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sicksadgames · 12 days ago

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As the Sun Forever Sets - Terror in the time of the Telegraph

It’s nuts I’ve been working on this game for over 4 years at this point. As the Sun Forever Sets is for sure my biggest and most capital G Game. It even has a publisher and everything. It’s also my first game! Wow! It's been tough, though. We'll get into it!

Britain, 1899

As the Sun Forever Sets is a survival horror sandbox based on the War of the Worlds, utilises the Forged in the Dark ruleset, and is about ordinary people surviving a Martian invasion of Victorian era Britain. We play to find out how they rise to meet the storm of destruction, the ways in which it shapes them, and if they survive to see a new world emerge, or die amidst the rubble of the old.

In the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign, the British Empire stretches across a quarter of the globe, and under the guise of genteel progress and civilisation, it commits theft and murder on a global scale. Britain itself is on the verge of the modern era, the Second Industrial Revolution pushing people into the cities to drive the factories and forges owned by the greedy industrialist class. But beyond the common causes of humanity and unbeknownst to the men who impose their rule over it, vast wheels have begun their inexorable turning. Across 40 million miles of void, the Martian invasion hurtles Earthward. Screaming across the stars, instruments of annihilation unlike anything believed possible lie ready for assembly, alongside the Martians themselves. They are truly inscrutable beings, but their intent is as clear as it is terrible – they will suck the literal and figurative blood from the Earth, and nothing less than the complete and utter subjugation of humanity will be enough.

If this sounds cool to you... well, you gotta wait, it’s not done yet. Sorry! But you can come and hang out in the Sick Sad Games discord, where I post excerpts and occasionally organise playtests.

The Hard Times of (Old) England

Be warned, this is a long one - over 4000 words (if you don't have a Tumblr account, you won't get to the end before it starts bugging you to register one, so go read this on Medium instead.) It turns out when you work on a game for a long time, you have a lot to say about it. Strap in, grab your gin and laudanum, and let’s destroy an evil empire just by existing.

Thanks to the wonderful @hendrik-ten-napel for taking a look over my disorganised thoughts.

(Potential) Spoilers for: The Bear, The War of the Worlds, The Last of Us, Children of Men, Threads, When the Wind Blows, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, The Thing.

Roleplay in the Pre-Post-Apocalypse

TTRPGs love a good post apocalypse. It's understandable - gas up and ride glorious on the legally distinct fury road, run a commune of like minded weirdos in the ashes of the old world, go digging through retro-futuristic ruins to find retro-futuristic treasures. Who wouldn't want to do any of these? But As the Sun Forever Sets is about an apocalypse as it begins, not after it’s over.

There's a lot of crossover, of course. There’s a focus on similar things - disaster and spectacle, relationships and trust, scavenging and survival. But the bonus of the world not yet being over, is that we get to roleplay out dealing with that terrible, inexorable reality.

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HG Wells wrote a book about blowing up all the places he used to live, and it's a banger. I was surprised to find there wasn't a TTRPG based on the War of the Worlds, being the tantalisingly public domain ur-alien invasion story it is. As the Sun Forever Sets is very explicitly an adaption of it, to the point that before I came up with the name it almost got released as The War of the Worlds: The Roleplaying Game (lol). I'm glad I didn't, doing my own thing has meant both me and the people playing are way more free to fuck around without the expectation that it must adhere to a canon.

The book is good, strikingly modern feeling in parts, and obviously massively influential - so much science fiction can be traced back to our nameless Narrators tormentuous trek across the south of England. But Wells’ prose is typical Victorian - overly wordy and florid (any book that contains the word “ejaculating” meaning “to shout” might be difficult for readers who aren’t used to the style), so when it comes to recommending an actual adaptation, there’s only one true king. Whenever I bring up Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds, the usual reaction from anyone outside of the UK is to say "... they made a what?"

My mom was very keen to get me into musicals, but nothing really stuck until she tried this, the secret best War of the Worlds adaption (sorry Steven Spielberg, but you were doomed from the start.) It's the bombast and drama you'd expect from a disaster film, the horror and pathos of Wells’ classic, all expressed through vivid narration and sick nasty prog rock - wailing guitar and crunchy 70's synths operating at full effect. It's not completely faithful to the book, it doesn't matter. It’s the best.

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Ah yes, the film bro's favourite mid 2000's film. Did you see that sick oner? That’s six minutes without a cut, that means the film’s good right? Children of Men is a slow burn apocalypse, dressed up like a world that’s already ended. Plenty has been written about all the little ways the film is prescient about the state of the UK - the slow belly-crawl into facism and nationalist fervour, the particularly British decay and class divide exacerbated by the desperate times, even the willful ignorance and the explicit sense that everyone’s just given up, it’s all here.

All that thematic stuff seems like it’d be really relevant to As the Sun Forever Sets, right?

Unfortunately, we are in fact here to talk about the long takes. The unbroken moment-to-moment action scenes evoke The War of the Worlds to a tee. Theo navigates danger with the same fraught tactical tension as War of the World's Narrator - dashing between doorways, groping for an axe handle in the darkness, desperately trying to start a car as assailants sprint towards him. What’s the best way out of this situation? How do I get from here to where I need to be? He lives his life in rolling, fleeting 5 second intervals, because he’s forgotten what it means to think in the long term - about the future, and what it might hold.

I was always fascinated and terrified by the idea of nuclear war. I guess it comes from watching a lot of 90’s disaster movies, but those are often ultimately fun romps where the day gets saved at the end, or at least the main characters find themselves alive and well at the end of the saga of destruction. Instead, As the Sun Forever Sets asks you to reflect on the horror and sadness present at the end of the world. Things are going to change forever, and change is always hard.

There’s not many clips of Threads and When the Wind Blows online, so it’s a little hard to demonstrate their particular nuclear inflected pitch black darkness. They’re grim - Grave of the Fireflies grim - differing in focus but united in their horrible impact.

When the Wind Blows is a story of an elderly couple living in rural England when the bombs drop, based on the comic by Raymond Briggs. Yes, The Snowman’s Raymond Briggs made a film about 2 lovely grandparents dying of acute radiation poisoning. Jim and Hilda are completely unprepared for what’s to come, their only reference is the Blitz - terrible in its own way, but not a patch on the scale of death they’re about to experience.

They survive the blast and wait for the good old British Government to arrive to save them, as it did in the 40’s. Slowly liquifying in the nuclear fallout, they hold onto each other and keep their spirits up, eventually making the decision to clamber into the paper sacks they mistakenly believed might protect them from the blast. Clutching their medical cards and birth certificates (for the ambulance, sure to be along any minute now), Jim mumbles painfully through a final prayer that morphs into a misremembered Charge of the Light Brigade, and they slip into a perpetual slumber together.

The most tragic part is Jim and Hilda’s unshakeable faith that their government is there for them - ready to catch them when they fall - borne out of Britain’s post WW2 renewal but absent in the 1980’s of the film’s plot, and the Britain of today. It’s a masterful film, shockingly sad, but the shock is the point.

Instead of aiming for your heart, Threads aims for the head. It’s a drama that aims to be as accurate as possible to government research into what a nuclear war might look like, plainly and forensically setting it out without any thought of softening these hard facts for its audience. Rather than focusing on a personal story, Threads flits around several groups of characters - minor government figures and ordinary families. Like Jim and Hilda, they too are woefully unprepared for the end of the world, and those in charge know there’s no way the UK could ever be ready for such a thing.

As mundane life is quietly intruded upon by news updates detailing far off geopolitics and the subsequent escalation that leads to war, the tension rises subtly then suddenly, like a spacecraft on the launchpad. People we’ve seen pottering about their normal lives are maimed and evaporated in the subsequent shocking nuclear exchange, whilst stark statistics flash on the screen - the hundreds of thousands instantly killed, how long the millions more fatally irradiated have left to live, the woefully inadequate tonnage of stockpiled food to feed those who survive. Each zero hits like a gutpunch.

And when you think the film must nearly be over, it keeps going. 1 week later. 1 year later. Threads grinds to an excruciating halt 13 years after the bombs fall, after year upon year of failed harvests from a destroyed earth barely able to support a population level equivalent to medieval Britain. At one point, mute children watch a warped and scratchy VHS of classic kids educational programme Words and Pictures on a TV powered by a steam generator.

The friendly presenter spells out the word “cat” through the thick veil of static, accompanied by a picture of one - an animal the children watching will likely never see. As they watch with blank, emotionless faces, the image of the cat fades to one of its skeletal form. “A cat’s skeleton” the presenter enthusiastically intones. The unrelenting bleakness might feel like a punishment, but Threads doesn’t mean it to be. This is just what would happen, after all.

Love in the time of the Heat-ray

In fact, someone in a Reddit thread said As the Sun Forever Sets “wasn’t just endless misery” and I’m glad that comes across. I wanted there to be moments of tenderness, quiet joy, anger, frustration, love and loss to punctuate the action and the horror.

People are messy and complicated even at the best of times. Under pressure, this is amplified a thousandfold - a little crush becomes a whirlwind romance, small disagreements become full blown fights, and not fully understanding someone might transform them into an enemy in your head.

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The little town Bill conspires to be left alone in ends up comparatively untouched by the horrors going on elsewhere, as untouched as anywhere can be in The Last of Us. He hated the world anyways - so he isolates himself as he prepares for it to end, and it makes sense that his life only really begins as the show does. When Frank arrives, Bill is forced not to just engage with the broader world outside of his little enclave, but in the act of truly living in it.

There’s no prepper’s guide to romance. A human heart can’t be field stripped for maintenance. By choosing to exist as a vulnerable, emotional being, Bill opens himself up to a different kind of apocalypse. Frank becomes the flowering vines that slowly crack the flat concrete wall of a world that Bill created, and when those vines die, the wall can only crumble. It’s so fraught and lovely, delicately yet absolutely gut wrenching. At least their apocalypse was one they decided to have together.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you… were my purpose.” - "Long Long Time”, The Last of Us

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While several of my TTRPG writing friends were gushing about how great The Bear is, Em Acosta, author of the wonderfully inspirational Exile pointed out something super interesting - a lot of the show is about how you deal with people you’ve found yourself stuck with. No matter how much they piss you off, or whatever they do wrong, there’s something that means you can’t ever let them truly exit your life. They’re there, like it or not, until the bitter end.

Turns out this is very similar to how As the Sun Forever Sets handles Player Character relationships. In both it and The Bear, nothing’s ever truly resolved between characters - every relationship is like a cooking pot perpetually simmering. You might’ve apologised, made a truce, or just ignored your issues for so long that they seem to disappear, but no matter what, you’ve got to keep your eye on that pot.

Because suddenly a crisis will hit, and someone says something, or a diceroll comes up bad and all of a sudden the pot boils over and things are once again fucked. You storm out, start screaming, throw a fork. Even in the worst case scenario where a Character leaves because they’re absolutely sick of the rest of the group, they might show up at the end of the game for one last scene. Who knows how you’ll all feel at the end - nothing is ever truly fixed, and only the dead are truly broken.

“I quit, chef, is what’s going on. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. This isn’t on me. Goodbye." - “The Review”, The Bear

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I’ve talked about The Thing a little before, John Carpenters sweaty, paranoid antarctic masterpiece. Along with the incredible effects and the (mostly) restrained use of action and bombast, the thing that makes... The Thing work is that the staff of the stricken research base lack any and all emotional intelligence.

It’s sort of the ultimate reverse Dudes Rock movie. Nobody knows anything about each other, so when their bodies and minds are colonised by the titular chameleon from outer space, they’re just another stranger to the rest of the crew. I’d ask you a question only you would know the answer to, but uh.. I don’t know anything about you. Whoops!

Over the course of the film, the whole operation falls apart as they try their best to work together to deal with the alien interloper, but their complete lack of ability to trust or relate to each other - present even before the crisis they find themselves in - is their ultimate downfall.

That final excellent shot of MacReady and Childs sat in the snow at the end of the film as their compound burns around them is the subject of a lot of unnecessary theorycrafting youtube videos, which kind of misses the point. Each suspects the other, but ultimately it doesn’t matter if one of them’s a Thing. One stranger is the same as another. Why bother getting to know each other now?

“Well...What do we do?” “Why don't we just... wait here for a little while? See what happens.” - Childs and Macready, The Thing

Science Fiction Revenge Fantasy

I’m not a historian, but the parallels between 1899 and now are pretty plain to see. Increasing class disparity, a lack of political will to help those in need, rampant cronyism and profiteering. As long as you’re in the place for it, roleplaying in a fictionalised version of the past to air out the issues of the present can be super fun and cathartic. You’re not expected to get a degree in British history to make it work, either.

The title is a play on the phrase “The Sun Never Set on the British Empire”, and it’s plainly stated in the book that Britains Empire acted as a mechanism of genocidal oppression, and that the Martians are here to end it - intentionally or not. It’s appealing as a premise on the face of it, but it goes a little deeper. Memories of Empire echo across time in Britain like the ringing of a malevolent bell, a cause celebre for braying Tories and fascistic right wing cunts (two very close circles in the venn diagram.)

We used to be a great country before this woke nonsense. Things were better back in the old days. The DEI contingent is trying to destroy our noble past. Yada yada yada, fuck offff. I’m sure someone somewhere will accuse me of “wokewashing” the past for including explicitly trans and queer characters as part of the book, along with the historical facts around how we fit into the oppressive Victorian conception of sex and gender. Unfortunately for them, we’ve always been here.

To be a little pretentious about it, every game of As the Sun Forever Sets reaches back into the past and cuts the myth of a glorious and benevolent Empire, and the good old days enjoyed within it off at the neck, purely in the act of beginning one. That sparks a little joy for me. Destroying a racists dream is fun, even if it’s only in the abstract.

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A horror game about the most literalist Victorian industrialist imaginable hearing the phrase “Eat the rich” and getting right on that. I’ve not played Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs despite fond (??) memories of playing The Dark Descent in a room full of jumpy friends, and seeing Dear Esther played live on stage, with a live orchestra and narrator - an exquisite way to experience that game.

The mechanical chops of Frictional Games mixed with the narrative verve of The Chinese Room, how could this game be anything less than incredible?

After The Dark Descent I fell off’ve the “scary guy chases you around” genre of game until Alien: Isolation revitalised it, and the reviews of A Machine for Pigs were mixed - kind of boring, middling gameplay, too dark - so I never went back. I was planning on writing a little about its vibe - dark, gothic Victoriana that rhymes nicely with As the Sun Forever Sets - but after a bit of research, Mandus’ quest for his missing sons strikes an unexpectedly resonant and terrible chord.

The writing and voice acting is phenomenal, Mandus’ split consciousness - the self you play and the other half of him that’s seen the horrors of the forthcoming 20th Century and is compelled to act, imbued into the myopic machine he built - is extremely compelling. He feels compassion for the poor and wants to save them, but they fill him with fear and disgust. He knows the industrialist class is killing the world, but feels a deep shame in the fact that he counts himself amongst them. So his machine grinds the rich into meat for the poor, who it distorts into grotesque pig homunculi and forces them to operate the machine’s inscrutable workings.

It’s Mandus’ twisted way of saving the world - kill the rich for their crimes, enslave the poor for their own good, all hail the new machine/god/manager of the 20th century. It’s a neat reflection of the way modern politicians contort themselves to the whims of big business and AI snake oil salesmen to avoid doing the simple and obvious things that’d better the world. It’s a nightmarish refutation of Victorian Liberalism, that only the upper class know how to fix the problems of the lower class. It’s brilliant, and we should play it.

"Do you hear me Mandus? This is what you planned! This world is a machine! A Machine for Pigs! Fit only for the slaughtering of pigs! Whores, beggars, orphans, filthy degenerates. Pigs all. But I will purify the streets, cleanse this city, set the great industry free. I will clean the world, make it pure." - The Machine, A Machine for Pigs

Song of the Year, of the Century

Not long after I came out as trans, I was asked what (in an ideal world) would make transition easier. I replied - never having to leave the house. One day I'd shut the front door as a man and another day, months or years later, I'd open it again as a woman, neatly sidestepping the terror of being perceived in a notoriously transphobic Britain.

In 2020 I shut that door and didn't open it for 4 months. At work, I remember calling the nearby shelter to donate our excess hand sanitizer and toilet roll, figuring out at the last second how support workers could take calls from their already isolated clients via their mobile phones, and fixating on the steady stream of scared coworkers leaving early. Tearfully, I felt the urge to hug those that remained as we locked up, before we remembered we probably shouldn't.

I've never been more aware of the minutia of moving through a space on the way home - How many people had their hands on this handrail? Have I touched my mouth or eyes without realising? Is anyone in the office already sick? Or on this train? How many more people are going to die? - My heart was in my chest, I heard the blood whoosh through my head to the beat of my steps on the pavement. At home, I realised my boyfriend had to go into work the next day. After he went to sleep, terrified he might die, I cried.

"I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this mysterious death—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down." - "The Heat Ray", The War of the Worlds

Writing As the Sun Forever Sets was my way of coping with the disconnect with the world I felt, the fear of both Covid and the rising transphobia kept me inside even as the lockdowns eased. That feeling of throbbing death creeping at the window took a long time to wrestle under control, and getting deeply obsessed with a big project became part of that process. It seems incredibly maudlin to make a TTRPG dealing with darkness and death during a pandemic that killed (and continues to kill) millions of people, but I suppose I’m kind of a maudlin person.

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“I haven't written a song in a month, So I'm playing the same chords again. I know I need to get lost in the moment, But I get lost before it begins. Fingers stretching out into space. Reaching as a thought slips away.”

It also burnt me the fuck out. After years of constant work and testing (beginning long before Evil Hat picked up the game), I ran out of steam. I spent the months after Evil Hat’s public playtest ended not really able to write anything ATSFS related at all. The game kind of froze - I knew what I wanted to change or fix or add, but the moment the google doc opened I couldn’t make myself start typing. It was incredibly frustrating to have the switch flip from endless obsessive writing to constant nothing, and I don’t think I truly recognised the burnout I was feeling until recently. It turns out spending years staying up past midnight writing is bad, who know!

