#he could have set himself as king in some corner of the world

[sarascamander]

Soldier: Yerin

Poet: Eithan

King: Lindon

[imagine-darksiders]

Bowser x Reader drabble.

Set in the same universe as The Lovelorn King.

A few mentions of blood and injury. Self-image issues. Bowser is touch-starved. Reader has been Bowser's prisoner for a while. You show Bowser the barest thread of compassion and he becomes even more attached to you. Whoops.

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“What in the world happened to you?”

All the self-discipline in the world couldn’t have kept Bowser from nearly leaping right out of his scales at the sound of an unexpected voice breaching the hushed, placid peace of his castle’s library.

Overwrought muscles bunch and flex as the King heaves his sizeable bulk around and away from the doors he’d just skulked through, crimson eyes flashing open wide and darting to each shadowy corner in search of the voice’s owner.

This is the second time tonight that he’s been caught off guard.

He knows who this voice belongs to, of course. In fact, he knows it quite well. It’s been floating dreamily through his mind like a pleasant nepenthe for some time now. He just… hadn’t expected that you’d still be awake at this repugnant hour, let alone in the one room he thought he could sneak through without being spotted by anyone on the way to his royal chambers.

And yet here you are.

His wild-eyed gaze finds you easily, poised in the seat of an enormous armchair by the freshly-lit hearth with an open book resting daintily in your lap.

The moment he spots you, Bowser takes a clumsy step sideways, knocking his tail into a stack of books and sending them toppling to the floor in a flutter of dust and dog-eared pages. Righting himself, he barely remembers to whip a meaty hand up and slap it across the top of his head, tilting the palm so that his left horn is obscured from view.

“P-Princess!?” he blurts out, immediately wincing as his booming voice reverberates off the high, stone ceilings and echoes out through the library, loud enough to wake a Dry Bones.

Perhaps it says much that you only shut your eyes for a second as if pained by the volume before opening them again and blinking up at the King with an air of mild intrigue.

The embers crackling inside the hearth cast their orange warmth out into the nook, illuminating much of the nearby shelves that have been stacked to the rafters with some of Kamek’s spell books, Junior’s comics and an absolute avalanche of Bowser’s cherished romance novels.

Flickering flames chase shadows across your impassive features as you stare up at him, a lone eyebrow cocked like a weapon about to fire. “Bowser,” you greet him coolly in return, throwing a glance up at his conspicuous hand.

His stomach promptly drops, yet even still, even still, the King’s almighty heart soars on a swell of elation at the simple and unassuming fact that you’ve spoken to him....

He just wishes you hadn’t chosen this exact moment to break your vow of silence that you've been valiantly upholding for the better part of a week.

You’re not supposed to be here! Well, you are supposed to be here, in his Fortress – In fact, he’s taken a great many measures to ensure you have to stay here – but he certainly didn’t expect to find you in his library in the dead of night when you should be sound asleep in the chambers he gifted you. You definitely shouldn’t be awake and, worse still, looking at him.

Mind in a swirl, Bowser wonders if you’d already spotted what he’s hiding beneath his palm.

If he’d have just managed to avoid you until morning, he’d have found something inconspicuous to hide it… One of his top hats, perhaps. Or maybe he’d have combed his mane over in such a way as to hide the unsightly laceration that lances from a place beneath his hairline to the base of his horn, where it turns from an angry, red gouge to a dark, jagged crack, marring the inner curve of his once pristine and gleaming headgear.

He’d even polished them arduously earlier today, conscious to keep up his immaculate appearance whilst such a refined and comely lady stays in his Fortress.

Of course, he hadn’t at all expected that a rogue Treevil would be the one to catch him by surprise. A Treevil. That shuffling, twig-tossing lump of wood had the gall to launch an attack on Bowser when he was bending to wrench a fistful of flowers out of the soil, intent on presenting them to you as a gift in the morning.

The ‘twig’ it used as a club wasn’t so much a tiny piece of wood as it was a very unreasonably-sized log. It caught him squarely on the front of his skull, its hard, brittle edge landing a solid ‘thwack’ to his horn before he could even gather his wits to see what had hit him.

Of course, the Treevil now stands as little more than a smoking pile of charcoal in the centre of Dimble Wood, but it had left a blow in its own right, landed one straight down on the King’s pride as well as his body.

He’d hoped he could stay wholly undetected whilst he made his way back to his royal quarters, certain that a genius strategist like him could come up with some plan to conceal the embarrassing injury from all of his subjects, his guards, and yourself and Junior, first and foremost.

Well. So much for that plan.

“What- Uhh,” he flounders, desperate to direct your attention elsewhere, for a change, “What’re you still doin’ up?” It’s a legitimate concern. You should be in your bed where he left you, where it’s safe, and he knows where to find you. You must be exhausted to be up at this hour.

Unbeknownst to him, your mind is far more awake than he gives it credit for.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The half-lie falls so expertly off your tongue, the smitten King doesn’t have a chance of catching it.

You couldn’t sleep because you were busy making yet another escape attempt, using your time wisely by mapping out the fortress in the twilight hours when the koopa guards are at their drowsiest.

All for naught. Tonight, at least.

Ever since Bowser had ‘so graciously allowed’ you more freedom to roam around his domicile, there have been double the number of guards posted around every corner and in every doorway. This library in the West wing seems to be the only place they haven’t bothered to watch so heavily, perhaps because there are no windows or doors here that might lead to a potential exit.

After it became clear you wouldn’t be finding an escape route tonight, you sought a reprieve instead, bundling yourself away amongst the crowded bookshelves and dusty tomes to find some peace from the sleepy but vigilant guards.

Sod’s law then, that Bowser should turn up.

The King, for his part, has no idea what’s going through your mind nor that he’s done anything particularly wrong. Most of his attention has now shifted to the warm, creeping trickle of liquid he can feel break away from his scalp and ooze gently down past his eye, then on towards the curve of his cheek.

The soft thump of a book being closed wrenches him back into the moment.

Owlishly, he blinks down at you from the other side of the nook, private in his hopes that the firelight hasn’t yet reached him well enough to expose his secret.

You can’t see him like this; Marred. Flawed. He dreads to imagine what you’ll think if you spot his broken horn. You’ll probably think him weak. Unfit to take care of you.

So, when you rise gracefully to your slippered feet and lay the book down on the arm of your chair, he very nearly bolts for the other side of the library. But then the silken nightgown you’d conceded to wear after much, much protest on your part is pooling towards the ground and swishing around your ankles, each fold catching in the fire’s glow like the ripples of a curtain in the morning sun, and suddenly Bowser can’t think of escaping so much as he has to concentrate on not staring.

A padded footstep in his direction has him taking one long stride of his own in retreat, maintaining the distance you’d just tried to erase. Perhaps you recognise how… unusual it is for the King to be widening the gap because in the next second, you come to a temporary standstill, blinking up at the Koopa in surprise.

“Bowser,” you say, quiet but stern, gradually stitching your brows together into a hard line and taking another step in his direction, “You’re bleeding.”

He supposes it was too much to hope for...

The horror of being seen wars valiantly with his delight in seeing you, at having even an iota of your attention, even if it’s scornful or sad or… whatever this is.

So often, a melancholy will take you, and you’ll shut yourself away in your chambers, refusing to say a single word to him. Kamek was the one who had to tell him that you’d come around, if given enough time. You’d just been whisked away to an entirely new life without warning, after all. Far from home, far from the shores of your distant kingdom. Of course there’d be an adjustment period…

Slapping a toothy grin onto his snout, Bowser continues inching backwards whilst you glide towards him, picking up speed with every step, your eyes glued to the hand covering his blemish from sight.

“Bleedin’?” he echoes, shrugging one massive shoulder nonchalantly, “What’re you talkin’ about, I’m… I’m, uhhh…”

It isn’t often the King of all Koopas feels his courage falter. But right then, Bowser’s spiked shell hits the solid library doors, stopping him rather effectively in his tracks. Which leaves you with more than enough time to close in and come to a halt right in front of him, your head tilted all the way back to squint up at the underside of his chin.

Gulping down at steadying breath, Bowser finds himself entranced as one of your hands creeps up towards his raised arm. At once, the behemoth freezes, watching, waiting with his heart wedged in his throat to see what you’ll do next.

And in turn, you seem to hesitate as well, fingers poised just a few inches shy of making contact with his scales. There’s a contemplative frown deepening the lines on your face, as though you’re putting some serious thought into what you’re about to do.

By now, Bowser would wholly expect you to retract your arm and turn from him, skulking back out of the doors.

But instead, to his astonishment – and a Hell of a lot of your own – you knit your expression together resolutely and breach the gap between his arm and your fingertips.

The barest of pressures comes to rest upon the jutting bone of the King’s crooked elbow, hardly there at all.

So why does his body light up like a flare beneath your touch?

Synapses snap and pulse, nerve endings in his arm shoot signals up towards his brain and scurry back down to the elbow your fingers have alighted upon.

A touch… made willingly? And without any air of disgust or fear or ill-intent.

All the moisture dries up in Bowser’s mouth, leaving his tongue sitting thick and heavy as lead against the back of his fangs. His eyes are locked with rigid focus on your fingers, half hidden from view beyond the swell of his bicep.

He can’t even swallow, though he does feel the familiar bob of his gorge that calls for him to gulp.

‘What is she doing?’ is the first question that springs to his mind.

If it weren’t for the steady throb of pain in his skull, Bowser might be inclined to believe that he’s dreaming.

You’re initiating contact…

You’re initiating contact.

You’ve… never initiated contact before, no matter how many times Bowser has tried to encourage as much by nudging your hand with his or pushing his snout eagerly into your space, hoping for something tactile, a moment – just a glimpse – of something that he could mistake for returned affection. Just…

…Anything.

But this…?

This is definitely something.

Rendered speechless, Bowser doesn’t tear his eyes from the point of contact between your skin and his, half afraid that if he looks elsewhere, the moment will be gone, turning to nothing more than another sad, empty delusion he thinks of late at night.

Perhaps you’d disappear.

Perhaps you’re not even here at all, and this is simply a hallucination brought about by the knock that Treevil landed on his head.

“Bowser…”

But then, your voice is drifting up into his ears, soft and quiet and there. And the gentlest of pressures exerts itself on his elbow, pushing it down without force.

“Let me see…”

The King’s fingers instantly slacken their grasp on his mane, and despite his size, despite his indomitable strength and power and authority, he allows you to guide his arm down by the elbow, drawing his hand off the top of his head and exposing the dark, sticky trail of scarlet blood running over the plump of his cheek.

At last, his gaze moves to yours, and he watches, enraptured, whilst you give your tongue a chiding click, and your expression sheds whatever remaining steel it might have held were he not currently bleeding…

He waits...

For disgust, for the recoil, for the dip of your chin and squint of your eyes that signifies repulsion from his ugly new defect.... He waits for almost ten whole seconds - he knows because he counts each one in his head, just waiting to see how long it'll take before the inevitable blow.

“Hmm,” you murmur instead, no hint of a smirk haunting the edges of your mouth. Nothing more and nothing less is said.

Just... 'Hmm.'

Before he can respond, before he can even process your hum, you’ve withdrawn from the elbow of the arm that now flops uselessly at his side and stretch both hands up towards his head.

He’s taller than you. So much taller. Towering like a monolith over a tiny pebble.

And yet, with the breath caught inside his massive lungs, Bowser is helpless except to dip his enormous snout down to you as if riding on some old, unconscious instinct that tells him he should be the one deferring.

As it is, he’s barely stringing a coherent thought together, far too astonished and restless to see what you might do.

Is it still coming? Should he still be bracing himself? He could very easily shrug you off and prevent you from seeing any more than you already have but....

Gentle fingertips find him again, though the sensation of them is dulled this time; they’ve gingerly crested the very tips of his curved horns, wrapping around them and giving a small but effective tug.

When you use the same cautious leverage to tilt his head even further down, bringing his nose parallel with your stomach, Bowser’s tail promptly slumps flat to the carpet with a soft, heavy ‘thwump!’

‘Oh…’ flickers across his brain, and then, when nothing more eloquent comes to mind… ‘Stars.’

Mouth hanging slightly ajar, he lets his eyes travel up the length of your neck to settle on your face.

He hardly dares breathe lest even one tiny inhale proves to be a movement that frightens you away from doing… whatever it is you’re doing to him right now.

Your eyes don’t meet the King’s, though you’re aware that he’s staring. You suppose you can give him that.

“Huh,” you utter through pursed lips, following the trail of blood with your thumb up from his cheek towards his fiery hairline, stopping just short of touching the edge of a fresh, seeping laceration.

Bowser's scales grow noticeably hotter beneath your fingertips, so, quirking one side of your mouth into a wan smile, you finally drop your attention to his wide, bewildered eyes.

“Let me guess. I should see the other guy, right?” you tease, shrugging a shoulder.

Bowser merely stares at you for several seconds too many, until at last, he manages a slow, dopey blink and murmurs, “Huh?"

You’ve had too much experience with concealing your emotions to allow your lips any elasticity. Your smile does not soften at the stunned expression on Bowser’s scaly face.

That said, you can’t deny that he’d almost be endearing… if he wasn’t the very reason you’re trapped in this wretched fortress against your will.

But personal feelings aside, you can’t very well let him stumble around the castle all bloodied and bruised. He might have a concussion! Or God forbid he wakes Junior up, and the poor boy has to witness his own father with a crack in his horn and a cut on his scalp.

Fathers are supposed to be invincible.

Junior is still too young to learn that they’re not.

Heaving a great sigh that carries with it more weariness from the late hour than frustration with your ‘host,’ you let go of his horns and step back, smothering a laugh when he tilts forwards, righting himself with a hurriedly placed foot and a startled look on his face.

“Come on then,” you say, swivelling about on a heel and beckoning for him to follow you towards the library doors, “There’s a sink in your bathroom, I presume?”

Dumbstruck at the sudden turnaround, Bowser gives his head a shake, stepping dutifully into step behind you. “Uh… sink?” he parrots, reaching up with a claw-tipped finger to trace the path your thumb had left over his cheek, his touch rough yet reverent.

“To clean up that mess,” you explain, waving a hand over your shoulder in his vague direction, the first sniff of exasperation clouding your tone.

But Bowser hardly notices it. In fact, he hardly notices anything at all, save for the beguiling human leading him across the library towards the West entrance.

All he can think about, all he can do consider, is the way your hands had felt against his toughened scales, like a balm to whatever ire had been lingering after his run-in with the Treevil.

Tiny callouses on your fingertips rubbed lightly, not harshly. Careful, not cruel. You hadn't balked at his sullied appearance nor shuddered when you touched him. You hadn't even shown any pleasure at his misfortune, though somewhere deep down past the layers of wilful ignorance and optimism, a small part of Bowser knows you don't particularly like him.

In the library, the firelight flickers, forgotten.

The warmth it casts into the room pales in comparison to the roaring flame bursting to life inside the King's almighty chest.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Lost FLowers (Lucifer x Human!Reader)

CW: Sex pollen, compromised consent, smut, oral sex, fingering Rating: Adult Summary: Imps doing whatever the fuck they did dropped a sex flower in the human world and it's Lucifer's problem as the king of Hell to find it. When he finds it, picked up by you, he has a obligation to help you ride out the effects.

You walked through the streets, kicking rocks down the sidewalk. Anger seethed under your skin, making you feel like an ass. You were not mad at him. It wasn’t his fault he stood you up on your date. He couldn’t help getting murdered. 

Or maybe he could.

You didn’t know; it was too early to know for sure. 

All you knew was once again, the universe fucked you over. It had been months since your last date and you were excited. Fuck, you spent money to have your hair done up nice. You got your nails done, spending more money.

Just one night, that’s all you wanted. One night out on the town with someone to make you feel pretty, even for a little while. It had been so long. 

Just some affection, some flirting. Was that too much to ask? 

Clearly. 

“Fucking bullshit,” you snapped under your breath, kicking the rock down the sidewalk again. At least home wasn’t terribly far away. “I even shaved everything.” 

It was silly. Not only had you shaved everything you could, you spent money on a cute white and gold bra and panties set on the off chance that your multi month long dry spell would come to an end. 

“So much for that,” you continued, turning the corner. Home was just a block away. So close and yet so far away. 

On the ground, nearly crushed by your stomping heels, was a strange purple flower. Reaching down, you plucked it up, wrapping your fingers around the dark green steam. The petals were a shade of purple you’d only seen in fiction. It didn’t smell particularly strong when you brought it to your nose, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Well, at least the sidewalk can give me a flower today,” you sighed, tucking the unique bloom behind your ear as you marched home. 

Lucifer stomped his black boots as he pinched the bridge of his slight nose. “I can’t believe you dropped a sex flower in the living world.” 

“Look,” the small red imp had no right to be as sassy as he was being. “It’s one flower. I was on a time crunch. The fuck you want from me?”

“I want you to not be making my life harder with whatever it is you do.” 

“We’re assassins, Your Majesty.” Lucifer’s eyes only glanced at the other imp. 

“I don’t care,” he said while making a mental note to figure out why the fuck there were hell assassins coming to the human world.

“It wasn’t a fresh one,” the imp said again, waving his hand as if to brush the issue away. “There wasn’t enough pollen on it to kill a human. Whoever picked it up will be fine.” 

“They’ll be out of their mind with lust,” Lucifer corrected, shoulders sagging. “Fine. Fine. Get out of here. Don’t make your business my problem again or I will fuck you.” He paused for a moment before more words rushed out of his mouth. “I’ll fuck you up.” 

“Right, Your Majesty.” The imps all bowed, leaving him with the task of finding the flower while they ran off, tails between their legs. 

“‘Make imps!’ she said,” Lucifer grumbled to himself as he walked, trying to catch a hint of the magic he used to create everything in hell. It would feel different from the lingering traces of what he had expelled in the earth’s creation and all upon it. Then he was working with a pure divine power. After his fall, the threads of his magic felt different. They were tainted. 

“‘They’ll be fun!’ she said. Now where the fuck is she?” Lucifer was well onto a rant as he walked down the sidewalks. 

“Nice suit!” someone yelled from a passing car. 

Perking up, Lucifer smiled and turned, “Thank-” 

“Loser!” the voice added, the truck speeding away as Lucifer’s smile fell.

“Figures.” He kicked a rock as he made his way down the sidewalk, mentally reaching out for a sense of what was his. “That’s why you all end up down there, with me. Who’s fault is it, anyway? Hey, hey, hey! It’s mine.” 

You looked at the flower sitting in the medicine bottle turned tiny vase. It was dumb; you knew that. It was the only flower anyone had given you in over a year and it came from the streets. 

“Just like me,” you whispered. “Fuck, I’m losing it.” 

You flopped back on the bed, trying to put your wasted night out of your mind. It wasn’t fair. Loneliness clawed at you. 

Maybe you should get up, go out and get a few drinks. Someone would pay attention to you for a little while. Maybe someone would kiss you. Fuck, maybe someone would touch you. 

You rubbed your thighs together, skirt bunching as you laid back. You didn’t want some random man to spend some time fucking you. It would probably be unsatisfying. Deep down though, you knew Buzzy the vibrator or Cocky the dildo couldn’t scratch this lonely itch.

Your hand ran up your thigh as you gave in, pushing your skirt higher and higher. 

Lucifer paced on the landing between the apartment doors. He knew he needed to knock, go in and get the flower before it could cause too much trouble. If the imps- what the fuck was their names? He needed to remember so he could put them out of business or bury them in rubber ducks. 

If they were right, maybe the flower would hold no power. Maybe it wouldn’t be able to influence the living. 

“Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?” Lucifer pulled the hat from his head, running his hand through his hair as he looked at the door. “It’s going to have some pollen on it still.” 

He reached up and rapped his knuckles against the dented metal door. Hopefully, no one would be inside. If whoever had found the flower left, he could just let himself inside and take it. He waited before knocking again. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You ripped your hand from under your skirt as someone knocked on your door again. Fucking again. Was it not obvious enough that you didn’t want to be bothered when you didn’t answer the first fucking time?

Stomping over to the door, you threw open the door, “What the fuck do you want?” 

You blinked at the man, hardly taller than you wearing a rather comical white suit that looked to be more at place in a circus than on the city streets.

“Well,” the man chuckled lightly. “You have a purple flower in there. I- a friend of mine actually dropped it.”

“You’re here for a shitty flower?” You looked to the side, eyeing the make shift vase with the weird flower inside. “How do you know I have it?” 

“I do,” Lucifer smiled, “Don’t lie to me, I’m the first lier.” 

Saying the words stung. He hadn’t intended to corrupt the truth. He hadn’t lied to anyone, as far as he intended, yet that was one of the many crimes he had been accused of. 

Fine, they wanted to brand him a lier- he would embrace it. He embraced everything they charged him with. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You looked at the unnaturally pale man, his eyes looking yellow, jaundiced, felt unnatural. The high flush on his face stood in contrast to the near paper white of his skin. 

There was something wrong about the man standing in your doorway and yet you couldn’t stop your eyes from running over his body. You needed to get laid, you realized, as your eyes greedily took in the way his comically striped vest spread over his chest. 

“You have something that doesn’t belong here,” he said, stepping forward. Though he lacked anything resembling impressive height, his presence was powerful and you stepped back. “It’ll be better for you if we get rid of it.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” you asked as he crossed the threshold into your apartment. The door swung closed behind him, though he didn’t move a muscle to touch it. “What are you?”

“It’s a sex flower,” Lucifer answered, walking directly to the little purple flower. “I made them for my wife… ex-wife, I guess.”

“Sex flower?” You rubbed your thighs together under your skirt, sure you had lost your mind. 

“Yep,” He popped the p as he twitched his hand, fire sparking in the flower and spreading, quickly turning the bloom into ash. “My wife,” he sighed, “Ex-wife wanted something to spice things up.”

“What are you?” You asked again.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning to you. “The flower has some rather unique effects- works as an aphrodisiac but amped up through the roof. Hellborn tolerances are much higher than humans.”

“I’m sorry- what the fuck is going on?” 

“You’re horny,” Lucifer observed, eyeing the way you rubbed your thighs together. “That- that was rude, I’m sorry. The flower will influence you for the next eight to twelve hours. You should… you should call your boyfriend to ride it out with you.”

“I don’t have one,” you screamed at him, face ablaze.

“Oh!” He looked at you with wide eyes. “Girlfriend works too. You just need a partner- someone, not something.” 

“I don’t-” you realized he still hadn’t said who he was. Fear and arousal ran through you as you reached out, smacking the comical top hat off the man’s head. “You haven’t told me who the fuck you are.” 

“Was that- that was childish.” 

“So is not answering my question or calling someone horny,” you countered. 

“But you are,” He sighed, running his hand through his bright blond hair. “But you’re right. I’m sorry. My name is Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? Like the devil?” 

“The one, the only.” He said as if it was nothing. To him, it was no big deal. It was just who he was. 

“Lucifer, the devil.” You blinked. “Let me get this straight. I found Lucifer’s lost sex flower while walking home from getting stood up for a blind date I hoped would end my massive dry spell. Not really stood up- he got murdered on his way- and now the flower is going to make me horny as fuck and I’m doomed to suffer unless I have someone to fuck it out with?” 

“Well,” Lucifer started, surprised only to have you cut him off. 

“You’re serious?” You laughed, running your hands through your hair as you stepped away, turning your back to him only to round and face him again. “This is a fucked up dream.”

“You… you should call someone.” Lucifer watched as he questioned if your sanity could hold up to the information. 

“I don’t have someone to call,” you snapped. “If I did, I wouldn’t be in a six-month dry spell!” 

“Well, ah- have fun with that.” Lucifer picked up his at and stepped back.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Hell?” Lucifer answered, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m horny,” you said, unashamed and deciding it was a dream. “And your stupid flower caused it. Shouldn’t you do something about it? You’re the fucking devil. Tempt me or something. You convinced Eve to eat the appl, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Lucifer set his hat down, stepping up to you. “Sit down and let me show you how I tempted her.” 

You did, everything feeling too real when he ran his forked tongue from between his lips. Lucifer watched as you sat stone still. He leaned forward, running his nearly nonexistent nose along your neck. 

“You do smell lovely,” he whispered, hands reaching out to touch you for the first time. 

You hadn’t been prepared for the way your body reacted to his touch. It was feather light and yet it had you sighing. Though he hardly touched you, it set your nerves alight. His hands reached up, resting on your shoulders and pulling a moan from your lips.

“What are you doing to me?” 

“Nothing,” he sighed, “It’s the flower.” 

The sound of the zipper gliding down your back was impossibly loud. Shudders racked through your body as his hands slipped under your dress, pushing the back open and guiding it to fall from your shoulders. 

“This… this isn’t a dream, is it?” Your voice came out breathy as he pulled you to stand slightly, letting the dress pool around your ankles before sitting you down again as he sank down to his knees. 

Looking up at you, you realized his eyes were red, “No, dear. No dreams.” His eyes left yours, roaming over your curves, white silk and red accents hugging your curves. It was as if you dressed just for him. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you trembled as you watched his eyes settle on your panties, sharp tipped black gloves running up your thighs. No, those were not gloves. It was his hands. “Are you going to take my soul? Take me to hell?” 

