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peachesofteal · 4 months

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The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

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i-suc-at-art · 26 days

Text

DpxDc prompt #2

Full prompt from this idea

Tim and Danny are apart of an online RPG which is basically DND but anonymous and online. (it’s mainly for secret nerds who don’t have anyone irl to play with)

Danny plays as a changeling rogue who will often swipe things from players they don’t like

Tim plays a Variant Human, monk who wields a pole staff (my guy is not subtle) and will often give back the things danny (who’s known as wraith) (Tim goes by Scarlet Redpoll (mainly just Scarlet though)) stole

Rules of the RPG:

Everyone remains under their game handle (so there’s no doxing) NO REAL NAMES

You can interact with other parties who are using the same campaign as you, however when interacting with main story plot your party will go into its own private server

You can have a party of any size however it’s recommended to have a party over 4.. However you can make it with two or three or solo (but that’s just kinda sad..)

There is a chat feature and call feature in the game, however no hate speech, or bigotry

You can’t join a call unless your apart of the party

ofc this doesn’t stop it from happening but that’s not really relevant to the story

There are Dms (dungeon masters) but your team can also just use the computer for your Dm

Your character can be completely customized, and you’ll move around on a map

Ok now to the fun stuff

Danny and Tim (Wraith and Scarlet) have been playing together for about 3 months, and have made a commitment to play every 2 weeks on sunday (ghosts tend to take a break every 2 weeks on sundays (and B forced Tim to take a break from everything including cases every 2 weeks on sunday) Although sometimes each will get pulled away from the game and they’ll have to end early.

Anyways their campaign doesn’t super matter, only that they are online friends. Ok so one day Tim texts Wraith (they use online name bc y'know tim’s like uber famous) that he can’t make it to their session today bc his dad is forcing him to “bond” Aka he’s going to a gala with Bruce and Dick to stop a heist team that has been rampant across socialite and high society events. Wraith tells him it’s alright, and that coincidentally he’s busy too and was just about to cancel.

As Tim surveils everyone he curses Bruce for making him come. Tim had gotten into the habit of getting a night off from everything. He’d also not gotten a chance to do ample research on the guests beforehand because he’d been working on researching the thieves. He’d heard some chatter about the group looking into a possible haunted vahz, that was on display for the night. Tim had been surveying the party staying near the vahz making sure everyone checked out. Dick had texted saying that he’d cornered a possible thieving candidate and that he needed Tim to run an face ID check, on the picture he’d taken. The photo was of a young woman, her red hair caused Tim to think of Babs, but the woman’s simple teal evening dress couldn’t be further from her style. He’d done a quick search of the woman, she seemed to be some sort of rich young socialite, definitely Dicks type.. Her name was Kelly Jankins, no criminal history, or past arrests, she had a couple of parking tickets that were waved from her late teens. But nothing out of the ordinary. Tim texted Dick the information (save for the part about her being Dicks type) before stuffing his phone back into his pocket and moving from his post to go and get a drink. About 20 feet from his post he bumped into a nicely dressed guy, his hair black and suit tailored.. He also wore a Vladco pin on his left breast pocket.

He’d apologized and Tim told him it was no big deal, his eyes were blue.. But he could have sworn they were green when he first looked up. And his voice.. It sounded so familiar. Why did it sound familiar..?

As Tim walked away it hit him like a truck.. Wraith.

—————

Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had been stealing for some time now, after Danny had been outed as Phantom to the whole town by his parents. Him, Sam, and Tucker had decided to all leave Amity since all of their parents were unaccepting.. Sam’s parents had gone so far as to write her out of their will.. Danny had told her and Tuck to stay in Amity and fix their relationships with their family, but they’d both said ‘that if Danny wasn’t in Amity Park then they didn’t have their family.’ So they left. The three stayed with Jazz for a bit but she was a broke college student that barely had enough money for food and rent. So the three started stealing food.. It was out of necessity at first, and only from big companies, but when Sam got an online invitation to a big gala that was showing off some old artifacts from a rich guy’s private collection, Danny felt a pull toward a particular item from his core. The item belonged to someone in the ghost zone.. and he needed to have it. He needed to return it.

So they stole it. Danny was to be Sam’s plus one as he’s basically a haunted item metal detector. Sam would steal the item and Tuck would turn out the lights and secretly system. Then Danny would get him and Sam out of there. Most of their plans would be similar to this format. Sam would also grift from the other patrons, only stealing from the ones who seemed to have a shit ton of money. Eventually even teaching Danny how to do it too, she’d told him that ‘using his ghost powers were a cop out’ when he brought that up.. and that ‘anyone would be able to feel the chill of it.’ Which Danny was sure that that was untrue.. But he learned how to steal a wallet, or a phone Sam’s way.

