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spookyboywhump · 4 years

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So remember that conversation we had on Wren starving himself because he refuses to eat out of Nicholas’ hand? Yeah here we go :3c

CW: Bad Timeline, starvation, force feeding, death mentioned several times, creepy whumper, noncon kiss (not on the lips), pet whump, dehumanization

***

It had been an ongoing fight ever since he’d gotten there. Nicholas would feed them at the same time, praising Cain for being such a good boy as he passed him bites of food that the man eagerly accepted, while Wren sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, stubbornly refusing to accept any food from him. As long as he was trying to hand feed him, he’d rather go hungry.

At first he found ways around it. When Nicholas’ back was turned, especially if he was distracted with Cain, then he could slip away. He’d always been good at sneaking around, if he was quick he could get in and out of the kitchen with something that would be enough to get him through the day. He’d tried sneaking down at night but was too worried about waking Nicholas when he tried to get out of bed, instead just doing his best during the day. Of course, it was only a matter of time before he got caught, and after that Nicholas began to keep a better eye on him, leaving him frustrated and so, so hungry.

“Don’t look at me like that, Love. I’m offering you food, all you have to do is take it.” Nicholas reminded him as Wren glared up at him.

“I’m not eating out of your fucking hand.” He snarled, arms wrapped around his middle as he was hit with another hunger pang. It had been days since he’d last eaten, and Nicholas didn’t seem like he was going to give in anytime soon- but neither was he. He was unfortunately used to being hungry, from growing up with little food to spending nine months with Cain, by now he was used to that dull ache in his stomach. Nicholas wasn’t going to be the one to finally break him with this, he refused to let that happen. He didn’t get a single bite to eat that night, and Nicholas sighed as he finally rose from his chair once he’d finished his meal.

“You can’t be this stubborn forever.” He told him. “You won’t be eating anything that I don’t feed to you, you may want to drop this stubborn attitude sometime soon.” He said, and Wren narrowed his eyes at him.

“I’d rather fucking starve.”

***

“You need to eat something.” Cain said bluntly, sitting beside him where he was curled up on the bed. Nicholas had left them alone for the day, he’d fought with the door longer than he cared to admit despite the fact he knew there was no escaping. He had to give up eventually, curling up with his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes squeezed shut. His head hurt, his whole body felt weak, and the ache in his stomach just wouldn’t go away.

“I’m not fucking doing it.” He muttered, refusing to even look at him.

“You’re not going to get anywhere like this. You’re more likely to starve to death before he gives in.”

“Good! I’d rather fucking die than be his obedient fucking lapdog!”

“I never knew you were so much like Zander.” Cain sighed, finally catching Wren’s attention enough that he at least turned to face him, opening his eyes to look up at him. “He did the same thing, the idiot planned to starve himself to death just to spite my father.”

“I think that’s a good enough reason-”

“It’s not.” He interrupted, looking down at him. “You’re not getting anything out of this. You’re just going to starve and starve until you finally die, or until he tries to do something about it. You might as well start eating before he gets to that point.”

“Fuck off.” He muttered. He knew it was a weak response because he knew that Cain was right and he’d rather die than admit that. He’d rather die than do a lot of things right now.

“You know I’m trying to help you, right?” He said, gentler as he placed a hand on Wren’s shoulder, almost as though he was trying to comfort him, only for him to quickly jerk away, weakly forcing himself to sit up so he could move away from him.

“I don’t want your help! You’ve never been any help to me before, you don’t need to start now!” He snapped. He thought this was ridiculous coming from Cain, he had half a mind to remind him how he put him through the same thing for two weeks, all for the sake of some stupid game. “Just leave me the fuck alone, will you?!” For a moment he saw a familiar look on his face, the way his eyes narrowed when he talked back to him, the look that used to make him freeze in terror. It didn’t last long though, giving way to his typical resigned expression.

“Fine then, suit yourself.” He said, getting off the bed while Wren laid back down, hiding his face in a pillow. He felt dizzy just from sitting up, his stomach turning and making him even more nauseous.

He knew it would be easier to give in. He knew it would be better for him to just stop being stubborn, to just be good and behave for Nicholas, allow him to hand feed him like a beloved pet. He knew it would be better but the thought of it made him angrier than he’d been in a while. He grit his teeth and curled up on himself as his stomach growled.

He still refused to give in.