“No,” he laughed softly, “I’d like nothing more for you to never join the ranks of hell.” 

Fingers wrapped around the band of your underwear and guided them down your hips. Shamefully, you realized you were wet. Not a little wet, but body ready to slip over a cock without hesitation or resistance wet. 

“Red and white are my favorite colors,” Lucifer said as his eyes ran over you greedily. “You have a lovely apple. Nice and ready for me to take a bite.” 

There was no chance for you to second guess what you were doing or to back down, not that you could anyway. Need and desire ran through you as the flower’s influence took root. You had been sexually frustrated before but now there was no going back. 

“Are you, are you going to fuck me?” Terror and arousal were both thick in your voice. 

Lucifer pushed your thighs apart, forked tongue once again running over his lips as he glanced up at you one last time. “I’ll take care of you like this, give you some relief. You should be okay, then.” 

Long, thin tongue ran from his mouth, slithering up your soaked folds as you gasped loudly. Each pass of his tongue ended with a flick against your clit. He moaned as he leaned forward, focusing more intently on his work. The pointed tongue caught in your opening, slipping inside of you. 

It twisted, turned and caressed your walls as his face nudged your clit, pushing you closer and closer. Each touch felt like fire. Your chest rose and fell, breasts held perfectly in place by your new bra as he looked up at you with those dangerous, beautiful eyes. 

He let his tongue slip from your opening again, shifting on his knees. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking and nibbling on it. Your back arched as you moaned. 

Lucifer moaned with you, the taste of you coating his tongue. It had been years since he had tasted anyone. He forgot how good it had felt to give pleasure. It made him feel good to know he caused your thighs trembling under his touch, not from fear but from how good he was at what he did. 

He loved pleasure. He prided himself on his ability to give it.

It had been too long. 

“You taste divine,” Lucifer moaned into your folds as he ran a palm up your thigh. Your body jumped as he pressed a finger into your tight opening. Your walls twitched and tensed around him, so ready to send you over the edge. All you needed was a push. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as he added a second finger. Sweat rolled down your back as he worked the long digits in and out of your tense walls. “I’m so close.” 

He hummed in response, hips rocking on instinct against nothing, seeking friction. “Come on, angel,” Lucifer whispered, licking his lips as he took a moment to adjust his jaw. “You’ll sing for me, won’t you?” 

A second finger pushed into you as your body tightened around him. He matched each curl of his fingers with a harsh suck on your clit that had your hips bucking. A surprisingly strong hand pushed your hip down, pressure on your inner thigh. As his fingers pulled out from you, he ran his tongue over your clit just to suck hard on it again, fingers pushing and curling inside. 

“Fuck,” you cried out as he worked his fingers into and out of you, wet squelching highlighting the pace his fingers fucked into you with. It had been so long since anyone had touched you. 

“Fuck,” you said again, body wound tight. It had been so long since you had anyone had been inside you. “Oh, fuck. Please,” you begged. “Please, please.”

 Shudders ripped through your body as your orgasm crashed into you. Fingers reached down, tangled in the devil’s hair. You gripped him as you rode out your orgasm. He moaned as your grip pulled strands taught. 

“Better?” Lucifer asked as he pulled his slick face from your twitch cunt. 

“Worse,” you answered, realizing you were pulling the devil’s hair. “Sorry,” you let your grip go slack.

“Don’t need to be,” Lucifer said as he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on your sensitive clit. “I’ll head out now,” 

“No,” you whined, leaning forward until you slipped off the couch. Arms wrapped around him as your knees landed between his. 

“Oh,” Lucifer held his hands out as you pressed your nearly naked body to his. The warmth of you soaked into his clothes. The soft mounds of your breasts, still held ever so nicely in position by the white and red bra pressed into his chest and hell, he forgot how good it felt to be held. 

“Please,” you whispered into the ear of the devil, tempting the tempter. “I feel like… like I haven’t been touched in a lifetime. I need you,” 

“S-sit back on the couch,” Lucifer’s hands hovered over your sides, a groan fighting its way out of his throat as you rubbed your thigh against the hardness he had been ignoring in his pants. “I’ll keep going. I’ll give you another.”

“No,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “It’s not enough.” 

“What?” He swallowed hard. “What do you need?”

He knew, of course. He had attended plenty of parties featuring the flowers, hosted by his own wife. Ex-wife. He knew how they worked, what it took to scratch the itch the flowers birthed. Orgasms would help, but it wouldn’t be enough, really, to buy you more than a few moments of peace. 

“Please, I need you,” you said, hands running up his chest and over his shoulders, slowly pushing his jacket from his sounders. “It’s been so long.”

“Has it?” Lucifer asked as he indulged in the feeling of your hands running over his arms. 

“Over six months,” you cooed, hands moving to run over his chest. “Please, I can’t stand it. I want more. I need more.” 

“Are you sure?” Lucifer asked, knowing full and well that you could not be sure, even if you thought you were. The power of the pollen clouded your mind, influenced what you wanted. He knew that, but he also knew how much he missed being wanted, the feeling of hands running over his body. “I’m the devil.”

“Who better?” you purred, hand moving down his abdomen. He groaned as your hand wrapped around his cock, caressing him through his pants. “Who better than the devil to break my dry spell?” 

“You want me?” Lucifer asked, face ever so close to yours. You could feel his breath, smell yourself on him. 

“I want you, Lucifer.” 

Lucifer was never a strong man. His heart and mind were weak, fickle things. That’s why he fell, ultimatum. He was too weak to resist the temptation of humanity. In turn, he tempted them. 

He wrapped his arms around you and stood, taking you with him. Once you were on your feet in front of him, he reached down and hooked his hands behind your knees. You jumped, trusting him to hold you. Legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing your naked, soaked core against his abdomen. 

He carried you through the small apartment, not needing directions to identify the one closed door that led to your bedroom. While he walked, you ground yourself against his body, seeking any stimulation against your sensitive core you could get. Trembling fingers worked at the buttons of his vest and shirt. 

He groaned as your fingers slipped under his shirt. Warm touches smoothed over firm muscles as he set you down on the bed. Hands left you as he pulled his vest and shirt up and off, throwing it to the side. 

He had hidden strong, lean muscles under the clothes. He was the devil. You should have expected that he would be well built. The suit, though it clung to his frame, obscured it. 

“Please,” you were whimpering now, watching as he worked his belt free.

A cock too long or thick for the size of the man it belonged to sprang free, slapping his stomach. Shamelessly, needily, your eyes ran over the vast amounts of exposed flesh. It was like you were looking at a marble statue.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting next to you on the bed. 

“Why don’t you look very devilish?” 

He could almost believe you were functioning without the influence of the flower, if not for the way you ran your hand over him. Need burned in your eyes as you explored his chest and shoulders. 

“Have to tone it down,” Lucifer sighed into the touch, gathering you into his lap only for you to straddle him eagerly. Wet heat soaked his cock as you ground yourself against him. 

“How?” 

“Magic,” he could feel his face flush golden.

“Wanna see it,” you whined, “Wanna see you before you go.” 

“We’ll see,” Lucifer said as you rose up, sliding his thick cock into your opening with ease. “Oh, hell,” he moaned, head falling back.

Leaning forward, you kissed his neck. Was it too much? Too forward? Too soft to do with the devil? You didn’t care. Your body needed what it needed. Using his shoulders as leverage, you worked yourself up and down his shaft, moaning at the stretch. 

“I’m not that great,” you laughed, only to have the sound die in a squeak. He threw you down, rolling his body with yours into a missionary position. 

Another deep moan left him as he thrust into you, pulling your hips to him. “You’re perfect,” he said. “You all are,” he thrust into you slowly again and again, cock dragging against sensitive walls, “so perfectly imperfect. That’s why I fell.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned his name as he worked your body softly.

Fanged kisses dotted your neck as you clung to him. Your need for him only grew as he pushed you closer to your finish with each soft, steady thrust into you. His small nose nuzzled the soft skin under your ear as he kissed along your jaw. 

“Please,” you moaned, turning to him, lips begging for the kiss you were so scared to ask for. 

He indulged you, lips slanting over yours in a kiss that, while starting sweet, quickly turned passionate. His thin, forked tongue worked into your mouth, allowing him to swallow your soft moans as he pushed inside your warm walls again and again. 

“You feel so good,” Lucifer whispered as he ran his hands over you, cupping the soft swell of your breast through the silky bra. “So good, wrapped around me.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, body craving his touch, needing his kiss. “Please, Lucifer.” 

“You’re close,” his honey voice dropped nearly directly into your ear, “I can feel you tight you are. Every twitch of your muscles. Every wave of pleasure through your core.”

“Fuck, Luc-lucifer!” You cried out as he pushed you over the edge, diving into the rhythmic waves of your orgasm. Each contraction of your walls rippled around his cock, continuing to push into you as he prolonged your orgasm.

Only when your core stilled did Lucifer’s thrusts slow. Panting breaths ripped through your lungs as he kissed the collum of your neck. Just as he was starting to think you had been satisfied, you began to whine and rut against the cock still buried in you. 

“Better?” Lucifer asked, somewhat surprised to find your body seeking more from him. 

“More,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “Harder? More? It’s not enough.”

“Harder?” Lucifer asked, pulling back from you.

“Please,” you chased him, wanting his touch. It felt like you needed his touch to survive. Nothing he was giving you was enough. “I’m burning up. I need more. I need, fuck I need you.” 

“But you want it harder?” Lucifer kissed you softly as you chased his body.

“I want the devil to fuck me,” you spoke into the kiss. “Show me what you can do.” 

Lucifer chuckled, “Alright then- on your hands and knees, little dove.” 

You trembled in want and fear as you rolled over onto your stomach. Lucifer stood at the foot of the bed, watching as you moved. Slick ran down your thighs, evidence of your orgasm and the impacts of the flower’s pollen in your system. He didn’t want to hurt you, but it felt so good to be inside you. 

The bed jerked as Lucifer pulled it easily away from the wall. The feet scraped against the carpet as you squealed, looking back over your shoulder at him. He moved the heavy bad frame as if it was nothing. For him, it was nothing. The man you were desperate for the cock of was far from human. 

“What are you doing?” you whined, hips rocking side to side as you leaned forward, presenting your puffy folds to him. The slick poured from your opening. You could feel it running over your sensitive folds as gravity pulled it down your body. “Please, Lucifer. I want you. I need you back inside me.” 

“I thought your neighbors wouldn’t like the sound of the headboard banging the wall,” he said. 

“It burns,” you whimpered, hand reaching down to run along your soaked folds. 

The sight of your fingers entranced Lucifer. They glided over your clit, sinking deep into your fluttering opening. A breathy moan fell from your lips as you looked at him over your shoulder. “I want you. Fuck, I need you. Please, Lucifer. It hurts. I ache so bad. I need you back inside me.” 

“Fuck,” Lucifer groaned as he climbed into the bed, black hands running up your thighs. “I’m so sorry, Dove. You’re like this because of me. It’s my fault. I should have had better control over the imps. That flower should never have come here.” 

“Please,” you whimpered, “I need you.” A sob racked through your body, born of need, desire, and shame. “Fuck, I’m begging the devil for his cock. I’m going to hell for this, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know.” Your skin was so soft under his hands. Warm palms ran up your back, smoothing skin and unclasping your bra with practiced hands. “I don’t make the rules. I fell before they were in place. Are you sure you want this? I can stay like this instead.”

“Please,” tears ran down your face, fire swallowing you alive. Slick squelching sounds never stopped as your fingers worked in and out of you. “Please, I want the devil.” 

“Don’t worry,” Lucifer purred, lineing his cock up with your opening. Your wet fingers reached out from between your legs, leaving the warm wet heat of your core to wrap around his shaft. It was a battle to reach, arm stretching to pump his shaft, still coated in your slick. “I’ll fuck you.” 

His voice was deeper, power radiating off each word. You watched as the flush on his cheeks deepened, skin growing whiter. The yellow of his eyes deepened and the rusty brown of his eyes changed, becoming a bright vermillion. 

Fear ran through you, eyes locked on him. The blunt head of his cock pushed into your waiting walls, parting them as you watched him change with wide eyes. Teeth grew pointed while a black spade tipped whip extended out from behind him. 

“Oh fuck,” you leaned down as he bottomed out, bra crushing under your chests. 

“If it gets to be too much,” Lucifer leaned down, whip-like tail wrapping around your thigh as he spoke directly into your ear, “Just say ducky.” 

“What?” You yelped as the spade tip of his tail smacked your ass. “Fuck, okay. Just fuck me, please.”

“Good girl,” he said, straightening up.

For a moment he was frozen, looking at the delicate human woman speared on his cock. Soft and wanting. Would you want him if not for the flower? Would you let him touch you if you had anyone else?

“Please,” you begged, and his tail tightened around your thigh. “Fuck me,” 

He smiled, a sharp, cutting look before pulling back from you. His cock dragged through your slick walls, slick coating his shaft in shiny ropes. The thrust that followed was hard, forcing your body to bounce as his hips connected with your ass. 

Each harsh thrust pushed you forward, hips kept up by the bruising grip of his hands. You moaned, eyes looking at him over your shoulder as you rested your head on the bed. The devil was fucking you, spreading you over his thick cock again and again, and it felt so good.

There was a thrill in the danger of it. The sin of submitting to the king of temptation. He filled you perfectly, stretching you around his girth as his tip pressed into your cervix again and again, just enough pressure to tell you he was there. 

“Oh,” you gasped as his balls slapped your clit, each thrust punctuating with it as he rammed his cock into you with a bruising pace. The tail wrapped around your leg caressed you, squeezing and releasing in time with each thrust. 

“Fuck,” you cried out, pushed closer and closer to your orgasm until his powerful thrusts shoved you off it. “Fuck, fuck. Oh, Lucifer, Fuck!” 

“That’s it,” Lucifer groaned, walls convulsing around his cock as he continued to fuck into you. He leaned over you, running his hands up your side as he wrapped his tail around your waist. Your breasts were hot in his hands as he indulged in their soft weight, pulling you up off the bed by them. 

Your orgasm wracked through you, shudders running down your spine and up your legs as he pulled you onto your knees, shoulders against his chest. Each thrust into your quivering walls had you moaning. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Lucifer whispered in your ear as your orgasm subsided. 

He continued to thrust into you, pace turning soft as you gasped for air. While he ran his hands over your front, twirling his fingers over your nipples and taking in the way your breasts moved with each thrust into you, his tail ran down your waist, spade finding your clit.

“How are you feeling?” Lucifer whispered into your ear, hips continuing to push into you at a lazy pace. Your slick dripped from his heavy balls, running down his thighs. 

“Good,” you whispered, head turning to look into the inhuman eyes of your lover. “So good.” 

Taking a chance, you leaned forward, slotting your lips over his. The kiss was sweet and thankful, catching Lucifer off guard. There was a rustling sound, drawing your eyes open again to witness a sea of feathers falling within your room.

“Sorry,” Lucifer whispered sheepishly as your lips left his. 

“You have wings?” You were in your post orgasm haze, a sea of fuzzy satisfaction that your brain floated on, lost in the Devil’s arms as his tail caressed your clit. Each soft pass of the smooth spade had your hips jerking, oversensitive. Pebbled nipples sent shocks of pleasure through your body. “With feathers?”

Lucifer smiled, plucking one from the bedsheet. When he crossed into the human world, he always shed more feathers. It was annoying, a mess, and yet you looked at them with wonder. Perhaps it was the flower. Perhaps it was the cock still wedged inside you. 

He wanted to believe it was just because he was him. 

“I do.” He ran the soft tip of the feather in his hand down your chest, teasing your nipple with it as you shivered in his arms. “I didn’t lose my wings when I fell. I’m the devil but still an angel.” 

“Oh,” you gasped, arching into his back as the feathers teased. 

“Are you done?” He asked, cock twitching inside you. 

He had no business continuing to touch you. Every caress just encouraged the flower’s influence rather than giving it a chance to fade. It was wrong, but he didn’t want you to be done yet. He wanted to finish inside you, with you, and not spill into his fist yet again. It felt good to be with another. 

“More.” you rutted your ass against him, begging with your body and your words. “I want more,” 

“Do you need more?” Lucifer asked, feather running over the bud of your nipple. 

“I want it,” you whimpered. “I want you.” 

“Want?” Lucifer teased, “Not need?” 

“Please,” you whimpered. In truth, you were not sure where want began and need ended. It didn’t feel like you’d burn up without his touch, but you were not ready to be without it yet either. “Please, don’t leave me yet. I want more, please.” 

“You want me,” Lucifer moaned, pulling from your gripping heat as he turned you in his arms. “You want me?” 

“Please,” you wrapped your arms around him, fingers caressing down his feathers as you pressed your body against him. His cock, soaked in your slick, pressed between your bodies. He rocked his hips, thrusting between you as he kissed you hungerly. 

Lucifer grabbed your thigh, lifting it around his waist. His tail slapped against your ass, the sound loud and sharp as he sank back into your wet heat. Sharp teeth scratched your tongue as it danced with the devil’s. Your breasts pressed into his strong chest. 

“So full,” you sighed as he fluttered his six wings forward, feathers caressing against your skin as he laid you back down. 

Fingers dug into your thigh as he pulled it up, higher and higher until he was hugging it to his chest. There was a beat of silence as he looked down at you. Eyes ran over your face, slack and flushed with the fire of pleasure. Breasts moved as you gasped for air, nipples standing out, begging him to run his tongue over them. 

You watched, the fire of the flower still burning through you as his eyes ran down your body, focusing in on where his cock was lodged into your cunt, spreading you wide.

“Please,” you begged, “Fuck me.” 

“You’re so greedy,” Lucifer teased, hips beginning to once again piston into you. Your back arched as his cock pressed against every sensitive tissue of your core, pushing against your stomach.

“Harder,” you moaned as he worked his cock in and out of you. He pulled your hips to him, each thrust brutal as your leg curled around his waist. The thin whip of his tail wrapped around your calf, holding it against the small of his back. “Please, harder.” 

There was a flash of fire as his eyes changed, black and yellow inverting. A loud moan ripped from your chest, nothing more than a pathetic mockery of a scream as tall red and white horns extended from his head. 

A simple small flame stood out between the points. He was terrifying and yet; you reached out for him. Fingers wrapped around his forearm, wanting to him as your body jerked with each powerful thrust. 

“Are you scared?” Lucifer asked, leaning down over you as he folded your leg, bringing it closer to your chest. “Fearful of the devil?”

“No,” you answered honestly, though you should have been. “More.” 

He fucked into you harshly, each powerful thrust driving the bed closer to the wall. Your hips ached. Your ass stung where his body slammed into yours again and again. He nipped and kissed your nipple, hips pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, fingers carding through his hair without care of the horns that brushed the side of your face. “Please, Lucifer, please.” 

“You’re so tight around me,” he moaned as your walls fluttered, a telltale sign that you were as close as you claimed. “Fuck, angel, you’re going to make me cum.” 

“Harder,” you begged, limbs tightening around him. 

“Just for you,” he whispered, strong hands flexing, fingers digging into flesh as he fucked you hard and fast, moaning curses each time his balls slapped against you. The pointed tip of his tail caressed your slick covered clit. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, nails digging into white marble skin as your body ripped apart at the seams, convulsions undoing everything you were, “Fuck, fuck! Lucifer! Fuck!” 

“I’m going to,” he moaned as fingers dug into his hair, pulling at his scalp with the force of your muscle spasms. He fucked into you, the pace harsh and wild as he drove himself closer and closer to his own finish. “Fuck, angel, let go or-” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, limbs gripping him, breasts presented to him as your back arched. “Fuck, Lucifer! Fuck, Fuck! Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” 

“I’m going to-” He moaned, head burying in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips as his punishing pace kept you on the tail edge of your orgasm, unsure if it was one long one or many hitting back to back. 

“Fuck,” Lucifer tried to rip himself from the tangle of your limbs, only to lift your back from the bed, body unwilling to part from him. “Going to-” he gasped out as wave after wave of convulsions gripped his cock, “I’m cuming, dove.” 

He slammed into you, wild and reckless. His cock exploded into you as the headboard slammed against the wall. Hot ropes painted your walls white as his cock swelled and twitched, depositing everything he had as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper. 

Only when he had nothing left to leave inside you did he still, panting as he looked down at you. Your limbs grew slack and fell from him. Dazed eyes gazed up at the devil. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, trying to shove air into your lungs. “I can’t take anymore.” 

“Good,” Lucifer said, smoothing some hair back from your face. “You’ll be able to rest now. When you wake, you’ll be back to normal. Won’t remember a thing.” 

“I want to though,” you whispered, body relaxing. 

Lucifer only chuckled. No human would want to remember being bed by the devil. “I’ll get you water,” he said instead of arguing. 

When he returned to the room, you were already asleep. Anxiety clawed at him, pushed deep down as he focused on what was in front of him. You lay, thighs spread with his seed leaking from your opening. Bruises dotted your skin and feathers were everywhere. 

The devil scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the head of the bed. He used his tail to pull down the blanket, giving him room to set you down. Carefully, he covered your naked body. 

You slept peacefully, body spent as the devil moved around your room. Water was placed on your nightstand and feathers cleaned up. Lucifer took a moment, eyeing the medicine bottle that had housed the cursed flower and the feathers in his hand. 

He pointed at the bottle and it changed into a red and white vase, classical lines accented with gold. Inside, he tucked in the nicest of his shed feathers. It wasn’t flowers, but it was a token at least. 

Looking back at you, he knew he should wipe your memory. Humans didn’t need to know of the divine. You didn’t need to remember you had taken the devil himself into your bed. 

He needed to, but… the way your hands felt on him, the taste of your kiss made him want to believe in the way those touches felt.

“Good night, little dove.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[bluerosefox]

Our Well Deserved Break

Its

Shenanigans (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Time again!~

-x-x-

Danny, our boy the Ghost King, looking over a small team going over relic's given or 'offered' to Pariah Dark over the years both before and after he was sealed away. As they're taking inventory of the chaotic offering room, they stumble across a certain artifact.

This artifact is able to summon a set number of people (it does have its limits) of the users wishes to them and it sets up a barrier around the surrounding place so no one summoned gets out. You know, those kinds of artifact's certain people use to summon heroes and or villains into a room and have them fight to see whose the strongest or for a tournament, Yeah that kind of artifact!

Danny, who found the item, takes a look at after being told what it does. Then out of the corner of his eye he spots himself in a mirror in the room and see's his crown floating above his head and feels the full weight of his responsibility since before and after his crowning. Yes he had help with his advisor, despite how cryptid he can be at times, and of his council but still the weight was a bit too much for a teenager like him.

An idea struck his mind when he hears the ticking of a clock behind him. Without saying a word Danny looks back and raises an eyebrow at Clockwork whose staring at him in silence as well. He glances at the item, tilts his head a bit before...

Smiles in only the way CW knows would both be good for Danny and amusing for him. He nods and says "One weekend should be fine. All timelines will be paused for them. I suggest telling your friends to help prepare for your guests. Enjoy and have fun my King."

"YES!" Danny's voice echoing in the offering room made many ghosts in the room jump for a bit.

This was totally going to be fun!

-x-x-

When the following weekend arrived, young and very stressed teen heroes from across the multiverse are suddenly pulled from their worlds and are summoned into the Infinite Realms. Before any of them can panic or start fights a voice rang out above them and when they looked they could see a young teen, with a crown floating above his head, white hair, and glowing green eyes sitting on a throne.

He smiled and said

"Welcome fellow stressed out Heroes and Heroines to Phantom's Keep! I'm King Phantom, recently crowned fifteen year old, and this is the Infinite Realms! The birth and ending of the multiverse afterlife! Now don't worry none of you are dead or anything like that. I summoned you all here for one reason and one reason only..."

Here Danny paused, just to troll a tiny bit, and could see some of the more tense heroes readying up for a fight or at least argue to let them go. He grinned though and then said.

"And thats.... TO HAVE FUN!"

After that he floated out of his throne and with a flourish in the air he waved his hands and his throne room changed with party decor all around. Tables off to the side appeared with food and drinks from well everywhere and anywhere the multiverse, balloons rose from the ground and floated upwards, streamers flew across above to attach themselves to the other sides, the castle lights shifted to a dim and music began playing from somewhere.

