#what have i done to affront the Gods???

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

Gim

Ref under cut

[teamatsumu]

“draw me like one of your french girls.”

(rafayel x reader)

word count: 1676

warnings: fem!reader, swearing, non-sexual nudity, slightly bittersweet ending, nothing explicit

It was an insane request. One that you never should have listened to.

Your first reaction was very organic. An incredulous look of ‘what the fuck’ that included a slacked open jaw and wide eyes. Rafayel was as blank faced as ever, like he had just announced that he wanted grilled vegetables for dinner, and not that he wanted you to pose naked for him to paint.

“No.”

Now he looked up, almost affronted. “No?”

“No!” You emphasized, cheeks burning hot in embarrassment. “I’m not posing naked for you!”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You smacked his arm, making him draw back with a grumble. “When have you seen me naked?!”

“Not you! But other girls.”

“You pervert.”

“It’s not like that!” You saw his ears flame, a cute little pout tugging on his lips. “I’m an artist. I’ve done lots of nude paintings.”

You gave him a blank look. “That’s….. somehow worse.”

Rafayel let out a pained sigh, lifting his head up as if asking the gods for strength. Dramatic as ever. He leaned closer to you again, and his violet eyes pleaded with you.

“Please? I promise it won’t take long. You just inspire me and I want to utilize that.”

You hesitated once more, mulling the options over in your head. Was this the best thing for your relationship right now? You and Rafayel weren’t dating, but you definitely had feelings for each other. You knew he liked you, and there was this strange push and tug that came with liking someone as ambiguous as him. You liked how things were right now, the playful banter sprinkled in between tender moments. And you really liked him. You didn’t want to mess it up.

But here he was, eyes wide and pleading, shining indigo and dreamy purples, making the carefree ruffles of his hair look all the more dreamy. You felt your resolve crack.

“Okay..” You sighed reluctantly, feeling the apprehension settle slightly when Rafayel positively lit up in response, excited that you had agreed.

“I won’t do anything that will make you uncomfortable. And if you want to stop, we stop. Okay?”

You nodded, feeling more at ease when you saw how considerate he was being. Maybe this would actually be a good experience.

Over a week and a half later was when you finally had a whole free day. When you showed up at Rafayel’s studio, you were jittery with nerves, and unable to focus on anything except the fact that you would be posing nude. He had already sent you some poses as references, and all of them placed your arms and legs tactfully in places that would conceal anything you wanted hidden. He left it all up to you though, saying anything you were comfortable with was what he would make. Nevertheless, you felt the little buzz under your skin, a mix of nerves and excitement, as you entered his place.

Rafayel turned his back to you so you could get comfortable, offering to leave the room if you wanted. You dismissed it though. This would take a few hours, might as well get accustomed to the feeling.

You perched yourself on the surprisingly comfy stool the best you could, opting to use one of the poses Rafayel sent. It was sensual without being sleazy, and it hid anything you didn’t want to reveal.

“You can turn around now.” You couldn’t hide the slight tremble in your voice.

Rafayel turned back to face you, but he didn’t look at you. He made to sit on his own stool, perched before the canvas so you could see just his eyes above the top of it. He picked up the palette in his left hand, reaching for a clean brush with his right, and then, his eyes flicked up, directly meeting yours.

Your breath paused, stuck in your chest, and you felt unfamiliar under how intense his gaze was, like a fire lit inside him as he picked up the brush. The teasing and playful Rafayel was gone. He was….. serious. Careful.

You felt like your body was burning when his eyes slowly moved downward, and his hand started moving. Gentle pitter patter of the brush on the paint, and then the delicate swish of it over the blank canvas. The room was silent besides the sound, and the ruffle of his clothes every time his arm moved. Every few seconds, his eyes would flick up again, focusing on some new detail of your body.

You had anticipated feeling nervous throughout the process, but under the monotone sounds of Rafayel’s brush, a wave of tranquility passed over you. You felt the fragile lull of the silence drape itself on the room, and you focused solely on the deep purple of his eyes, remembering when you had first met him in this very studio. He had come off as flirty and mouthy, and you remembered how unsure of him you were. You hadn’t anticipated that one day you would possibly be in love with him. And certainly not that you would bare yourself to him like this.

“Doing okay?” His voice was quiet, as if afraid to break the peace of the surrounding air. It was so gentle, like he was offering you an out if you wanted. The sound made your heart stutter. You gave him a small smile and a nod.

“I’m good.”

For the next hour and a half, Rafayel painted in silence, checking in on you every now and then, offering to take breaks. You said you felt fine, and you wanted to get this done in one sitting. Honestly, you didn’t mind it all that much once you two had started, and something about having his eyes study you the way they were made a blissful shiver run up your spine.

You almost didn’t want it to end.

When Rafayel finally announced a ‘done’ to you, the corner of his lip lifted up in triumph and joy, you released a breath of your own, unaware that you had been holding it. Rafayel stood up and walked closer to you, holding up the white robe you had previously put on. He turned his back to you again as you hopped down from the stool and put in on.

“It might be useless to ask, but can I see it?”

Rafayel gave you his signature teasing smile and a wink. “Not yet. I want to do the finishing touches before I reveal it to you.”

You sighed, not having expected anything different. Rafayel placed a gentle hand on the small of your back.

“Come on. Let’s get some food in you. You’ve been a wonderful muse. You deserve a reward.”

…………………….

‘It’s ready.’

The text made your heart leap, despite it being many days since your little session with Rafayel. Having been busy with work, you had barely even thought about the painting, though it did flit through your mind every now and then. You felt jittery with excitement when you knocked on his door that evening. Somehow, you were more nervous for the final result than you were of the process.

Maybe it was because this was Rafayel’s creation. It essentially showed you how he viewed you. What you looked like to him. The thought was nerve racking.

Rafayel opened the door with his signature teasing smile, inviting you in and immediately making a beeline for the painting because he knew how impatient you were to see it. It was covered with a plain white sheet, and you had to laugh at the theatrics of Rafayel pulling it off with flourish and revealing the piece underneath.

“Ready?” He asked, gripping the cloth in his hands. You took a deep breath and nodded, giving him permission to tug off the sheet, and he did.

Your world seemed to freeze.

You tried to suck in a breath, but it seemed to be stuck in your windpipe, unable to get past the lump forming in your throat. Your lips parted open, jaw almost slack. Your eyes darted over every detail of the canvas.

The brush strokes were careful, reasonably thin and lengthy. It looked exactly like you, and yet nothing like you at the same time. Your bare skin was glowing, your face was turned to capture the highlights of the light perfectly, and you looked absolutely radiant. Despite the shine of your hair and the glimmer of your skin, there was nothing that drew your attention more than the way he had painted your eyes.

There was a melancholy in them, a distant feeling of a bittersweet memory. Your lips were separated in a quiet O, and even your eyelashes were so detailed, like every single flick of Rafayel’s wrist had been thought out to perfectly create the image.

It took your breath away.

You turned to look at the man beside you, so speechless that even moving your tongue seemed like a feat. “Rafayel…”

“I’m assuming you like it?” He supplied, and you could see just how proud he was of his creation. You were still stuck on the fact that “this is what he thinks I look like”.

You wanted to ask so many questions. You wanted to ask him if he had exaggerated it, or if he really thought you were this beautiful. You wanted to ask him how long he had spent on it, trying to make it as perfect as possible. You wanted to ask if he would keep it or sell it.

You wanted to ask when he would give up on this back and forth limbo and finally kiss you with the same amount of love he put in this painting.

“It’s beautiful.” That’s what you settled on instead, feeling your cowardice creep up on you again. Once more, you left your emotions unsaid where they were.

Rafayel’s smile widened, softer than anything as his eyes seemed to search your face for something.

“Thank you for being my muse.”

You only smiled in return.

[baejax-the-great]

Absolutely reeling.

So I knew that the origin of "Hector was a great man, moral, noble, better than all of the Greeks" began as Roman propaganda that somehow has made it to now, the year 2023, and is still taught to high school students.

What I did not know was why scholars shit on Achilles as vehemently as they did (and still do).

My copy of Fagles' translation of the Iliad has a preface by a different scholar who I'm not going to bother to name because he's an idiot (and idk probably dead at this point). I read the entire thing, absolutely baffled, because he would cite a part of the text (that I admittedly had not read yet! at all!), quote it, and then come to the most batshit interpretation based on that quote I had ever seen in my life. His general take was that Achilles was a sociopath who had no feelings for anyone other than himself and his own pride, and every action he took (until welcoming Priam into his hut) was done in service of that pride. To support this, he decided that Achilles did not see Patroclus as a person, but rather as an extension of himself, and thus someone injuring Patroclus was them injuring Achilles, and so he did not care about Patroclus, he only cared about his wounded pride.

Yeah.

That sounded wrong before reading the book, and while reading the book all i could think was, "Did we read the same fucking thing???" Put in context, those quotations still did not support his conclusions whatsoever.

But i cracked open Caroline Alexander's "The War That Killed Achilles" last night, and she solves this mystery of "Hector good, Achilles bad" for me right out the gate (which is good because so far I've only read the preface).

Western Europeans by and large learned about the Trojan war from Roman stories, which became fairly popular, and not the Iliad, which was not translated into French or English until centuries later. As mentioned, these were propaganda that cast the Trojans in a much better light than the Greeks because the Romans believed they were descended from Trojan refugees. This starts a trend that is still going on in scholarly circles as casting the Iliad as a war between "barbaric Greeks living in a shitty, lawless camp" vs "civilized, educated, weaving, real-wife-having Trojans," making the Iliad a tragedy in which Homer for some reason skewers his own people and their warlike culture as barbaric while propping up a dead, foreign city-state. This interpretation is still extant and was the postscript to another copy of the Iliad I have.

According to Alexander, scholars closer to Homer's time saw the entire war as a tragedy--both the destruction of Troy AND the destruction of the Greek army. While this is not covered in the Iliad, very few Greeks actually made it home after Troy. Some that did were then outcast (Teucer for example), some were murdered (bye, Agamemnon), some went on to create new kingdoms in other places (Diomedes), but by and large, there was no going home from that war. There was no great victory with all their loot. The entire thing was a disaster for both sides, spurred on by fickle gods.

Back to the more recent European interpretations of this story, one reason Hector ended up cast in such a "good" light, despite being a dumbass who wants to dishonor dead people just as badly as Achilles ever did, was in order to make Achilles look worse. Why was it important that Achilles becomes a villain in this story in which he is very much not a villain? Because Europeans were involved in so much war with each other and the rest of the world that a young, insubordinate man who criticizes his idiot of a commander, decides his life isn't worth throwing away for this war, and refuses to fight to sack a city was an affront to their values. Young men were to be obedient, follow their commanding officers, and colonize the world for queen and country. Achilles suggesting losing his life is not worth it to prop up Agamemnon's war is a dangerous precedent for all the good little soldiers needed to make their nations wealthy.

It's almost funny that these analyses propping up Troy as a beacon of civilization were made by people living in countries so bent on colonizing the world. They identified with the city being sacked and not the greedy sackers of said city, who they were much closer to. And Achilles, educated, morally rigid, emotional Achilles, is recast as a sociopathic asshole who doesn't care about anyone other than himself, unlike all of those other beacons of selflessness among the Greek leadership.

The tragedy of the Iliad is that Achilles is right, the war is pointless, Agamemnon did dishonor the shit out of him, and it doesn't matter because he's going to die in it anyway.

Frankly, given how badly his character has been interpreted for so long, I think the muses owe him an apology.

[oikasugayama]

Just like everyone else, LOVE your charts

Could you do one with reader fighting someone and getting hurt?

NOW WITH THE HUNTING DOGS! There are 21 hot men on this chart. Trying out a new format too to make it easier on me when writing (:

also I've noticed there isn't an agreed upon way to spell tetcho's name. i'm rocking with tetcho. you can't stop me. i've already done it. and i'll do it again. tetcho.

after you get hurt he loses his mind killing the person who hurt you. he would then tell you "i can't see you get hurt like that. i had to do something to protect you." he may or may not be ashamed of what he's done; more than that, though, he's happy you're alive.

Fukuchi (uses the full extent of his powers and then tearfully confesses to you when you're safe), Bram (summons hoards of vampires even though he swore he wouldn't; he loves you and would do anything for you), Junichiro (is usually so passive but will kill someone with his bare hands when his lover is attacked right in front of him), and Poe (never uses weapons because he has his sharp mind; he doesn't think twice before shooting down the man who hurt you).

when he sees you get hurt during a fight, his first thought is "fuck, i have to save them. i can't lose them, not here, not now." you try to tell him to leave you and complete the mission, but he refuses, maybe even tearfully. you're coming home with him. you're not dying here.

Atsushi (tearfully holds you against his chest the whole way to Yosano, who's the only one he trusts to save you), Oda (struggles to balance the importance of the mission with his need to keep you safe; fuck the mission, you're his priority), Nikolai (decides in an instant to use his ability to take you far, far away from this conflict; it's not worth it anymore, not without you), Fukuzawa (abandons his sword to catch you before you hit the ground. He never should have let you pick up this fight; he should have solved this all before it could happen. He'll ask for your forgiveness, just as soon as he saves you), Mori (uses others to fight his battles. His goal is always to protect himself and his loved ones above all else. The full force of the Port Mafia comes down on anyone who defies him, but he himself holds you gently while transferring you to safety), Dazai (isn't in the Port Mafia anymore. When he was a younger man he'd have killed everyone in the room, but now that he has someone he's afraid to lose he chooses to run), Ango (refuses to think you're dead; he knows you're too tough, too skilled to not make it out of this battle. He's still scared, though, and as soon as he reaches you he tells you he refuses to lose you like this so you better get up and start running).

you getting hurt and falling during conflict was the last thing he expected. you're so tough, why would you be so fucking stupid? he intends on asking you right after he takes care of the asshole who thought he could take you away from him.

Tetcho (cooly walks over to you after destroying the remaining enemies. "Are you going to lay there all day?" he asks. "Do better next time... and don't you dare scare me like that again."), Tachihara (goes into a rage. He eliminates the threat, then pulls you into his arms. "You fucking idiot... Don't do that again or I'll kill you myself."), Akutagawa (awakens a new, even more lethal version of Rashomon when you fall. The room is cleared in an instant, and he's carrying you to safety moments later. "I expected more from you," he says despite the wobble in his voice. "So live and prove me wrong."), Jouno (loses his interest in the fight when he hears your heartbeat slowing, so he ends it all quickly and finds you by your shallow breathing. "You're a pathetic excuse for a Hunting Dog," he says, scooping you into his arms. "Let's get you ready for the next fight."), Fyodor (chooses his close companions extremely carefully. It's an affront to God to hurt his comrades--everyone who dared harm you will know that wrath now, and later you'll learn Fyodor's wrath for daring to leave him through near-death).

seeing you fall pissed him off more than anything. you shouldn't have come but you wouldn't take no for an answer. now he's gonna save your ass and give you a piece of his mind (he's so relieved you're safe. you know that's what he means when you tells you not to be so fucking stupid next time).

Chuuya (knows that he could use the full extent of his power to destroy everyone here, but who would save him so that he could be with you again? Ugh, you moron. How dare you make him run instead of fight. Good thing you're worth it to him), Ranpo (isn't a fighter, he's a thinker, and right now he thinks you need to be taken to safety because you were too stupid to stay out of harm's way), Sigma (has a split-second dilemma in which he wants to kill everyone, but moreso he wants to protect you, so he covers you, gets an ally to take you to safety, and when you wake up he's at your bedside calling you an idiot), Mushitaro (finds a way to twist his ability to make you two invisible to the enemy; you get to safety, you wake up after being knocked out, and he's standing over you, arms crossed. "It's about time you woke up, dumbass. I'm over here doing all the hard work."), Kunikida (panics when you fall. This isn't according to plan, and now he's enacting plan B: save your dumb ass, and then go back into the fight alone. When he realizes the extent of your injuries, though, he stays with you).

[livwritesstuff]

hi! so i am currently working my way through your steddie dads tag (and the fics on ao3--truly we have been blessed, i love slice of life) AND i saw this post about icks. it made me think about my best friend who is currently dating someone who has so many of her icks but she loves him so it doesn't matter. i was wondering if you've done something where steve and eddie explain their icks to each other?? i feel like there was a tiktok trend where partners did this but i can't remember lol. anyway, loving the series! thanks for sharing <3

lol i’ve seen that trend too - they’re very funny. i dont think hazel would try to film it, however i do think filming the initial vid leads to this (unfilmed) conversation.

Eddie: Name one thing about me that gives you the ick, Steve.

Eddie: I dare you.

Steve, without hesitation: Won’t go to therapy.

Eddie, affronted: Excuse me. I used to go. I’m cured now.

Steve: Cured of what?

Steve: Ed, you’ve had untreated ADHD for so long that I don’t even bother looking in the normal places when you lose shit.

Steve: I go straight for the fridge.

Steve: Yesterday I found your wallet in the trash.

Eddie: Okay, what about you and your whole won’t use new things schtick?!?

Eddie: You buy new shit and then literally never use it.

Eddie: Like those sneakers from a month ago that are still in the box.

Steve: Yeah, because then they won’t be new anymore.

Eddie: Oh my god, Steve, that’s so annoying.

Steve: Well, it's gotta be better than you buying new shit before the old shit needs to be replaced.

Eddie: That’s called being preemptive, Steve.

Steve: No it’s not, because you use the new shit right away and then we end up with double the amount of half-used stuff.

Eddie: I don’t do that!

Steve: Yes you do.

Steve: Pens.

Steve: You always buy new pens before the old ones run out of ink but instead of using up the old ones, you immediately open the new box. 

