#mad sweeney fic

[aldcaldos]

i follow rivers

pairing: mad sweeney x reader

warnings: explicit. bathing and sex as forms of worship.

summary: It was as though your quiet exaltations, in tandem with the way your hands moved across his neck, shoulders, and back called to him, to his godhood, reaping the same effect as if you’d put out a plate of bread and cream. It told him, instinctively, that there was an offering to be had, and strength to be gained in its having.

read here or on ao3

Disgruntled banging against your door sometime in the afternoon had you shooting up like a bullet, tossing the book you’d been attempting or pretending to read carelessly onto the coffee table. 

You’d been up all night, all morning, nerves too spiked to have even tried to sleep, despite having made a valiant, though undeniably distracted effort. You’d done as asked, even if it had been one of the hardest tasks you’d ever endured. But you did it, because he asked. You’d half—more than half, really—expected him to show up in the middle of the night, and you’d been ready, first aid kit set out and a whole list of questions prepared, questions you ran through again as you all but sprinted to the door. They vanished from your mind in an instant, however, when you saw him. The damage the fight had done to his face was bad enough, but it was the look in his eyes that silenced you. 

He looked furious, that was for sure. But he also looked worried, and there was even a glint of defeat. He appeared almost vulnerable. It wasn’t an expression you were used to seeing, and not one you’d hoped to see again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been a few days ago, but that knowledge did little to lighten the weight that was settling into your chest. 

You didn’t say anything, despite having so much you wished to, and simply moved out of the way so he could enter. When he did he was careful, like he thought one wrong step might cause the entire building to come down on your heads. Every move he made appeared to be second-guessed or weighed, even the way he looked at you, when his gaze brushed you at all. Sweeney was skittish, and it scared you. 

He wasn’t bleeding anymore, you noticed, as he let himself fall onto your couch. Even if he had been, you knew you wouldn’t have said anything. Not this time. Having him here in the day at all was strange on its own, especially under this circumstance. 

Your body moved without thought until you were sitting across from him on the coffee table, too wary to do anything other than stare at him. 

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and head in hands, but then he moved back, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap as he finally really looked at you, one hand reaching for yours and holding it tightly. He stayed that way for a moment, but then, before your brain had a chance to process the movement, he was tugging you forwards, pulling your body onto his lap. Your forehead smacked with an audible crack against his. Ouch. He shut his eyes and let out an angry breath through his nose, lips pinched together like this was just one more in a line of unhappy accidents.

Instead of leaning away to rub at the now sore spot, you left your forehead against his, noses almost touching and your hands coming to his neck. You wanted to bandage the cuts on his face, but Sweeney didn’t need you as a nurse right now. He needed you as a believer. He needed you as just a figure of care and calming physical contact. Calloused hands came to rest one on your waist and the other in the crook of one elbow. 

“I fuckin’ lost it.” His voice was rough like sandpaper when it broke the silence. 

“Lost what?” Thumbs mindlessly moved back and forth beneath his jaw, your own voice was quiet when you responded. 

“My lucky coin. I fuck-I gave that cunt my coin. I didn’t mean to. It was the wrong coin. It wasn’t meant to be that coin. Grimnir. He was too close to you, and I-“

You leaned back to look at him. “Did he know? I tried not to think about you. I sang a fucking song in my head the entire night to keep you out of my thoughts and I didn’t look at you, but then the fight started and I couldn’t not look. I’m sorry.” 

A pang of guilt shot through you and you closed your mouth. He was the one who was upset and in need of comfort. Not you. Your nerves could wait. 

“You did beautifully, lass. As best as I could ever have asked of ye. I just didn’t like him being so near you. It distracted me.” 

You opened your mouth to apologise, but he was quick to cut you off. “Not yer fault. It’s mine.”

You wanted to ask if he was okay, but that felt stupid, given the situation.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I have to find the bastards. Get my coin back, and my luck with it. Until then I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I could give you a ride-“ His grip tightened considerably and he shook his head once, and hard, cutting off any further offer you might have made. 

“No. No you fuckin’ can not. Last man who tried that didn’t make it two miles. You’ll stay here.”

“Sweeney.”

“Don’t argue, lass. Not this time. Please.”

Please. He never said please. He just made his demands and you willingly acquiesced. But the concern and almost fear in his voice, in his eyes, and in his touch had you nodding. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay here. But without your luck, how will you manage to find them without getting hurt?”

“Finding ‘em won’t be the issue. Can’t do much about the getting hurt. Not without my coin. Don’t have the power.”

You thought for a moment. Power. He needed power. Worship was power, he’d said. Worship, you could do. 

“Maybe I can help.” You tipped his head up to look him in the eye before rising, with as much grace as you could manage, and tugged at his hand. 

His tired eyes darkened in understanding, and the side of his mouth twitched upwards, just barely, as he let you pull him to his feet. 

He followed you slowly, feet not quite dragging as he allowed himself to be lead through the small apartment, turning at the door to your tiny bathroom, made only more ridiculous once he was standing in it. You smiled softly to yourself at the sight as you pivoted away from him to draw back the shower curtain and turn on the water. It would take a good minute or two to warm up, maybe longer. 

Returning to face him, you frowned faintly at the conflicted, confused, and cautious expression painted across his features. You raised one hand to brush a thumb over one of the cuts in the side of his face, and for a moment, his eyes closed. It was only just a moment though, and then they were back on you, waiting. Watching. 