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A lot of Forged in the Dark games don’t get finished (or more accurately, get stuck in perpetual development), something that the excellent and dearly missed +1 Forward podcast recognised in their episode collecting their thoughts on the FITD games they looked at back in 2021. I think that’s because, at least to me, writing a Forged in the Dark game is like trying to hold a plate of spaghetti without the plate. It’s deceptively simple at its heart, but the system squirms when you poke at it - write one thing and it affects 3 other things. Tug one piece of pasta out and you lose a meatball without realising it.

When I listened to that episode, I took it as a challenge. Part of me now wonders if it was a curse. I'm being hyperbolic, of course. But a little part of me did think it might be better to give the game up.

That’s not going to be As the Sun Forever Sets' fate, thankfully. Evil Hat has been there to support me when I’ve felt guilty about shifting another deadline or replying to a check-in email with another late “Not much progress this month, sorry!” The frozen writers block is thawing, and I’m so tantalisingly close to finishing the final text. This blog is part of that process, another chip in the icy dam.

The wheels of dread Martian terror turn once again, and it feels good. Part of that is down to not beating myself up about a lack of progress. The more important part came when I realised I felt able to return to the world again - living in it, not hiding from it. Staying connected to it, even when there's times I'm not able to inhabit it physically. Covid, Britains particular brand of transphobic brainworms, and the shadow of Empire all continue to exist, and so do I - a weird maudlin transsexual woman - in spite of them all.

“The day seemed, by contrast with my recent confinement, dazzlingly bright, the sky a glowing blue. A gentle breeze kept the red weed that covered every scrap of unoccupied ground gently swaying. And oh! the sweetness of the air!” - “The Stillness”, The War of the Worlds

You made it!

Thanks for sticking with my messy thoughts. If what I talked about here sounds cool to you, please stop by the Discord, we'd love to have you. Look forward to seeing As the Sun Forever Sets come to a crowdfunding platform of Evil Hat's choice (I assume backerkit) at some point in the future ♥.

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #forged in the dark #horror #war of the worlds #ttrpg design #science fiction #incredible self indulgence #as the sun forever sets

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anotherghoul666 · 2 years ago

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i JUST started listening to sleep token and went to the tag only to find you there, please tell me more about this band?? collective?? i need more

You got it buddy! One order of a full Sleep Token beginner primer, coming up!

Sleep Token are a rock? metal? genre blending collective based out of England, tho nobody's 100% sure of where the members are from because they are also a masked and anonymous project. Their style of music varies greatly from album to album and song to song. From soft ballads, to electronic music, to indie, to progressive / prog metal, to post-rock / post-metal, and now with their newest singles, a definite shift into heavier sounds with roots in djent and -core genre elements like breakdowns and scream vocals, let's just say they are very diverse and there are not many bands that sound the same out there. Their blending is pretty unique, and imo will prove to be genre-defining in the coming years. They are signed to Spinefarm records and they're touring as we speak in Europe.

They formed in 2016 and self-released their first EP called One that same year. Their second EP aptly called Two was released in 2017 on Basick. They currently have two full length albums out on Spinefarm, 2019's Sundowning and 2021's This Place Will Become Your Tomb, which are the crux of the material you wanna look into. I always advise that you listen to the whole albums front to back because artists plan these tracklists deliberately, so we owe it to them to consume their output the way they intended us to, but! I also realize nowadays nobody does that because of Spotify and streaming, unfortunately, so: for Sundowning, I'd recommend Sugar as a first track because it touches on both the soft and harsh sides of the album beautifully; and for TPWBYT I'd say start with Alkaline (bonus points for a delicious video to get you into their visual side too). On January 6th and 7th 2023, they released two new songs to showcase their new sound, Chokehold and The Summoning. These two singles seem to be the optimal path currently to get into the band. There are rumors of a new album called Take Me Back To Eden to be released this year, there's a tracklist floating around online though we don't know if its legit, and there are also rumors for new singles coming out, at the time of writing this, tomorrow and in two days, on the 19th and 20th of January 2023. There's also a recording of an acoustic show called From The Room Below floating online, with new takes on their previous songs and a few choice covers like Billie Eilish's When The Party's Over, surprising crossovers that are emotional experiences.

Now, visually and in theme, you'll notice the band has a storyline of sorts. The lore of Sleep Token is this: the band was formed after an ancient deity called Sleep (a reductive name that doesn't encompass the deity's nature at all, but its true name cannot be spoken in any human tongue) revealed itself to the singer, Vessel, in his sleep. Sleep appears to be a powerful force worshiped in ancient civilizations, that gave them the blessing of dreams and the curse of nightmares. Since this apparition, Vessel's life purpose has been to worship and make offerings to Sleep via music. The members of the band are all called vessels, we can infer vessels for Sleep. The singer is Vessel I, but the fandom's moved to just calling him Vessel. The other members are just called by their numbers. II is on drums, III is on bass, IV is on guitar. They're all vessels. They wear masks to hide their identities, with what seems to be full body black paint and some variety of stage costumes including hooded coats and capes and now apparently full pauldrons and void wizard staves.

You'll come across some specific lingo when encountering Sleep Token content or in the fandom. These terms mostly come from their official social media so they use them themselves, it's not fan made. "Worship" is the tagline, kinda like "Nema" is with Ghost. You'll see fans telling each other that all the time. To Worship is to take part in enjoying the band in any way you can: listening to the music, watching videos, streaming their stuff, spreading the word, going to shows, buying merch, etc. Sleep Token's shows are called Rituals, like Ghost's. Pictures and videos are referred to as Sacred Moments, or Sacred Moments in Time. The bands they tour with are called Brethren. Sleep Token's songs are called Offerings. Because they are written as a means to Worship the Sleep deity. Offerings can also be in the form of instrument playthroughs, videos, etc. What the band produces. When you listened to new material or acquire merch, you also Consume. A note on their anonymity to finish: while there are rumors about who the band members are, nothing's confirmed and the band's explicit wish is to maintain this anonymity, so it fundamental to respect those wishes and not try to dig. They value art for art, they let the music speak for itself, and they explicitely wish for their music to be detached from who they are as people. Let's leave the magic in place both for them and for us!

Welcome to the fold! Worship!

#sleep token

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vm-haunts · 2 months ago

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Crossover Headcanons: Worldbuilding Edition

A collection of DPxDC headcanons from myself and various posts, in no particular order.

Green stuff

Dionesium is, or is one of the main decay byproduct of, ectoplasm. It is the defining element in Lazarus water.

Lazarus water is a naturally occurring compound that amplifies certain effects of ectoplasm. Concentration of ectoplasm in the waters is surprisingly low despite the appearance.

College trio as the Doctor Three. Who lead the study on dionesium in Gotham University at some point.

Talons created by the Court of Owls are a special type of liminals, and communicates within themselves via a dialect of ghost speak.

Realms stuff

Infinite realms, or pockets within it, had been observed and accessed before, by different civilizations under numerous different names.

The Kryptonians used the realms as a means of banishment, which they called the phantom zone.

GIW stuff

GIW is operating under All Purpose Enforcement Squad (APES), headquarters in mount Rushmore.

Anti-ecto Acts is a set of old laws dating back to civil war era, only brought back into practice in recent years.

Liminals have significantly higher chance of activating metagene. May or may not be causing the metagene mutation in the first place.

Anti-ecto Acts might be intentionally exploited as a backdoor to meta protection acts.

Ring stuff

Pariah Dark's ring of rage turned into the phantom ring after Danny officially claimed it. It enhances all emotions of the owner equally.

Danny lost his ring at some point and it became known to the lanterns as the phantom ring.

In the hands of realm ghosts the phantom ring glows green regardless of the emotion it is enhancing, as ghosts are beings of pure will. Otherwise it is black with a faint white glow. (Can't believe this one matches up, I love lore stitching)

Balance stuff

Danny bears both Life Force and Death Force in equal amounts. His only way to accessing them is channelling a mixture of the two to power his ghost wail.

Ghost Wail infused with both acts like a simple sonic attack. But if powdered only by death force it's functionally the same thing as Void Wind, which 'negates the power and immortality of the gods. Enabling it to shut down any form of arcana used against it'.

Dark Danny only process death force as he no longer have a human side for balance. His death infused wail could be how he destroyed the world without much interference from magic users.

Danny's Wail can be infused with only life force instead, which would eviscerate ghosts. Possibly only possible when he is in human form.

Glitchy stuff (not really DC related)

Dark Danny's attack on Clockwork's tower created some pretty severe glitchs in time (ha) across all of the living realms.

As the clocktower take damage some universes collapsed together, and some timelines became contradictory and paradoxical (typical comic reboot am I right?😅)

After Dan finally calmed down he becomes the ultimate errand boy for clockwork. Showing up an fixing things he broke under the guidance of the ghost of Time.

Stranger stuff

Dan got sentenced to Life (literal) in an alternate ending of glitch in time, which capped his destruction and eventually calmed him off.

Reformed Dan is doing social services as penance, in the DC multiverse he goes by the alias of Phantom Stranger.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #world building #headcanons #I'm so normal about this crossover

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punmasterbaku · 2 months ago

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Welcome to ME DRABBLING ABOUT A NEW AU IDEA "UnderPressure"

As the name states, this will be a crossover of Undertale and Pressure. With playing through the game a few times and reading documents, I thought to come up with this idea before anyone hopefully. This au in particular goes moreso through the pressure story set up but with small twists of my own.

That being Sebastian will still be there to help out and give advice. However its more my version of Sebastian / theories I personally have on the character alone.

With that being said let me give a small hint of the characters...

Crossovers:

Nightmare = Void Mass [ Appearance of half his corrupted self and other more voided mass of tentacles. Dark turquoise instead of purple to fit his negative energy]

Ink = Squiddle [ Has a squid like body covered in ink and dripping paint from his eye sockets. The expressions being different colours when flashed or close by]

Killer = Anglerfish [ Different stages of his soul represent the different variant of Anglerfish that are within the game. A light on his head and black streaks down his face. Gills can be seen on his neck and small scales across his bones. Stage 1. Angler with White Light | Stage 2. Blitz , Fast and hyper with a Blue Light and slowly developing tar like tears | Stage 3. Froger, very fast and more aggressive, has a light brown bulb with more hate pouring out his eyes and can rebound back and forth a few times before leaving. | Stage 4. Mutli-Monster, The highest stage and extremely aggressive, WILL INSTANT KILL and leave 5 seconds to hide. Light shines a DARK RED, hate pouring from eyes and mouth also is very fast. This stage is rare to see...]

Dust = Wall-Dweller [ A sneaky and silent individual who creeps behind the mains. He is seen with no arms, face covered with a metal like plate and hoodie covering most of his body. His back when exposed reveals the many holes and smoky texture as a side effect of the mutation.

Error = p.AI.nter [ Takes form of a computer like AI that has complete control over the Blacksite networks, CCTV footage and other machines including the Turrets. His proper appearance can be seen of him floating with a computer like head when interacting with the main characters trying to help ]

Swap = GoodPeople [ Deranged and mangle of bones kinda like an Amalgamates. Some bones melting into the floor and walls around them like a spider thread. He has a small mask over his face to cover the melting appearance he possesses after the experimentation]

Horror = Eyefestation [ Due to the mutation, his height spikes larger and more creepy with eyes scattering his body and inside the crack he wields on his head. The original eyes, having either completely disappeared or one with the crack. Who knows which one is his real one ]

Cross and Dream as the Protagonists of this AU, being the ones who are running through the facility.

THATS ALL FN, if you are looking forward to learning more feel free to ask and will eventually update more about this au once more has been written. Its a small project but love to see who else is interested.

PS: if you are wanting to join in with ideas feel free to let me know or even come up with designs, just tag me and will have a look for myself TEHE.

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wingedblooms · 6 months ago

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Blooming with life

@offtorivendell and I were chatting about the cover for the next book and while there are several options for what might be depicted on the cover, the one that makes the most sense to me (and makes us scream) is the Cauldron (blooming with life, vines and flowers and creatures spilling from its iron lip). It hasn’t been used on a cover yet, and assuming Sarah will continue with one romantic pairing per book, it would align perfectly with what Elain and Azriel’s story would contribute to the overarching plot.

Let me preface this by saying that I do think the three Archeron sisters embody (or are vessels) for the three faces of the Mother, and they will likely need to come together at some point in this storyline (the dream). But if anyone’s story is connected to a force that once bloomed with life, and is tasked with uncovering its secrets to help it and the land bloom again, it’s Elain. The quiet, gentle gardener who glows like the dawn and smells like a promise of spring. She might even be able to use the language of creation to (re)write her own fate. It doesn’t seem coincidental that Azriel has been present or connected to Elain’s major moments involving the Cauldron (her forced rebirth, naming her powers, questioning the mating bond, using TT to rescue her family, being forbidden from going near the Cauldron, etc.). Their story is tied to the Cauldron and what we’ve learned about it (from the original trilogy to the spin-off books to the crossover). Sarah has left hints that it is still important, in general, and specifically in Elain’s journey with Azriel:

acotar

Feyre gives us our first glimpse of the Cauldron from the living (Spring Court):

I found myself overlooking a rose garden, filled with dozens of hues of crimson and pink and white and yellow.

I might have allowed myself a moment to take in the colors, gleaming with dew under the morning sun, had I not glimpsed the painting that stretched along the wall beside the windows.

[…]

At first I could do nothing but stare at its size, the ambition of it, at the fact that this masterpiece was tucked back here for no one to ever see, as if it was nothing—absolutely nothing—to create something like this.

It told a story with the way colors and shapes and light flowed, the way the tone shifted across the mural. The story of…of Prythian.

It began with a cauldron.

A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but…effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world…(acotar)

acomaf

Elain emerges from the Cauldron. It tips onto its side by itself, as if influenced by an unseen force. Elain rises from the floor, like the earth in the mural, glowing with immortal light and beauty.

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.

And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.

Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live—

Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer.

And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—

Nesta began roaring again.

Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

acowar

After Elain was Made in the Cauldron, Azriel is the one to name her power, freeing her from a murky realm where dream and reality entwine:

“A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” (acowar)

Feyre wonders about Elain’s new, inner sight and how it might be connected to the Cauldron.

Elain had been told—by Amren. She now sat at the table, more straight-backed and clear-eyed than I’d seen her. Had she beheld this, in whatever wanderings that new, inner sight granted her? Had the Cauldron whispered of it while we’d been away? I hadn’t the heart to ask her. (acowar)

Feyre questions the mating bond system, wondering why Azriel and Elain aren’t mates and who determines it.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

“I’d keep that question from Lucien.”

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?”

Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies…”

Azriel is the first to notice Elain’s absence and risks his life to get her back, inspiring Feyre to join him.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

With the shadows, he might stand a chance of slipping in. But there were wards to consider, and ancient magic, and the king with those spells and the Cauldron…(acowar)

Armed with Truth-Teller, the blade Azriel gifted to her for the battle, Elain—rather than the Cauldron—answered Feyre’s pleas, somehow appearing just in time to deal Hybern a killing blow.

For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas.

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” (acowar)

While connected to it through a living link, Feyre learns that the Cauldron adores Elain, gave her such powers (plural, baby), and would not harm her.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain…Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something…It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. (acowar)

Both Elain and the Cauldron are described as blooms in bleak and barren settings, which seems to be a hint of their intertwined role/power that is reinforced in the spin-offs and crossover.

She was a rose bloom in a mud field…[…] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta, she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. (acowar)

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower (acowar)

acosf

Cassian reminds us that the Cauldron is hidden (and supposedly asleep) in Cretea, worrying that no one could control it if it awoke.

A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim Prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

Nesta reminds us of the time the Cauldron stole Elain and its song called only to her:

Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the two terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded. (acosf)

The Inner Circle discusses the Cauldron-Made Trove, and Feyre and Amren remind us that like calls to like, which is why the sisters can help find them.

“What does it have to do with the Cauldron?” Nesta pushed.

“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured, looking to Amren, who nodded. “Because the Trove was Made by the Cauldron, so might the Trove find its Maker.” (acosf)

Elain offers to find the Trove when Nesta admits to her fears, and Nesta forbids her from going anywhere near the Cauldron.

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to…reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways.o You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It’s Elain’s choice, Nesta.” (acosf)

Nesta gives us a glimpse of the dusk service where priestesses worship the Mother and the Cauldron and the Forces That Be (Fate). A sacred, possibly interchangeable trio, which is deeply connected to creation and the earth:

The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth. (acosf)

Nesta finds the carved rose Papa Archeron made for Elain and places it next to a figurine of a primordial goddess:

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

Nesta makes a bargain with the Cauldron, so it is at least somewhat awake and seems to be influenced by, or working alongside, a luminescent hand (maybe a gentle gardener’s hand?) that intervenes on Nesta’s behalf.

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore.

A bargain with the Cauldron itself.

Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

After their almost-kiss on solstice, Azriel dares to question the Cauldron, which he appears to revere.

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?”

Azriel ignored the question. “The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

hofas

In the crossover, we learn more of the Cauldron’s history. Life once blossomed from it, but—as if echoing Azriel’s question to Rhys—it was warped by the Daglan (Asteri).

“The Cauldron,” Azriel amended. Bryce shook her head, not understanding. “You don’t have stories of it in your world? The Fae didn’t bring that tradition with them?”

Bryce surveyed the giant cauldron. “No. We have five gods, but no cauldron. What does it do?”

“All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas)

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas)

The Under-King leaves us with a look at the Cauldron from the dead. It was misconstrued as a goddess over time, explaining interconnected, if not interchangeable, terms (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Forces That Be), but she is a force and her name is Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos.

[…]

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

Tags: @elriel-month 💕

What do you think will be on the cover, friends? Do you agree it might be the Cauldron, or will it be something else, like the Harp or even…a Pegasus?! Ramiel?

#acotar cover art #acotar 5 predictions #elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #the cauldron blooming with life #fate and choice #restoring wyrd and her land #elrielmonth2024 #elriel month

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jokeringcutio · 6 months ago

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"This is a Nice Job" - Black Phone & FNAF Crossover - Reader Insert (Implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber x Reader) [ 1/?]

