous red swirled in those golden irises, and he clenched his jaw in response, then bit back a groan when she brushed against his length.

“Let me go.” He glared.

“I will not. This is your punishment. You will stay like this until you beg for me.”

“Tch.”

He detested how painfully hard he was. His erection strained against his trousers, and he couldn’t contain his next groan when she palmed him.

It didn’t matter how much he wished she’d slip her hand underneath his belt. He would not beg.

She began to strip slowly, until she was completely bare before him, and then she peeled off his pants carefully— and then his shirt. His full erection was on display for her, and he released a strangled noise in the back of his throat when she settled her heated core against him.

She chuckled darkly when he twitched underneath her. “Say please.”

“No.” he gritted out, breath hitching when her mouth latched onto one of his nipples, nipping roughly. Her tongue flicked it right after, mixing the pain she had caused with pleasure.

“No?” Her claws wrapped around his throat, squeezing in warning. “You are in no position to deny me, mate.”

He just glowered.

“Fine.” She relented, retracting her claws. “You will break eventually.”

Her fingers lifted to her full breasts, reddened from her true form, and her fingers began to tease one darkened nipple into a tight peak. The bonds went taut when he pulled at them roughly in an attempt to reach out to her. She noticed this and smirked as she teased her other nipple, then rocked against him. They groaned together.

He watched as she then slipped one hand down to her core and began to tease herself, parting her folds before slipping a finger inside while grazing against his cock.

She moaned, mouth parting slightly and he growled again in protest. That should be his fingers inside of her.

“If you insist on not obeying me, then I will use you for my own pleasure.” She sunk down onto his cock and his head hit the wall with his groan. Fuck, she felt so damned good and the pace she was setting set him on a steady course towards an impending orgasm, regardless of how much he despised not being in control.

“Beloved.” He growled when she brought him to the brink all too soon, then slowed back down while teasing her clit with her own fingers. Quick, circling motions that revealed her own need to him— that she was nearing her own orgasm.

He caught her hitched breath. She was losing resolve, caught in her own wave of pleasure.

“Release me.” He tugged on his bonds again and bucked his hips into her for good measure. “I want to be the one to fuck you when you come.”

She gasped and clenched around him, drawing him even deeper. “I will come soon. If you want to fuck me, you must beg now.”

He cursed. Goddamn her.

“Please, habibti. I am yours.”

With a victorious smirk, she waved a hand. That smirk was short-lived however, because as soon as the bonds disappeared he lunged for his little demoness, twisting them both before pulling out of her to roll her onto her stomach.

“You are mine too, Beloved. I will also make sure of that,” he snarled into her ear, teasing his cock at her entrance. His hands held her pressed against the bed.

The demoness laughed, then inhaled sharply when he pushed into her with one swift movement. They were both right at the edge, only a few more thrusts was all it would take to throw them both over.

“I can feel how close you are,” He reached a hand underneath her to press his thumb directly against her clit, “Come with me, now.”

She cried out— a sound that was more animalistic than human, and she fluttered around him. He fell shortly after, nearly seeing stars. He continued to thrust languidly, drawing out their orgasms. Vaguely, he watched as Raven’s skin turned from red to flushed ivory. One pair of eyes turned to peer up at him instead of two, and the color of her irises receded to lavender.

For a moment he watched her transform, breathless.

She smiled up at him as her breathing returned to normal and he returned it before dropping his face to her neck. “I’m going to have to make you jealous more often,” Damian murmured into her skin.

Raven snorted, lifting a hand to run through his sweat-soaked hair. “Unwise. Not only will I definitely kill the next one, it will hurt the entire time she is dying.”

“Green is a good color on you, habibti.”

She said nothing, but he could feel her contentment in the gentle run of her fingers across his hair and skin. As post-orgasmic clarity continued to take hold a question popped into his mind and he leaned up to regard her.

“When were you planning on telling me we were essentially demon-married?”

She flushed. “Eventually. Are you...did you not want…?”

He silenced her with a kiss, letting his actions and strength of his emotions answer her question. As though he could ever give this up, or stomach the idea of either of them being with someone else.

After all, Damian didn’t share either.

#damirae #damian x raven #damian wayne #raven #teen titans #fanfic

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starcloud-nova · 3 years

Note

Favorite fics by some of your buddies on Tumblr and Discord?

God nonnie. You fucked up big time. You underestimated just how hard I can appreciate my friends. I’d like to formally apologize for how long and in-depth this got, but I would pick a stopping point and then go ‘oh! but i cant leave out so-and-so’ and then this got mega out of hand.

Organized by author and not genre! And if I didn’t include any of your works (or I did and it was not the one you wanted), please, don’t take it personally. I am trusting everyone who comes across this post to read the tags themselves, but for two of the fics I have left TWs in front of them.

Cassia’s fics:

Internet Enemies by @cassiopeia721 (x)

At school, Midoriya Izuku is ignored at best. At home, he's raised by a single mother who seems to be always taking night shifts, and who he communicates with almost exclusively through notes on lunch boxes and texts lying about his location. As such, Midoriya Izuku turns to the internet— or more specifically, an All Might fan server on discord— for companionship. Like most things in his life, it goes wrong eventually. It just takes longer than usual.

hypnic jump

Izuku finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognize in an oversized green jumpsuit with a hero he's never seen at his back. He's pretty sure he's dreaming, and subsequent events only solidify that theory into rock-solid certainty.

Paradigm Shift (Harry Potter)

Harry undergoes a paradigm shift at the beginning of his fifth year. (Slytherin Harry)

~~~

Kestrel’s fics:

Compass by @autisticmidoriyas (x)

Midoriya Izuku never had the chance to become a hero—or even to grow up. Fifteen years after his death, Akatani Izuku tries to save the life of a dying hero and in return receives a target painted on his back and a power humming in his bones.

All Might, Sir Nighteye, Ground Zero, Suneater, and Skyquake are left scrambling in the wake of Lemillion’s death to figure out who now holds One For All.

Intertwined with all this, the League of Villains’ war against Japan burns on. With the loss of Lemillion, the advantage is now theirs, and with the loss of One For All, victory is all-but-assured.

(What the villains don’t know is that One For All lives on in the blood of a boy who was always meant to be a hero.)

triskelion

A few seconds, and their lives—their life—is changed forever. Where three people used to exist, there is now only one.

While visiting the mall with their class, Izuku, Katsuki, and Shouto are the victims of someone whose quirk can fuse together objects … and people.

Permanently.

Facing down the fact that they may never be unfused, a long adjustment period lies ahead of them as they learn how to be themself and figure out where they fit into their families, their class, and their world.

the meaning of hope

One day, the smoke will reach its end. They hold out hope for that. Even with quirks, fires cannot burn forever. They will consume all their fuel, until there is nothing left, and they will wither and die.