Jazz had been against the thefts at first saying that all of these items belonged to the original owner. But soon she was persuaded when Danny told her that they were stealing stolen items. Stolen ghost items. Some of the items even had a ghost core attached to it. So Jazz became their planner, she’d make sure they’d have all the info they needed and that no one got caught.

Danny ends up in jail after being caught trying to lift someone’s wallet.. Jazz was there to legally get him out and pay the bail. Tucker got caught in a backroom of a place they were stealing from. ‘Oh yeah that’s her brother who would often get himself trapped in closets looking for the bathroom.. She apologizes profusely..’

So when Tucker had found their newest item, a haunted vase that had a shit ton of death and destruction attached to it, Jazz had thought up the plan. She’d heard whisperings that Vlad had gotten invited to the party but Danny was going to go in his place since Vlad would never go. Then they had a plan. A plan they were meant to stick to, until someone ran her face and Danny started being followed. So they abandoned the vase opting to get out of there instead of getting caught.

#danny phantom #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #dp fanfic #dpxdc #timxdanny #tim drake #deadtired #deadtiredship #danny fenton #lmk if you wanna be tagged #when i post the fic #ugg i love this idea so much #it’s killing me #i love them so much #also they are not subtle w their dnd characters #deadtired heist

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flamingpudding · 1 year

Text

DPxDC Family Week June 18 (Day 1)

Prompt: Parents | Discovery

A/N: I hope i did not miss the prompts but here is my Day 1 contribution! Enjoy!

AO3 Link: DPxDC Family Week Contributions

Danny sighed as he watched his parents lay out the display for their research as well as set up a showcasing of all their weapons. Why couldn't he skip this business thing like Jazz had. Oh right, Jazz was going to college next year and skipt out of this with the excuse of taking a college tour for Gotham Acadamy and their student programs. While he had missed his chance and was now stuck accompanying his parents to their meeting with a new potential business partner. In other words he was on parents babysitting duty.

Apparently Wayne Enterprise had shown some interest in regards to their research as well as ecto-powered utensils and weaponry. Danny was pretty sure that they only showed an interest because he had an accidentally meeting as ghost king with that Constantine guy who's soul became a trading game in the ghost zone. Apparently there was a Justice League Dark which needed some help with a couple rebellious ghosts. Instead of a Demon they had accidentally summoned Danny in his Ghost King form and Danny had used that chance to ramble on about the GIW and how half his council was close to demanding a war with the humans. They were pretty quickly interested in avoiding an interdimensional war, even promising to get the Justice League involved too and not only the Dark variant.

The moment Sam and Tucker heard about Wayne Enterprises being interested in a deal, they once again started up their discussion about whether or not Bruce Wayne was Batman's sugar daddy. Since the bat was a member of the Justice League. In a way he probably should be happy that his parents forced him to come with them, it gave him an out from his friends bickering. Don't get him wrong, he loves his friends, but if he has to listen to them argue one more time where or not Batman fucks a rich billionaire, Superman or Wonder Woman, he would be throwing them into the portal for an hour or have them deal with Technus alone.

Either way he was now helping his parents while they were discussing if they should or should not demonstrate the Fanton-Bazooka. His mom had already the Wraith Wrangler tested earlier while his dad had untangled the Fenton Ghost Fisher. The Fenton Finder was already on the table deactivated for now. Ancients, he was not looking forward to being its target, again. His parents were also already wearing the Fenton Specter Deflector which meant Danny was especially careful not to get to close to them since that thing still sapped him and the only one he had had the time to adjust and make his own ecto signature a exception in, was at home because he just forget taking it with him when his parents dragged him into the GAV.

Aside from the weaponry his parents had also brought out a bunch of their modified home appliances, like the Fenton toaster. Hopefully they wouldn't end up bringing the bread back to life during the presentation. Danny didn't think Wayne enterprise would be too thrilled about that. And the Ancients, did he hope that Bruce Wayne was not a fruitloop like Vlad.

---------

Tim sighed as he readjusted the necktie. What was Bruce thinking? Just because Constantine had contacted the Justice League about some negotiations that were going to happen with someone from another dimension known as the Ghost King, he was now stuck with trying to strike a deal with one of the only inventors that was actively publishing as well as selling research and weaponry that would work against ghosts.

Seriously that man and his contingency plans.

Just because he liked to have safety measures should negotiation with the Ghost King, who apparently can destroy entire dimensions, go wrong, didn't mean that the man could skip out on that meeting with the scientist couple and put that all instead on him. Really Tim had better things to do, like plotting a revenge plan on Jason for ratting out his coffee hiding space to Alfred. So what if he only slept like six hours in four days? He was still functioning very well.

