for the fanfiction mash up, sick/injured + green eyed epiphany for max squared? 👀
Hell yeah time for some max squared! More under the cut:
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Max had never fully believed that the flowers were real, is the thing.
They looked real when they came out of Caster's mouth, sure. As did the occasional flecks of blood, though Max was always too disgusted to examine those bits too closely.
But they were both workers in the Professional Lying Business. Caster, especially, loved to lie, and he loved to lie the most about his and Max's relationship. Max thought the flowers just added to the drama. The marks loved it. What a heat starter! Doomed love, unrequited love, deadly love for The Devil...the soap opera practically wrote itself. Besides- wasn't that disease supposed to get worse over time? Caster had been "coughing up" those little purple columbines for over two years now, and it hadn't so much as prevented him from wrestling.
Around the brief, desperate time that Adam was MIA and Max had been forced to team up and scissor with The Acclaimed, Caster's coughing got so constant that even Max had been worried. But Caster had picked up on that anxiety like a bloodhound. He used it to try and get away with all sorts of things; from crawling into Max's lap, to blatantly squeezing his ass. The sympathy had quickly dried up, as had the team-up with The Acclaimed. Soon enough Max was too busy agonizing over his belt and his hip and his shoulder and Adam's betrayal to pay the magical unrequited love flower disease any more mind.
So why did it bother Max so much when it stopped?
Sure, The Acclaimed were mad at Max for not visiting them after they got jumped. Despite Max stating on TV, very plainly, why associating with him with a bad idea. And yes, Caster had seemed plenty upset. But that wasn't new either. Max figured Caster would have his little temper tantrum and go back to thirst posting. Same as he always did.
But Caster didn't. He never mentioned Max again. Never reposted another piece of fanart of the two them. Never so much as coughed to clear his throat.
Max has nothing but time to watch the show these days. Week by week, month by month, he found himself straining to find so much as a single purple flower petal. He started to check all of Caster's accounts, the public and the private ones. It was all just Caster and his music, stupid political references, and naked betrayal by hanging out with Jay White and the Assboys. Videos, pictures, posts- there was never anything love or flower related at all.
It's an incomplete picture, of course. Max wouldn't know for sure unless he decided to return to AEW and study Caster in person. He's sure, so sure, almost positive, that as soon as Caster lays eyes on him the sight will bring him to his knees.
But sometimes...it keeps Max wondering.
Sometimes, when he stays up too late at night thinking about it, he can feel a worrying tickle in the base of his own throat.
I’m the Only One - Arthur Harrow/Reader (unrequited?)
I’m the Only One – Melissa Song Inspired Fic for @impala-dreamer Challenge
Fandom: Moon Knight.
Pairing: Arthur Harrow x Another woman, Arthur Harrow x (afab?) Reader (unrequited?)
Rating: Mature.
Summary: Arthur Harrow wants something from you that he usually gets from another follower. You had claimed you would do anything to save his life, but you would not do that.
“No,” the words came resolutely, you didn’t need a moment’s thought. “I won’t do it.”
Standing up to leave the room, you felt how his hand was placed on yours, halting you in the motion. All around you, sounds of cutlery filled the room while the others continued eating. Like nothing out of the ordinary was happening here.
But there was.
His blue eyes looked up at you, watery, pleading. “Please,” was all he said, voice genuine and raspy with emotion. Was that longing you heard there? Or lust?
You had no doubt that Arthur Harrow was being honest. He had to be, for he was the one to seek you out and corner you during your lunch. He never had done that before. Shit, he never even had noticed. Or so you had thought.
You closed your eyes and heaved a deep sigh, forcing yourself to calm down. This was not happening. A little voice in the back of your mind taunted you that it was.
“You can’t ask this of me,” you said, but your heart was jumping painfully in your chest. The many nights you had lain in bed and fantasized that he would ask this of you, they were uncountable. You had longed for this, craved for his attention. And now that you had it, you refused him. You could hardly believe yourself, but accepting this offer he asked you to make – it was impossible.
With eyes still closed and breath still high up in your chest, you felt your hand clench under his. He did not let go, would not let you leave till you had yielded to his desire.
“I said I would do anything for you, Harrow,” and it was truer than he could possibly imagine. You had vouched to dedicate your life to his cause. You’d sworn to protect him from his enemies, to do all there was in your powers to prevent fate from happening to him. Leaders like him always ended up dead in the most horrific of ways. It was their fate. You would try and stop that. Jump into the way of an arrow, catch a bullet to your chest, walk through fire if you had to save him. “But this,” your eyes opened and you looked at his still innocently pleading expression. Like a man in pain, you thought sardonically. Perhaps he was. But this pain hardly counted in your mind. It was self-inflected. Chosen. “This I will not do. It is unfair to ask me.”