***

He knew this was bad. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the days continued to blur together. He hardly slept, constantly kept awake from how sick he felt, and at this point, he could hardly move. He spent most of the day curled up in bed or on the floor, and he unfortunately needed Cain’s help if he even wanted to shower after he fainted and hit his head days ago. Nicholas refused to offer him any help, in fact he’d been acting as though the starving boy in his bed was invisible, not worthy of his attention as long as he was “misbehaving”.

He hated to admit it, but he spent a lot of time crying. There wasn’t anything else he could do, and sometimes he couldn’t even manage that, miserable and angry and scared. He didn’t want to die, every time he thought he was okay with it, every time he thought it would be better than everything happening now, he was wracked with guilt. He hoped that his friends were looking for him, he hoped that Zander wanted him back, and he would feel awful if they’d wasted all that time only to find him dead. Cain had tried to talk some sense into him but there wasn’t anything he could do now. Nicholas was waiting for Wren to break and beg and he just wouldn’t.

Even though Cain had warned him, Wren still didn’t expect Nicholas to snap before he could starve completely.

Wren didn’t have the strength or energy to move when Nicholas lifted him from the bed that evening. The man didn’t say anything as he carried him from the room, and though Wren had a thousand snarky comments he wanted to make, if only to preserve his own sanity, all he could manage was a tired moan, his head leaned against Nicholas’ chest. He didn’t know, and he didn’t really care where they were going, his eyes fell shut and he simply waited for this to be over. It didn’t matter what he had planned, there was nothing he could do now except wait.

It wasn’t long before he was being sat down in a chair, which wasn’t a problem until leather straps were pulled tight around his wrists. He didn’t understand the point of that, he couldn’t have struggled even if he wanted to, but he didn’t question it.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you would last this long. You’re more stupid than I thought, but your perserverence is impressive to say the least.” Nicholas said casually, and Wren watched tiredly as he got things ready on the table in front of him, though he couldn’t quite make sense of what he had there. Everything was sort of in a haze to him, in fact he wouldn’t have been surprised if he was dreaming all this, sighing and closing his eyes until Nicholas suddenly grabbed his face, startling him into paying attention. “I can’t have my favorite pet starving to death though, so I have to put an end to your little game.” He said, and Wren could see the slight irritation on his face.

“Wh… what do you mean…?” He murmured, his thoughts too clouded for him to understand what he was talking about. He knew he couldn’t eat right now, knew it would just make him even sicker, but Nicholas seemed to have a plan.

“Now- I need you to stay still, and do exactly as I say, Love.” He said, all but ignoring his confusion. “I’ve never done this before and I’d hate to hurt you while doing it.” He said, and Wren watched as he picked up a long, thin tube. It took him a few seconds to figure out what he planned to do with this, but it hit him hard as Nicholas held him by the chin, bringing the end of the tube up to his nose, and he was suddenly hit with a rush of panic and adrenaline.

“N-no!” He cried, trying to jerk his head away and weakly pulling against the straps holding him down. “No! G-Get that- Get that away from me!”

“I said hold still.” Nicholas said sternly, scowling at him. “This is for your own good, Love, you can’t continue to starve yourself this way.”

“I-I’ll eat, okay?! I’ll eat w-whatever you give me, I’ll eat from your-your hand, j-just get that away from me!” He yelled.

“Oh, I wish I could.” Nicholas said, faux sympathy obvious in his voice. “No, it’s been too long now, you’ll have to start with this and maybe, if you can be good, you’ll get to eat normally again. You should’ve just behaved from the start, this is really your own fault.” He told him, gripping his chin tighter as he finally forced the end of the tube up his nose.

His eyes began to water immediately and he couldn’t help but cry out in pain and discomfort. He wanted to pull away but he knew Nicholas was right, he needed to stay still if he didn’t want to risk this going terribly wrong. The fact that Nicholas hadn’t done this before wasn’t any comfort either, and he choked and gagged as it was pushed down the back of his throat, his nails digging into the armrests his wrists were secured to. Tears streamed down his face and all he could do was whine and whimper pathetically, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Shh, you’re doing fine sweetheart. Just relax, okay?” Nicholas said gently, but it wasn’t really of any comfort to him as he coaxed him to swallow to help push it down. “Poor thing, I hope you’ll behave better for me next time so we can avoid this.” He sighed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Wren’s forehead as he finally got the tube in place, all the way down his throat. He was still getting used to the intrusion, the discomfort of having a foreign object pushed through his nose, he wasn’t sure he’d get used to it at all. It hurt less now that it was in place but it was still uncomfortable, it was still scary, he just wanted this to be over.