He watched through the cams how the Fantons set up their display in the room WE had provided them. They were going to show off to a selected board and him. He eyed some of their weaponry as well as home appliances, they all had a pretty in theme green and silver design. Though he took special notice of the green glow or liquid some of them visibly contained that suspiciously looked very much like Lazarus Water. He would need to make sure to collect some samples if they didn't leave some willingly behind.

He also wondered how their son, who looked very much like an unwilling assistance, kept a certain distance from his parents after they put on some clunky looking belts. He got his answer as to why when he watched them longer. The poor kid got zapped apparently every time he got too close. Worse was that his parents apparently didn't notice or entirely dismissed it a second later if they noticed it.

The co-ceo of Wayne Enterprise narrowed his eyes at that, the detective in him screaming that something was amiss here. Sometimes the parents even carelessly reached out to touch their son, in what was probably supposed to be an affectionate gesture. The boy would flinch back slightly but they would still keep going only drawing back when the kid ended up flinching in actual pain and letting that show on his face. His parents then seemed instantly apologetic but only minutes later ended up repeating the same mistake distracted apparently by something else.

Tim took notes of this and decided that he would either look into their home life himself or ask Barbara to do it. He had a gut feeling that the kid needed some help and even if it were just a false alarm and these were actually good parents, it would be better safe than sorry. Taking a sip from his death wish coffee he readjusted the tie once more before closing his laptop.

It was time for the business meeting and he would make sure to watch their interaction and treatment of their child closely.

----------

Tim swore he was paying attention. The suspicious looks his board as well as the Fantons son were giving him just because he was typing away on his laptop while parallel listening to them as well as taking regular sips from his coffee was not him being distracted. Didn't these people ever hear about multitasking? Just because he sat in the back so no one could look into his laptop didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. For all they knew he was actively taking notes.

At these the Drs. Fenton didn't seem to mind it, they were easily distracted with just one well placed question from him. They would then go on and on about Ecto-Energy and all its uses and potential. By now the young CEO was pretty sure that this Ectoplasm had something to do with Lazarus water. Which only validated the research he was doing on the side even more.

It wasn't like he was hacking into Amity Park's network system, okay he was but it was surprisingly hard for such an in-the-middle-of-nowhere place. He only found an in into their network when he found a rather passionate online post about their local Vigilante being the Fantons son but got countered by several other users stating that they had seen the two of them at the same time several times.

That users net security wasn't the best so it was easy for Tim to find an in that way. He sent it to Barbara too, just in case she also had troubles. Really that town had an interesting firewall system that appeared to make no sense. It was also strange to see how little information was known about this place if you weren't tuned into their networks.

Like was that place a literal Bermuda triangle when it came to Information?

He looked up from his laptop just in time to see the Fantons go on about the uses of Ecto-Energy and how it can replace electricity if used correctly. Apparently their entire home didn't have to pay electricity bills in years now since they became self sufficient. They then went on showing off how to find the source of Ecto-Energy holding up something they named the Fenton-Finder. That thing beeped and then proceeded to insult them and point in the direction of their son.

Flustered they explained how because of an accident their son had their inventions tend to malfunction when he was close by. Their son very clearly grimaced when his parents shared that piece of information and Tim made sure to note that down too another point on the possible bad parenting list for the Fentons.

His attention turned back to his information gathering. That town's news looked like they got run over by 'ghosts' every two days. Additionally the entire town was not the least bit thankful to their vigilante Phantom, considering he found the same amount off news praising as well as bad mouthing their local hero.

So what if there was some property damage? At least they were somewhat saved form whatever these 'ghosts' were doing. He saved all the news clips he found regarding all the attacks this town appeared to have suffered into a separated folder. There had to be a reason why the Justice League hadn't taken any form of action yet. It couldn't be that one summoning going wrong in the JL Dark and making contact with a Ghost King was what it needed for them to step in, let alone notice the shit that went on in Amity.

Hell if nothing changed he would attempt to get Phantom to join Young Justice or his group specifically. The vigilante looked like a kid maybe a little younger than him, wait hold on. Tim pulled up the least blurry picture of the vigilante he could find and looked up from his screen just in time to see the Fanton's son back away from his mom hiding his arm behind him.

Did he get zapped again? Dear God, aren't his parents paying attention to the kid at all? He added another point to the bad parents tally.

Okay wait, save that for later, focus on the task at hand, Tim scowled himself mentally. Taking a good look at the teenager before looking back at his laptop screen, the young Co-CEO nodded to himself. Yup, maybe that post that got him into their towns network wasn't that far off. If you change the colors then the Fanton kid looked very much like Phantom minus the pointy ears and sharp teeth. Additionally now that he put them next to each other in his mind. The name Phantom sounded awfully a lot like Fanton.