“Why?” his voice was calm, but there was a light rasp to it. You knew he wasn’t going to let go of you this easily. He was the most revered soul around here with everyone always obeying to his whims. He was not a man used to hear no.
Your shoulders dropped and you looked down at your hands on the table. His was still on top of yours, not hovering, but resting upon yours with a feather-light touch. He followed your gaze and something in his expression changed. A slight hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Don’t you have Melissa for this?” He did not even have the audacity to look ashamed at that. He merely looked up to lock eyes with you again.
“So I have,” he agreed. Not even beating around the bush.
You had seen the two of them, had known like everyone else who lived here that your abstaining and penancing cult leader was very much not abstaining from one certain activity. Ever since you had lain eyes on him, you’d been enchanted by his charm. His looks, the sound of his voice, his calm and caring demeanour, they had all drawn you in. And despite your mind telling you otherwise, your heart had surrendered to his charm.
And then you’d seen her. Like you, she was one of his many followers. But the big difference was that she was sometimes behind him. He would turn to her and talk to her. You had seen the both of them stand together and smile. He made her laugh. Touched her skin, brushed her hair from her eyes and bestowed her with his caresses.
It wasn’t made a secret that he called upon her whenever he fancied some stress-relief. And she always obliged, eager to please your leader. Other girls spoke of them in jealous whispers. What did she have that they didn’t? And you felt the same pang of jealousy in your heart whenever your leader Harrow would retire for the night, the woman tugged beneath his arm.
You wanted to be her. You had dreamt of being her.
But that was it. She was so very unlike you that it frightened you. Because if this was his type, you would never stand a chance.
So for him to come to you and ask the same he asked of her, it was impossible. Improbable. Undeniably cruel.
“Then go to her,” you said, voice broken despite wanting to sound resolute and strong. Go to her for your caresses and comfort, you thought, anger welling up inside of you. You enjoy her sweet embrace and the whispers that everything is going to be all right, you wanted to say. Go to her to hide from the demons that haunt you, wake up in her arms like the cruel man you are and think yourself a saint. But don’t taint me any further than you already have.
Perhaps you’d been deceived upon arriving here, lured into staying. But you had made your bed and you were determined to lay in it. But it would be on your own terms. You’d keep true to yourself, even if your heart was consumed by feelings for this demonic man who did not deserve it.
If it wasn’t love, it was surely just as strong. And despite having resolved to stop thinking of him, you had not been able to forget about the feelings you felt when around him. He was in your dreams, he dictated your world. You still wanted to have him, but the Arthur Harrow that you first met. The one who delivered sweet sermons and dried children's tears. The one who wasn’t the dangerous lunatic with a wish to bring back a goddess by all means necessary, even violence.
You knew him different now. A man who killed those very same children whose tears he had dried, when they were deemed unworthy. Who slept with other women. Who wasn't a stranger to murder.
“What if I would rather be with you?” he tilted his head as he asked this, as if he was curious what that question would do to you. And it did a lot. Your heart jumped again in your chest. A heat spread through your body, setting your core alight. You pressed your legs closer together, urging yourself not to let it show what his voice and gaze did to you.
“Is she ill or something?” You tried to pierce him with your gaze, pinning him to his chair with it. It did not quite work, because Arthur’s brow furrowed, as if the question wasn’t what he had expected of you as an answer.
“No,” he answered, voice dry. He licked his lips, his eyes drifting to yours for only a fleeting moment. But the hint was clear, he imagined kissing you there. Devouring you in a kiss. “I do not see why this should be of importance to answer my question?”
His thumb slowly started to rub past your skin. How badly you wanted to pull your hand back, away from his comforting touch. But you knew if you did that, he would take offence to it. And he was a man too mighty to trifle with.
So you swallowed your pride and looked at his eyes again instead. “You go to her,” you started, voice quiet but you knew he could hear. You did not want any of the others around to overhear your conversation, to hear you turn down your leader like this. “Whenever you have needs you seek her out.”
His voice was remarkably calm, like he needed to soothe you, when he spoke again. “And now I came to you.” Dread that smile of his. You had to grit your teeth together. Was this some kind of joke to him? To toy with your feelings and emotions like you were just a puppet? Did his people mean so little to him? Without them, he’d be no one.
“What do you seek this time, that you came to me?” Your eyes were piercing his, but this time you saw something in there. A flicker of emotion. Even if it were only there for a brief moment, easily missed. You had seen it. Was that affection? It could not be.