Danny grinned brightly down at them and their shocked faces. oh that's funny, thank goodness Tucker is recording this and Jazz is gonna scrapbook this party for him (she plans on making them for all the guests as a party gift later, you know to remember how fun the party was)

"Now all of you are stressed out teen heroes with a lot of responsibilities on their shoulders! Believe me, I know that feeling, been there done that still doing it even now! But! My advisor says this will be both fun for me and good for you guys to spend one whole weekend here to de-stress and have fun! I do have some ground rules though. One your timelines are in fact PAUSED, you don't have to worry about calling your parents or if you got mentors to let them know where you are at. Two you are all heroes here, many of you are from different worlds and if you are from the same world they already know or CAN be trusted with your real identities but you are NOT required to remove any masks or de-transform or anything like that, if you wish there are masks on that green table over there you can stick on if you want to keep your identities hidden and are spelled to stay on and fuzz the minds of anyone trying to remember your looks once its on, even if they catch a good look at you right now it'll fuzz their memories of you once the mask is on and even after the party don't worry we thought of the time. Three, boys and girls rooms will be at different wings within the Keep! Just ask any of the maid or butler ghosts that will be joining us shortly and they will guide you to the rooms! Fourthly! There are sparing rooms if you wanna test your strengths with others, I only ask please don't get too carried away. We are here to have fun not make enemies! and lastly PLEASE DO NOT try to leave the castle, we are in the very afterlife of the multiverse people, its like the ocean and even I find it hard to navigate it sometimes. Portals can open up to any and all worlds, different timelines, etc etc. I have key items here in the castle that can pinpoint YOUR timeline and world so when the party is over I can send you home no problem, so again please do not attempt to leave."

Danny paused to take a breath, okay ground rules set up and warnings given. He could see the absolute bewildered looks on all the heroes faces and held back a laugh. He smiled however when one of the teens, mask on his face already and dressed in green, yellow, and red asked 'Why?'

"Why? Well... I think its time us teens get to have some fun without worrying about the next big bad or world ending event. Even if just for a weekend, we do deserve a break. So... Lets have some fun for once!" Danny responded.

[gojoidyll]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 13 | sukuna and a crush

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Warnings | none

Infinity Masterlist

RYOMEN SUKUNA held her fiercely. His four arms never seemed to let her go. Anywhere he went, he made sure to have her follow. Be it behind him, beside him, or sitting atop his shoulders, or held in his arms.

He was always so cautious even when he was strongest back then.

"Where are you going?"

It was one of his lives where he had her all to himself.

"Nowhere..."

He knew when she was lying, when she was sad, happy, mad. It didn't matter how she hid her emotions. He could tell. He had many of her lives to practice after all.

"Is that so?"

She nodded, but she didn't look up to meet his gaze.

"Maybe i should force it out of you then."

Her eyes widened at that, which was when she decided to turn and run. Poor choice.

"Running away," he caught her easily, "you know you can't get away."

She pushed at his hands, his many many hands, "let go! I have to go somewhere!"

"Where? Why?"

She shook her head, refusing to answer.

"You leave me no choice, brat."

She grabbed one of his wrists, "Please! Anything but tickling! Anything but that!"

"Foolish woman, you resigned to your fate!"

"No! Hahaha! Stop! Stop it! If you tickle me I'm going to pee! Sukunaaaa!"

It wasn't everyday that other curses or servants witness THE King of Curses get into a tickle fight with his wife, and when it does happen? All one can do is look away and never speak of it. Because Sukuna may be soft with her, but with anyone else? It will mean death.

"Al- alright, alright! I'll tell you, just hah no more!"

Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes as she struggled within his grip. Her body withering as he finally stopped his assault.

He looked at her expectantly, but was obviously prepared to tickle her again if need be.

"That new cursed blade...the- hah- the blacksmith who made it was traveling to the town closest to hear today and tomorrow and I wanted him to make that blade for you."

She was still trying to catch her breath as her lungs finally got the air they needed and she no longer felt that ticklish feeling.

"Foolish woman..., we can just go together."

She pouted at him, arms crossed and everything, "it was supposed to be a surprise."

He rolled both sets of his eyes, spoiled, taken care of, doted on. Y/n was a handful even as his wife. But at least she was here. Alive.

"You'll get over it. Where I go, you go. Where you go, I go. That's the promise we made, and I expect you to keep, brat."

She huffed, "fine... but I still plan to wrap it for you and give it to you as present! And you better act surprised when you receive it!"

"Whatever."

"Hey!"

"Ughhh, what the? A dream?"

Itadori Yuji woke unceremoniously in the dead of night, the dream unfinished and his heart aching uncontrollably.

"Am I sick or something?"

Despite his inner turmoil and the questions that popped up into his mind, Sukuna didn't say anything. The last thing the King of Curses was going to do was explain to the brat was that he was dreaming of Sukuna's past.

Itadori decided to ignore the uneasy feeling in the end, and tried his best to go back to sleep, but he did admit that it was hard to.

I mean, he did dream of you, after all, which felt wrong to him.

[...]

"You're up late."

She felt someone gently flick her forehead, causing her to look up from her paperwork.

"Oh! Gojo! Yeah, I am. I just wanted to get some assignments ready for tomorrow- er," she glanced at the clock her desk, "I mean today," she said while amending her sentence. Her clock read 2:01 a.m. she honestly didn't realize how late she stayed.

"Why don't I take you home?"

She shook her head as she stood up from her desk and neatly stacked the papers before gathering up her belongings, "don't worry, Gojo! You don't have to."

"But I want to."

He gave her the best smile he could muster. Disarming, trustworthy, lighthearted. He didn't want to scare her away, but he also didn't want her to go away too soon. If she was going home, then he obviously wanted to go to.

"Well,... I guess a walking partner wouldn't be so bad," she relented, and he grinned.

"Who said anything about walking?"

"Wha-"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, "ever tried teleporting before?"

A rhetorical question. Of course she hasn't.

"G- gojo, I heard you could teleport, but I don't think I want to-"

He held her close, gently, "don't you trust me?"

She gave him a look, her mind working fast, "well, yes, but-"

"No buts! You said yes, and that's all I need."

He held her hand with his free one, "tell me where you live and you'll be there in flash."

She couldn't help her nerves, they were going haywire. Though, deep down, she did have to admit that she was curious to see how teleportation worked. She heard the rumors that Gojo could do it, so... maybe she should just give it a try? Once surely won't hurt.

So she gave him her address.

He grinned down at her when she relented, "then hold on tight."

She did as she was told and clung to the front of his uniform, her fingers twisted into the fabric as she screwed her eyes shut. Despite wanting to try, she still couldn't deny the fear that ebbed away at her.

There's a first for everything after all.

"And, we're here."

He was so close. His breath tickled her ear, it made her face feel hot all of a sudden as she let go of him and back away a bit. Though, her legs still felt a little wobbly, but luckily as she fell back, she landed on her couch which cushioned her fall.

"Oh wow."

The feeling was indescribable. It definitely felt weird from shifting from one place and then being in another so quickly.

"Pretty cool, right?"

"Mmm."

She still couldn't form many words even as she sat there.

"Hey, you good?"

She finally focused on Gojo then as he crouched in front of her, his blindfold was off and his bright, blue eyes were filled with concern that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"I'm good... just next time... let's just walk together, ok?"

He smiled then and patted her knee, the sensation sending a jolt through her entire leg, "deal!"

He was excited for when next time would come by.

She cleared her throat then as she went to stand up, Gojo immediately helping her as he took her hands and pulled her. Her bag falling to the couch cushions.

"An- anyway, even though it's late, do you want anything? Something to drink or eat?"

He let go of her hands and stuffed them into his pockets, "nah, I'm good. Just wanted to get you home and safe was all."

She couldn’t deny how her face felt hot all of sudden and she wondered if he did this with all his female coworkers, "well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Always."

And even as she bid him goodnight and showed him to her front door of her apartment, she found that she wanted him to stay and talk a little longer.

But she wasn't stupid. He was good-looking, nice, a total catch. She knew he would never see her like that and that he probably has a totally hot and rich girlfriend warming his bed right now.

"Yeah," she said with a chuckle, "I have no chance with him. Best to toss this little crush of mine out the window," her sheepish laugh echoed a little in her empty hallway when she shut and locked the door.

The exhaustion from the days events finally hitting her as she made her way to her room so she could finally crash in her bed.

"Though, crushing on him a little won't hurt, right?"

Infinity taglist, please note that for some it says "no blogs found" so I wasn't able to tag you.

@whore-for-hawks @esthelily @huicitawrites @flaming-vulpix @zeniiis @rin1802 @mrowwww @kenstarsworld @bubera974 @littleplantofdeath @fangirl-332 @thaliadoesthings @hellsingalucard18 @tamaki-simp @obsessedwithfanfiction @babygivertyrant @carvelcakes @itzmeme @nervouschocolatecat @aspiring-bookworm @babyorphanstastegood @lilacskyly @ilovethegold @mythicalsongbird

[scary-grace]

Expiation - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is a birthday gift for @sophsiaaa based on a suggestion of a fantasy AU Shigaraki x reader. Happy birthday (although it's definitely a bit late)!

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 1

You hear the rumors long before you see him, but the story of his arrival is told to you so many times that it’s etched into your head. It was a beautiful spring day, the fields surrounding the castle bright with wildflowers, the air humming with butterflies and bees – the kind of day on which nothing bad is allowed to happen. And then the world went still. The sun seemed to dim. The air fell silent, empty of insects and birds, and even the flowers cringed away as he led his horse past, walking so slowly that it seemed he knew his presence poisoned the world, and reveled in it. The dark knight, the one they call the White Death. Shigaraki Tomura.

The rumors are terrible, and most of them are true, but no one finds the High Kingdom unless they were meant to be here. You remember the day you stumbled out of the Forest Perilous, last of a party of dozens who had all set out together, the only one to reach the castle. The castle chose you, the same as it chose everyone born outside the walls who now resides within. The same is true of Shigaraki Tomura – Sir Tomura, or Lord Tomura, anything but the dread title he’s earned on the battlefield. There is some purpose to his presence here, although neither you nor anyone else can imagine what it is.

Most knights come to the High Kingdom with squires and servants, hauling supplies and gifts and finery to please the king. The White Death comes alone, and bears no gift – no gift other than the one he’s rumored to have tossed at King Izuku’s feet. That rumor is terrible, too. But it it’s true, it means that Shigaraki Tomura crossed a line no one else had dared to touch – in taking on the King’s fated enemy, the man prophesied to destroy the High Kingdom, and slaying him himself. Tearing down his armies himself. Singlehandedly wrecking a prophecy that has hung over the Kingdom’s head since it was first spoken, a prophecy of death and destruction that would bring a mighty kingdom to its knees.

And you suppose it did. After all, the prophecy, never said it would be your kingdom that fell.

King Izuku offers Shigaraki Tomura a seat on his council, over the objections of the rest of the council. Shigaraki Tomura accepts. And then the question turns to where he should be house, and what level of opulence is appropriate for his room, and because the gods hate you or because you’re just unlucky, you’re assigned from all the servants to help him decorate it. To create a dwelling space fit for a hero, meant to house someone who cannot be called anything but a villain.

You knock hesitantly at the door, struggling to balance the heavy wooden chest you’re carrying at the same time. When that fails to produce a response, you call out, your voice thin as it echoes through the deserted wing of the palace. “Lord Tomura?”

The door unlocks with a sharp click, then swings open, and you suck in a breath. You heard he had magic – most in the High Kingdom do, you included – but it’s considered crass to flaunt it for things that could otherwise be done by hand. You step through the door into a large, empty room. The only features in it are a window without a single pane of glass, an armoire with doors gaping open, and a canopy bed bare of both canopy and sheets. The infamous white armor is piled in the corner of the room, along with the white sword his enemies call Decay. The White Death himself sits on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t look away from the spot on the wall where he’s fixed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“My Lord.” You bow, or curtsy, or do some awkward mix of both at once. It doesn’t matter. He’s not looking at you. “I was sent to help you put your room in order.”

“This is fine.” Shigaraki Tomura’s voice is flat and icy, devoid of anything but apathy. “The window is a nice touch.”

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. You would be, if you were a knight and not a maid. “The window will be fixed, my Lord. In the meantime, I was sent to arrange the rest of your room. I’ve brought many things for you to choose from.”

“Many things.” He looks up at last, and you catch your breath at the sight of his crimson eyes. It’s all too easy to imagine his enemies freezing in terror, those eyes the last thing they saw before the darkness closed in. “That chest is too small for many things.”

“It’s larger on the inside,” you say. He raises an eyebrow – or he would, if he had them. “Do I have your leave to show you?”

“If it’s the case that you won’t leave me be until you do.” The White Death looks away, and you come a few steps closer. A few steps, and then a few more, until you can set the chest down within his eyeline and kneel down to open it. “What is that?”

“No one could tell me what you preferred, so I brought some of everything.” You were hoping to avoid being berated. You’re starting to think that’s unlikely. “There are sheets for the bed – and choices for the canopy, also. These are for the walls – most knights have tapestries made of your great deeds, but you’ve only just arrived. They won’t be ready for a little while.”

“Great deeds,” Shigaraki – Sir Tomura – sneers. Your ears burn. “Yes, I’m sure the weavers are lining up to chronicle mine.”

“If you say so, my Lord.” You lift out a set of curtains – curtains, for a broken window. Whoever left this for you to deal with, you hope they catch the plague. “Er, the window –”

“I didn’t say so,” Sir Tomura interrupts. You look up at him. “I have done no great deeds. It is no honor to be on your knees at my feet.”

“Pardon me, my Lord. I never said it was.”

You shouldn’t have spoken. You bow your head hastily, but not before you see a flash of interest in the White Death’s eyes. “A punishment, then. Tell me, who did you displease?”

“Nor did I say it was a punishment.” You’ve already gotten yourself in trouble. You may as well explain. “It is my duty to serve the nobles of the High Kingdom. You are one of them. And you’ve done the kingdom a great service.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Or for your wretched kingdom.” Sir Tomura is looking at you, still. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your shoulders, the exposed curve of your neck. “I might have destroyed your kingdom just as easily.”

You know that. It’s why everyone fears him, why a man with a lean, slender build casts such a long shadow. “Then why did you choose his?”

“You both wronged me. He wronged me worse.” Sir Tomura goes silent for a moment, and you dare a glance up at him. His face is still, the sneer long-gone. “And because you wronged me, too, you must suffer my presence. In honor of the great deed I have done.”

Now he sounds bitter, mocking – but not of you. He’s looking at you again. “And what terrible deed have you done, that you do not fear to raise your eyes to me?”

“Is that a requirement for meeting your eyes, my Lord?” It strikes you as an odd thing to say, when any other knight would remark on your temerity at gazing upon any noble’s face. “I did not come here to pass judgment on your deeds. I came to make your room a fitting place for a person to live.”

“Indeed,” Sir Tomura says. “But unlike the five maids who preceded you, you have not fled from the sight of me. Why?”

You would answer him if you knew, but you don’t. The rumors of him terrified you, the same as everyone else. You were frightened as you knocked at the door, frightened when you stepped into the room, and even though he’s weaponless, you have no doubt that he knows dozens of spells that will kill you where you stand. There is no doubt that the man in front of you is the White Death, the terror of battlefields across the known world, the ruination of a kingdom most thought would stand forever and the slayer of a king most thought could not be killed and the destruction of a prophecy that went unchallenged for a hundred years. You should be terrified, just as you were before, and you’re certainly wary. But you aren’t frightened any longer.

The White Death is waiting for an answer. “If I had an answer, I would give it, my Lord,” you say. You look away and begin to unpack from the chest. “Does my Lord have a preference as to colors?”

“No.” Sir Tomura’s voice carries an odd rasp, whether he’s scornful or not. “Do what you want.”

So he’ll allow you to complete your task. You wonder if the five maids who apparently preceded you tried to hold a conversation, or if they simply ran away the instant he opened the door. Some part of you wants to decorate his room in bright colors, something cheerful, but you don’t have the sense that he’ll appreciate it. You’d be better off giving him something to look at, since he spends so long staring off into space. You choose fabrics in muted colors, woven with small illusions here and there, patterns that move and change in response to the human eye. It’s likely that Sir Tomura will spend a lot of time here. He doesn’t seem to like people very much. His room should at least be a pleasant place to be.

When you’ve covered key portions of the walls, leaving space for the inevitable tapestries, you move on to laying out rugs. The stone floors in the castle are cool in the summer, cold in the winter, and Sir Tomura’s feet are bare, his boots kicked into the same pile as his sword and armor. You don’t have as many choices with the rugs. They are nothing but bright colors, woven together from scraps of fabric, and you lay them out hastily, hoping he continues to prefer staring at walls to staring at floors. Then you turn your attention to the armor. It needs to be stored properly, and there isn’t a stand in the room.

You turn to face Sir Tomura and find that he’s already watching you. “If you give me leave, my Lord, I’ll retrieve a stand for your armor.”

“It can stay where it is.”

Most knights pride themselves on their armor. Most pride themselves too much. “Won’t it rust?”

“Until it crumbles away. I don’t care.”

You don’t understand. “Sir –”

“It’s no use to me any longer.” Sir Tomura rises from the bed for the first time and crosses the room, moving with catlike grace. He lifts the breastplate from the pile one-handed and holds it out for you to inspect. You can’t miss the problem – it’s been cleaved almost in two by a single strike, torn apart as only cursed steel can do. “It can’t be fixed.”

“The best smiths in the world work here,” you venture. Sir Tomura scoffs. “They reforged One For All, and that sword was broken into nine pieces.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard the story. Good King Izuku gathered the nine pieces of One For All and proved he was the rightful king.” The disdain in the White Death’s voice is withering. “The rightful king, but not a good one. The king before him was worthless, and the queen before him, too – they let their greatest enemy grow and prosper, throughout their entire reigns.”

“They fought back,” you protest. “Queen Nana was killed fighting him – King Toshinori was badly wounded –”

“And King Izuku never tried,” Sir Tomura sneers. “In spite of their goodness, they turned away. They were too good to do what had to be done, so it fell to me to slay the monster and tear down his throne.”

Sir Tomura wasn’t mentioned in the prophecy. Why would it fall to him? “And look what I’ve done,” he continues. A harsh laugh tears free from his throat. “Spared a kingdom of cowards and fools from destruction they deserve only slightly less.”

The questions bursts out of you. “If you despise us so much, why did you come here?”

“This kingdom owes me a debt,” Sir Tomura says. “I have nowhere else to go.”

You have nothing to say in response to that. You expect Sir Tomura to look pleased at silencing you, but he doesn’t. “Receive a stand for my armor if you wish it,” he says, and you depart, feeling sick to your stomach.

The White Death’s words cling to you as you search for a spare armor stand. What had to be done. What could he mean by that? What would the White Death do that the good kings and queens of your kingdom wouldn’t try? The answer occurs to you at once. Dark magic. Magic that corrupts the mind and soul, magic that leaves cursed wounds and blighted lands in its wake. Of course the kings and queens of the High Kingdom would never do such a thing. But if that was what it would take to end the Enemy’s reign of terror, then maybe –

It’s not your place to decide such things. You find a spare stand in the armory and cart it back to the deserted wing of the palace, only to be accosted on the way by the tailor Hakamada. “You’re attending him? Good. These are for the feast tonight.”

He thrusts a package into your arms, even though your hands are already full. “Ensure he wears them. His presence is an affront, but he’ll be properly dressed if it’s the last thing I do.”

Given that Hakamada isn’t the one forcing the new clothes on Sir Tomura, it’s more likely to be the last thing you do. You set off again, struggling under the weight of both the package and the stand at once.

Sir Tomura seems surprised that you’ve returned, but he doesn’t mock you over it – yet. He allows you to set up the stand, and to begin to store his armor properly, although he refuses to allow you anywhere near the sword. “It’s cursed,” he says, even though you didn’t ask. “Once it tastes a victim’s blood, that person is doomed to wither and rot. Did you know that?”

“I heard rumors,” you say carefully. “There are many rumors about you.”

“They aren’t rumors if they’re true,” Sir Tomura says. “Almost all of them are.”

It doesn’t surprise you that the White Death knows his own legends. “Which ones aren’t?”

Sir Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s investigating the package from Hakamada, which you set down on the end of the still-unmade bed. You, meanwhile, find yourself transfixed by the tear in the breastplate of his armor. It’s been split nearly in half. You lean closer, paper and fabric rustling behind you, in order to peer at the edges of the breastplate, the padding inside, and a needle of shock and fear drives itself through you. All of it is stained with blood. “My Lord –”

You turn to find yourself facing Sir Tomura half-dressed, in clean breeches and bare feet, having just removed his shirt. His bare skin is laced with scars, some old and some newer, but none so terrible as the enormous wound in his chest, so fresh it can barely be called healed. It matches the tear in the breastplate exactly. Sir Tomura glances at the breastplate, then at you. Then he turns away.

“My Lord,” you start, “if you need a healer –”

“It’s a cursed wound,” Sir Tomura says. “It will never heal.”

That was in the prophecy, too – something about a blow from which the victor will never recover. You know it’s half the reason King Izuku held off. He has no heir, nor an obvious successor among his advisors, and everyone assumed the blow described in the prophecy would be fatal. You mind feels frozen, caught between horror and sadness and trapped in confusion. If what everyone says is true, and it is, Shigaraki Tomura is a monster. If what everyone says is true, and it is, King Izuku is a good king. If both of those things are true, then why did the monster fulfill the prophecy? Why has the good king offered him so meager a welcome? You don’t know what to do with the White Death, who saved your kingdom, whose infamous fury has yet to make an appearance since he arrived at the castle.  Neither does anyone else.

Sir Tomura is fumbling with his new shirt, cursing. You abandon the armor and come forward. “May I help, my Lord?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t refuse, and you take the risk of helping anyway, straightening the useless ruffles, doing up the pearl buttons, staying well clear of the terrible wound. “It takes a monster to slay a monster,” the White Death says, as you smooth out the lines of his shirt. “And now you all must live with the monster that survived.”

He looks down at you, the ghost of the sneer from before distorting his features. “Is that pity I see on your face? Save your pity. It’s useless to me.”

“I don’t pity you,” you say. You can’t – not when he’s done such terrible things, not when you can’t begin to calculate whether what he did in fulfilling the prophecy cancels any of them out. But you do feel something. You can be honest about that. “I was thinking that it was a brave thing to do, my Lord. To face the Enemy when you weren’t the chosen one, and knowing that the consequences were severe even if you should win. That is all.”

A hint of surprise crosses Shigaraki Tomura’s face. “Do the words monster and villain mean nothing to you?”

“They do,” you say. “But I have never seen it written that a monster cannot be brave. Or that a villain must always be a villain.”

The White Death scoffs. “Are you waiting for me to become a true knight?”

“Only as long as you would wait for me to become a fair lady,” you say. “That is to say, a very long time.”

“A long time to become a lady, perhaps.” Sir Tomura extends one hand towards you, slowly, as though he’s expecting you to flinch or bolt. “You were fair before you knelt at my feet.”

You’re not sure what he means to do with his hand, but you reach out and capture it anyway. There’s only one thing you can think of to do, and you do it – bow low over it to kiss his knuckles, just as you’ve seen lords do for their ladies a thousand times. And you speak, words you’re certain no one has uttered since he arrived. “Thank you for what you did. Even if it was not done for us,” you say. “And thank you, too, for saying I was fair. You did not need to say that.”

“I didn’t lie.” Sir Tomura has yet to take his hand back. You don’t know what to do but keep holding it. “It seems that you are in my debt now.”

Just like that, you’re nervous again. You know what knights often ask, or demand, from the women who cross their paths. “How shall I repay it?”

“This feast,” the White Death says. You look up, startled. “You will accompany me.”

“My Lord –”

“Since I have arrived here, no one has met my eyes, nor spoken to me as you have.” He’s averting his eyes from yours now. “I would like to spend one evening in the company of someone who does not find my company torturous.”

“I would, my Lord, but it is simply not done.” You’re surprised at how upsetting it is to be unable to grant such a simple wish. You let go of his hand and drop into a curtsy, replacing the distance that should exist between you, rather than the odd intimacy of the last few moments. “No true knight would bring a servant as his companion to a royal feast.”

“I see,” Sir Tomura says. His hand slips beneath your chin, tilting your face upwards, and you see that same flash of interest in his red eyes. This time it has staying power, as his callused hand molds to the shape of your jaw and his lips curve into the first smile you’ve seen from him. “It’s fortunate, then, that I am no true knight.”

[starboyshoyo]

Cherished Times

Pairings: Leona, Floyd, Jade, Azul, Malleus, Vil x fem!reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: fluff, romance

A collection of tender moments with your lover, to hold close to your heart.

A/N: This is a birthday gift for @kalechippp, with her faves <3 Happy birthday Kale!

Imagine…

A date in the botanical gardens with Leona Kingscholar. It’s barely been an hour since the Fairy Gala ended, but Leona is too exhausted to change out of the fancy garb he was “forced” into for the event. All he wants is to have his peaceful retreat back to the way it was, without the glitter and lights littering the planters.

Leona pulls you closer to his chest. You feel the rumble of his voice deep inside as he closes his eyes and holds you tight. “They’ve got some nerve, takin’ over my place like this. Lay down with me, herbivore. I need some time with my girl to recharge.”

Imagine…

Working the late shift at Mostro Lounge with Azul Ashengrotto and Jade and Floyd Leech After hours, when the purple glow from the aquarium lights bathes the place in shadow, you sit down at a corner booth with the Octavinelle trio while they discuss the day’s profits.

“Maaaan, this is getting boring,” Floyd complains. He’s sitting backwards in a chair, dangling his long arms over the backrest. “I’m goin’ back to my dorm room to go to sleep.”