What did the Fantons say their son's name was? D- d- Danny, Daniel? Good the kid needed a teaching in how to better hide secret identity connections. Wearing a pretty but telling logo on your outfit was a dead giveaway. The kid was probably some sort of Meta and if he had to guess he was the accident that his parents had offhandedly mentioned. Even more reason to have Barbara look into them more.

For now he was somewhat satisfied with his findings as he closed his laptop and gave the Fentons his full attention. He did not miss Danny (was it?) looking down at his phone for a second and then narrowing his eyes at him. He did his best to suppress the forming grin. Really the kid was very intriguing, if his suspicions were right, they rarely weren't unless Barbara had found something else, and the kid was somewhat impulsive then he would probably get a little visit from Phantom later. After all he had made sure to leave some traces behind to arrange this.

------------

When Tucker contacted him that there were two people outside of Amity looking into Phantom, he was not amused especially when Tucker also stated that only one of them could be traced back to Wayne Enterprise.

Really what he was doing was probably dumb and he could hear his sisters scowling in his head. But when they were back at the hotel and he excused himself for the night and asking Jazz to cover for him should anything go wrong he changed forms and flew invisible all the way back to the Wayne tower.

It took some searching but soon enough he found the room of the young Co-CEO that had to be the one that looked into Amity and his family. Finding the office empty, Danny frowned before looking around. He couldn't find anything suspicious, it was just a normal office. Crossing his arms while floating to the middle of the room Danny tried to think about it more.

"Not finding what you are looking for Phantom?"

His head snapped to the side as he turned around ready for a fight. Instead Danny came face to face with Red Robin. Great he definitely did not want the attention of their local Bat-Clan. Wasn't it enough that his home town couldn't decide if he was a menace or not? He didn't need Gotham trying to decide too. Considering how Batman apparently disliking Metas it already wasn't looking good for him. It was already bad enough that the Justice League had finally gotten wind of Amity.

"Look I am not here to cause trouble, I just…"

"You're just looking into why someone in Wayne Enterprises would look into you or your identity and you suspected the young CEO Tim Drake-Wayne because he spent the majority of the business meeting with your parents on his laptop?"

"How do you…?"

"I have my sources."

Danny eyed the vigilante; this was not what he expected. Wait, did he say his parents? His eyes widened and he heard the other chuckle. "Yea you make it pretty easy on how to discover your identity, kid. Might wanna take that post down discussing your identity. That's dangerous even if seemingly no one believes it. If people pay close attention it's easy to figure out."

Danny narrowed his eyes. Okay fuck, so some outsider had figured out his identity and that one happened to be connected to Batman who hated Metas… Dear Acients he was fucked.

"If you are planning to arrest me and give me over to the GIW, I will not hesitate…"

"Arresting you? No, why would I do that? This is more interesting. Though I admit the Fentons research is pretty biased, you're a good guy no matter how torn your hometown is on that matter. Besides, the JL is already looking into these 'Guys in White' the Ghost King has informed us about." Red Robin shrugged but Danny did not let his guard down. "I was honestly thinking about black mailing you to join the Young Justice League and then work with you together or train you to find out more about this Ectoplasm. I have my suspicions that it has something to do with Lazarus Water and who better to get to help than the kid that lived with scientists researching and had a lap accident that gave him powers that he is also actively hiding from his parents. I saw the video footage of you getting zapped by their inventions."

Danny flinched at the last part, phantom pains running through his arm that had touched the button but he forced himself to stay calm. "You are blackmailing me?"

"I would call it forceful recruitment for help with a case." The vigilante shrugged. "But essentially yes."

"What if I refuse?"

"I will relate the information to batman including your home situation and depending on what we find I will have a new brother in about one to two."

"Months?"

"Weeks. It all depends on your parents though. Are you even safe with them? I heard them talking about tearing you apart molecule by molecule."

"I am fine! They are good parents, really!"

Acients his panic was slowly setting in. What was happening? First Red Robin revealed that he had discovered his identity, then he was getting blackmailed, then told to help in a case about something called Lazarus Water and now his parents are under suspicion, of what?

Red Robin only hummed. "Hey Oracle, you heard the kid right? Only Static? No matter, please look into Daniel Fentons home life and potential therapy. Yeah I will be mailing B the rest of the entire report."

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Getting a new brother." After a short moment of Danny staring at the other vigilante they added "...and sister."

What in the name of Ancients was happening?!