~~~

Lilly’s fics:

Rise of the Rat Finks by Authoress_Lilly

“You're not in trouble Neito. You’ve been tapped to join The Rats.”

The boy blinks. “The what?”

Vlad opens up a folder and hands Monoma a flyer and a small pin in the shape of a rat. “It’s a sort of secret society here at UA.

Or: an excuse to put Monoma and Midoriya together in way too many words 😅

The Root to Villainy

Prompt: Izuku doesn't realize how fucked up his past was until Aizawa does an immersive class on villain origins.

Whoops?

~~~

Dance’s fics:

Never Take Your Problem Children To Costco by DanceInTheKitchen

“SECURE THE EGGS! I REPEAT SECURE THE EGGS!” Bakugou bellowed.

“YES SIR! AYE AYE SIR!” Izuku saluted.

Shouta is staring at his students, one of whom seems to be reenacting the Lion King with a carton of eggs while the other salutes him, and wonders. What the hell did he do in his past life to deserve this?? Past him must have committed some great sin, like putting sugar in his coffee, or being a dog person.

Or, Aizawa, Bakugou and Midoriya walk into a Costco.

grow as we go

The dorms were silent, but out here in the open air, she felt both isolated and free. Isolated from the world, but free from the responsibility crushing her, isolated from her friends and family, but free from judgement. Up here, with only the stars and Iida as company, Momo felt like she could breathe.

They sat next to each other in silence, watching the stars silently crawl their way across the sky. Iida doesn’t break the silence, but he also doesn’t leave. It’s a silent promise, to listen if she needs it, or to keep her company if she doesn’t want to speak. It’s comforting.

She’s not sure when she speaks, it’s somewhere between staring up at the stars, and looking at the shiny dew covering the grass of the hills behind UA.

“I’m not ready.”

Or, with graduation right around the corner, Momo has a conversation with Iida about what growing up means.

~~~

Azure’s fics:

A Helping Hand for All by azureskyy

Izuku doesn't know why everyone's talking about a certain hero analyst online. He's tried browsing through the forums and other sites, but he just can't find the person they're talking about.

Maybe he'll ask them later. For now, he has some analysis to do.

Or: Izuku is a well-known hero and quirk analyst across multiple social media platforms.

Not that he's aware of it, of course.

A Missed Chance

Two paths cross then diverge. In another universe, perhaps, they could have walked on the same path; they could have talked for the second time that day, and Izuku could have been given an opportunity that could change his entire life. And maybe, just maybe, he would have taken it.

But this isn’t that universe.

Or: What if All Might wasn't able to find Izuku after the Sludge Villain Incident?

~~~

Alice’s fics:

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by @makeitbluue (x)

“Did you think you’d be safe from me forever? That you could chip away at my power base and I would not care or try to hunt you down?” The man asks as he steps forwards.

Izuku scrambles backwards in his bed, searching the covers as he goes for his phone. If he can get a text off to All Might or Aizawa-sensei he can alert people to the potential danger.

But even as he moves, something in the back of his mind tells him he had heard this voice before. A different time, a different context, but the same voice.

~~~

Ely’s fics:

bend and break by @queenangst (x)

In a world where you can feel your soulmate's pain, Eijirou spends a lot of his life up until meeting his soulmate hurting.

draw and quarter

In District Twelve, no one volunteers.

When Aizawa Shouta’s name is called, no one says a word. He stands there for a moment, feeling all the world slow around him, and then he straightens his shoulders and walks to his death.

He will die fighting. At the very least, Shouta can promise that.

Shouta's name is drawn for the Hunger Games, alongside Shirakumo Oboro. No one from their district has ever won.

damage control

After All for One's defeat, Aizawa Shouta is grasping for ways to protect his students. At the same time, a discrepancy in Midoriya's behavior leads Shouta down a dangerous line of investigation and to a single question: if Midoriya is the U.A. traitor.

Between the Wind and the Water

Staying at U.A. for winter break, Izuku hopes it'll be a quiet chance to spend the holidays with Todoroki and supervising teachers All Might and Aizawa-sensei.

It's just his luck a gift-shopping trip turns into a gift from a villain, and Izuku's new Half-Cold, Half-Hot Quirk is not so easy to control. Neither are the secrets he's been carefully keeping.

a glimpse of tomorrow (looking back)

Subject: Aldera Time Capsule Ceremony Forwarded Message— This year marks ten years for the Aldera Middle School graduating class of 20XX.To celebrate, we would like to invite pro heroes Kingpin and Deku, Aldera alumni, to participate in a public time-capsule opening. We are incredibly proud to have helped them on their journeys to becoming heroes, and would be most honored to receive them as guests and for them to speak at the ceremony. [...]

"Well," Deku says, leaning over to turn the monitor towards him. His eyes flick over the contents of the email one more time. "If they haven't changed, then I guess we could return the favor."

Ten years down the line, Bakugou and Midoriya are invited to a time capsule ceremony at their middle school to read letters from their past selves, and look back on their past and how it shaped their future. For anyone else, it would have been a celebration.

For the two of them, it's an opportunity.

A look into Bakugou and Midoriya's past—through a future neither of them imagined—as pro heroes, agency partners, and friends.

of the mighty heart

It was just complicated. Kacchan had changed. Izuku had changed. What was between them was constant—Kacchan was always there—but even constants, Izuku supposed, could change, too.

...You saved me, sometimes you say Deku and it doesn’t sound so much like an insult, you say it like you mean it, you say it like you mean me.

After the war ends and the dust settles, Izuku is left in pain and feeling useless. There's still so much to do and people to save, and it's just... too much for one person.