AN: As I am known to do, I might just start a few drabbles in this setting because I love it.

Summary: You're working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place for William Afton and Mr. Henry, when you have a chat with the hired magician for the day: The Great Al.

Fandoms: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Black PhoneRating: Teen? Warnings: Older man/younger woman, Nothing Explicit (yet), Only implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber(Albert Shaw) x Reader, Flirting with murderers? Reader likes her job around kids. Not betaread. [ Support x ]

This was actually inspired by @cartoonykat's ask:

Loud music filled your ears, interrupted by the occasional shouts of little children as you darted between the tables, a tray of fizzing drinks balanced precariously in your grip. The squeals and laughter of children swirled around you, their faces smeared with icing and joy. You placed a paper cup before each eager set of hands, your smile never faltering.

"Careful now, don't spill," you murmured, patting a small head as its owner looked up at you with wide, grateful eyes.

"Thank you!" the child chirped, clutching the drink like a treasure.

"Happy to help," you replied, your voice a soft melody amid the cacophony of celebration.

Your gaze swept across the room, ensuring all was well, when the sudden hush of captivated little ones snagged your attention. There, at the center of the restaurant, stood Albert Shaw, the hired magician for today’s party. Freddy’s Pizza Place usually had a few performers they worked with, including a clown and this magician. His white-painted face was stark against the backdrop of colorful streamers, his large sunglasses hiding eyes that held secrets darker than the void.

‘The Great Al’, they called him, as he conjured silk scarves from his large top hat, making them dance like serpents charmed by his will alone. With the hat off you could see the shoulder-length dark hair that he hid underneath his hat most of the time. It was already turning grey, betraying his age which was harder to pinpoint with all the makeup covering his face.

He plucked coins from behind ears, eliciting gasps and giggles from his audience, each trick a thread in the tapestry of his dark artistry. He was good with the kids, you thought. His low voice occasionally made its way over the music that he had playing in the background. You found yourself rooted to the spot, your heart thudding a dangerous rhythm.

"Watch closely," he intoned, his low gravelly voice a siren's call that reverberated through your bones. A deck of cards appeared in his hands, flickering through his fingers as if alive. Strong hands, you noted. Thick fingers. Delicious. No – You shook the dirty thoughts away. You shouldn’t be thinking about one of the restaurant’s performers like that.

And then, with a flourish that defied logic, the cards transformed into a flurry of doves, their wings beating against the still air of the restaurant. The children erupted in applause, but you barely heard them. Your pulse quickened. The magician smiled as he revealed a small box and teased the kids with it. It was empty, but after a magical spell, the box was suddenly filled with enough candy to share around. You’d seen this performance several times now, and every time he managed to captivate you.

"Impossible," someone whispered beside you, echoing the disbelief that churned in your thoughts.

Al's performance built to a crescendo, the very air charged with anticipation. With a final bow, he finished, receiving thunderous cheers from his young fans.

"Amazing," you breathed, the word slipping out like a prayer to a deity you were only beginning to comprehend.

"Excuse me,” the voice cut through the din of merriment, stark and commanding. You flinched, recognizing the voice before you turned around. ��Could you come here for a moment?"

Oh no, have I done something wrong? The worried voice echoed inside your mind. I was only looking for a moment, Mr. Afton, you thought to yourself, focusing on what you could say in your defense. I was still on the job and paying attention.

Mr. Afton, your boss and one of the restaurant’s owners, stood in the dimly lit entrance to his office, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He was tall, his stature was impressive for a man of his age. Already greying at the top, hair thinning, large glasses enlarging his eyes, belly poking out from underneath his arms.

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the excited group of kids that had gathered around Albert Shaw. But duty called, its voice as inescapable as gravity. With one last glance at the festive chaos of the party, you made your way toward your boss, the weight of his stare pulling you forward like a marionette on taut strings.

"Mr. Afton," you greeted him, striving for a tone of respectful professionalism despite the unease coiling in your stomach.

"Come inside my office," not a question, but a demand thinly veiled with kindness. His lips curled into a semblance of a smile, not quite reaching the coldness of his eyes behind those aviator glasses.

Mr. Afton was a tall man, taller than most that you met in your life. His hair was thinning on top and greying but still had a lively curl to it. His eyes seemed larger behind the thick glasses he wore. Strands of grey adorned his pepper-and-salt beard. He was the exact definition of a ‘dad bod’. In fact, you had heard he had a family, even though you’d never seen them. Rumors said he was divorced.

You followed him inside to see a large desk, files, and papers strewn all over it. There was an animatronic in the corner of the room, purple, with ears hanging. You thought it might be some kind of rabbit.

The thud of the door closing behind you made you jump and you turned to look behind you to see Afton had closed it. His eyes met yours, only for a short while, and you fidgeted nervously with your hands because… had you done something wrong? Had he caught you looking at the magician? That must have been it, there was nothing else it could have been. He must think you to be slacking. But you weren’t. You were still alert, still focused on any peep from a parent or child.

You needed this job and actually liked it more than you thought you would.

"I've been watching you,” your boss started, licking his lips as he walked toward his desk and then turned to lean against it. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his purple tie wrinkling with the motion against his yellow blouse. The sleeves were pulled up, showing strong forearms riddled with veins and scars.

“You have a knack for this,” he started in that low, stern voice of his. “Keeping the little ones entertained."

"Thank you, sir," you replied, shuffling awkwardly in front of his desk. There was a chair there, but should you sit down? He remained standing so you should too, right? Your mind was racing. Had you done something wrong? Had you not followed protocol? Was your uniform in order?

"I just want to make sure they're all having a good time," the words stumbled from your lips, clumsily and awkwardly, but the smile you managed afterward seemed to soften the look in Mr. Afton’s eyes.

"Indeed." He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, like a storm cloud blotting out the sun. "However, I couldn't help but notice you seemed... distracted. By the magician, was it?"

You swallowed hard, caught off guard. "He's very talented," you deflected, but Mr. Afton's gaze pierced through your defenses, reading unspoken words.

“I,” you hesitated and watched as your boss raised a brow. Swallowing down your fear and gathering your courage, you spoke up again, louder this time. “I was still keeping an eye on the kids and delivering orders though. I might have seemed distracted but I was still doing my job.”

“So it seems,” Mr. Afton murmured, pressing a finger against his lips thoughtfully. You watched the wrinkle between his eyes deepen as he frowned.

"Be careful," he murmured, his voice silk over steel. "You are a pretty girl and I have noticed the man has been looking at you. People aren't always what they seem." There was a warning there, wrapped in the velvet of concern, yet it felt like a threat all the same.

"Of course, Mr. Afton. I'll remember that." Your words were steady, but inside, confusion and curiosity churned. Why did it feel like he cared? And why did it matter so much?

"Good." He clasped your shoulder briefly – a gesture that tried to be fatherly but felt possessive. "Keep up the good work. We need employees like you."

"Thank you, sir." You nodded, excusing yourself from his heavy gaze, a strange sense of relief flooding you as you stepped back into the colorful light of the party.

But as you returned to refilling cups and plating slices of cake, you couldn't shake the feeling of Mr. Afton's eyes on you, nor could you ignore the tingling sensation where his hand had been.

What had that been all about?

You wove through the sea of balloons and streamers, your heart still thudding from Mr. Afton's cryptic parting words. The din of the party enveloped you, a cacophony of glee that almost drowned out the lingering unease. Almost.

The magician, Albert Shaw, stood center stage, lowering his sunglasses to reveal his pale eyes sweeping over the crowd like a predator surveying prey. Tiny hands clapped with fervor as he flourished his final trick – a bouquet appearing from thin air. The children squealed, their delight pure and infectious. But when your gaze met his, something flickered there – an abyss that beckoned and repelled.

"Bravo!" The word slipped from your lips, but the echo in your mind whispered caution.

"Thank you, my dear audience!" Shaw's voice wrapped around the room, velvet lined with smoke. His bow was elegant, yet each movement seemed calculated, a dance with shadows only he could see.

As you slipped behind the bar, the festive chaos became a blur. You began stacking cups, the routine task grounding you. You missed Erica and Lucy. They at least pulled you into conversations every now and again. Today, your only colleagues were Mike and El, who were just teenagers whose hormones had started to work and who were way too busy with each other than with managing the tables. And there were Justin and Jax. The two J’s. Boys who had worked here for so much longer than you that they often forgot you were there and were mostly talking to each other.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, focusing on the music that played from the speakers softly in the background, that you hadn’t noticed the magician’s approach until his presence loomed over you. Albert Shaw leaned against the polished wood, his silhouette casting a long shadow in the neon glow.

"Could I trouble you for a glass of water?" His request was simple, mundane, but it crawled under your skin, insistent.

That voice, you thought, hearing that deliciously dark rasp in it. Was he a smoker? Whatever caused his voice to sound like that, it worked for you. It did things no employee should have to go through during working hours.

Embarrassing really.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremble in your fingers. "It's on the house," you joked. You poured the water, the liquid crystal clear and innocent, an odd contrast to the darkness that seemed to cling to him.

"Generous," he remarked, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. It was a smile that promised secrets, a whisper of sin.

“I do have lemonade, soda, perhaps a fizzy drink?” You offered, cocking a brow. “I know there are cans of beer in the back. I could get a real drink for you. No costs.”

The man’s expression was hard to read, with all the makeup and the dark glasses hiding his bright eyes once more. But you thought you could see his smirk grow. His fingers curled around the glass of water, muscles tensing.

“A soda, then,” he said after a contemplative hum. “I still need to drive home.”

“A soda it is then,” you confirmed, looking at him from over your shoulder as you set to work to get him his free drink. “Most men prefer the beers.”

“Like I said,” his gravelly voice came while he tapped the brim of his top hat. “Got to drive.”

You watched as he sipped from his glass of water. Little droplets of sweat were running down the sides of his cheeks, smudging the white of his makeup.

“Responsible,” you murmured, placing the soda in front of him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thanks.” He took the glass, fingers brushing yours. Electric. Intentional. You inhaled sharply, the air suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your pulse raced. This man was danger masquerading as charm, and yet, you were drawn like a moth to a flame.

You cleared your throat and quickly turned away.

"Nice performance," you managed, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. The innocence of the party around you clashed with the intensity of the moment, the frivolity of balloon animals and birthday cake juxtaposed against the enigma before you. You were vaguely aware of eyes upon you, but when you looked up, all of your co-workers were busy minding themselves.

“You’ve seen me perform before,” the magician said. Touché. He was right there. “Was today’s better than all my other performances? Or just not as bad?”

You turned to face him again, forcing a small smile.

“It’s always a pleasure to watch your shows,” you hesitatingly confessed. Were your cheeks red again? Could he see that you were blushing? You hoped not. You clumsily started to wipe the bar with a wet rag, wiping away stains of spilled drinks and oily fries.

"Albert Shaw," he introduced himself formally, though you already knew. His name had been murmured in hushed, awed tones all day. He was on the list in the backrooms, hired via Abracadabra Entertainment & Supplies. You knew Afton and Henry bought most of their balloons and garlands from them as well. Although the agency wasn’t as big as Ha-Ha’s, from which they hired their clowns.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Shaw." Your reply was automatic, but your mind was alight with curiosity and a dangerous thrill. You lifted the wet rag, showing you couldn’t shake hands with him, to which he took no notice. He reached for your free hand, despite it being wet from the rag as well, took it without hesitation, and shook it.

You stood frozen, uncertain of what to do or how to react, when his hand was already long gone. But Albert was already talking, seemingly unaware of how the little gesture – that little skin-on-skin contact – had rattled you.

"Please, call me Albert." His tone was insistent, a command cloaked in courtesy.

"Then you should call me…" You cut yourself short, almost giving away more than you meant to, "a fan of your work." Not that he wouldn’t know your name by now. It was on a badge on your chest.

"Perhaps one day," he said softly, "you'll show me what you're a fan of up close." The suggestion hung heavy between you, tantalizing and terrifying.

"Maybe," you breathed, the word barely more than a whisper.

As he leaned forward, his finger darted out to the badge on your chest. “Pretty name,” the words tumbled from his lips far more erotically than they should have. “Fits you.”

He then leaned back on the stool in front of the bar and picked up his glass while you spun around with cheeks all flushed, the wet rag still in your hands. You made the error of pressing the rag against your forehead, making you wince and leave for the backroom to get rid of it and dry your head.

This man was making you do weird things.

Upon your return, he was still at the bar, finishing a talk to one of the parents, and seemed to have taken his glasses off. Finally. Wearing sunglasses indoors was weird. As the dad left, Albert turned back to you and nursed his drink. Your eyes deliberately focused on the kids playing, rather than on the way the magician’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank.

Yup. Definitely not going to look at that.

“You’re enjoying this job, aren’t you?” Albert’s words caught you by surprise and you turned to him.

“Well, yes,” you said, because it was obvious. At least you hoped it was.

“You’re smiling radiantly. Like a bright star in the night,” Albert said, a toothy smile cracked the white of his makeup.

“Well," you replied, trying to steady your breathing. "Their laughter, it's... it's infectious." Your words fluttered out, betraying the turmoil within.

"Laughter, yes," he echoed, but something about his tone felt off. It gave you that weird shivery feeling down your spine. "The sound of pure... innocence."

He drank the soda, watching you over the rim of the glass, and you knew that this was no ordinary thirst. This was the thirst of a man accustomed to getting what he desires, by means unknown and best left unexplored.

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his stare heavy on your skin and you vaguely excused yourself. “I got swipe behind here too or the boss will think I’m not working.” Anything to get away from his eyes.

“Of course,” Albert replied, the grin never leaving his face.

“Didn’t he used to perform as well?” Albert’s question surprised you and you blinked up, already holding a broom in your hands.

“Huh?”

Albert hummed. “The yellow bunny suit, if I remember correctly. He told me about it once.”

You had to stifle a laugh. “What’s up with you performers and hiding your faces?” You asked. “You, the clowns, all use makeup. And the acrobat lady too. Or they wear big suits with masks.”

"Ah, but we all wear masks, don't we?" Albert tilted his head, a lock of greying hair falling across his brow.

"Sometimes without knowing it," you agreed, feeling the truth of those words more than you cared to admit. Then you sighed, the broom nearly slipping out of your hands.

“I don’t like wearing masks though,” you admitted almost dreamily. “I like to show the world who I really am. Putting on a front seems incredibly tiresome to me, don’t you agree?”

When your eyes met those of Albert, they were unreadable.

“It’s an astonishing thing, to be bashfully and unashamedly oneself.” The words came out brittle, then he reached into the pocket of his black coat.

"Here," he said, slipping a card from his sleeve with a flourish that made you jump. The black and red design swirled before your eyes, hypnotic. "In case you ever need a touch of magic."

His smile was a predator's grin, yet oddly charming.

“Got to do all my advertising myself. And since you were impressed…”

"Thank you," you stammered, feeling the card's smooth edges as you took it. The numbers danced under your fingertips, promising things unsaid.

"Call anytime," he added with a wink. It felt like a secret pact, one you weren't sure you wanted to be part of.

"Maybe I will," you murmured, pocketing the card, the heat of the exchange lingering like a spell.

As he turned to leave, Mr. Afton's shadow fell over you, icy and suffocating. You looked up to find his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. Was it anger? Curiosity? Longing?

"Good work today," he said, each word measured and precise, but there was something else in his tone. A darkness that coiled beneath the surface.

"Thank you, Mr. Afton," you responded automatically, trying to sound unaffected. But your heart raced, betraying your composure.

"Keep our guests happy," he continued, his voice low, commanding. "That's what keeps them coming back."

"Of course," you nodded, but his eyes never left yours, pinning you like a butterfly in a case.

After a silence that felt like an eternity, Mr. Afton’s stern gaze finally left your face and he turned away from you. “Good girl,” it was but a low whisper, and you had to blink, wondering if the words had been real or if you had imagined them.

The moment you came out of your daze, Mr. Afton had returned to his office, seating himself behind his desk and leaving the door ajar so that he was in your field of vision. Your eyes searched the bar, but it seemed that ‘The Great Al’ had left.

As you watched Mr. Shaw vanish behind the swinging double doors, a shiver crawled up your spine. Laughter and chattering filled your ears, pulling you back to the here and now. And when you looked up, it was to see Mr. Afton as he lifted his eyes from the papers he was working on. Pale eyes that rested upon you for just a tick too long.

You loved your job, but whatever was going on here, you had no clue. The possibilities that filled your mind were too weird to consider. Patting the card hidden away on your body as a silent reminder to put it in your bag before you went home, you decided to ignore the weird tension that had been in the room earlier. And with a smile on your face, you went back into the sea of kids.

You loved this job and all the odd people you met through it.

AN: Guys, I did a thing (: Have you noticed the Arthur Fleck/Joker hints in it.

#william afton x reader #The grabber x reader #Albert shaw x Reader #the black phone #fnaf drabble

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imgibbon · 2 months ago

Text

A "Brief" History of Shade, the Changing Man & Woman

In the beginning, ie 1978, there was Ditko, and he gave us Shade, the Changing Man, and it was good.

Rac Shade was a Bond-type agent of an advanced society on a world called Meta - not an alien planet, but the Earth-analog of another layer of reality, and journeying between them meant crossing "The Zero Zone" and trying not to run afoul of its Area of Madness.

Shade had been framed for treason and the crippling of his fellow agent and fiancé Mellu Loran's parents, high-ranking government officials. Escaping from prison and heading to Earth and making use of a bit of contraband experimental technology that was being held at his hideout for Earth operations prior to his frame-up, the "M-Vest", he tracks down escaped Metan criminals while also seeking to find the one who framed him, who has been hiding out on Earth by integrating into its mafia underworld.

The M-Vest allowed Shade a range of powers. With it he could manipulate gravity, employ enhanced strength, fire off energy blasts, and gave him an odd force-field that mitigated harm, but was also sensitive to the psyche of those around Shade, contorting to look like a weird image of their fears, as well as reflecting Shade's unconscious thoughts. He was a "changing man" as, to others, he was a constantly mutable and unnerving entity.