#DPxDCFamilyWeek #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #fanfic #tim drake #red robin #crossover #jack fenton #maddie fenton #questionable parenting #DPxDC #long post #ghost king danny #no secrets are save from Tim #Danny needs to learn how to hide his identity better #Wes posts are a security issue for Amity

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ectoplasmicsoda · 2 years

Text

First rule of being a halfa - crying in an alley while blobs surround you is a must

#ecto art #danny phantom #jazz fenton #jazz wraith #wisp #halfa jazz au

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analviel · 2 years

Text

That Arkham psychiatrist Jazz and guard Danny, but with Corpse AU, Eldritch!Ghost King, and Ghost!Gotham.

So Danny heard Jazz got a job she really wanted, visited the city she moved to, but suddenly felt someone or something call for him. Gotham asked his help to wake her from Slumber and Danny had to stay to help her so he applied as a guard. Cue Danny being the best guard Arkham has ever had.

But it just so happens that when he moved to Gotham Joker was already inside Arkham and when the clown broke out Danny was just getting settled and when Joker performed his latest crime, he's being dragged back to Arkham with a relatively established Danny who now patrols deeper in the building.

So first time Danny sees the clown he stops cold while everyone watches.

Joker is a tresspasser, unwelcomed in Gotham's city-state. Wait, no, Danny realize that Joker must've belonged once, but he was rejected by Gotham along the way. He doesn't really know and can't care about the specifics of what went down there but this thing isn't human and it must be contributing to poor Gotham's state. So Danny beelines to the Joker, and Danny is pretty harmless in his human guise, but then he starts shedding it.

"I am Phantom, invited here by Gotham herself, I belong here for as long as she will allow but you have outstayed your welcome and in my right as the Ghost King, you will be removed." And proceeds to devour it whole.

The rest of the rogues are silent.

Then Danny is back to his usual guise and the Rogues are relatively well behaved and Jazz is loving her job and making so much progress with the other psychiatrists without the Rogues repeatedly breaking out and coming back worse and rinse and repeat.

So, Corpse AU enters along the time the buzz of the new guard reaches the Bats. They interact with Danny as their vigilante persona, sometimes they cross paths as civilians, Gotham adores them. But Joker's disappearance is suspicious and everyone wants to look into it if nothing else because they need peace of mind and closure.

They pick up pieces here and there from the Rogues. So they now inch towards the supernatural genre and about this Ghost King. With their resources and their investigative might, they get the idea of its existence from the scientific community (which is its lack of mention except from a line or two here from two Dr. Fentons interesting that), the records from the Al Ghuls, and the interactions from the magic/supernatural community. I don't know how the realization goes down but Danny profess to his reason for staying, that he's heard the same voice they had to, and is just here to help Gotham. The Bats didn't think it was Gotham's voice or that it (her) even had a voice so that's a thing.

Danny confess to eating Joker. Bruce bristle at the blatant nonchalance at killing and says something about the idea of death may be different for them. Danny answers that he didn't kill the Joker, because killing the Joker wouldn't work because it'll just posses another suitable host, which probably had already happened multiple times, the malicious wraith one of the largest parasites on Gotham's own ectoplasm. Gotham probably voluntarily gave it a part of herself once upon a time and then it started taking and taking and Gotham realized too late. Or something like that.

Anyways, the kids and the Fentons get along swimmingly, Jason particularly pleased by their presence maybe for more than one reasons.

Then someone, probably Tim, I'm putting my bet on my nosy boy, realizes Danny is a ghost and Jazz is his sister and just one of those 'ghosts were alive once and he's definitely the alive before type so what happened' and looks to Amity records and it doesn't take much digging before he finds the case of Phantom. Or Phantom's ghost and his body.

And the ensuing investigation. And Phantom's own hand in the progress of the investigation, or rather his hand in stopping the progress.

It's up to you what the official records say, but one of my fave fics (that one with the relic and written from Maddie's perspective) os that Danny (or his body) was officially killed by Vlad.

#dc #batfam #robin #dc comics #danny phantom #Arkham guard danny #Arkham psychiatrist Jazz #jason todd #tim drake #batman #bruce wayne #dc x dp #dp x dc #Danny phantom x batfam #And i write

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inthememetime · 2 years

Note

DP × DC but it's a tired and burnt out Danny that makes landfall in Gotham, in this AU Danny is a halfa but it is his sister that plays the role he does in Canon and he only got his powers via ectoplasm contamination. He got burnt out acting as his sisters occasionally sidekick and her alibi in regards to their parents, so after he finally graduated from Casper High he opted to find himself while Jazz joined the Justice League.

So here we have a severely overtired and burnt out Daniel Fenton working at a local Lexbucks Coffee Shop when out of the blue he gets involved in the usual Gotham drama that results in a drive-by shooting wherein Danny gets shot. Danny, being a Halfa, gets up despite having been visibly shot in locations that would be fatal to anyone else but for him it's nothing and he goes back to work.

