#mad sweeney crossover

[deppverse]

This is going to be soooo funny 😂

[secretmellowblog]

This bit from Gillenormand’s intro:

he had himself shaved every day by a barber who had been mad and who detested him, being jealous of M. Gillenormand on account of his wife…

Les Mis Sweeney Todd crossover???

[dw-writes]

The Invasion...Chapter Twenty-Two

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

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

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

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

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

The Invasion and the Big Easy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweeney?” you asked.

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

“Which part?” you whispered.

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

“I will,” you promised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’m not gonna blow us up!” he argued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just got here,” he grunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snapped your mouth shut.

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

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

“Yes!” she countered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh,” you sighed.

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

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

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

You nodded and stepped inside.

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

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

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

He was about to break your heart.

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

He hadn’t fucking told you.

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

What a fucking coward.

(And then, there you were)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Baron laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why we’re here,” Sweeney finished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Coward. What a fucking coward.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Laura whispered your name.

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just don’t wanna see ‘em.”

“You’re a liar!”

He knew.

(He really was a coward.)

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

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

Fading.

Dying.

Dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Padre?”

“Jesse?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oester?” Jesse whispered to you.

“Easter,” you clarified.

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

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

“There’s more than one?” asked Tulip.

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

“Jesi,” Tulip corrected.

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

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

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

“Jesse,” he insisted.

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

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

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

Sweeney snorted.

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

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

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

“Shuddup.”

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

“Shut. Up.”

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

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

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

The fingers in his hair were yours.

The thighs he gripped tight were yours.

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

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

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

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

You cheered when Jesse finally opened the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a real right bastard, love—”

You swiftly corrected him with your name.

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

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

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

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

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

Your sob tore through his chest like a stake.

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

“Then why…” you trailed off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never,” you whispered.

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

“Those are the best,” you yawned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?” you whispered.

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

Fingers wrapped around yours, cold against your hot skin.

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

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

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

She sagged with relief and sat back against the couch.

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

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

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

He laughed.

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

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

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

“Y’sure?” whispered Cassidy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kirkypet]

six favorite fics meme

Thanks @thebyrchentwigges for tagging me!

I haven’t been writing very long (certainly not compared to some 😄), but I’m coming up to my 8th writing birthday so it’s long enough to have gathered up six favourite fics and have a reasonable amount of difficulty about it

I’ve written for two main fandoms: Mad Max Fury Road, and American Gods (tv), so I’ll be picking from them. Let’s say three from each:

Fury Road

I had to work my way through my in-canon headcanon, if that makes sense, before I found my fun place in this fandom - AUs. What can I say, I’m not outdoorsy, gritty or action-driven enough to do justice to the Wasteland proper. But AUs have a bit more room for manoeuvre.

I’m still not clear what’s the proper definition of Fury Road characters in another fandom’s universe is, but that’s what these first two are.

A Bladerunner take on Citadel life, transplanted to Los Angeles with cyberpunk Many Mothers and a Very Special Max.

💡 What made me think of it? I plotted it out while being bored by Bladerunner 2049

📚 What It Taught Me: that I don’t need to be scared of writing action

🎶 The Song: Do You Know The Way To San Jose? (Dionne Warwick) … thump thump thump

Rebel smugglers and elite sex workers in space! This is an extended retelling of the quite comical Firefly episode ‘Our Mrs Reynolds’, with a sequel thrown in because this story spawned a delightful villain and an unexpected ship.

💡 What made me think of it? A tumblr prompt post doing the rounds - something about a Wild West brothel Fury Road AU idea

📚 What It Taught Me? That it’s a joy to get comments where people are YELLING. Incoherently yelling.

🎶 The Song That Makes Me Think Of This Fic: Delta Dawn (Skeewiff)

This is actually my most popular Fury Road fic, in terms of kudos. More straightforward this one - it’s not a crossover or mashup, but a simple fairground AU. Byrch gave me tarot advice for this, for which I’m eternally grateful.