And then there's Kacchan.

~~~

Fawn’s fics:

Bough Breaks by @fawnvelveteen (x) (trigger warning for discussion of rape/noncon)

In life, nothing is certain. Pro-heroes aren’t always the good guys. Children are not spared from the darkest realms of humanity. Izuku isn't acting like his normal self at school lately, and his homeroom teacher has taken notice. After learning about the mother’s new, unwelcomed boyfriend, Aizawa’s concern shifts into dread. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep his student away from harm.

Almost Moon (trigger warning for suicide) (Black Clover)

It was always at night. One of Noelle's squadmates, apparently, believes it's a good idea to walk across the rooftop, directly over her head while she is trying to get some sleep. Finally, she decides to confront the nighttime nuisance. What she discovers is something she never expected, nor did she wish to see.

~~~

Nez’s fics:

The True Successor by @neko-nez (x)

Toshinori is caught in a time loop.

~~~

Aodh’s fics:

new game + (the pros of being over-leveled, the catharsis of finally beating That One Boss, and a bonus social link) by @takeyamayuu (x)

Izuku hasn’t been noticed yet, being as far from the fight as he is. Or if he has, they’re dismissing him in favor of the larger threat of Aizawa-sensei. As they should, since he takes out the last one with a well placed kick, turning to face Shigaraki,

Izuku tenses, this is-

This is where his teacher’s arm is injured and then-

The Nomu.

One for All spikes to around fifty percent, his muscles stinging, bones creaking as Izuku darts forward, aiming for Shigaraki’s head with an axe-kick.

Second year Midoriya Izuku gets hit with a Quirk, skids into the USJ, and learns a little about self-care along the way.

~~~

Ghost’s fics:

fingerpaint bruises and a kick in the teeth by @ghoststrawberries (x)

There’s a sour taste in Shouta’s mouth as he stares at Jackrabbit’s bright smile. The smile he’s wearing in every clear photo of him. It somewhat reminds Shouta of All Might’s smile.

Jackrabbit might be a menace to the Commission, but there’s no way Shouta can believe that a man with that smile is anything less than good to his core.

“And I’m your last resort to handle this quietly.” He says knowingly, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Precisely.”

Shouta’s gut response is to refuse.

The words “I don’t kill.” are halfway up his throat before they become stuck.

As an underground hero, sometimes Shouta Aizawa is called upon to do darker jobs than one might expect a hero to have to do. This time, when he's tasked with taking out a vigilante who's managed to bother the Hero Public Safety Commission one too many times, he's not sure he'll be able to follow through.

~~~

Amira’s fics:

And Now I See Daylight by @awake-my-oceans (x)

AnalysisOverload Current mood: HERO CON HERO CON HERO CON HERO CON

AnalysisOverload reblogged AnalysisOverload Okay, let’s talk HeroCon.

Look around, and you’ll see a lot of discrimination—against people whose Quirk is debilitating, against people whose Quirks scare us, against people who have trouble controlling their Quirk, against people who don’t have a Quirk at all. It’s easy to feel alone in a sea of discrimination.

Enter HeroCon:X.

A social media fic following Deku post-graduation.

The chaotic neutral’s guide to time travel

“You claim you are from the future,” Nedzu said, hopping onto his desk. “Do you have anything to prove this?”

Hitoshi fished around in his pocket. “Here’s my hero license,” he said, holding it up.

Nedzu opened his mouth, but Hitoshi kept right on going, producing a handful of odds and ends from his pocket. “Also a movie ticket, some dryer lint, some, uh, didn’t know I still had that but it’s old gum—“

That was when Aizawa walked in, capture weapon floating around him. “What’s the emergency?” he asked, clipped, as he kicked open the door.

“—and the left arm of a Deku plushie,” Hitoshi finished, unruffled. “My cat ate the rest.”

~~~

Aaaaaand that’s all I got. Thanks for making it to the end!

#bnha #bnha fic #fic rec #fic rec list #fic rec masterpost #nova talks #all my friends in one post. sniffle #most of em anyway #not sure what to tag this so. ill hit send!#forgot too tag this as an ask rip #anonymous #ask

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH57

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 57: Purgatory Reunion (IX) {cw: torture}

At this moment, Qi Leren’s shock was completely written on his face, and this surprise and shock sent the wrong message—Ning Zhou's hand trembled and suddenly let go.

"Wait!" Qi Leren realized that he had made a mistake and quickly took Ning Zhou's hand. "I was just a little surprised. I didn't mean it. I'm, I'm very happy."

This joy was sincere. Although Qi Leren thought this progress was too fast, unexpectedly, he didn't want to refuse, but thought that this was also quite good. They had experienced too many separations and tortures, so these people who loved each other should be together. Besides, he had already received Ning Zhou's ring—one on his tombstone at Undead Island and one on his left hand when he’d woken up in the tree tomb. He had also wished to give this heart to Ning Zhou in return—in the letter he’d written to Ning Zhou that was not received.

"Really?" Ning Zhou asked.

Qi Leren nodded hard: "Really!"

Ning Zhou smiled; the gloom in his heart immediately dissipated, and the uncontrollable thought of wanting to destroy everything quietly sank to the bottom again.

Qi Leren was still looking at him, and his brown eyes were a little uneasy, but there wasn’t even the slightest reluctance, which convinced Ning Zhou that he really was willing.

The person he loved had returned to him with the same strong and meaningful emotions. Even if God didn't bless them, they were still inseparable.

This thought had given him peace of mind, and his world was no longer withering and dead at last. The warm sunshine illuminated this barren land and made him reborn.

So he took his hand again and walked forward firmly.

　　&&&

The underground casino mentioned by the contact Celia was located in a remote part of the lower Underground Ant City. The rail cars weren’t directly connected to the lower part of the city, so Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had to get off the bus outside it and enter on foot.

The chaos of the Underground Ant City became more and more prominent in the lower city. Within the boundary of the upper city, there was at least a basic order, and there were few violent conflicts in the streets. However, when the two entered the lower city, the world they could see was almost a hell: dirty old streets, ragged pedestrians, and eyes that were numb or malicious... In the shadows of the street corners, Qi Leren even saw several bodies, which seemed to be an inescapable element of this place.

There was the scent of blood in the air, and Qi Leren's five senses had been enhanced after breaking the shell. The consequence of a keen sense of smell was that he could smell these unpleasant smells more easily than before.

Following the clue given by Celia, the two people who were dressed in disguises came all the way to the underground casino. The skinny doorman standing by the entrance secretly glanced at the two strange guests wearing masks. The tall one stood straight and was out of place in the lower city. The shorter one was dressed in an exaggerated sexy leather coat, and glanced at him and gave him a tip of copper coins.