Jade smiles at his brother’s mercurial behavior. “Floyd is right,” he addresses Azul. “It’s getting quite late. We should all retire to our rooms soon, lest we get too little sleep for tomorrow.” There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes as he glanced over at you. “I believe a good-night kiss is in order for us before we depart?”

You giggle. “Of course, you dumb eel.”

Jade bends down to let you peck him on the cheek. Floyd wraps his arms around you and lifts you up so you can reach his forehead. And when he sets you down, out of the corner of your eye, you see Azul with his lips pursed irritably.

“What’s wrong, Azul?” You tease. “Feeling left out? I’ll give you one too. You just have to ask.”

You love how easily Azul flusters. He’s placing a hand over his mouth and cheek to hide the evidence of his blush, but you know him better than that. Even if he denies it, he’ll never complain about receiving a kiss.

Imagine…

Stargazing with Malleus Draconia. He’s invited you on many a walk at night, but the sky has never been so clear before. For once, you convince him to tear his eyes away from the gargoyles of Ramshackle Dorm and look up at the pinpricks of light, so far away from where you stand as unexpected memories from your world come tumbling back to you.

“I think I remember something about my world…” you hesitantly whisper as Malleus rests beside you, hand gripped in yours. “Someone said that the light from stars takes years to reach us, because they’re so far away. Even light isn’t instant. So when we look at stars, we’re looking at how they looked in the past.”

Hmm… Malleus thinks to himself. He had never heard of such a thing before. He would doubt the accuracy of it, if it didn’t come from you. He would always believe you.

A part of him is happy that stars could be such a mysterious thing. It meant that somewhere in the world, the past was still happening. Malleus has lived a long life and seen many people come and go. But now he knew they would always exist. Maybe not on this earth, but in the sky. Somewhere out there, in the darkness between the stars.

Imagine…

Prom night with Vil Schoenheit. NRC doesn’t hold school dances often, so this is a special day. Everyone knows that Vil had been voted Prom King by his fellow students, so it’s only natural that you would rule by his side for the night, as his Queen.

He’s standing behind you in a crisp white suit, hair done up in a ponytail. Handsome, beautiful, breathtaking. All things you could use to describe the love of your life, Vil Schoenheit.

“Pull up your hair, dear,” Vil murmurs into the back of your neck as he zips up your dress. He places his hands on your shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of the two of you in the mirror.

You’re surprised to see the face staring back at you is still your own. Even with all the makeup and fancy clothes and highlighting, you still look like yourself. Vil always knows how to make you feel beautiful, without losing track of who you are. You can’t help but grin at him, and he smiles softly back.

“I dare say, my love, that there’s no way for me to be the fairest one of all tonight. How could I be, when you stand by my side?”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[plainclothesdisaster]

Red Knight Chapter 6 - Masks

DP x DC | Dead on Main

Jason Todd encounters one Danny Fenton in the streets of Gotham and suddenly he's thrown into a world of ghosts and monsters. Will he embrace this life? Or will it just end up with him dead again?

Read on AO3 | Beginning | < Prev | Next >

---

Some nights later Jason was wrapping up some Red Hood business outside a local pub when he noticed something off about the ghosts. But not the curse ghosts— the regular spirits around Gotham that he’d started to see after his first encounter with Danny. Ever since he’d started fighting the curse ghosts with Danny, the regular crowd had stopped actively causing him trouble, but it didn’t change the fact that seeing all manner of bizarre and terrifying creatures that no one else did could be incredibly distracting. Like it was right now.

Dozens of ghosts of all sorts were running (flying, jumping, what have you) down the streets, away from something. A look in that direction didn’t reveal anything obviously wrong, and there were no sirens ringing. Regular people on the street were still just going about their business, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? He didn’t know enough about ghosts to know what could spook them like this. Jason, perhaps noble and perhaps stupid, set off in the direction they came from, toward whatever had made them run.

He followed the trail of fleeing ghosts and the growing sense of unease in his stomach. It led him downtown, under one of Gotham’s many bridges– a wide interstate overpass that let large shadows pool underneath. The few streetlights that worked did very little against the darkness.The unsettling energy he’d followed was so strong here it made him want to turn tail like all the other ghosts had. Every instinct said it would be unwise to stick around.

Then he recognized Danny’s voice. The clipped tones of the conversation made it instantly apparent he wasn’t catching up with a friend. From this distance, stationed behind a graffiti-covered concrete pillar, Jason couldn’t make out exactly what was being said.

He risked getting closer, turning invisible and maneuvering to the next column in. It was enough to finally parse the words of a voice he didn’t recognize, with a formal accent he couldn’t place.

“How much longer are you going to play this silly game?”

“I have a good reason for being here. An entity like this can’t be allowed to stay topside unchecked. You’re the ones who pointed it out, remember?”

“Irrelevant! You are stalling. the lesser kings grow restless.”

“You know I don’t give two shits about what those uptight raisins-“

“You are well aware that there are more important matters that need your attention. Your duty is to—“

“I don’t work for you.” Danny’s tone gained a dangerous timbre that sent a shiver down Jason’s spine. He caught his breath behind his teeth.

The warning also shut up the other speaker. The silence hung for a long moment. Then Danny spoke again.

“I will make an appearance in the Zone when I get a chance. Until then get lost.”

Jason caught a whorl of green in his peripheral and assumed it meant the other speaker obeyed Danny’s command. He had to fight his own instincts to abscond as well. He was certain if the words had been directed toward him he wouldn’t have been able to resist either.

He still wanted to bolt. He wondered if Danny had sensed him lurking there. That was a conversation he certainly was not supposed to hear, and the smart thing to do would be to get out of there before he got caught. But some of the uneasiness had faded from the atmosphere when the other speaker left, and Jason reminded himself that this was Danny. Danny wouldn’t hurt him.

Probably.

He came out from around the corner before he could chicken out, striding over like he’d just walked up. Danny brightened as soon as he saw him, which made Jason’s gut do a funny little flip.

“The ghosts are acting weird. Everything okay?” Jason kept his voice even.

“Oh, yeah,” Danny replied breezily, “Nothing to worry about.”

Lies. But Jason didn’t press even as he burned with curiosity. Better not to raise suspicion. Danny didn’t seem interested in questioning what Jason was doing here either, equally avoiding having to talk about the previous conversation.

“So.” Danny got that familiar conspiratorial look. “Since we’re already out here. Let’s go hunt some curses.”

//

A curse ghost gnawed on a gaudy statue of a golden bull in the financial district. The ticker on the outside of a gleaming skyscraper scrolled, reading some headline about record stock prices. A man slept on the bumpy ledge beneath the statue. He shivered as black goo, invisible to him, dripped down onto his side. The curse ghost loomed over him, the same shape as the bull, as if it were its shadow.

Then, without warning, Danny was on top of it. He whooped as the bull bucked, but he rode it rodeo style, holding on to its neck with one hand like some sort of gothic cowboy. Jason stared mutely, aborted plans replaced by incredulous disbelief. Maybe this was how Bruce had felt when he jumped into fights as Robin.

“Where the hell did you learn to fight?” Jason pulled his sword, positioning himself to help corral the beast away from the buildings.

“Self taught, mostly. Can’t you tell?” Danny wielded a whip of green energy in his off hand, snapping it at the bull’s sides when it got too close to anything breakable.

Of course Danny had no formal training. Nobody who had any sense of self preservation would fight with such reckless abandon.

“But you know what they say about grabbing the bull by the horns.” Danny did just that. Jason rolled his eyes. But a moment later he felt a buzz of power in the air and Danny wasn’t smiling anymore. He was focused on his hands, on the bull, almost like this stupid stunt actually had a purpose.

Then the bull let out a piercing shriek, twisted in a horrible convulsion, and launched itself sideways like a cannonball.

It crashed into the side of Gotham Central Bank, taking Danny with it completely through the stone brick wall. Alarms immediately started ringing. Shit. Jason jumped through the hole in the wall after them. With the amount of times this place had been targeted by rogues, Batman had it at the top of their surveillance priority. They had a matter of minutes before one of them showed up.

“We gotta go!” Jason shouted through the dust of falling rubble. “Fast!”

Danny faced off against the bull in the middle of the lobby. “Going! As fast! As I can!” He punctuated each phrase with a blast at the bull. Jason felt the power behind each one in his throat.

The curse dodged a blast. Then, as if Danny were a matador flashing his red cape, the bull charged.

Jason reacted before any thought surfaced. He strode once, twice, then swung his sword in a wide arc. It sliced through the curse ghost’s side, knocking it away from Danny and sending it sprawling to the marble floor.

Danny recovered quick enough to whip out a thermos and zap it up. Jason’s heart thudded. He’d panicked for a moment. He’d panicked when he thought that thing would hurt Danny.

“Thanks,” Danny tossed over his shoulder with an easy smile.

Jason nodded mutely.

He didn’t look after other people. Everyone was disposable and replaceable in this line of work. Bruce taught him that. He couldn’t start worrying after someone else’s life, not when they chose to risk it. Especially not someone who was practically a stranger.

But this wasn’t a stranger. This was Danny.

“We’ve got company,” Danny muttered, eyes toward the hole in the wall where they’d crashed in.

Spoiler stood in the gap, silhouetted by hazy moonlight. “You doing bank robberies now, Hood?”

He wouldn’t get any sympathy from Steph, but then again he hardly knew her. At least it wasn’t Tim. Or Bruce.

“Mind your business,” he snapped. “But no. You can check. Money’s all still there.”

“Right, right. And would he have anything to do with the giant hole in the wall?” She gestured to Danny, who gave a meek little wave. “Your new… partner?”

Danny choked on a chuckle at the same time as Jason barked, “Not my partner.”

Steph smirked. “Sure. Anyway, Batman is on his way, so you can explain it all to him.”

Danny froze, tension in every muscle. Jason shifted, angling himself in front of him.

“I’m actually gonna skip this session with Dr. Bats. So, if you’ll excuse us.”

Jason gestured to Danny with a tilt of his head, and Danny fell into step beside him as they bolted for the atrium stairs.

“Shit,” Steph hissed as she leapt after them. “Oracle, you tracking them?”

Fuck. Babs getting involved spelled signs of having their shit wrecked and on display for Batman to see before the sun rose. Jason lifted a hand to scan the frequencies on his helmet coms, hoping, halfheartedly, that he was still coded into their channel.

Batarangs whizzed past their heads as they careened up the stairs and burst out the doors onto a mid-level courtyard. They ran to a stone railing that looked over the street two stories below.

“This can be easy if you just answer our questions.” Steph appeared in the doorway as Jason turned. His eyes darted, scanning for options. Flat walls on either side of them. No good grapple point off the edge. They could go back the way they came- through Steph- but he wasn’t confident they could get past without having to hurt her, which. No, he wasn’t going to do that.

Beside him Danny practically bounced on his toes, his eyes doing the same dance. They had a lot more options for escape if they relied on Danny’s powers, but that meant outing him as meta-adjacent. That couldn’t happen— in that they both seemed to be in silent agreement.

“ETA 5.” Batman’s voice crackled through Jason’s helmet. They still used the old frequency after all.

“I have visual.” Oracle now. “Spoiler, keep him talking.”

“What are you doing here tonight, Hood?” Steph took a step closer, but she still maintained a healthy distance. She wouldn’t make a real move till backup arrived. Smart.

He just had to give Danny enough of a window to get out of sight. Then Danny could disappear for real, and Jason could deal with the Bats on his own. He just had to have hope that Danny had enough self preservation instincts to run when he had the chance.

“Who’s your friend?” Steph continued despite his silence.

“I’m Danny,” Danny replied, again with a chipper wave. Jason glared at him through his helmet.

“Danny, did Red Hood put you up to this?”

Danny snorted. “No. I mean, not really.”

Funny to think that Jason could make Danny do anything at all.

“It’s alright. We’ll make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

“That seems unlikely.” Danny threw him a glance.

“Shut up,” Jason hissed.

“We’ll take him from here.” Spoiler took another step forward. Batman would certainly swoop down at any second.

“Thanks for finally giving us an excuse to bring you to heel, Hood. I hear Arkham is real cozy this time of year.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Of course he’d be treated like the other Gotham rogues. Foolish of him for expecting any better from the old man. He clenched a fist.

“Oh,” Danny stopped his fidgeting. The air around them went still. “Nah. I don’t think you will.”

Jason blanched. Danny couldn’t be stupid enough to use his powers now, could he?

“Losing visual.” Oracle’s voice crackled through static. “There’s– it’s some kind of interference.” Around them the landscaping lights in the courtyard flickered. Jason swallowed. Yes, it seemed, he could be that stupid.

“Danny, what–” Jason began, voice low, but before he could finish he felt a hand grab the back of his jacket. Suddenly he was invisible, and then suddenly he was weightless, and then suddenly he was flying. Spoiler shrunk beneath them as they crested the rooftops. Up he went over Gotham, dragged by Danny’s firm grip on his collar, streets whizzing past at dizzying speeds below.

Jason opened his mouth and a thousand things didn’t come out. He just gaped, strung along behind Danny like a fish on a line.

Cold wind pulled at Jason’s jacket as he glanced up at Danny. His face was a shadow, unreadable.

Danny didn’t slow down until he circled down onto their usual Crime Alley rooftop a few short minutes later. Jason felt gravity turn back on as Danny released him, gentle enough that he didn’t even stumble. Like he’d done this before.

“Fuck,” Jason half whispered.

“Sorry. Would have given you more warning, but it kinda would have defeated the purpose if she caught on to the escape plan.”

“No, that’s–” He rubbed a hand over his mask. “Now they know you’re a meta.”

“Not a meta.”

“Whatever. Now they know you’re someone they should know about. Once you are on the radar of the Bats you don’t just get off. They’re going to come after you.”

“They can try.”

Jason paced across the roof. “I’m serious. You should have gotten out when you could have. I could have dealt with them alone.”

“I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“It was stupid of you not to.”

Danny stood across from him, arms folded petulantly. “You cowing to their interrogation wasn’t a smart option either.”

“I would have been fine. I’m very good at lying. And if that was another bull pun I will strangle you.” Danny smiled sharply. Jason groaned. “And they wouldn’t really hurt me. Family, remember?”

Danny fixed him with a glare. “That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t hurt you.” The words were icy. Jason bit his cheek. From what he’d shared, Danny would know first hand how much family could actually hurt you.

“Whatever. I’m going home.” Jason turned to leave. Danny hmphed but didn’t press it. They exchanged curt goodbyes and parted ways.

Jason simmered with annoyance the whole way home. He could see it now, how it would pan out. Bruce would find out about the ghosts, about the curse. He’d swoop in and try to fix everything, and then he’d try to fix Jason. This was the crowbar that Bruce would use to pry open the door back into controlling Jason’s life.

And Danny— he tried to imagine a world where Bruce tolerated Danny. Removed from all the ghost weirdness, he was prime adoption bait, from the looks to the tragic backstory and the fraught familial relationships. But he was certain Danny would also react very poorly to Bruce trying to control him. And Bruce would absolutely try to control a powerful meta in his city.

None of this changed the fact that the city was still cursed. Nothing to do but keep fighting. Only now they’d have to always be looking over their shoulders.

//

The next morning he dressed as Jason and took his bike to Gotham University. He posted up outside the science and engineering building where he knew Danny had class. If Bruce had tracked Danny here, Jason wasn’t about to let him face Batman alone.

Maybe he was being paranoid— They only had Danny’s first name and his face, nothing else. It had been less than 24 hours since their encounter with Spoiler.

Yeah. No. He wasn’t going to underestimate them.

The towering oaks and manicured lawns of the campus felt foreign to him. It hardly felt like Gotham at all, not the real Gotham. The tall iron fences around the grass made sure to keep the real Gotham out. He scanned the doorways for campus security. Jason stuck out enough he wouldn’t put it past them to try to kick him out. He considered just aborting this pointless escapade and leaving when a stream of students began wafting out of the doors.

Danny appeared among the crowd. Jason’s feet froze to their spot. Danny smiled when he saw him, surprised.

Danny made his way over to, breaking off from the other students. “Isn't this a bit far from your radius?” He looked natural here, a bookbag slung casually over his shoulder, notebooks under his arm. Like he belonged.

“Gotta get some fresh air once in a while.”

The corner of Dannyʼs mouth quirked up and Jasonʼs stomach twisted.

Danny waited for Jason to, presumably, provide a reason for being there. “Making sure Batman doesn’t come after you” seemed like a crazy, unreasonable thing to say. Especially in that moment, as a sunbeam poked through the clouds and students chattered around them about homework and sports and parties.

As if reading his mental gymnastics, Danny offered a lifeline. “You want to join me for lunch?”

“Sure,” Jason replied almost too quickly, grateful for the excuse. He allowed himself to be led toward a cafe a few blocks away. He couldn’t help but scan the streets as they walked, looking for any hint of potential snoopers. The fact that there were so god damned many Bat-minions now made it more difficult to hone in on any one obvious tail.

Danny nudged him with an elbow, a questioning glance on his face. Was he being that obvious? Beside him Danny walked with the casual air of an ignorant civilian. More relaxed than a native Gothamite. Like he hadn’t just barely avoided a disastrous confrontation with the Batman. It only made Jason more paranoid.

They made it to the cafe without incident and found a table among the crowd of other University goers on their lunch break. As they ordered and settled in, small talk came as easily for them over pastrami on rye as it did between punches. Danny told him about the complex physics theories he was studying in class and Jason listened earnestly. Jason reminisced about his own schooling, non traditional as it were, and talked of the hours he spent in Bruce’s libraries.

His gaze wandered to a table by the window where a couple sat, laughing. First date, maybe. A next thought tried to follow that one but he strangled it like a firm hand around a throat.

“Itʼs not often I get to see your face in the outside world.” Danny pulled his attention back.

“Appreciate it while you can.”

“I am.” Danny smiled and Jason was suddenly acutely aware of his gaze focused only on him. “It’s unfair really. You get to admire these good looks all the time.” He gestured to himself and put on a false pout, hair flopping over his face.

Jason rolled his eyes playfully, but it stirred up a lingering concern. Oracle had caught Danny’s face on camera. That meant it was only a matter of time until she- and Bruce- found him. All that could have been avoided if Danny had a hero persona like the rest of them.

“Why donʼt you wear a mask?” Jason asked. “Itʼs like hero 101 shit.” He didn’t mean for it to sound as accusatory as it did.

Some of Dannyʼs brightness faded. “Iʼm not a hero.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So youʼre just a guy with superpowers fighting monsters every night. In jeans.”

That earned him a reluctant smile. “Pretty much.”

Jason lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Batman has your face now. He knows you have powers. He knows you work with Red Hood. Wouldn’t it be easier if you kept that separate from-“ he gestured to the books, the cafe, his life- “this?”

Danny sighed, leaning back and folding his arms. “There’s not really a point in keeping secrets. Batman can’t stop me. We’re careful. And it’s not like the ghosts are gonna talk to the tabloids.” “Weʼre not that careful. One wrong move or stray camera could destroy your life.”

Danny laughed, dry and harsh. “Danny Fenton is dead. I donʼt have a life to destroy.”

Jason paused. He hadnʼt found anything in his searches to suggest that was true. And it made no sense. Danny Fenton had dreams. He wanted to finish his degree. He hoped to work for NASA. Jason hadn’t imagined that conversation. Something didn’t add up.

“How does a dead man register for college?”

“With some half-baked forgeries and an excellent hacker on speed dial.”

“And wouldnʼt it still be bad if the undead college studentʼs life got ruined?”

Danny looked away. “It doesnʼt matter.”

“It doesnʼt matter?“

“I’m here to fix a ghost problem.” His voice got tighter.

“You said you werenʼt trying to do ghost stuff full time.”

“Trying, yeah. Emphasis on trying.”

“Not very hard, I guess.”

Danny grabbed his bag and stood up from the table in one abrupt motion. He looked down at Jason with cold eyes. “At least I try.”

Jason flinched at the hint of malice behind the words. Danny wasn’t wrong. Jason Todd was dead, and he had no intention of changing that. He didnʼt need to. He had his mask and the kingdom he’d built with it. He didnʼt need to be Jason.

But Danny had dreams as Danny. Jason had seen the yearning determination in his eyes as heʼd looked at the sky. Danny was a good liar but not good enough to fake that.

“Where are you going?” Jason snapped.

“Why do you care?”

Danny turned and brushed past tables of other diners as he stormed out. Jason clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from snapping back. He didn’t move from his seat. He fumed silently. Nothing that he’d found online had pointed to Dannyʼs death. No death certificate, a hospital stay, an obituary, a gravestone. Nothing.

He thought about going after Danny. A good friend probably would have. Instead he remembered snippets from that overheard conversation. Duty, the other person had said. Something about Danny’s duty. Nothing to do with fighting Gotham’s curse, from the way they said it. Some other thing entirely.

//

Danny didn’t show up that night. Jason waited on their roof (fuck it all, he’d started to think of it as theirs) but midnight came and went with no sign of him.

Jason tuned into the Bat coms after barely fifteen minutes of silent sulking. A pang of worry lingered in his gut. Batman could have found Danny, and— and what? He doubted they could lay a finger on Danny, let alone capture him. He’d already been in and out of Bruce’s security undetected.

Still. He listened on the coms for any mention of their escaped meta, but it was just a standard night of patrol. Tim and Cass out in the field, Oracle guiding them. Bruce must not have been listening in closely because they’re lax on chatter on the frequency. It’s like a personal radio drama just for him, except it’s a window into the life that was no longer his.

Still, Danny’s silence didn’t feel good. Jason remembered the hardness in his eyes from that afternoon, The apathetic bite of his tone. But Jason banished any hint of guilt that tried to squirm its way out of him. Fine by him if Danny wanted to ruin his own life. That clearly wasn’t his responsibility.

“Disturbance at Robinson Park. Destroyed property. Perp unclear.” Oracles voice came steady and clear over the coms.

“On our way. Is it Ivy?” Tim responded, businesslike.

“Negative. The path of destruction points to something large, animal-like. But I can’t spot it. It’s like it’s invisible.”

Jason’s ears perked up at that. That was a curse ghost, no way it could be anything else. And as much as he loved to imagine Tim getting his whole ass handed to him by an invisible monster, he really should go deal with it because the bats would be in way over their heads.

Well, except for the fact that Danny wasn’t there. He’d never fought a curse ghost alone. For as good as he’d gotten with the ghost weapons, he didn’t always come out of these fights unscathed, even with Danny’s backup.

He sent Danny a text with the location- curse ghost here. Maybe that would make him get over his sulking and get out here to help.

Minutes ticked by with no response. Tim and Cass sounded more harried on the coms. Danny would almost certainly tell him not to fight it solo if he were here. He gritted his teeth. Jason didn’t need Danny’s approval. Or his permission.

He checked the straps on his holsters and sword then took a running leap off the roof.

By the time he got there the park was already in chaos. Tim stood on the path and swung his staff at nothing. Cass crouched by the swing set which was sprawled in a half crumpled mess. Neither of them looked at the curse ghost, which gnawed on a corner of a park bench.

In an ideal scenario Jason could lure the curse ghost away to avoid explaining anything to them. Then Tim’s head snapped toward the bench, alerted by the crunching of old wood between invisible jaws. Cass also tensed, ready to pounce. Fuck.

Together they attacked. Predictably, Cass’s foot and Tim’s staff went right through the mass of oily shadow with no resistance. It took actually seeing it happen for Jason to fully appreciate just how screwed they were. Normal weapons couldn’t hurt it. They couldn’t even touch it.

Annoyed, the beast stopped snacking and with a massive clawed hand it took a swipe at Tim. Tim didn’t see it coming, obviously, so he took the hit hard to the side, sending him tumbling to the dirt.

“Red Robin!” Cass leapt after him only to catch a lazy swipe from the ghost's tail, knocking her down into the bushes.

“Backup heading your way, hold on,” Oracle's strained voice came through his helmet. More Bats wouldn’t solve this. It would only end up with more of them hurt. But they knew too much already without Jason exposing his ghost powered weapons too. He just needed the right opportunity.

The beast prowled toward where Tim was still righting himself. It cackled like a hyena, jaws wide and full of sharp teeth. It lunged.

Jason was faster. He took two bounding, half-floating steps, swung his sword and caught the ghost in the jaw. He shoved it back from Tim as it yowled.

God fucking dammit. So much for laying low. But he couldn’t just watch them get hurt.

“Hood?”

“Infrared.”

“What?“

“Use infrared vision.” He looked down at Tim as he found his feet, keeping the ghost in his peripheral. He remembered Danny calling out the infrared detectors as part of his arsenal of gadgets (“Helpful if you can’t already see them.”) and he didn’t want Tim and Cass flailing around totally blind.

“And stay out of my way.”

The ghost lunged again and he met it with his sword. They clashed, and for all Jason’s bravado, his arms shook as the beast parried his swing. He threw it off with a surge of effort. Thankfully Tim listened and had scattered to the edge of the lawn where Cass had resurfaced from the bushes, out of the radius of the fray. But looking to check on him had been a mistake— Jason felt a claw slash into his calf before he could dodge. He sucked a breath through his teeth. He’d had worse. But he was reminded again that he’d never faced the full ire of the curse ghosts alone. He’d always had Danny to trade blows with.

