18 Works by darkavenue
Listing Works
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Jim becomes a legend at Blackbeard’s side.
They can’t help being the meanest and the sharpest of them all, striking fear just to make sure everyone else flinches first. Life is pain, and they are better off inflicting than receiving.
They hate Blackbeard and they hate Izzy, but Jim's place is here. They all deserve each other. Three feral dogs hiding their tenderness from each other like it’s a rotting wound.
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Jim is going to hurt Blackbeard for what he's done. They're gonna do it. Seriously. They will.
_______________________________________“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
“Just trying to stab you in your sleep, man.”
“You—You were? Oh man. You can go out and come back in and try it again. I’ll just lay down over there—”
“What? No.”
“Why not? C’mon. I’ll act surprised.” Blackbeard fakes a surprised gasp to prove it.
“Pretty sure I just saw real pain and shock on your face, and that wasn’t it.”
“You didn’t see anything,” Blackbeard growls so ominously that Jim instinctively raises the knife between them in response, “And if you did, it was one—manly—tear.”
“Sure, whatever. Your tear had biceps.”
“I never skip tear duct day.”
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After a beat of distracted silence, Crowley points out, “You got something squirming in your hair. That a tentacle?”
She looks down at the long, dark hair falling over the lapel of her coat. He’s right. An equally dark tentacle with red and white suckers twists among the curls.
“Oh.” She reacts with a soft surprise, the same way she would to finding a ladybug in her hair. “Hello, Zesial.”
She meets eyes with her reflection and sees that they are still pinning. Anathema’s brown irises shrink to the size of pin-holes, then grow to cover nearly the entire whites of her eyes. It doesn’t happen in smooth motions, but a jerky start-and-stop. She kind of likes it. And hello, Jay, she thinks.
Hello from all, Jay thinks back.
Quick list of fugitive demons currently sharing Anathema’s body:
Taom, the severed twin
Zesial, blind and compromising
Sesmahaet, possessive and reverberating
Lehiel, resentment and craving
Ransom, atoning and protective
Popinjay, pride and impeccable memoryThis is a story about Anathema struggling to tell her family about her transformations, all while heaven is onto her and has sent an angel to warn her they are coming.
Series
- Part 2 of Demonic Devices
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You can’t blame Crowley for taking up Aziraphale’s offer. The first time since the dawn of creation that an angel offers to lead a demon into temptation, and he’s supposed to, what, say “nah?”
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Anathema believes she is possessed by a demon. She comes to Aziraphale and Crowley for an exorcism.
“You know someone possessed, book girl?”
“Maybe. I’m trying to figure that out. That’s why I came to you two.”
There’s an awkward pause, during which Crowley and Aziraphale exchange glances across the table.
“Well, angel, you go ahead and tell her what the signs are.”
“I think you should, it’s your area of expertise.”
“Me? I’ve never possessed anyone. It’s your area now.”
“That was one time.”
“Oh my god.” Anathema puts her hands on the table. “Please tell me at least one of you knows what possession looks like.”
Series
- Part 1 of Demonic Devices
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There is a long history of witches finding ways to contact demons for aid. Anathema gets a demon’s number from a certain angel.
“Aziraphale sounded on the verge of crying when he begged me not to destroy the book of new prophecies.”
“You’re gonna destroy it?”
“I really want to.”
“Alright. Well. That’s chaotic. Thumbs up from me. Love it. But... Didn’t you want your grand purpose back?”
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On the bus out of Tadfield, Crowley feels unusually conscious of Aziraphale sitting in the seat next to him. Their shoulders touch. He doesn’t know where to look, so he turns his gaze to a smudge on the window and he thinks of Madrid.
[Two missing scenes from the last episode.]
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“Oh, wildcat,” Scorpia sighs, “you keep falling into the same old velvet ditches left and right.”
Catra’s sharp eyes snap to her. “Velvet what did you say?”
“A velvet ditch,” she repeats. “You know, a low place you fall into and don’t try to climb out of. ‘Cause you’re so comfortable there.”