Both hands were working now, smoothing down the fabric covered planes of his chest, and then underneath the soiled denim of his jacket, slowly pulling it back and off down his arms. When his arms came free, you folded the jacket over itself once, then twice, then set it down atop the lid of the closed toilet seat. The flannel shirt came next, unbuttoned just as slowly, patiently, before it came off and joined the jacket. Onto the suspenders, then the wife beater, slightly awkward as his arms raised and you had to stand on your toes to pull it up and off. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed, as you sank down to your knees to unlace his boots, the way his fingers twitched, but his hands weren’t shaking as much anymore. You meant only to glance up to ask him to lift his leg so you could pull off his shoes but the intensity of his gaze held yours and you felt a hum somewhere in the air. 

You stayed like that for longer than you meant to, looking up at him, before the feeling of steam gathering on your arms brought you back and, finishing with his boots, you stood up again to focus on the fastening of his jeans. When it came undone you slid the fabric down his legs until finally he was completely bare before you. The sight was enough to make your skin warm and your head light. How fierce your god was in his beauty, how wonderfully made and worthy of worship.

Reaching a hand back to the water, you determined it had reached an appropriate temperature and stepped back as much as you could and motioned for him to squeeze past you to stand in the tub. His head came up above the curtain rod. It might have been comical if the moment were open to comedy.

His head fell back as he stood under the stream, letting it run down his neck (he’d have to bend at the knees for it to reach his head) and again, the sight of him immobilized you temporarily. How long? How long since someone, anyone, had cared for him, tended to him like this? The hum in the air seemed to settle against your skin as you pulled off your own clothes and stepped in behind him. Your hands ran up, then down his arms, back up and over his shoulders before descending down again. Moving them around his waist left you in a mock embrace which turned true as you let your forehead rest against his back and held him there for a moment. 

One breath, two, and you pulled away, reaching towards the small hanging caddy of bath supplies, fingers closing around a half empty bottle of body wash and an exfoliating net. As you squeezed out some of the soap he was turning, carefully, moving his body so you stood face to face. Or, face to front, seeing as you were nowhere near tall enough to put you at his eye level. Still he said nothing, content to watch you and let you do what you would, hands at his side. This might have been the longest he’d ever gone without touching you, especially given your shared states of undress. Perhaps it was the trace of disbelief in his eyes, the minute way his brows knitted together, that kept them where they were. Or maybe it was just curiosity.

With the net lathered you brought it up to his chest, and from there you set to your task, slowly working the soap into every inch of his skin. Up his neck and across his torso, down each arm, against his palm and between his fingers. Another squeeze from the bottle and you descended to give the same treatment to his legs and feet. With one hand gripping to your arm he helped you stand again, and thankfully, mercifully, despite the slipperiness of the tub, the both of you remained steady on your feet. Pushing him to turn around again, you scrubbed at his back, following after the net with your other hand, pressing against the skin in a way you hoped passed as soothing. He didn’t complain.

You let him stand there under the water for a moment, rinsing off the bubbles that had gathered across his skin while you poured out a dime or two of shampoo and rubbed it between your hands, and when you reached for his head he leaned back against you to let you work it into his hair. You noticed then that his eyes had closed, when you did not know, but they remained shut even after he leaned away momentarily to rinse out the shampoo, and as he came back again so you could follow it with the same amount of conditioner.

You spent more time than was probably necessary on this particular step, but with  the way every breath left him in a slow, heavy sigh as your fingers massaged and your nails softly scratched at his scalp, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. When you eventually did, he moved again, first to rinse the conditioner from his hair, and then to bring water up to his face. 

You stepped out of the shower first, walking around to shut the water off and to grab a towel to dry him with. His clothes stayed on the toilet lid. You’d wash them later.

No words passed between you as he let you drag the soft fabric of the towel over him to dry his skin, and you only looked back up at his face when you took his hand to pull at him again, to lead him again, this time to your bedroom.

Standing there in front of your bed, you trailed your fingertips over his face, the touch just barely there and he stared at you the whole way. 

Pulling his chin down, your lips pressed against his gently. The kiss was chaste, one of Sweeney’s hands hovering over before settling at your waist, not quite pressing and not quite pulling. Yet. 

Finally, you spoke, low and quiet, staring up at him with your hand still cupping his cheek.

“I believe in you, Sweeney. You have my prayers. And my offerings. You have me.”

Now did he act, a groan leaving his lips before they closed over yours, and the way he hauled you into his body and held you close caused your breath to hitch. The grip on your hips tightened, as though he thought you might change your mind and walk away, even now.

Backwards he walked you until you felt the foot of the bed hit against the back of your legs, and down you tumbled, the full heft of his body knocking the air from your lungs as he settled there in the cradle of your thighs. With what breath you did have you continued to whisper praise and prayer into his ear, delighting in the visceral, physical reactions the words elicited as he buried his face in your neck and you your fingers in his still wet hair. 

It was as though your quiet exaltations, in tandem with the way your hands moved across his neck, shoulders, and back called to him, to his godhood, reaping the same effect as if you’d put out a plate of bread and cream. It told him, instinctively, that there was an offering to be had, and strength to be gained in its having. 

His mouth overtook your own again as his hips ground against you slightly, your lips parted in a moan and he took full advantage, tongue tangling with yours until you could taste the full warmth of him that was still always somehow so fresh, like lying in a field on a summer day. 