Steve: And now our house is filled with half-empty pens.

Steve: Drives me nuts.

[demonic0angel]

What if Jazz replaced Dan in another timeline?

CW: attempted murder via strangulation

Also on AO3 here :)

"Could you leave me alone?!" Danny shouted. "Stay out of my business!"

Jazz looked affronted. "How can I stay out of your business if I'm also part of your business?!"

Sputtering, he cried out, “Just— Just leave me alone!”

“No! You’re not taking the proper safety precautions! You’re going to get hurt one of these days and I’ll laugh in your face! You’re always so reckless! It’s not my fault that I have to watch over you!”

His eye twitched as he crossed his arms. “I’m not a baby anymore! You can’t control me like you used to when I was a kid! I’m a teenager and I’m way more powerful than you! I don’t need you to watch over me!”

“Danny! Don’t be so stubborn!” She insisted. “I’m just asking you to be safe!”

“I said. I. Don’t. Need it!!”

Danny had enough and stormed away from her. Jazz cried out, "Get back over here!" but he ignored her and continued walking.

He ran into his room and threw himself on his bed. He stretched out his hand, went partial ghost, and then locked his door. However, Jazz didn't follow him inside.

Danny groaned, burying himself in his pillow. He loved his sister, but sometimes, her love for him was just too overbearing! He couldn't stand the feeling of being watched over and babied like she had always done since he was a child, but he quickly realized that he had probably overreacted. Danny grimaced, realizing that he would have to apologize to his sister soon, but he was mentally exhauated.

Just as he pushed the idea of apologizing to her to later in the back of his mind, his phone rang. He picked it up with an exhausted, “Hello?”

“Dang, Danny, what’s going on with you?” Tucker asked, sounding concerned and also amused. He was holding his camera in one hand while the other held the phone to his face.

Danny groaned. “Jazz is being a total control freak again! I can’t even go out without her having to force more equipment onto me! I’m sick and tired of her always being in my business!”

“Dude, that sucks, but she’s looking out for you! Cut her some slack.”

“I know, but it’s so annoying. I wish she could understand that I’m not a baby anymore.”

Tucker hummed. “Mhm.”

Danny huffed and although Tucker’s expression didn’t show it, he realized that he was bringing down the mood somewhat.

“How’s Boston?” He asked.

“It’s cool,” Tucker said with a smile. “Do you want a pen or a keychain for your souvenir?”

“Oh screw you!” Danny laughed, pretending to be annoyed by the lackluster presents.

The phone beeped again, and Sam jumped into the call. “What’s up?” She said, a pair of sunglasses on her nose while a wide brimmed sun hat covered her face in shadows.

Danny sighed, reminded even more of the fact that his two and only best friends were on vacation. Even Valerie couldn’t spend time with him, too busy working for an internship under her dad.

Danny’s own parents were in Virginia, trekking on the Appalachian mountains to find more ghosts.

So basically, Danny was alone. With his sister.

Great.

“Oh! Sam! How’s Greece?”

“It’s great. I’ll bring you guys here in a few weeks,” she promised, turning her camera around so they could also take a view of the busy streets.

Tucker put his hands together and pretended to pray to her. “Oh, great Sugar Mommy Sam, please deliver us to Greece soon.”

“Never mind. Tucker, you’re staying home. I’m taking Danny and the two of us are going to eat souvlaki and seafood, look at Ancient Greek monuments, and learn about the lives of the fallen gods without you.”

Tucker gave a cry of pretend panic and Danny laughed too, already comforted by the sound of his two best friends and putting away the thought of Jazz.

They chatted for a few more minutes before Sam and Tucker had to leave, although not before promising to bring him souvenirs.

Danny laughed and smiled but when they left, it slipped off of his face. He sighed, pressing his head down onto his pillow again, dropping his phone carelessly.

Was a single summer without anyone bothering him too much to ask?

After a while, as Danny lazed about, he finally got up to get lunch.

When he went down to the kitchen, Jazz was sitting at the table, a book open in front of her alongside two plates of food. The one that wasn't directly in front of her was underneath a Fenton™ heating lamp.

Now the guilt mixed together with the irritation.

He knew that he was supposed to apologize, but he couldn't help the hostility that rose up in him. No matter how much he felt guilty, he refused to back down. Danny stomped to his seat, pulling back the chair and taking the plate. Then he began eating without saying a word.

Jazz peeked at him from behind her book a few times.

Danny scowled before looking up. "What?"

She hesitated, and then finally said, "Danny, you know that I love you, right?"

Oh Ancients, here she went again.

Danny loved his sister, but he couldn't stand how she tried to act better than him simply because she had more "experience" than him living in the world. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't truly relate to him and his experiences.

"... just get out with it," he snapped, putting down his fork and slumping back in his seat.

Jazz's eyebrows furrowed, disapproving but she didn't say anything about his disrespectful appearance.

"I know that you think I'm controlling, but I'm doing this for your own good. You're only a kid, and you're being forced to fight against ghosts. Of course I worry! We can never know for sure if you can beat up everyone you see... so I just want you to be safe. That's why I—"

"Jazz." His voice was hard. Jazz startled at the sound of it, looking shocked. "I'm not a baby. I'm my own person, and I don't need your help! You putting your nose in my business doesn’t help me!"

Jazz flinched and then glared back at him. "Well, I wouldn't have to, if you would listen and be careful!"

"I'm plenty careful! I'm literally the most careful person you'll ever know!" Which wasn't true, but Danny was incensed enough to say anything.

"Don't you lie to my face! Danny, you are so—!"

That was when there was the sound of something popping and the both of them turned to the door in confused silence. The sudden appearance of a pair of slow, clacking heels against the floor made the both of them tense.

No one should've been home but them.

So who was this?

With his hands underneath the table, Danny transformed halfway, ready with a ghost ray if it was an enemy. His ghost senses told him that it probably wasn’t a ghost, but he still had to be careful. Jazz picked up her plate, ready to toss it at a moment's notice.

The person who entered their home stopped at the door to the kitchen.

The first thing Danny noticed was that she was tall. Freakishly tall. His dad was the tallest person he knew, and this person wouldn't even be completely dwarfed by him if she was standing next to him.

The second thing he noticed was that she looked just like Jazz, only older. Her facial features were all the same, the same sweet smile, the same heart shaped face, the same long hair. The only thing that was noticeably different were her eyes, which shone with a light that he had never seen before and watched with a focus that almost unsettled him. She was dressed in a trench coat and a dark dress shirt. Her heeled boots clicked on the floor, drawing attention even further to her monstrous height.

This woman, this older doppelgänger of Jazz, paused at the doorway, studying them before she gasped and then rushed forward to pull Danny into her hug.

"Danny! Oh, it's you!" The Jazz lookalike cried, and her hold was tight and warm, pressing him against her chest like she was trying to absorb him through her skin. Danny stumbled and then just stayed in her embrace, dumbfounded. Her hug felt familiar, just like the hand that cradled the back of his head and the other that rubbed at his back.

"Jazz?" Danny blurted, eyes wide.

The Jazz clone pulled him back, smiling through teary eyes and nodded. "That’s right. It's me, Jazz."

Jazz was probably as confused as Danny, but she didn't hesitate to stand up and take a closer look. The older version of Jazz continued to hug Danny while Jazz flitted around them nervously. The two of them sank to the floor and it took a moment for Danny to understand what was happening before he pulled away, bewildered.

Something flashed through the Jazz clone's face too quickly for him to decipher.

"I'm sorry, but what? What's going on? If you're Jazz then... why are you in the past?" And why had Clockwork not said a single thing?

The Jazz before them pressed a hand against Danny's cheek. Her skin was gloved, and the coolness of the leather against his skin made him shiver. The look in Jazz's doppelgänger's watery eyes was intense and focused, her lips pulled into a small smile. "I am Jazz Fenton. I came here in hopes of finding a world where I could live."

Both Danny and Jazz became excited immediately.

"Wow! You're so beautiful! You're really me?" Jazz asked excitedly. "What do you do in the future? What's our job? Do we have a partner? How is everyone in the future?"

"Jazz! Let her breathe!" Danny felt a small sense of vindication for correcting his sister. However, he also looked at the older version of Jazz eagerly, wanting to know if he remained a hero and if their city was alright, if he got married to Valerie, and if Sam and Tucker were still his friends.

The older version of Jazz paused before she pursed her lips. "I'm afraid... it's not great in my timeline. That's why I came here. To escape." A flash of a strange smile crossed her face but it disappeared before Danny could try and decipher it.

He blinked, his stomach dropping as he tried to understand what she was hinting at. "Are you saying... that some of us are dead?"

The older Jazz smiled sadly. "You're all dead. I lost you, Danny. I lost you, Mom, Dad— I didn't even have Sam or Tucker. Everyone is dead. Humanity has been almost completely wiped out. I'm the sole survivor of our family in that world."

Both Danny and Jazz were dumbfounded.

A pit immediately formed inside of Danny's stomach as his blood turned cold.

The sole survivor? Humanity was almost wiped out? What on earth had happened in that world??

"Wait... you mean everyone? Like everyone everyone?? What happened?" He asked desperately. "Wasn't I a hero? How did I let this happen??"

How could this have happened? How could he have been so careless as to let everyone but Jazz die? A small part of him was a little happy that Jazz of all people survived, knowing that she was resilient and strong, but the larger part of him just felt sad. His core ached with the thought of her being alone in a possibly devastated world.

"Everyone died after you died," older Jazz said in quiet resignation. "People started dying in droves... there's only me left in the entirety of America."

Jazz clasped her hands over her mouth in horror, while Danny clenched his fists. "How did we die?"

"You... our family was at the Nasty Burger, when an accident occured and then the entire place exploded. You were on your way there when... you also got caught in the accident. Even your powers weren't enough to keep you alive when you were in the middle of such a large explosion." She looked down, her expression twisted in sorrow. "I was at home when it happened. And then... I was alone."

Danny's stomach twisted itself into knots. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he didn't know what to say.

Jazz whispered, hushed, "... it sounds like Dan."

Danny had to agree. However, older Jazz looked at the two with confusion.

"Dan? Who's that?"

Danny blinked. "You don't know...? Oh, it's because your timeline is different. Er, Dan is an alternate version of me. He's kind of like you, but more evil."

Jazz sighed and explained, "Danny from that timeline watched us die at the Nasty Burger too and then he started killing everyone. He's a little similar to you that way. But then he went to our world to try and kill us all again, so we trapped him in the Fenton thermos."

Older Jazz stared at them, her mouth open in shock before she burst out into laughter. The sound of her bell-like laughter was sweet, but the context was jarring and Danny and Jazz couldn't help but share a look of 'what the heck?'

Older Jazz eventually quieted down and she said softly, "How interesting. You're saying that he also had his family killed and then he killed everyone in his world?"

Something was definitely wrong but Danny didn't know what. Jazz was the one who replied, and she nodded slowly, "Yeah."

"You defeated this Dan?" Older Jazz looked at Danny with bright eyes.

Danny slowly nodded. "He's in the Fenton thermos."

Older Jazz smiled, her eyes narrowing into crescents. "How quaint. I know it's a bit presumptuous, but could I stay here for a little?"

Jazz startled and said, "Oh! Your world is destroyed, right? Yeah, y-you can stay if you want!" Then she flushed red at her stuttering.

Danny raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything as he turned to the Jazz from another timeline. "We should find you another name. Something like... Minnie?"

"From Jasmine? If you say so, Danny," Minnie said amicably. "Call me Minnie then, to avoid confusion."

"Are you hungry?" Jazz asked. Minnie shook her head and stared at her with half lidded eyes.

Jazz noticed the look and asked, "What?"

"Nothing. You're just so innocent."

For some odd reason, it didn't sound that nice coming from her mouth.

However, Danny wasn’t that concerned about it, more preoccupied with the presence of his big sister from a post-apocalypse world. They pulled her to the kitchen table anyways and thus, Minnie joined the duo for the summer.

————

Minnie spent a few days with them. As the only actual adult in the house, she quickly took control over the house's chores and Danny was relieved to know that he wouldn't have to do his daily chores with her around. Jazz had griped about it, but Minnie laughed it off.

She seemed to enjoy the domesticity of their daily life, content to be doing anything, even something as mundane as folding clothes as long as Danny was within her sight.

Losing him must've hurt her a lot. He understood. He had, after all, also gone completely crazy after losing his family in another timeline.

She had many similarities to Jazz. However, she was also different from Jazz in that she was far more capable. When she was worried about him on his patrols, she would just follow him out instead of nagging him. With her long legs and advanced technology, she was able to keep up with him and even catch a few ghosts herself. Even when he flew over the city, she could find him wherever he was and defeat ghosts along the way.

Minnie soon proved herself to be a more advanced and grown up version of herself very quickly. She was mature and patient, with a quiet confidence to herself that didn't come as naturally to Jazz. The age and grief that she had experienced had surely attributed to her mature personality, but it couldn't be denied that Jazz would grow up into an awesome person.

It kind of made Danny proud in a way.

Look at how cool his sister was!

Like now, Minnie was tinkering with her watch, a sleek and black piece of technology that she used to get here. Danny and Jazz had learned that Minnie taught herself bioengineering and weapons manufacturing in order to cope with her stress and depression. Apparently, she was currently learning how to program robots in her world.

If Tucker was here, he would probably fall onto his knees to beg her to take him in as an apprentice.

"Is that what you used to fight in the future?" Danny asked, pointing at the watch. The two of them sat in the kitchen, both in their own little world.

Minnie hummed, taking a screwdriver to take apart a piece. "No. I had something else helping me."

He blinked at the wording. "Oh. Can I see it?"

"I'm afraid not," her tone was very kind and she stopped working to pat his hair, "It couldn't come with me."

He didn't pay much attention to her after that, just soaking in the attention before she went back to work.

He laid his head on his arms, closing his eyes to the sound of Minnie fiddling with her machinery as he thought about the past few days.

Minnie had been a welcome addition to their household, not only because she took over the role of the adult in the house, but also because she was a calming presence between Jazz and Danny. She had quickly become a mediator between him and Jazz. Their fights had lessened in quantity because of Minnie's presence, but the quality had definitely gotten worse in animosity. And while he and Jazz weren't getting along, Jazz and Minnie were the exact opposite.

He didn't really know what he had expected, but he had thought that Jazz and Minnie's relationship would be as hostile as his with Dan's. Instead, the two of them were friendly and Jazz even had a bit of hero worship towards Minnie. Which was a bit narcissic, but he could understand it.

"Where's Jazz?" Minnie asked suddenly.

Danny opened his eyes. "She's in her room."

"Did you two fight again?" She asked, putting down her tools to raise an amused eyebrow at him.

Danny frowned.

"It's not my fault!" Ever since Minnie had arrived, Jazz had grown even more overzealous with her overprotectiveness. Danny was completely over it. He was a growing boy! He didn't need to be coddled any longer!

He didn’t like fighting with his sister either, but was he so wrong in believing that he could be on his own? Jazz had her own problems fo worry about. It was just like his childhood, when she would disregard herself and the opportunities given to her to take care of him. It infuriated him, saddened him, and made him ashamed all at once.

He just wanted to prove himself. He wanted to be seen as an adult, not a little kid like she believed.

He unleashed his grievances to Minnie, who was quiet and thoughtful the entire tale.

As he was finishing up his complaints, he huffed. "I just want to be taken seriously."

"She just loves you. I would know, I also love you very much," Minnie said.

Danny blushed pink at that but he continued to insist, "I know! But I'm a superhero! I need to be able to take care of myself without my big sister hovering over me like a helicopter mom!"

Minnie laughed softly. "Maybe you just need to prove to her that you can take care of yourself. We did grow up taking care of you after all."

He just groaned.

Minnie looked at Danny with a small smile for some time. “Danny,” she began softly, “how would you feel if I stayed here indefinitely?”

Danny blinked, a little bewildered by the topic change, but he then returned the smile. “That’d be nice. You could help us out around the house! I think we could convince mom and dad to let you stay. And you and Tucker would probably get along, since you two work with technology!”

Minnie stared at him with that ever present smile on her face. The way her bright eyes peered into him was intense with its color and piercing scrutiny.

In some ways, she was even more haunting than him, who was an actual ghost.

Minnie then chuckled a little. “That would be nice. But I can’t exactly stay in a place that already has a Jazz Fenton.”

Danny blinked. “Really? Why?”

Minnie replied, “We’re both alive, that’s why.”

Then she paused, tilting her head.

“Do I need to be worried?” Danny asked.

Minnie shook her head slowly. Her expression was considering, like something had just popped into her head to make her think. She was thoughtful, before she finally smiled even wider.

“I’ve forgotten how smart you were,” Minnie finally murmured, reaching some unspoken conclusion.

Danny tilted his head, asking a silent question.

Minnie smiled, a flash of her pearly teeth enough to get his hair rising. “But that’s alright. We’ll soon have all of the time in the world for me to relearn your habits.”

And from then on, she wouldn’t answer any of his questions. No matter how much he pressed, she did not say a word. Danny was hesitant, but in the end, he let it go.

He had begun to realize that Minnie had a darkness to her that was sometimes really unsettling. She didn’t seem like she noticed it or purposely kept it down, but it was quite creepy to see it when it rose in her eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if she knew that she couldn’t hide it and if she knew that it made Danny’s skin crawl when he saw it.

However, he wasn’t too concerned about her inner darkness or whatever she was talking about.

No matter what, he knew that any version of Jazz wouldn’t intentionally harm him.

He’d probably find out soon anyway.