The doorman hurriedly pushed open the door, and with its opening, the bloody and absurd world behind the door appeared.

It was like a greedy beast driven by desire, constantly devouring life.

Both human beings and demons became confused once they entered this trap, would lose their senses, bet everything on their person, and be ruined.

The world behind the door was a crimson hell, and the strong scent of blood made the people who had just set foot inside hold their breath. The floor of this dark underground casino was soaked with a layer of blood! Stepping a foot down, the sticky blood splashed on his shoes, and even slowly seeped in, and the sticky and disgusting feeling made Qi Leren's hair stand upright.

Crazy cries echoed in this dark underground world. Both humans and demons stared at the chips on the table excitedly, and went crazy whether they won or lost.

There was also a gambler who was being punished in the corner of the casino. He was stripped naked and hung upside down from the ceiling. Several lower demons laughed and urged him to bet: "There’s a 'leg' missing, will the next one be the left leg or the right leg!"

The gambler who had fainted from the severe pain of castration had a bowl of pain-killing medicine poured down his throat, and he choked up with tears, whining and groaning.

A little hellhound knelt in the pool of blood, licking its lips and excitedly watching the blood bubbling up between the legs of a castrated gambler. Fresh blood was as delicious as wine for demons.

"I bet my left leg! Left leg! Betting high! This one must win!" The gambler who had been called back by the pungent demon blood widened his bloodshot eyes and shouted at the top of his lungs.

The dice on the gambling table were lifted, and the gambler's fanatical expression instantly solidified on his face.

The demons smiled grimly, and cut off one of his legs. The gambler screamed hysterically, but he only got a casual glance from the other gamblers. They laughed and laughed at the unlucky goner who had lost everything, and didn’t feel that every time they bet, they were moving closer to him.

Ning Zhou frowned, and all the absurdity and depravity here made his skin crawl. This wasn’t the first time he had come to the demons’ territory, nor the worst place he had ever seen, but...

Ning Zhou looked at Qi Leren beside him. His face was hidden behind half a mask, showing his tight mouth. From his body language, his mood at the moment was just as heavy and tense.

However, when a scantily clad female dealer came up to them, Qi Leren’s manner changed immediately.

In a moment, Qi Leren half turned, and committedly took his arm. He looked up and whispered in his ear: "You keep quiet, let me ask about things."

Ning Zhou's ears turned red, and he couldn't help but feel glad that the lights here were dim enough. However, Qi Leren, who had already broken his shell, could completely see his red ears and shouted “cute!” in his heart.

The dealer stood in front of the two men. She should have stood closer, but these two gays may not welcome her approach, so she politely asked, "Is this your first time here?"

"Why, are we not welcome?" Qi Leren's voice changed. Although it was still a male voice, it was more delicate and feminine than ordinary men. The deliberately drawn out tone was full of ambiguous dissatisfaction.

"How can that be?" the dealer quickly apologized. "What do the two of you want to play?"

Qi Leren pointed to the table with the most people: "Let's play whatever’s there."

The dealer led the two men to go forward with light steps, her slender high heels sticking on the foul blood.

The gambler who was being punished in the corner had already lost his legs. He was put down, whining and crawling in the pool of blood. The little hellhound opened its mouth and bit his wound. The lower demons laughed and talked over their glasses while urging it on.

"Whether I bet big or small, you double your chips and bet against me," Qi Leren whispered to Ning Zhou.

Behind his mask, Ning Zhou looked puzzled.

"Believe me, getting rich depends on this trick." Qi Leren showed a weak smile.

“……”

The dealer handed them exchange chips and enthusiastically helped two people place their bets. In her eyes, the two men were really strange. Not because they were wearing masks, but because...

"Low." This person wearing a half-mask casually gathered a few chips and carelessly threw them into the low area.

The dealer silently turned her attention to the other person, and sure enough, the man put double chips in another area.

The other gamblers at the table made random bets, and no one noticed this slightly weird scene.

The dice rolled, and the result was self-evident.

The chips in front of the man wearing a half-mask decreased at a speed visible to the naked eye, but the chips in front of his companion were increasing. After several rounds, he finally felt bored. He pointed to the chips in front of the two of them and motioned for the dealer to put them away. He held the man's arm and whispered with him, and he also giggled.

As if he was aware of the dealer's sight, he turned his face slightly, and his eyes hidden behind the mask swept over her coldly, but there was a charming smile on his mouth: "I don't like you looking at my man with eyes like that. Next time you look at him like this, I’ll dig them out."

"I'm sorry." The dealer immediately lowered her head, intently looking at her blood-stained feet, and never looked at the two men.

"Good girl. This is a reward for learning politeness." The man stuffed a chip into her bra and laughed maliciously. "When I look closer, your makeup is really thick. I’ll remind you that your facial features are really not suited for this kind of heavy makeup."

With that said, he returned to the man's side and he muttered a few words.

The dealer kept her head down and let herself be silenced under the strong aura of these two men.

"By the way, I want to ask you about someone." The man wearing a half-mask lazily uttered a name.

The witness had been a frequent visitor to this underground casino, and he is also the last person to see the illusionist. He had claimed to have met the Illusionist who wore women’s clothing in this underground casino. After that, both the Illusionist and this person disappeared, and even the informants who came to verify had disappeared.

It was risky to ask directly. Qi Leren didn't expect to get the answer he wanted from an ordinary dealer. He just wanted to test how deep the water here was.

"I’ve heard the name... but I haven’t served him before. Let me ask for you?" the dealer asked carefully.

"Sure."

So the two men sat down in front of a coffee table in a quiet corner of the underground casino, and there was no overwhelming scent here. Qi Leren just squeezed into the same sofa with Ning Zhou—he had a very honest reason: it was so that they could quietly communicate at any time.

The female dealer who had just left came back with a tall male dealer. He looked like a higher-up and his face was reserved and arrogant: "Hello, I heard you’re looking for someone?"

"Trying to find a friend," Qi Leren said lightly.

"He hasn't come for several days. Maybe he walked into the pub and couldn’t climb back out." The dealer seems to be familiar with the missing witness, but his tone was full of the coldness and indifference particular to this place.

"Which pub?" Qi Leren asked carelessly.

The male dealer's expression changed slightly. He asked with slight suspicion: "Aren't you his friend?"

A mistake, he had said the wrong thing. Cold sweat flowed down Qi Leren, and Ning Zhou held his hand tightly.