Each drag of him against you pulled a whine from your throat, which only seemed to spur him on more, to take him deeper and deeper into the sensations your pliant body offered up to him. Where before, when he’d first come in, he’d appeared scared to touch you, now his hands couldn’t get enough of your skin, trying to be everywhere at once. 

It almost pained you to push those hands away with how good they made you feel, but you’d had a plan when you came in here. He needed to be patient. 

His confusion at being pushed away was helpful in that it gave you the opportunity to roll him onto his back, legs settling one on either side of his hips, his hands coming back to run up and down the skin of your thighs. That you could allow. You leaned forward slowly, languidly, movement like molasses as you slid one hand up his broad chest, the heat of his skin sinking into your palm.

“Why the rush, Buile Suibhne?” You could feel him jerk up into you at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue in such a husked whisper, so close to his ear your lips brushed its shell. It was the first time you’d said it, having practiced rolling it over your tongue for days in a desperate hope you wouldn’t butcher it when the right moment finally came. Practice, it seemed, that had paid off. “I want to take my time with my worship.” 

You looked at him then, the look in his eyes burning straight through your mind as much as your body. With a smile you placed a kiss, simple and quick, on his lips, moving down to mouth at the thick column of his throat before he could pull you back for more.

You felt him moan more than you heard it, vibrating against your lips and your teeth and, while he was distracted, you moved lower, making your way down the sun-kissed skin like you were playing Connect the Dots with your lips against each of the freckles that dotted his chest. When you came across a scar you paid it special attention, but kept moving, further and further downward. Eyes flitting back to his face you found him staring you down. The connection of your gazes set something to trembling inside of you and you held him there, watching him watch you as you continued your descent, kissing along the trail of fine, fiery hair.

One hand moved to smooth up the length of his thigh. You could feel how the hard muscles roiled and rolled beneath your touch. Another kiss to the skin just above his pelvis and you looked back up again to admire for a moment the beautiful flush that had spread across his chest and up his neck as you took his hard length in your hand. 

Still you could feel him staring. The weight of his eyes felt like a physical blanket over your body. It was a shot of opium pouring straight into your veins. 

Your touch was gentle as you ran your fingers along him, pressing gentle kisses along his shaft. 

“We have all night. I want to take care of you. Will you let me?” The words weren’t as much a question as they were a plea. There was prayer on your tongue and his eyes shut as it washed over him. Rather than wait for a verbal response, you lowered your mouth over him, gathering the liquid at the tip of his already weeping head with slow kitten licks. The salt of him in your mouth and those bottom notes that brought to mind morning dew and the electrically-charged air that preceded a storm were heavy and intoxicating, perhaps even addictive. Closing your mouth over him you gave a long suck, wanting more of his taste, more of his pleasure, more of him. 

He hissed above you, one hand coming to rest on your head, not pressing or pushing but just touching running softly, almost affectionately, over your hair.

You sunk down further on him, taking in more and more with each pass of your lips. He was heavy against your tongue and you revelled in all of it. Your nerve endings were thrumming and you thought you just might be getting as much out of this as he was. Taking a man in your mouth had never been something you’d been particularly passionate about doing, but Sweeney was no ordinary man. He changed everything. 

His chest was heaving, every breath in and out full and hard. Still, you wanted more. You needed more. Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you took him as deep as you could, feeling him slide against the back of your throat. 

“Fucking fuck, lass. That’s good.” His voice was rough and his fingers had tightened in your hair but the sharp pinpricks of pain were in no way unwelcome. 

You kept him where he was until oxygen became crucial, until you just started to heave, lights beginning to dance at the edges of your vision. When you pulled away with a gasping intake of breath, you glanced upwards to his eyes and the look he was giving you would have knocked you on your ass had you been standing. Flushed and drunk on sensation as a result of your actions, he was truly beautiful. But it was the look behind the mossy green of his eyes that pulled at you. The adoration, the disbelief, the ardent desire. Sweeney always made you feel wanted. But this look? This look made you feel worshipped. Was this what it was like for him? This electricity singing beneath your skin and setting your blood ablaze like you held a forest fire in your veins? It was a head rush of epic proportions and it was delicious.

You could see the way he restrained himself from bucking his hips and just fucking up into your mouth. You wanted him to finish like this. You wanted to taste him. Your nails dug into the curve and cut of his hips, the bite of them a sharp contrast to the soft, constricting heat of your mouth. Your movements sped up slightly, still on the slower side but the intensity of it all was pressing harder and harder. For a split second you wondered if it was a sin to pray to one’s god for said god to cum in their mouth, but by the low whine he gave, you didn’t think he minded.

His resolve was breaking. You felt it in the minute motion of his hips. You felt it in how he began moving your head back and forth in small, faint pulls. You felt it in the way he twitched against your tongue. God but you wanted it. It was as though the continued beating of your jackhammer heart relied entirely on watching him come apart beneath your ministrations.

When he finally let go, he did so with a quiet shout of your name, and it was beautiful in a way nothing else in the world could hope to match. He filled your mouth and you drank from him greedily, savouring every drop and reluctant to let even one go to waste. To do so, you thought, might feel like sacrilege.

Pressing a kiss to the side of his hip, it was with a pleased expression that you slowly crawled back up his body to bring your lips back to his. His tongue was reaching for yours before your mouths had even fully connected. When you pulled away he made to follow, but with a hand on his chest, you pushed him down again. 

“Bad luck to interrupt a ritual before it’s finished.” 

Sweeney sighed beneath you. “You’re too good for the likes of me, little bird.”