So begins the interest in Gotham's newest criptid; The Undead Barrista.

👀👀👀

(Lmk if you'd like to read this on my A03, and/or a version from his coworkers POV!) Ok so I did a fic!

Length: short boi. Save about 10-15 minutes.

Summary: see ask above. PLUS Danny sasses Gotham's Rogues Gallery into submission and finds out he really wasn't as useless as he felt.

Danny was second; he was the second child. The second smartest child. The second best as dealing with people. The second one to DIE and get superpowers.

At first, it was exciting! Phantom and Wraith, superhero duo of Amity Park! But Jazz- or Wraith, when she was in ghost form- had the ability to make people feel safe. To calm down situations before they ever started.

Danny had the ability to tear enemies to shreds, destroy infrastructure, and scare people.

Even Sam and Tucker agreed, although not in so many words. They didn't need to; after Dan, after they knew what he'd probably become, things really changed. He was watched, less to make sure he was safe, and more to make sure he didn't become Dan.

When he started sympathizing with that Fruitloop, Vlad, he knew something had to change.

So he flew up, up, into Earth's orbit, so he could look at the planet below. He didn't know how long he stayed there, but when he saw the sun set over the Himalayas, he felt something in him... settle, somehow. And he came to the realization he needed to leave.

It wasn't their fault- his sister, Sam, Tucker. He was the worse liar, so their parents suspected him of everything. He dealt with ghosts better than people, so Wraith was more trusted. As they aged, and Wraith looked the same but older and Phantom started looking like Dan- well. It wasn't the people of Amity Park's fault, either. Besieged by monsters, who would want to rely on one?

He got his things and left. He left a note saying he needed a fresh start, and then took off. He didn't leave the name of the city he was moving to. He didn't know.

That was how he became a barista at a Lexbucks in Gotham with a tiny loft apartment. And for the first time since he was 15, he was happy. Really, truly happy. He made friends in an astronomy club, and got together every other Friday withe people to watch old movies.

He was about to start a management program at Lexbucks. He would be 'needed' by Clockwork every Monday for an unknown amount of time (it was hard to tell time when CW paised as needed. Sometimes Monday lasted weeks, if he thought it was warranted.)

Clockwork being Clockwork, that sometimes meant he needed to solve some ghost issue, or fix a paradox, or come over for dinner, or take a vacation. (Was there a portal in his closet? Yes. Yes there was.)

He saw Frostbite once a week too, Gotham being closer to the Far Frozen, and was learning Greek- both ancient and modern- from Pandora.

He was finally going to ask out Eduardo from the bookstore across the street today.

That meant, of course, he was shot right outside his apartment. Danny left for work around 3 AM; his apartment was pretty close to the edge of Crime Alley, he was the store opener and they started serving customers at 4 AM. A match made in hell.

He heard the gunshots before he felt them, and reflexively turned invisible to change into Phantom. The drive by shooting ended as quickly as it began, leaving Danny to curse and change his shirt. Dammit.

Ah well. Gotta love Tuesdays, right?

Next Tuesday was when Condiment Man walked into the Lexbucks. Probably to try and rob it, but it was difficult to understand over all the giggling from his regulars.

"Bring Gotham to-"

"Sir, this is a Lexbucks. Please just order your coffee, tea, other drink, or something to eat."

Condiment Man gaped for a moment. "I- I don't want coffee. I want villainy."

He nodded. "Fair. But this is a Lexbucks. No villainy, just coffee, tea, sodas, food. No evil available except the evil inherent in corporations."

"I. Um. Ok?"

After a moment, Danny cleared his throat. "So about your order?"

"Um. Well. Can I order you to join me in my quest to bring Gotham to its knees?" He asked nervously.

"Kinky." He said, and Condiment Man sputtered. "But no." His calm demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. "Get your hand off the trigger for that mustard right now, or you'll be cleaning every inch of this place with a toothbrush until it sparkles!"

Condiment Man yelped and left. The locals- regulars and newbies- started laughing. He was pretty sure somebody started crying. His tips were glorious.

Maybe Tuesdays weren't so bad after all.

XxXxXx

"I got a hit on Danny!"

Jazz spun around. "Really? You're sure, Tuck?"

"About 50%, the video is pretty grainy. But you tell me somebody else who deescalates villains with sass."

"Where?"

"That's the problem. They were using a VPN. It's somewhere in the US, probably Gotham, Metropolis, or League City- Gotham Rogues get around sometimes."

Jazz's face started to fall. "Tucker, thank you, but- it's been 5 years. Are we sure his face didn't totally change? I mean, remember Vlad's before and after?"