Now the ghost looked at him, only him, with hungry black eyes and that insufferable cackle dripping from its lips.

“I’ve got visual on infrared.” Oracle, still in his ear. “It’s showing up as a cold spot—some kind of giant wolf.” Hyena, Jason corrected mentally before barely dodging another swipe of its claws.

“Got it,” Red Robin chirped. Jason dared another look to see he had indeed donned infrared goggles from his kit. “Going back in.”

Jason’s heart clenched. “No,” he grunted over the coms he was definitely not supposed to have access to, “Stay out of it.”

The ghost took the opportunity to launch itself at him. Jason found himself pinned under its massive paws, staring up into that gaping, laughing mouth.

“Hood!” If he didn’t know better he’d think Tim actually sounded concerned. Which—fuck, that didn’t mean anything since he couldn’t do shit to help.

Jason found his pistol and wiggled himself just enough room to press it to the ghost’s belly. He pulled the trigger and green energy exploded into the shadow, tossing the ghost off of him and fully exposing Jason’s own ghost shit for Oracle and everyone to see.

“You can’t hurt it,” he barked at Tim as he rolled to his feet. “Stay the fuck back.” Tim didn’t protest. For once.

Now that the guns were out he gave up any attempt at subtlety. He got nasty with his blasts and pulled nothing from his punches, calling every ounce of that green energy to the surface. He must have looked like a glowing menace to Tim and Cass, but he had little room to care. The ghost fought back with eager viciousness. Jason ignored the snap in his wrist, the teeth grazing his side, drawing blood. He just had to beat it down enough to capture it.

After another round of traded blows finally, finally, the curse ghost started looking worse for wear. It panted heavily, long black tongue lolling out of its mouth, and it oozed black sludge where Jason’s sword had left the deepest marks. He holstered a gun long enough to pull the thermos instead, and as it lunged toward him one more time he sucked it up in a beam of light.

The silence that followed was beautiful. He bent over halfway to catch his breath. He did it. He fucking did it. He did it without Danny.

From the other side of the lawn, Cass whistled. Jason stood and turned to face them, intending to take a quick bow before exiting stage left, but— there was Bruce. Batman had arrived sometime during the brawl. He stood protectively in front of Tim and Cass.

“Red Hood. Report.”

Nice to see you too. He rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

Then Bruce tried a different angle.

“Where is your new partner?”

Jason bristled. Batman being suspicious of him was one thing, but bringing Danny into the equation made the pit under his heart roar in protest. He turned back before he could think better of it. “None of your business, old man. Stay out of it.”

He didn’t appreciate the thin press of Cass’s lips or the hint of Tim’s chuckle.

“Let us help you.” Batman extended a hand. And oh if Bruce didn’t sound just a bit soft, and the offer sounded almost genuine. It only made his hackles raise further.

“You can’t help,” he ground out. And it was true. If Bruce couldn’t help him before all the ghost stuff, he absolutely couldn’t help now.

Jason took off toward his bike. If he was fast they wouldn’t catch him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to dissuade them further.

“Jason!” Batman broke his own rule to call out his name, and it was almost enough to get him to stop and go back. Almost.

He slipped between the trees and ran deeper into the shadows.

//

Jason had two more nights of worrying. Of listening in on police scanners (since he hadn’t been able to reconnect to the coms since revealing he had access) for any hint of Danny. Nothing.

Maybe Danny got wise and skipped town. Jason went to Danny’s apartment to check if he’d left. When his knock went unanswered he phased himself in through the door. A quick glance around said all of Danny’s stuff was still there. No sign of a fight. Jason stood in the center of the tiny apartment feeling like an ass. Now that he’d been there with Danny’s permission it felt wrong to be breaking in unannounced. Danny wasn’t just a suspicious unknown meta anymore. He was— well, he was something. Still suspicious. But undeniably on his side.

Danny could be MIA for any reason. Something could have happened with his mysterious family maybe, though that thought did nothing to calm Jason’s nerves.

He let himself settle into the more likely possibility that maybe Danny simply didn’t want to see him. It wouldn’t be hard for him to avoid Jason, break ins aside. Danny could simply vanish anytime he sensed Jason nearby. Maybe he’d been stupid for pushing Danny to talk. Dumb of him to think that Danny owed him anything real.

He opened his phone like he was going to text Danny, but after typing and deleting various attempts at concern or apology or both he just shoved the phone back in his pocket, message unsent. Their text chain only pertained to the curse ghosts after all. It’s not like Danny owed him a response for anything else.

On the third night, out of nowhere, Danny sent him a text.

You up?

Jason nearly frisbeed his phone across the safehouse when he saw the notification. It was just barely 2 am- he had finished his rounds and called it a night early. He hurriedly tapped a reply.

Where have you been?

Meet u at roof.

Jason didn’t know whether to be mad or relieved. He ended up pulling his pants back on and rushing out while feeling a strange cocktail of both.

As soon as his feet hit the roof Jason could tell Danny was off. His shoulders sagged, his face looked less full, eyes filled with less light. Suddenly Jason was less certain his absence had anything to do with their fight and instead everything to do with whatever caused him to look like this.

“What happened to you?”

“What are you talking about. Iʼm great.”

Jason raised his eyebrows, asking for more. Danny sighed and changed the subject. “Sorry I didnʼt reply about the curse ghost the other night. Did it do any real damage?”

“Tried to eat the park benches.” Jason leaned up against the stairwell wall next to him. Danny grimaced, and Jason left out the part where it nearly wasted Tim and Cass. “But I handled it.”

A bit of sharpness snapped back into Dannyʼs eyes. “Wait, what?”

Jason tapped the thermos on his belt. “Added ‘em to the soup collection. What, didnʼt think I could do it on my own?”

Danny hmmed in reply, his usual enthusiasm still dimmed. But Jason could see wheels turning behind his eyes.

“No faith at all. I’m insulted.” Jason cracked a smile.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Do I look hurt?”

Danny tilted his head knowingly. Jason pulled his jacket closer.

“I’m fine. And Either way, it was probably a good thing to keep you off the Bats’ radar for a bit.”

It wasn’t, however, a good thing that Danny looked like he’d been chewed up and spat out. Jason bit his tongue to keep himself from prying.

“The Bats were there?”

“Tim and Cass. Couldn’t let them get their shit wrecked by an invisible ghoulie.” Then he added, quieter: “Or Bruce’s.”

Danny let out a huffed pained noise under his breath. Suffice to say that his opinion on Batman hadn’t changed.

“We have limited time till they get more involved.” Jason leaned closer, trying to catch Danny’s eye. “So I have to ask— Where is this all going? Weʼre bagging these things night after night, but that doesn’t stop them from appearing. There has to be an end.”

“There is.” Danny pressed his lips together.

“The curse is actually just one entity,” he continued, “These ghosts we’ve been fighting- they’re like offshoots of it. The root is like… the queen of the curse. She’s the oldest one here, the initial kernel that grew into something powerful enough to spawn all the others.”

Jason blinked. “Then why havenʼt we gone after her?”

“I have. When I first got here. It sucked.“ He pushed up off the wall they were leaning against and paced across the roof. “She’s dug her claws in real deep, and all the power her minions get feeds her too.”

Jason did not like the sound of a foe that even Danny had trouble facing.

“But we’ve been cleaning up curse ghosts left and right. That must be putting a dent in her, right?”

“That’s the hope, yeah. So that next time I face her, it shouldn’t be such a disaster.”

“We.”

“Huh?”

Jason got off the wall to follow him. “Next time we face her. No way I’d miss out on sending her packing after all this.”

Danny was quiet a moment. “Right. Yeah.”

The hesitation in his voice was certainly not a vote of confidence. Jason did his best to ignore it.

“Anyway.” Danny said, shaking off a bit of the funk hanging over him, “It’s been too long since I’ve bashed curse heads. You up for a little tête-à-tête?”

“Always.”

They tracked a curse ghost to an old office building at the edge of Crime Alley. It was a remnant of when this place used to be Park Row, an imposing tower adorned with art deco details, now crumbling with neglect. They followed Danny’s senses up to the executive floor, where large wooden desks and rows of retro office chairs sat fading.

For a couple of long minutes as they stalked the dark halls, Jason feared the trail had gone cold. Then, from the conference room in the corner, he heard a pale keening moan. Danny flashed him a look, and then they began their usual dance.

Danny took the opening, crashing in through a half-screened window. Jason followed, blocking off the door. The rhythm came easy, like a set of ping pong across the conference table with the curse as the ball. He matched Danny’s pace more easily than normal, and he felt a curl of warm smugness in his gut before he took a glance at Danny. He looked downright sluggish compared to normal, like gravity had turned against him for once. His limbs moved heavily through the air, and when he twisted too fast Jason caught a wince snarl through his features.

The beast hadn’t stopped keening, but it was slower to get back to its feet now. Just a few more good hits and then they could wrap this up and Jason would demand Danny tell him what was wrong.

Then something happened that Jason never thought heʼd see.

Danny went down, hard. A sudden whip from the beast's tail sent him plowing through the wall, then another, then deep into a stack of ancient metal file cabinets with a nasty crunch. He didnʼt get up.

A spike of fear shot down Jasonʼs spine. A flicker of his old rage laced the next few swings of his sword, but right then he was grateful for it. It was enough to give him an opening to pull out the thermos. He sucked the curse up before it got any closer to Danny.

Then Jason stopped thinking as his legs carried him to the divot in the cabinets where Danny laid unmoving.

“Danny?”

Danny groaned, still alive. Half alive. Whatever.

Jason didnʼt know what to do. He reached out his hands and they hovered over Dannyʼs crumpled torso. The white of his t-shirt revealed growing red stains. And also, worryingly, green.

This was the part where Danny would sit up and crack a joke. Where he would tease Jason for worrying. Where heʼd smile that infuriating smile. But he didnʼt. His breath came in shaky rattles. His eyes stayed closed.

“Fuck.” Jason stopped hesitating and put his arms under Danny, lifting him gingerly from the dust and debris.

“Wha-?” Danny mumbled.

“Iʼve got you.”

Danny relaxed into his arms, his head resting against his chest, and Jason felt his heart stutter. Danny was too cold in his grasp, too light. But Jason didnʼt have time to worry about that. He needed to get Danny somewhere safe.

In a daze, he made his way to Dannyʼs apartment. Danny didn’t wake throughout the trip, just let out little pained sounds whenever Jason jostled him too much. When they arrived at the apartment, Jason used his jacket to phase them through the door. Glancing at the unmade bed, he opted to lay Danny down on the torn up couch instead— better to not get blood all over the sheets.

Jason knew where the first aid kit was from when Danny used it on him, so he grabbed it from the kitchen. Then he took the hem of Dannyʼs torn shirt and pulled it over his head. Any qualms Jason had about the invasion of Danny’s privacy died when he saw the wound on his side.

Huge gashes raked across his abdomen in parallel, torn deep into the skin. Claw marks, Jasonʼs brain provided numbly, though these claws must have belonged to something even bigger and nastier than the curse ghosts. Something worse than anything Jason had seen.

What the hell did this?

“Jason-?” Dannyʼs eyes fluttered half open.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jason admonished.

Danny blinked slowly, still out of it. “Didja get ‘em?”

He was still worried about the curse ghost? Jason nearly bit his tongue. “Yeah.”

Danny leaned back and closed his eyes again. “Good. Thanks.”

Fucking hell.

Jason turned off his brain and let his hands do the work of patching up Dannyʼs side in mental silence. Danny didnʼt stir as he disinfected the wounds, as he taped butterfly bandages over them, as he pulled a fresh shirt over Dannyʼs head. If it were anyone else Jason would have needed to do stitches, but with Danny he knew better. His accelerated healing would take care of it quicker than he could pull the stitches back out.

The pack of bandages had been nearly empty. Seems it wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt. Something ugly twisted in Jason’s stomach at that thought. So instead Jason looked at Dannyʼs face, free from worried creases in sleep. Danny looked so vulnerable, so peacefully human. Jason fidgeted with his hands.

“Not so invincible after all, are you?” he breathed.

The space between them felt smaller than it had before, all pretenses of keeping his distance shattered. What once had been a wide gulf, gaping like the wounds on Dannyʼs side, collapsed like an imploding star.

Jason couldnʼt stop himself. He reached out with a timid hand and closed the remaining distance. He pushed aside the lock of dark hair that had fallen in Dannyʼs closed eyes, his fingers brushing featherlight over Dannyʼs forehead. Reverent and tender. Danny shifted and sighed.

Jason froze. No. Nope. Nuh-uh. He couldnʼt do this. It was like holding an overripe strawberry in his palm— he didn’t trust himself not to crush it. He shut his mind off again as he fled for the door, leaving Danny to wake up alone.

//

Danny showed up on their rooftop the next night, no sign of the injuries from the night before, looking chipper as the day they met.

“Thanks.” Danny said, handing Jason a paper wrapped burger.

Jason took the gift without rising from where he sat. “For what?”

Danny responded by lifting his shirt to reveal the gashes in his side. They had sealed over in puckered pink scars. Fast, maybe even more so than Jason had expected.

“For the patch up.” Danny pulled a second burger out of the bag and sat on the ledge next to him.

Jason waited for him to say more. To offer an explanation for the wounds, or what gave them to him, or where he’d been. Danny just bit into his burger and chewed wordlessly. He looked off somewhere in the distance.

“I could have handled it.” Jason broke the silence. “You shouldn’t have been out fighting like that.”

“I’ve had worse. Plus, now I’m fine.”

“Not caring about getting hurt just because you heal fast isn’t a good battle strategy.”

“Who said I was good at strategy?” Danny had that damnable smirk on his face.

“Either way. You could have left it alone for another night. Gotham’s been cursed as long as I’ve been alive.”

“Longer than that.”

“So it can definitely survive one night without its blue-jeaned protector.” Danny scowled, but didn’t argue further.

Jason reminded himself he shouldn’t care. Danny didn’t owe him anything, and he liked it that way. Any more info on Danny’s life would just serve to entangle them more than they already were, which he very much didn’t need. The only answer he really needed at this point was how to stop the curse ghosts.

He still hadn’t had any luck in cracking the pattern though. Even with the added info about the heart of the curse- the queen- progress was slow going. He’d shifted his efforts to finding her specifically, but so far she’d proven incredibly elusive. There was just too much violence in Gotham to parse what was tied to the curse and what wasn’t.

They finished their meal in silence as sirens wailed in the distance.

Jason stood and stretched. “Almost can’t imagine this place without a curse, though. It’s part of the charm.”

Danny crumpled his burger wrapper and tossed it in the bag. “Once it’s gone you and the Bats will actually be able to change things for the better though. It won’t be such a Sisyphean fight anymore.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sisyphus? Didn’t peg you for a mythology fan.”

“I’ve, uh, taken some practical mythology courses.” Danny blushed, which sent Jason’s stomach tumbling.

Jason honestly couldn’t picture a Gotham without all the corruption and violence and greed. What would that place even look like? Would that Gotham even need a Batman? Or a Red Hood?

Or a Danny?

“What about you?” Suddenly Jason had to know.

“What about me?”

“After the curse is gone. Will you stay?”

Danny’s lips turned down. Thoughts spun behind his eyes. Jason’s gut dropped and he regretted asking. He didn’t know which answer he wanted to hear. He didn’t know which would be worse.

Danny opened his mouth to reply. Then a curse ghost crashed onto the balcony below them, stealing his answer away.

//

Another week went by with no lead on the curse’s cause or its queen. Jason, for his part, had kept it professional when it came to Danny. They met nightly, hunted curses, then parted ways. Like following a script. He ignored, with great effort, the spike of worry he felt every time Danny took a hit, or the way his whole body clenched whenever he thought he saw the shape of a cowl following them in the shadows. He couldn’t let himself lose focus.

Find the queen. End the curse.

So far the bats hadn’t actually bothered them any further, which meant that either they had bigger fish to fry, or that he still had one scrap of good will left in Bruce’s eyes. But he wouldn’t bet on it. Which is why they needed to find the queen and finish this quickly. Then everything could go back to normal.

He’d go back to running the Crime Alley scene uninterrupted, and Danny would go back to… something else. College? Jason wanted to believe it, but after their conversation in the cafe, he couldn’t be sure. He thought about never having to fight another curse ghost with Danny and it made his heart do an unpleasant twitch. He wanted the curse to be gone, he reminded himself. Wanted the bats to have no reason to be suspicious. Wanted to be done with all this ghost bullshit.

At least that’s what he told himself.

Jason had gone out scouting for leads on the queen when he found himself at the graveyard. The slant of the evening sun had turned the familiar stones a shade of pale golden even through the overcast sky. It wasn’t the first time he’d been back here.

He stopped walking at a particular knoll. The headstone at his feet read Jason Peter Todd. The grass had long regrown over where he’d dug his way out. He wondered if Danny had a grave, one that had been erased from the records.

Ghosts- regular ghosts, not curses- floated about, semi transparent. They must be pretty weak if they were only half visible even to him. Or at least he thought so, based on what little Danny had told him about how ghost biology worked. The ghost of a woman, older but not old, floated closer. She looked at him expectantly.

He gestured to the headstones around them. “One of these yours? I can, uh, clean it up a bit for you? If that helps?”

“I don’t- I can’t- remember—“

“I’ll read some names. Maybe it’ll come back to you.”

“Abigail? Chelsea? Lorraine?” He stopped at a grave with fresh soil. “Sarah?”

The light shifted as the sun slanted lower. He noticed her neck- deep purple bruises wrapped around her windpipe with the distinct outlines of fingers.

Anger twisted in his stomach. “Or maybe it would help more if I found who did that to you.”

The spirit’s eyes snapped to him, suddenly sharp.

“Hurt.“

The tone of her voice sent a spike of fear down his spine, gravely and staticy and filled with so much anger.

“Whoa, whoa. You okay?”

The ghost woman shuddered and changed in front of him. She warped into a heinous visage with sharp teeth and pointed fingers, her hair twitched at wrong angles in a writhing cocoon, her eyes turned to pools of inky black.

“Hurt. Hurt him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him kill him kill him kill-”

Jason’s own rage leapt to a sudden, blinding boil. It felt like fire ants swarming under his skin, hot and sharp and bright. He felt the woman’s pain as if it were his own, and felt the need to cause pain ten fold in return. The beast under his heart roared, hungry for revenge.

He relished how familiar it felt, the clarity of purpose, the surrendering of will, the open bleeding wounds that could only be paid back with more blood. He thought about the relief he’d feel if he finally put a bullet through the Joker's brain. Better if he made Bruce do it. He’d hurt the other Robins as a motivator, kill them if he had to. He’d do whatever it took to make that bastard feel hopeless, to make him bend, to bleed, to make him suffer like he had—

Oh, fuck. Jason blinked away just enough of the green in his vision to stumble backwards. He needed— he needed to feel the crunch of bone under his hands, the taste of fear–. No—no. He needed to get away, needed distance between himself and the vengeful ghost. He ground his teeth as he fell to the earth. He dug his nails in the dirt as he clawed backwards, away.

He spat blood— he’d bit his tongue. He scraped at his holster, whipping his pistol out. Its weight steadied his hand as he trained it on the spirit.

“Knock if off,” he spat at the ghost, poisonous heat still raw in his voice.

The pressure of her pain didn’t relent, still clawing at his insides, scraping into the oldest parts of his anger with black heat. He pulled on his own energy in return, desperate. It leapt readily to his call, building at the tip of his gun.

“I said fuck off!”

He shot, and the cannonball of green energy barreled into the ghost. She wailed but she didn’t stand a chance. Her form dispersed in green flames. The claws around his heart vanished with her, leaving him feeling raw.

Easier to beat than a curse ghost. But the encounter left him feeling more than twice as rattled.

Then he rolled onto his knees and dry heaved over the grass. Flashes of what he’d wanted to do to his brothers, to Bruce, surfaced through the clearing haze in his mind. He could have done it. If he’d had any less awareness of the cause of those thoughts, he was certain he would have.

Cold sweat simmered over his skin. He curled his arms around his legs like it would make him warmer, or settle his stomach. It did neither.

He could have killed them.

Danny would have stopped him, he thought. The thought had no real backing in reality, but he believed it all the same. If Jason had actually gone after Bruce and the others, Danny wouldn’t have let him do it.

It provided enough hypothetical comfort to allow him to remember how to breathe.

He raised his eyes just enough to look at the empty air where the ghost had just been. He almost didn’t see it, but once he focused it was unmistakable. A wisp of black shadow, identical to what it looked like when Danny blasted apart a curse ghost. But she hadn’t been a curse ghost. Had she? She’d been completely harmless. Normal, until—

Jason leapt to his feet, wallowing forgotten. He had to get to his computer.

//

“I figured it out.” Jason had the patience to knock at Danny’s door when he got to his place instead of crashing through the window like he wanted to.

“Figured what—Huh?” Danny, in sweats, coffee mug in hand, allowed Jason to barge past him into the messy apartment.

“How the curse ghosts show up. The pattern. The cause.”

He pulled the thumb drive from his pocket, plugged it into Danny’s computer and sat down in the desk chair. “They’re connected to deaths.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Shut up and let me finish. Not just any death.” He pulled up a map with an overlay with points for all Gotham deaths. They far outnumbered the curse ghosts.

“You said not everyone comes back as a ghost, right? What makes them more likely to?”

Danny leaned on the arm of the couch. “A death or a life that’s especially violent or unjust, usually. Combined with a strong sense of purpose unfulfilled. But the curse ghosts aren’t like that. They’re the kind that exist without consciousness. They are the abstract purpose of fear and suffering.”

“But what if they didn’t form like that from nothing?”

Danny tilted his head, bidding Jason to continue.

“What if the most violent, least just deaths-“ he pressed a key isolating those points on the map- “resulted in ghosts that somehow got turned into curses.” He clicked another key and brought up the layer of curse ghost sightings. It matched nearly perfectly.

Danny’s eyes widened. “It all tracks. Except for the fact that ghosts can’t just majorly change their nature like that.” He paused. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Something more powerful than them triggers it. Something else is actively changing them.”

Jason smiled. He could tell they already made the same conclusion. “The queen?”

Danny nodded, excited now. “The queen.”

“We just gotta find deaths that are likely targets for her. She’ll come out to change them, and then we zap her up.” Danny pulled out his phone and began tapping furiously. A moment later the familiar sounds of the police scanner came through the tinny speaker. ‘Retired’ vigilante his whole ass.

Jason was infinitely relieved that Danny didn’t ask him how he’d had this epiphany. He very much did not want to tell him about the ghost from the graveyard and what he’d almost done. Or the fact that the woman had warped into something like a curse ghost because of him, not the queen.

“How will we know which death she’ll use?” Jason pulled at a cuticle. Night had fallen since the graveyard, and the scanner was a constant buzz of chatter and codes.

“We’ll know.” Danny tapped his leg with restless energy. They waited and listened as the minutes turned into nearly an hour.

Eventually Danny broke the silence. “You don’t have to come,” he said quietly. Guiltily.

“Are you joking?”

“The queen- the true curse- I encountered her once. Before. She’s– she’s not like the others.”

“So?”

Danny fiddled with the half-finished belt on his desk. “This junk only does so much. You’re still fighting with a handicap.”

The unspoken offer was there- a cure, a fix, a permanent silencer for his rage. A fix which was tied up in his own power- if he could even really call it that. It still felt borrowed more than something of his own.

He folded his arms. “Almost everything I’ve ever fought has been stronger than me. Why would I stop now?”

“You sure I can’t talk you out of this?”

“I’m insulted you even tried.”

The chatter on the radio crescendoed, pulling their attention back.

“Killer Croc and Scarecrow reported at the North Docks. Batman spotted on scene, perps still on the loose. Two DOA.”

Jason jumped to his feet. “That’s gotta be it, right?” Danny stayed where he was on the couch a moment before he rolled to stand.

“You ready?”

“Always.”

“Let’s go.”

They rode their bikes side by side through the streets till the apartment blocks turned to squat warehouses at the harbor’s edge. They ditched the bikes when they spotted police cruisers, opting instead to weave their way between shipping containers on foot till they found the scene.

A handful of cops lingered around a shipping dock. Cameras flashed as they took photos of something near the water’s edge. No sign of Croc, Scarecrow, or Batman. Whatever confrontation had happened it was already long since. Danny led him to the top of a container where they waited and watched.

“I take it she won’t come out with Gotham’s finest hanging around?” Jason asked below his breath.

“Doubtful.”

Minutes ticked by as the crowd of cops began thinning. The energy in the air practically crackled. Danny had lost his usual nonplussed air- he shook out his fists and paced the length of the container. They waited until the last of the cops drove away, leaving the dock in a deceptively peaceful sort of silence. Anticipation coiled in Jason’s stomach.

“Maybe I’m wrong. She might not show.” Jason crouched, unmoving.

“She will.” Danny spoke with zero doubt. Through all his impatient fidgeting his eyes never left a spot at the end of the docks. Where, Jason assumed, the man had drowned. He couldn’t see a body. But Danny had a sense for these things.