You knew it wasn’t just a compliment. He really believed it, and it grated on you, tugging at your heartstrings. 

“You deserve so much more.” He wouldn’t believe you, but you’d say it anyways, on the off chance that one day he might. 

He wanted to argue. Ever the fighter. So you distracted him. Bringing your arms together, your hands sat side by side on his chest. Pushing your breasts together to win a not-quite-argument was probably playing dirty but it was effective. Your chest immediately had his attention and you nearly laughed. A shift of your hips over his had you both inhaling sharply. He was still hard. Or was he hard again.

As his hands travelled from your thighs to your waist and back again, you snuck one hand behind you, lifting to line him up beneath you and slowly—agonisingly, painfully slowly—lowered yourself down, feeling every inch of him as he filled you to the brim and then some. Sweeney’s head was thrown back and his hands, which had moved up your breasts, gave a hard squeeze. It was hardly the first time you’d taken him like this, but that feeling when your bodies fully connected, that pressure as you adjusted to him never got old.

The rhythmic roll of your hips started slow, remained that way for a time, but as the air seemed to swell and swirl around you as he moved with you, the dizzying feel of him lead you to speed up, wringing mewls and whimpers out of you that you might have been ashamed of any other time.

The slide of him inside you felt better than could possibly be healthy, and already you could feel the coil begin to tighten low in the pit of your stomach. But he was holding back, waiting for you. Such a gentleman. That wouldn’t do. You pulled at him until he sat up, carded your fingers through his damp hair and trailed your lips up his neck to suck at the spot just below his ear. 

“My god. I am yours. I am for you. Everything I have, everything I am, everything I will ever be.” The words just seemed to pour from your lips and you knew as they did how truly you meant them. They were a bone-deep truth, making their home in the marrow of you. “My worship and my warmth. My bread, my belief, and my body. Every breath I take, I breathe in your name. You have my pleasure as you have my promise. I am yours, always, to do with what you will.”

His choked cry was muffled as he buried his face into the skin between your breasts, pressing hungry kisses to your sternum.

“Let go. Please. I want you to.” You wanted him to finish first, wanted to watch him break one more time, but if he didn’t hurry up you’d beat him to the punch and that just couldn’t happen. Hands moving to his face, you forced him to look at you.

“Suibhne.” His name on your lips was drawn out into a long whimper, a moan, a plea, low and breathy and it seemed to do the trick. His hips were jerking, thrusts erratic until they stilled, and you pressed down, wanting to feel every inch and when you did it was heaven. The sight of him, the feel of him erupting inside you, it was everything you needed to push you that final step over the edge and you came with a cry, arching your back in a sharp angle and holding him as close as he held you, as though the tight press of his skin against yours was still an unbearable amount of distance. Sweeney’s arms, locked around your waist, muscles like tectonic plates and nearly as strong, reminded you even now of the divine nature of the being beneath you, and of the ease with which he could crush you. The danger in the knowledge was more thrilling than it should have been, but there was also some semblance of comfort in it. In such strong arms as his, how could you be anything but safe?

When he laid back onto the rumpled sheets you followed, collapsing on top of him, head resting on his heaving chest and with your ear pressed against his skin you could hear his heartbeat. Above your head, Sweeney was muttering something in some old tongue, the words lost on you, but you could feel his voice, his full, usually booming voice, vibrating against your cheek.

He was stroking your hair away from where it stuck to your face, skin slick with sweat, and the kiss he placed on the crown of your head had your heart doing a funny sort of flip, as though despite everything, it was still the most intimate thing either one of you had done tonight. Coupled with the overwhelming feeling of safety and security you felt as he held you, and you knew you were in trouble. 

Rather than ruminate on that, however, you simply lay there with him in silence, letting the slow rise and fall of his chest lull you to sleep.

[serpentarius]

My AO3 Masterlist

Here's my masterlist of works on AO3!

What We Do In The Shadows (TV & Film)

You're A Little Bit Just Like Me (Viago x Anton) - multichapter romcom fic, Rated M [soon to be E, most likely]

All Marked Up (and Nowhere to Hide) (Viago x Anton) - oneshot hickey fic, rated M

Nandor's Freddie (Nandor x Freddie / Nandor x Guillermo) - oneshot Nandor musings, Rated E

Interview With The Vampire (TV)

time is a mouth as bloody as any other (Daniel x Armand) - oneshot post-S1 Old Maniel and Armand get it on, Rated E, Part 1 of the old man & the vampire series

as long as I find you interesting (I won't kill you) (Daniel x Armand) - multichapter Devil's Minion era, Rated E, Part 2 of the old man & the vampire series

Our Flag Means Death

Time & Tide (Stede Bonnet x Edward Teach) - season 2 fic, Rated M

Good Omens

Reverie (Crowley x Aziraphale) - post-season 2 fic, oneshot, fluff

Star Wars (Animated TV Series & Films)

The Heat We Make in Ice (Alexsandr Kallus x Zeb Orrelios) - multichapter Kalluzeb fic, Rated E

A Series of Stormpilot Vignettes (Poe Dameron x Finn) - multichapter stormpilot moments, Rated E

American Gods (TV)

The Morning After (Laura Moon x Mad Sweeney) - oneshot PWP, rated E

Teen Wolf (TV)

Runaway (Stiles x Derek Hale) - oneshot romance, rated E

Fluorescent Adolescent (Stiles x Derek Hale) - oneshot romance, rated M

Shadowhunters (TV)

A 40 Minute Episode of Magnus and Alec's First Date (Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood) - oneshot romance, rated M

[eureka-its-zico]

I want to write, but I’m also suffering down a rabbit hole of my latest hyper fixation.