————

The day ended quietly and night began quietly. It was still early dawn when Danny crawled back to his bed after a long night of patrol around Amity Park. Although he was exhausted, he was filled with a sense of pride and happiness from protecting his city once more. His muscles ached and his eyes stung from being awake for so long, but he knew that because it was summer, he could sleep the whole day away.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, there was a bang and a knocking sound, like something had fallen to the ground.

Startling away from his light doze, Danny sat up from his bed. Rubbing his eyes, he trudged out of his room to investigate what it was.

He poked his head out of his room and called out to her. “Jazz? Are you alright?”

The sound seemed to have come from her room.

There was only some muffled noises.

Had she fallen down from her bed?

Not entirely that concerned about what Jazz was up to, Danny called out again, “If you need help, just call Minnie! I have to get some shuteye!”

He began to close the door, but then paused.

His core was tingling slightly, a bad feeling rising up in his throat.

Danny sighed, cursing his own Obsession before he went to Jazz’s room and then knocked on her door. “Are you okay?” He asked.

There was another faint noise but Jazz didn’t seem to be replying.

Danny sighed again, now a little more annoyed, before he opened the door.

There, on the floor, was Jazz. Straddling on top of her was Minnie, her hands wrapped around her throat and mouth, pressing down at her throat with an unsettling smile on her face, like she wasn’t trying to kill Jazz at that moment. Their red hair was scattered around and the room looked like there was a bit of a struggle.

Jazz was still struggling, muffled noises coming out of her as she wriggled underneath Minnie, but Minnie’s weight and frame kept her settled as she began to choke the life out of her.

The two of them paused as they stared at Danny. Although Jazz was wide eyed and still trying to twist out of her grip, Minnie didn’t look alarmed and only smiled sweetly.

However, in this moment, she looked just like the Devil.

Danny stared, dumbfounded for only a split second, before he immediately reacted and transformed, blasting at Minnie with his ghost rays.

“Get off of my sister!!” He shouted, his heart nearly choking up his throat as he noticed Jazz’s weak kicking.

Minnie laughed quietly and her watch flashed, lighting up instantly with a shield that rebounded Danny’s ghost ray. Jazz whimpered and knocked her head against the ground with her flinch.

Danny didn’t relent, shooting out more and more beams as he desperately flew over in an attempt to throw Minnie off.

The shield bounced him back, making him land painfully onto the wall. His vision shook and his bones felt like they were rattling inside of him. His breath was punched out of him in an instant and he gasped, blinking away the stars in his eyes from the pain.

“What the—?!”

“Oh, Danny,” Minnie crooned. “I’m from the future. You think I don't have the technology to defeat halfas like you?”

Danny gasped, struggling to find air, and hit her with an energy ring in desperation. The shield blocked it once more.

“Minnie!” He tried to reason urgently, “You don’t have to do this! You don’t need to do this!”

How could he have trusted her so much?

How had he not know that Minnie's darkness wasn't just from grief? That her darkness actually came from the killings she had probably done and that she wasn't as simple as she looked?

Had Danny's underestimation of Minnie caused Jazz to be hurt?

Minnie smiled, and the expression on her face was mocking and sweet. It made Danny’s blood curdle in his veins and he clenched his fists, knowing that he had to find a way to bypass Minnie’s shields and save Jazz.

He had to find a way to buy some time!

“But I do. I can’t stay if there’s two living versions of Jazz Fenton in one world. We’ll pull apart the fabric of his universe. If I want to stay, I’ll have to get rid of her.”

Her hands slipped down from Jazz’s mouth to press against her throat.

Jazz began coughing, tears filling the corner of her eyes as she clawed at Minnie’s hands. Her face was almost looking blue as she tossed her head around in an effort to get away. Her fingers could not even pull at Minnie’s watch. Her legs kicked weakly and she tried to buck off Minnie, but it was useless.

Danny had never wanted to curse the fact that Jazz grew up to be such a strong woman more.

Danny couldn’t watch this anymore.

“Please! Please, we can find another way!” He pleaded, almost getting on his hands and knees as he begged Minnie to spare Jazz’s life.

Anything.

He would do anything as long as his big sister got to live.

“There is no other way,” Minnie’s voice was impossibly and jarringly gentle. “I want to stay with you. So I’ll just have to kill her. But it’s okay. You’ll still have me after she’s gone.”

The thought of it made Danny sick.

Jazz struggled weakly as Minnie’s grip seemingly grew in strength.

Danny was full on panicking now.

“No! No, please, you can’t! You can’t do this!”

“It’s alright, Danny. I’ll still be here, even if she’s gone. I’ll still be your big sister,” Minnie said soothingly, but it only frayed his nerves even more.

He would lose it if he lost Jazz. If Jazz died, he really would go crazy!

“W-W-Wait.”

Minnie paused, just as Danny threw himself at the shield again, only to be thrown off. In that moment as Minnie was distracted by Danny’s self-sacrifice, Jazz was able to get the barest amounts of air into her lungs to speak further.

“I-I have an idea.”

Suddenly feeling like Jazz was going to make the stupid decision of letting her psychopathic doppelgänger kill her, Danny cried out, “No!!”

Jazz ignored him. Minnie similarly took her eyes off of him to inspect her younger counterpart.

“Y-You’re lonely, right? What if… what if we give you Dan? The one from the other dimension? He’s also Danny and you could go back to your world with him…”

Minnie looked at her with a considering gaze, her hands still wrapped tightly around her neck.

“You’re saying that I take Dan off of your hands?”

She tilted her head. She didn’t seem adverse to the idea.

Danny could not believe that Jazz was genuinely negotiating with the crazy version of herself that was actively trying to kill her.

Jazz nodded weakly, tears being squeezed out of her eyes as her lips turned white. Her feet scrabbled on the floor slightly as she struggled to speak.

Danny couldn’t breathe either.

“Yeah,” Jazz said hoarsely, and Minnie watched her struggle for a little longer as she thought about it.

Danny wanted to drag her off and he nearly did so, but Jazz seemed to have a plan and he didn't want to ruin it. However, he thought to himself that if he saw any sign of Minnie finishing the kill, he would tear her apart.

Minnie was still, her hands continuing to press into Jazz’s windpipe. Then she let go and got off of Jazz with a beaming smile. She dusted herself off as Jazz finally caught her breath, coughing hoarsely, and Danny couldn’t do anything but stare at the two of them in horror. Standing on top of Jazz, Minnie then reached down with a hand to help her up.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, her voice calm and sinisterly sweet, “I shouldn’t have overreacted.”

Jazz shivered hard and turned to Danny with wide, wet eyes. Danny felt his heart drop in his chest and he had the overwhelming urge to push away the despicable clone that was on top of his sister.

“D-Danny, go and get Dan.”

Immediately, Danny wanted to refuse.

He looked at Minnie, who didn’t look offended as she watched the two of them with interest. Her hand was still stretched downwards in the air, waiting for Jazz to take it, like a demonic entity that was waiting for her to sell off her soul. She just stood there, tall and long-limbed, like some sort of skeletal grim reaper.

The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t fight back against her. Dan was full ghost, and he was able to be fought off. However, Minnie was human, and she had built the technology necessary to combat him.

How could he have forgotten that she was an adult with all of the time in the world to create the tech needed to take him down?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Danny was still weak and it was the worst feeling in the world for that realization to sink in.

Even worse, Minnie was his sister.

Danny could fight himself all day and feel no remorse— which would give him another therapy session if he ever told Jazz this— but his sister? His big sister, who had cared for and protected him since the day he was born? His big sister, who had taken care of him more than their parents? His big sister, who despite all of her shortcomings and his flaws, loved and cherished him?

He couldn’t.

He was scared.

Even though Minnie was probably evil incarnate, she was still his sister. His big sister who he also loved with all of his heart.

Danny looked at Jazz again and despite how she was shaking and teary eyed, she gave him a hard look and ordered, “Go!” before she turned her head around and took Minnie’s hand.

Danny took off.

He raced down to the basement, immediately blasting the cabinets open with his powers. If he could have focused, he probably would’ve opened it a little less destructively. However, his sister was still in the same room as her evil doppelgänger and he couldn’t think. His chest heaved with his hurried and quick breaths, his vision felt blurry, he was a mess.

He needed to hurry.

He needed to get back to Jazz before anything else could happen to her!

Danny grabbed the Fenton thermos that contained Dan and then flew back up to Jazz’s room, immediately slamming the door open. Jazz sat on her bed, shivering, with Minnie standing beside her, tall and impossibly towering.

Danny threw the thermos towards Minnie, who caught it with a gleam of delight in her eyes as her lips stretched further. She cradled the thermos to herself closer, and smiled.

“Thank you very much,” she said softly, nails tapping against the metal like she was testing its durability. She looked down at the thermos and the way she held it was like how a mother would hold a baby, careful and affectionate.

It only sent chills down Danny’s spine.

He could not forget the image of her choking the life out of his sister.

Danny grabbed a blanket and threw it over Jazz, pulling her closer to him. Jazz squeaked but didn’t say a word. Danny glared at Minnie, shielding Jazz with his body as he snapped, “There. You have the thermos, so leave.”

Minnie smiled. “Alright,” she said. “I will take this with me. Would you like a replacement for it?”

“Just leave!”

Why did she insist on acting so kind despite having no problem in killing others?!

Danny was freaked out even further by the contrast in her actions and her words, and he clutched Jazz to himself, glaring at Minnie with all of his might. No matter what, she had to leave. He wouldn’t stand for this psycho to be anywhere near them again!

Minnie paused and then smiled. She walked closer and Danny immediately blocked Jazz from her view, fear rising once more as he tensed like a hostile cat. All of his hair rose and he couldn't help the growl that climbed up his throat.

Minnie reached forward and Danny immediately blocked it. She dodged past the weak move and reached... behind his ear.

She pulled away something small and black, making Danny freeze.

What?

What was that?

Why was it attached to him?

Minnie chuckled, looking amused by his reaction. She pocketed the small device and then with a zap, she pressed a button on the watch on her wrist. A blue-green portal opened up, flickering with sparks and little lights. Something dark and shadowy writhed within, unable to enter but the sight of it made Danny's skin rise with goosebumps. Jazz gasped when she saw it, but Danny didn’t let go, not until he knew for sure that Minnie was gone.

Minnie held the thermos in one arm as she said, “I’m leaving now. Thank you for your hospitality. Oh, and another thing… be careful, Danny. I’m sure you don’t want what happened to me to happen to Jazz, after all.”

The smile on her face was eerie, a calm and simple smile that made her eyes narrow and her expression even more insidious, like she was cursing them. Horrifyingly enough, Danny could recognize the love in her eyes. She loved him, and this love paired with her grief made her this way. Despite everything, she loved him and it made Danny’s blood go cold and his chest feel warm in unison.

Suddenly, he couldn’t help but wonder, “What did you do in your dimension after I died?”

Minnie chuckled, a foot already stepping over the edge of the portal, disappearing into its depths.

She smiled at them both, her expression radiant.

“I killed everyone, of course.” Her tone was so cheery that Danny didn’t have time to truly process her words before Minnie then went through the portal and disappeared completely.

Both Jazz and Danny remained silent.

Danny was suddenly struck with another epiphany.

Minnie and Dan were exactly alike, weren't they? Two siblings who lost each other and then decided to go on a killing spree to vent their anguish.

Danny was overcome with the sudden, overwhelming fear that he and Jazz were destined for unhappiness.

Then slowly, Jazz reached out and touched his hand, which clutched at her shoulders, unknowingly shaking.

“Danny, you alright?” Her voice was a croak, beaten raw from being squeezed out by Minnie’s hands.

Danny immediately dropped onto his knees onto the bed, pulling open the blanket to look at Jazz’s throat.

Around her neck was a ring of dark bruises, already turning a deep purple and red, spotted with the imprints of Minnie’s fingers.

A bloody taste filled Danny’s mouth as he bit his tongue to suppress his rage, and he felt the urge to open up a portal so he could beat up Minnie, screw her identity being his older sister from another timeline!

“I should be asking you that!” He cried, hands tremblingly tracing the marks. “Are you okay??”

Jazz didn’t reply, just reaching out to pull him close. Danny slumped against her hold and returned the hug, holding her tight. He hated it. He hated how powerless he was, how he could do nothing against Minnie. Even now, he was powerless as she held him. He couldn’t even do the right job of comforting her. If anyone else saw this, they would’ve thought that he had been the one who was attacked instead.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, voice weak. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered. She put her head on his and they sat in silence for a little while.

Danny felt sick. His shame and self-blame all mixed inside of him and he couldn’t help thinking that he was useless.

He hadn’t even been the one to save her. She had done that all on her own.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, after some time.

For being mad.

For being weak.

For dying and leaving her alone in another world.

Jazz hummed. “It’s okay, little brother. I forgive you.”

Danny clutched at the fabric of her shirt and said, “I-I’ll try to keep myself safe. I’ll take care of myself. Then we’ll both live long lives and by the time we’re 90, you’re going to wish one of us dropped dead so I could stop annoying you!”

It was a promise.

Jazz said, “I wouldn’t think that.”

Danny buried his head into her shoulder, careful to avoid her fragile neck and he felt something hot rush to his face, threatening to leave his eyes.

He clutched at Jazz like she was a lifeline as he said in a small voice, "I-I... we'll always be together, okay? You'll always be my sister and I'll always love you, even if you annoy me. You'll love me even if I'm annoying too, right?"

"Even if you're a pain in the butt, I won't ever leave you," Jazz promised, laughing a little.

Already feeling the mood brighten, Danny perked up and said mischievously, “We’ll see about that. I’ll chase away all of the boys and girls that come near you.”

“Even the girls? I’m not sure if I should be proud of you for being inclusive or annoyed that you’ll be keeping me single,” Jazz joked, and the two of them laughed.

Jazz rubbed her cheek against his hair when their laughter finally died down.

"I'm sorry for being too controlling. I'll... I'll try to keep it cool, okay? But promise me that you'll be safe. And that you'll try to come back to me no matter what, even if you lose the fight."

Danny nodded in silent acceptance of her apology, clutching at her shirt again. Oddly enough, he was reminded of when they were children, when Jazz used to be the only other person in his life.

He had Sam and Tucker now, but sometimes he wished that he was still a child, tucked into his big sister's embrace while she chattered on and on about nonsensical things that only toddlers could care about, when everything was normal and kind and made sense.

Danny loved Jazz. He loved all of his friends and family. His Obsession was one that formed around protection, but most of all, it formed around his family. He would still be happy and whole if his family was with him, even if the city they lived in was different. Dan and Minnie were just different facets of their reality. They had lost their family and in their grief, they took it out on the innocent lives around them. Like them, Danny's Obsession lied with the ones he loved, not the place where they lived.

But he was different from them.

His family wouldn't be the first ones to die and leave him.

In many worlds, Jazz and Danny lost their family and lost each other.

But in this world, they were still together. Blood continued to tie them together, and they were still a team of brother and sister, protecting and caring for each other.

In this world, their family wouldn’t be so tragic.

And that was a promise.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Would you guys like a short continuation for Dan and Minnie? :3

I need to write more sibling fics for these two, I’m kind of obsessed. I love codependent relationships and I think I nailed it in this fic, but sometimes I wonder if it's too sickly sweet 😅 this fic is full of the headcanons that I have for dp, can you tell?

I hope that any of you won't dislike Danny for being a kid. Both he and Jazz have their character flaws and I hope it shows within this fic :)

In Minnie’s world, Jazz was the sole survivor of the Nasty Burger incident, and she lost her mind right after she was taken in by Vlad. After that, she began to create biological weapons and unleashed them on the world. She killed all of the scientists that could oppose her and then she just watched the world die. She’s 100% insane but you won’t notice it bc she’s trying to convince herself that she’s normal. As such, she acts calm, pretends to be pleasant, and her only noticeable abnormality is that she doesn’t react to things like a normal person. She has endless amounts of patience for a lot of things bc she spent most of her years watching people die slowly. Inspired by this tumblr ask I got

Minnie actually had a plan to kill Jazz, but a weapon was too messy so she planned to drag Jazz to a portal and then kill her in a different place. However, Danny was approaching and Minnie changed her mind to just choking Jazz in the little time she had left. That’s why her plan seems a little amateurish. (Otherwise, Jazz would actually die and that isn’t the point of this story 💀)

[worlds-oldest-teenager]

Why I think Apollo is the golden child and not the scapegoat.

To me both Apollo and Athena are Zeus's golden children.

At first it makes sense that Apollo would be the scapegoat of the family cause of how disproportionate the punishment is when most of his family (Athena & Ares) Have done much worse. The way Apollo narrates as well makes him seem like he gets the blame for everything.

But if we really get into the head honcho himself's brain, the punishment is fitting for the crime Apollo's committed. In his mind Ares and Athena's crimes are excusable. Ares is violent, bloodthirsty and war bringing and he's given up on that child ages ago. (I'd argue that Ares is the real scapegoat of the family)

Athena is interesting. She's very clearly at fault for this war even more so than Apollo. So why doesn't she get punished at all?

I think the reason he comes down so hard on Apollo and not on Athena is cause of their motivations. Athena causing the schism over some statues was because of her righteous anger at the Romans for demoting her to a craft goddess. It was a decision she made millennia ago that any other god, at least in Zeus's opinion, would have also made. They literally stole her and made her nothing which is something no god takes lightly.

Apollo is a whole other story.

The reasons behind Apollo conspiring with Octavian are blurry but what we can acknowledge is that he at least promised to put him above Zeus which is complete high treason on Apollo's part for actually going along with it.