Suddenly Danny stilled, and Jason snapped to attention. He crouched beside him, looking out to the dark water. Nothing changed for a long moment.

Then the light shifted colder and dimmer, like the streetlights suddenly weren’t as effective at pushing back the dark. Their sodium yellow glow turned pale sickly gray. A thin layer of mist rolled across the water and over the shore.

Jason knew what the curse ghosts felt like. He’d felt it nearly every night for the last six weeks. This wasn’t that. Where the curse ghosts were hot fury and gunshots, this was a slow smooth knife of dread, cutting deep and settling in.

Danny sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. It sounded more like a hiss.

And then Gotham’s curse herself appeared.

A black cloaked figure glided across the water, barely distinguishable from the black of night around her. a circlet of shadows hovered over her head. As she moved Jason realized that it wasn’t just a cloak— the figure was shadow all the way down, writhing and shifting in the illusion of human form.

Around her a pack of curse ghosts followed at her heel like obedient hounds. The dripping goo of their bodies looked garish next to hers, all shimmering mist and elegance. As terrifying as she was, there was something deeply familiar to her. Both elusive and enticing.

Jason chanced a look at Danny. He’d stopped pacing. He had never seen such dangerous focus on his face before.

The queens entourage stopped at the dock Danny had been watching. Out of the water in front of her something blue and luminescent rose up— a ghost. The ghost they’d been waiting for.

Whispers filled the air in lower frequencies that thrummed through his body more than he actually heard them. He couldn’t parse words at this distance, but the meaning became clear enough. The queen extended a claw-like hand toward the fresh ghost. And, just like the one at the graveyard, it began to warp into something awful right before their eyes.

“Stay here,” Danny bit out below his breath. Jason recoiled at the thought of hanging back, but Danny shot him a look with such intensity that he choked on his retort.

Danny jumped down. He landed on his feet in the open cement of the shipping yard, fully visible under the glow of the desaturated street lamps.

“That’s enough.”

Danny’s voice shook with the same rumble as the whispers, cutting through them like ice. The curse queen and her entourage turned their attention to him instantly.

“Come out to play again little king?” The queen's voice was unexpectedly smooth, like cool silk down his spine. “I do find our games so enriching.”

“I find them rather dull personally,” Danny answered. His body language was nonchalant, but there was still an edge to his voice. He tilted his chin toward the warped ghost. “Neat trick.”

“You like it? Gotham’s restless dead truly thrive once I remake them in my image.”

“They’re not yours.”

The temperature dropped ten degrees in the span of a heartbeat. The queen’s pack of curse ghosts began lurking onto shore and positioned themselves in a wide circle around Danny. Jason tensed. “This city is mine. Anyone who comes here is mine to keep.” She turned her attention back to the new ghost. “And mine to devour.”

The shadows around the queen flared and the new ghost convulsed with a horrible garbled cry. Black goo exploded from its eyes, its mouth until it was covered. It fell to the queen's feet, a heap of sludge that writhed like worms. She laughed, a haughty rumble that had Jason’s hair standing on end. When the ghost rose a moment later on shaky, inky legs, it took the form of a hound. Just like the others.

Around Danny the lights flickered and popped. The queen laughed again, this time a piercing cackle.

And then the hounds attacked.

In the analytical parts of Jason’s mind, he had accepted that he’d never seen Danny fight with his full strength in any of their brawls. He hadn’t truly understood what that meant until now.

Barely a week prior Jason had managed to scrape a win against just one curse ghost by the skin of his teeth. Now Danny fought seven. At once. The shipping yard turned into chaos as Danny blasted curse ghosts in rapid succession, throwing them into shipping containers with such force the containers bent and toppled. Swaths of black goo splattered across the dock every time Danny landed a hit. Flashes of green and shadow exploded against one another like toxic fireworks.

Danny spared no breath for his usual quips and banter. Instead, his lips pressed into a firm line, broken only sporadically by a flash of his fangs as he tore into the hounds with easy viciousness. Jason practically chewed through the inside of his cheek. He could barely keep up with the pace of the fray as Danny’s glowing form darted through the gauntlet of claws and ink. He gripped the hilt of his sword from his hiding place. He could help. He couldn’t just watch. But just being in the queen’s presence still felt like a skeletal hand around his throat.

Danny faced off against two hounds from the dock side. He didn’t see the one from behind. Fuck that. Jason jumped.

He swung the sword in a wide arc downward and, just as its jaws reached Danny, relieved the curse ghost of its head. Goo splattered to the dock with a satisfying thunk.

Danny whirled on him, palms alight with energy. His eyes went wide in a kind of panic. “What are you–”

“I’ve got your back.”

Before Danny could protest, Jason stepped for another swing of his sword, catching another hound in the side. No room for Danny to argue. They fell into the rhythm of battle.

This Jason knew how to do. Armed to the teeth with Danny’s gadgets and weeks of practice, the clawing fear became background noise to the rush of adrenaline. He slashed heads and unleashed blasts and zapped with the thermos. Sounds of metal slicking through muck rang out, alongside the pained grunts and roars of the curse ghosts and his own frenzied breathing. As the dock got covered in more and more goo, he found himself grinning. He’d gotten rather good at this.

He looked to Danny, hoping for one of those sharpened smiles. Instead, Danny looked back at him with that same strained panic.

Jason saw now that Danny was focusing on keeping the curse ghosts away from him, enough that he’d taken more than one nasty hit. It threw Jason’s rhythm, enough that a hound got its teeth into his arm. He hissed in pain. Danny was there an instant later, ripping the beast off of him by its neck and tossing it back into the harbor.

“Quit hovering. I’m fine.” Jason growled.

“I told you to stay back.”

“I came here to fight.”

“Just let me handle it.” Danny stepped in front of him, throwing up a green energy shield to push back another curse ghost.

Jason ground his teeth. He wouldn’t be scolded like a child. He’d had enough of that from Bruce.

They were down to just two hounds left. The queen watched from the end of the dock. Danny went for her, two bounding leaps and a green sun in his fist. The newest curse ghost— the one they’d just watched turn— leapt out from behind her. They clashed and tumbled back through the open large bay doors of a dry dock warehouse.

The queen stalked forward after them. Neither of them reappeared, but the sounds of crashing metal and breaking glass rang out from inside. Jason ran toward it.

He got inside the warehouse just as Danny subdued the new curse ghost, sucking it up into his thermos with a grimace. The queen stopped before him, her shadow wide and menacing like wings surrounding her.

“What I don’t understand is why you keep playing this little game?” Her voice filled with cloying sweetness as she bent closer to Danny. “Why not just end it? What are you waiting for?” Dannyʼs eyes shifted across the room and found Jasonʼs. A mistake.

The queen whipped her head around with a crack. Her eyes- two black holes in her face, somehow darker than shadow- locked on him. His stomach dropped.

“Or should I have asked who?” The queen's full attention hit him like a flood. She had no mouth but Jason could hear her smile. Every nerve he had left was telling him to run. Every muscle in his body refused to move.

Her whole body twisted to face him, slow as dread. Jason gripped tighter on the sword in front of him. He swallowed a shallow breath.

“What do we have here? One of my wayward knights? So wonderful to finally meet.” The queen took one smoky step toward him.

Then every lightbulb in the warehouse exploded.

“He’s not yours.” A snarl ripped out of Danny like an earthquake. It cut through the sudden darkness, layered with unnatural echoes and tones that Jason felt under his skin. He tore his attention away from the queen to look back at him.

His eyes burned bright like a signal fire under heavy eyebrows, even more prominent with all the lights out. But that wasnʼt what made goosebumps rise across Jasonʼs skin. He’d never seen Danny angry. Heck, heʼd rarely even been more than annoyed. But now he was outright furious.

Sure, the weight of the queen's presence had struck a chord of fear in Jason, deep and instinctual. But that didnʼt hold a candle to what he felt now. He looked at Danny and his mind filled only with terror of the primal sort. Like a hare caught in the jaws of a wolf. Prey amongst a predator.

The queen threw back her head and laughed once more. It sounded like groaning metal and dissonant strings.

“Then stop me!” She screeched, and she lunged toward Jason.

As the swirling mass of shadows convulsed in his direction, Jasonʼs reflexes kicked in and he threw the sword up to block. It didnʼt matter. A shadowy talon sliced clean through it. The top half of the blade clattered to the ground unceremoniously.

Shit. Heʼd really started to like that sword.

Then he realized the sword wasnʼt the only thing the talon had cut.

He looked down. A thick spear of shadow extended through his stomach and out his back.

The queen laughed louder as she pulled it out of him with a wet schlick. He put a hand to the spot. Instantly his palm was drenched in red. Blood, so much blood. Warm and sticky and wet. Running out of him like a faucet.

Distantly he heard Danny yell out to him. He wanted to lift his broken sword to strike back, but his mind hadn’t caught up with what his body already knew- the fight was over. He’d lost. Embarrassing, really. After all his bravado he still wasn’t even in the same league as a real threat. Not even close.

A dull fuzzy feeling started overtaking the sharp bite of adrenaline in his system. That wasnʼt good. That felt like dying and he really didnʼt want to do that again. As his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, he realized he didnʼt really have a choice.

He looked up across the room again as his vision started to blur. Dannyʼs face was warped in absolute fury. The shadows around the edges of the room cowered back. He blinked and there was a flash of blinding white light. Every nerve in his body iced over with terror.

His eyes wouldnʼt focus. The world turned into a slideshow, flashes of images and sounds that lingered on the back of his eyelids. He clung to them like a lifeline.

A flaming crown. A starburst of shadows. The pungent smell of gasoline and ozone and iron. Cold, so, so cold. Black being ripped from black, pained terrible screeching. Neon green, brighter than the sun. Cold, deep chasming cold, down to his bones.

He crumpled to the cement.

A howling wail that nearly broke his heart.

And then blissful oblivion.

[pascaloverx]

CARELESS

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon. Recently, you’ve found yourself tempted by someone you never considered before—your cousin, Aegon Targaryen II. After a glass or two of wine, he seems like an enticing distraction. How could you resist the temptation to indulge in something no one would approve of?

Author's Note: This is the second House of the Dragon universe fanfic I’m writing, but I’m not sure if it will continue. This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. The fanfic may include inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Please engage with the story if you’d like it to continue!

PREVIEW

ONE

At present, you are finishing your preparations for the wedding. Left without a choice, you have been compelled to bow to the will of His Majesty. King Viserys, whose health wanes with each passing day, has decreed that the union between the daughter of Prince Daemon and his son must take place with all haste. It will be a traditional Valyrian ceremony. Your attire, like that of your future husband, bears a crimson detail along the lower hem. Your hair has been meticulously braided and adorned with a Valyrian piece, a style reminiscent of what Princess Rhaenyra wore when she wed your father.

Your family is preparing themselves to celebrate your union with Aemond. Meanwhile, the servants fuss around you, ensuring every detail of your appearance is flawless. "Would you grant me a moment of privacy?" you request, your voice steady despite the nervous sweat gathering on your palms. Soon, you will become someone's wife, leaving Dragonstone behind to live near the man you truly desire—but bound in marriage to his brother.

"Your Majesty awaits you for the matrimonial ceremony, my lady," one of the handmaidens softly informs you. You muster a faint smile, concealing the turmoil that stirs within.

"I simply require a moment, and I shall proceed to the throne room for the ceremony. No doubt the preparations for the celebration demand your capable assistance. Please, see to them and worry not for me," you reply, your voice steady, though your mind harbors a plan unspoken.

The handmaidens curtsy and take their leave, leaving you alone in the chamber. For a fleeting moment, you linger before the mirror, your reflection staring back—a stranger adorned in the finery of a bride. The weight of your circumstances presses heavily upon you. When the solitude assures you that no one will witness your movements, you step out and tread carefully toward the chambers of Prince Aegon II. You are certain he will have wine in abundance, and you crave a goblet to calm the storm within you.

Upon entering, however, you are greeted not by an empty room but by the sharp, pale gaze of Aegon himself. He sits languidly, a dour expression darkening his features as he pours wine into a goblet. His brow arches slightly at the sight of you, intrigue flickering briefly across his face. "And here I thought the day could bring no further surprises," he drawls, his voice low and edged with irony as he raises the goblet to his lips. "What brings you to my chambers, dear cousin, on the morn of your union to my brother?"

"Dear cousin, I found myself parched for your company," you remark with a touch of irony, taking the goblet of wine from his hand and downing most of it in a single gulp. "Or perhaps it is the wine that perpetually accompanies you I sought," you add with a sly smirk, a drop of wine trickling down the corner of your mouth. "But tell me, why are you still here?"

Aegon II strides toward you, closing the distance with deliberate ease. His fingers, surprisingly deft and almost seductive, brush against the corner of your lips, catching the wine that lingers and threatens to trail down to your neck.

"I am unwell, can you not see it? Besides, it is your wedding, not mine. My presence is hardly required—ask anyone," Aegon grumbles, his voice dripping with mockery as his blue eyes fix intently upon you. He takes the goblet from your hand, almost snatching it, and refills it generously before taking another long sip.

"Your presence is required by me, Your Highness," you respond smoothly, your tone laced with subtle insistence. "Surely, your brother would wish for his elder sibling to grace such a momentous occasion with his attendance."

"Perhaps that may be true, yet your presence holds far greater significance than mine," Aegon II counters, his gaze fixed on you with a smoldering intensity, as though he sought to consume your very soul. He takes another measured sip of wine, letting the silence linger before adding, his tone laced with mockery, "And yet, here you are, in my chambers on the day of your own wedding."

His words hang heavy in the air, but you refuse to falter. Instead, you step forward boldly, the tension between you crackling. Without hesitation, you seize his lips in a fervent kiss, the intoxicating taste of wine mingling with the fiery passion of the moment. The kiss grows heated, your tongue exploring his as he eagerly responds, his own fervor matching yours. A trickle of wine escapes from the corner of Aegon's mouth, and without breaking the kiss entirely, you trail your tongue to the edge of his lips, capturing the escaping wine.

Aegon smirks against your lips, a devilish glint lighting his features. "You certainly have a peculiar way of preparing for matrimony," he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He claims your lips once more, his touch possessive and demanding, as if unwilling to let you escape.

"What can I say? I am my father’s daughter," you reply with a sly smile, your tone laced with defiance. Stepping back just enough to let him take in the full view of your wedding attire, you gesture toward yourself with a subtle flourish. "But since you are here, tell me—what do you think of my attire? Do you find me suitably dressed for the occasion?"

Aegon’s gaze roams over you shamelessly, lingering far longer than propriety would allow. His lips curl into a roguish grin, and he leans against the nearest table, swirling the wine in his goblet as though pondering a grave matter.

"Appropriately dressed? Perhaps for the court, yes. But for me?" His eyes meet yours, filled with mischief. "You could stand to be... less formal." His words drip with audacity, his smirk deepening as he drinks from his cup, waiting for your response.

"I shall remember that for the future, dear cousin. But for now, I fear our time alone must come to an end. Take what I say not as a request but as a command—attend my wedding. I shall expect to see you there," you declare, smoothing the creases in your gown with deliberate grace. Without allowing Aegon II the chance to respond, you turn on your heel and leave his chambers, your steps measured despite the rush of emotion within.

Pausing just outside his door, you draw a few deep breaths, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The weight of duty presses heavily upon you as you make your way toward the chamber where the matrimonial ceremony will take place. King Viserys, determined to witness the union despite his failing health, had decreed that only those already present in the Red Keep would attend. Gathered in solemn assembly are Princess Rhaenyra and her children, your sisters and brothers, Prince Daemon, Queen Alicent, Princess Helaena, your betrothed—Prince Aemond—and, of course, the King himself, flanked by the vigilant members of the Kingsguard.

When you step into the throne room, King Viserys sits upon the Iron Throne, his frailty evident in the way he clutches the armrests for support. Your father stands by Rhaenyra near the throne, his expression dark and foreboding. To your surprise—though you hardly allow it to show—Aegon has somehow already taken his place beside Aemond. Further back in the room, Helaena, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena observe the proceedings in silence.

Aemond’s attire mirrors yours, the crimson detail at the hem binding your fates before the vows are even spoken. You approach him, taking your place directly before him as he steps forward, holding an object in his hand.

"With all," King Viserys begins, his voice strained as he pauses to cough, the sound rasping in his chest. He gathers what strength he can, his tone resolute despite his obvious exhaustion. "United, we shall solemnize this union," he continues, coughing once more before finishing, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon with the son of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower. Let the ceremony commence." With that, he slumps back into his seat, visibly drained.

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King and Aemond’s grandsire, steps forward, holding a ceremonial goblet in his hands. Your father’s discontent is written clearly across his face, but you press on, determined.

"Nyke dārligon ao," Aemond declares in High Valyrian, his voice steady and commanding as he uses the object to make a small cut along his lower lip. Blood wells from the wound, which he carefully collects to mark your forehead.

"Nyke dārligon ao," you repeat, your voice firm as you mimic his action, taking the object to cut your own lip. You gather the blood that trickles forth and draw a matching mark on his forehead.

For the ceremony, Aemond has removed his eyepatch, leaving his sapphire eye gleaming in the dim light. You take the sharp object from him, cutting the palm of your hand as he does the same. Together, you clasp your wounded hands tightly, allowing the mingled blood to drip into the goblet Otto still holds between you. Princess Rhaenyra steps forward with a finely embroidered cloth, binding your joined hands with care. Once the flow of blood ceases, she removes the cloth and Otto offers the goblet first to you.

You raise it to your lips, drinking deeply of the mixture of your blood and Aemond’s. The taste is iron-rich, a stark reminder of the bond you are forging. You hand the goblet to Aemond, who drinks without hesitation. As you lower the goblet, your eyes meet his, and an unspoken understanding passes between you. The tension in the room crescendos as you lean forward, sealing the ceremony—and your fate—with a kiss.

Aemond’s lips press against yours with an intensity bordering on roughness, an unspoken challenge in the way he seeks to dominate the moment. Unwilling to surrender completely, you bite his lower lip, the gesture subtle yet sharp enough to elicit a low murmur of pain from him. He pulls back slightly, a flicker of amusement and something darker playing across his face as though he relished the defiance.

"Let us now celebrate in the hall the union of these two young souls, and may it bring peace to our family," King Viserys declares, his voice straining with the effort. Exhausted, he settles back into the Iron Throne, his part in the ceremony concluded. The gathered family and court begin to file out of the throne room, heading toward the feast prepared in the grand hall.

The hall is resplendent, with tables laden with an abundant spread of food and wine, and a space cleared for dancing. Amidst the warm glow of candles and the hum of conversation, Aemond steps closer to you, his expression softened but no less intense. "May I have this dance?" he inquires, his hand extended toward you with a formality that cannot mask the possessive undertone.

"Certainly, husband," you reply, your voice poised as you place your hand in his. His grip is firm, guiding you confidently to the dance floor where the music begins to play. As he leads you in the dance, the room seems to blur, leaving only the two of you in a shared, unspoken rhythm.

Aemond’s voice is low, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks, his words carrying the weight of unspoken truths. "Our marriage is a mere strategy to appease my father, I hope you do not deceive yourself into thinking otherwise." The words, though laced with bitterness, are whispered with a closeness that could easily be mistaken for tenderness by those watching. His lips linger near your skin, giving the impression of intimacy.

You respond, your tone smooth but sharp, your voice only slightly betraying the weight of your own thoughts. "Do not mistake my smile, husband. I, too, have as much need for this marriage to be nothing more than an arrangement, as you do." Your words, though spoken with a calm grace, carry an edge of defiance, a quiet rebellion against the facade you're both forced to uphold.

As the music plays, the two of you glide across the floor, your movements perfectly in sync. The dance is traditional, meant to celebrate the union of a married couple, but it’s the unspoken connection between you that stands out. You move together with a practiced fluidity, an understanding that, while outwardly distant, feels far closer than any touch could convey. The quiet acknowledgment between you, of what this marriage is—and what it is not—hangs in the space between your steps, creating a dance that feels like a delicate balance of power, control, and silent understanding.

Aemond's gaze remains unwavering, his voice cold as he speaks with an air of finality. "Then you will agree to make the best of this marriage, to make it appear convincing, but beyond that, we shall have no ties between us."

Your smile is faint but knowing, and with a swift motion, you pull him closer, almost as if you're about to kiss him. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension. "I couldn't agree more with you," you murmur, your lips nearly brushing his as you speak. "Aside from our duties as spouses, you are free of me, just as I am free of you." Your words hang in the air, the intimacy of the moment charged with a sense of liberation, despite the physical proximity. Aemond's eyes fixate on your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the thin line between the public performance of marriage and the private distance you both seem to embrace. He reaches up, his fingers gently tracing your lower lip, wiping away the trace of blood that had lingered there. The dance comes to an abrupt end as he withdraws.

You stand frozen for a moment, your composure cracking ever so slightly. After exchanging pleasantries and accepting congratulations—even the most insincere ones, such as your father’s—you decide to leave the celebration of your marriage. Feeling overwhelmed, you make your way toward your chambers, hoping they remain yours despite your new residence in the Red Keep.

As you walk through the dimly lit corridors, a firm hand suddenly grabs your arm, pulling you with an unsettling intensity. "I attended your wedding," Prince Aegon II murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "I witnessed you and my brother share a rather indiscreet kiss. I expect to be compensated for enduring such a spectacle." His voice is teasing, yet there’s a dangerous edge to it. Before you can respond, he drags you into his chambers with deliberate force.

A shiver runs down your spine, but as you turn to face him, an inferno ignites within you. The tension of the night, the fire of his words, and the undeniable pull between you explode in an instant. Without hesitation, you shove Aegon onto his bed, your movements fueled by an untamed fervor. You climb atop him, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that is fierce, ravenous, and almost perilous in its intensity. There’s nothing tender in the way your mouths move together; it is pure, unrelenting hunger. The taste of wine still lingers on his lips, and his hands find their way to your waist, holding you as though the very act of restraint is impossible. The air between you is charged with recklessness, every action a challenge, every breath a defiance of the bonds forged just hours earlier.

“Say you want me, Aegon Targaryen,” you murmur against his lips, feeling his grip on your waist tighten. He answers by claiming your lips once more, his hands roaming boldly over your body through the fabric of your gown. His touch is unrestrained, his hands sliding to grasp your hips before moving to cup your backside, pulling you further onto him with a possessive fervor.

“I didn’t realize you were so desperate. Almost didn’t recognize you,” he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing arrogance. “I never knew I could have this effect on you.” For a moment, you freeze. His words ignite a flame of indignation within you. He dares to make it seem as though you need him more than he needs you. You cannot allow him to hold such power over you.

“Then let me make this clear—you don’t,” you snap, pulling away abruptly. Straightening your gown, you move to leave his chambers. Aegon’s expression shifts to frustration as he reaches out, grabbing your hand firmly.

“Forgive me if I’ve offended you,” Aegon begins, his voice uncharacteristically measured, but you yank your hand free before he can say more.

“You’ve offended nothing, Aegon,” you retort sharply. “How could you possibly hurt me when we mean nothing to each other? You cannot even admit you want me, and yet you—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Forget it. Coming here was a mistake.” Without another glance, you storm out of his chambers, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and something far more dangerous. Behind you, Aegon calls your name, but you do not stop, the echoes of his voice chasing you down the corridor as you disappear into the shadows of the Red Keep.

GLOSSARY

Nyke dārligon ao - I claim you

[poseidon-you-loser]

Cursed!Odysseus EPIC au part two

(Part one link below if you haven’t read it yet)

Odysseus didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must have at some point because the next thing he knew, the sun was shining on his face and the storm was gone.

His head still throbbed however and he let out a groan as he tried to raise his right hand to rub over his eyes. He gave up halfway there when a sharp protest came from his shoulder, and he just sat for a moment as his body throbbed in aching pain. He panted for a moment to catch his breath as his entire right side screamed at him.

“Perimedes is patched up. We think he will recover.” A familiar voice said to his right and he tried not to moan as he turned his aching head in that direction.

How long had he been sitting propped up against the side of the ship?

Squinting at the light, he could make out the tired form of Eurylochus beside him. The tall man had his large sword resting on his knees, and he scrubbed at the red on the blade. The furrow of his brow seemed to indicate distress that a stain had taken to the blade.

“Wha?” Was the closest intelligent response the King of Ithaca could give at the moment.

“Perimedes. He will be fine.” The patient voice repeated, though frustration leaked between the words as the frown on his face deepened.

“Perimedes was injured?” Odysseus slurred out, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, running into his teeth too often for his comfort.

The steady scrubbing sounds stopped and a world heavy sigh followed.

“Captain? Do you not remember what happened?” Eurylochus sounded hesitant now and almost sad. Odysseus could’ve swore that a heavy silence suddenly fell over the ship, despite the thirty plus men who resided there.

He took a moment to collect himself, and his brain struggled through a heavy fog before it gave him images.

Odysseus jerked forward abruptly, groaning in pain as his eyes roamed the deck and skeleton crew before settling on his own hands.

They were normal.

He gasped in relief, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“I’m cured.” He breathed out in a shaky exhale.