[bearwriting]

American Gods

Mad Sweeney

Sewn Up Masterlist: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you thought you'd turn to, and you end up with more than you bargained for.

[sausagesquirrel]

Fast As You Can (click to read on AO3)

by revenant_oozi

"So… yeah. I’m carrying the baby of my best friend who isn’t speaking to me and her husband I was cheating on my husband with. And I’m just here, I guess, trying to figure all that out.”

After her husband & lover die in an accident, Laura agrees to be Audrey's surrogate and then things get worse.

Meanwhile, Laura strikes up a friendship with someone she thinks might be a bigger jerk than her.

A series of bad decisions as time ticks by.

[heylittleriotact]

Raphael has big Mr. Wednesday energy and I hate him very much and also want to just like… be in his orbit. Not directly involved with. Just… around.

[warofthefivekings]

just finished your fic Home Is Where I'm Alone With You. can you please tell me if there's gonna be a sequel? or any other fics about Sweeney?

oh gosh, thank you for reading it!! this honestly makes my day ^.^

I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, though. I don't think I'll ever write a sequel for it. all I can say is, I envisioned them loving/believing in each other so much, it ended up turning the "you" in a deity as well (I know it's incredibly silly, and that's the reason why I didn't add it in the story).

I don't have any other fics about Mad Sweeney in the works, and I can't promise I'll ever will.

[dw-writes]

Eyes On You - Mad Sweeney x Reader

Summary: Sweeney couldn't sleep, and desperately had something to say while he finally had a chance to say it. Genre: Gen. Fic; Angst?; Prompt Request A/N: This is the answer to the poll prompt that I gave you all forever ago, with the prompt being "I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you". Now, this IS part of The Invasion canon, somewhere before the Rock when you're traveling. I'll put up the links to The Invasion later, but for now, please enjoy :) Let me know what you think

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

It was late. Sweeney knew he should’ve been asleep, especially when he looked at the bright red numbers on the digital clock that read 3:45 AM. He looked away from them, at your form on the other side of the tiny motel bed, curled up with clean sheets and the slightly dingy comforter thrown over your form.

He’d been having trouble sleeping for the past few days, chalking it up initially to the travel you and him had been doing – back to back motels, back to back gods with back to back errands, back to back buses. He knew that his time with you was coming to end, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn’t want to admit it. With the date of the Rock getting closer and closer, your job with Wednesday was getting closer to ending.

He rolled onto his shoulder, watching your back as it rose and fell with your deep breaths.

“Yer gonna be leavin’ soon,” he whispered into the dark night of the room. He held his breath as soon as the words left his mouth, waiting for you to wake up. The traveling must have been too much for you, too, however, as you didn’t even stir. Sweeney licked his lips. He was too tired to think about what he was saying, too tired to stop himself as he yawned and let the words tumble out of his exhausted mouth.

“Yer gonna be leavin’, and yer gonna be leavin’ me,” he continued, “Goin’ who knows where.” He snorted faintly, sniffed, shifted on his squashed and folded pillow. “Without me,” he muttered. He eyed your back as you curled up tighter under the blankets.

“Dunno what ‘m gonna do,” he sighed, “Shit luck without you, ‘s what I’d probably say to yer face. Can’t say the rest of it.” Sweeney wanted to stop talking, needed to, but the words burned as they clawed their way up his throat from his chest. “Fuck, I need you t’ stay,” he rasped, blinking hard, shoving his face into the scratchy pillowcase.

“Loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he mumbled into the pillow, turning his head to watch you again, “Pretty sure of it now. Can’t imagine what this bullshit’s gonna be like when y’ wise up and fuckin’ leave this shit behind.” The confession felt wrong, but it wasn’t a lie – he couldn’t even lie to himself, no matter how much he wanted to.

“First moment,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe it, “Fuck, that’s it. Saw you on the fuckin’ couch and just knew everything was different.” He sighed, scratched his jaw, and settled back into the thin sheet you shared. “Fuckin’ Rose would say it was some stupid romantic shit, but we both know it wasn’t. Almost called the cops on me that day, you did, but I think I woulda let you, because I just couldn’t…” His thought trailed off as you rolled onto your back, shifting under the blanket towards the warmth in the bed. He swallowed the rest of the words, panic lancing through his chest, and waited until you were settled again.

“Couldn’t say no to yer face,” he whispered.

He sat up carefully, making sure you were neatly tucked into the bed, and grabbed his clothes from where he’d thrown them onto the chair. Everything he said choked him, settled back into his throat and made it hard to breathe.

He carefully opened the door and stepped out into the cold, humid air outside, then shut it behind him.

You found him sitting on the curb outside in the morning when you opened the door, still dressed in your pajamas and half asleep. “The fuck are you doin’ out here?’ you mumbled.

Sweeney blew out a thin string of smoke into the early morning air. “Waitin’ fer you,” he grunted. He stood. “You hungry? ‘m starvin’.”

You squinted at him and struggled to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Sitting out here like a weirdo,” he heard you grumble as you turned around, “Thought someone had kidnapped you or something.”

He snorted, watching the door shut behind you as you shuffled in to get ready, then sighed to himself.