💡 What made me think of it? Listening to Fortune Teller (Benny Spellman)

📚 What It Taught Me: That you can get a whole plot from a single song (more or less)

🎶 The Song that Makes Me Think Of This Fic: Going to have to say Sweet Caroline (Neil Diamond) makes me want to cry a little now

American Gods

For me, this fandom’s fic was all about FIXING IT. Fixing the end of season 2, to be more specific. Hence, my first two favourite AG fics are two different flavours of Laura Resurrects Sweeney. They’re both technically series, each consisting of one Resurrection fic, one very short follow-up, and one What Happens Next.

This is the first in the Stir Crazy series, a shutdown-era fic with themes of marriage, belief and shortsighted schemes that have unforeseen consequences. Salim’s in this one - and they’re detectives! (nearly forgot to mention that)

💡 What Made Me Think Of It? The devastation of the end of s2. Simple. The detectives bit to be honest I can’t remember where that came from.

📚 What It Taught Me? I don’t need to be afraid of writing smut (I tackle it in much the same way as I do action)

🎶 The Song That Makes Me Think Of This Fic: Promised Land (by any of the artists who recorded that song BUT name checking Chuck Berry who wrote it)

The first in the I Can Fix Him series. Laura goes to Ireland! Shadow does some self-reflection! Themes include the Geography of Gods (I guess you could say that gods, like grapes, are very sensitive to their terroir), polyamory and everyone acknowledging that they fucked up and being better for it

💡 What Made Me Think Of It? A tumblr picture of a portal tomb in Ireland somewhere, can’t remember the specifics but it was the start of the idea

📚 What It Taught Me: It confirmed that flying from Dublin to the US involves way more liminal spaces than any other international travel

🎶 The Song That Makes Me Think Of This Fic: it’s a toss up between Alive And Kicking (Simple Minds) and Gettin’ Happy (Dolly Parton) - I couldn’t fit it in, but that’s the middle Zorya sister’s song. She deserved some good lovin’

This isn’t a fix-it fic (I’d got those out of my system by then), but was inspired by Boss Level, a movie that improves with every watch. Simple premise stolen from that film - assassination mark gets stuck in a timeloop and starts over every time they get killed. Laura of course is the assassins’ mark - and there are several gods queuing up to take her out. Sweeney included, but his definition of ‘take her out’ is a little unclear.

💡 What Made Me Think Of It: Boss Level, as mentioned

📚 What It Taught Me: it’s a joy to get fanart

🎶 The Song That Makes Me Think Of This Fic: Joy Division Oven Gloves (Half Man Half Biscuit). The line ‘talk to the hands’, specifically

Thanks for asking!

Tagging @evilasiangenius @bethagain @lurkinghistoric and the very lovely @jandjsalmon whom I’ve only just now looked up on tumblr (I see you recc’d one of these - thankyouuu 💚💚💚). Btw this was just my way of answering the ‘what are your 6 favourite fics that you’ve written’ question - do it however you like

[bookerdefay]

So I’m having fanfic ideas 👀 I’m here to nourish the Mad Sweeney fandom AND pull off some sick ass (potentially steamy) crossovers 👀👀

[aparticularbandit]

Top 5 musicals! And top 5 comic characters!

~

Ask Me My “Top 5″ Anything....

Musicals:

Music Man. Because nostalgia. But specifically the Robert Preston and Shirley Jones version NOT the Matthew Broderick and Kristin Chenoweth version.

Sound of Music. Also because nostalgia.

Cats. Also because of nostalgia but also I love Grizabella so much and I unironically love Memory and also MACAVITY MACAVITY THERE’S NO ONE LIKE MA-CA-VI-TY like look the switch to the triplet there is AMAZING and I will stop rambling now (but also it’s T.S. Eliot put to music.  What’s not to love??  Honestly).

Anyone Can Whistle. Which was Angela Lansbury’s first major role and also it had a very short run because it tried to involve the audience in a way the audience did not want to be involved.  But it deals with politics and.... Like - it’s a dying town.  And water starts miraculously coming out of a rock.  And the mayor thinks that’s good for tourism and drums it up (and then finds out later it’s a fake).  And the head of the mental asylum nearby is like well if we have miracle water, let’s fix all of the people in the asylum and brings them to the water.  And then they disperse into the crowd and a rando guy says that he could tell the difference between everyone and splits the town up into Group A and Group 1 and then refuses to tell them which is which and the first act ends with him turning to the audience and saying You’re all mad like.  It’s such a good musical and the song at the end of the first act is fifteen minutes long, but it’s SO worth it. (You should listen to the Bernadette Peters and Madeline Khan version because they also got Angela Lansbury back to be the Narrator and just.  UGH IT’S SO GOOD.  IT’S ALWAYS A WOMAN?  GREAT song.)