“Captain. You are not cured.” Eurylochus spoke up from beside him, his sword cleaning discarded as he stared at his friend.

Odysseus felt his heart skip for a moment. “What?”

“You are not cured. We have done nothing for the gods to grant us this mercy so soon. You were unconscious, that is all.” Eurylochus seemed so certain of this that a suspicion started to set low in his belly.

“How do you know this, Eurylochus?” He whispered, fear clenching him in a vice.

“Captain, you cannot see it, but your eyes are red. They shine like the monsters we’ve faced.”

Odysseus brought his left hand up to hover over his eyes, feeling self conscious.

Penelope once said her favorite part of him was his eyes. How was he supposed to face her now? Would she recognize them when they were not brown, but red like the blood he’d shed to get back to her?

His hand cracked in front of him, claws breaking free and extending a few inches.

He gasped in shock and pain, dropping his hand and bringing it close to his chest.

No, this wasn’t happening. Was this the deal he struck? Doomed to be a monster to save the lives of himself and his crew?

“Anything else. Please.” His own words echoed in his head and he tried not to think of what Penelope would do when she saw him.

If she saw him again.

He choked on his own cry and the pain reverberated through him and irritated the wounds on his right side. He’d been stabbed and shot by his own crew in the span of one day.

He was so tired of it all.

The claws did not retract.

“You also have a few other problems.” Was the slow but deadpan response and he brought his gaze up to see Eurylochus pointing down to the other side of the deck.

A long object laid there, undisturbed until now as it twitched. It was a good eight feet long and it led right back to where he was sitting. Red, brown, and black scales shinned down the length of it, only broken up with patches of fur of the same colors, until it came to a rather large amount of feathers and fur at the end.

It looked soft.

His brain halted when he realized and remembered. “That’s a tail.”

“Yes, Captain. Your tail.” Eurylochus responded calmly.

Odysseus shifted and that is when the rest of it sunk in. He groaned at the presence of wings being crushed behind him and he leaned forward to take pressure off the feathered and scaled appendages.

They were large as well, fifteen feet at least in length. They were the same red, brown, and black as the tail he’d sported.

The tail twitched and moved closer, dragging upon the deck, until it curled up next to him.

He was too distracted to give it mind.

“How close are we to home, Eurylochus?” Odysseus closed his eyes and gasped out as he tried to shift and move, stiffness and new appendages making the effort seem insurmountable.

“About seven days time, sir,” was the response, though it seemed strangely halted.

Odysseus cracked open his left eye to see his friend sitting stiffly next to him. The end of the tail was on his second’s lap and his hands hovered above it. Something broke in his expression as he stared at the appendage.

“I’m so sorry, Captain.” Eurylochus broke, tears leaking from his eyes. “I should’ve listened to you.”

Which time, Odysseus did not know. With the wind bag or with the cows? It seemed like the crew could’ve done more of listening to him.

But a sobbing friend was still a hard thing to watch.

Odysseus’s heart clenched, and he felt the tail move without his permission to wrap around his friend in comfort.

Eurylochus froze, but ultimately buried his hands and face into the soft feathers, sobs wracking his strong frame.

Odysseus would’ve joined him but he couldn’t find enough moisture to fill his eyes.

He was so tired.

“Captain?” A different voice called out and he looked up to see other parts of the crew gathering on the deck. They stood back from him, fear in their eyes as they saw Eurylochus having a breakdown beside him. “What do we do now?”

Odysseus sighed deeply.

“We go home.”

The crew weakly nodded at that and set back to work.

“Ody?” He heard the broken call from beside him.

Eurylochus had emerged from burying himself in the comfort of his friend’s new appendage. His eyes were bloodshot and he’d never looked so burdened before, not even when they were in the ten years at war or when Polites died.

Odysseus pulled the tail away from him slowly, the sound of it dragging on the deck very loud in the near silence of the exhausted crew.

“I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust. I thought I was doing what was right for the crew. We can never make it at this rate. We will starve before we reach the shores of Ithaca.” Eurylochus looked deep into his eyes as he said this, unflinching at his friend’s new appearance.

“Hunger is so heavy.” The crew echoed his second as they mourned, and Odysseus felt his body could only agree.

He said nothing in response as he attempted to stand, clawed hands grabbing the side of the ship. His wings flared out to right his balance until he was leaning heavily on the railing and staring out at the sea.

His stomach churned, angry at its emptiness as he stared over the side of the ship and into the water.

Though they were spared from the wrath of Poseidon, it did not look like the god was inclined to fed them.

Nothing stirred in the waters. No fish. No food.

His hands clenched on the wooden boards beneath him and wood splintered underneath them as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

The bloodlust always got worse with his thoughts of food. Why did Eurylochus have to bring this up again so soon?

“Penelope. Telemachus.” He whispered to himself as he felt his tail thrash irritatedly on the wooden deck.

The crew gave him a wide berth since his…change, so Odysseus knew Eurylochus was the only one near him.

“Eurylochus.” He turned to face his second once more.

“Captain. Not long before you woke the crew spotted an island in the distance.” The man looked hesitant at the topic change, knowing his words were not going to be received well.

Odysseus froze. “Ithaca is seven days away.” His ears twitched in agitation.

They couldn’t be serious?

“The crew won’t make it that long, sir. They cannot row without food.” He gestured to the weak crew, barely moving the oars in the water.

“Why not? I have, haven’t I? Do we not remember how I came to be this way, Eurylochus?” He snapped, and something else responded likewise in his ribcage. He hunched with a groan, panting as he held his side and felt rolling skin that wanted to burst with scales.

“Captain. I think it would do you well to eat also.” His second pleaded with him.

“It would do me well to see my wife!” He snarled, and something else gave beneath his skin as it warped and changed.

He must’ve black out for a moment because he next heard frantic yells and orders shouted.

“Take us to that island now!” Eurylochus shouted as Odysseus fought back the change, wings curled around him as he hugged his ribcage to stop it from expanding.

“Penelope.” He choked out before a sword hilt came down upon his head.

[thatanimewriter]

SLAVE TO THE BLADE.

➳ request: Team Rwby with a male S/O who is in a Kenpachi situation, he's a swordsman(samurai), mentally shackled himself from going all out because of how strong he is, wears an eyepatch to keep most of his aura from leaking out, loves to fight, wishes to fight a worthy opponent, bonus: Jaune studies under him as a student, please and thank you

➳ character/s: ruby rose, weiss schnee, blake belladonna, yang xiao long

➳ warnings: mentions of fighting, mention of food (weiss)

➳ notes: imma be real, i haven't gotten past the first few episodes of bleach since i was like, 12, so this description is what i'm going off of-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

she probably met you through jaune lets' be real, cause dude loves to ramble about stuff n he's probably talked about you a few times

wanted to fight you so bad the first time she met you, but you wanted to see if she was worthy first so you don't waste time

has asked about the eyepatch before but never really got a clear answer, it was quite vague cause you didn't wanna get into it

didn't beat you in a fight, but she lasted longer than you thought she would, so you started being friends and eventually dating

if she ever needs scary dog privileges, you're the go to, just have your resting face and the full get up and you're set

grumpy x sunshine dynamic for sure, you're so cool and intimidating n then she's there

minus aura points for the combination, but maybe it could be bonus, cause you're just so confusing as to how this happened

probably a top tier combat duo though, y'all crazy on the battlefield for real

she appreciates all the silent ways you show you love her like covering the table corner when she bends down

paying attention to small things like that thing she mentioned months ago n suddenly VOILA, it's here

she returns the sentiments by doing some more grand gestures but she'll tone it down if you ask

── 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐄.

girl probably found you weird as hell at the start, but got over it quickly considering the world you live in-

she can appreciate an aesthetic though, she likes the samurai thing but confused by the eyepatch

japanese pirate??? what's going on with you???

the absolute TRAINING REGIME you put her through when you start dating is insane, but winter probably approves to a degree

push the limits, especially considering weiss' semblance with glyphs and stuff

you probably also improve a bit if you experiment with dust in combat

stubborn meets stubborn though, strange arguments will arise for certain situations

like whether you can like, get jaune to go away for a moment because she wants time with you but he's training under you-

or where to eat if she wants one thing and you want another, but eventually you get what you want respectively n come back n share

quality time king, that's what you are in this relationship

she will try on your eyepatch at least once because she's curious, but she got very embarrassed when you caught her

── 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀.

she thought you were a bit unrefined just for how much you want to fight people all the time

but she did want to try you out to see if she was a worthy opponent, so she fought you once

n that's how the 'i hate you' to lovers pipeline began for her-

training sessions are nice for you both, she enjoys being pushed further than usual but she's a lil bitter you have to go easy on her

will just listen very knowingly when jaune rambles about a training session with you

it's probably a moment of bonding for them tbh, they both relate to how difficult it is to fight you

a lot of quality time again, you might read a book that the other recommended and just read in silence together

you do a lot of stuff in silence together because it's just nice to hang and relax

people definitely understand how you guys got into a relationship, you vibe match, except you're just a bit more energetic than her

you also have somewhat similar insecurities about harming people you care about, so there's another level of understanding between you

don't tell anyone, but she likes a scratch behind her cat ears and she purrs, which you found out by accident-

── 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆.

you met because she picked a fight with you ._.

you're both just as eager to fight people, so it was only a matter of time before she came and snuffed you out

you think she's very reckless, but you can teach her some tactics in the get-to-know-you phase

that was probably how she got to know you: the winner of each fight got to ask any question they wanted

was very mad when you admitted to letting her win a couple times because you're just so powerful

people avoid you in the halls because they don't wanna do a 1v2 against you guys

she's tried on your gear at least once, n tried to get you to wear hers but that was a hard no from you

her abilities and endurance has definitely improved because of you, but she just wants to be the better pupil vs jaune-

there's an unspoken competition between them that they think you don't know about but you do

you say jaune is better for lols and because you think her lil frowny face is cute

also because you feel a bit bad for jaune-

[peachburger]

Hey sorry if you already talked abt it so i probably just haven’t seen the post, but could you go more in depth with your AU? I just think it’s really interesting and would love to know more! The designs are AWESOME btw !!

Strange Beginning AU(LMK)

Context: set in the Song Dynasty in China, humanity has never seen demons because they were in hiding to blend into the crowds of humans. However that changes when a certain demon monkey meets the monkey king and his warrior.

MK grew up in a small demon village, living with his adopted father Pigsy and his friend Sandy who supported him during his life. However MK was the only demon monkey in that demon village, that’s when he realized he must have been from The Monkey Kingdom in flower fruit mountain which he wasn’t fully aware of till he discovered the stories from Sandy and Pigsy. MK being quite adventurous attempted to travel all the way to The Monkey Kingdom.

During his travel, he’s met small human villages but knew a couple things of being hidden as he hid his tail and ears from them. It worked successfully and he managed to leave the villages and continue his journey- only to find the wrong location..The Bull Demon Fortress.

MK snuck inside only to meet Mei and Red Son. Who had caused the three to become startled by one another, the two royals were close friends- specifically only friends from being restricted by the outside world. Which makes them astonished to see a demon monkey in person, the two immediately started asking questions and giving MK a tour besides turning him in to their parents. After awhile, they let MK secretly stay for the night and find out MK was searching for The Monkey Kingdom. So the three had agreed to help each other.

The trip wasn’t long as MKs old trips before he met the two royals, and it was a relief for the young simian. As they inch closer to The Monkey Kingdom, they were ambushed by a group of simians who were in the lookout, startling everyone and preparing to fight. However during the fight it was cut off as Macaque had cornered the three down. MK was astonished by seeing many demon monkeys, specifically to Macaque by seeing his ears while Mei and Red Son were too busy trying to escape them.

Macaque had brought them in and informed the king about the three intruders, instead of them being taken to be punished. The king was quite immature than Macaque, laughing and joking towards the children- he was actually excited to see them and introduced himself as Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong and Macaque had discussed with the three young demons, MKs main purpose was to find where had came from and lead him to travel here. It left the two simians confused as they had never been informed of a missing simian child from their kingdom. Leaving everyone concerned and confused, MK wasn’t originated from this kingdom and it left everyone wanting more answers. During the time, Wukong had decided to give the three children a tour around the kingdom since they never had guests at all. Macaque kept guard of him and Wukong kept teasing about it, MK had noticed their dynamic was strange but he didn’t know what it was.

MK has stayed in the kingdom for quite some time, having permission for Pigsy and Sandy to visit at any time. It was later announced that MK would be trained by Macaque to fight much better, seeing that he was a poor fighter in general. But as the two train more and more, MK learns a lot of things about the royal guard. Revealing that macaque isn’t a regular demon monkey but instead a celestial like wukong. Along with a possession of a strange ability that manipulates shadows. The two had kept it secret till it was the right time to tell the others.

Besides the demons point of view. humans were inching closer into finding out about their kind and beginning a uprising of killing all of them. A couple of demon monkeys were found and tortured as well as being held in captivity. Causing the monkey kingdom to grow worry as they noticed a couple of their friends and families going missing.

During that time, macaque and MK went out of the kingdom to start their routine, but while they head to their spot they found a human village near the kingdom. But what had caught MKs eyes were cages of bloody corpses of familar simians, MK informed macaque immediately and without macaques permission, he had went out to try and help a few escape. It was successful but unfortunately the two were caught and had begun running back to the kingdom, sadly the humans were inching closer to them and Macaque had decided to hold them back to let MK and the other simians to escape easier. Only for the dark furred simian to be struck in the eye by an arrow as he was too distracted fighting with many humans.

MK made it back to the kingdom and informed Sun wukong, seeing the king become pale and shock had startled MK of seeing his cheerful expression disappear.

Sun Wukong went out to save his companion, Macaque, only to see his beloved friend injured and bleeding out on the floor. However he wasn’t dead due to his immortality but he felt regular pain regardless. It had angered the monkey king and left him into a frenzy.

(THATS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW BUT HERES SOME INFORMATION OF THE LOCATIONS)

The Monkey Kingdom

Set in flower fruit mountain, this kingdom is filled with many primates from Large to Small. The main temple/castle is hidden behind the curtains of a waterfall and their emperor is none other than The Monkey king AKA Sun Wukong.

The kingdom is quite far and hidden, but they are known to be a good asset of strength and agility. However, they’ve never interacted with other kingdoms in the last century.

Besides their emperor, they have a second command and also the royal guard who protects Him, The Six Eared macaque.

They celebrate a lot and have many festivals with foods and drinks, known for their tropical fruits.

Sun Wukong wasn’t the original founder of the mountain but instead was the third (and permanent from being immortal)

The Bull Demon Fortress

It’s the second strongest kingdom in China, known for their manipulation of power and flames

The kingdom associates with the dragon kingdom making them close allies (which is why Mei and red son are friends)

Despite their brute force, they have exotic foods as well but mostly meat and spices which they sell and gain more wealth.

The Demon Bull King hates the monkey kingdom because the last time he visit wasn’t a warm welcome (so the relationship of these two kingdoms isn’t good but they keep their distance towards each other)

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace ch.7

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 7 – A Twisted Scheme

You opened your eyes wearily to the gentle sound of birds chirping through the tiny basement window. Usually, that sound brought you a sense of peace, but right now it felt like a cruel mockery—a reminder of the freedom you were being denied.

A sense of unease washed over you as you realized that you must have fallen asleep in Sukuna’s presence the previous day. Scolding yourself for letting your guard down, you quickly scanned the room. Sukuna was no longer there; you were alone.

The thought of escape crossed your mind, but it was quickly struck down by the subtle hum of cursed energy emanating from the concrete walls. Sukuna had erected a powerful barrier again, trapping you with no means of escape.

You let out a deep sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily on you from the entire ordeal. Yet, you knew this was far from over.

Recognizing the futility of dwelling on your captivity, you resolved to take action. Mustering your remaining strength, you hoisted your battered body up, determined to make the most of your current circumstances.

With a focused mindset, you began to practice your jujutsu skills, channeling your cursed energy and honing your techniques. Despite the aches and pains that lingered from Sukuna’s previous onslaught, you refused to let your physical limitations hold you back. You had to keep the fire burning within you; if you didn’t, he would break your spirit in a heartbeat.

After about an hour of intensive practice, your focus was abruptly shattered by the sound of rattling at the door, followed by the distinct click of a lock being opened.

Instinctively, you tensed, anticipating the arrival of Sukuna. But to your surprise, someone else entirely stepped through the threshold. A tall man with thin, black eyes and long dark hair, partially tied back. A monk-like garment draped over his body. Despite his commanding presence, a surprisingly friendly smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

You regarded the man with caution, your eyes narrowing as his gaze met yours.

“I apologize for the abrupt intrusion,” he began, his smile unwavering. “My name is Geto. I’m an associate of Sukuna’s.” Despite his charismatic demeanor, his association with Sukuna made you instinctively wary.

“Sukuna has tasked me with escorting you somewhere...,” Geto explained, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish expression. “He found it tedious to bring you himself, claiming you’d never keep up with his speed.” His tone held a silent apology for Sukuna’s demeaning words, but the tiny smile playing on his lips betrayed a hint of amusement.

Despite your lingering wariness, you couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of cautious optimism at this unexpected turn of events. Perhaps this was an opportunity to gain some leverage, or even a chance to escape. It was a risky gamble, but if it could lead to your freedom, it was one you were willing to take.

So, you agreed to go with Geto, and straightening your posture, you followed behind him as he led the way.

Getting a better sense of the building and possible escape routes was valuable in itself. It seemed Geto had noticed you scrutinizing every turn, door, nook, and cranny. His face showed a hint of curiosity at your desperation.

Finally, the last door took you outside. The air was crisp and refreshing, not oppressive and thick. It was a welcoming change, and one that immediately lifted your spirits a little.

As you turned the corner around the building, you were met with an unexpected sight. A massive, four-winged, pelican-like creature stood before you, its energy clearly betraying its nature as a curse, despite its rather harmless appearance.

“This,” Geto said, gesturing toward the peculiar curse, “is our ride.”

“A curse?” you inquired, your voice laced with skepticism.

Geto’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Trust me,” he said reassuringly, though a glint of something more sinister flickered in his eyes. “This curse is quite docile and will take us to our destination swiftly and safely.”

With some apprehension, you allowed Geto to assist you in climbing atop the massive creature. As you settled onto its back, you couldn’t help but feel apprehension, your mind racing with questions and concerns about the nature of this 'trip.'

As the creature’s large wings began to flap and the ground steadily fell away beneath you, your focus shifted. The world below unfolded before your eyes, a tapestry of rooftops, streets, and greenery stretching out to the horizon.

For a moment, you were captivated by the breathtaking sight, your worries and fears momentarily forgotten.

Then, Geto’s voice broke the serene silence. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone charismatic and friendly.

His charming demeanor gave you pause. His words and manner were disarmingly pleasant, a stark contrast to the overwhelming presence and cruelty of Sukuna.

Yet, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that Geto was concealing his true nature. After all, he claimed to be an associate of the ruthless King of Curses, and his involvement in this'trip' was at Sukuna’s behest.

As you scanned the landscape below, a familiar sight caught your eye, and your heart skipped a beat. The narrow, winding streets, the lush green rolling hills, the small wooden houses with tiled red roofs—there was no doubt—you were hovering above your hometown.

A nervous feeling rose in the pit of your stomach, your mind racing with questions and concerns. What were you doing here? Was this merely a coincidence, or had Sukuna somehow discovered your personal information?

Your parents still lived in this town, and the thought of them being caught up in Sukuna’s machinations filled you with a deep sense dread.

Turning to Geto, you met him with a piercing gaze. “Why are we here?” you demanded, your fingers curling into fists as you fought to keep your composure. Geto ignored your question altogether, steering the pelican towards the ground and preparing to land atop a hill below.

The sudden drop in altitude startled you, and you gripped the feathers tightly, bracing for the impact. With a loud thud, the beast landed, and you hesitantly hopped off, your eyes immediately drawn to the imposing figure of Sukuna striding towards you from the distance.

Geto waved casually at Sukuna, who acknowledged him with a brief nod, his crimson eyes fixing upon you after, with a predatory intensity.

Being in your hometown should have brought about a sense of nostalgia and comfort, but instead, it felt terrifying to be here without knowing Sukuna’s intentions.

As Sukuna approached, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you, he casually addressed Geto. “Great job dragging her here,” he said, a satisfied smile plastered on his lips. Geto responded with an equally casual tone, as if this were a mere errand rather than a hostage situation, “Ah, it was no trouble at all.”

Your stomach churned as Sukuna’s attention turned toward you. “And you, little sorcerer,” he purred, his voice low and menacing, “if you so much as think of escaping, I’ll snap your neck without a second thought.”

The threat hung thick in the air until Geto’s mocking tone cut through the tension. “Ooh, that’s scary,” he quipped, earning a pointed glare from Sukuna.

Sukuna then ordered you to follow him, and you knew you had no choice but to obey his command. Besides, you needed to know why he had brought you here, what his twisted schemes were. The uncertainty was too agonizing to bear.

As you trailed closely behind Sukuna, you glanced back briefly at Geto and saw the faint hint of a smirk on his lips, as if he were privy to some hidden knowledge that you were not. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Walking through the streets of your hometown, a flood of memories washed over you. The bakery where you used to enjoy Saturday morning treats with your parents, the lake where you had spent carefree summers with your friends, the karaoke bar where you had shared laughter and songs with Ayumi—these places, once filled with warmth and joy, now felt tainted by Sukuna’s looming presence.

Sukuna, however, was well aware of your uncertain glances; he felt your eyes on him and smirked. He knew he had you in the palm of his hand.

With each step, you drew closer to your parents’ house, and the idea of them being caught up in this sent shivers of terror down your spine.

You tried to glance at Sukuna to discern his expressions and thoughts, but he walked quickly and remained in front of you, so all you could see was the back of his head.

Just as you approached the familiar street leading to your childhood home, to your surprise, Sukuna took a sharp left, steering you away from the residential area and towards an abandoned construction site.

The sudden change in direction caught you off guard, but you felt a twinge of relief wash over you. Perhaps Sukuna had no intention of targeting your family after all.

You remained vigilant though, your senses heightened as you followed him into the desolate, construction site.

Towering steel beams and weathered concrete surrounded you. It was completely silent except for the sound of your footsteps echoeing through the area.

Until suddenly the silence was broken as Sukuna’s voice pierced the air, “Hey ugly monster, you can come out now,” he called, his tone arrogant, but with a hint of anticipation.

Was he gonna have you killed here? You wondered. You instinctively took a step back, your eyes darting around the abandoned site, searching for any signs of the looming threat.

Then, the sound of movement reverberated through the area, accompanied by a low, guttural growl.

Emerging from the shadows, a large cursed apparition materialized before you, its head barely attached to its grotesque body, hanging on by the barest of threads.

It’s presence somehow made you want to scream and bawl your eyes out. Your legs grew shaky, as you were overcome by what you could only call a primal, visceral reaction, a revulsion so intense that you had never thought it possible.

Sukuna’s smirk was a clear indication that this was going exactly as he had planned, “Ah, there you are,” he said with contentment.

Turning his attention to you, Sukuna’s expression shifted to one of casual indifference, “This curse is particularly cruel” he began, his voice chillingly calm.

“It’s renowned for selecting its victim, severing their head, and then placing it outside of the home of the person they called out for in their final moments. Quite horrific, don’t you think?”

Ayumi

The realization hit you like a crushing blow, the memories of Ayumi’s severed head, found in a pool of blood right outside your porch, flooding your mind. The horror, the anguish, the grief. You’d felt traces of that same aura back then, that must by why it revolted you so now.

You could not speak, could not think, could not even blink, as the weight of Sukuna’s revelation bore down upon you. It ignited a rage so intense that it threatened to make you vomit.

In that moment, you were consumed by a single, all-encompassing desire – revenge.

Revenge on the monster that took Ayumi from you.

“You might say it’s even more evil than me,” Sukuna then added, with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he could read from your face that his plan was having the desired effect.

“I can kill it for you right now, with just a flick of my fingers,” Sukuna offered as if he’d anticipated your vengefulness. “I can get you your revenge,”

He paused for a moment before continuing “But... only on the condition that you forge the pact with me- the binding vow to obey my every command.”

You could barely process his words, your mind consumed by the singular desire to destroy the dreadful curse with your own hands. To watch it suffer as much as it had made your beloved friend suffer.

Yet, even as the rage coursed through you, your body refused to move, as if paralyzed by the sheer weight of your emotions.

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as he watched you zone out, unresponsive to his manipulations. He had expected you to break, to lash out in a frenzy of anger and grief, but your stunned silence seemed to throw him off balance.

Sukuna flicked your forehead, his voice laced with irritation. “You still there, brat?” he asked, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction.

Meanwhile the powerful curse stirred, its movements erratic as it prepared to use this vulnerable moment of hesitation to unleash an attack.

But before it could strike, Sukuna’s arm moved with lightning-fast precision, severing the creature’s limb in a single, fluid motion.

As its arm dropped to the floor, the creature’s agonizing screeches echoed through the empty construction site, the sound seemingly bouncing between the steel pillars.