~*~ Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~ @hannon-say @divadinag @fear-less-write-more (i cant tag you) @superflannel @selenaofthemoon (i cant tag you) @jinxy-toast @teller258316 @guiltgoldglory @the-bluest-hour @irishgodfucker (i cant tag you) @karmabites2313 @hiddlebatchedloki (i cant tag you) @siedrkona1991 @hstott @lakeli @nemophilistvampyr @massivecolorspygiant @leximus98​ @weirdo125 (i cant tag you) @fleeingdawn-blog1​ @madamecoyote​ @postgradandstupid​ @hopplessdreamer​ @omnisexualvampire​ @hannon-say​ @ceyruh​ @animatenebrae​ @ultrablackwidower​ @callmemaeverick​ @loisbaggings​ @fictional-hooman (i cant tag you) @babypink224221​ @quietwitchsworld

[lunarhobbits]

misc sweeney hcs

(disclaimer. i am new-ish here and have no idea how popular/prevalent any of these are go easy on me ok. also a lot of these are dadben related wh o o p s)

i've seen some variance of if this is canon in fics and stuff but i really do like the idea of the barkers also living above the pie shop in addition to the barbershop being there. similar situation w the pie shop/lovett living quarters. ig it's just easier to picture in my head then????

(p sure the b*rton film confirms smth like this but i'm ignoring it bc i don't like that guy. this idea is mine now)

part of the reason i like this so much is it means that benjamin barker had all the more time to have lovely moments with lucy and johanna when he wasn't busy with clients

(this also makes sweeney returning there without them all the more painful. if he sits and doesn't do anything then he's flooded by memories of the life he had in those same walls fifteen years ago. like no wonder sweeney's so bent out of shape by being forced to wait for the judge and the beadle to come to him)

johanna had only JUST started walking when ben was transported. he was so excited and happy and loved to try and assist her, encouraging her to take steps holding his hands. chattering away about her with any customer that would listen, perhaps even showing her off ("look at my jo! she's such a fine girl!" "i'm sure she is, mr. barker, but could you please finish shaving me?")

he bought johanna a little lacy bonnet when she was a week old. she didn't need something so fancy at such a young age, and lucy had already sewn her a few bonnets months prior. it wasn't the most sound financial decision he ever made. but oh, his girl just had to have it, and it's a little big, she could grow into it! (lucy admits she looks very cute with it on, even though she says johanna doesn't need it)

(the bonnet is left forgotten in a drawer somewhere for years, until sweeney opens that particular drawer and finds it gathering dust upon his return. he feels sick seeing it, reminding him again how much he missed. then he puts it back and refuses to give it any mind.)

nellie lovett was infuriated by lucy barker in that way that you can't quite pinpoint why you're mad other than they're "too perfect" or "too pretty" or something. ofc there was the fact she was married to ben, but i think there was a little "get out of my school" energy going on there too

idk exactly how lucy ended up on the street (or in bedlam, as lovett says in the finale) but i do think that nellie was, sadly, at least complicit in inaction to stop this from happening (if not having thrown her out herself)

anthony is the sweetest dude around and genuinely loves johanna. doesn't matter that he barely knows her when he says he'd marry her, he knows that he's going to be happy as long as she is

johanna loves him too, and she's surprised by it. not because of anything to do with anthony, but because she's felt so little real love in her life (that she can remember). it's a wonderful and frightening rush looking at him, sometimes, but then he squeezes her hand, or does something silly, or even just sneezes or clears his throat and she's brought back down to reality, in a good way. that anthony is real, and human like her. she doesn't have to "earn" his love by being utterly perfect.

they get out of london basically as soon as they can, just wanting to leave it all behind, at least for a while

it took a little time and arguing but anthony did end up getting a good sum of money from the judge's death, through johanna's inheritance going to her husband (him). they immediately used this money to finance travel. they both love to travel, anthony promising to show her the beauty of the world that, still, cannot rival her in his eyes

this is all i got that's coherent rn really lol. anyway here you go sweeney todd fans who liked/reblogged my post haha @demonbarberofbeepbeep @captains-clever-goose @little-lovett @fabulousairpirate @funnygirlthatbelle

[dovelyanon]

So I was thinking and I realized I don’t know why Teach me how to sing is named teach me how to sing. How’d you come up with that title?

Omg, you asked! I was wondering if anyone was ever going to ask. Warning: I'm about to ex-theatre kid nerd out.

I hope you don't regret this, @rahabrios

The Similarities between Adrien Agreste and Johanna Barker

"Teach me how to sing" is a lyric from 'Green Finch and Linnet Bird'- the damsel's song in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. In it, Johanna- the play's damsel in distress- is locked in her room. She looks to the songbirds in their cages and wonders how they can sing in these conditions. Feeling powerless, she wishes to learn how to be content despite her circumstances hence the lyric "teach me how to sing". I thought it mirrored Adrien's constant struggle in the fic- between his desire for freedom and his desire to remain and be the perfect son, to make his father happy. Johanna never finds happiness in these circumstances and neither does Adrien.

I had a few titles in mind when I started the fic, but what sold me on "Teach Me how to Sing' was all the fun parallels between the story/Miraculous in general and Sweeney Todd. Here are just a few I remember finding amusing (Light Spoilers for Sweeney Todd ahead):

Judge Turpin and Gabriel Agreste. Judge Turpin is Johanna's guardian, a wealthy man with political power who was obsessed with Johanna's mother. After he drove her mother to her demise, he took charge of Johanna and keeps her locked away under tight surveillance. He ultimately has darker intentions toward her and, when she refuses, he labels her insane and tries to have her committed.