Qi Leren's nervous brain was running at a rapid speed, and he switched from a state of casual handling to a state of first-level alert. He had to round up his words and at least explain why he was a "friend" of that person, knowing the underground casino he loved but not the pub he loved.

"Friend?" Qi Leren's smile was even more fake. The deep ridicule and disgust beneath it were completely written in his smile. "Can you call someone who doesn’t pay back his debt a friend?"

The male dealer suddenly realized that he was a debt collector.

This wasn’t surprising. In this place full of gamblers, the debts of this group of people added up to an extremely horrible number, which was enough for them to sell everything they owned, whether it was their wives, their children, or their own bodies.

"I heard that he often comes here. It's a pity. If he used the time he spent gambling here to sell his ass instead, he wouldn't owe so much." Qi Leren dragged out an ambiguous sound and looked at the gambler amidst the crowd in the distance. His smile grew colder. "Or does the fool prefer to lose his hands and feet here, but doesn't want to work hard to pay his debts?"

The two dealers also looked at the man. He had already lost his legs and arms, leaving only a bare head hanging from his neck as he slowly died in a pool of blood. The demons around him were cutting his tongue and belly, and choosing the best parts from the blood-covered table.

The light steps of a woman came from behind them.

Qi Leren didn't look back, but Ning Zhou did, looking at the shameless woman.

The two dealers stood up from their chairs together and said respectfully, "Manager."

The female manager took a few steps forward again, gave Qi Leren an appraising look, and saw his slightly exposed leather coat from his half-mask, and then saw his boots covered with silver ornaments.

"Mr. Red?" Her face pulled into a grandiose smile, "is it really you? I haven't heard from you for a long time."

Qi Leren was startled. Red? How could this fake identity he had fabricated while undercover with the Slaughter Secret Society have acquaintances in Underground Ant City? He had never seen this woman at all.

"The Mrs is waiting for you, please be sure to join us."

-----

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hairyboobz · 2 years

Text

My ending to Getter Robo Arc.

With the last volume of Getter Robo Arc coming out in Japan in less than three weeks, I figured I’d write my own ending that covers missing link the manga ended at and the anime skipped over. Goes without saying but there are spoilers.

Getter Dragon awakens and goes to Takuma and Kamui. Kamui is fully confident that Bug can beat it attacks with the lightning but Dragon deflects it. Kamui attacks it a few times but nothing happens so he starts getting annoyed. He charges head on; Dragon's eyes flash and a concentrated Getter beam hits him and the barrier protects him but it manages to reach its limit even with how strong Bug is. It deflects his attacks and it declares how foolish it is in attempting to defy Getters will. There is no hatred in this, no malice. It remains neutral and attacks it back, not unlike how it fought Uzahra when Ryouma was alive and was almost destroyed. Kamui relents and fights as hard as he can but nothing can scratch the beast. Macdonald and the Hyakki Empire Remnants spent all that time collecting data on Getter Robo G but had nothing on what it would evolve into so the Data is useless, even if Bug could go head to head with the entire Getter Army according to the data. Shin Dragon takes off the kiddie gloves and attacks Bug, with a barrage of Double Tomahawks and Getter Liger’s chain attack. It fires a barrage of Strong Missiles that create a massive monsoon of Getter Rays that begin to rather quickly pollute the entire Earth with Getter rays, mutating all the humans still on Earth and killing the Dinosaur Empire forces in the middle of their attacks. Gore III realizes how bad things have gotten and goes to save his skin, much to Campania and Bat's dismay. He kills Campania but Bat attacks him in Kamui's name. Dr. Han attempts to stop him because he realizes that with how things are going, they'll all end up going extinct. Bat insists on fighting against them but Han is still wounded from being shot. Bat ends up being killed and Hans wound opens up and he ends up bleeding out, begging Gore to save Kamui. Gore continues and gets the remaining Machine Lands off the Earth with some being destroyed by the influx of Getter Rays and head to Mars.

Dragon is breaking Bug up to pieces and Takuma watches in horror as his brother in arms is being toyed with by the very thing that destroyed the institute years ago. He calls out and demands this be stopped and flies up to save his friend but Arc is too damaged from its skirmish with Bug. Kamui is in a panic, he risked everything for this and if he can't destroy Dragon then the dark future that they witness with the Getter Emperor will come to pass. He charges at Dragon and attempt to self destruct, even at the risk of destroying all life on earth and maybe even destroying the entire planet given Bug and Dragons combined power. Dragon is not phased by this and begins to consume the very space that Bug occupies on the level that Shin Getter Robo did to the nuke and the Dinosaur Empire forces at the end of Getter Robo Go. Kamui feels that his time is now, and he repents for doing nothing but perpetuating the cycle as Gore I and Jatego did decades before. Then a Stoker opens up, Baku's voice comes out and he materializes into Arc's Khan unit. The two of them take the battered Arc and he directs Takuma to an opening in Bugs chest that was created in the middle of the beatdown. He's close to being consumed by Dragon and Arc tears open Bug with its remaining hand and damaged mouth. Still, he does it and pulls the entire cockpit unit out with Kamui passed out from the massive surge of Getter Rays entering the cockpit. Arc then uses the remaining power it had to re-enter the Stoker and they manage to get off the Earth as Dragon fully consumes Bug and solidifies itself as the savior of humanity, earning the name Getter Saint Dragon.

They arrive on Mars and Arc collapses. Takuma and Baku get out and he asks the latter how he returned and he explains it was through the Power of Emperor and Getters will. Kamui begins to come to but as he does he is apprehended by both Dinosaur empire troop and the remains of the Allied Army with Shwartz and Sho at the front with Gore III declaring that he has taken back the Empire. Kamui is apprehended and Takuma, enraged and still very confused confronts Sho about what's going on but collapses. Baku tells Sho he's going to care for Takuma, as they're friends and that's what he's been doing since he was young. He asks what's going to happen to Kamui and Sho responds with she has no idea. She'll try to help him but given he led the charge on the genocide against humanity, usurped the Dinosaur Empire and killed several officials on both sides. Shwartz says something very offensive about Saurians and Baku decks him in the face as hard as he can, knocking him to the ground. The allied soldiers aim at him but Sho orders them to ease up on him. Baku leaves with a passed out Takuma and Sho ponders the situation. She wonders what awaits humanity now, and the relationship with the Dinosaur empires. She orders for Shwartz to be taken to his quarters and she'll discuss what just happened with him later. She fully comes into the role that Hayato left behind and plans to be the intrmediary between Human and Saurian kind.