“Love,” Arthur’s reply came like a whisper. The touch of your hand weakened. His lips remained parted, as if still caught in the sigh of the word. Love. You were certain you held it for him. His true love, it was buried deep in your core. It covered your heart, smothered your soul, and it all belonged to him. And him alone. Love. You knew you were the only one to own the love he was searching for. That you were the only one to give him the love he craved, it was a cruel twist of fate. And you would be even crueller.
Now that the hold of his hand on yours had loosened, you quickly pulled it away, cradling your hand against your chest while you took a step away from him. “I cannot do this for you, Harrow.”
His eyes burned as he looked into yours. There was rage there, rage at being denied that which he longed for. But you decided to deny seeing it, to ignore it and stay true to yourself. “I am not willing to give you what you ask of me.”
If only he had asked you properly. If only he would show that he truly understood what kind of love it was that you carried within you – the love that drowned your soul. No, you would not be a cheap whore like the woman he slept with on a regular basis. In contrast to her, your love was not given away that easily. And even a man like Harrow would have to earn it.
Standing straight, you gave him a final glance to see him seething on his chair. But you walked past him before he had the chance to grab you or stop you again. You could hear the sliding of a chair, the tap of his cane, and the sound of broken glass in his step as rose from his chair and walked. The sounds drifting behind you. He was coming your way. Following.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: General
Fandom: FF14
Characters: Male Warrior of Light, Livingway
Warnings: Spoilers through 6.0
Additional Tags: Legacy!WoL
A Legacy!WoL short. For the weekly Bookclub Writing Challenge: "Five Times Yes, One Time No"
Livingway took in the scene with a glance, briskly grasping the situation within only a few seconds of her arrival. "Right, then! These things you want fixed, what are their names?"
"They don't have any," the Warrior admitted ruefully.
I wrote this in one evening, so lord only knows why it took me so long to upload it. So here it is, my fill for the wotm challenge! It’s just one scene from a much larger idea, but I hope you’ll get a taste of what it’s all about.
Persephone examined the red beads carefully, rolling them between her fingers and watching the muted lamplight glisten as it hit them. They were small and misshapen in shape, with an odd warmth to them as though they hadn’t spent long in the heat-leaching atmosphere of Underworld.
She felt Hades’ eyes on her, but endeavoured to ignore him. It was difficult -the Ghosts’ leader had a magnetism to him that made him difficult to miss, even with his habit of lurking in the shadows- but Persephone was no wilting flower, not anymore.
She examined the glinting red beads for a few more long, purposeful moments. Pomegranate seeds, that’s what they reminded her of. Persephone brought one of the little seeds up to her face, intending to smell it, but was stopped by the presence of a cold hand on her arm.
She shivered at the unexpected contact, and as always Hades withdrew his hand as though she was poisonous to the touch. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not until you know what they are.”
Persephone raised a delicate eyebrow in challenge. She was used to Hades’ little mind games, the tricks he used to throw her off balance. “So what are they?”
“Bombs.”
The smooth honesty in Hades’ deep voice made Persephone shake, only keeping the little seeds -bombs- in the palm of her hand through the overwhelming desire not to blow herself up. Hades’ shadows might save him, but she doubted her flowers would protect her from the carnage of one of the Ghosts’ creations.
“Bombs?” she said, unable to completely erase the quiver from her voice. “My present for completing my training is bombs?”
“It’s a sign of trust. After training, whoever sponsored you through takes you aside and gives you these. It’s a choice, let me say that first.” Hades locked gaze with her, dark eyes intense and serious. “But all Ghosts have them. It’s a security measure, for if someone gets captured. Or betrays us.”
Persephone shivered, and for once it wasn’t caused by the cool underground air. “You carry around bombs with you?”
“Not with me.” Hades’ mouth twitched in his familiar, almost-smiling manner. “Inside me.”
Every muscle in her body locked, a brilliant blush rising across her cheeks. Persephone choked, unable to get her words out past the mix of shock and heat flashing through her. “You- I- We-”
She stumbled over her words until the self-congratulatory tilt to Hades’ head became too much to bear. Pulling herself together, Persephone sat up straight, pushed her shoulders back and held her head high. She was an Olympian, blessed with powers beyond comprehension, and if she couldn’t quite banish the blush from her cheeks, well, Hades wouldn’t dare call her out on it. She hoped. “Hades. Are you telling me now, several months into our acquaintance, that you, Cerberus and every other Ghost I’ve met have been carrying lethal explosives inside you?”
The lethal calm in Persephone’s voice gave Hades’ pause, the not-smile slipping off his cold features. “Don’t worry, there aren’t enough explosives in the seeds to kill bystanders. Though if my head suddenly explodes, at least now you’ll know why.”