Sweeney Todd and Gabriel/Hawkmoth. Johanna's actual father is Sweeney Todd- a man so consumed with vengeance for his family that he is terrorizing all of London and sinking ever deeper into madness. He knows Johanna is alive, but kind of just... doesn't bother to try and talk to her and isn't urgent about freeing her? He is more occupied with taking revenge on Judge Turpin and lamenting losing his perfect family and wife. He does not try to have a relationship with his daughter because she'd probably "look too much like her (his wife)" and they'd "never be the way we were".

Mrs. Lovett and Nathalie. Mrs. Lovett is Sweeney Todd's dedicated partner in crime. She's arguably more capable and more intelligent than him. She comes up with the bright ideas while he whines and she takes the brunt of his mood swings. But she's head over heels for him despite the fact that he is stingy at best and manipulative at worst with his affections and largely emotionally unavailable to her due to his fixation on his lost wife. He uses the hell out of her anyway. He is ultimately responsible for her demise.

Anthony and Marinette. Anthony is the optimistic and hopeful pauper charming who drops into Johanna's life and helps her to escape from her gilded cage, fighting retaliation by Judge Turpin each step of the way. He is also notorious for having one of the most stalkerish love songs by his archetype in musical history.

Some notable lyrics:

"I'll steal you, Johanna."

"Do they think that walls can hide you?"

"Even now I'm at your window."

He is the well-intentioned but slightly creepy love interest. But we're rooting for them anyway.

Well, yeah. There were a few more, but that's the gist of it. Sorry I turned your ask into a photo essay, @rahabrios

I didn't expect anyone to ask me this and thought the nerding would stay safely locked inside. I guess not. Welp... I recommend Sweeney Todd for anyone who likes musicals and dark themes! The original play with George Hearn and Angela Lansbury is great, but I'm also a big fan of the 2007 movie with Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter <3 Thanks for reading my rambles.

[tellmeallaboutit]

Tag Game

tagged by @captainsigge thanks :)

Last Song: Trick or Treat - London After Midnight

Currently Watching: I rarely watch something, very rarely, Crashing with PWB was the last one

Three ships: Geralt / Yennifer, Laura Moon / Mad Sweeney, Harriet DuBois / His Ugly Tie

Favourite colour: dark green

Currently consuming: copious amounts of smut

First ship: Qustis / Seifer from FF8

Birth place: huge megapolis

Relationship status: married for like forever cause married young

Last movie: Enemy (2013) by Dennis Villeneuve in the after-Dune hype, great movie about subconscious misogyny (methinks?)

Currently working on: BG3 fic, Raphael doing an investment banking interview with a new intern

Tagging @gufu-vire @alwachart @dodorimo

[olderthannetfic]

Your posts about Rhodey/Tony and slash and black Only Sane Men best friends made me think of American Gods, the series with Ricky Whittle as Shadow. Haven't actually watched season 3 yet, and I also haven't interacted with the fandom in a good while, but I remember that back when season one had just dropped, there were lots of Shadow/Mad Sweeney shippers.

I think many people find Only Sane Man types more compelling (and so, more shippable) as the fish-out-of-water protagonists falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of weirdness. Shadow started out working for Mr. Wednesday, following his orders no matter how strange they initially appeared and being the straight man character for his eccentricities to bounce off of, but he never felt like anyone's long-suffering babysitter or nagging mother hen. He had his own troubles, his own sad past as a woobie who got out of jail only to find out the woman he loved had cheated on him with his friend and then died, and scary supernatural shit kept happening to him despite him just wanting a quiet life and a job. And Mad Sweeney was just the aggressive prick who picked a fight with him for no reason, got tangled with him and his zombie ex due to a freaky chain of events that Shadow had absolutely no way to know he was starting, and resented him enough for that to give shippers an unintentionally very gay line like "damn is dark eyes!" that made it into a bunch of crackvids as That One Gay Moment and on many Tumblr blogs as an OTP tag. So right from the beginning, it was clear they were probably never gonna have a "black guy cleaning up after the white guy's messes" thing going on.

And sure, there were also many people shipping Mad Sweeney with Laura, because they had more scenes together and more of an established dynamic... and it was a dynamic where they were both always snarking at each other even when being stuck together, at that. But they often had to deal with a "how dare you ship Laura with anyone, she's a bitch and evil and we as the audience are meant to hate her!!" crowd that sounded suspiciously like many other "don't you dare put a woman between my slash ship" crowds.

Also, a bit off topic from my point but while I never really felt the urge to ship Rhodey/Tony, I also never really understood why Steve/Tony was so popular in MCU fandom before Civil War. My impression when trying to figure it out after watching The Avengers was that comic fans were just really excited to have a liveaction adaptation of a ship that had had years of development (and a Steve/Fem!Tony wedding in a parallel universe, I think?) through the years in comic form... and their enthusiasm ended up dominating the fandom for a while, leaving not a lot of space for other ships. I think the only one somewhat able to rival Steve/Tony was Tony/Loki, but the main Loki ship at that point was Thorki, so Tony/Loki was considered a bit of a crackpair anyway...

I have to say I never checked on Rhodey/Tony before that, though. I just always assumed it had kind of dropped from the face of fandom partly due to the recasting and partly due to people jumping ship to Steve/Tony.