Next to Normal. I mean.  I have discussed my love of N2N.  It is probably my favorite modern musical.  Those top three are all classics and for good reason because they’re GOOD.

Honorable Mention: Sweeney Todd.  Because this was my hyperfixation junior year of high school and like.  Again, nostalgia!

Comic Characters:

I’m gonna assume you mean supers here, so I’m gonna focus on Marvel/DC stuff and not incorporate manga characters.

Jean Grey - specifically when Phoenix. Mostly nostalgia, but I need you to understand that I have been collecting Phoenix stuff since I was a tiny.

Poison Ivy. I said once that when she got a long-running series of her own, I would buy it.  As soon as I found out, I set up a hold and have been getting them since.  I really should catch up; I think I’m two? issues behind?

Viv Vision (and Viv 2.0). A new favorite!  But I love her!  A lot!  So much!  And Champions has been a pretty fantastic series!

Raven. Also nostalgia!  But I like her a lot!  ...and have also been collecting Raven stuff since I was a tiny.  (Also the X-Men/Teen Titans crossover comic that had Raven and Dark Phoenix in it?  :D)

Wanda Maximoff. Maybe?  It’s hard to pick a fifth character here because I’ve got a lot that I like on approximately the same level.  I don’t feel I’m a big enough Wanda fan to put her here (there’s a lot of her older stuff I haven’t read, although I like her most recent series!), and a part of me wants to put Cassandra Cain down instead (despite the fact that I’m pretty sure I’ve read more of Wanda than Cassandra and also it has been a long time since I read Cassandra stuff).  So Wanda’s...a placeholder, I guess?  Like I collect her stuff and Agatha’s stuff!  IDK.

[ghostvampiregalgazerock]

Here’s something you all should know what I love to write and don’t want to write as a fanfic writer

What I enjoy writing ✅

My fav seiyuus (Mamoru Miyano, Yuma Uchida, Aoi Shouta)

My favorite idols (Yuta Nakamoto, Sana Minatozaki, Mina Myoui, Rosé, Johnny, Jaehyun)

My favorite anime characters (One Piece, Bleach Vampire Knight, Black Butler, Sailor Moon, etc.)

My favorite band (the GazettE)

Crossover ships (Uruha from the GazettE x Rosé from Blackpink, I write them when they are the same age like High School students or college student to avoid age gaps!)

Crackships (Nami x Ace from One Piece and Sana x Yuta) [This doesn’t mean I don’t want Yuta and Sana to become a thing in real life, I am just bored and he did mention her in a radio show]

Idol x Idol (like Jaehyun x Yuta)

Yaoi (I take it slow like how Sasaki and Miyano were [I recommend that series. ITS SO SWEET!!!!])

LGBTQ stories ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Sometimes horror

Fantasy (Medieval, Adventures)

Funny stories

One-shots (easier than full stories)

Romance (not cheesy)

Fluff (I’m melting when I write that cute shit!!!)

Smut? Why not? (I do not write underage smut!)

WHAT I DON’T WRITE AND NEVER WILL ❌

I don’t write animal violence (it hurts my heart a lot and I love animals deeply. Seeing it in movies and shows triggers me a lot and animal abuse in real life…😭)

Rape of our favorite characters/idols (TRIGGERING AF)

Breakups (well to suit the story but I love the characters chemistry how I write them. But only the main character dumps the dumbass bf/gf)

Gore (just eyeball gore, maggots, and finger/toe nail gore.🤢 I CANT STAND IT EVEN THOUGH I LOVE HORROR! Goth horror)

Cannibalism (FUCK NO! I WONT EVEN SEE MOVIES WITH THAT GROSS SHIT. Well Sweeney Todd had something like that but not like weird disturbing)

I’m trying my best to not give characters major deaths if I feel close to them. (SPOILER ALERT! I WONT WRITE FANFICS WHERE ACE IS DEAD! I LOVE HIM TOO MUCH!!!! Even Eddie😭)

UNDERAGE (I FIND IT FUCKED UP! NO THANK U!!! WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD!!!!! NEXT!!!!!!!)