He watched through his tears as the man pulled away from him, watching as he used a syringe to push some sort of liquid into the other end of the tube. He shuddered and whined at the cold feeling that rushed down his throat, more tears welling up in his eyes from the odd sensation.

Stop stop stop, please just stop, He thought, wishing desperately that this was some sort of nightmare he’d finally wake up from. He didn’t know how long he expected this to last but it continued to drag on and on, slowly he began to feel full but it wasn’t satisfying, he just felt exhausted and sick, the same as before.

It felt forever had passed by the time Nicholas slowly began to remove the tube from down his throat, Wren panicked and gagging as he did so, unable to tolerate the feeling. He thought it would be a relief but it felt awful, even as Nicholas finally pulled the end out from his nose he was still taking shuddering breaths, soft whimpers escaping his throat. His wrists were finally freed and he instantly brought his hands to his nose, though he quickly pulled them away when he realized he was bleeding, just another layer of misery added on to this.

“You did good for me, Love.” Nicholas said gently, carding a hand through his hair. “Let’s hope you can keep it up, then we won’t have to do this longer than necessary.” He warned, and for once, Wren knew he should listen to him.

***

Time passed and he was slowly able to begin to eat again. He was so relieved to finally have a day where that awful tube wasn’t forced down his throat, kneeling at Nicholas’ side as always while he ate dinner.

“Love, look at me.” The man ordered at some point, and tiredly Wren turned his attention to him, still scowling though. His eyes widened as he realized Nicholas was holding out a piece of food to him, giving him a hesitant look. “Go ahead, I think you’ve finally earned it.” He said, a smug look on his face and Wren finally relented, leaning forward and taking the food, careful not to bite him.

He tried to savor the taste of having solid food again, even as he felt sick with himself for finally giving in. He wanted to fight, he wanted to struggle and snap and swear at him, but unfortunately, this was a battle that he’d lost. He’d hate to admit it but humiliation hurt so much less than being force fed like that and he’d do anything to avoid it happening again- even if it meant playing the part of Nicholas’ obedient little lapdog.

#whump #my writing #my oc’s #wren #cain #Nicholas #bad timeline #starvation tw #force feeding tw #shout out to the guy who fed himself through a tube for a week #really helped me with this #>:3c #I had more things to say but editing was a bitch so whatever Goodnight

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untilenglandisnomore · 3 years

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PadMay 2021 – Day 2: How should Padmé be remembered?

(rocks up a week late with a chai latte) Played fast and loose with the word “should” here and ended up thinking a lot about Imperial propaganda.

Summary: Imperial Supreme Commander Darth Vader is sent to investigate accusations of a university lecturer spreading treasonous Rebel propaganda. A class on the life and work of Naboo’s former Queen Amidala brings back painful memories.

As far as punishments go, it would appear on the face of it that Darth Vader had lucked out. Being sent to assist the ISB might be painfully boring but at least it wasn’t painful. It seemed almost incongruous to the Emperor’s rage at his apprentice, once again, letting the Rebels slip through his fingers.

Vader knew better. Pain, he was used to. Pain, he could tolerate. Wasting his skills and time on pointless political suppression, investigating academics for spreading Rebel lies irked him immensely. The Emperor’s way of reminding him that he was replaceable, disposable.

And to rub salt in his wounds, he was commanded to investigate the faculty at the University of Theed. To be mere clicks away from his beloved’s final resting place was a pointed twist of the knife.

The quicker he got it over with, the quicker he could get back to hunting down the Rebels, so the Sith pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind.

Or at least, that was his intention. Begrudgingly, he followed the ISB Agent into the lecture hall. The Agent was to lead the interrogation, Vader was there to provide leverage.

The class had already started. Fifty pairs of eyes turned on them and the lecturer stopped abruptly.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a strong voice despite the fear spiking through her blood at the sight of Vader.

The Agent gave her shark-tooth smile. “Agent Elliot, ISB. We’ll just be sitting in your lecture today. Making sure everything is up the standards of our great Emperor.”