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The rise and fall of a nice boy who becomes a gangster.
Lance’s favorite nights were when Allura came in. If work slowed down, he’d slink over to the window and watch her sip illegal champagne from her flute. Not in, like, a creepy way. There was just something nice about getting to see the finest girl in the world on a somewhat regular basis. This kind of serene, sighing, ‘ahhhhh’ feeling behind his ribs. Not unlike the way it feels to get a nice long look at the ocean on a clear day.
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Adrien loses the Chat Noir miraculous. Alya finds it.
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“Thought you gave up this nerdy stuff now that you’re a badass who comes on missions with us.”
“You thought wrong,” she said without looking up. Her voice had a careless, flat edge to it that implied ‘Fuck off, Lup.’ Old Lucretia would have softened that. New Lucretia was awesome.
New Lucretia slid sixty yards down a mountainside when the ground, soft and heavy with moisture, collapsed out from under her today and didn’t even seem freaked out about it. She scrambled to catch a grip on her way down, hooked her hand on some part of the rock face, and started climbing right back up to them in a strictly businesslike manner. The same manner Lup imagined a spy apathetically walking away from an explosion has.
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Scenes from an Aladdin AU about a street rat searching for his lost brother, a hopeless romantic genie, a rule-breaking princess, and her knight taken prisoner.
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“You know how hard it was to find our ship in the entirety of the bullshit ocean? Swimming sucks. Jot that the fuck down.” Lup’s fingertip creeps over the top of Lucretia’s journal to tap the blank page. “Also,” she adds, quickly and as if it's not important, “They said there's some asshole whaling ships killing their friends and we can have the Starblaster back if we take ten of them out.”
“Oh, wow. I. Okay.” Lucretia’s eyes dart down and she writes ‘swimming sucks’ in tiny letters on its own page, then flips back to write the other stuff. “We can't actually do that, though. That would get us in, uh, deep trouble. With the human people here.” (By the way, Lucretia is talking at the same time that she’s writing down what Lup just told her, and it is mindblowing. Lup can’t even prepare spells and listen to music with lyrics at the same time. Lucretia keeps talking without looking up, unaware of how gone with the wind Lup’s dome is right now.) “We would basically be... I think we'd be pirates.”
Taako leans in and whispers, "That's so fucking sexy."
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Nathalie closed her eyes and pushed two fingers between her eyebrows. “As you may have noticed, Gabriel is closing in on me viciously. If we are going to get this line manufactured before he shuts every door in our face, the designs need to be finalized in five days or less.”
For a few seconds, Marinette could only blink in stunned disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
“It better not be.”
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“I think you have a type,” she said. It was her.
“I’m weak,” he agreed faintly.
She always dismissed his feelings toward Ladybug as idolization, or a heat of the moment rush. She didn’t expect him to feel exactly the same about Marinette, the human disaster who worked at a bakery and spilled wine over herself at parties.
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He never wanted this. The day Adrien Agreste was given a miraculous, his first instinct was to chuck it out the window. When he returned home, Plagg had already retrieved it. He explained again the importance, the honor, the glory of a miraculous.
“You’re special, Adrien,” Plagg told him at the grand finale of his speech, clearly expecting him to be touched and amazed by the concept.
Adrien crossed his arms to block the kwami from trying to force the ring into his hand. “You’re not from around here. I’ve always been special. I don’t need any more special than what I’ve already got.”
(An origins story in which Chat Noir was a criminal before becoming Ladybug’s partner.)
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A fill for the prompt: "fuck. off."
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December 31, 7:00 PM
Alya texts her best friend, “Starting to get ready!”
She wipes a droplet from her wet hair off the phone’s screen.
Marinette replies, “Same.”
It’s important to send Marinette reminders of the time. There’s a chance the text was honest and she’s really getting ready for tonight. There’s also a chance she’s across town from her house, just now remembering that it’s New Year’s Eve. A lot is left up to chance with Marinette.
Alya turns her speakers up and takes an hour getting ready. It’s twice as long as she normally takes, but tonight’s not a normal occasion.