He sighed heavily. "Jazz, we failed him. I failed my best friend. I missed that he was hurting for 3 years before he ran. No matter what that note said, I was probably part of the problem. Give up on him of you want. But I'm gonna keep looking."

God, those notes had been like kicks in the teeth. If it was Vlad, he'd say it was orchestrated. But it was Danny. He very much did not blame them. He didn't want to go. And what was carefully not said, but pieced together when they compared the note left for him, Sam, Jazz, and the elder Fentons was they were the biggest reason he left.

XxXxXx

"I, the Baffler, will bring chaos and confusion to Gotham's streets with your assistance, Undead Coffee Person!"

That was, oddly enough, better than Inviso-Bill. Still. "Hey man, this is a Lexbucks. And I have a name."

He seemed delighted. "Wonderful! What is your villain name?"

"No, no, no villain name. I'm not a villain. Just a barista. My name's Jack. What's your order?"

The baffler seemed. Well. Baffled. "But aren't you going to join me in my life of crime?"

Danny sighed heavily. "Dude. I just wanna pay my bills. Coffee, tea, what do you want?"

"You can pay your bills with crime!"

The Baffler seemed so honestly pleased it was hard to get angry. Just a big guy in a dumb costume, and Ancients he missed his dad. But then he shot the cash register. "See? Crime!"

Danny snarled and, quick as a blink, The Baffler's hamds were frozen to the counter. "You have ice powers?!"

"And you have dumbass powers, you knockoff Riddler. I'm calling the cops."

XxXxXx

"You must be truly desperate to come to me for help," Vlad said with amusement plain on his face.

Sam narrowed her eyes, and Tucker scowled. "Yeah, well, we need untraceable cash, and you're the kind of guy to keep that on hand."

"And why do you need it?"

Sam grit her teeth, but replied, "let's just say if we find what we're looking for, the number of halfas might be back up to 4."

His eyes flashed brightly. "Well, then. How much do you need?"

XxXxXx

"Together, we will bring Gotham into the next ice age!" Mr. Freeze roared.

Danny narrowed his eyes. "Doctor, this is a Lexbucks. What do you want to order?"

"You, too have powers of ice! Together, we can bring Gotham into the cold!"

He sighed. "Ok. So frozen. Small, medium, or large?"

"I- I am ordering destruction, not coffee!"

Danny pointed to the menu. "Do you see destruction on the menu here? No. No, you don't. Your order?"

He gaped. "Chai latte? Mocha cappuccino? You seem like a smoothie kind of guy, want one of those?"

Mr. Freeze cleared his throat. "What kind of smoothies do you have?"

XxXxXx

"Are you seriously going behind my back with Plasmius?"

Wraith stood, arms crossed with a scowl. "Oh back off, you're nowhere near as scary as Phantom. Or even Skulker." He snapped.

Batman cleared his throat. "I'm told you have information about an incredibly dangerous illegal meta in Gotham?"

Sam shook her head. "I wish I could say I couldn't believe this. He's your brother."

Jazz swallowed. "You don't even know for sure if this is Phantom. This could be a legitimate threat."

"Every time I start to wonder why he left, all I have to do is remind myself about-"

"Sam."

"He's our best friend, Tucker! And she just might've gotten him thrown into Arkham, because Batman doesn't believe in rehabilitation!"

And another argument began.

XxXxXx

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I really like you, I do! It's just..." Eduardo trailed off, shaking underneath Danny's jacket.

"It's ok. You didn't sign up for getting kidnapped by the Penguin in a sick job offer."

He smiled a little shakily, and Danny hugged him tightly. "I'll see you around, ok?"

"Thanks, Jack."

Why the hell was he so broken up over a guy who didn't even know his real name?

XxXxXx

Thursday began at the sight of the Joker prowling around. Danny let his jaws drop and released a hiss that made fully grown ghosts back the hell up, following it by the unearthly rattle he learned from Fright Knight.

The Joker backed up. Swallowed. Put on his trademark grin, and stepped back in. Albeit a little further from the front counter. "Now, now, kid, I'm a clown! Kids love clowns, yeah?"

Another hellish hiss echoed from behind the Joker. He paled, then stiffened as a massive blue hand was on his shoulder. "Perhaps this isn't the best place for you."

The Joker laughed shakily. "Hey, pal, I'm-"

Plasmius' glowing eyes flashed, and the Joker's started glowing red. The clown's face fell slack. "This isn't the best place for you."

"This...isn't the...best...place....for me." The Joker slurred.

"Leave." Commanded the vampire ghost.

The Joker staggered out drunkenly. Plasmius turned his attention to the counter. "Can I get a large black coffee? With a shot of espresso, please."