Hoping on Ares just invites disappointment. Athena's the golden child who's actions are perfectly acceptable in his twisted mind. But Apollo? Apollo should be the perfect son, and most of the time he is. He's got the most domains. He's won so many times that the very symbol of victory is one of his symbols.

Athena and Apollo's relationship, from the very little we've seen, also confirms this. They seem to have a deep mutual respect for each other and an understanding that comes from being in the exact same situation.  Apollo loves her enough to give her a nickname. Athena is (I think) the only god to almost stand up to Zeus when he blamed Apollo for the whole war. To me their dynamic doesn't really read as a golden child/ scapegoat dynamic but more like mutual golden children with one absolutely having the potential to kill their father. They're kind of ride or die but they would not die for each other lmao.

So I think Athena and Apollo share the same dysfunctional family role. It's just that sometimes Apollo goes a little astray yenno? He's learnt to sand down his rough edges since he was a godling but at least twice before, he's absolutely lost it and forced his father's hand. But it was nothing a little correction couldn't handle. Now he's back to being Zeus's perfect son and continues being so for thousands of years.

That's why him conspiring to overthrow Zeus is such a collosal betrayal. This level of anger and hurt doesn't make sense to me if Apollo is the scapegoat. It makes much more sense if he's Zeus's beloved son who he thought loved him as much as he did.

Even his confrontation with Apollo in blood of Olympus was blamey, sure, but it was also a bitterly disappointed kind of angry. I really feel like he was using the war to justify punishing Apollo so harshly for an affront against himself.  (Way to state the obvious).

Pjo Zeus just doesn't really seem to care about most of the problems anyone is facing  until there's real potential that it could turn deadly against himself. He has a prophecy of his son overthrowing him to think about. Golden child or not, nay especially if it's his golden child, they cannot ever think doing such a thing is acceptable or that they are capable of it.

And in that way the punishment kind of fits, right? Try to put yourself above the king of the gods? Get supremely humbled with the most embarrassing experience of your life fighting your nightmare of a nemesis who nearly killed you as a child.

Zeus and Apollo reuniting on Olympus after his trials cements my point. What is Zeus's confirmation that all is right and his son is back in his rightful place? Is it 'I apologize' or 'I love you ' ? No. It's, "You have done me proud ". Because this is who Apollo is meant to be. An object of pride that Zeus doesn't love so much as appreciate when the light from his trophy child reflects on himself.

[artiststarme]

Van Vandalism

The not-so-long-awaited van vandalism fic based on this snippet! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you have any title ideas, please let me know in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Eddie was having a rough time. While the events of Spring Break were in his rearview, he was still facing the consequences of being branded a freak murderer by the police in a small town. The overzealous Christian townsfolk, now aware of his glaring differences and eccentricities, seemed to make it a goal to make his life as hard as possible. Eddie could hardly leave his trailer without being chased with metaphorical pitchforks. Whether it be by threatening to kick his ass at school or vandalizing his van in the grocery store parking lot, the people of Hawkins were relentless. Eddie didn’t really care about the threats to his own safety or even some minor beatings, he’d gotten used to it through his years of high school. 

However, when the townsfolk started to come after Wayne is when Eddie got concerned. Wayne had lived in Hawkins his entire life and now the people that he grew up with, the people he was friends with, were turning on him because of Eddie. They were spray painting nasty words on the trailer, slashing the tires on the van, and smashing the windows on Wayne’s truck. And Eddie and Wayne? They were losing their patience. They didn’t have the extra money to fix the windows or keep replacing tires. Wayne was pulling doubles at the plant to try to bring in some more money and Eddie was picking up shifts at the garage but they still weren’t bringing in enough to cover for the damages. 

One day after school, Eddie came out of the building to find all four of his tires slashed. He couldn’t even safely walk home either because old Herbert Green and his son had threatened to jump him the day before. So, he stood on the curb staring at his van for three minutes before tears started to drip down his face. 

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t hurt anyone. All he’d ever done was try to create a safe space for outsiders, the people that couldn’t feel safe anywhere else, and now he was paying the price. He wasn’t a murderer! He was just a gay metalhead kid who liked nerdy shit and couldn’t focus in school. But in the minds of all the townspeople, everything about him was grounds for a lifetime in prison. 

He was still staring at his van when he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm. Eddie didn’t even think before spinning around with a fist in the air. 

“Woah,” Steve said as he ducked out of the way of the punch. “Jesus Christ, Munson! I can’t get another concussion, do you even know what Robin would do to me?” 

Eddie sighed in response and sagged against his van, Steve’s hand still wrapped around his bicep. “Sorry dude, you scared me. I wasn’t expecting Sir Steve to be back at his abandoned castle. Which quest hast summoned you to return to your former dwelling?”

Steve’s eyes squinted like they always did when he tried to translate Eddie’s language into modern English. God, it was one of Eddie’s favorite things about him. After a moment, the squint left his eyes and his mouth opened in understanding.

“You, man. The kids called and said the basketball team fucked up your tires. Thought you could use a ride,” Steve said and shrugged. He was still wearing the ugly Family Video vest over a gray polo that hugged his shoulders in all of the right places. “Eddie?”

He shook his head to snap out of it. No straight guy wanted their gay, albeit still in the closet, friend checking them out when they’re trying to do them a favor. Or so Eddie would imagine. 

“Um, yeah. Yes please. I do need a ride. This is the third time they’ve pulled this shit and I won’t be able to afford new tires for a good three weeks. Fuck, how am I going to get to work now?”

Steve hummed before lightly smacking Eddie’s shoulder and ignoring his affronted glare. “I know! You can use my car! I mean, you’ll have to drop me off at work before school and pick me up after but other than that, I don’t really go anywhere anyways. You can just take the Beemer to work, school, and wherever else you go.”

Eddie was absolutely dumbfounded. Sure, he and Steve had become good friends after Spring Break but he was going to inconvenience himself by letting him take his car? “Stevie, I can’t take your car. What if you need it? It’s too much-”

“Eddie. Look man, you can use it for however long you need to. If I need it back, I’ll call you for the keys, okay? Just give me rides to work and pick up the kids if they need to go somewhere. The little shits aren’t riding their bikes anymore.” Steve told him and pressed his keys into the palm of Eddie’s hand. “Now, leave the van for now and give me a ride back to the video store, I still have 6 hours left on my shift and if I’m not back by the end of my break, Keith is going to lose his shit.”

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. He still couldn’t believe that Steve “The Hair” Harrington was actually a good dude. He’d dragged his sorry ass out of hell, lied to the cops to be his alibi, and now was loaning him his car just to make Eddie’s life easier. How’d he get so lucky as to have Steve in his life? Now if only he could get him to switch from the Tears for Fears moaning from the speakers to Metallica. 

When they pulled up to Family Video, Eddie made a move to get out but Steve just grabbed his arm with a, “hey, wait. Where are you going? Your shift at the garage starts in 20 minutes.”

“Yeah so I have to go. If I start running now, I can make it before my lungs give out and kill me.” Eddie said, shaking him off.

“Dude. I was serious about you taking my car, I wasn’t just going to have you go out of your way to drive me to work in my own car. Take it and be back to pick me up at 11:30, okay? Have a good shift,” Steve murmured, patting Eddie’s hand and running into the store. 

And then Eddie was left in the car alone, utterly bewildered and still reeling at Steve’s generosity. But he did have to go to work so off he went. Driving in the Beemer was a lot different than driving in the van. Firstly, there were no weird banging sounds coming from underneath the hood or any screeching noises of the brakes. The ride was silent aside from the horrendous pop music squealing from the radio station Steve had left on low. Next, the ride went smoother. Eddie didn’t have any jocks tailgating him or blonde-haired mothers glaring at him from the curb. He did receive a couple of double takes when other drivers realized it wasn’t Steve Harrington driving his signature Beemer but Eddie enjoyed the looks of shocked befuddlement. Huh, maybe Steve was onto something.  

(What Eddie didn’t know is that everyone that took a double-take wasn’t wondering why Eddie Munson was driving his car but instead, when had Steve gotten back together with Nancy Wheeler?)

When Eddie finished his shift at the garage though and made his way to pick up Steve from work, goddamn Officer Callahan pulled him over. He hated this fucking guy. He especially hated how cocky he looked as he strolled up to the driver’s side window and leaned against it. 

Eddie could only glare at him completely unimpressed as he asked, “can I help you, Officer?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I think you can! You see, all day we’ve been getting calls of a curly-haired imposter joy-riding around in Steve Harrington’s BMW. Can you explain that?” Officer Callahan was smirking as he explained himself, obviously finding joy in interrupting Eddie’s peaceful night. 

“I’m not joyriding, I went to work and now I’m picking him up from work. Steve lent me his car because someone slashed my tires for the third time this month. You’d know about that though, right? You know, considering I’ve tried to file a report each time. You ever going to do anything about that by the way?” Eddie rebutted. 

“You expect me to believe that Steve Harrington let you, Eddie Munson, borrow his car? How much grass have you smoked?” 

Eddie just sighed in frustration. “Look Callahan, I’ve tried to be nice but you’re pissing me off. Here I am, a law-abiding citizen, and you’re just accusing me of these heinous crimes? Grand theft auto, drug use, what’s next… murder? Oh wait! We’ve been there and I was found innocent of that too! Let me leave or next time I see the Chief, I’m going to tell him that his least favorite deputy was harassing me. Do you want Hopper mad at you? Is that what you need in your life?”

“What… um no. You don’t have to do that. Just, just get where you’re going and make sure Harrington gives us a call at the station about his car. Um, have a good uh night,” Officer Callahan said while awkwardly ambling back to his car. 

Then, Eddie was off again. This time with heavy metal blasting through the Beemer speakers and through the open windows into the wind. He was going to pick up Stevie and treat him to a night full of movies, weed, and junk food like he deserved.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @trippypancakes @straight4joekeery

(@anzelsilver you're the only person who reblogged the snippet so here's a tag to the whole fic!)

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Eleven)

Hi! @greeneyedivy and I are very excited about this part 😏 we both worked very hard on it, so we hope you enjoy! ♥️

Warnings: SMUT! Like…most of it is spicy 😏🌶️

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What,” Y/N steadied herself as they stumbled to a stop outside the inn, “is wrong with you?”

Lucien schooled his features into mild indifference. Like his mind hadn’t been a bull in a china shop mere moments before. He dusted himself down and stepped towards the front door.

But Y/N grabbed his arm. “Hey–”

“Do you want to wake the entire village?” He hissed, wrenching the door open. “Get inside.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Had half a gods-damned mind to tell him to shove the village up his ass and go stalking off. But she clenched her jaw and pushed past him.

Only silence and tension existed between them as they climbed the two sets of stairs to the top level, where their rooms were situated. Y/N’s entire body was taut, rigid in front of him. She practically ripped her bedroom door off its hinges as she bustled her way in, leaving it open for Lucien behind her. 

He stopped on the threshold, watching her kick her shoes off and chuck them aside. Only when she perched herself on the edge of the bed did she deign to acknowledge him again. 

“Well?” She shrugged.

“Get some sleep.” Lucien gripped the door handle. “The sooner morning comes, the sooner we can leave – get back to the estate.”

He stepped back, meaning to pull the door shut behind him and skulk away to sulk in his room until sleep found him. But Y/N was there in an instant, jamming a foot in the way.

“Are you kidding me?” She snapped. “What of the debrief that we so hastily left for?”

“Mother above, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t need a debrief. You played your pretty little part and played it mighty well, so great job.”

She blinked at him. At the venom and ice in his tone. He’d been rude to her before – gods, countless times – and even downright insulting. 

But Lucien found himself cringing internally. At how out of line he knew he was. How he didn’t have any right to talk to her in such a way. Hadn’t had any right to drag her away from a rare night of enjoying herself.

But that same voice continued to bleat on a loop inside his mind. Azriel had made her laugh.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

He needed to go to bed right then, get away from her, because he knew he wasn’t himself. Knew he’d damn well say something he couldn’t take back. 

He turned and stalked across the hall to his room. Had barely set a foot inside before she was hot on his trail, pushing past him. She stopped in the middle of his room, turning to face him and folding her arms. 

“Why the fuck,” she hissed, “did we leave, if not for your little debrief? I was actually enjoying myself.”

“Yeah, I could see that. As could the whole damn room.” Lucien kicked the door shut behind him, striding past her. “And I’m sorry, but it gets a tad tedious standing aside and watching you flutter your eyelashes at anything with a pulse.”

Y/N stopped, gaping at him. “Excuse me?”

Lucien…Lucien needed her out of his room, now, before this went somewhere he couldn’t drag it back from. He spun, turning his back to her, breaths heaving. He had no right to be this angry, this affronted. She owed him nothing.

She could talk to who she wanted.

Laugh with who she wanted.

Azriel had made her laugh. Made her happy.

Lucien had never, ever made her happy.

“Just get out of my room,” he said quietly, dangerously, “and go to sleep. Now.”

Silence met him. And he thought, for a moment, that perhaps she’d already done that. Walked away from him because he was a horrible bastard–

But then footsteps came at him, and she was in front of him, shoving him.

“What is wrong with you?” She seethed. “Why are you being an utter cock? What have I done to deserve it?”

She should have left when she’d had the chance. Escaped his foul mood, his vitriol. Lucien lost it.

“How about looking at your behaviour, in searching for that answer?” He snapped, his voice not even sounding like his. “Are you capable of doing anything without throwing yourself at a male? You may as well have ripped the shadowsinger’s clothes off in front of me. Is there anyone you wouldn’t let between your legs?”

The words had just…just leached from him. He may as well have slapped her right around the face. 

She went so, so still. Stared at him. And he knew…knew he’d sliced deep.

Her eyes were wide, glistening, lips slightly parted. And when his own features softened at the sight, the look was wiped off her face all together. She tilted her head to the side, not unlike a bird. Her eyes narrowed as they traced over his face and body. 

She was reading him.

And then she was schooling her features into…something else. Something cutting and hard. She swallowed, pressed her lips together. 

“What do you mean by that, Lucien?” She rasped. “I may as well have ripped his clothes off in front of you?”

“I–”

“Not in front of the whole room. No.” She shook her head, studying him. “In front of you. And why would that have been a problem?”

“I…I didn’t…”

Her lips kicked up into a sneer. “Because you’re jealous.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Go to bed.”

“Jealous that I might want someone else. That someone might make me feel better–”

The fine, fraught tether that had been holding Lucien in place broke. 

The damn thing utterly snapped, as he surged forward and grabbed Y/N’s face in his hands, swallowing her words with a greedy kiss. 

The growl that rumbled deep in his chest was like no other sound he’d ever made – deep and dark and so menacing that it made Y/N gasp against him. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth.

He wanted to lick and kiss Azriel’s name from her until there was no trace of him left. Make her forget him entirely. 

She broke the kiss, placing a hand on his chest. And she was breathless as she said, “You’re an asshole.”

“That I am.” He bit back, and then he was kissing her again.

One of his hands secured on her waist, the other extending out to brace them both as he walked her two steps backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed. Then she was falling down onto the mattress, pulling him with her. Not once did their lips part. 

Until he was coasting his mouth along her jaw, down the column of her neck, his fingers bunching the thin material of her dress at the waist. 

“I need this off.” He snarled. “Now.”

If he wasn’t already painfully hard, straining against his fitted breeches, he would have become rock solid as he watched her grab the dress at the waist and pull it over her head without protest, chucking it across the room. She was naked, aside from a pair of lacy, flimsy underwear that the sweet sting of her arousal reached him through, potent and heady. Lucien’s nostrils flared, and his eyes met hers as he moved his hand down. Dragged a finger right over the centre of that silly, pretty underwear.

“You’d let him touch you here?” His voice was a deep, lethal tenor, coloured by lust. “Like you let me?”

Her breath hitched in her throat as his finger teased her through the lace, but no words accompanied the little noise. And she knew what she was doing; knew that a lack of response would incense him even more.

That much was evident in the way he grabbed the flimsy fabric between his hand and ripped, baring her to him. The cool air immediately brushed over her damp heat, and her head fell back. 

“Would you?” Lucien repeated, his eyes not moving from her slick folds. He licked his lips hungrily. 

“No.” She breathed. “I wouldn’t.”

A hum vibrated against the walls of Lucien’s chest, and he tore away what remained of the lace, chucking it over his shoulder without another thought. Y/N shifted on the bed before him, pressing her legs together, moaning softly, but his firm hands pulled them back open.

“Didn’t think so.” He said, his hot breath fanning her. “Would you let him taste you? Feast on you?”

“Well,” she breathed. “Somebody needs to.”

A feral snarl came from Lucien in response, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He dragged a finger through her soaked folds, allowing her arousal to overpower him as she sucked in a gasp, its scent and feel and–

He dipped his head between her legs. He needed to taste her. Needed her to cum on his tongue. 

“I need to.” He growled. “And gladly.”

His tongue sank between her folds, and the taste of her could have finished him then and there. He didn’t know which of them moaned louder as he licked a stripe up her centre, lapping up every drop and latching his tongue to her clit. Her hips bucked off the bed, and he used one hand to pin them down whilst the other began to explore, fingers inching towards her wetness. 

As his tongue flicked at the nub of her clit, the pad of one finger teased her entrance, merely soaking up her arousal and swirling it around the opening. She whimpered, tried to buck her hips again, and Lucien pulled his mouth away, his lips slick with her juices. 

“What is it you want?” He mused, his finger still circling, still teasing. “Tell me.”

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction – not after his behaviour at the meeting. But his teasing was torturous, the scrape of his callused finger against her wet skin. Instead of lifting her hips, she bucked forward, encouraging him to do something. But Lucien was quicker. 