Across the 8 published issues (we got issue #9 later, and Ditko purportedly had up through issue #15 plotted out), Shade convinces his superiors of his innocence, returns to Meta, makes up with Mellu, and starts to make his way back to earth to deal with the criminal mastermind behind his framing infiltrating and taking over the Earth observation outpost that Shade's organization had been working out of.

And then the series was cancelled on short notice due to DC being in financially dire straits at the time.

A decade later, in 1988, Shade was rescued from the void of the Zero Zone by The Suicide Squad, joining their ranks in return for helping him liberate his org's outpost as if it were the next issue and he hadn't been absent from pages for a decade since we last visited that plotline. The mastermind is killed during the scuffle, and with him any chances of Shade being able to go home and formally clear his name. Waller and co offer to help him out while he figures out another way home in the meantime.

He ran with the Squad for a good twenty issues, taking part in the giant Janus Directive crossover, and even journeying to Apokolips and fighting the New Gods with them. During that arc, he is talked into making a bad call that betrays the team, though he helps them get out of the resulting mess. In the end, when everyone is zapped home by Darkseid's eyebeams, while the rest of the Squad is blipped to Earth, Shade is finally returned to Meta.

Six months later, mid 1990, Peter Milligan's first issue of the new Shade, the Changing Man hit news stands. And it was... different.

Milligan expanded on Shade's backstory, revealing that Shade had been an aspiring poet prior to being recruited into the agency that trained it out of him, and delving more into Metan culture, while also using Shade as a vehicle for exploring the weirdness of being in a familiar yet alien society he felt as a British man newly moved to America.

After returning to Meta and before he'd had time to reunite with Mellu, Shade's superiors had tasked him with going back to Earth to pick up an assignment that another agent had been on but failed at: figuring out where the Madness in America was stemming from, and stop it from leaking out into the Area of Madness and influencing Meta. Shade had to journey deep into the Area of Madness to get a bead on it, and ended up on Earth by possessing the body of a freshly executed serial killer, unknowingly leaving his original body an empty lifeless husk floating in the void.

He started travelling the States with Kathy George, whose parents were the serial killer's final victims, and the two eventually are joined by Lenny Shapiro, and sarcastic and witty woman in her own right. The three end up in what would today be called a polyamorous trouple, and eventually confront the living embodiment madness of America, which had infected the other agent, driven him insane, and transformed him into what manifested to others as the giant twisted skeleton of Uncle Sam known as The American Scream.

Shade's M-Vest has grown in power, and possibly is just a part of him now, vastly increasing his abilities to raw reality-warping levels. He can more or less just do whatever the story needs him to do now, basically.

Once the Scream had been dealt with, Shade died. Not that that really slowed him down at all. He wasn't even really aware that it had happened. His at this point powerful madness-riddled psyche was keeping him around as a ghost of sorts, and Kathy & Lenny found a recent corpse to posses, as someone had just driven their car into the lake near where they were staying.

They only discovered after the fact that it was a woman.

After a brief detour where Shade transitioned back into being a man (transmasc baybeeeee), he went back to Meta, finally reconnecting with Mellu after what was now some years, only to learn that the agency had told her that he was dead, and she'd met and wed someone else. She has a mental breakdown, asking in tears why he hadn't come home sooner. Taking this in, Shade returned to Kathy and Lenny, to let them know that he was dying again, said his goodbyes, and allowed himself to be killed by the same FBI/Meta duel operative who'd done him in before.

This is where the Vertigo imprint spun up. The next issue, under the Vertigo banner, picks up after a bit of a timeskip, where Kathy and Lenny are informed by the ghost of Kathy's dead ex that angels in heaven have plans for Shade, and they're sending him back, having prepared for him a body to use in the form of a adult man who's been basically braindead since birth and kept in a medical institution. But the angels have kept a bit of Shade's soul so they can exert some power over him, and it's made him a bit less hinged than he used to be.

Shade, Kathy, and Lenny, per the angels' direction, set up shop as managers of a hotel, helping the weird visitors who come to stay there. During their time there, Shade manages to get Kathy pregnant, and Lenny reunites with the daughter Lily that she had in her teens before running away from home.

But as Kathy comes to term and approaches the time to give birth, she is brutally assaulted. She dies, though they manage to save the baby. Shade, however, is not in his right mind, and rejects the child, walking out of the hospital to wander, while Lenny leaves with her daughter.

This, purportedly, was where Milligan intended to end the series. But for whatever reason it didn't, so it kept going, and the status quo was obviously massively different than what it used to be.

After another not-too-lengthy timeskip Shade decides to kill himself, not seeing the point in continuing, though the literal devil sends him back to posses yet another body. Shade, in an attempt to find meaning, sets up shop in a dimensionally transcendental crack in the pavement in NYC, spends some time existing as the floor in a dance studio, and finally goes to check up on his son, George. Who, it turns out, is aging extremely rapidly, due to not being fully human.

Reunitings with Lenny are had, George ages to death over the course of six months, his soul merges with Lenny's daughter Lily, Shade picks up a few more strays in the form of Angela and Sinita, the latter of which he starts a new relationship with, before everything goes tits up again and he decides the solution is to build a time machine so he can fix all of his (and his friends') problems. He prevents Kathy's parents from being murdered, prevents his younger self from joining the agency, helps Lenny out in her youth, etc.

The series ends with Shade and his now-daughter Lily visiting this new revised timeline's version of Kathy to see if they can strike up a relationship with her.

Things apparently didn't go well.

The next time we see Shade outside of cameos is a story arc in Milligan's run on John Constantine, Hellblazer, in 2010. Constantine summons Shade to help with some Madness-related issues he and his fiancé Epiphany are experiencing, and Shade, unable to get together with the new Kathy and Lily nowhere in sight, becomes obsessed with turning Constantine's bride-to-be into an idealized version of Kathy. It doesn't work, and Constantine is able to properly wed Epiphany, but Shade is shown to be crazy and depressed and have basically the powers of a god. In the middle of all of that we also met back up with Lenny, who has cleaned herself up and is now a school teacher, go figure.

The very next year, DC would cancel the Vertigo line, and everything else, and reboot their universe with the Flashpoint event. During it, in a miniseries from Milligan, Shade is forcibly taken back to Meta, where they reveal that A) the vest has grown to be a part of him, and can no longer be removed in a way that matters, and, B) because of this he is, to an extent, immune to all these reality rewrites. Or at least less affected by them. Shade is put in charge of a team, the Secret Seven, but the madness overtakes him (with a bit of help from some double agents for an enemy faction) and he winds up back in the Area of Madness

Afterwards, in the New 52, we see him trying to forcibly manifest a new Kathy with his godlike powers, but apparently not godlike enough, as she just melts when he's not around. He's interrupted by Madame Xanadu, putting together a team, the Justice League Dark, largely comprised of many of the members of the Secret Seven, and tasks Shade in a leading role to help her save the world from some threats she has foreseen.

Milligan wrote this series for the first 8 issues, and when he left, so did Shade (as well as Milligan's other OCs he'd brought to the table), but it served as a nice little coda to his era of The Changing Man that had begun some twenty odd years earlier.

It would then be another half-decade or so before we'd see hide or hair of Shade again. In late 2016, DC started up the Young Animal line, a young adult-aimed successor to the Vertigo imprint, with many of the same faces headlining its titles. And among them was Shade.

Sort of.

The new Shade, the Changing Girl, from writer Cecil Castellucci, starred young adult bird alien Loma Shade, who was raised on Meta and had adopted Rac's last name after becoming enamored with his poetry and counter-culture views while he was acting as a guest lecture at her university before disappearing form Metan society again.

Loma steals what is purportedly Rac's vest, which has been sitting in a museum, and uses it to transfer her consciousness to Earth, wanting to follow in Rac's footsteps, taking over the body of a comatose high school girl named Megan. And leaving her now empty bird alien body behind on Meta for her boyfriend to deal with, oops.

Living as "Megan", she learns about our culture, experiences dysphoria being in a body she doesn't identify with, and explores sexuality, hormones, and learns how to be a better person than she used to be (and than Megan used to be as well). Meanwhile back on Meta, we learn that Mellu, now getting up there in years, is the head of the agency that used to employ her and Shade, and becomes obsessed when learning that someone has stolen Rac's vest and managed to use it, thinking she'll finally be able to reunite with Shade again after all these years.

Eventually, Loma runs away from home, learns never to meet her heroes, has to deal with Megan wanting her body back, and Mellu wanting Rac's coat back. Her original body dies without her soul in it, and Megan's body dies in the process of Megan trying to get back in it. Shade ends up possessing the body of her favorite black & white sitcom star, Honey Rich, who happened to look a lot like Megan in her younger years, and returns it to youthfulness to attend Megan's funeral.

Mellu also gets the coat back and uses it to reunite with Shade, who had left behind the vest for Mellu and was waiting for her in the Area of Madness where time has no meaning.

It was at this point that Loma got caught up in a really bizarre crossover event that involved all the titles in the Young Animal line called Milk Wars, which was largely Doom Patrol focused, but saw Loma splitting in five, each color-coded and embodying one of her emotions Inside Out style, and serving as Wonder Woman's personal helpers in a world overtaken by a weird 1920s aesthetic organization called Retcon. It was very weird lol.

The series then returned with under the new branding Shade, the Changing Woman. We are subjected to a five year timeskip, during which Loma has grown and slipped into old habits, sleeping around with men and women, indulging in food, drugs, and other things to fill the void in her heart. Her friends have all graduated, gone on to higher education, and gotten jobs in their fields. And she still doesn't really know what her place in the world is. So she's been couch-surfing with Rac in the Area of Madness while she figures out what to do with her life.

And in the midst of all that, the giant interdimensional crayfish that destroyed her birth planet, causing her to be a refuge child on Meta in the first place, begin to attack the Earth.

By the end of the final issue in late 2018, Loma and Rac had become one person, Kathy, Lenny, and Lily had put in an appearance, Mellu got some closure, Megan had come back in a male body and tried to hijack Loma's again, Loma's old boyfriend had become a green lantern, and Loma ended up possessing the body of her dying black non-binary friend River.

And that's where the series ended.

And we haven't seen Shade, in any iteration, since then.

#rac shade #loma shade #river shade #shade the changing man #shade the changing woman #shade the changing girl #suicide squad #justice league dark #secret seven #kathy george #lenny shapiro #mellu #dc comics #vertigo #young animal #steve ditko #peter mill #cecil castellucci

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half-deadmagicperson · 11 months ago

Text

How Danny Broke His Favorite Star Projector

Hey y'all!!! This is my fic for @ecto-implosion on art by @midnightectosnack ! (WHO DID AN AMAZING JOB!)

Crossover: Danny Phantom, Hades (Videogame)

Rating: Teen (To Be Safe)

Characters: Danny Phantom, Zagreus (Hades), Cerberus (Hades), Cujo (Danny Phantom), Clockwork, Persephone (Hades), Charon (Hades)

Tags: Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Psychopomp AU

Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Death Mentioned, Cannon-typical Violence

Summary: It's been a long time since Danny became a half-ghost. After the fights in Amity ended, he began a new job: guiding souls to their respective afterlives. One day, Danny stumbled upon a strange soul he's never seen before, a soul from the House of Hades.

Link to AO3

Next Chapter

Link to Midnight's Artwork!!!

It was a pretty normal day in the Infinite Realms, well as normal as it can be. Danny had just finished up his day at work and was making his way back home. He floated in the Zone for what felt like forever. His fatigue caused his surroundings to blur. Islands, doors, staircases, a bluish spirit looking thing, more islands. Danny stopped in his tracks. He must've forgotten one.

About seventy years ago or so, before Danny left Amity, Clockwork showed up to Danny's house with a new job. He asked Danny to help guide souls to their respective afterlives. The boy accepted the offer and began shortly after.

Danny walked with thousands of spirits. Some were strangers, others were a little close to home. It started with Sam's grandma, then Tucker's parents, then Sam's, then his own mother and father, then Tucker, then Sam, then Valerie, then Jazz. Eventually, everyone he ever knew passed away. Amity Park moved on, and so did Danny, well he's trying to.

Now Danny was staring at the Blue spirit in front of him. It was definitely a soul, but it looked different than the ones he's seen before. Its face was a dark void with yellow eyes and kind of reminded him of a blob ghost, but more sentient. He should probably go to Clockwork.

The ghost boy floated around, soul in tow, until he approached a large clocktower.

“Hello? Clockwork?” Danny called out into the dark entryway. He glanced around until his eyes landed on a familiar purple cloak. The boy’s mentor, currently in the form of a baby, turned around to greet his pupil. The baby’s form shifted into a frail, old man.

“Hello, Daniel, what have you come to ask?”

“Ok, so I was on my way back home when I came across this soul, and I don’t know which afterlife it belongs to,” Danny pointed to the blue creature next to him.

“Ah, yes, I haven’t seen one of those souls in a very long time. This soul belongs to the House of Hades,” Clockwork moved to inspect the soul, “ Usually these souls are sent directly to Hades, but it appears this one got lost. Would you mind, Young Daniel, escorting it back to the Underworld?”

Danny looked up at his mentor, now in the form of a young adult, and nodded. The Ghost of Time passed the boy a scroll with directions as well as a giant sack of meat. It was time to go to the Underworld.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the darkness of the Underworld, the young prince prepares food for the fiercest of protectors, Cerberus the three headed hound.

“Oh, you’re back, Old Man.”

Zagreus, Son of Hades, grabbed the sack of meat he prepared to feed his favorite guard dog. He walked down the cold, dry halls of the House of Hades until he reached the back of the Temple.

The Prince wanders the halls of the House. He does not know what he shall find further ahead. Will it be a great ally? Or a deadly foe? Either way the Fates have something in store.

“You know I can still hear you, Right?”

Zagreus sighed. There must be something, other than Cerberus ahead. Slowly, Zagreus crept down the hall, preparing for battle if necessary. He couldn’t believe what he saw next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny just finished returning the soul. He decided not to venture too deep into the Underworld, totally not out of fear, and dropped the prodigal off at the main entrance.

When he first arrived at the House, he heard a large growl. Cerberus, the massive three-headed hound, showed three sets of fangs to the unsuspecting ghost boy.

Danny, not having any concept of danger, decided to treat the giant beast like he would any dog, and allowed it to give him sniffs. He floated up closer to the middle head. The creature’s giant noses created gusts of wind as it took in Danny’s scent. Danny braced himself for rejection, but instead felt a large nose bump into him, more specifically, into the bag of meat. The boy mentally thanked Clockwork, and presented Cerberus with the meat.

In an instant, the ferocious hell-hound turned into an oversized puppy. Danny smiled as he offered the dog pets. He kind of reminded Danny of Cujo. The boy continued scratching under one of the dog's ears. He didn't hear the incoming footsteps.

"Who the hell are you?"

Danny whipped his head around. On the opposite side of the hallway stood a rather imposing figure. A guy, who looked just a tad older than Danny, crossed his arms and glared. He was dressed like a Greek god, and was built like one too. This was gonna be interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zagreus didn't know what he was expecting, maybe some monster or a demigod or something, but it definitely wasn't a flying boy in a strange outfit. The weirdest part was that Cerberus had not attacked the intruder, in fact, the intruder was petting him? It was then that Zagreus noticed the sack of meat on the floor. Ah, bribery. Welp time to get this party started.

"Who the hell are you?"

The boy jolted into a defensive position. Zagreus noticed him analyzing his opponent. He was definitely a seasoned fighter, and not to be underestimated. The boy put on a nervous expression and responded:

"I was…just leaving! Nice place you got here, uh, sir! I'll just be, uh, scooting out this gateway here."

The culprit was trying to escape. Zagreus sighed. He may be new here, but he still must face the same justice.

"You are not allowed to intrude into the House of Hades, for that you must pay."

He drew out Stygius, Blade of the Underworld.

Danny eyed the blade carefully. It looks like there's gonna be a fight. Maybe he can talk the guy with the sword out of it?

“We, we don't really have to fight! I can just lea-”

Zagreus charged full-force at the stranger. The prince only had a few moments to process the glowing blue in his opponent's hand before he was met with another sword.

Danny used his newly crafted ice sword to ward off his attacker. He eventually was able to get a lucky hit in and knock the weapon out of Zagreus's hand.

“Could we maybe, I don't know, talk about things instead of fighting?”

“No,” was the prince’s curt reply before drawing another weapon, a spear. Where the hell did that even come from?

Zagreus spun the Eternal Spear into the intruder's sword. The ice shattered like glass. Looks like it was time for a new plan.

Danny summoned some ectoblasts and started shooting at the prince from a distance. Despite his efforts, Zagreus persisted and started backing Danny into a corner.

Danny sighed.

“I didn't want to have to do this, but you gave me no choice.”

The Underworld shook with the echoes of ghostly screaming. Stalactites cracked and crumbled onto the ground. Cerberus whined from the loud noise. Zagreus cupped his ears, yet still persisted.

Danny continued his Ghostly Wail until his throat was raw. Exhaustion waved over him. It's been a while since he's used that, he forgot how draining it was.

Seeing the prince disoriented, he allowed himself to meet the floor. He couldn't fight more if he tried.

Zagreus's ears were ringing, but he noticed his opponent was down. He did not hesitate to take the opportunity to trap the boy.

Danny looked up at the two-pronged spear aimed at his throat.

"WAIT!!!.....please," Danny croaked out. The prince stared down at him, refusing to let down his guard. Nevertheless, he let him continue.

"I was sent here by my mentor to return a soul. I'm a psychopomp. I guide souls to their respective afterlives. I was on my way home when I found one of yours. I promise I never meant to intrude!"

Zagreus looked down at the young ghost. He could be telling the truth, but he also could be lying. He scanned the boy for any indication of falsehood. He found none.

Slowly, he let up on the ghost, refusing to break eye contact. The boy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, now that that's settled, my name is Danny, Danny Phantom, what's yours?"