--

Steve/Tony was pretty popular because of existing comics fans (and fic), yeah. I didn't remember it being quite so overwhelming.

Right now, the sidebar for MCU on AO3 looks like this:

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers (58243)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (35675)

Peter Parker & Tony Stark (26000)

Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (21178)

Loki/Thor (Marvel) (14221)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader (14103)

James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers (11546)

Loki/Tony Stark (11502)

Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov (11474)

Clint Barton/Phil Coulson (10812)

If I filter by time for 2012 and before, it looks like this:

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (2874)

Clint Barton/Phil Coulson (1984)

Loki/Thor (Marvel) (1451)

Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov (1372)

Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (1108)

Loki/Tony Stark (843)

Bruce Banner/Tony Stark (833)

Jane Foster/Thor (548)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers (418)

Loki & Thor (260)

Stony had more of a lead than I realized at the time, but this was also the height of inexplicable Clint/Coulson's reign. I think some of the Pepperony never made it off of LJ and other sites too.

--

I haven't seen American Gods, but having a leading role usually helps with those writing problems. A canon can still decide to sideline a major character in favor of other characters (Star Wars, I'm looking at you), but a show lead is in a lot less danger of feeling like a babysitter. Even if he ends up cleaning up someone's messes or something, he's more of an audience surrogate annoyed about this job or worried about his friend or having some emotion the audience is supposed to pay attention to and give a fuck about. The classic sidelined supportive best friend ensemble character feels like a prop because the audience is never invited to know or care how he feels about what he's doing. He's not an audience surrogate. He's not someone whose interiority matters.

That's the real key: interiority. Plenty of media represents minority characters as sexy or cool or some other positive attribute but doesn't invite us inside their head and thus subtly tells us that they're set dressing, not a person. A lead who drives the plot is generally written better.

[longclawislightbringer]

WIP TAG GAME

rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

tagged by @cahirdyffryns

so many of these are just called untitled whoops. I'll try to explain them a little more Here we go!

Rolling Stone Issue 513, Hellcheer

Hey There Demons, It’s Me, Ya Girl, Nace

Petticoats & Roses, Robin/Raven

Save the Date sequel, Hero/Don John

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match, (GOT Hogwarts AU series) Robb/Daenerys, Gendrya, Jonsa

I Dreamt of You, Cahir/Ciri

Madeleine Can Be a Little Manipulative, as a Treat, Madeleine/Safin

Misunderstandings, Maleval

Fated, Nimulot

Blood Moon Rising, Jonsa

Star Trek AU, Jonsa

Subtlety, Jonsa

The Ballad of Mad Sweeney, Mad Wife

Soulmate AU, Bromtilda

Post-Finale Marriage of Convenience, Felix/Murphy

Dancing with the Stars AU, Dasey

Untitled Thoschei one-shot

Halloween Undercover as Lovers, Nace

Mistaken Identity Love at First Sight, Edwina/Prince Friedrich

I think that’s all of them? Some of them definitely have more work done on them than others, and some of them are just glimmers of an idea at this point.

Alright tagging some other delightful people @hucklebucket @dustinswill @voidsteffy @platanchorsociety @scarletslippers @wendy-daahling @her-madjesty (you do not have to do the Twelve Days of Christmas fics though--kind of want to be surprised by those lol)

[such-a-fellow]

9 People You Want to Get To Know Better

Thanks so much for the tag @freshprinceofverone :D!!

Three Ships: I’m not really reading/watching anything besides shakespeare stuff that’s giving me shippy brainworms right now, but tragic danish boyfriends, bencutio, and turin/beleg are obviously some eternal favorites XD

First Ever Ship: Trying to think…I wasn’t a big ship person when I first got into online fandom, and I’d read pretty much any ship as long as it didn’t actively annoy me (still will); this was way back in middle school…probably gelphie?? I didn’t think I liked them together romantically at the time, but I their relationship was 500% of Wicked’s appeal for me anyway, so despite my denial I was obsessed and i remember reading a LOT of fic lolol

Last Song: according to my phone the song I last had on was ‘God, That’s Good!’ from Sweeney Todd and according to Spotify the last song I listened to on there was ‘I was so sure’ by Former Vandal

Last Movie: Either Social Suicide or Scream 4, can’t remember

Currently Reading: A Wizard of Earthsea, The Count of Monte Cristo, and about to start D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding

Currently Watching: The Scream TV series, Adventure Time, theoretically The Untamed

Currently Consuming: just had a poptart

Currently Craving: bagel

Tagging: @bluestockingbaby @wavesoakedmaiden @stragglewort @ladyofthefandom @verbicidalurges @muffinworry @lockedtombevangelist @oliszka @the-mad-prince-of-denmark and anyone else in the mood!

if you dont even follow me and i tagged you i probably see you on my dash and just forgot so pls do not kill me

[sausagesquirrel]

The Labyrinth of Memory by revenant_oozi @extrapanties

Chapter 7: Tennis (click to read on Ao3)

Doyle is pretty sure the two of them are playing a game and he’s meant to keep score

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

brimmmmm if you wrote that mad sweeney fic with a*al seggs i would PASS AWAY (assuming you haven’t already written it lol)

It's on my list so like... not even conceptualized yet, but I AM DEF GONNA TRY MY HAND AT IT! It's been a good 10 years since I read the book and I only ever watched the first season of the show. So like, I got a little research to do just so I can write this man fucking our asses raw, but it'll be done. I will make it so. <3