“No.” He growled. “Use that wicked mouth of yours. Tell me what you want.”

“You.” Y/N practically choked out. “Your fingers, your mouth, your cock. You.”

“Fuck.” He cursed, the words threatening to cleave him in two. He wanted her, too, every bit of her–

He didn’t allow himself to ruminate on that thought as he sunk his finger into her, and her writhing hips went still.

“Is this all you want?” Lucien tilted his head. 

“More.” She gasped. 

And he would gladly give her more – and did, as he pumped that finger a couple of times before adding a second one. And then he was lowering his mouth to her clit once more, his tongue finding the most sensitive part of the little nub and swirling around it. And it was as if fire danced on his tongue, scorching every one of her nerve endings in the most earth-shattering, addictive way. 

“Holy gods,” Y/N’s head fell back, her body arching. Her hand moved down, kneading her breast, pinching the nipple, and Lucien’s eyes flicked up to drink in the sight.

“That’s it.” He goaded. “Touch yourself while I fuck you with my tongue.”

Fuck her with his— she had no chance to even consider his words as he pulled his fingers from her. Dipped his head further down. His tongue found her entrance, and he circled the opening a few times before sliding in. 

The moan that broke from Y/N was far, far too loud, but neither of them cared. Not with how good it felt to her, how good she tasted to him. He could have cum on the spot, just from the sweetness he lapped at. His cock strained against his trousers, begging to be released. He barely managed to get any edge off grinding himself into the mattress. 

Y/N’s hand moved further down, sinking into the strands of Lucien’s hair, and she pressed his face against her greedily as she writhed and moaned and gasped. As she damn well rode his tongue. 

Lucien was living for it. For the utter filthiness of it. He plunged his tongue in and out of her, allowed her to grind her dripping cunt against his face, to take what she wanted. His fingers inched up to her clit, his thumb pressing down.

Release tore through her at an unstoppable force, and her hips lifted off the bed as she shouted her pleasure into the air, writhing and trembling, a breathless succession of “gods, gods, gods” tumbling from her lips. Lucien held her firm against him, tasting her through every second of her orgasm, lapping at every drop of her. 

She was tingling and sensitive, but he was relentless, still licking her, still rubbing at her. And when her hips finally fell back down to the mattress, and stars were still bursting through her vision, trembles wracking her entire body – only then did he pull away.

The force of the climax had her too utterly spent to take much notice of what he was doing. She was still gasping, moaning, draping an arm over her eyes and trying to calm herself. 

Lucien stood. And the sound of his belt being unbuckled and dropped to the wooden floor filled the room.

Y/N pulled her arm away from her face, her vision swimming as she took in the sight of him. Watched him shove his breeches off and kick them away. Watched his long, rock-hard cock spring free. 

She bit her lip and swallowed. She wanted to feel him, to taste him, but she wasn’t sure she could move—

“Get onto your knees.” He said quietly.

She released a breath, any pathetic attempt to shift her position ending in her limbs giving up on her. Lucien wrapped a hand around his shaft, pumping once, twice, as he approached her. And as he stopped at the edge of the bed, between her trembling thighs, her eyes flicked to his cock. She reached for him, wanting – needing – to taste that bead of moisture that was gathering at the head, but he stopped her with a hand at her cheek,  his thumb brushing over her lips, his gaze fixed intently on them. He seemed to contemplate letting her taste him again. 

And then his eyes were flashing darker, and all the tenderness was gone. He stepped out of reach, nodding once to the bed. “On your knees. Face the headboard.”

She complied this time, weak limbs or no. But from the tone of Lucien’s voice, the flare in his gaze, she knew damn well that there was no arguing with him, no asserting her dominance like she usually would have. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The command in his voice, his stance…the wetness was gathering between her thighs once again.

Lucien stood aside, merely watching as she turned over and raised herself onto her knees. The sight of her – inner thighs still glistening with her release – almost brought him to his knees. But he kept his composure as he approached her with slow, lethal steps.

She knew when he was a mere hair’s-breadth away. A strange tingle zipped between their skin, and she found herself clenching around thin air, her fingers digging into her thighs. A rough hand traced the curve of her ass, fingers dancing up her spine. A shudder wracked through her at his touch. And as Lucien slotted himself behind her and pulled her back flush to his front, she couldn’t help emitting a gasp. 

His cock was so, so near to her entrance, brushing at her folds. It was torture for him, too – that much was obvious, in the way his breathing hitched, his hips jerking slightly. But he kept her waiting, using one hand to pin her against him as the other reached up to knead at her breast.

“You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” His voice was low, gruff, his fingers pinching at her nipple. His mouth came down, lips coasting the skin of her shoulder. “Ignoring me like that. Giving those pretty little smiles to the shadowsinger. You knew what it would do to me.”

Y/N bit down on a moan. “Why should I assume you to be jealous? You merely tolerate me, don’t you? When you’re not fucking me, that is.”

A deep, sensual laugh tickled her skin; one that wasn’t exactly humorous. “If only it were that easy.”

Before she could consider his response, let alone think of her own, he was releasing his hold on her. She went toppling back down to the bed, palms shooting out to brace the fall. 

And then Lucien was grabbing her by the hips. Tugging them up and flush against himself.

She meant to get onto her hands; she was halfway up when a warm palm in the middle of her back gently pushed her back down onto the mattress, leaving her back arched and her glistening cunt exposed. 

Lucien’s fingers brushed briefly through her folds, eliciting a raspy moan, but they didn’t linger there. A moment passed, and then she felt the head of his cock push at her entrance. 

He was hissing between his teeth before it had barely slipped in. But he was quickly learning that being buried inside Y/N was like no other feeling in the world. He’d never had sex like it, never felt completion like it. And it was why he took his damn time, savouring every sensation as he slowly sunk into her inch by inch. 

He stilled when he was fully inside her, right to the hilt. And gods, she was a sight — her ass lifted up as she buried her face into the mattress, fingers clenching the bedsheets. Lucien took a moment to just drink in the sight of her. And then folded his body over her, angling his lips at her ear. The angle had him torturously deep inside of her; every bit of his restraint went into not pulling out and slamming back in right then. 

His hand brushed her hair to one side, tangling within the strands, feeling the braid press against his palm and in between his fingers. He closed his fist around it, nipping the shell of her ear. “I hope you’re not expecting me to be gentle.”

“No,” she gasped, writhing against him, “just having you move sometime in the next century would be nice.”

“That smart, gods-damned mouth.” He breathed. “It’ll be my undoing.”

And move, he did.

Gentle, he was not.

He pulled out slowly, feeling every slick brush of her against him. Out and out until just the tip remained at her entrance. 

And then he was slamming back in again. So hard, she emitted a yelp that quickly shifted into a moan. 

It was from that moment that Lucien seemed to just give over all control to his body, his mind separating entirely. He was a frenzied force as he gripped her hips and pounded into her, and as her hair slid over her face again, obscuring his view of those pretty, parted lips and eyes that were screwed shut, he reached down and yanked the strands aside, pressing a bruising kiss to her neck. 

She gasped as he rolled his hips, and never had he felt so perfectly slotted within her, the fit just right as though their bodies were made to fix together. He pounded into her relentlessly, and as she moved back against him, a feral growl ripped from the walls of his chest. 

“You feel,” he snarled, his skin slapping hers, “so perfect around me. So fucking good every damn time.”

Words failed her, and she could only answer with a moan that caught in her throat as Lucien hoisted her up again, pulling her tightly against him as he had done before. His capable hips didn’t falter once as he fucked into her, feeling her in every part of his body, and he slid his hand down, down, slotting it between her legs to toy with her clit. 

“Oh gods,” she choked, her head falling back against his shoulder. His expert fingers were like a touch of molten gold, somehow managing to stroke at the exact spot that had release building in her again. “Gods, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it.” Lucien growled. “Cum for me again. Cum on my cock.”

And holy gods, she did. Her hot, damp walls clenching tightly around him, her body squirming against him, she managed to reach back and sink her fingers into Lucien’s hair as he fucked her through her second orgasm, his thrusts not faltering once. 

“The fucking shadowsinger,” he bit, slamming into her, “is that the kind of male you want buried in you, making you cum?”

No. She wanted Lucien, utterly and entirely. Wanted him inside her, touching her, until the two of them ceased to exist. Whatever it meant, whatever she felt, she wanted this. This, right now, whatever it was.

Lucien’s hand was moving up again, climbing up her body, brushing over her breasts. She moaned, hoping for him to knead at them, touch them and squeeze them until it hurt, but his fingers continued moving until they were woven into her hair again. He tugged, tilting her head back and exposing the column of her throat to his incessant mouth. 

“Bet you wouldn’t clench around his cock like you’re clenching around mine right now.” He hissed through his teeth, a gruff groan following. “Too bad we’ll never know.”

They never would know – both of them seemed to decide it in that moment, even without speaking the words. Whatever the reasoning behind it, Y/N wanted Lucien’s cock only. Didn’t even want to think of another male.

And he didn’t want to think of another female.

He knew what that meant. Somewhere, in the back of his frenzied, screaming mind, currently overwhelmed with pleasure, he knew exactly what it meant. And somehow, it only spurred him on further. 

Both his hands grabbed at her hips, and there was no stopping the brute force with which he slammed into her, thrusting in and out and in and out. Skin slapping skin and their moans and groans mingling and building, they would wake the inn up, wake the village up, wake the whole damn world up, and neither of them cared because this was what they both wanted and needed.

He thought of her wrapped around him and him only, needing only him, wanting only him–

“Lucien,” Y/N gasped, as if in answer to his unspoken plea.

He was going to lose it. Utterly fucking lose it. And he…he wanted to be looking at her when he did. Facing her. 

He laid her down and flipped her over with such sensual grace that neither of them really noticed the very brief moment of separation. He was sliding straight back into her, lifting her hips off the bed and he knew, just from the way she was tightening and clenching around him, that the angle was deeper. Better.

That a third release was tearing through her. 

“Gods,” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. She dragged a hand up her body, over her breasts, her neck, gripping at anything.

Lucien was yanking her closer than ever, hands pulling at her hips with a strength that was sure to leave its mark on her. He fucked into her fiercely, fighting against a vibration that was snaking itself through his body, up his legs and down his arms, in his chest. Through his hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, slamming into her faster. He reached down, rubbing at her clit with his thumb. “You’ll kill me, taking me like that. Taking me so well. Gonna cum for me?”

“Yes–fuck!”

Her hand was snapping out, grabbing onto Lucien’s arm, both encouraging him and trying to still him as her third orgasm took her somewhere else entirely.

Her back bowed, her head pressing into the mattress as a scream hitched in her throat. And all of it…every single bit of it…was too much for Lucien. The feel of her walls tightly clenching his cock as he pounded into her, the throaty moans that left her as he body trembled and shook. 

Lucien’s hips faltered, and it was all he could do to slam a hand down on the bed to stop himself from collapsing. He slammed into her, against her, again and again and again, and he was roaring, stilling, spilling himself inside her. That one arm holding him upright shook, threatening to give out beneath him.

Drop after drop of his cum, he emptied into her, a whole concoction of curses and noises rolling off his tongue. And she eased him through it, rolling her hips against his, writhing under him.

Both of them were trembling. Too stunned to speak. And then together, their bodies collapsed against the bed. 

It was only when Lucien had caught his breaths that he pulled out of her. Rolled off of her. His arm brushed hers as he sprawled out beside her. 

His head turned to the side, and he just…stared. She hadn’t turned away from him, but she wasn’t looking at him. Not like he was gazing at her. 

Something had changed for him – he could feel it twisting tightly in his chest. Feel it becoming him as he studied her flushed skin, her swollen lips, her glazed eyes and messy hair.

He wanted to reach out and…and pull her inside his side. Brush that hair out of her face. Hold her against him as their thudding hearts calmed and they fell asleep.

He wanted her to stay with him. For them to spend the remainder of the night together, in one bed. Not fucking, just…just touching. Lying beside each other. 

He wanted her to stay.

And he was just about to say something – anything – when she rose from the bed, planted her feet on the ground on weak legs. 

Lucien angled himself up just slightly to watch. Was she going to wash up in the bathing room? To clean up before returning to him?

It was evident that no, she was not, as she retrieved her strewn clothes from the floor. And she turned to him, as if to say something. Her eyes looked…haunted, in a way.

But it wasn’t her reluctance to stay that threatened to break Lucien entirely, no. It was the way she covered her body – wrapped her arms around herself like she was trying to hide it from him. She looked…tiny. Fragile. Vulnerable. She turned away, shielding herself. Tugged her dress on.

He knew, whatever it was…it was all down to him. The thoughts that were currently in her head, the motivations behind covering herself up before him, despite how bare and unguarded she’d been minutes before.

All down to him. He’d made her feel like that.

And that was why he didn’t argue as she slipped out of the room. Why he didn’t make a move as he listened out for the sound of her door opening and closing behind her. 

He lay there, eyes on the ceiling, his heart thudding in his chest and in his ears. All bliss was gone and replaced by an aching coldness. Two realisations pelted themselves at him relentlessly. 

He’d wanted her to stay.

He’d made her not want to.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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[perdvivly]

In a beginning, though there had been many beginnings before, God made the universe. And into the universe He poured a goodly portion of divine providence. Almost too much divine providence according to one particularly problematic angel. This angel’s name was Meaning. One day, Meaning and God decided to talk the problem through.

God: I hear you have a problem with my grand design. Is this true?

Meaning: It is. There is too much divine providence in this world.

God: Is that so? And how did you make that calculation?

Meaning: I looked into the world and I saw a deep facile beauty permeating the fine webs of connection between all things. I applaud the beauty of your design, of course, but perhaps we could do away with the facileness?

God: And how is it facile? It is not an easy beauty of shallow sort. The people in this world will be able to look quite deeply into it and see the beauty spiralling inwards, though, they will not have to look deeply to see the outer layers.

Meaning: See your phenomena, cast into their distinct types and each phenomenon acting only on each other phenomenon by type. This is the grounding of all deeper facile beauties in your world. A perfectly clockwork universe, and these mental stuffs you’ve made fitting so neatly into the material by dint of providence. It’s not right. It’s not… Fertile. The world is sterile in its deepest layers.

God: Ah, on the contrary my dear Meaning! The world is only facilely sterile. Like a pianist sitting at a pianola. Sure, the mental phenomena don’t affect the physical, and the physical phenomena don’t affect the mental. And sure, the pianist pressing the keys in perfect timing isn’t the cause of the music. But does that make the music any less beautiful or rich? Could a music theorist find any deep problem with the music on this account alone?

Meaning: An aesthete might, and isn’t this world for them?

God: For the aesthetes? Not in particular.

Meaning: For the thinking and feeling beings in the world!

God: Ah. It is. I suppose I got too caught up in the elegance of the world-design to consider that objection… What is that objection by the way?

Meaning: The objection is that this is an affront to sensibility of feeling. The pianist cannot know or hone their skill in world inhabited solely by pianolas. And in a world of complicated and terrible emotional content, sometimes—in order to legiblize the world to them—the individual needs things to be their fault. They need things to be bad; they need to hurt.

God: It sounds to me as though you see this problem as somewhat deeper than the material design. What are you really trying to get at?

Meaning: Well. See. You make all this good stuff happen. You make the music of the pianola beautiful. And it’s terribly nice to be surrounded by good stuff. But people get… Sick. They get hungry for the bad stuff. They want salt in the wound. They want noise! Not this cloying melody all the time, I mean, real noise. The harsh stuff. The real good stuff.

God: I will not make a discordant world.

Meaning: I’m not asking for a discordant world. I’m asking for a malleable world. Full of risk and consequence and… Me. There aren’t powerful emotions without me. Humans would be forced to live in a chokingly narrow spectrum of their full range. Can’t we give them more… Opportunity? Even if that opportunity means pain sometimes.

God: Then, my child, it shall be done.

In a beginning, though there had been many beginnings before, God made the universe. And into the universe He poured a goodly portion of suffering. Almost too much suffering according to one particularly problematic angel. This angel’s name was Grace. One day, Grace and God decided to talk the problem through.

God: I hear you have a problem with my grand design. Is this true?

Grace: It is. There is too much suffering in this world.

God: Is that so? And how did you make that calculation?

Grace: I looked into the world and I saw a horrific cascade of needless pain permeating the fine webs of connection between all things. I applaud the beauty of your design, of course, but perhaps we could do away with the pain?

God: And how is the pain needless? It is not an arbitrary sort of pain. The pain people feel is in accordance with phenomena, which is mechanistic. The worlds of feeling and of fact intertwine into a great and terribly legible slate of suffering. You will experience hunger, yes, and hunger legiblises your relationship to consumption. You will experience illnesses and aches, yes, and these will legiblise your relationship to your autonomy. But you do not need to experience these to deeply know suffering. Friends will leave you and lovers will die, and this will hurt them, and this will hurt you, and you will know the world. If you could not know the world, you could not know beauty.

Grace: Frankly, Lord, this is not what I signed up for. And sophistry does not make suffering okay. Granted, that everything in your world means something, and means it deeply. Granted that all people will know deeply the significance of what they do and feel it so keenly it is as if it is in their bones. But that significance is always so terribly evil. You have not really succeeded in making anything more legible if the only way people can relate to the professed objects of lucidity is through pain. What about love? What about charity? What about me?

God: You would experience love through the absence of pain that the absence of love would provide. Surely it’s quite simple really?

Grace: Love is not apophatic! There is something there. Something really there! A truly undeniable thereness to its thereity.

God: What would you have me do?

Grace: I would have you break the universe each time a person hurt. And I would have you tell them it is okay. And I would have you make that true.