We cut to a grand jury consisting of both the remains humanities government and the dinosaur empires remaining officials with Gore III and Sho as the main figures. Shwartz is there but he's not on the jury. The humans want Kamui put to death as soon as possible while Gore is insisting that Kamui be kept alive because despite all he did, he did it out of Pride for the Dinosaur empire. There is heated debate over what is to be done and Gore goes as far as saying that should Kamui be killed, the war between Humans and Saurians will continue on Mars, with Sho and the rest of the humans there not wanting this under any circumstances due to how unstable everything is. More fighting could potentially end both of their species. It is eventually agreed that Kamui is to be imprisoned for life, with his survival meaning peace between both races, though there is very serious tension between the two. Kamui is locked up and Gore explains that he should be happy that he gets to live thanks to his good graces, while Kamui coldly states that Gore only kept him alive for political reasons, not because they're brothers. Gore laughs and leaves Kamui to rot while leaving him with one last thing: Had he just done as he ordered and destroyed Getter Robo like he was ordered, they would have had the Earth, Kamui could have lived in peace with his mother and all would have been well. That blow completely destroys Kamui's spirit and he's in the state we see at the beginning of the post credit scene.

Takuma and Baku find out what happens to Kamui via asking around and what news is spread around via word of mouth. Takuma wants to find his friend no matter what but is bothered by the fact all the sources they've gone to can't tell them whether or not Kamui is alive or not. Baku tells Takuma they hope they find him soon, as he feels that something is watching them and will stop them if they can't find Kamui fast enough. He also mentions that all three of them are in serious danger as this force is exceptionally strong with Getter. Takuma feels something is up as well; stating that if they’re going to fight against the future where humanity aims to conquer the entire universe, they will need Kamui’s help. They return to their base: a beaten up ship that crashed when humanity was migrating to Mars that they've been using as a hangar to rebuild Getter Arc. Stealing parts from the allied forces and whatever else they can find, they manage to repair Arc to as good as its going to get. They get closer and closer to finding their friend but the Getter force that Baku feels becomes more aggressive and the voice of Ryouma tells them to forget about the traitor Kamui. Baku tells him that something this strong could easily destroy everything and ruined everything they’ve sought out to do. Eventually they get a lead that might not be it, but they're out of options and time is running out. They go off and the post credit scene plays. As they travel to the Machine Land Prison that may or may not be where Kamui is and we cut to the Rock formation that Shin Getter Robo was and it is no longer there, with Getter ray particles spread across the area. We cut to the post credit scene and it plays out as we know it to.

As all that is happening, we cut to Earth, red sky and flooded with absurd amounts of Getter rays. Getter Saint Dragon roams around the remains of the Saotome research institute as it is the only home it ever knew and watches over Japan from its position. The mutated humans make their way to Mount Asama and they take refugee in the many prototype Getters that litter the area, both under the institution and around as the excess Getter rays caused them to move around the institution. Humans that take refugee eventually meld with the Getters similar to how Go, Tahir and Ryouma did at the end of Getter Robo Go, and the two people in the Poseidon unit Ryouma saw in his vision of the future do: As horrifying cyborg like creatures bits of metal and machinery fused with their bodies. The dog-eat-dog survival of the fittest world that Ryouma saw had come to pass, and any attempting to escape are smote by Dragon. They fear Dragon, but they understand that the Dragon was their savior. Despite this, they attempt to destroy it at any opportunity and surpass the holy beast they all have come to fear and respect. It's a new animal kingdom consisting of flesh and machine with the mighty Getter Saint Dragon at the very top of the chain. The only true Apex predator that prevents humanity from leaving into outer space. Part of this is due to the fact that Getter Saint Dragon absorbed Bug, wanting humanity to never enter space. It has become something beyond Getter Dragon and beyond Bug, it is the only thing keeping humanity from beginning its genocide of space. Dragon keeps them in check, Dragon prevents the unevolved monsters humanity has become from leaving space and tainting it. The Dragon is feared and respected, resented yet revered. Getter Saint Dragon would be the savior to the Galaxy, the opposite side of the coin that the greatest enemy of the entire universe resides on: Getter Emperor. It is unknown what the future holds.

I’ve always pondered as to what would happen had Ishikawa managed to finish Arc and while the anime did fill some of the blanks in, it still chose not to fully resolve the fight between Getter Dragon and Bug. Hopefully you found this interesting and enjoyed it. As always, Believe in Getter.

#Getter Robo #Getter Robo Arc #Fanfiction #Getter Dragon #Bug #Getter Saint Dragon #Shin Getter Dragon #Getter One (Heaven)#Takuma Nagare #Kamui Sho #Baku Yamagishi #Hayato Jin #Sho Tachibana #Jun Kawagoe #Anime #Getter Robo Go #Shin Getter Robo #Getter Emperor

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plus-ultra-oof · 3 years

Text

Break Time! | Bokuto & Kuroo | Haikyuu!! | Tickle Fic

A/N: This is one of the fastest things I’ve ever written lol. I love Bokuto and Kuroo’s friendship a lot but this could be read as Bokuroo too.

Disclaimer: Includes swearing and minor spoilers for the timeskip (Kuroo’s future plans are vaguely mentioned)

Summary: Kuroo’s working himself to death with exam season on the horizon and Bokuto has just the idea to “help.”

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Upon a third glance at Kuroo in just a few minutes, Bokuto had determined something was wrong. He could hear him sigh and shift in his seat from where he was sat on his bed. It wasn’t in the restless way that Bokuto was feeling right now though. It was a lot more tired. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, taking in his stiff posture and tense jaw. Rubbing his eyes with one hand Kuroo scrubbed an eraser across his paper with the other, the movement far harsher than necessary. He craned his neck to read something out of a textbook and his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to comprehend it. The near silence in the room aside from his friend’s quiet frustration was honestly freaking Bokuto out.

When he’d shown up at the other captain’s front door, he’d been ready to go get food, screw around in his backyard, and maybe see an action movie or something. They’d planned this for weeks in advance —their schedules were both pretty packed— and as far as Bokuto knew they were both really looking forward to it. He’d prepared to just mess around and have some simple fun, so he was really surprised when Kuroo opened the door with a tight frown on his lips and not at all dressed for a day out.