INCEST (GROSS!!!!!! OMG EWWWWWW!!!!!! WTF?!?!!!! WHY?!?!!!!! THEY ARE RELATED!!!!! SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!! VAMPIRE KNIGHT AT THE END OF SEASON 2 HAD THAT WITH THE MAIN FEMALE GIRL AND I HATE HER FOR THAT FOR LEAVING MY BOI ZERO! I watch that series because of Zero! Also Pseudo-Incest with Ace, Luffy and Sabo fanfics and fanart…NO THANK YOU!!!)

Masturbation - IM SORRY IT MAKES ME REALLY REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE

Weird Kinks (knife kink, pain kink, piss kink…more weird kinks I rather not say…WTF?!?!!)

I write how I want to write my smut scenes because I don’t know why I get uncomfortable while writing and to make it look good. But what matters the most that I’m enjoying what I love to write and it’s my story

If you don’t like my fanfics you can leave and unfollow. I got mean comments how I write idol x idol but hey you don’t own my story and account don’t tell me what to write and they won’t see it! I hardly doubt they will read fanfics of themselves since they have busy lives ahead of them. I don’t do photoshoot edits of idols like everyone does to make it look real! Rosé got mad for that when people though it was real.

I don’t write weird shit that I just explain right now!

I will update more what comes to my mind!

[americangodschallenges]

Hello! Thanks you very much for the rebog of my Mad Sweeney and Matthew crossover! I am curious and veeery interested : do you still suggest American Gods fanworks challenges? If it's a "yes", so count me in! I'll be glad to participated with fanarts if I am available and inspired! In any case : thanks you for this AG tumblr and your activities on the fandom! ♥ Have a good day!

Hello! Unfortunately, I haven't run one in a while. It's a very small fandom, and really comes in bursts! But if you're interested, you can take a look at past prompts to get ideas. Hopefully something will get you going creatively!

[cmgirlie]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by: @dilf-in-peril

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13 plus a fourteenth that's part of an exchange and hasn't been revealed yet.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

25,112

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it's all wrestling.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Despite the Snow, Despite the Falling Snow — American Gods (TV); Mad Sweeney/Shadow Moon

Like it Rough — Our Flag Means Death (TV); Israel Hands/Lucius Spriggs (this one isn't very good and I thought I had deleted it until I checked to make this post. only lands here because it's a big fandom i guess)

Poison on Our Lips — Saw (Movies); Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon (this one's been getting a bit extra traffic now with the Saw fandom resurging)

The Lies We Tell Ourselves — Insidious (Movies); Specs/Tucker (this was never finished. it's also been getting some spillover attention from leigh whannell fans)

In the Dead of Night — The Terror (TV 2018); George Henry Hodgson/John Irving

(my most popular wrestling fic, my collected kinktober fills from last year, just barely misses this list)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I should. I try to. I used to. I rarely do.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

eh I usually don't write super angsty endings. I guess the Specs/Tucker one is pretty dreary since I abandoned it at a little cliffhanger.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

excluding orgasms, Despite the Snow, Despite the Falling Snow is my only genuine angst with a happy ending. and it's a pretty cute get-together.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, my fics aren't popular or controversial enough for that

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep. Usually kinky stuff, and often stuff I myself find sort of weird. Gotta exorcise it i guess.