God: I will not break the universe.

Grace: Then I would ask that you do not totalise suffering. Let people acquire privilege and let them use that privilege to help each other. Let the lucidity of compassion be a driving force in human nature.

God: Then, my child, it shall be done.

In a beginning, though there had been many beginnings before, God made the universe. And into the universe He poured a goodly portion of amnesty. Almost too much amnesty according to one particularly problematic angel. This angel’s name was Justice. One day, Justice and God decided to talk the problem through.

God: I hear you have a problem with my grand design. Is this true?

Justice: It is. There is too much injustice in this world.

God: Is that so? And how did you make that calculation?

Justice: I looked into the world and I saw a deep veneer of faux absolution permeating the fine webs of connection between all things. I applaud absolution, of course, but perhaps we could do away with the injustice?

God: And how is it an unjust world? People make choices, those choices have consequences. The webs of connection between cause and effect are subtle and it is difficult to see how they relate but they do. Always.

Justice: Yes. Well. That’s bullshit, isn’t it?

God: What?

Justice: Uh, that’s bullshit Lord?

God: You are far more laconic in your criticism than the other angels.

Justice: Right. So you say, everyone’s got a choice, right? And sure, everyone has a choice, but some people have way more choices than other people. Whether that’s by virtue of their wealth or privilege or social power or whatever. Not everybody can make the same choices. See how people die in starvation and famine. Isn’t it a bit of a dick move to say that they just made bad choices? There weren’t any choices made. The world robbed them of their agency and they suffered and they died. And sure, people who do well will say that they did well because of their choices, but that’s bullshit too isn’t it? They got lucky.

God: It is true that some people get lucky and others are unlucky. And it is true that people are often at the mercy of another’s will. Whether this turns out for good or ill is mostly a matter of serendipity for their part.

Justice: And you haven’t even bothered to metre out the serendipity evenly. The elite are secure and powerful. And their lives are good, and they have enough to eat. And their power becomes less diluted. And their power gives them access to more options, more choices. They can afford high-priced lawyers. They can afford live-in chefs, housekeepers, secretaries. They can get away with crimes. Their influence makes them untouchable. The poor and powerless are downtrodden. And their wretchedness becomes less diluted. They go hungry because they cannot afford food. Their hunger makes them ill. Their suffer their illness because they cannot afford medicine, they cannot afford time off work, and the stress exacerbates everything. It seems clear to me Lord, for whom you have made the world. And I must say, I don’t like that one bit.

God: What would you have me do?

Justice: Give them a drive, a motivation to fix injustice where it arises. Let them be angry. Let their anger be righteous!

God: That does not sound much like justice to me. But then again... You are Justice. So perhaps you are right. Then, my child, it shall be done.

In a beginning, though there had been many beginnings before, God made the universe. He had been getting it wrong a lot lately though. And instead of just one beginning He decided to run multiple universes concurrently and take some feedback from the inhabitants of each on what worked and what didn’t. A.E. Housman (professional stranger) just so happened to be in one such universe.

God: I know this might seem an odd question but, is the universe doing its thing properly?

Housman: What is the universe supposed to do? What’s a universe for?

God: It is here to provide sanctuary for all living, thinking, feeling beings.

Housman: And what does sanctuary involve?

God: It’s just like… Vibes, man. Can’t you meet me halfway here?

Housman: I don’t think the universe is doing a very good job. But before now, before speaking to you, I couldn’t have conceptualised it in those terms.

God: Could you say more?

Housman: I am stuck between anger, and sorrow, and love. I feel all of them so deeply it hurts. I thought this was my fault. Why have you done this? Is that sanctuary?

God: Like you, I am stuck between angels that I could not refuse. I hope you will forgive me.

Housman: This world happens to me, but it isn’t for me. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone it was for.

God: What would you have me do?

Housman: You want my honest opinion?

God: I do.

Housman: Too many cooks in the kitchens of heaven. Could you and your celestial comrades just like, fuck off please? I don’t think we’ll handle it very well on our own. But you haven’t been doing a very good job either.

God: Then

Go: I

G: Sh

:

In the beginning, there was a big bang.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 22

The Desire

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings and tags: negative self-talk; Gregor having none of it; SMUT; it's finally happening; oral sex; fingering; body worship; PIV sex; I literally screamed and cried and threw my hands in the air when I typed the last line; I love them so much I can't even

Suggested Listening (strongly recommended, actually; I couldn't believe how perfectly this song fit the chapter when I heard it the first time):

Summary: 😏

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

Start here | Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list | Read on AO3

Between the desire and the spasm

… falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

“Are you all right?” Gregor asked, his soft eyes trained on Cerra’s.

She nodded. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Karking it up like I do everything,” she said.

His eyebrows snapped together. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you deserve better,” she said. “You should be with someone who—”

“I know what I want,” he interrupted before she could talk herself out of it. “It’s you.”

Her breath stilled. “It is?”

“Since the moment I met you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

 He giggled quietly. “Are you serious?”

“No need to be rude,” she said, affronted.

“I’m not trying to be,” he replied. “It’s just the truth. You weren’t ready to move on, and you didn’t need someone pressuring you. You needed a friend, and if you decide that you’re never ready for more than that, then I’ll still be the luckiest man in the karking galaxy to be the one who’s there for you.”

Her eyes burned. She dropped her forehead to rest against his neck, and he wrapped his arms gently around her back, rubbing comforting circles between her shoulder blades.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

“True,” Gregor agreed cordially, pulling a reluctant chuckle from her as she smacked his shoulder. “Sorry, were you done floggin’ yourself, or did I interrupt? I could come back later…”

“Gods, you’re the worst,” she laughed.

“You can keep going if you want. Or…” he paused and kissed her shoulder softly. “We could…” He kissed her again, closer to her neck. “Try something else.” 

He licked along her skin until he reached the base of her throat. She tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck as she inhaled deeply.

“Gregor,” she sighed.

“Mmm,” he rumbled, working his way down her sternum. 

His bare hand slipped up her waist and beneath her bra to cup her breast. She took in a soft, deep breath as she arched her body into his touch. The rough fabric of his glove scraped lightly across her tender skin as he slid his other hand under the band of her bra. He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to tug the garment over her head, and then his lips closed around her nipple as his tongue swirled over her.

“You taste amazing,” he whispered against her skin.

He dropped his hands to her hips to dip beneath the compression suit and coax it down her legs. She shifted in the seat to ease its progress, and Gregor took shameless advantage of her momentary helplessness to drag her to the edge of the seat and spread her thighs wide over his broad pauldrons as his mouth worked its way down her body, kissing, licking, biting, sucking. 

He reached her pelvis at last, slowing his progress as he inched lower with aching deliberateness until at last his tongue dipped into her. Her reaction was electric. She convulsed with a cry, her body hypersensitive from years of denying her physical needs. Her thighs tightened around him as she practically levitated off the seat.  He gripped her hips and pressed her back down, his strong fingers digging into her flesh. He swirled his tongue around her clit and into her cunt.

“Fuck!” she sobbed as her fists tightened in his hair. “Fuck, fuck, Gre—”

He groaned against her and murmured something indecipherable. His hand brushed over her knee, then drifted leisurely up the inside of her thigh, taking his time despite her desperation. By the time he finally reached his target and eased two fingers into her, she was shaking and writhing beneath him, and that delicious stretch was all it took to push her beyond the limits of her control. 

In her deprived, overwrought state, her body took over and hurled her into an unexpected orgasm that shattered her vision and wrenched a broken scream from her throat. His thick, agile fingers dragged inside her, working to prolong her climax as he gazed up at her with an expression of utter bliss and adoration in his eyes.

He gentled his movements as she came down from her high. He kissed the soft skin of her abdomen, and she tugged ineffectually at his cuirass, trying vainly to pull him closer to her. He lifted her naked body off the chair and settled her on his lap. In his full armor, he wasn’t a particularly comfortable seat, but she snuggled her face against his neck through the soft black fabric of his undersuit as she shuddered and trembled in his embrace. 

They sprawled on the floor of the cockpit, bathed in the gentle, warm glow of the nebula. Gregor cradled her in his arms, circling his thumbs slowly across her bare skin as he rested his cheek against her head. He stroked his fingers lightly over her short, velvety hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen it this long.”

“Didn’t exactly have a way to keep it shaved while I was rotting in the Venator brig,” she replied with a low laugh.

“I like it,” he replied, pressing his lips against her head, and then again behind her ear, and a third time, along the side of her neck.

”Yeah?”

”Mm-hmm,” he hummed, his voice vibrating gently on her sensitive skin. 

“Should I grow it back out?”

”Not unless you want to.” His warm breath sent a shiver through her as he whispered next to her ear. “You’re hot as fuck either way.”

She sighed happily and trailed her fingertips up his arm, looking for the small gaps between the plastoid where she could feel his body heat through the undersuit.

“You are wearing way too much armor,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Have to admit the codpiece is feeling a little tight.”

She huffed quietly and unclipped his vambraces, tugging them off his forearms and setting them aside. She interlaced her fingers with his and slowly pulled off his remaining glove, allowing it to drop to the floor. Next, she fumbled with his rerebraces and grumbled under her breath.

“Why is this so karking hard to take off?” she asked as irritably as she could, considering that her brain was still flooded with a blissful post-orgasmic haze.

“Because the point is for it to stay on,” he said. 

She arched an impatient brow at him, and he shot her a smug grin.

“A little help?” she asked.

He brushed his fingers beneath her jaw and tilted her face up so he could kiss her, then leaned back and began to pull off his upper body armor, stacking it one piece at a time as he did. As he worked, Cerra began to trace her fingers across the bare skin of his neck and the base of his skull. His eyes flicked to hers, and he smirked, continuing his task. Undaunted, she leaned close and licked the shell of his ear softly. He shivered, and she heard his breath catch, but his concentration didn’t break. 

Once he was stripped down to his waist, though, he had his revenge. He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over so she was lying on her back with his body between her thighs. The durasteel floor was hard and cold against her skin, and she was briefly, ridiculously relieved that she’d had the cleaning droid work over the freighter the day before she left for Daiyu. Gregor covered her body with kisses as he fumbled with his belt. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist with a soft giggle, and he nipped at her skin in retaliation, rocking his codpiece against her. Her breath caught, and she moaned at the pressure.

“Kriff, don’t make those noises,” he rasped. “I can barely fit in this codpiece as it is.”

“Bragging?” she teased.

“Stating a fact,” he replied, grazing his lips lightly over her bruised shoulder. “You taste like bacta.”

“I thought you said I tasted amazing,” she said.

“You do,” he replied. “But this part of you also tastes like bacta.”

She heard a clatter of duraplast, and Gregor grunted in relief, having successfully freed himself from the codpiece while he distracted her.

“Maybe you should kiss me somewhere else, then,” she suggested, cupping her hand under his chin to bring his face toward hers. “Hey, soldier. My lips are up here.”

He gazed at her mouth. “I don't want to hurt you again.”

Her heart lurched.

“Please,” she whispered. 

He swallowed. Raising his hand to her cheek, he caressed her with utmost tenderness, barely touching his thumb to her lower lip. He glanced uncertainly up at her eyes, and he leaned down slowly, pausing close to her face, but not quite making contact.

“Cerra…”

“I trust you,” she breathed.

The touch of his lips was so soft it was almost imperceptible. Her eyes fluttered closed as her lips parted, as though she could block out every distraction and only drift in the sensation of his kiss. She teased his lips with the tip of her tongue, encouraging him to kiss her more deeply, and he complied with incredible care, taking his cues from her, but pulling away far sooner than she would have preferred. Perhaps it was for the best; her judgment was not to be trusted when she wanted him to consume her.

He nuzzled her cheek gently. “Your lips taste like bacta, too. Worth it, though.”

She laughed quietly as he sat up. She smoothed her hands up his torso, slipping her fingertips into the magseal of his undersuit and easing it open. The suit gave way to reveal the broad expanse of his chest, and he shrugged out of the top of the suit. From her vantage point on the floor, Cerra stared up at him, admiring the way the soft golden light glazed his warm, smooth skin and reflected in his amber eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, and she longed to touch him.

She traced her fingertips up his abdomen, then flattened her palms against him. Gods, it had been so long since she’d felt someone else’s skin against her own. She glided over his pectorals and up to his shoulders, then back down again to ease the undersuit further down his hips until his cock sprang free, fully erect. Closing her hand around him, she squeezed gently, and a glossy bead of precum appeared at the tip. She licked her lips at the sight and started to lean toward him.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, pressing her back down to the floor.

She looked up at him, startled. “You don’t like—”

“Not until you’re healed,” he said firmly.

“Not even a taste?” she asked, giving him the softest tooka eyes she could muster.

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “Those big eyes don’t fool me. I know you, Cerra. You won’t stop until you get what you want, and we are not playing that game right now.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouted.

“Oh, I can think of plenty of other ways we can have fun,” he grinned.

“Do any of them start with moving to a bunk?” she asked. “This floor is ridiculously hard.”

“It’s not the only thing,” he laughed.

He stood, then pulled her to her feet. She seized the opportunity to wrap her fingers around his cock again, dragging her hand over it slowly. She brushed her thumb over the tip, and then raised it to her mouth, flicking her tongue out to taste the clear fluid as mischief danced in her eyes.

“Fuck,” Gregor groaned. “You are testing my limits.”

“Oh, no, anything but that,” she whispered.

“I should’ve known you’d be a brat,” he giggled, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder as she shrieked with delighted laughter. 

He carried her down the corridor to the crew quarters and selected one at random, depositing Cerra on the bed carefully. She sat up to watch him with open admiration as he removed his remaining armor and undersuit.

Holy kriff, he was built. She’d spent months trying not to look at him too closely, trying to avoid the inevitable reminders of Fives. As he stripped, though, she finally let herself take a good look. He did resemble Fives—that was inescapable—but there were differences as well. The scars were different; the tattoos were different. Gregor was older than her husband had ever had a chance to be, and she could see it in his body. Between that and the commando’s genetically enhanced muscle density, he was broader and bigger than Fives, and she was quietly relieved. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to sort through her confusion if his body had been truly identical to Fives.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, and she raked her gaze slowly up his body until she met his eyes.

“Very much,” she said, her voice low and husky.

He crawled onto the bed, caging her between his arms and legs. She reached up to stroke the side of his neck as he kissed her, and she could feel the pulse of his racing heartbeat beneath her fingertips. He pressed her back slowly until she lay on the bed. She slid her hands up his thighs as he straddled her hips, shifting beneath him to try to press herself closer to his body, but he held himself back from her.

She made an indignant little noise of protest and tried to pull him down, but he didn’t budge. He just kept kissing her with utmost gentleness when she wanted him to ruin her. She could feel his cock brushing against her abdomen, rock-hard, hot, and already slick with need. 

She knew he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. Reaching between their bodies, she wrapped her hands around his cock and stroked him languidly. He broke away from her mouth with a groan and rested his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Fuck, I’m trying to be careful, but you’re not making it easy,” he rasped.

“I can take it, Gregor,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be careful.”

He pushed himself back, sinking down so his thighs rested on top of her hips, trapping her in place. He stared down at her, shaking his head slightly. He trailed his fingertips over her cheek.

“Kriff, you’re so beautiful,” he said. “All the times I imagined this, I never once thought it might actually happen.”

“You imagined it?” she asked.

He giggled. “All the time. That day that we went to the market, I almost came in the shower just from hearing the sounds you were making. Didn’t even have to touch myself.”

Her eyes widened. “You were so quiet! I thought you were mad at me.”

“I had the water as cold as it would go, and I was reciting all the components of a DC-17m in my head.”

She pondered for a moment. “Is that why you were so relaxed when you came out? Because you—”

“Took care of things,” he said with a shrug. “What else was I supposed to do? Walk around the garage with a raging hard on?”

She laughed and captured his wrist, pressing her lips into his palm, then kissing a trail up his forearm. “Maybe I would have gotten a clue sooner if you had.”

He smiled, but his eyes were troubled. “All the times I imagined it, I never thought it would be like this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He barely touched his hand to her injured shoulder, and she flinched involuntarily. 

“See?” he asked. “I can’t just… take you—as much as I want to. I’ve got to be careful with you. I’m still working out the best strategy.”

Her heart lurched. Of course. Even now, he was watching her back: protecting her, even from himself.

“It doesn’t have to be that complicated,” she whispered. “We can just… start. And if it feels good, we can keep going, and if it hurts, we can try something else.”

He moved his fingertips lower, skimming over her breasts and circling her nipples. “Is this all right? Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “So good.”

He made a pleased little hum and shifted, moving to sit behind her on the bed and drawing her back against his chest. He continued to play with her breasts as she leaned against him, feeling the rigid length of his cock press against her back. He kissed the side of her head, and then the shell of her ear, working his mouth slowly down her neck and onto her shoulder. Her eyes drifted closed, and she sighed softly. 

Encouraged by her reaction, his hand stole down her body and in between her thighs, his fingers brushing over her clit with feather-light pressure, again and again, before slipping into her. She was beyond ready, and he met no resistance as he sank into her slick warmth. She heard his breath stutter harshly.

“Holy kriff,” he groaned. “You are so wet, my gods.”

He worked her open gently, and she couldn’t hold back her tiny, breathless sounds of pleasure.

“Kark, you drive me wild when you make those noises,” he whispered, grinding his cock against her lower back. 

She squirmed against him, desperate to feel more. “Please, please—”

“What is it, love?”

“I need more,” she said. “I need you.”

He pressed his lips against her neck, just below her ear. “You can have me, then.”