Sukuna’s gaze remained fixed upon you this entire time.

"Woman, I need an answer now" he demanded, with impatience, leaving no room for argument. "Bind yourself to me and I'll kill it."

"This curse is at least a grade 1, it's far too strong for a weak sorcerer like you," he continued, his tone dismissive.

The truth of his words struck you like a physical blow. You knew, deep down, that the cursed spirit’s very presence had paralyzed you, rendering you powerless.

And yet, the need to make it pay for what it had done to Ayumi burned within you, with an intensity that refused to be extinguished.

So with all your might, you commanded your body to move. Gritting your teeth, you thrust out your palms against the invisible force that seemed to hold you back, summoning an enormous bolt of bright cursed energy that appeared to crackle with the power of a thunderstorm.

You vowed to yourself then and there, that this revenge would be yours, no matter the cost.

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Thanks for reading everyone! Appreciate the support.

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @marcoschuitmaker, @domainofmarie

[depressedbagpipe]

Golden (King Caspian x fem!reader)

Chapter I - Voyages at Dusk, Treaders by Dawn

Words: 3404 Warnings: some angst and misogyny i guess (?) not too much plot for now, this is just the set up ;) A/N: alright, here it goes. i actually had a breakdown and deleted half the fic before posting so idk how to feel about this. i really hope you enjoy this fic, and I'm sorry for taking so long :( ALSO i haven’t proofread this 😇 Taglist: @sskhair, @sassyandclassyx, @thefictionalgemini, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @just-levyy, @noortsshift,

Series Masterlist

Dawn. Warm and alerting, bathing the clear sky in orange and red and pink and all sorts of sweltering colors I could imagine. The sea below the cliff was calm and shone with such intensity that it hurt to look at. Yet the scenery was beautiful. The wind hugged me and the sun’s rays welcomed me like an old friend. The top of the cliff was showered in green, the grass moving with the breeze, alive and inviting. Summer was finally here, and it cast large and nostalgic shadows over the ruins of Cair Paravel. Nature had taken over the stones once again, covering the past in colorful present. The altar where the thrones of the Kings and Queen of Old used to be remained intact, as if magic itself wanted to bathe the pedestal in power. Power that came and left, but also power that remained. 

Laughter reached my ears. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Giggles and chuckles grew stronger until a pair of short arms wrapped themselves around my legs.

“Mumma, come play with us!” a little boy’s voice demanded, and the happiness in those words finally snapped me back to reality.

With a grin, I turned around, bending down, and picking the kid in my arms, earning a loud howl from him as I spun us. Before either of us could get dizzy, I put him back down, lovingly moving away one of the dark strands of hair that fell over his dark eyes. He looked a bit too much like his father, to no one’s surprise.

Speaking of, he now stood next to me.

“Having fun without me?” Caspian asked in a teasing voice, throwing an arm over my shoulders, using his hand to stroke the exposed skin of my –his– shirt.

I looked up to him. The wrinkles by his eyes were just a tad more prominent, but the same lively spirit adorned his irises. He looked somewhat taller, with his young naivité turned into experienced serenity. He carried himself like the king he was, and yet his lips still turned upwards by the right corner first, kind and amused, as they did when I first met him. His tanned skin glowed in the late afternoon sun, and despite having been married for years, he still managed to make my heart soar.

“Never, Dada!” the kid giggled, still grabbing my legs. 

Caspian laughed as he threw him over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, young man, we should get going back to the castle. It’ll be dark soon.”

The boy complained. “But I wanna stay here! I wanna listen to the stories Mumma tells!”

His annoyance didn’t last long, for Caspian quickly used his advantage to shake the boy in the air, earning loud chuckles in return.

I wanted to follow them, I really did, but my feet seemed stuck to the ground. I saw Caspian walk away, yet I couldn’t move. Something was anchoring me to the top of the cliff, and the only thing I could do was stare as the love of my life seemed to disappear before my eyes.

Again, I know I should’ve been scared, as the world around me seemed to crumble once more. I waved my arms around, my hands flexing trying to grab the air with trembling fingers, anything to keep me afloat. Another breeze engulfed me, equally as warm as the sun that was rapidly setting over the horizon. Out of instinct, I closed my eyes, allowing whatever that was to take me to wherever I had to go. Right before everything ended, a familiar voice resounded on the inside of my skull, bringing back that same serenity I had always felt at the top of that cliff.

Soon, my dear.

I woke up with a start. I immediately frowned as I stared at the ceiling, tracing the lines of the wood at the top of the high-posted bed, analyzing the details in the engraving as I usually did when I couldn’t fall asleep. That had not been the first time I dreamed about Caspian, and what could possibly be our son, but it had been the first time Aslan had made himself known. It had been three years since we last saw him, right after Caspian’s coronation and the Pevensies’ farewell, and despite knowing he was always around, hearing him for the first time after that long only intrigued me. Beautiful, amazing, scary, and anxious things happened during the first three years of Caspian and I’s ruling over Narnia, yet Aslan had never shown up before. I wondered what his message meant too. 

I pondered for a few minutes, still lying on the comfortable bed. The quietness of the room, which was starting to fill with light, made me realize I was alone. I raised my head slightly, looking around the room hoping to find Caspian hunched over some papers in a small desk we kept by the balcony, but he was nowhere to be found. 

My frown got deeper, and I finally sat down and took a look at the state of the room. Our suite at the castle was huge, bigger than any room I had ever owned. The high ceilings and big windows provided warmth and security. Back at Cair Paravel, I had insisted on a rather modest room, but that was no longer fit for me, or us. I was surprised that Caspian wanted to stay in his childhood castle; he always spoke about his home growing up, and how dark and moody it always was, but after a leap of faith and several peace treaties later, the sun seemed to be always shining over the old Telmar. Because the sun always shone over Narnia.

Yet my favorite part of the suite was the balcony; overlooking the kingdom with the sea at the horizon, with the ships docked at the harbor and the peaceful waves that blended with the sky. I know it wasn’t Cair Paravel, and it would never be, but different didn’t mean worse. Narnia prospered under Caspian’s rule, and I, the newly appointed queen, had had the chance to see the land flourish and rise from its ashes.

I was now outside, staring at the view, looking at the sun slowly climbing its way up, as well as the citizens living right under us starting their days, happy and undisturbed. My heart clenched a little, thinking about how much Lucy would enjoy the view, but I shook my head. I couldn’t think about them now. I couldn’t know if I’d ever see them again, at least in Narnia. As much as I loved remembering the past, I had to focus on my present to succeed in my future. 

And my present was now talking rather loudly outside the big wooden door to our suite. 

“But, your Majesty…”

“Nonsense. She’s my wife first, I’ll take care of this.”

“Let us help, your Majesty!”

I scrunched my eyebrows at the voices and flinched when the door opened a bit too loudly.

“My love?” Caspian called out.

“In here!”

His footsteps were rushed and heavy as he suddenly appeared before me on the balcony. 

“What are you doing up? You heard the doctor, you should rest!” he took me in his arms and gently guided me back to the bed, sitting me down on the mattress and taking my face in his hands, inspecting every detail.

I laughed. “Cas, I’m alright. In fact, I’ve been feeling great for the past few days,” I calmly took my hands in his and put them down. His thumbs automatically rubbed the back of my hands, which didn’t fail to give me goosebumps.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea…” but I cut him off before he could finish.

“Don’t.”

“Please, my love, I just want you to be alright.”

“I’ll be alright once I have something to do, Cas. You seriously cannot expect me to lay around all day when there’s a world full of adventures out there!”

“Your Majesties?” Edith, one of the maids, interrupted us. “The bath is ready.”

“Thank you, Edith. You may go now,” Caspian looked up but didn’t move from his spot.

Edith bowed to us and left with a troubled expression, and I immediately turned to him again.

“What did you do?”

Caspian tried to look innocent but failed miserably. “Nothing! I woke up early and headed down to the kitchens to fetch you something to eat when you woke up! Then the maids found me and insisted on doing the work but I wouldn’t let them.”

I tried to fight off the smile. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to do something nice for you. I’ve been worried sick these days and just… wanted to be at your side as much as I can before I leave.”

That alerted me. “What do you mean ‘before I leave’?”

I took my hands away, bringing them to my waist. Caspian was looking at me with a guilty gaze from his place on the ground before me. He spoke slowly, almost testing the waters.

“I don’t think you should come, my love.”

“And why is that?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a bit too defiantly. It was too early in the morning for this.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“So you’re keeping me locked away?”

“That’s not…” he tried to reason, but I wouldn’t let him.

I stood up from the bed, careful not to accidentally hurt him as I walked towards the small en suite, feeling the warm water from the free-standing bath, anything to prevent me from lashing out at him. 

“I don’t wanna hear it, Caspian. I’m coming with you. Now, I appreciate the breakfast but if you’re not gonna join me, I think it’s best if you leave me alone now.”

I usually hated being stern with him, but I was tired of the conversation. I wasn’t about to begin yet another fight about the same topic, knowing it would end in disaster. After a few seconds, Caspian spoke.

“I’ll be at the war room, then.”

He didn’t say anything else and left. I sighed, already feeling bad at our near-discussion, and let myself sink into the water. My eyes closed as I tried not to let the anger consume me. 

It hadn’t been the first time Caspian had suggested I don’t participate in the mission. Ever since I had randomly fainted during a training session he had been treating me like a child. And I understood his preoccupation, because I too worried about him every single second of my existence, but it had been almost two weeks, and I had been feeling fine ever since I woke up after the episode. Caspian had even called every single doctor, physician, and healer in the entirety of Narnia, and the verdict was all the same: I was fine. The day had been hot, and I had been tired, and there hadn’t been anything more to it. Yet now, after months of preparing our sailing around the Lone Islands, Caspian was willing to let me stay behind. And I was not going to let him. Narnia needed its queen.

Walking around the halls of the old Telmarine castle was always one of my favorite activities, and while I would normally stop and appreciate the many pieces of art that decorated the walls, I was a woman on a mission. 

Most of my armor was left at our suite, knowing I wouldn’t be needing it for what was about to happen, but for good measure my dual swords were at my back. Despite bowing and nodding at every person I saw in the halls, the sense of urgency in my steps was enough for them to leave a significant space between them and me as I approached the big doors to the war room. With a final breath, I opened them wide. 

Caspian’s face was priceless. He probably wasn’t expecting me so soon, and I definitely wasn’t expecting him to have a whole meeting without me. All of our counselors and fellow top warriors stood at the round table, where a large map of the entire Narnian territory was displayed for everybody to see. Little figures were being moved by Reepicheep, our mighty and beloved mouse, although he too stopped when I came in.

“Your Majesty,” he respectfully bowed at me, and it was only after he did that the rest of the room followed. 

Ouch. That stung.

“I see you’ve already started without me,” I noted, closing the heavy doors behind me and occupying my place at the other end of the table, facing Caspian directly. “Did I miss anything?”

Thankfully, Reepicheep answered. “Not at all, my Queen. We’re just revisiting the details of the voyage. I don’t think we should postpone it any more, my lords.”

I nodded. “Good. When do we leave, then?”

“Wait…” Caspian tried again.

“I believe the Dawn Treader is ready, so what’s stopping us?”

Lord Drinian, the captain of the first Narnian ship, spoke. “Well, His Majesty thought it better to wait until your health improved, my Queen.”

I glared at Caspian. “My health has been perfectly fine for the past week, Lord Drinian, thank you for your concern. Now I believe, as captain of the Narnian army, I have a say in this mission.”

“Of course, my Queen. And I can assure you, no decision will be made without your approval,” Reepicheep bowed his little head again, bless his heart. Yet the fact that a talking mouse seemed to care more about my word than my own husband did was something I wasn't enjoying at all.

“Then why wasn’t I informed about this meeting?”

Every head turned to Caspian after I fired the question. My blood was already boiling by that point. I didn’t want to place the blame on him, but, after all, he hadn’t even mentioned a meeting in the first place. 

Taking a breath to calm down, I continued. “Again, I appreciate the concern, but from now on, even if I’m on my deathbed, I should, no, I have to be informed about anything that involves my kingdom. I’m equally as useful out there as inside the castle.”

My eyes were glued on Caspian, who hadn’t moved his gaze off me. He could feel my anger, I was sure of that, and it was taking everything in me to not lash out completely in a room full of people. I didn’t want to give them another reason to think lowly of me as it was.

“Very well,” Caspian said at last, not without taking a big gulp at first. “Let’s begin, then.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” I closed the door to our suite with a loud bang.

Caspian flinched before me.

“I told you, I’m sorry!” he threw his hands up. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said that!”

“It’s not about what you said, Caspian, it’s about what you did! What you keep on doing, as a matter of fact!”

He lowered his voice, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do you understand how hard it is for me?” I yelled. I knew I was letting the anger on him, but I couldn’t seem to stop now. “How hard it is to wake up every day and try twice as much to be taken seriously?”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. “I’m not a queen, Caspian. I’m a joke.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is! I told you how life was back in the days with the Pevensies! So many people in court wouldn’t hesitate to question my worth every time I took the wrong step. It took years to show everyone I was as capable as any other man. It didn’t even matter I was knighted by Aslan himself! And now?” I walked to the balcony, suddenly in desperate need of air. Despite the high ceilings of the room, I was suffocating. “Now, I know that everything I do is being scrutinized. I can’t afford to spend a day in bed because now I have an entire kingdom to look after. I can’t miss a meeting, I can’t miss a training session; I really can’t give anybody the chance to believe that I’m not worthy of being a queen.”

A single tear fell from my eyes, but Caspian brushed it away with delicate fingers. He put his hands on my shoulders, making me face him.

I didn’t want to look at him after that, but he raised my head with a finger, pinning his dark eyes on mine.

“You, are worthy of every beautiful thing in the world, my love. You have nothing to prove to anyone. I know what you’ve done and what you’re capable of, and I love you with every beat of my heart. And most importantly, you know what you’ve done and what you’re capable of. So what if you miss a few meetings? Or a mission? You are my queen, you are the queen of Narnia. Nothing’s gonna change that. And I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side, not even given the choice.”

More tears kept flowing from my eyes.

“Then why am I always this insecure?” I spoke, almost in a whisper. 

Caspian smiled softly. “Because you’re human. And you have emotions, and this is no easy job, and you’re right. I don’t know what life looks like for you, and I’m sorry for keeping you away from the chaos downstairs. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now I know that I can’t keep you locked away, no matter how afraid I am of something happening to you.”

“Is that why you did it?” I asked, putting my hands over his.

I intertwined our fingers together, a habit I quickly picked up after being married to him.

He nodded. “Do you know how I felt when I saw you lying there, pale and rigid?” He moved a strand of hair behind my ears, and his gaze turned slightly darker.

I shook my head. I remembered the feeling, the gnawing knowledge that my legs were giving out, and praying I wouldn’t fall too hard on my head.

“My whole world stopped. You weren’t moving. And nobody knew why. It was a scene I had already seen once at the How and I had made a promise to myself that you wouldn’t ever be in that situation again… And there you were, on the bed, five doctors surrounding you and not one of them could say what was wrong. And I don’t care that I didn’t move for a whole day, left my duties to someone else, and just sat by your side waiting for you to wake up.”

I was frozen in place. I didn’t even know what to feel anymore. All my anger suddenly dissipated, leaving longing, confusion, and guilt behind. I had been a bit too focused on my own discomfort that I hadn’t even thought about what Caspian had felt when it all happened. Even though I had been the one to drop dead in the middle of the courtyard, he had never left my side, going as far as making me breakfast despite not knowing a single thing about cooking. 

“I…” I began, but he cut me off again. He somehow always managed to read my mind.

“And hey, I know what you’re thinking. It’s not your fault, okay?” Caspian said. “I don’t want you to blame yourself. I should’ve asked you first about what you wanted. And there is no way that I’m leaving without you now. I need my right hand, and I need my wife. Luckily for me, you’re both.”

I smiled. A genuine smile for the first time in hours. “Wherever you go, I go.”

“Together,” Caspian affirmed.

I brought his face to mine and kissed him, properly. The last few days we had shared quick and almost timid kisses, usually on Caspian’s behalf, probably not to hurt me. And every single doubt, fear, and hesitation was thrown out the window when his arms embraced me fully, keeping me impossibly close to him. His beard tickled my face, and my fingers got lost in his mane, a little tamer and lighter than it had been at first. His fingers trailed the light wool patterns of the shirt I wore, and I swore at that moment that no matter what came at us, I was always going to fight for him, and for us. 

We pulled back at the same time, breathless and smiling.

“We leave at dawn, then.”

Next chapter

General Taglist: @angiewhoohooo, @azaleaniath, @mishaandthebrits, @celestialcharles

[bananaproved]

Who will write the arcane reverse Piltover/Zaun AU I want to read so bad 🙏🙏 Like the possibilities for character and dynamic exploration and the world building are crazy I would love to see that.

First thing is if you want to write canon Zaun characters growing up in piltover, you need to take into account how growing up in a way more privileged context would have impacted them and their relationship to society. The use of violence or certain the way to present oneself is really different between the two city too.

Imagine Powder and Vi raised in Piltover by Council Member Vander ? Powder would definitely be the star of the academy, brilliant and on the brink of getting expelled twice a week. I’m afraid there is also a good 70% chance that Vi would be an enforcer 💔 But in my heart I believe there is also a 10% chance that she instead became a professional saxophone player bc this is the only hint we have of her liking something outside of fighting. Also Vander hit me as a guy that would still at least try to care for all the people including the ones in Zaun (Kind of like Heimerdinger ?) but with limited success.

Tho if Silco is here as a council member too, Vander is going to have a lot of work on his plate because if Silco used child labor and spread drugs freely in Zaun when he felt a sense of belonging here, I’m scared of what he does to the city if he is not even part of it. I know they are fighting about it like 24/7 and everybody is tired.

Viktor is also an interesting character to put in this setting because how would he have turned if he received adapted medical care and the opportunities he deserved while growing up ? He would probably be a lot more confident in himself, but it might not totally erase his self esteem issues. However I feel like he could develop some character weaknesses similar to Jayce in this context, like arrogance, naivety and since we are talking about Viktor probably a strong tendency to believe that he know exactly what other people need.

On the other hand on the side of Zaun ? The potential is so interesting too.

First because of the living conditions in Zaun the risk to develop some kind of handicap is higher so I think it would affect characters in a reversed AU too. Like Caitlyn might have been born with an issue to her left eye or Jayce might have gotten into an accident that hurt one of his legs (or arm or whatever if you wan to be different from canon).

I think Cait would be really involved in her community in this context (and she would probably hate enforcers, ironically). Maybe she could become a local legend for liberation in this AU instead of Jinx ? But on the other hand she could potentially turn really dangerous too. She could be one of the hardest but also most interesting characters to write in this context because of how important privilege and her piltovian identity are in her canon writing.

Jayce is also a super fun one to consider. His main goal is to invent things that will improve the world in canon and it could stay the same here. I think that because of his personality he might not even be interested in attending Piltover university (we know he have no problem doing things in own way in his corner, sometimes for the worse lol) so he could be an important member of his community too but he would be more limited in some of his creations despite being brilliant. Also being too brilliant in Zaun can be dangerous so he would probably fighting Chembarons trying to hire him every Fridays and Mondays.

Also Mel could be incredible here, if she is as skilled in politics here as in Piltover she is running half of the city before turning 22. I think she would make a really good team with Jayce and Caitlin if they work together to improve their situation (King Poet Soldier kinda deal. Except instead of a poet it’s an engineer which is kind of the opposite but it’s okay). + she got the best design in the show so I’m sure that her undercity version would look so good that it would kill me but in a good way. Maybe her brother could be here too btw I think he was cool.

Tho there is some characters that would not really make sense outside of their canon context, like Ekko is really linked to the undercity idk how you can make it work in Piltover. I guess he can be the exception and get raised by Heimerdinger who is in Zaun too and become besties with Mel and Jayce and not Caitlin for some reason. One day he will get a bonus second Dad when he meet Benzo in Piltover.

Anyway I wish it was a more popular AU concept to explore in the fandom, it can be so fun.

[kaihuntrr]

part thirty/closing remarks: author's closing notes

Ending notes to the fic before it returns on the 27th of November!

Hello! Kai, speaking here, post-birthday time (though I have a lot of commitments to do for the upcoming days, haha)! Technically it’s still the 18th in some other parts of the world, so it’s still technically my birthday, so I’m happy to say that Act I is well and truly over. This has been SUCH a while ride and I’m excited to embark on the next one. Now that I’m talking about it, I’d like to be a little mushy about my feelings on it since I’ve been having so much fun writing it. 

Truely, The Sea Prince was just meant to be a personal project of mine that I thought I could just scatter bits and pieces of over on tumblr to see if people actually wanted to get interested in it. I didn’t expect gaining friends and having a bunch of people really get invested with what I have! Still, I’m happy to have gotten a strong audience, and I hope the next act is welcomed with open arms. 

With some tentative planning, Act II is due to set sail on November 27th! 

This is so my co-writer and I can build up a bulk of edits and backlogs for the fic to keep that consistent, every-other-week schedule! It also just so happens that a new life series is around the corner, so perhaps it’ll help stoke some future things for acts III to V? We shall definitely see! 

Anyway, that’s enough rambling from me. Before I go, I want to give out a short excerpt of the prologue for Act II, just so you all have something to chew on before the upcoming Life Series! <3 Take care everyone, and I’ll see you on the 27th, should everything go according to plan! (If not, best to check out tumblr, but I’ll do my best to keep on schedule <3)

———

Another day, another perfect time to set sail.

Another chance to strike at the beasts that terrorized the people.

Grian stood proudly at the bow, facing the large iron gate in the distance. He saw the large shadow cast by the stone walls, its darkness providing a sense of safety to the town’s citizens with  a glint of the canons that adorned the top. It was a ready defense from any invading monsters, though they never dared to swim close to the islands. Maybe those monsters had some intelligence after all if they knew to stay away from the kingdom. They were protected by the king, the navy, and the hunters, each one ensuring humanity could live and thrive within the walls. It was good. It was perfect. 

It was home. 

It was going to be another exciting day. The crew planned to sail off into the sea, to find some beasts to kill, and to return to the love and warmth of the people and recover. Prepare, leave, kill, return, rest, then repeat. The simple, monotonous life of a hunter was easier said than done. A lot of hunters risked their lives every day to keep the people safe and sound. It was one of the most noble deeds a person could do in their life- it was even more noble to be acknowledged by the king himself. 

One day, this crew was going to earn the king’s approval. They had already slain small packs of those disgusting monsters, an impressive feat compared to the one or two beasts other crews their age had taken down. It was only a matter of time before the king addressed him, his brothers, and their crew. Then, they’d be hunters for the king– better than all the rest! It was going to be one of the best days of their lives, he just knew it. 

After all, he was the cunning Grian Solidarity. He was the youngest of his family and had the biggest hunger to prove himself on the wild seas. He and his brothers had made this crew not too long ago, and with how much money they’d been raking in, they just had to be the best out of all the people their age! The amount of people who had looked down on them for just being green, overeager upcomers wasn’t surprising, but Grian could bet those people were eating their own insults now. They just had to be!

Grian rested his hands on the railing, breathing in the fresh air, and hummed in delight. The ship was prepared to set sail and the others would likely return before the gates were scheduled to open. He’d done his part- checking on the weapons and restocking the ship with ammo was pretty easy when he was with Mumbo and Scar- so he had the luxury of sitting back, relaxing while waiting for the others to get on board–

“Grian?” He jumped at the sound of his name. He turned around to see Joel looking around, worried. “Have you seen Jimmy? I haven’t seen him anywhere.” Grian frowned, suddenly concerned.

Jimmy had been acting weird lately. Not only had he gotten that flower tattoo out of nowhere, but he’d been acting a lot more aloof on their hunting trips too. He’d been acting like that for a couple of months at least. He had been pretty scared of the ocean before, when they were younger, but a little exposure therapy didn’t hurt and he’d been fine. It also wasn’t the first time that he had wandered around like this- but he usually came back well before the ship would set sail.

Grian hummed, trying to recall if he had seen his brother in the past few… hours, probably. He ran through where he’d last seen the other members of their crew. He’d seen Cleo hanging around with Mumbo, Scar and Bdubs were doing something together, and Lizzie was out in the port talking to Martyn before he was due to set off with the Kestrels. Grian remembered catching Joel glancing at Lizzie a dozen times earlier, silently wishing she could join them on their hunts. “...No, I haven’t,” he finally said, putting a hand on his chin. “Any idea where he’d be?”

“No, that’s why I was asking you in the first place…,” Joel grumbled. “He’s probably in the harbor somewhere, let’s go look for him.”

“But I just got comfortable…,” Grian jokingly complained. One sour look from Joel made him roll his eyes and relent. Jimmy knew this town like the back of his hand, just like the rest of them. He wasn’t lost, Grian was sure of it. “Fine. But Tim’s probably just wandering around again. You know how he is.” He shrugged. Joel made a small frown and sighed, but followed Grian as the two descended from the ship and into the hustle and bustle of the port town behind them.

To be continued in Act II: Bait.