Funny enough, I used to write a fair bit of smut as a teen, deleted it all and spent years not writing any, and then it's been naught but smut since 2021.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

no, I don't enjoy reading them either.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm pretty certain Despite the Snow, etc. was translated into Chinese back when I first posted it but ao3 doesn't show any related works. Maybe it got deleted?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm pretty fickle so I usually just stick to my favs in my current fandom. Right now it's CMJF with Joepunk contesting it for #1. My Stormpilot shipping would rear back up with every new Star Wars release so it was probably my longest-lasting ship.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My Punk/AJ/Ace Steel fill for kinktober was supposed to be part of a longer fic that never got farther into than the very beginning and that extract I posted.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I feel like I'm pretty good at showing characters' feelings through action, without much internal monologue. I've been told I balance comedy and smut well which. I don't consider myself a funny person but I do like to lean into the absurdist premises of porn i guess

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Visual description. Partially because I'm bad at it, partially because I think it adds too much fluff and avoid it. Problem is I have a very visual imagination so fics that feel super detailed in my mind end up being 200 words long with no plot, because it's all just mise-en-scène that I can't get on the page.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've never really done it but I tend to enjoy when it's there. It may be cheesy but I love a good pet name in the character's native language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I dabbled a bit in Phantom of the Opera fic, but really got going in the Hannibal fandom.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

around 2017 I was really trying to make my fics feel ~atmospheric~ and I feel like I achieved that best in Despite the Snow, etc., even if it's partially adapting a scene from the book that never made it to the show (that I know of, I didn't watch past s1). I feel like I'm still plopping around awkwardly in wrestling fic so I really couldn't pick a favourite.

[icharchivist]

Sweeney Todd Gbf crossover AU where Lucilius kills people so he can fund his unethical research and Belial bakes and sells those corpses because he's insane and in love with the mad scientist man

THIS TRACKS.

+ Sweeney falls down this rabbit hole because his life was stolen away by the Judge and he feels this strong sense of injustice so eventually he spiralled into madness.

Well for Lucilius, considering he considers that God is mocking his life/that the flashes of Lucio's life means his life isn't even his own, this fits as well.

Meanwhile Belial/Lovett are really only here for the sake of some gain and out of love for their angsty deranged serial killer <333

it fits. truly it fits.

Lucifer could be Sweeney's wife. Like there's a dramatic irony in here since she gets her throat cut by Sweeney when he doesn't recognize her.

And Sandalphon can be Johanna fully because of the bird in cage imagery. Though then Lucifer being Anthony.............

............ ok nothing works /well/ either but like. listen.

[gridsivemade]

Was gonna use this for a story, based on this Imagine, but I don't think I'll ever get around to writing it tbh.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 809

Gifs NOT mine.

If any gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me know, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @lordoftherazzles & @witchyhippie27 & @middleearthsource (Unless told otherwise.)

Year posted - 2021

----

(Y/n) followed closely behind Sweeney, stifling a giggle when he grumbled about something. "Why did you have to drag me into this?" Sweeney turned to her, glaring down at her with annoyance. "I volunteered my services, you're the one that insisted that I wouldn't be able to survive without you." (Y/n) argued playfully, leaning against the wall beside the door within Beorns home. "Because you couldn't." Sweeney retorted making (Y/n) roll her eyes. "Remind me Mad, how many times have I saved your ass?" (Y/n) sassed before exiting the house to meet the company's host, Sweeney growled under his breath before following after her. "And this is lady (Y/n) and her companion Mr. Sweeney." Gandalf introduced as the two approached the 11ft man. (Y/n) waved up at him with a smile, leaning into Sweeney when he turned his attention back to Gandalf. "He kinda reminds me of you." (Y/n) whispered to Sweeney, who scoffed at her, gently shoving her away. "Bugger off." He hissed at her, making her giggle, the sound honestly making it hard for Sweeney to stay mad at her.

----

*That gif specifically ⇪⇪⇪ makes me think of Sweeney, and I'm not entirely certain as to why... Maybe it's his build?

Anyways feel free to add to this of you'd like, just be sure to tag me so I can read it for myself! (^_-)

I might write more about this myself.

[openxstrings]

@theclawedking liked for a Mad Sweeney starter

It wasn’t often clubs drew him anymore. He’d lost his taste for dancing and merrymaking a long time ago. Occasionally, he missed the intimacy of skin sliding across skin, tasting of scents and sweat. But not these days.

Not that Wednesday cared, sending him running another errand. And as Sweeney leaned against the bar counter to wait for the club’s proprietor to appear, he caught the gaze of a man beside him.