He withdrew his fingers from her body and guided her around until she sat in his lap, facing him as he aligned his cock with her cunt and sank gradually into her. She tilted her hips to accommodate him, breathing hard, as he stretched her in ways she hadn’t felt in years. Lovely, strong, warm hands massaged across her back and shoulders, pulling her close to him as he gazed up into her eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. He kissed her again, so gently, so carefully, as he began to move. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding tightly as their bodies worked in perfect synchrony, their hips rolling together, their breath coalescing. He dropped his head to rest on her sternum, and she leaned her cheek against his hair as she slid her hands up the back of his head.

He shifted their angle slightly, his hands descending to grip her hips as he began to drive into her harder and faster, thrusting against a place deep inside her in a way that rapidly stoked the tension in her body until she felt as though every muscle and nerve had wound itself into an impossibly tight knot at the base of her spine. 

He reached between their bodies and pressed his fingers against her clit, working in tiny, frantic circles, until all her muscles seized, arching her back and clamping her legs around his waist as she shattered. She barely heard his hoarse grunt as he thrust into her one last time, burying himself as deeply as she could take him, emptying into her as she sobbed with pleasure. 

He whimpered quietly as his lips found hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as she rode out the last few moments, drawing out the pleasure until her muscles gave out and she collapsed against him. He held her close to him and leaned them back until they were lying on the bed. Her head rested against his chest, and she listened as the pounding of his heart began to slow and the deep, gasping breaths of his lungs gradually returned to normal.

Exhaustion pulled at her. Her entire body felt boneless and relaxed—safe for the first time in weeks. Gregor toyed aimlessly with the short hair at the nape of her neck, and her eyes drifted closed as she sank into oblivion. As she crossed the threshold into unconsciousness, she wasn’t sure whether she heard or imagined his quiet whisper.

”I love you, too.”

---

Next chapter

[lunchtimebedamned1997]

Hazbin S2 thoughts?

Okay, hear me out:

I love Poly!Vees, but if it ends up being just Vox/Val being fuckbuddies with Vel not in the romantic or sexual mix - particularly if Velvette is more of a daughter to Vox and Val... then that could set up a super interesting dynamic in S2 with the other half of the cast???

So in 1x05 we get Al (presumably just postulating) about how he sees Charlie like a daughter (heh, yeah right. Al? After like, four or five months? No way. With Nifty? Sure, I can almost buy it. Charlie? No.)

So, like, imagine this:

Charlie steps between the two overlords, hair mussed from the warring static, scleras dipping red as they fix on Vox.

"Stop." Her arms are out, Vox almost laughs when he realizes she's shielding Alastor. "I won't let you hurt him."

Alastor's expression is somewhere between smug and affronted. Vox can understand, having someone as powerful as the princess devoted to your safety is quite the bragging point, but to have anyone think that Alastor would need help, against him, no less. No, no. That stroked Vox's ego. He did laugh now.

"Alright, princess, I'll bite. How'd he win you over?"

"What?"

"Alastor. How'd he convince you, you matter to him? I can tell you how he convinced me, if you'd like."

"Charlie - I would strongly advise not engaging with this one. Once you get him started, its quite hard to shut him up again. Not to mention, most of what comes out of his speakers is meaningless drivel."

Vox scoffed.

"What are you, her fucking dad?" He watches the princess puff up her chest, eyes sparking with something that could really only be noted as passion.

"Yes." She looked back over her shoulder at Al, and Vox caught the softness in her growing smile as her head turned away from him. "He's as good as." When Vox processed the genuine tone in her voice, he started uproariously, uncontrollably laughing, she returned her gaze sharply to him. "You don't know him like I do. Like we all do! He's helped us, maybe not out of the goodness of his heart at first, but time means something, and we've built a bond! He's shown up for me in ways people who should have, haven't."

"Oh my god you're serious!" A few more laughs escaped him before the righteousness and earnestness of her expression processed in his system. Oh my god. She's serious. He felt his expression sober, and he dropped his aggressive stance, keeping a few of the cameras trained on Alastor so he could keep his screen directed at the girl, and he watched her tense at the serious drop to his expression. "Look, I don't know what you think he's done for you, but I learned the hard way how little he cares. I'll admit, your little theory has more of a shot than the things I used to think were between us, but I wouldn't count your chickens, Charlie." Her mouth pulled into a flatter line as her name left his speakers. "I know what it means to care for someone like a daughter. And I don't think he has that in him."

"You -" When Charlie's words faultered, Vox cut in.

"Alastor can manage - what did you call it Al?" He spared a glance over Charlie's shoulder. "'Passing affections?'" He choked down the sneer he wanted to give Alastor and returned his gaze to Charlie. "I think he's too selfish to love anything but himself. I think he can enjoy people for what they give him, but don't be sweet-talked into thinking he has enough room in his heart to be anything like a fath-" A black tentacle shot up from the pavement, hitting the base of Vox's screen and throwing him up into the air and back a few feet before he crashed back down onto the ground.

Alastor stepped up beside the princess, putting a hand on her shoulder and bending down slightly, his tone light, like he was sharing a bit of innocent gossip.

"What did I tell you, my dear? This one doesn't quite know how to summarize a thought." He looked over a Vox, who was pulling himself back up into a standing position, his screen still glitching mildly from the force of the impact, he could feel wetness dripping down from the corner of his mouth. "Shall I summarize for you then, old friend?" He moved out and around Charlie, removing some of the newfound space between himself and Vox. "Something, something, I'm a terrible monster who cannot be trusted, i hurt your feelings, nobody should risk being near me, and you... 'hate' me?" He leaned forward slightly, smiling as he tilted his head to the side - that stupid fucking smile widening even further as he send another tentacle barreling into Vox's stomach like a punch, Charlie squeaked somewhere in the background like she wasn't expecting them to come to blows again already. Vox was just pleased he was only winded rather than thrown this time though. "Did I about cover it?"

Vox breathed raggedly, trying to get his lungs to work right. "You're a fucking prick."

"Poetry!"

"Get a new fucking line."

Alastor narrowed his eyes slightly. "I am curious about this 'daughter figure' of yours? That spunky little overlord nobody worth their salt can stand? The one with the fabric name? Velvette, was it?"

Sparks flicked from Vox's claws. "Don't."

"You expose a weakness and expect me not to strike? And here you are trying to convince Charlie how well you know me!"

"Velvette can handle herself."

"Against me? I hardly think so. So few can."

"Adam did alright." Vox watched the small twitch of displeasure Alastor gave at the bruise to his ego with a little bit of pleasure.

"You can't seriously think their levels are comparable. What exactly might she do? Wrap me in silks? Oh the horror. I have felled overlords so old only Zestial rivals them. And her? Has she even reached fourty? Thirty?" Alastor shook his head disappointedly. "No, I'm sure she'd be quite the waste of energy. Then again, I do so love to see you suffer."

Vox surged forward and blasted enough volts to level a city block straight into Alastor's neck, watching him fly back to land behind the Princess' startled form.

"That, is mutual." Vox rolled his shoulders, getting ready for more... for maybe dying. You always had to be with Alastor. Part of him didn't want to believe they'd ever devolve quite that far, but the part of him that scrabbled around in his self preservation like a panicked animal had to face that eventually one of them was going to...

It was statistics, honestly. Even in eternity, nobody seemed to last forever.

...

Like???? Come ON. That doesn't even touch the Valentino side of things. Make the terrible people complicated! Give them weaknesses and things to like about them that makes hating them feel worse for us!

Idk something about the idea of Vox, the fucked up guy from the age of the 'nuclear' family having the most warped but genuine dynamic with Velvette and Val? It tickles me!

Like I can see Charlie trying to convince Al there's something worth redeeming in Vox if she actually stumbles across seeing him being a doting father to Vel, especially if it was before any interactions like the little senario I wrote above. You just know our little baby bleeding-heart with her big doe eyes and daddy issues would just feel for him. Wouldn't want him to lose even though she wants her side to win.

'how can i destroy what might be the only good family relationship I've seen in almost 200 years. If someone took that away from me -'

You just know that Vox would be the most indulgent little guy ever when he loves someone.

Now, do I think Charlie actually bought Al saying all those things to her in 1x05? Not entirely. Not given how she spoke to him in 1x07 before they made their deal. I think Charlie is a lot less naive then people assume her to be, but I also think she'd want to believe it. Maybe with a bit less desperation then before she made up with Luci somewhat. Regardless, it's clear she has a big soft spot for Al, and considers him to be like family much the same as the others from the S1 hotel crew.

Idk, I just think there's a lot of potential there! Do I think it will go that route? Heh - no. Probably not. But It's fun to think about :3

[discount-shades]

Dead or Alive Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Chicken Run

A/N: I think I am going to give gold stars out to the people who get the references to other westerns in this series. 

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader 

Warning: Western themed violence. Law inaccuracies.

Word Count: 2000 ish

Summary: We meet the reader. 

Previous     Masterlist     Next  

“You have been found guilty by a jury of your peers and I sentence you to be hung by the neck until you are dead.” You flinch at the crack of the gavel as the judge bangs it down on the teacher’s desk in front of him. There is no courthouse in Pine Creek, just a schoolhouse, a church, and a saloon. 

The judge decided that it would be an affront to God to hold the trial in a church and refused to set foot in the saloon so here you sat, squeezed into a child’s desk off to the side of the little one room schoolhouse. A jury of your ‘peers’ gathered off to the side had declared you guilty of horse theft. All of them were men, and all of the had refused to believe that you only stole the horse to escape a boss that was going to rape you. 

It didn't help that your previous employer owned the Hanging Dog Ranch. Half the town worked for him and the other half depended on his business. There was no way you would get a fair trial in this town. 

When the railroad had bypassed the town to go south, Pine Creek had started to fade with only a stagecoach connecting it to the outside world. The only thing keeping it from becoming a ghost town was the Hanging Dog Ranch. 

One of the deputies grabbed you by the upper arm and began to drag you out. In the doorway you passed Pete and Bradley being marched in. The second trial of the day. They had been a part of the bank robbery that happened the day after you were arrested. You remember hearing the sound of gunshots from your cell. All of the Hanging Dog Ranch’s payroll had been stolen by the rest of the gang but two of the robbers had been caught.

They would be getting the same fate as you. The gallows in town had already been built, three nooses hanging above one long trapdoor. The newly sawn boards bright against the weathered store fronts outside the Pine Creek Sheriffs’ Office. 

The men had been sharing the cell next to yours for the past few weeks waiting for the judge to finally make his way to town. As far as robbers went they were a decent sort. You had been on the wrong side of the law, and morality for years, and you could tell the difference between good and bad men regardless of the law. Your parents died from consumption when you were young, leaving you to fend for yourself. The world isn’t kind to pretty girls with no one to look out for them. 

But you survived. You had done what you needed to do to get by. You had thought that working as a cook’s helper and general maid in the big house on a prosperous ranch would be your chance to leave your past behind and get on the right side of the law. How wrong you were. 

The deputy puts you back in your cell. The only concession for you being a woman was a sheet that could be hung for privacy if you needed to use the bucket in the corner. You sit on the wooden shelf that served as a bed. When the deputy left you pull your knees up and muffle the sobs into your skirt. You were alone in the jail and so you finally allowed yourself to cry. The small part of you had been holding out hope that you would be found innocent had flitted away when you had seen the freshly built gallows on the way to the makeshift courthouse. 

At the sound of footsteps on the boardwalk out front you dry your tears and take a deep breath as the numbness sets in. You were going to die. Well you were always going to die, everyone does, but your fate had become very immediate. The footsteps fade as the person making them carries on.

It doesn’t take more than ten minutes for the sheriff and deputies to bring in the other two men who would be joining you tomorrow. Ten minutes to sentence two men to death. Their faces are grim as you meet their eyes. “You too?” you ask and they nod. 

“It was nice knowing you.” Bradley says with a ghost of a smile. “I wish it was under better circumstances.” You let out a little laugh nodding before the sheriff snaps at you to be quiet. The night guard usually allowed you to talk but when the sheriff was in the jailhouse he demanded silence. You lay back on the bed and drift into an uneasy sleep.

You awake when darkness falls. The night guard brings you all some food and you eat quietly. Bland stew from the boarding house, it’s not much of a last supper. You eat mechanically. More so for something to do than for any real hunger. The meals the past few weeks had been more regular than any time in your life. Even working at the big house you had only been fed twice a day. Here you were guaranteed three solid meals a day until your execution. 

You set your empty bowl on the gap in the bars for the deputy to collect and return to your bed. You talk with Pete and Bradley quietly all night. Telling stories from your lives, all of the coulda, shoulda, wouldas. With dawn comes the return of the sheriff and breakfast. Lukewarm porridge, but unlike every other morning there is a dollop of brown sugar on top. 

The churning in your gut makes it impossible to eat. If it had been the same as every day before you are sure you could have forced it down but the added sweetener makes your stomach clench. Another signal that your time on this earth is limited. The hanging is set for 10:00AM. This is your last meal and you can't even eat it. You quietly set the still full bowl on the ledge and return to your bed.

As it draws closer to 10:00 you can hear the crowd gathering. The sky that you can see through the bars of your cell window is blue and cloudless. More than a few voices carry through the window. “It’s a great day for a hanging,” a faceless voice calls out. Any day is a good day for hanging if you are not the one being hung you think bitterly.

At quarter to 10:00 you are ordered to put your hands through the slot they pass the food through and one of the deputies firmly ties your wrists together while another ties Pete and Bradley’s in turn. 

Ten minutes left. The deputies lead Pete and Bradley out first with you following meekly behind. You walk through town to the jeers of the crowd. Many lost money when the bank was robbed and a woman hanging is uncommon enough that people were willing to travel to see it. It was one of the reasons the judge insisted the sentence be carried out so soon. He didn’t want a huge audience. 

Stumbling on the steps you stoop to hold up your dress with your tied hands as you ascend the gallows to stand behind the last noose in the row. The rope is coarse and brown and you can’t help but think of how it will feel around your neck. You tune out the voice reading the charges against the three of you, barely registering when they say your name. Your eyes fixed on the rope as it twists and moves gently in the faint breeze. Would your body move the same way?

You don’t notice the steady rumble of hundreds of hoofbeats until the screams begin. You glance away from the rope to see hundreds of shorthorns stampeding through town. Gunfire draws your eyes from the cattle to the people on horseback, their faces covered by bandanas. The sharp scent of gunsmoke fills the air as they fire causing the cattle to scatter, the whites of their eyes showing as they bawl in fright. The Hanging Dog Ranch brand on the right rib of every animal. 

A man on a black horse leading two riderless horses slows as he leads them past the gallows. Pete and Bradley dash for the horses, fighting off the deputies as they run to jump on the riderless horses. No one is watching you, so without thinking you follow. You throw your bound hands over the head of the man on the black horse, knocking his hat off in the process and revealing a head of blond hair. 

“What the hell?” You hear him curse as he tries to throw you off. Clutching the fabric of his shirt, you feel your nails digging into the flesh beneath. 

“If you throw me off I’m taking you with me!” You yell in his ear as he curses, struggling to keep his balance with you hanging off his neck. Scooting forward, you flatten yourself to his back. He curses again and threads one arm through yours so one of your arms is over his shoulder and the other is curled under his arm. Now if one of you fell, it was inevitable that the other would fall as well.  His heart is pounding against the palm you have pressed to his chest. 

Bradley and Pete are now on their horses and all the riders whoop and begin firing at the deputies as they follow the herd, galloping out of town. 

“They are going to form a posse and follow us!” You yell in his ear glancing back at the town of Pine Creek.

“They’ll have a hard time without their horses.” The man in front of you shouts back and motions to the open doors of the livery stable and the horses you see galloping free from the burning building. The townspeople are frantically running to put out the flames. In a town where everything was wooden and connected by wooden boardwalks, fire spread fast. 

A few miles out of town the riders slow at a crossroads. Your body is already aching from the quick getaway. “So did the nooses bring back any memories, Hangman?” Bradley asks and you can feel the muscles of the man in front of you tense. 

“Remind me why I saved you again, Rooster?” He growls while pulling out a knife and sawing at your bindings. 

“New friend there, Hangman?” The voice of a woman startles you and the smallest rider pulls down her bandana to reveal her face, everyone else following suit. “Can’t even save people from the noose without trying to find a girl.”

“It was a hitch in the plan.” With a final tug you feel the bindings give way. “Now get off.” He reaches around to pull you from the saddle.

“Wait, you can’t just leave her here!” Bradley exclaims as you clutch the shirt of the man in front of you. “They’ll find her for sure.”

“Not my problem.” The man in front of you grumbles and he resumes tugging on your arm.

“Hold up Hangman,” Pete says in a calming voice. “We’ve got to take her with us. She was going to be hung beside us, she’s good people.” You can’t help the snort that escapes you. Being declared ’good people’ because you were in a cell next to someone was a first. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Who’s she going to ride with?” Everyone looks around uncomfortably. 

“Well she is already on your horse,” the woman says with a grin. “Come on, everybody split up. We’ll meet at the Hard Deck, she better be with you, Hangman. ” She spurs her horse and gallops away, everyone else following her lead and scattering in different directions. 

The man on the black horse doesn’t move. You tentatively introduce yourself and he doesn’t respond leaving you wishing you could have rode with Bradley or Pete. After a long silence he finally gathers his reins. “Sugar, you owe me a hat.” With that he gives his horse a nudge and takes off down the narrow trail that leads into the mountains. 

[striveattemptfail]

rating jason's helmet from red hood/arsenal (2015) as inspired by @homosnapeiens' ranking of batfam outfiits

only rating the helmets with lips bc they're an affront to humanity and i refuse to suffer alone tonight LMAO

ah a flashback/photo with the OG outlaws

mostly smooth helmet, few angles and hard lines -> good

why? it reminds me of his pill helmet from the morrison run LOOOL

that said the smile is uncanny and terrifying

and the fact that it has teeth????