#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #ectoimplosion #hades game #crossover #dpxhades #tw death mention #tw temporary character death #but that's later on #psychopomp au #fic #cannon typical violence

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yourwinchesterbros · 1 year ago

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SUPERNATURAL MAYHEM Part one

The beginning of my favorite crossover is here! I’ve chosen to break this up into two parts as it added up to being over 10k words. Second part will be posted in a few days ✨ If you enjoyed this, please let me know! A like, reblog or comment means so much!

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Jax Teller x Female Reader x Dean Winchester x Soulless Sam

Summary: A long unforgettable night leaves reader with a new view of the world, but will she choose to explore it?

Authors Note: This is a crossover I've been searching for and one night decided to write! If you like both SPN and SOA, then you might enjoy this! HUGE THANK YOU TOO @alohomorasomnium for editing my flaws, you're simply the best!

Warnings: Fairly tame, cursing, use of weapons, use of antidote, kidnapping, kissing, angst, some Dom behavior.

Darkness. It’s all you see around you, like an empty void ready to consume you. Your head is spinning, trying to make sense of your absence of sight. Your ears ring due to the deafening silence of your surroundings.

Where am I? Is the first thought that breaks through the fog, echoing in your mind.

Pain suddenly radiates through-out your body. You realize your shoulders, your collarbone, and your wrists all feel as if they’ve been battered black and blue. You try to shift around but somehow; your wrists are bound behind you. Your confusion grows, your mind fighting through the haze. You blink, feeling fabric brush against your long eyelashes. You try to think back to where you were before this, but even thinking is painful. You instinctively start to rub your temple against the bone of your shoulder in an attempt to push the rough, ratty material that you realize is blinding you. After a few attempts, an old twisted up cloth falls into your lap.

You’re welcomed to the sight of more darkness. It appears you’re in a room, from what you can make out. Your eyes sting when exposed to all the dust that’s hanging in the air. You stifle a cough, irritated that you’ve been breathing heavily, inhaling basically asbestos at this point.

What the fuck?

You blink hard, all your senses coming alive with your eyesight regaining. Pain. Every part of your body aches, your hands are tied to a wooden foundation pillar behind you with what feels like old rope. Its split ends tear into your skin like sandpaper. You try moving your wrists around, to see if the rope will give way so you can free yourself, but it's no use. The bindings, if anything, tighten that much more from your movements. Giving you less and less room to work with. Whoever did this to you, had no intention of letting you go. You shudder at the thought of whoever this mysterious person may be, holding you captive. What they may want…

You refocus your attention, desperately trying to remember anything from before but you can’t seem to recall what happened. Was I at home? Work?

No, there’s no way you’d been snatched from the clubhouse while tending the bar. You must’ve been at home, sleeping?

You lean forward, trying to use your body weight and the corner of the pillar to separate the rope, but it doesn’t work. As you contemplate your next course of action, a horrifying thought plaques your mind.

How long have I been here? How long do I have to get out of here before they come back?

With that now in the forefront of your mind, you gain a new sense of urgency. Frantically, you try rubbing the homemade cuffs against the wood. You ignore the fact that the air is still clouded as your breathing deepens in an effort to free yourself. But once again, you fail. You growl in frustration, throwing your hands back against the wood, ignoring the dull aches seeping from the bruises on your battered wrists. As panic and adrenaline continue to take over, you scan your eyes over your surroundings once more, analyzing the area to see if anything can help you.

With one little window above the wooden stationary table across the room from you, there really isn’t much of a light source. Just a delicate stream of moonlight, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air, stirred up from your panicked escape attempts. You think again, where the fuck was I? But you come up with nothing.

“God damn it Jax” You whisper to yourself. You knew this was coming, it came for all the women who dared to join the Prince of Charming in his tirades of violence. It was well known history that whoever stood next to Jax, had a death wish. Yes, believe or not, dating the President of a biker gang isn’t as glorious as it seems. Being an old lady makes you an instant target for the enemies of the sons, of which there are many.

Who found you this time?

That’s right, this time. You’ve been kidnapped before. The Mayans followed you home one night. Before you even had the chance to turn the ignition off in your car, you were ripped out of the seat and taken for negotiation. Then there was the IRA. You were held hostage; your life was on the line once again. Literally on the phone line, with Jax on the other end telling Gaelan he would continue distributing for him in exchange for your survival. And now this. You know your luck is bound to run out. Your breathing quickens as you start to accept the reality of the situation. There’s no getting out this time. Is the club even aware that you’ve been taken? The question you keep coming back to is how long have you been tied up in this dingy basement? The fact that you don’t know the answer to that and probably never will, causes a pit of dread to form in your stomach.

“Fuck” you mutter under your breath as you roughly shut your eyes.

This song and dance is starting to get old. To what end is enough, finally enough? Each time your safety is questioned, you tell yourself that it’s too dangerous to go back, that you can’t handle the life; always watching your 6 as well as your 7-8-9.

Yet each time you’re rescued, you’re consumed by the ways of the club, and always end up back to square one. The simple fact is you desire the life. The atmosphere, the people, the machines, the thrill... you feel you belong. That your role is meant to be at Teller-Morrow assisting those men in kutte, offering sanctuary and support for the women in tight dresses, to stand beside the old ladies and keep them on their toes. As for the president that sits at the head of the table; for him you’re the reason he stays resilient and clear-minded. Each time you get a chance to see how short-lived life is for those around the sons, you tell yourself you’re on borrowed time. That you need to walk away, that you will leave the life, but you know you speak the language of lies.

“Quit your bitching” you mumble to yourself, thudding your head lightly against the wood. They’ll find you. They have too. The notorious band of killer bikers always do. You know how much you mean to Jax, and you know they’re probably already on the hunt looking for you. Jax calling all charters for assistance and letting the reaper inside him take the wheel.

The reaper. That side of Jax, he can smell you. Feel your pull when he needs you. Everyone says that he’s the prince but really, he’s the god damn devil himself. He’s feared among warriors, he puts demons to shame. And your soul will always belong to him, no trade necessary.

“I see you’re awake.”

The sudden intrusion of your captors' grating whisper tears you from your thoughts as your whole body goes rigid. Your breathing falters at the realization that you’re no longer alone, your heartbeat getting louder and louder in the growing silence. You can feel the echoing of each beat in your ears. You wish you could turn it off and hide in the dark, in silence.

“Shh... “The sound slithers from the shell of your right ear across the nape of your neck causing your hair to stand on end as it settles in your left ear. You can’t move, your body is frozen in shock, locked in a state of fear. You can’t even bear to look, to reveal the mystery.

“It’ll be quick...” the voice drawls out, an underlying tone of excitement riding with it, riddling your skin with goosebumps.

Just then, you’re startled by a muffled vibration from directly underneath your rear. Holy shit. You’ve had your shitty iPhone 4, in your back pocket this entire time. Regardless, you wouldn't have been able to snake it out from beneath you but the fact that it’s ringing on silent mode, gives you just enough confidence to believe you might get saved. You know it’s Jax trying to get a hold of you.

“Doesn’t matter” you manage to spill out. The two words are all you could say as you clutch onto your mask of composure.

“You won’t receive the same fate.” You whisper, staring ahead. Your eyes glues to an old piece of tape stuck on the wall in front of you as an anchor. You could feel it’s presence right beside you. Feel eyes burning into your flesh.

“Look at me” the low voice says with a sharp hiss.

You clench your jaw. You know you have to face your captor. It’s your best chance for an opportunity to escape or buy yourself more time.

“You see” you start your attempt to distract.

“When you’re in his grip, there will be no such thing as a quick death” you spit the words as you turn, to stare down your opponent.

Your eyes grow wide, the second they make contact with hers. A shriek clambers out of your throat before you can even think to stop it, you try to rationalize what you’re seeing in front of you

“W-what are you!?” You scream at her, as you push yourself back as close as you can against the wooden pillar.

You can’t believe your eyes, as they focus on the woman – no - thing, crouched in front of you.

A smile slowly works its way onto her face. “I always forget how ignorant you humans are…so unaware of what’s lurking in the dark all around you”

She creeps closer, stepping over your legs as she does so.

It wasn’t the fact that her face, lips, arms, her entire body was covered in tattooed lines or that her expression seemed void of any emotion, but it was her eyes. They glowed deep blue. Her silhouette black against the navy hue emanating from her eye sockets. It was unnatural.

“You’re a monster” You utter the words in disbelief, your eyes wide at the creature staring back at you.

She advances again, giving you a better look at her disguised form. It looks starved, deprived of meals.

“A Djinn” her voice echoes as she closes the space between you two. Your mind fills with confusion at her words. You feel her cold touch, gripping your chin. Before closing your eyes due to the blue light blinding you, your eyes focus on her tattoos and how they move… all travelling towards her hand, to her grasp on your face.

Another wave comes rushing through you, but this time it’s peaceful. Not a nauseating sensation but a sense of euphoria. Your eyes roll back, as her toxins continue to seep into your pores. Your mind is abruptly cleared as a moment of clarity hits you. You find yourself in a different world, such as a dream. Your body completely relaxes without instruction. Everything feels… calm. Calm enough to let yourself fall further into the hallucination.

“Grab the girl, I got this!” You hear a deep shout somewhere in the distance, or maybe it’s right in front of you. The now familiar haze in your mind makes it impossible to decipher. Maybe there is no voice at all.

“Dean!” Another voice echoes nearby.

You feel yourself losing consciousness as your hands are suddenly free from their restraints. Your vision starts spinning once again as you feel yourself being lifted from the ground. The motion of being airborne is enough to make you blackout due to being so vertiginous. The last thing you can remember is your arm wrapped around someone’s neck, as this person carries you in theirs. Your fingertips brush against slick, long hair.

“Jax?” you weakly whisper before slipping into the darkness once more.

“Found it! Jax, I found her!” Juice shouts as he runs through the clubhouse, holding his laptop above his decaled head. Jax, who was just inches from walking out the front door snaps around, his face riddled with worry and downright anger.

“Where!?” The president barks back, his glare piercing juice’s very soul. He wastes no time as he turns, continuing to the railing outside, which is accompanied by several Harleys. Following Jax were his comrades from the SOA crew.

“Her cell just came back into service; the ping shows she’s 40 miles out headed towards Oakland. She’s on the highway right now” Juice said, placing the laptop on the outside bench and reaching for his helmet sitting on his bike.

“Aye, Niners Jackie boy” Chibs speaks as he buckles his own helmet on. Jax looks into his brothers’ eyes with flared nostrils, seething.

“If they fucking touch her- “

“Go get our girl and bring her back!” Bobby interrupts from the club door, hollering at the cavalry of big men in leather kuttes straddling their roaring machines.

“I got this; you guys go!” He motions to the men to head out. The clubhouse is accompanying more and more bodies as Jax had ordered a lock down since the discovery of your disappearance. He has learned his lesson from previous threats, it’s the quickest way to make sure all the women, children and other men of mayhem are accounted for.

Bobby chose to stay back and monitor in case the wrong people came knocking. He was doubtful that this was a distraction tactic but the one thing he did know, is that anything can happen. As he watched the bikers ride out, he was thankful for wearing his black shades, as he would have trouble believing his own concealed expression. There was a chance you weren’t making it back this time, and everyone knew.

One by one, they follow their leader, silently preparing themselves for the worst. Jax however, was preparing for war while struggling with the ongoing battle in his head.

Jax hates, truly hates himself for being selfish. It’s exactly what this is. He hates that each time your life has been in danger, he has to face the picture of standing over top your headstone.

Since you came back to Charming, Jax vowed to serve you, protect you, love you. He knew he was destined to be yours when you told him the life didn’t scare you, just the fear of losing him. You agreed to be his old lady, despite all the risks and stand by his side during all the chaos.

Even though Jax would never leave the club, he wishes he could. Every day he thought about how you deserved more. Just like him, you suffered sleepless nights, restless days, endless dry throat from all the cigarettes you smoked to ease the stress away. He thought about the way you startle each time your cell rings, adrenaline consuming you as you brace yourself to receive bad or very bad news. This life, it too affects you. He’s selfish because he holds your freedom in his hand. A better existence. Fuck, you’d do anything for this man no matter how deep it hurts. Yet, he’ll never set you free. You are the only light in his days of darkness, his one true love. This life isn’t easy, but no matter what, you always look evil right in the eye and challenge it. You’re a fighter, and you fight hard. It’s another reason why he loves you so effortlessly. You’d listen if he told you to walk away, to leave Charming and he knows it, but he also knows he’d find you dead before ever granting you that peace.

He tries his damndest to keep his eyes dry, to override the blue with pure red hate, but regardless of his efforts, the tears fall, disappearing into the wind. He wreaks on the throttle harder, hoping the rumble would drown out his sorrow.

“Dean, It’s the only antidote we have, that blue eye freak got away. There’s a chance we’ll need this once we find her again and kill her for good.” The agitated voice spoke right beside you.

“Sammy, I’m not saying this again, give her the fucking antidote.” Someone responded from further away. It was hard to tell over the rumble of.. a car?

“Such a waste, we don’t even know her!” You felt a grip tighten around your arm.

“Give it to her, now!”

“Fuck!” You shriek as your arm is stabbed with a needle birthed from a large syringe. The sharp infliction snapped you out of whatever previous fog you were residing in or maybe it was the effect of the content that was administered into you.

“That fucking hurt!” You shout, ripping your arm out of the stranger’s grasp and holding onto the spot that feels like its bruising already.

“Yeah, well it was that or deteriorate due to your blood getting sucked out, disintegrating your brain” He responds, seemingly sarcastic whilst putting the needle away into a bag.

“Jesus Christ” The voice comes from the driver seat. You look over at the rearview mirror in the darkness, suddenly catching a glimpse of deep green eyes accented by freckles as he drives underneath a spotlight. His face disappears as the dark of the night envelopes the inside of the car once more.

You look up at the man who had been manhandling you in the backseat to find him staring back at you.

“I think it worked” Sam says, looking passively towards the driver. You rub your eyes, as if when you open them again, you’d be back home.

“Good, we’ll keep her at the motel. Try and stray the Djinn off her scent.”

“Why? it would make more sense to use her as bait, draw the djinn back in and finish it off.”

“She doesn’t need to be a part of it Sam.”

“She became a part of it when she almost died, Dean.”

As you listen to these men banter your conscience becomes clearer. You have no idea where they were taking you, what had happened to the creature that was apparently about to feed on you, and what the SONS may be doing to find you. With rising confusion, you snapped.

“Who the hell are you guys!?” You blurt out, interrupting their fight. “And what the fuck was that thing back there!?” You point your thumb towards the rear window.

“Because I swear when she touched me, it felt like… I was drifting away...” You shift yourself upwards in the leather seat, well more like a bench, in this vehicle that these men threw you into.

You watch the man who sat in front of you, his broad shoulders rising as he clears his throat.

“What you saw… is what you think you saw” Dean says slowly from up front, locking his eyes with yours from the mirror again. “She’s a monster… and she was trying to kill you”.

“We really giving her the talk right now Dean?” Sam says with his eyebrows raised. You side-eye him, shocked by how comfortable this guy is. You wonder if this is something they’ve done before. “The less people know the better” He continues.

“Might as well, she saw too much and clearly she remembers, don’t you?” Dean asks you.

You rub your forehead with your fingers. This is all too much. This isn’t really happening, is it? You’ve spent the last year running away from thugs, for what? To run straight into the arms of monsters?

You scoff to yourself, then inhale deeply through your nostrils, eyes shut trying to center and organize your thoughts. You’re capable of handling a lot of bullshit, but this is next level. You make a silent agreement to figure out the truth first.

You open your tired eyes, “Alright, one thing at a time.” You mutter just loud enough for them to hear.

“So, you’re Sam?” You point your finger at the long haired, flannel wearing giant who barely fits inside the car. He nodded; his eyes intense as he continued to analyze you. Maybe to see if the antidote was still working.

“Sam Winchester” He speaks up.

“Winchester… okay.” You whisper.

You glance back to the rear mirror, searching for those earthy forest green eyes.

“Dean, is it?” You question him in the dark as he continues driving down the wet highway.

“That’s right sweetheart” You could hear the smirk on his lip, and you barely know the guy… Kidnapper, savior, whatever he is.

you correct him by giving your name. “That’s a pretty name” Dean replies before his brother interjects with a huff.

“We’re brothers, we work this gig together” Sam says.

You pause with your brows raised. “Gig … as in … killing monsters?” you speak slowly, feeling silly even saying the words.

“We hunt monsters, then kill them. It’s sort of a family business” Dean explains.

You stare at him in disbelief, jaw agape. “Okay…” You drawl out.

“The thing that attacked you was a Djinn. They infuse their victims with poison, which acts as a hallucinogen, which you learned. As you dream away, they drain you of blood until you’re all dried up. The poison also seeps into your bloodstream slowly shutting down your entire system, hence why you needed the antidote.” Sam ever so calmly reveals what could have been your fate.

“Right…” You shake your head, still trying to register all that has occurred. It doesn’t help that every time you close your eyes, you see that blue haze, scouring the inside of your eyelids like veins. Just as you’re about to question more, a white sign with black fonts catches your eye as you speed by.

“OAKLAND”

“Wait, wait, where are you guys going?” Your voice starts to raise as your panic quickly surfaces.

As if Dean can hear the unease in your tone, he responds softly.

“Back to our motel. You gotta stay there and we’ll go back out and finish the job. We’ll take you home when it’s safe”.

You hear Sam scoff.

“Yeah no, I think I’ll manage just fine on my own actually. We need to turn around and head back to Charming, like now”. You turn looking out the back window wondering if Niners are trailing the impala.

“Oh yeah? Being tied up to a pillar is how you manage? How’d that work out again?” Dean questions, tearing his eyes from the road and meeting your gaze with furrowed brows.

“Yeah, thanks for saving me, I get it” You spit back with your arms crossed, shooting a glare at Sam who clearly didn’t want to give you the antidote. He shrugs his shoulders back at you.

“But listen, I’ve got bigger problems on my tail than this monster you guys are hunting, I need to get back to Samcro” You demand, catching Dean's eyes in yours.

“I can’t do that” he says matter-of-factly as if he actually has control over you.