Purple eyes. Interesting.

“Like what you see, eh?”

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

Oh do you have more Finan and Mad Sweeney hc's? I'm desperate for our Irishmen now. Crossover headcanons? If Finan was a leprechaun too??? Ily and your last kingdom headcanons.

Thanks nonny, I love you too! I’m guessing it’s you who’s been sending all these amazing Last Kingdom asks, and honestly they make my day! I’m absolutely intrigued by if Finan was a leprechaun, so I’m gonna go with this one for now, and hopefully later today I’ll post some more individual head canons about them!

Mad Sweeney was a king once, and what’s a king without his followers? He supposes he’s lucky that Finan the Agile stuck with him, although what good are two mad leprechauns against a world increasingly unaware of its own magic? He gets this way sometimes when he drinks too much Jameson, but he knows his luck hasn’t quite run out yet because Finan is always there, singing softly in their old language, and there’s some slim comfort in the rolling of his rrrrs and the gentle crooning of his voice.

Finan is always the one to take the bottle away, the one to drag his former king out into the world of the living. Finan is the one to remind him that they aren’t dead yet, they cheated that fate long ago. He always points out the pretty girl on the other side of the bar, and somehow he always knows which ones will be open to their own advances. Some small bit of magic still remains alive in him, perhaps. 

It’s a routine they’ve perfected over the ages. Find a girl, take her home, see who can make her scream the loudest. When they find you, you don’t know they’ve been doing this since the beginning of the world, that they seduced the spirits of the wild mountains and the rushing streams and the sturdy old trees. All you know is that there’s something untamed in them, something that calls to a long-forgotten freedom in your bones. 

You’re only the slightest bit surprised to find yourself flat on your back with a tongue teasing between your thighs and another warm mouth swallowing your moans like they’re sweeter than wine. Their hands are everywhere all at once–fingers digging into your hips to lock you in place, skimming the soft skin of your belly and kneading your breasts. 

One of them–he calls himself Mad Sweeney–has eyes that flash like gold in firelight and wild red hair that’s coarse between your fingers when you pull it. The other is named Finan, and he’s much smaller than the other man, leaner, faster, but no less strong. It’s his callused hands that are on your breasts, his mouth that’s on yours. He tastes different from anyone you’ve ever kissed, like maybe he’s been drinking water from mountain springs instead of whiskey, and eating wildflowers instead of chicken wings.

They’re a skilled duo, one paying attention to your upper half and the other to your lower, and it isn’t long before they’ve got you panting and writhing beneath their long fingers and clever tongues. It’s the massive redhead that slides into you first, and his cock is long and wide just like the rest of his body. The pressure of him filling you has your back arching and your teeth sinking into the crook of Finan’s shoulder. He’s not a gentle man, and as your moans get louder his pace quickens and Finan’s mouth descends on your breasts like a hungry wolf.

Mad Sweeney is cursing and panting as he pulls out of you, pumps himself twice, and watches with an insane gleam in his bright green eyes as his seed spills across your belly. He clambers clumsily over you, his thick thighs framing you as Finan slides lithe and lean to rest between your thighs. 

He runs a teasing, appreciative finger down your trembling core, then licks it clean and moans as Sweeney’s mouth is capturing your own. Finan’s hands clasp your hips and he flips you onto your stomach. He’s a smaller man in general, and although his cock is still generous, it is smaller than his friend’s. This angle just work for him though, and he gets you screaming with only a few rough thrusts. 

He doesn’t pull out, instead cursing in a strange language as he feels you clench around him. The two men tangle up with you, one on either side, murmuring endearments and praise as their hands wander slowly over your sweaty skin. Sweeney’s finger keeps trailing back to the sticky remains of his cum on your belly, and it isn’t long before you feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against your thigh. They’re not as easily sated as mortal men.

[mokolat]

“I will eat you!”

What about a Mad Sweeney ("American Gods") and Matthew ("The Sandman") crossover?

Idea of Sweeney strangling a f*cking crow by @93hyena, my muse of mischief

[mad-sweeney-is-bae-blog]

-Can you feel the joy

Rising up your veins

       Like a sap in a springtime?