Danny cocked his head and tried not to laugh at Kristen's face when the fruitloop sat next to her. "Sure. Kristen?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "He's not going to hurt or overshadow you. Right, Plasmius?"

"Of course," he agreed magnanimously.

Plasmius drank his coffee at the store. He bought a blueberry donut. Gave him a $500 tip. "The number hasn't changed. Call me, and we'll see about moving you before Batman and his friends crash the place."

"I can fly, you know."

"He has multiple jets. And besides, from what I've heard, Wraith is helping him track down the big, scary meta."

"Thanks for the warning, Plasmius. I'll think about it."

The elder halfa nodded and left, phasing through the door.

Jazz was hunting him. Jazz was hunting him. His sister was- it wasn't fair. He left her the entire territory of Amity Park. She had the undivided love and attention of everyone in Amity Park. Inside the roll of $100 bills was a business card.

He pocketed it, and yet another super came in. Plasmius was right. They were hunting him. Red Robin frowned at the menu.

"Hey, do you still have the mint hot chocolate?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Small, medium, or large?"

"Large, please." Red Robin waited in silence while his drink was prepared. "So, Jack Walker isn't your real name."

Danny shook his head. "Nah. If you're going to arrest me, might as well just call me Danny."

He observed him carefully, then nodded. "I'll see you around, Jack. Try to keep out of trouble."

XxXxXx

"He isn't a threat!" Tim snapped.

"You deliberately disobeyed me! We agreed not to approach the person who can use mind control!"

"You agreed, B. Wraith, just leave him alone, ok? He just wants to make his coffee and leave every day."

"Is he my brother or not?"

"Does it matter? He left." Tim snapped. "That guy is just trying to make a living. He's not going to hurt anyone who doesn't start trouble."

Jazz embraced both Sam and Tucker, feeling real, true hope for the first time in years. "It's Danny! Guys it's Danny, we can bring him home!"

"None of you are leaving until we can bring him in for questioning."

Jazz's face hardened, then she agreed. That was alright. She had a secret weapon. Two of them, actually.

XxXxXx

"Jack, you've got people asking for you."

Danny groaned.

"Sorry Jack, you're the one who made the rule about people in weird suits with guns."

"Yeah, fair. Thanks."

He stepped out behind the counter, and froze. "Danny?"

He swallowed. Blinked to make sure he was seeing what he thought. "Mom? Dad?"

For the first time in 5 years, he was embraced by his parents. He didn't feel bad about the tears. He couldn't. "Let's go home, baby. Let's go home."

"I can't. I- I'm not..."

"It's ok, Danny. We know now. About Phantom."

"I'm so sorry we made you feel your only recourse was running away."

XxXxXx

He had started to get the idea Jazz might be hunting him in a violent way. The only violent thing was the force of her hug, and the way her nails dug into his shoulder to keep him close.

Danny couldn't quite understand her over the blubbering, but that was fine; he had always been a sympathetic crier. Although the way all of the bats, Constantine, and Superman were shifting awkwardly, trying not to watch them while watching them, was pretty funny. It got worse when Sam kicked Batman in the knee and joined them. Then there was Tucker, and his mom, and- his dad was squeezing them tight enough to pick them up a few inches.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to get them all to stop crying- and Danny included himself. He had a good 5 years of believing he did nothing but harm to his human(ish) family to cry over.

"So just to be clear. You are not a villain."

"Yep. Used to be in the hero game, even."

"And you're not going to start being a villain."

He chuckled. "No, I won't."

"For now, your stay in Gotham is fine, though you should start using your legal name. If you don't like Danny Fenton, you can always legally change it. Can we call on you if we get a ghostly threat closer to home?"

"Absolutely."

"Wait! Danny, you're going home, though, right? With us?" Jazz asked hopefully.

"I'd like to visit," he said quietly, "but Jazz- I scare humans. Pretty badly."

"The ghosts negotiate with you, they listen to you! And people- look, now that Phantom's not there stopping fights by talking to ghosts before they start, or helping the new dead solve their murders- well. Phantom has been missed."

"Jazz, you do all that too. And you calm humans down way better than I ever have, so-"

"Danny," Tucker interrupted, "please, buddy. You don't have to stay, just come for a week. Things are different now. Promise."

And. Well. Even if they were wrong, he missed them. So much. "I can do a week."

#condiment man #the baffler #vlad masters #plasmius #sam manson #tucker foley #mr. freeze #halfa!jazz #batman #the penguin is referenced #the joker was not prepared for 2 halfas #red robin #tim drake #danny phantom #dp x dc #Danny deescalates using sass #long post #30 minute-1 hr read

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