“Hah” You laugh out loud. “Little do you know we’re probably being hunted right now” you say with a grin.

“What are you talking about?” Sam turns to you.

“I deal with real monsters on a daily basis, your worst nightmare is my constant” You speak with one brow raised. “Have you ever heard of a group called Sons of Anarchy?”

Dean stared at you through the mirror, you could just see his half smile cracking, showing a little bit of his perfect teeth “Oh? Those old boys that ride scooters?” he chuckles.

And it was as if Dean had summoned Jax Teller, the Reaper himself because there it comes. The loud rumble of the Harleys, sounding like the impending hoof beats of the horsemen of the apocalypse arriving on the battlegrounds of war.

“We got company” Sam states, as he crawls over the seat from the back to join Dean in the front, he opens up the glovebox and pulls out a pistol.

“Guys, guys just pull over” you try to suppress the panic in your throat. The last thing you need tonight is to get caught in the middle of a full-blown drive by.

Just like that, the men in kutte open fire while they gain speed. That’s their first warning to the brothers to pull over. They intentionally miss the impala as they presume you’re inside.

“Fuck that” Dean curses as he slams on his brake causing an ear-piercing squeal followed by the stink of burning tires - a sharp punch to the nose.

“Jesus!” You spit as you hold onto the seat in front of you to brace yourself.

“Stay in the car” Dean commands as he and his brother step out, slamming the doors behind them.

“For fucks sakes” you mutter underneath your breath as you attempt to crawl over the seat yourself.

The Harleys come to a screech themselves as the men all then quickly step off their steeds. Each one, reaching and pulling out their weapons to point at the brothers. The sounds of Glocks being cocked simultaneously, echo into the night.

Sam and Dean follow suit, raising their own guns, facing the crew.

“Jackie boy, these guys are looking a little too white to be niners” The Scotsman shouts to his president.

“She’s with them” Jax murmurs lowly. His skin screaming, he knows you’re in the impala, he can feel it. He takes his helmet off before hanging it on the clutch.

The blonde man is yet to be armed as he plucks a cig from his pack in an all too calm manner. He slows his strides as he walks over to the brothers in his famous swag, one white sneaker in front of the other. He places his smoke in between his lips before pausing to light the end. His sharp framed face looks eerie, as the light from the flame casts shadows across his cheekbones.

In the still air the crackle of his intake is loudly audible. The smoke drifting from his nostrils before he exhales

His stance expelled power. His feet planted widely apart from each other, one hand to his mouth assisting his smoke. The other clutching his belt buckle. He let his hand fall down, exhaling once more before breaking the silence and the hair-pulling tension.

“Give her to me” He finally speaks, in a low haunting tone. His eyebrows raise with his words before furrowing. He can see your shadow moving in the vehicle, bringing an instant blanket of relief over him.

“Not gunna happen, pretty boy. Unlike you guys, trafficking isn’t really our style.” Dean spits out, never wavering his raised hand, gripping his gun. He can only assume these guys wanted to hurt you, that they used you for whatever needs they required. The fact that they’re chasing you down, guns out, demanding for you like some piece of property, enraged him to his very core. He never liked gangs to begin with but a biker gang? What a joke. He’s familiar with the Sons of Anarchy as he’s a man of research whenever he goes into any new town to hunt. Within moments of searching up Charming, the notorious Men of Mayhem found their way onto the Google search page. They seem to cause trouble, attend a charity here and there, then more trouble again. Their reputation, other than running a consensual brothel which is right up Deans ally, bothers him.

Jax lets out a chuckle, flicking his lit bud to the side of the road. Before it can land onto the wet concrete, Jax pulls out his own piece and points it right at the shorter, dark-haired brother. The taller one flinches at his motions, looking over at Dean. Jax could tell he was trying to read his face, to navigate their game plan.

The Impala door squeaks open, and a light thud sounds as you stumble onto the road as you pull yourself out.

“Wait! Don’t shoot” You call out, causing all the men to turn their attention to you. Jax’s breathing stops as he watches you approach him.

Abruptly, Sam puts his hand across your torso, blocking you from your path; his other still holding the gun.

“Get your fucking hand off of her” Jax then points the gun at Sam as the men behind him holler with rage.

“Move” you mutter as you shove his hand off, continuing towards Jax unphased as you walk to him in line of his weapon.

Dean calls out your name, watching you walk to the leader, his heart pounding while thinking the worst.

Jax scowled at the sound of your name coming out of another man's mouth. He keeps his eyes on Dean as he clutches your waists and pulls you into him. The brothers seemed utterly perplexed that you weren’t a target; more so a member.

With a scowl still residing on his face, he finally breaks the eye contact from Dean to you.

“You okay Darlin’?” He murmurs to you as you lean into him.

“Yeah, I’m fine, get them to put their guns away Jax” you motion to the armed crew behind him “they didn’t hurt me” He tilts his head at you with confusion, his icy cobalt eyes scanning your face.

You turn to the brothers, their concern growing. You knew they didn’t want them knowing about their... occupation. You remembered what Sam said earlier “The less people know, the better”

You look back at your dark prince.

“They saved me Jax, I was tied up in a house” you start to explain “I’m pretty sure it was the Niners, but… I can’t remember shit” you rub your head as you blatantly lie through your teeth.

The brothers were first to lower their guns, Dean raising his hands in surrender.

“She’s telling the truth” He says, speaking directly to Jax.

“We were in the area, heard her screaming, thought we’d check it out.” Sam explains.

“Did you see them?” Jax asks, clutching your waist tighter, bringing his gun down.

“No, by the time we showed up, it was just her'' Sam pitches. “We untied her, carried her out of the house, just trying to help her”.

“Aye, and what were the two of you planning on doing to ... help her?” Chibs spoke out as he grabs his scarred cheeks, trying to conceal the pure hell boiling internally. He doesn’t trust these guys as far as he can throw them. Nothing about this made sense.

Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “She might be right, maybe they do see worse shit than we do” he says, mumbling to his taller brother.

With a dry chuckle, Sam responds “Yeah, you’re telling me”.

Jax releases you, as he tucks away his piece before sliding both hands into his pockets motioning his chin at them with his jaw clenched.

“Wanna tell me why you two are driving around Charming in some shit impala then? Besides searching for women in distress?” Jax speaks sharply, his words laced with hostility.

Dean closes his eyes slowly, his hand curling into a fist. “Shit impala” being repeated in his head. That car is his baby.

“We’re just driving through; we’ll be out of here by tomorrow” Sam intercepts knowing damn well his brother is still trying to recover from that comment.

“Tonight” Jax demands through gritted teeth. He wanted these men out of sight. It didn’t add up, the Niners haven’t had beef with the SONS. Why were you taken? Why did you stay with them? Did they make you feel safe? Was he not enough?

“Tsk” the click of Dean's tongue echoes down the highway before he purses his lips.

“Or what?” he says with a half-smile. He couldn’t help it, he liked to get under people's skin and there was something about Jax that just pissed him right off. It was the entitlement, or maybe it was the fact that you were so calm about the matter, around guns, around bad men. He wondered what kinds of hell they put you through in order to be so tough-skinned.

“Fuck around and you’ll find out” Opie utters, stalking up to join his blood brother in their battle of wills against these two posers. Settling his deadly glare on the taller one with the mop of hair on his head.

“Oh, like how you found her?” Dean snaps back, his voice a deep rasp. “Maybe you should take better care of your women or better yet, maybe I should stay in town, just to make sure she stays alive, cause if it wasn’t for us buddy, she’d be cold by now.” He motions his index finger at you.

Your President jerks forward but before he can get his hands on Dean standing in front of him, you shove yourself in his path, grabbing his kutte in fistfuls. Glaring at his brothers over his shoulder to back down.

“Jax” you breathe, looking up at him “They’re not a threat!”

“I really don’t give a shit” He says, leveling you with his dark eyes. That’s when you know he’s plotting his revenge for you later on. Disappearing doesn’t go unpunished, even if you were kidnapped.

You swallow hard. This isn’t the man that was smitten by you, how his eyes would sparkle at the sight of you, the man that appreciated hearing your two cents, the man that would softly ask you to listen to him when he was frustrated, no. This was the Reaper, and he’s very unforgiving. You know when you’re out of bounds with him, and as of right now you’re on the tipping edge. You blink rapidly realizing just how affected he is by the words spat by Dean. You release his kutte from your hands, feeling his anger radiating from his body. Before you can speak, he cuts you off.

“Sit your ass down on the bike and shut your mouth” he says to you coldly.

That was a direct order. You’re grateful for the dark of the night as it hides the growing red in your cheeks. You hate when he embarrasses you in front of his soldiers like that. You can feel the looks of concern settling on you, the men in kutte don’t particularly like it either but, that’s what being an old lady entails and you signed up for it.

Dean watches you with Jax, his entire body tense with rage. He can’t even begin to understand the relationship you share with this man. He can’t fathom how you’re a part of a gang. You seemed so innocent, so defenseless tied up to that pillar in the cellar. Yet here you stand, next to the President of murderers. Hell, he barely knows you but for some reason, he doesn’t want to leave you there. Not until he knows for sure, that you truly feel safe.

The air is so silent you could hear a pin drop. You slowly make your way over to Jax’s Harley, quietly slipping on his helmet and swinging a leg over the seat. You keep your gaze down, eyes locking onto a little pebble sitting by the kickstand of Jax's bike.

Jax analyzes Dean, how he watches your every step. He grows more and more infuriated as he witnesses Dean struggling not to call out to you, like he thinks he’s some knight in shining armor ready to rescue you from the Dark Prince you’ve seemed to settle with. It looks as if he is worried about you. And Jax simply doesn’t like that.

“Hey, you gunna be okay?” your head snapped up at Dean who called out to you. His forehead creased with lines as he awaited your response. His carelessness was going to get him killed.

“Don’t fucking talk to her” Jax shouts as Opie intervened, standing in between.

“Ill be fine” you responded to Dean in the smallest voice, that it squeezed his heart. You feel guilt rising as you deliberately ignore the glare from Jax for disobeying his orders.

“Tonight it is then” Sam states, not wanting to pursue this any further. His focus was on hunting, not this ‘who’s dick is bigger’ pit fest. He turns to Dean, nodding his head to the impala. “Let’s go”.

Dean remains in his stance, his eyes flicker back at Jax once more, letting out a scoff before following Sam.

“Hey brother, we’ve got the clubhouse on lockdown still. We should get back.” Opie turns to face Jax, trying to read his expression.

“Time to let these wankers get on the road aye?” Chibs joins in. “She’s safe n with us now”

Jax stares at the mystery brothers with his brows furrowed. Absorbing all the details of their features, their car, their potential baggage. He would be sure to remember them if they ever step foot near his town again and more importantly, come near you.

Nothing more had to be said between the standoff of Jax and Dean, their eyes said enough. Jax turns, patting Opie’s chest. “Let’s go brother” he commands.

Collectively the men begin to board their steeds.

You peer up from your lashes, feeling his presence as he walks towards you. He slips his black leather gloves on and by surprise he grips your face, squeezing your cheeks together before giving you a hard kiss.

It’s clear he is marking his territory in front of the brothers; you really aren’t sure why he’s so threatened by the two. You deal with perverse men on the daily, but Jax very seldom had this reaction. He releases your cheeks, glaring towards Dean as he stood watching the two of you before opening the impala door. Once Jax sits on the Harley, you wrap your arms around his waist.

Discreetly you look at the Impala once more, to see Dean looking back at you through his side mirror. You wanted to tell him that you’re thankful he saved your life, to tell him that you’re safe in this club. Well for the most part anyways. You wanted to apologize for the way the sons greeted them. But you knew this was the last interaction you’d have with the Winchesters.

Your heart sinks when the engine turns over. You don’t like this feeling of uncertainty residing within you. You have so much more to learn about, this whole deal with monsters? Is this Djinn still tracking you down? Are you watching the only people that could protect you, drive away out of town, out of your life? You’re left with so many questions and an atmosphere that makes you feel incredibly alone.

The machine below you roars to life, rumbling underneath you, the sound growing louder as Jax steers around. He then squeezes the clutch, and revs his engine, causing the tires to spin out spitting up gravel on the side of the highway which coincidentally patters the rear of the impala before heading back to the direction they came from.

BANG!

Your shoulders dip, your ears ring slightly at the sound of a gun going off. You frantically release one hand off Jax, to turn and look behind you, the wind causing your hair to blow across your face. Your eyes scan, as you’re worried that they had killed the brothers. Tig was the last one following the comrade, holstering his Glock with a smirk across his face. With a sigh of relief, you see Sam step out of the impala, to inspect what appeared to be a side mirror blown into pieces on the ground.

The last thing you saw was Dean stepping out with his hands behind his head, before dropping his arms in frustration. You truly feel bad for them, they don’t deserve this treatment. Surely anyone who offers a hand in protecting your life would be put on a pedestal by Jax but this time, it seemed as if death was as good a reward as any. You feel his chuckle through his kutte, as he’s pleased with Tig’s style of amusement. You place your hands back around Jax, pressing your cheek up against his back. With shut eyes, you try to mentally prepare yourself for the chaos awaiting you back at the clubhouse.

But due to the exhaustion of the night, you drift in and out of sleepiness on the way back to Charming, your mind replaying the scene of those deep green eyes, accented by freckles underneath the passing streetlights.

Taglist @sarah-bear706318 @witchthewriter @spaghettificationandpretzels @ambassadortotrilliusprime @freddaemagnifica @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites @spngingerbread21 @davten74 @alohomorasomnium @withmyteeth

#spn #soa #deanwinchtser #samwinterchester #jax teller fanfiction #winchester #samcro #menofmayhem #crossover #sons of anarchy #dean winchester x reader #supernaturalmayhem #supernatural

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midnight-serendipity · 1 year ago

Text

Timeless

Anakin Skywalker x Padme Amidala

A Star Wars AU x Greek Mythology AU x Multiple Crossovers AU

Synopsis: The late Ares had met his demise. As it was written - a primordial rule known only to the Gods - one destined mortal would transcend to divinity and claim the fallen one’s throne.

A one shot love story between two Olympian Gods.

Where Anakin Skywalker is Ares, the God of War.

And Padme Amidala is Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of war, Mentions of death, Mentions of Pregnancy, Smut

Word count: 8.4k

Four thousand years ago…

“Anakin!” the Toydarian shop owner shrieked. “Where is that boy?!”

“I’m here.”

“What took you so long?”

“I came here as fast as I could.”

The boy and his owner busily carried on with their daily tasks - Anakin with fulfilling whatever Watto threw his way, and Watto with his shady dealings - completely unaware of the eyes that observed them. Just like any other mortal all across the universe.

“He is the chosen one,” Zeus bellowed as all of the deities peered at the basin. Athena frowned in confusion as she stared at the face of the young boy.

“But he’s just a boy. There must be some mistake.” Hera’s voice rang with concern, her motherly instincts kicking in.

Athena looked at the rest of them, each one looked as doubtful as the other. The late Ares had let his guard down and met his demise from a poisoned drink while celebrating his latest victory in Exegol. As it was written - a primordial rule known only to the Gods - one destined mortal would transcend to divinity and claim the fallen one’s throne. It was the same for Padme when she had been chosen to step into the shoes of Athena. She was only fifteen at that time, and the transition had been very difficult for her.

How much more for this boy who is barely twelve?

“It is prophesied. He will be the one to bring balance to the universe.”

Athena frowned. She had not heard of this prophecy before. Had it been written way before her time?

“The pull of darkness has always been strong within Ares. But there is also light inside him. To restore the balance in the universe, he must first find that delicate balance in him. That is the prophecy of the chosen one - to do what others before him had failed to do. ” Zeus answered their unspoken question.

She understood the concept right away. But believing it was an entirely different story.

Ares only ever had one role to play. Was it really possible to find balance when your purpose was tied with war?

Athena didn’t know that she would find the answer to that five hundred years later.

Anakin’s transcension happened in the middle of the night, when the boy and the rest of Tatooine slept. A light shone inside his room, bright enough to rouse him from his slumber. He woke up shielding his eyes. He didn’t even know where the light was coming from, but it was as if the small storage room he made a home in was…glowing.

Once his vision adjusted to the intrusion, Anakin frowned. Right at the foot of his cot was…a door made of light?

But before he could ponder whether or not he was still dreaming, a funny looking man with kind eyes came out of it. And unlike where he came through, he looked very much real.

“Hello, Anakin.” He smiled.

Anakin blinked. “Who are you?”

“I am Zeus. But I used to be known as Qui-Gon Jinn.”

The man called Zeus but used to be known as Qui-Gon Jinn assured him he wasn’t dead yet. He wasn’t sure what death felt like. But the void surrounding him didn’t convince him of that.

It looked like they were inside an orb. Pathways made of light, too many for him to count, were scattered all over. There looked to be thousands above the one they were walking on, and thousands under it, too. There were some that intersected, but there were much more that never touched. But what he found most intriguing was that it didn’t seem to connect to anything.

At least not to the naked eye.

Much like the door they came through - vanished like it had never been there.

“Where are we?” Anakin finally gave in to his curiosity.

“This is where everything meets. The thin divide that connects Gods to mortals - the World Between Worlds.”

“Welcome Ares.” Apollo greeted him.

Athena’s heart squeezed, the boy looked much younger than she remembered.

“Could you please call me Anakin?”

The deities looked to one another, each of them unsure how to handle a child and his petty requests.

“We refer to our immortal names, that is how it is when we transcend to divinity,” Poseidon answered.

“Yes, but,” he swallowed, as if pained, “my name, it’s the only thing I have left from my mother. I just…don’t want to forget her.”

Athena’s heart dropped. Along with everyone else’s in that room. They all knew the story, how she died in his arms. He was only nine. Suddenly, the request did not seem petty at all.

“Of course, Anakin,” Hera answered without pause, reaching for his hand.

The Gods have gathered at the gates to welcome the new deity and accompany him to his new abode.

Each of them was gifted with one upon setting foot into divinity.