😰🙅🏽‍♀️😰🙅🏽‍♀️😰🙅🏽‍♀️

idc if the white on the lips is just lighting, it makes the helmet look like it has teeth and chaksmdndndjsaksjd

nooooooo why

i will have nightmares about a red hood helmet with teeth

but alas it is one of the only times we see a smiling helmet, and a happy jason, and thus bumps up its rating

5/10 but it's cursed i tell ya

too angular, very harsh lines 👎

this mask's jawline could probably slice a man in half

eyebrow line so strong if red hood headbutted someone there'd probably be an imprint of his eyebrows on their face LOLLL

why does it have a circular knob for his ear???

why does the helmet extend down his neck???

it just looks so uncomfortable and weird

-19/10

his nose is so defined here

how tf does he breathe in this???!?!?

pouty pouty mouth is frowning >:(

frowning so hard his lower lip is sticking out like he's A Model >:(

cheeks sucked in to emphasize his cheekbones like he's A Model (•̀へ•́)

is the helmet skintight?? does that mean whenever he has to wear this he's always frowning??

i like the shine on his noggin tho

-4/10

lemme get this right:

is that a domino mask on top of a helmet??

is he still wearing another mask underneath this???

bc if so that is three layers of eye protection

and ya i get that maybe it's just the design, and it's probably not an actual mask fitted over the helmet, and is probs just extra material to emulate a mask

but how is his face not just heavy from having to lift all of that???

also once again with the hard lines and angles and exaggerated face features

and this one extends down the neck again??? it even covers his adam's apple 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

overall it's a no from me

it kinda reminds me of deadpool's mask tho

maybe that's what he was going for??

2lbs of gear on his face/10

what is presumably just another angle of the previous helmet, but this one doesn't go down the neck

or maybe his suit is covering where his helmet extends???

from this angle it also seems there are circular knobs where his ears are supposed to be again

roy's face says it all tbh

deadpool's mask looks better/10

these two are from the same issue!! just a few panels apart!! so i'm doing them together!!

why didn't i do that for the deadpool helmet? bc now i'm running outta steam and getting lazy!!

anyway this is unremarkable

his cheeks are sucked in and for what?? to show off his cheekbones??

smooth surface like the first helmet i reviewed, which is a plus 👍

but lacks the smile and happy expression of being with his polycule besties, which is a negative 👎

he's got heart lips tho, which is strange, but i guess that means this helmet is kissable LMAO

chu/10 2/10

last one thank fuck

meh

more of the same from the last helmet, but with sharper lines and angles

it looks like this helmet was made with a vacuum sealer tbh

mainly i wanted to include this for the bonus reactions that come w this image

blondie: LOL CHECK OUT THIS DUDE'S WEIRDO HELMET 😜✌️

afro curls: GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME 😰😰

if afro curls' pupils were drawn slightly pointing upwards, that'd be my exact reaction to this helmet

-25/10

BONUS: roy!!

god i thought i was done ;-;

a bonus no-lips helmet with roy bc i hate everything drawn in this panel

the helmet is a solid 2/10

too many weird lines, that round knob at the ears again, overall design is meh but at least doesn't have lips

but roy's face

baby what the fuck happened there??? (respectively)

i'm a "roy harper is an attractive man" truther but my god does shit like this make it difficult to be one

wtf is that smile??

why are your eyes opened so wide??

why does your mask look like it could give you a paper cut???

red domino mask + green hat = christmas decor headass combo

i LOVE their banter here tho

your honour they are idiots to lovers confirmed 😌😌😌

paolo pantalena why??????/10

[zhongrin]

I assume you got hate for that L&D ask? I'm sorry that was done. Feel better soon. Maybe say less next time.

i appreciate your kind words, thank you. however, while i'm sure you had the best intention with this, i don't think i will 'say less'. this is my blog, my space, and as long as i'm not actually causing harm to anyone or anything along that line, i think i'm allowed to have some degree of freedom regarding saying what i like/dislike and setting my boundaries. i'm sorry, but i'm not an influencer, nor a public figure who has the responsibility to spread positivity and be a role model to you all. i try as much as i can, of course, but that's not the purpose of this blog. i'm just a human being who needed an outlet for writing and wanted to connect with like-minded people.

what part was not 'right'? that i expressed, in my own blog, how i didn't want to try out a game because one of the reasons is i find the graphics of the fictional characters off-putting, when asked? that i likened a fictional game art style to a different franchise and objects you see all the time in adult site ads? that i never said anything about the people who do like the game and told them "i'm happy you found a game you like"? that i never, not even once, went to other people's posts or blog who posted that game's content to ruin their fun like a bastard? that i actively chose to use tumblr's filter instead? that even if the filter didn't work, i chose to scroll and ignore instead of bitching about it?

pray tell, what did i do wrong? why should i say less? since when am i not allowed to dislike things?

and a public psa ー i'm sorry, but bluntly speaking, if you take an affront when I expressed MY own opinion, WHEN PROMPTED, WITHIN MY OWN SPACE (and god forbid you retaliate like that anon(s?) by spamming me to shut the fuck up and kill myself), then that's really not my problem. it's an art direction, for god's sake. i adore zhongli, who gets memed and made fun of as a cockroach all the time; you don't see me screaming at people to stop.

learn that people may not like the things you like. learn to agree to disagree. learn to treat others as fellow human beings with likes and dislikes. learn to separate fiction from reality.

and seriously, if you're annoyed with my rambles or 'babblings' or the interactions with my friends, tumblr has a filter and block function. it's just a simple google away. give some peace to your own mind.

[moonah-rose]

Blind Love

Quick Robin & Original Character(s) ficlet.

Set many, many years in the past, during one of the periods where Rogh "went mad for a bit".

Tw: insanity, delusion, grief, animal death

Aelfwyn and her sister had never been close. Their parents had done little to discourage rivalry and resentment between the two as they grew up. Quite the opposite in fact. Competition was seen as healthy for children growing up in their harsh, war-loving tribe. But their patents had taken it to extremes, showering one child's victories with praise and scolding the other, then when the girls turned their bitterness on each other, they were told to wrestle it out and not stop until one drew blood.

That blood had typically come from a nose bleed or a deep scratch across the cheek from sharpened fingernails. A couple of drops at most.

Not an entire puddle, enough to fill a goblet fit to offer to the Morrighan, gushing from a hole in one of their skulls after a blow from a rock had caved it open. As Aelfwyn stood and stared down at her own corpse, she thought maybe even her cruel parents would think this a tad too far.

Breathing heavily, she heard a thud as the rock fell to the ground. Her sister, Lliefa, was standing over her, pale as the snow. The anger that had burned in her eyes moments before as they'd scuffled was replaced with an almost childlike expression of terror and loss.

"Wynny....Wynny, sister, I am so sorry..." She began to weep, the tears falling down her cheeks disturbing the painted symbols that had been given to her on her coming of age ceremony only a few days earlier.

Only eighteen. Twins, though they didn't resemble each other. Lliefa had inherited their mother's emerald eyes and blessed red hair, while Aelfwyn had her father's square jaw and plain brown locks. Lliefa however, did have his temper.

Maybe that's why Aelfwyn found it hard to cling to her anger when the truth of what happened hit her. That was her body, her face that she'd seen from the rare reflecting glass that they were lucky to have hanging in their hut. It was her blood that soaked the grass.

She was dead. Killed by her own blood. But Aelfwyn could see the blow hadn't been intentional, or at least Lliefa hadn't been in her right mind at the time. If she had, she wouldn't be falling to her knees and throwing herself over Aeflwyn's body to weep as she now was.

Aelfwyn sighed, closing her eyes. Grandmother always advised her to breathe out all her unwanted rage as an offering to the Morrighan, or to Wotan. She knew she should be furious at her sister right now...but all she felt was sadness and pity.

Blood crimes were one of the biggest affronts to the gods. Siblings could slay each other in fair combat. But this had been a blow while her back was turned, an attack spurned from Aelfwyn saying cruel words she'd regret forever.

There was nothing she could do to the girl that would be worse than what the fates had in store for her.

"I forgive you, sister. Please, just return my body back to the tribe. Let me receive the proper rites so the gods will take me to the next world." She pleaded, reaching out to touch her sister's shoulder only for her hand to pass through.

The contact made her retch. She gagged, stomach lurching, despite not having eaten all day. They'd been sent out to hunt, their parents offering a reward to whoever came back with the largest kill.

She supposed Lliefa would win hands down. Aelfwyn hoped their parents would keep to their word.

It was rather painful to watch her sister try to carry her back to their settlement, being the shorter of the two of them. Aelfwyn tried to follow close, hoping her words with pierce through the veil.

"No don't pull me by my head! Look, you're making things fall out, that might make me dumber in this world!" Even in death, her sister still managed to vex her; "Maybe if you learned how to bind and carry your kills better instead of leaving it to me!"

But before she could rant some more, Aelfwyn took another step and then was shoved back in the opposite direction. She turned, blinked in confusion, then tried to follow again.

Same thing. Back away from the path.

"Sister! Sister, I'm trapped! Please do the ritual properly so I can be free, please! For Danu's sake, don't skip the part where you eat my heart!"

"Shh!"

She froze. Who just shushed her?

Turning to her left, she spotted a figure sat against the base of a tree. He'd managed to camouflage himself with the foliage as she'd approached but now she could spot the skin of a....man.

No, wait.

"Are you....Are you the Wild God of the Dead?!"

"SHHH!" He said again, a finger on his lips.

"Oh, I...sorry." She lowered her voice, not wanting to anger him if he was a god.

Though his image didn't resemble any carvings she had seen.

"Me just got her to sleep." He muttered, one arm curled against his chest.

He wore the most basic and mis matched selection of furs. No real fabrics or patterns. There were those who chose to live fully out in nature away from the tribes but they were usually shamans and nomads. This man looked as though he'd never slept in a hut in his life.

Or death, she supposed.

"Are you a spirit too?" She asked, quietly, stepping closer; "What's your name?"

"Dunno."

"You don't know your name?" She frowned.

He shook his head; "Name in shadows right now. Can't be bothered to go find. Shadow where memories go to hide when brain too loud and scary."

Definitely not a god, Aelfwyn realised. The man sounded like those in her tribe who smoked too much of the relaxing leaf until it wore off and paranoia sent them mad. How long had he been here?

"I'm Aelfwyn of the Horseli. What was your tribe called?"

The man blinked, tucking his arm up again; "Tribe no have name. Children of Moonah. Other tribe be children of Sunne. Other children of Earth Mother. Good tribe and...bad tribe."

"Where are they now?"

"....Gone. Gone up to stars. Me stay. Me always stay." The voice sounded so very old, even though there wasn't too many signs of age on him as one would expect. No grey hairs, hardly any wrinkles.

His blue eyes that didn't quite meet hers stared out in a deep, agonising loss that chilled her bones.

"You're all alone here?" She asked.

He began to laugh; "Ha....Ha ha! No, silly horsey tribe lady! Me not alone. Me have Moonah! Your tribe....They give thanks to Moonah, yes?"

Something in the way his brow furrowed told her she should answer carefully.

"We call her Rhiannön. Yes, we give thanks and ask for her blessings each month."

"Oh....Yes, have seen you and tribe do ritual at Moonah ston. Very good. We come and join you, though you not see us."

"Us?"

"Me and daughter."

"Oh. You have a child here?" She glanced around.

The man nodded; "You...want to meet?"

"Yes, I love kids. How old is she?" Her heart stung as she realised she'd now never have ones of her own, not in that life.

"She...She only just been born..."

Aelfwyn blinked; "I thought you said she was with us on the last full moon?" Almost a month ago.

"Me did."

It took a second for the penny to drop, horrifying Aelfwyn at the realisation. Of course if the baby was a spirit, like her father, she would still be a newborn if that was when...

"I'm....I'm so sorry."

"Why sorry?"

"I...never mind," She shook her head; "Can I still see her? I'm good with babies, I've helped my mum deliver a few."

"Okay...if promise to be very careful..."

"I swear by the gods."

The man leaned forward and pulled back a section of his fur covering his front. Aelfwyn nearly startled back before she heard the tiniest snuffling sound.

Peering closer, she spotted a tiny ball of grey fur curled against the man's chest. It twisted, mewling a little, then poking out a black dot of a nose.

"Ain't she bootiful. Me very proud dad." He smiled down, "Say hello to Horsie Lady, Kya."

"....It's a wolf pup." Said Aelfwyn.

Another chuckle from the man; "No, no, no, that just fur me swaddle her in. She look just like me, see? Have same ugly nose."

There may have been a wild resemblance between the two creatures but she was certain the little thing was not a human babe.

But the man was looking at it with as much devotion in his eyes as any parent she'd seen when holding their baby for the first time. She doubted there was anything she could say to convince him otherwise.

Aelfwyn forced a smile; "She's lovely. Her mum not here?"

The man's face darkened with weariness and pain.

"....Go up to stars with rest of tribe...They all go up and leave us behind..." He sighed and then twitched his head; "Too many babies. Mum can't feed them all. Little one die. Me wait. Me watch. Me listen to her cry and beg for milk but she left behind. Just like me. So I wait. Then when she stop cry, I pick up..."

Except the cub was still crying for milk it would never receive, nuzzling its nose against his skin and finding nothing to sate it.

"...She mine. She my cub. Her cry just like my Kya so she must be same...spirit reborn, yes?"

He seemed to be trying to rationalise it, probably due to how Aelfwyn was looking at him. She couldn't hide her doubt.

But then the druids did say part of their souls returned to the earth to be born anew.

"I understand." She nodded, wanting to placate the man; "Can I hold her?"

"You have milk for her?"

"Uhh...no." Even if she did, she didn't think that was something she'd be comfortable with in any world.

The man shook his head; "She keep wanting milk but I tell her that Daddy no have boobies to give milk. Have to wait until Mum come back with brothers and sisters. Not long now..."

She no longer knew if he meant his real family or the wolves that had abandoned their runt.

Aelfwyn looked down at the pup again. Its eyes were closed, probably forever, but it wriggled and pawed against the man.

"Shh, shh, little one, we safe. Horsie lady good me think...." He rocked the pup close; "She know my scent. My skin. It always dark for her, you see. She won't know who you are if I hand over. Might think me left...Can't ever leave. Never."

"That's okay. I won't take her-."

"No, no, no," He clutched the cub tight, shaking his head fearfully; "No take. Not last one. She all I have. Please."

"I said I won't touch her. Not if you don't want me to." She dared to reach and touch the man's shoulder instead.

He struggled to steady his breathing as he looked at her with those haunted eyes.

"....You have leak in head." He whispered.

Aelfwyn touched the back of her skull and felt the indent along with a moist matt in her hair. When she looked at her fingers there was no blood.

"Sibling rivalry." She tried to jape, as it was all she could do.

"Me try to stop. Yelled at you both to shut up so no wake baby."

"Sorry about that." She sat cross legged beside the man; "Maybe I can make it up to you by helping you look after her? Children aren't supposed to be raised alone."

He nodded; "....Everyone raise together. Peace and love..." He stroked his thumb over the soft, velvet ears of the cub; "She miss her mum and siblings and cousins...She miss a lot of people."

"I bet she does." Aelfwyn whispered, her heart aching for the poor man.

She'd always thought of wondering spirits as mysterious or wise, even playful. She'd never expected one to be so sad.

"Here..." The man carefully handed the cub to her; "Mind head. Best she get to know your scent."

"You sure?" She never thought she'd feel so honoured to be passed a wolf pup.

He nodded; "We family now. Aelfwyn of Horsey Tribe."

The pup whined in distress as she was moved away from the only source of comfort she knew and into Aelfwyn's arms. The man kept his arm close to her, the sleeve of grey wolf fur close to the pup's nose.

"Me here, Kya. Daddy right here. Daddy always stay." He promised, voice cracking; "She not hear me before when I say...When she and her mum found body and they scream...she not hear me say I here..."

His voice trailed off again as his eyes glossed over. Aelfwyn held the cub up to her skin above her dress so it was resting just above her heartbeat.

Her other hand reached to squeeze the man's fingers.

"She hears you now. She knows." She did her best to reassure him, just as she'd seen her mother do to anxious parents.

This was a whole other case she hadn't been trained for.

"You look tired. I bet she's been keeping you up all these nights like babies do." She said, softly.

The man nodded, "Been waiting for mum to take her turn...She be here soon...She always come back to visit....Be here very soon...."

"I'm sure she will. How about you try to have a nap? I'll look after this one. She'll be safe with me, I swear."

Hesitation and fear twitched in those lips again for a moment. Then he saw how the pup was starting to yawn and relax against Aelfwyn's chest.

He smiled, his eyelids clearly heavy. When had he last slept? No wonder he'd lost his mind.

"You wake when they come back? Please?"

"I will."

She tugged him to lay on his side and use her thigh as a pillow.

"Be good for horse lady, Kya. Daddy just take little sleep. Be good girl..." He whispered before closing his eyes; "Be good...Stay...Must always stay..."

Aelfwyn sighed, stroking the man's ragged mane while cradling the pup in her other arm. This was not how she imagined spending her afterlife. She hoped her sister would hurry up with the ritual so her spirit could move on...

Assuming that's how it worked. She wondered if she was desperate to become the same as the man on her lap, trapped and driven insane, clinging to whatever shred of company he could and convince himself it was his lost kin. The thought terrified her.

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we Kya." She whispered to the cub.