“You think I was worried about my own safety? Do you really think I’m that selfish, that I don’t care about you?” She realised how childishly enamoured that statement sounded, and hurried to correct herself. “All of you? What if those things go off, they could kill you, Cerberus, Thanatos... Doesn’t that scare you?” Persephone’s petite hands clenched into fists of anger and belated fear, and she had to peel her right hand open to stop herself crushing the little red bombs between her ornate rings. Who knew how volatile they were?
“Calm down, Seph. Do you really think I’d hand you something I wasn’t utterly sure was safe? Do you think I’d put it my own head?” His dark eyes glinted. “Do you think I‘d ask anyone else to put unstable explosives inside them?”
Persephone stared him down. “If you thought they might kill Zeus along the way, then yes. Don’t pretend you’re all high and mighty with me, Hades. I know you better than you might think. So if you’re planning to put bombs in my head and send me running back to Olympus to blow up Zeus, then honey, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Hades ran a hand through his dark hair, long fingers pulling at his scalp. “Gods, how are you so exasperating? Just let me get the whole way through the explanation. Please.”
After a moment’s consideration, Persephone gave a small nod.
Hades breathed out a filtered sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He paused for a second to gather his thoughts; Persephone watched the lamplight play against his pale cheekbones without remorse. “In your hand, you’re holding six tiny bombs. In a moment, if you want to become a fully fledged Ghost, to make Underworld your home for the rest of your life,” Hades leans forward, his hands resting on the sleek dark tabletop, “I’m going to ask you to swallow them.”
Heat flared again in Persephone’s delicate cheeks. She shook her hair over her face, hoping her long blonde waves combined with the inconsistent lighting would hide her embarrassment. She often thought that Hades didn’t realise all the innuendos he uttered in normal conversation, but now and again Persephone became sure that he was teasing her on purpose.
“They’ll pass into your digestive system, be absorbed through the walls of your gut, reform in your bloodstream and travel around your body to their end destinations.” He reached forward, hand outstretched towards her, but paused centimetres away. Persephone shifted towards him, giving Hades unspoken permission to touch her. He took her tiny hand in his larger one and gently turned it over to bare her wrist. “Two will go to your wrists, here, and sit a little way under the skin. You’ll be able to feel them once they’ve settled. Two more will go to the back of your neck, one at the base of your skull and one where your cervical vertebrae meet your thoracic vertebrae.” Hades’ cold fingers tapped lightly against the back of her neck, first just where the whisps of golden hair stopped, and then on the bump of bone just above the back of her dress. Persephone shivered. “Two will go elsewhere, somewhere different for everyone. For...security reasons.”
Hades withdrew his hand, his habitual not-smile pulling at the side of his mouth. The withdrawal of his hand drew some confidence out of Persephone, and as Hades leant back, she moved towards him. When he moved to pull his hand back to his body, she caught his hand and held it gently.
His not-smile disappeared, confusion and a little apprehension written in the line of his brows. “Seph?”
“Can I-” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “Can I touch them? Hades?”
The rebellion leader swallowed visibly, but silently turned his hand over, baring his wrist.
Persephone ran her fingers over his hand and up to his wrist, gently pushing aside the black sleeve of his jacket. His pulse fluttered under her fingertips, delicate as a butterfly; for a moment the urge to summon a thorned vine and shred through the pale skin struck her, but Persephone ignored it. She pressed down and felt it, a vaguely oval-shaped object just below his skin, between the pale blue lines of his veins.
When Hades spoke his breath brushed against her ear, still cool, but warmer than the rest of him. “You can...you can find the ones at the back of my neck. If you want.”
They leant forward at the same time, mingling breath verging on visible in the cool subterranean air. Persephone lifted her arms over Hades’ shoulders, moving slowly, careful not to startle him. Her fingertips brushed over the back of his collar and then found skin, trailing up his neck and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
She stopped at the bump of bone under his skin, leaning over Hades to compensate for his superior height. Persephone looked down at him, her nose practically touching his. Dark eyes blinked up at her.
“Right there,” he whispered. “Press down.”
Persephone pressed firmly, and the tiny bomb was there, a seed beneath the casing of his skin. The thought of it being put to use, of activating, of shattering Hades’ spine and severing every vital nerve, shot straight to something inky black inside her heart.
She tangled her fingers in his black hair, excusing the action by pressing her thumb into the whisps of dark hair at the base of his skull, searching for the other bomb. She found it, pressed down.
Hades looked up at her, lips slightly parted. Like a worshipper searching for a chance at absolution.
Persephone smiled at him, blonde curls acting as a curtain between them and the rest of the world, and swallowed the seed bombs whole.