Zeus had his up the mountain top, the only one casted in gold. Hera’s was made of pure platinum, structured just a few meters below Zeus’s. Apollo’s was down by the shoreline, always the one greeted by a new day’s first rays. Aphrodite had hers in the meadow. Poseidon’s, rightfully by the lagoon. Her own was by the brook. Its peaceful echoes, without fail, a welcome rest to her assiduous mind.

The rest was scattered all over Olympus. Twelve temples for the twelve Gods. Each as regal and imposing as the other.

Except for one.

The twelfth one was unlike any of the rest. It was the only place in Olympus where the sun never rose and the night never touched, bathed in a perpetual sunset. It sat, solitary, atop a rock formation. A river of molten lava licked its banks, casting shadows of red-orange flames around it.

The sole place in the Heavens that was fit for the Underworld.

Back when it had been Palpatine who resided in the temple, she didn’t give it much thought.

But now, Athena found it extremely difficult to reconcile that same place with this child.

His hand was still held within Hera’s as she guided and introduced him to each immortal there. Athena was the last in line, and when they stopped in front of her, it was unmissable how the smile he flashed her was the biggest they have seen on him since his arrival.

A few months from now would mark her seven hundred and twenty-fifth birthday, and with a face of a nineteen year old, she was obviously the one closest to his age.

But whatever the reason for his ease, it felt contagious.

Athena beamed at him. “I’m Athena. But you can call me Padme.”

She still didn’t have a clue about the prophecy Zeus spoke of. But she desperately hoped that Anakin was indeed the chosen one the God believed him to be. Anakin seemed too precious to lose to the dark side of Ares.

Present…

The setting sun cast a warm blend of pastels as its rays ricocheted off the marble tiles and stone pillars of the temple. The flow from the brook was music to her ears and the pleasant smell of lavender entwined with its echoes.

On other days, the Goddess would have taken pleasure in basking in and observing this splendor. But not even the magnificence of her own garden could distract her from the mess of her own thoughts as she continued to pace around her temple, the trail of her midnight blue gown, billowing after her steps. It was a rare sight to see the normally graceful and sophisticated deity on edge. But on the few times that she was, it was always tied to him.

I know wisdom is your domain, but to me, you are my Goddess of love and beauty.

She halted on her tracks, and turned. She found him leaning against one of the pillars so casually, with that signature smirk of his. It would’ve been enough to have her fooled that this evening was one of their usual picnics followed by endless hours of frolic and exploration of each other’s bodies. But his attire told her the opposite – the perfect harbinger of the news she was trying so hard to elude. He was decked in his gilded armor, matching helmet on hand, sword tucked delicately in its sheath against his hip, while the wind toyed with the red cape that hung from his broad shoulders. She despised the mere thought of war, but every time he rode to one, he always looked so regal, so handsome.

She watched as the smirk on his face grew. He knew he rendered her speechless once again.

Padme rolled her eyes, but the uplift of her lips was evident. Such irony that the bane of her existence was also the one who quieted her storms.

“Be careful, you don’t want our darling Aphrodite to think you’re mocking her.”

Anakin chuckled and shook his head. “Adaline knows I would never. She knows I am simply besotted with you.”

But her relief was short-lived. She could continue with this charade, if only to mask and delay the inescapable. But he granted her an opening, and it was an invitation she couldn’t help but to sink her teeth into.

“Besotted enough to stay here if I asked?”

Anakin’s smile fell. And instantly she hated herself for falling prey to her own selfish whims. Anakin sighed. He placed his helmet on the stone bench and in three purposeful strides, he towered over her, her face cradled by his hands.

“Athena.”

It was also very unusual for the Goddess of wisdom to feel small, fragile. But she always found herself in such a predicament when he called her by her divine name and with that gentle tone that he reserved when he disagreed with her.

“I hear their prayers. They call for me. I have to intervene.”

And it was true. Each time she visited the chamber of prayers, she heard the mortals cry for him.

For Ares.

It had taken nearly a century for this war to brew. Padme, knowing the repercussions of one, immersed herself in anything and everything she could get her hands on – sending omens, appearing in dreams of warning, whispering in their ears, and even going as far as to seizing control of the queen’s mind and later on posing as one of the senator’s. The latter two had been frowned upon by Zeus, Obi-Wan and Anakin at first. Only to realize later on and admit that her efforts had been effective. She had managed to delay it by seventy years.

Still, it didn’t feel sufficient.

But this current war tyrant was even more relentless than his father. And there were things inevitable, even from the Gods themselves.

But was this truly inevitable?

What if I wasn’t as thorough as I thought?

What if there was a detail I overlooked, a participant I missed?

What if –

“Hey, hey.” Anakin grasped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up by a fraction. “I know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. None of that, alright?”

“But what if I –”

“No. I know you gave it your all. Master Qui-Gon said so, too. Or do I tell him you doubt him?”

Padme couldn’t stop her grin. “You do know we agreed that he and Hera are the only ones we can’t call by their mortal names?”

Anakin grinned back, smugly. “I’m the exception to the rules.”

That. Was a very irrefutable statement.

Looking at him again, her smile was quick to take a somber turn. “I want to come with you.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow as if expecting something. When Padme didn’t continue, he smiled and shook his head.

“Funny you say that.”

Padme recoiled, hurt.

Anakin sighed. “I don’t mean it that way. I know you can hold your ground in the battlefield. But,” he trailed off, settling his hands on her still flat womb. “You were going to tell me, right?”

Heat bloomed on Padme’s cheeks as she looked away from him. She didn’t have the courage to admit it, but that was all he needed to know that she did plan to use their unborn twins as her bargaining chip at some point in this conversation.

Anakin chuckled lightly. “Now when,” he drew her face back to him with a gentle hand, “did you ever become so cunning, my darling?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. But the moment you leave Olympus, you lose its protection.”

Age would still come at a century’s pace, and he would still have the strength of a hundred men. But immortality would no longer cloak him. Anakin was no stranger to this. After all, it was Ares and Apollo who often gave aid to mortals when a war broke out. The scar that ran on the right side of his face, from temple to cheek was a stark reminder of that – a token from the last war he plunged himself in. Vulnerability was about to claim him again, and Padme refused to think to what extent this time.

His hands went back to her cheeks, as he stepped closer. “We’ve loved each other for thousands of years. Do you doubt me now?”

Padme shook her head, moisture clouding her vision. “Never.”

“Then you know that I will always come back to you. Now, more than ever.”

And it was true, no matter how long it took him, he always came back to her.

Three thousand five hundred years ago…

The Gods all stood by the gates of Olympus once again. Anakin Skywalker was due to return from his training. Padme couldn’t quell her excitement. She was fond of the little boy. So much that she joined Hera in admonishing Zeus when he first told them of the young one’s upcoming training.

He was Ares now. They didn’t have to ask what training he needed. But still, he left with Obi-Wan, eager to fulfill his responsibilities.

Padme shook the despondent thoughts away. The important thing was, he was coming home. Today. She clutched the necklace he fashioned for her tighter now.

And just as they promised, as soon as the thirteenth sun for the eighth month arose on the five-hundredth year, two silhouettes appeared in the distance. Only, there was no little boy in sight. The two figures drew closer, one clearly towering over the other. She didn’t need to guess which deity was which.

“Welcome back.” Zeus greeted as soon as they finally stepped foot within the gates.

Padme’s heart gave a stutter. Obi-Wan still looked quite the same from when they left half a millennia ago. But Anakin did not. The meek little boy was gone, and in his place was a young man. Everything about him screamed power. Confidence sat on his broad shoulders. He stood straight and tall, stance fit for a king.

But it was his face that took her breath away. He had cheeks and a jaw that looked to be carved from granite, ocean eyes deep and all-seeing. His hair was a darker shade now, more honey than golden. Longer too, as his bangs curled on his forehead. The sides combed slightly over his ears, the back kissing the collar of his dark robes.

He was a sight difficult to look away from.

But a poke to her ribs did make her look away. Adaline.

Padme glared. “What?”

“You didn’t greet them.”

Padme’s eyes widened. They were supposed to echo the greetings after Zeus. How could she have forgotten and not heard the other Gods?

She opened her mouth only to be silenced by the sly twinkle on Adaline’s blue hues. “It’s alright. He is easy on the eyes, isn’t he?”

“–”

“And he’s gotten quite the experience, living with mortals. You’ll never know, he might be able to give your busy mind some well-deserved distraction.”

Padme blinked, warmth slowly creeping up her cheeks. She didn’t need to ask. After all Gods were allowed to partake in pleasures with humans when in their realm and the child in Anakin was clearly gone now. Still, she refused to have her thoughts paint him in that light. But it was too late now. The seeds that Adaline planted in her mind sprouted, and there was no way to unsee the images of what those soft pink lips would look like up close. Or how his curls would feel in her hands if he was hovering and panting above her, maybe have his head between her legs, too.

She felt like she was about to burst in front of all the deities. And that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

Padme closed her eyes, drawing a breath or two, she willed her heart to slow down and ignore the whispers the tease of a Goddess blew her way. After all, she wasn’t Goddess of wisdom for nothing.

And she would have been that close to believing it too and garnering a feeling of triumph over it. Until Zeus had turned around, beckoning the newly arrived Gods to follow him. Obi-Wan smoothly fell into step after him. Anakin remained a second behind and turned, singling Padme out with ease. He looked at her, like she was the only one in all of Olympus and Padme could have melted right on the spot with his fiery gaze. Then just like that he flashed her a grin and a wink then left to trail after the two Gods.

The heat returned to her with a vengeance.

He had heard her thoughts.

She will never admit it, but she had focused her entire energy in avoiding him.

It didn’t last long, however.

The next day, Padme had been intent on getting an early start. Daybreak hadn’t even arrived yet when she found herself at the Chamber of prayers. To her surprise though, she wasn’t alone nor its first occupant.

She didn’t have any idea how long he had been there already. But judging from the number of used scrolls beside him – a while. He glanced up at her. She steeled herself for some teasing, maybe even a little bit of arrogance. Only, none came, when he looked up, he only gave her a small smile then went right back to his scribbling. As if all the playfulness from yesterday didn’t even exist. But he wasn’t the only one with a purpose. She went to the chamber with a mission, and Padme was determined to see it through – regardless of his presence, nor behavior. So, with a roll of her shoulders, she marched for the basin and planted herself in front of it, eyes and ears dedicated to all calls to her.

Senses diluted in her task; she was vaguely aware of the hours as they ticked by. Focusing on the most dire ones was of course a priority. Once satisfied she had answered all she needed to, she took a step back, letting the present slowly come back to her.

The first thing she noticed was the sun, now high above Olympus’ skies. The second was the silence. No sound of the rough glide of a quill over parchment to be heard. And yet, she didn’t even need to turn around to know he was still there. His presence filled the room. But when she did, she found him drawn in concentration as his eyes meticulously devoured each line on the scroll he held.

Curiosity finally won her over. “What are you doing?”

Anakin looked up, startled. “Oh. Just making sure I didn’t forget one.”

“What one?” Padme’s head tilted as she stared at his eyes. It was as piercing as always, but it carried a sheen of guilt and sadness that held her in confusion.

“Names of those who died in the war.”

“And you’re listing them down?”

Anakin nodded. “It’s my turn to pray for them.”

Padme’s mouth fell open.

“To Charon, that he’ll be kind enough to ferry those who were buried in the enemy’s soils and not given obols, that I’ll pay him in return. And to Hades, that he’ll give them a just judgment and rest to their souls.”

“Why?”

“They died during the war. I failed to keep them safe.” He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

Feeling inexplicably drawn to him and unable to stop herself, Padme sat down on the bench beside him.

“Anakin, there is always death in war. You know that.”

“I do know that. But they called out to me. I just want to help in any way I can.”

It was silent for a short while and Padme was momentarily distracted by the slight tinge of pink on Anakin’s cheeks. But that too didn’t last long as he turned to her with eyes made of steel yet housing a little bit of uncertainty.

“Padme, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“When I – if I die and if there was a chance that Ares dies with me entirely, will that…end all wars?”

For the first time in a very long time, the Goddess of wisdom was struck speechless. She did not know if it was because of the look of determination that hardened his handsome face – as if he would be ready to shed his immortality and fling himself off the fiery banks surrounding his temple if she said yes.

Or, if it was because she finally understood what Zeus meant all those years ago.

Before Anakin, Padme had come to know only one man to don the title of God of War - Sheev Palpatine.

Palpatine was always deliberate and meticulous in his every move. He slaved over plans and strategies every time a war broke out. Padme looked up to him for a time, admiring his dedication. Until she found out his real reasons.

“I enjoy the politics behind one. I have a great love for puzzles.”

Oh, the horror on her face when she heard him say it. Wherever war was, death surely followed along with destruction, hunger and suffering. And here was one who basked in it.

He lived up to twelve thousand years.

Before him a male from the Dathomirian Zabrak race occupied the war God’s throne - Maul Opress. Padme never had the displeasure of meeting him, but as per the other Gods’ recollections, he was the exact opposite of his successor, and aptly labeled as the most reckless deity to have ever transcended.

He was also known as the divine being with the shortest immortal life.

But if there was one thing common between Maul and Palpatine - and perhaps all the others who came before them - is that they thrived in going into battle. They took great relish in the prestige of being war gods and heroes.

Anakin however was an entirely different story. There had always been a subdued and somber side to him, one she had once been sure he would grow out of. One look at him now, she knew that was not the case.

There had noticeably been fewer wars since he ascended to the role. She always associated that with luck.

But no, she finally understood.

That if he could, Anakin Skywalker would willingly and gladly contain all conflicts within him. If it meant ending its devastations once and for all. These past five hundred years had been the most peaceful the universe had ever known. Only because the explosions were going on inside his head – the cost of balance.

Padme’s heart ached as she stared at him. Chaos had never looked so beautiful.

She didn’t know if that was the pull that made her snap. But in the next second, Padme threw herself onto him, lips claiming his. A sound of surprise came from Anakin but was soon forgotten as his hands came around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

His lips were warm, soft yet firm as it moved against hers. She had been the one to initiate it, but dominance was pretty much second nature to him as he easily pulled it from her. The warmth of his palms seared her skin as he cupped her face in his hands. Padme gasped as he softly bit her bottom lip, granting entry to his prowling mouth.

And when the tip of his tongue gently touched hers, she was chocolate melting in his arms. Padme’s hands trailed down to his chest. It was firm underneath her fingertips and she wondered what it would feel like against her skin.

Padme shuddered as Anakin’s lips left hers and started tracing a line down the column of her neck. She shifted and a loud moan was pulled from her as something stiff and definitely not small, brushed her between the legs. She wanted more. Planting her knees on the sides of his hips, Padme secured a firm hold on his shoulders, desperate to chase that feeling again and again and –

Wait. When did I get on his lap?

She straightened, her eyes snapping wide open.

Anakin, not having caught on to her inner turmoil yet, continued mapping her chest with his mouth. Padme flushed, it was one thing to just feel it but another thing to watch it, too. His lips were dangerously close to her neckline. She bit her lip wondering how he would react if she were to pull it down by a little.

What am I doing?

Scandalized, Padme pushed him off her and scrambled off his lap, hands hastily fixing her disheveled gown. Anakin slightly tipped forward, eyes opening in a daze. Confusion was evident in his face until the image of Padme fixing herself finally made his brain catch up. He stood up, red blotching his face and neck.

“Padme I – wait! Padme!”

Anakin continued to call out for her, but Padme was adamant to make a run for it. She was grateful that he didn’t chase after her.

Although, if she were to stop and listen to her heart of hearts, she would know at that moment that there was a part of her wishing he would. But the Goddess wasn’t just wise.

She was also stubborn.

And maybe that wasn’t a trait to be proud of. But right now, it dug through her veins, fueling her intent to get to the bottom of things.

It took her a few moments, but she found the bottom of things the next day.

At Aphrodite’s temple.

“Oh, hello Padme, come have some tea.”

“I didn’t come here to have tea.”

“Come now –”

“No! I don’t want to hear it and I don’t want to be part of your pranks!”

The only response Padme received was a curious raise of a brow.

Padme steeled herself, “whatever you did – reverse it.”

“Oh.” Unfazed, Adaline’s voice rang with amusement. And by the glint in her eyes, Padme knew she needed to brace herself. “Or you could own up to whatever it is you did.”

“I – I – No – I – He –”

Adaline’s eyes narrowed. “Did you kiss him?”

Padme’s face was on fire.

“Oh.”

“Because of you!”

“Excuse me?”

“You! You’re the Goddess of love. You just – you just make things happen!”

“Oh, that age-old misconception again!” Adaline sighed, exasperated. “I help make love matches happen, not love spells. I don’t manipulate people and certainly not deities to act on their impulses.”

Padme glowered.

Adaline sighed again, albeit on a calmer note this time. “Have a seat Padme, come have tea –”

“I don’t want tea!”

“Padme, you are at my temple, therefore you’re my guest. Please, come sit and have tea.”

Padme’s mortification resurfaced with a vengeance, only this time of a different nature. Both of them boasted of more than a thousand years of divine experience under their belts, and yet here she was acting like a petulant child. To make up for it, she did as told and with a timid hand, accepted the piping hot cup.

She had no clue what kind of tea was in the cup. But she did detect a faint aroma of cinnamon, and the hint of spices were a pleasurable surprise to her tongue, and after a few mouthfuls, she felt soothed.

“Where I come from, people have a lot of quotes about love.” Adaline spoke. Her relief and calm, palpable.

“Earth?” Padme asked and Adaline gave a nod. Humans, like all other races, were scattered across the universe, each ethnicity possessing a telltale characteristic. The ones from earth seemed like an eccentric one.

“But there’s one that perfectly sums it up for me. Whatever our souls are made of –”

“His and mine are the same.” Padme finished. She had heard of it before.

Adaline nodded, placing her cup down. “When someone is born, I see something in their souls. It’s like,” she trailed off, lips pursed as she searched for the right word, “a spark.”

“A spark?” Padme repeated.