“Bo?” Kuroo furrowed his eyebrows as his arms came up to cross over his chest, “what are you-“ Realization took over his features and after a few mumbled curses to himself, Kuroo opened the door further and let him in. The house was the same as Bokuto remembered it: Clean, but still clearly lived in. The mild clutter was charming in its own way and Bokuto had seen it when he’d visited his friend in the past. Kuroo himself was actually the only thing that seemed different.

His hair was messier than usual somehow and the beginnings of dark circles were smudged under his eyes. Instead of his usually clean and neat clothes, he was in a ratty white t-shirt and some old looking red sweats with “Nekoma” written down the sides in faded white block letters. It wasn’t just that though, all of his apologies and attempts at conversation also seemed off as he led Bokuto up the stairs to his room. Like his heart wasn’t really in it with his mind so preoccupied.

“Sorry man, I completely forgot, my bad it’s just-“ he cut himself off with a sigh as he heavily dropped into his desk chair. Bokuto felt overwhelmed just looking at the numerous stacks of heavy books lining the desk, so of course he hadn’t protested when his friend asked for another hour to finish up. He hadn’t been excited to sit and do nothing for an hour, but even he wasn’t going to complain when the usually cool and collected guy seemed so frazzled.

So after running back down to the kitchen to grab some snacks, he’d settled down on Kuroo’s bed to wait, scrolling aimlessly through his phone to try and quell his boredom and keep his restlessness at bay for a bit.

That, of course, didn’t work for long. After maybe 50 minutes —a new record!— he started stealing glances at Kuroo over his phone and as time continued to pass he became more and more concerned. He could practically feel the stress rolling off him in waves as he flipped through another workbook, so Bokuto did the only thing he could think to do at the moment, with what little information he had on whatever was happening; He messaged Kenma.

After tapping out a simple “whats wrong with Kuroo?” he’d set his phone down, not expecting much from it. Even though he barely contacted the guy on his own, Bokuto knew Kenma was terrible at responding to anyone who wasn’t Hinata. This obviously meant his chances of getting a reply before the day ended were slim. He practically jumped to grab his phone when it lit up again, only minutes after sending the message. Pretty damn fast for Kenma of all people.

From Kozume Kenma:

entrance exams. he’s been like that all week.

Ohhhhh. That made sense. Bokuto looked over at Kuroo again, as he glared down at his calculator, a new kind of disdain burning in his eyes. Bokuto hadn’t given the exams much thought honestly, but to Kuroo they surely mattered a lot.

When Kuroo told him that he was going to be quitting Volleyball once they graduated to pursue a career in the marketing side of things, Bokuto’d both understood completely and not gotten it at all.

He’d never really know how anyone could give up something that gave him such a thrill and brought him such joy. Sure, Nekoma wasn’t exactly a powerhouse school, but Kuroo was still a damn good blocker. He surely could’ve made it onto at least a division 2 team if he tried. Still, his friend was different. He wanted something else and that was okay. What wasn’t okay was the fact that he seemed set on working himself to death for it.

To Kozume Kenma:

k im gonna fix him

This time the reply was instantaneous. A simple “good luck” that felt suspiciously like Kenma doubting him. He scoffed, looking over at Kuroo again. The guy was probably even more tired than he looked. Koutaro could definitely take him in the messed up state he was in. Then again, he was incredibly stubborn when he wanted to be.

Bokuto glanced down at his phone. He’d already gone 20 minutes over the promised hour. That plus the whole week Kenma described had to be enough time for now. Going for that long without a real break sounded insane to Bokuto, and there was no way it was healthy either.

“Hey Kuroo,” Bokuto called, sitting up and grabbing his phone after sending a final text off to Kenma (An assortment of emojis portraying his confidence and competence at the given task). When his eyes fell on Kuroo, he hadn’t moved at the sound of his name.

“Kuroo?” He tried again. Still no response. It seemed the blocker was lost in his own world of textbooks and pages on pages of meticulous notes. Bokuto practically shuddered at the sight. He didn’t know how his friend could stare at all of that for so long.

Standing and taking a few steps away from the bed landed him right behind the desk chair. He frowned. Kuroo still hadn’t even noticed him moving around. Then he reached across the desk to retrieve a different colored pen and an idea popped into his head. Bokuto, always quite the impulsive person, followed it without question.

He quietly set his phone down on the opposite side of the desk to free his other hand and then reached out and jabbed him in the ribs on both sides. The action was instantly rewarded with a jolt and a squeak from Kuroo, a clatter from his pencil when it fell from his hand, and a loud triumphant laugh from Bokuto himself. Kuroo whipped around, scowling, “What the hell, man?”

“Your hour is way up bro,” Kuroo raised an eyebrow at him and scrambled for his phone. Once he found it beneath a large stack of colorful print outs, Bokuto saw the suspicion and slight annoyance in his eyes turn into guilt.

“Shit,” he turned to actually face him and Bokuto could see the way his shoulders sagged and his hands fidgeted in his lap in a very un-Kuroo-like fashion, “I’m sorry Bo,”

Koutaro gave him a bright smile in an extra effort to assuage his guilt, “It’s no problem, we can just go now!” He exclaimed, straightening and nodding at the door. Kuroo hesitated at that but before he could say anything, Bokuto’s phone chimed from its place on the desk. It lit up for both of them to see and Kuroo’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Why’s Kenma texting you?” He asked. A hint of his usual smirk flashed across his face as he peered at the deadpan emoticon, familiar and characteristic of his childhood friend. Bokuto bristled at the question. Why wouldn’t Kenma text him? Sure they weren’t exactly close, but Kuroo didn’t need to look so smug about it!

“I text a lot of people!” He replied, tucking his arms to his chest petulantly, “and you were busy,” he added before he could think better of it.

Kuroo immediately deflated at the reminder of his work. The glimmer of his usual playful self vanishing as he looked back over at his collection of practice booklets and papers and whatever else was strewn across his desk. Then he bit his cheek, and Bokuto knew he was going to argue before he even forced it out.

“Bo, I should probably keep going,” Kuroo frowned, his words almost pained, as if just the idea of going back to studying hurt him. That was what really solidified everything in Bokuto’s mind, “Maybe we can-“

“Nope,” Bokuto said succinctly before launching his attack with the overwhelming energy of a hyperactive athlete who’d just sat in one place for way too long. Kuroo squirmed in place as the spiker snuck a hand up his side. He was unable to stop from giggling already, too caught off guard by the suddenness.