“Yes, it’s usually dull and small. But when they finally meet the person with the other half of that spark, it explodes into something beautiful and big and bright. Sometimes they meet other people along the way who – how do I put it, hmm?” Adaline paused, tapping her chin with a finger, “Ah, they’re like the journey but not the destination – if that makes sense?”

This time it was Padme’s turn to ponder – jilted lover? Former lover? No. They had a new term for that now. “Like an ex?”

Adaline snapped a finger. Her eyes alit, clearly pleased that Padme had cottoned on. Last she checked, the mind and heart didn’t always get along. “Yes, that’s the one. Those people can help a spark grow but no matter how hard they try, their sparks won’t reach their full potential.”

Padme blinked, before her eyebrows drew into confusion. “So, where do you come in?”

Adaline grinned. “I give them nudges. You know, clues.”

Padme’s frown deepened. “But that sounds so…easy.” She tried not to, but knew it still came out as rude.

To her astonishment, Adaline only laughed. “Oh, you’ll be surprised. People are very…fickle. Most times they don’t even recognize the one they’ve been searching for their whole life is right in front of them. And sometimes I send warnings and they ignore it completely, even when it’s already flashing neon signs! That’s when a relationship can become toxic.” The pointed look Padme received from Adaline had her almost squirming in her seat.

“Besides, I only found out recently that this trait carried onto divinity.”

Padme blinked. “What – what do you mean?” She asked.

Adaline smirked. “I almost gave up on you, you know? Thought you were a mistake –”

“Hey –”

“I didn’t know your match would be born seven hundred years later.”

Padme was powerless against the sharp intake of breath that tore from her mouth. “What? You – you mean –”

“Anakin.” Adaline finished for her.

Padme’s mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. There were arguments on the tip of her tongue. But even in her own mind, nothing made sense. From the very first time she laid eyes on him, Padme had felt an invisible string, pulling her to him. Back then, she was always quick to label it as something akin to a sibling’s affections.

And yet seeing him again two days ago, after being gone for so long – it was like a veil had been lifted from her eyes. And everything never looked clearer.

And yet…

“Thank you for the tea. I must –”

“What are you afraid of?”

Padme froze, she had just stood up, back turned to the table when Adaline’s question came. She willed herself to move, to deny her claim. But it’s as if her own body forgot to function, and in a second, Adaline was in front of her.

Adaline beckoned her with her eyes, and that was all it took for Padme to understand that she won’t be able to lie through her teeth with this one.

Padme sighed, her walls falling, shoulders stooping. “We call ourselves immortals. But we too, perish. Although it can take a hundred thousand years or so, still, we die, and he’s the God of war. He’s always out there fighting. Chosen one or not anything could happen and if so…I,” Padme looked to her feet, letting out a breath. “Eternity seems too long of a time to miss him.”

Back then, when Anakin was still new to the role, she had worried greatly for him. But even that paled in comparison to the fear engulfing her now. Even to Gods, nothing was certain, and now more than ever she wished not to witness the truth behind that statement.

As if expecting something like that, Adaline only smiled at her. “You know what I love most about being Goddess of love?”

“What?”

“I can only feel a fraction of their emotions, but when you’re the one involved…it is mind-blowing.” The taller deity placed her hands on Padme’s shoulders. “Not everyone gets a chance like this Padme, and a lot of mortals would kill to be in your shoes. Every day, they throw themselves away for even just the slightest chance of love, and they risk all they have even if they know everything is just fleeting.” Adaline let out a breath, rubbing her hands up and down Padme’s arms. “I know the idea of losing him and living the rest of your immortal life without him seems daunting. But that feeling of forever that love gives you?”

Adaline smiled, a thin film of moisture that wasn’t there before making her eyes shine with a despondent luster. “No matter how short, it’s a feeling that nothing else in this Universe could ever replace.”

Padme’s mouth dropped, her own eyes slightly tearing. Adaline was ahead of her by a hundred and forty-six years. But she too, had heard of the Goddess of love’s story, how her mortal lover died a few months shy of her transcension.

The cruelest welcome to immortality.

She rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable. There were times that the pain and longing would sneak up on her and catch her off-guard. But she always masked it behind her tresses and smiles, choosing instead to help others and finish the story she never could.

If that wasn’t selflessness and strength, then Padme didn’t know what was.

“And do you remember the very first thing Zeus told us about him?”

Confused, Padme frowned. She wasn’t sure why Adaline was bringing that up now. “That he is the chosen one?”

“You help him find that balance, Padme.”

For the second time that day, she was speechless.

“Go.”

She didn’t need further convincing. Heeding her heart this time, she knew she had already heard everything she needed to. Padme smiled and lifted her skirts, racing her way out of Adaline’s temple. She didn’t even need any help from the Goddess to pinpoint her way. She knew where she’d find him.

And find him she did, almost right to the entrance of her own temple.

She was still a few paces away, concealed by some trees when she stopped. The sight of an agitated, pacing Anakin stilled her breath.

“Padme, I’m sorry – I,” Anakin paused mid-step, “no, I can’t start at that. She might think I didn’t like her kiss.”

Anakin went back the way he came from and only then did Padme let herself smile. He had her mistakenly thinking he'd found her. But now, Padme didn’t know which had her more delighted – the comical sight of a frustrated Anakin talking to himself, finding him with the intention of straightening things out with her, or his inadvertent confession.

It would have been entertaining to remain in her hiding spot, but after watching him take a few more turns and mumble to himself, Padme decided to finally swallow a pill of courage and take the last few steps.

“Padme.” Anakin stilled when he caught sight of her.

His surprise had her smiling wider. Being the God of war, she was pretty sure he’d have heightened senses.

“Anakin.” She greeted calmly.

In the blink of an eye Anakin was in front of her, and Padme had to draw in a breath. His eyes were midnight blue and yet lost in it, all she could feel was heat.

“You ran away from me yesterday.”

Padme cringed, initial elation now gone. “Anakin, I –”

“No. I let you go when I’ve been nothing but in love with you. If there’s anything I’m sorry for, it’s making you think I didn’t feel the same way.” Anakin cupped her cheek, “I’ve always dreamed of kissing you, Padme.”

Padme’s mouth fell open in a gasp. It never crossed her mind that she’d get to hear these words from him. And now that she did, she came to know one thing. Even if still new to her – Adaline was right. Nothing would ever compare to this. No words would ever come close into giving her heart a jumpstart. Padme smiled. “Nothing’s stopping you now.”

This time, it was Anakin’s turn to grin. But it was short lived as two seconds later, he bent down and caught her lips with his. It was nothing like their first kiss.

This was unhurried. His lips, soft against hers, gentle and teasing – like a breeze dancing on one’s skin. But just like yesterday, it left her breathless for more.

Present…

“What are you thinking of now?” Anakin asked, a sly twinkle on his eyes as he reached for her hands, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“You.”

Anakin straightened, the hold on her hands keeping firm.

“You have me, sweetheart. Always.”

It was like a newly sharpened blade struck her heart, an invisible hand twisting it slowly. She dreaded the long days and even longer nights without him.

How long would it be this time?

Years?

Decades?

Centuries?

Would he even come back – No!

Padme mentally gave her head a shake. She mustn’t think that way. Anakin promised he would come back to her, to them, and if there ever was a being who wouldn’t just move, but bend heaven, earth and everything in between to fulfill a promise – Padme didn’t have to look further.

It was the God standing right in front of her.

“When do you leave?” Padme asked, trying hard with an iron-clad fist to keep her tears and voice at bay.

Opposite to the atmosphere, Anakin gave out a short breath. A chuckle caught last minute. “Obi-Wan wanted tonight. But I convinced him tomorrow was the better idea.”

Padme rolled her eyes. “Remind me to have a word with him. But that means you’re all mine tonight?”

Anakin grasped her chin, thumb brushing her lips. “Tonight, and all of eternity.”

And that was everything she needed.

Padme smiled and grabbed his hand, leading him inside her temple. She stopped once she reached the foot of her bed. Turning around, her hands went to the clasps of her dress. With a press and a pull, the garment pooled by her feet, leaving her completely bare to Anakin’s gaze.

She watched as Anakin’s eyes darkened and Padme felt molten lava flowing through her veins.

“You will be the death of me woman.”

Padme let go of him and crawled to the middle. She laid on her back, unabashedly spreading her legs to give him an unobstructed view. Anakin’s gaze zeroed in on her center, generously slick for him as his hands steadfastly, yet slowly worked to remove his garments.

With every piece of his tanned skin revealed, Padme traced with her eyes, until none of his clothing remained. Her nipples tingled and tightened as her gaze traveled down his sculpted torso. Stopping on the manhood that stood proud and stiff against his stomach.

Anakin smirked, following her line of sight. He grasped his length in his hand, groaning as he gave himself a few pumps.

Padme copied his movements, her own hand traveling towards her core, fingers lazily drawing circles over her clit.

“Anakin, please.” Padme moaned. Watching him was one of her greatest pleasures. And on any other night she would have basked in it and taken everything he wanted to offer. But not tonight.

Tonight, she just needed him.

Hearing her plea, Anakin’s eyes softened and crawled over to her. Padme’s arms drew him in as he hovered over her. He closed the gap and captured her lips. Padme sighed into his mouth, melting in his embrace. Oh, how she was going to miss him.

Too soon for her liking, Anakin left her mouth. But the feeling of longing was immediately quashed as he trailed a path on her jaw and the column of her neck, leaving little nips in his wake. Reaching her chest, Anakin drew a nipple to his mouth, sucking and lightly grazing it with his teeth.

“Anakin.” Padme threw her head back and moaned.

Anakin smirked, watching as Padme lost herself in the torrent of sensations. He released her nipple, repeating his motions on the other one. Once he had Padme writhing in pleasure, he abandoned her chest and started his trek downwards. His mouth was on her stomach when Padme reached to cup his face.

“None of that Ani. I just need you now.”

Anakin studied her face, and Padme was almost convinced he wasn’t going to acquiesce. Having his mouth between her legs was after all a second favorite of his. But he sighed dramatically. “Alright. But when I come back, you should know that I intend to feast on you.”

Heat coiled inside of her. But the roguish smirk on his face held her on pause. She should’ve known he had something up his sleeve.

“Just one taste, I hunger for it.”

And before she could stop him, Anakin swept down on her.

“Anakin.” Padme moaned breathlessly as soon as his tongue touched her warmth. But just like he promised, he resurfaced right after that one taste. She didn’t know if she loved or hated him for it.

“Always so delicious. I’m going to miss you.”

The moisture she was trying so hard to fight came back to her eyes.

“I will come back to you. I promise.” He repeated his earlier words and cemented it with a kiss.

Padme felt delirious as his tongue curled against hers. Vaguely, she felt him lining himself against her. The anticipation almost had her combusting.

Anakin filled her slowly. Inch by agonizing inch. Her mouth fell open, eyes dropping closed, head resting against the pillows. They could do this for all eternity, and still it won’t be enough for Padme to get used to the heady sensation of him claiming her.

Anakin took a pause once fully sheathed in her, forehead resting against hers. A tremble shook his sturdy frame. Barely imperceptible to anybody else. But never to her eyes.

She couldn’t help the tiny smirk on her lips.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one that could still get shaken by their lovemaking.

Groans spilled from Anakin’s mouth as his hips rolled against hers slowly. Padme sighed, fingers skirted the planes of his back, legs twining around his narrow hips. Heat prickled her skin and engulfed her chest, body taut like a wounded string as Anakin panted above her, curls spilling over his head like a golden halo.

The muscles of his stomach rippled and expanded as he continued to move. Her sight traveled further down, settling at the image of his length pillaging her heat. Padme moaned, warmth claiming her cheeks.

Anakin grunted. Fingers on either side of his lover’s head, crumpling the sheets as her walls fluttered around him. Padme shuddered, giving off a loud cry as Anakin hit a delicate spot inside her. A proud glint shone on Anakin’s eyes, and from then on it was deliberate, as he angled his hips, making sure to keep hitting that spot over and over again until Padme was a moaning, shaking mess in his arms.

She attempted to gain control of her legs, but they thrashed on their own volition as the ball of fire inside her kept growing.

“Anakin!” Padme cried out as she came. Anakin’s hold tightened on her frame, all the while keeping the slow and deep thrust of his hips, drawing it out for her.

“I got you, love.” Anakin grunted.

She should have known. Anakin’s mind was a hunter through and through, and his most prized win had always been her pleasure. Sensitive and overwhelmed, he had her exploding a second time not too long after.

“Anakin,” she gasped, out of breath.

Anakin groaned, spilling inside of her. He thrusted a few more times before collapsing beside her, arm thrown over his eyes, chest drawing in huge lungfuls.

Padme pillowed her head on his chest, his arms instantly wrapping around her. The sound of his rapid heartbeats slowing into a steady rhythm, lulled her. The pads of his fingers ghosted her skin in a soft caress, whispering all his words in the silence of her temple. Her eyes fluttered close, lips pulling up in a contented smile against his skin.

He was her safe place.

He was her home.

And she had faith in him.

“You know I don’t intend to let you sleep tonight?”

Padme froze, head lifting to find him staring at her with mischief in his eyes. She felt himself clench and knew that he was perfectly aware of it as he smirked down at her.

Padme bit her lip. “I was hoping you won’t.”

His blue eyes darkened to a midnight storm. That was all the warning she got before his hands lifted her astride his hips.

“Ride me, Goddess.”

It felt like she had just closed her eyes when she was being roused from her sleep. Not by Anakin. But the absence of him from her bed. Clutching the sheets to her chest, she turned and sat up, finding him a few paces away.

His back was to her, as he fastened his armor.

Shame, I still wanted to see you naked.

She laughed as he visibly tensed. He turned around, shaking his head and flashed her a grin.

Anakin cradled her cheek with his palm. “You need to rest, woman.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night, and this morning.” Padme rose to her knees, letting the sheets fall.

Anakin settled a hand around her back and claimed her lips in a kiss. Padme moaned, circling her arms around his head. Anakin pulled back too soon for her liking and placed a finger on her lips, her protests dying immediately.

“I’ll stroke my cock to thoughts of you.” One thing he never shied off from was speaking like a mortal, especially when teasing her. A gleam sparkled in his blues as her breath hitched. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, eyes never leaving hers.

“Watch me when I do, my Goddess.” Anakin leaned in to whisper in her ear.

Padme shuddered and pulled him closer. “Keep talking like that, and I will never let you leave.”

Anakin chuckled, pecking her lips once more.

“As much as I love to see you naked, Obi-Wan will be here shortly. Please don’t give me a reason to blind my master.”

Padme released her hold on him, her reluctance only mildly concealed. Once she meets them outside of her chamber, it will be her bidding him goodbye.

“I love you.” Anakin reminded her, kissing her forehead before leaving her to dress.

Despite the perfect night they shared, the crippling fear came back and crashed around her like a tidal wave as soon as he was out of sight. She already expected it but found herself still greatly unprepared as her knees buckled. Padme reached a hand out so as not to topple over and sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing in huge breaths. Anakin leaving for war had always been a source of distress for her. But this time was different.

She wasn’t just his lover, but the soon-to-be mother of his children. She needed to be strong for the four of them. She can do this.

Padme stood up, fixing herself. She straightened her shoulders and went outside.

“Hello Obi-Wan.” Her voice came out smoothly.

The two Gods turned, Obi-Wan bowing to the Goddess. “Athena.”

Padme returned the reassuring smile Anakin flashed her way. She could tell he knew she needed a moment.

“Are you heading to war in that?” She eyed their matching armor. It was a question that had piqued her since yesterday. The war was currently spread throughout the galaxy, spanning different planets. She had a feeling their outfit might be out of place.

“No. We are meeting Ananke at her mortal school. She said there’s a room there – a room of requirement that would give us what we need for this war.”

Padme tipped her head and bit her lip. Out of all of them, Obi-Wan had the most trouble letting go of the formalities.

“Weapons included? I believe we’ll be using a different kind.” Anakin asked, turning to face Obi-Wan.

“Yes, yes. What was it again – laser sword?”

“Light sword?” Anakin suggested.

“No.”

The two of them mulled it over, before pointing at each other and exclaimed. “Lightsaber.”

“Yes, that’s it. I believe it’s time. Zeus and Hera are supposed to see us off before we go, I’ll go ahead?”

Anakin nodded.

“Alright. I’ll see you, my dear.”

Padme stepped forward and met Obi-Wan’s embrace.

“Be careful.” Please watch over him.

You do not need to ask. Take care of yourself, Goddess.

“I’ll see you at the gates.” Obi-wan placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and marched off.

Anakin walked closer to her. “I’ll pray to you.”

She nodded, throat tightening. And despite willing herself not to, a tear escaped her as she watched Anakin kneel down on one knee and place a kiss on the left and right side of her abdomen. “Be good to your mother.”

He straightened and towered over her, cradling her face in his hands. “I will come back to you. To all of you.”

Another nod, moisture clouding her vision. “I have faith in you. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Anakin closed the distance, kissing her. Tongue and teeth clashed as he pillaged her mouth, claiming everything that she had to give. And when they were both breathless, Anakin released her and turned around, not once looking back, his cape billowing after him.

Don’t look back. She once asked him, and he always complied.

Soon all traces of him vanished, as if he had never been there. One more tear fell down, but she didn’t let another follow.

Because Anakin will come back.

And Padme will wait for him.

A/N: I finally finished it! This one took me more than a year to write. It was challenging but definitely, a fun experience. Shoutout to my lovely friend @lovebarefootblonde. Thank you for beta-reading this for me. Your skill is seriously unmatched, and your help as always, is very much appreciated.

Thank you to everyone who read this. Please leave a comment and/or reblog. I would love to hear your thoughts and chat with you! 😊

To any Potterhead out there, I'm sure you figured out who Ananke is, wink wink.

#anakin skywalker #padme amidala #anakin and padme #anidala #star wars au #greek mythology au #star wars au x greek mythology au #Anakin Skywalker as Ares #Padme Amidala as Athena #Qui-Gon Jinn as Zeus #Obi-Wan Kenobi as Apollo #Galadriel as Hera #Adaline Bowman as Aphrodite #Arthur Curry as Poseidon #Hermione Granger as Ananke

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