“W-Whahahat the fuhuhuck, Bokuto?”

Bokuto shrugged and used his other hand to scribble at his neck. He made no effort to hide his shit eating grin when his friend squeaked in response, attempting to lean away in the chair, “You’ve been doing this for wayyyy to long,” he chuckled, grin only widening when the best defense Kuroo could muster was to slap at his wrists. Weak at best, but compared to his usual struggle, it was even more lackluster for the self proclaimed provocation master, “You can barely even fight back!”

“Shuhut uhuhup- Bohoho!” Kuroo’s volume went up in slight alarm. Bokuto grabbed onto his arm, using it to pull him out of his chair while simultaneously continuing his attack on his waist. Then he sent him falling back into his bed with a gentle shove, easily maneuvering him into a semi-pinned position with a practiced grace. Now with one of his arms held firmly away from his side, Tetsuro was feeling a lot more vulnerable. The shift was evidenced in the more frantic giggling as he tried to muster enough energy to pull away from Bokuto’s playful torment.

“Don’t worry, we can get you some barbecue! It’ll fix you right up!” Bokuto exclaimed, as if he wasn’t currently digging his wriggling fingers into Kuroo’s stomach to make him shriek louder. Still, he shook his head wildly.

“Ngh- ahahah ihihi- ihihihi neheheed to stuhuDy!” He tried, his voice shooting up an octave when Bokuto decided that the dips in his hip bones were a suitable place to grab and squeeze. Damn Bokuto and his stupidly extensive knowledge of this particular weakness.

“Mmm no,” Bokuto responded, slowing his fingers to fluttery circle to let the other captain breathe, “From what I hear you’ve already done way too much of that! It’s break time!” Kuroo took in the extra air greedily. As he did, he leveled his friend with an incredulous stare.

“How did you even-?” Kuroo started before his expression dropped and his eyes darkened in realization. His gaze went back up to Bokuto’s face where he was leaning over him curiously, “Kenma,”

“Yup,” Kotarou laughed boisterously and nodded his confirmation, “This is an intervention man,” The blocker scowled and started to say something that sounded like the word “traitor” but he was quickly cut off by his own hysterical giggling. The break was over, and Bokuto had decidedly shoved his hands higher to scratch at his friend’s ribs at the sign of continued resistance.

“He- aHA shihit! Hehehe’s lying!” Kuroo yelled through his laughter, desperately trying to catch Bokuto’s wrists as his hands seemed to continue crawling their way up his torso, “Lehehehet mehe uhuhup!”

Bokuto scoffed and smirked at his panicked movements, “Not a chance,” His hands didn’t pause for a second as they avoided Kuroo’s grasp. When they honed in on the space between his top two ribs he threw his head back with a helpless cackle. Bokuto had to bite down on a fond smile at the sound, “Now come on! Just say you’re gonna stop overworking yourself and come get food with your best friend!”

“KehenmahaAh’s my behest friehehend!” Kuroo jeered defiantly, apparently still sassy despite everything. Bokuto narrowed his eyes and dug into his ribs harder, making him throw his head back with the force of his laughter.

“Rude,” If Kuroo wasn’t so busy dying, he would’ve teased Kotarou for the childish pout on his face, “but fine, your second best friend,” he corrected laboriously, as if the Nekoma student was in any place to properly respond to him.

“Gahahahah yohou’re ridihiculous!”

“Blah blah blah, let’s go get food Kurooooo!”

“I hahave to- wahahait! No no no Bo DoHON’T!” The resounding screech that Kuroo let out when Bokuto’s fingers finally made contact with the soft skin of his underarms was priceless. He fell into a fit of insane laughter as the other captain watched proudly. His hyena laugh even made an appearance, sending Bokuto himself into manic giggling as he set about driving his friend crazy. “BWAHAHAHA NOHOHO NAHA BOHOHO!”

“What was that?” He teased watching as any final hope of escape fell away, leaving Kuroo a laughing mess. His hair was skewed all of the place along with his clothes that had ridden up in his struggles. His face was bright red, from embarrassment, laughter, or both Bokuto didn’t know, but it was entertaining any way. It was also comforting to see that even in his almost catatonic pre exam state, his friend was still capable of loosing himself in something as simple as tickling.

“FIHIHINE! FINE FINE FIHIHINE!” Kuroo screamed, giving up his pride at last. Anything was worth it at this point just to stop the sensations taking over his brain. All he could think of was the way Bokuto’s deft fingers were scribbling over his underarms and how no matter how he jerked or squirmed or squeezed his arms to his sides it just wouldn’t stop. He could never handle being tickled there long and Bokuto was taking full advantage of that information, “AHAH YOHOHOU- GahHAH YOU WIHIHIN DAMNIT JUHUHUST STAHAHAP!”

Bokuto shot up from the bed, stopping to throw his arms up in a cheer. His loud shout of “HEY HEY HEY!” in victory was lost on Kuroo though. He was too busy trying to catch his breath where he laid K.O.ed on his bed. Still, when Bokuto finished celebrating and turned back to him he looked better. Still tired, but significantly less stressed out of his mind.

Even as he punched him in the shoulder in revenge, his posture had relaxed and there was a wide grin left on his face. And as the last of his giggles faded away, Bokuto was inclined to believe that it was genuine.

“Come on bro, I wanna go check out the new Rec center by the park!” Bokuto yelled, earning a raised eyebrow from Kuroo as he moved around his room, picking out new clothes for their outing. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into his laundry basket before turning to face him.

“I thought you said we were getting barbecue?” He asked, amusement coloring his tone as he picked up a new shirt. Bokuto smirked.

“Both,” he replied, squeezing Kuroo’s sides as he lifted his arms to put it on. He laughed loudly, batting his hands away and shaking his head.

“Ahaha enouhough!” He giggled, taking a few shaky breaths. Then his taunting tone returned at last, “As long as you’re paying man,” His usual smirk was now secured back in its place, for better or for worse.

Then he ducked into the bathroom just in time to avoid Bokuto’s distressed groan. Rest In Peace his wallet.

Still though, he was admittedly happy that Kuroo was back to normal, even if that meant that he was back to being a stingy jerk.

#Bokuto Koutaro #Kuroo Tetsuro #ticklish!Kuroo #haikyuu! tickle fic #tickle fic #tickle #tickling #tickles #fanfic #thanks for reading

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