The way he cocked his head towards Vader made it clear it was not a request.

The lecturer stiffened. “What does education have to do with security?” she asked.

“Sedition,” said the Agent, “is a crime.”

She gave them a flat look. “Fine. Take a seat. Be sure to let us know when the truth runs up against the Emperor’s delicate sensibilities,” she snarked.

Vader felt a brief bit of surprise at her insolence and then almost amused. He really did not like Agent Elliot. There was something about the steel in her eye that made him wonder if all the Naboo were just like that.

They stood at the back of the hall, Elliot pointedly taking notes on his datapad, and Vader glowering, and the lecturer got back to her class.

“Okay hopefully you’ve all read chapters five, nine and ten on the Invasion of Naboo and the Clone Wars.”

There was some half-hearted murmuring across the room. The lecturer rolled her eyes.

“Come on guys. Fine. Does anyone in this room not know who Queen Amidala was?”

There was a smattering of laughter and snorts of disbelief.

Darth Vader didn’t hear the lecturer’s reply because what was left of his body went numb and a distant ringing filled up his ears. He stood frozen as the lecturer set up a holoprojector and suddenly it was her. Her face, lit up and larger than life before his eyes. Her voice breaking through the ringing in his ears and bouncing around his skull.

“Like so many of the people that we tell ourselves we're here to serve, Teckla lives in a district that rarely has electricity and running water as a result of the war.”

Vader could feel his heart stop in his chest. His mind went completely blank. He watched, as if from a very far distance, as the holoprojector floated up off the desk, crumpled up like a piece of flimsi, and then shattered into dust.

Stillness fell over the room as all the students and the lecturer stared at the spot where the holoprojector had sat seconds prior.

The lecturer seemed to recover first, giving herself a little shake and pointedly not looking at Vader.

“Well,” she said, “I’ve got printed copies of this speech on flimsi,” she handed out sheets for students to pass around while they started to whisper to each other, furtive glances in Vader’s direction.“So everyone take a couple of minutes to read the speech and take some notes.”

The students followed their instructions as the lecturer awkwardly scooped up the remains of her holoprojector and deposited them into a bin.

“Okay,” she said at last, “what does this speech tell us about the Clone Wars?”

A handful of students raised their hands, the lecturer pointed to a bothan girl, one of the few non-humans in the class.

“The war was causing lots of suffering and the Senate weren’t doing a good job stopping it. This is why the Emperor had to take over, to ensure peace.”

The lecturer glanced over at where Agent Elliot was standing and didn’t try to hide the roll of her eyes.

“I suppose it could be interpreted that way. Senator Amidala spoke out against corruption in the Senate many times.”

“She didn’t support the war,” said another student, a human boy, “doesn’t that make her a Separatist?”

“And she signed the bill asking the Emperor to hand power back to the Senate. Isn’t that treason?” added his friend.

Another disdainful eye roll in the ISB Agent’s direction as the lecturer trotted out the party line through gritted teeth.

“Senator Amidala was a close, personal friend of the Emperor. The Emperor supports democracy and free speech, but order had to be restored after the war. Senator Amidala was a great leader and surely would have supported the Empire had she lived long enough to see the excellent things it has achieved.”

“Professor?” another student put up her hand. “I was going to do my paper on Senator Amidala and the days around the rise of the Empire but there’s hardly any sources? Should I pick another topic? Do you know how she died?”

Genuine curiosity broke through the lecturer’s stony façade but as she opened her mouth to answer, she yelped and jumped back as her entire desk broke in half.

She stared at the desk. She stared at the rows of students gaping in shock. She stared at Vader.

Her eyes narrowed minutely at the Sith and then, apparently throwing all caution and good sense to the wind, she continued her answer.

“It’s a matter of some… contention,” she started slowly. “Senator Amidala was last seen at her home on Coruscant several hours after the formation of the Empire. She took her personal ship, and left Coruscant. There’s no further sources on where she was or what happened to her.”

The lecture hall felt very cold all of a sudden. Despite the ominous feeling in her gut, the lecturer continued.

“Official Imperial sources reported her death as an act of terrorism by a Jedi. They claim she died a martyr for the Empire.”

“And you don’t think that’s true?” asked a student. It was a fair question. The disbelief was clear in her tone.

The lecturer glanced over again to Vader and the Agent. She shrugged.

“Without any evidence to the contrary, it might as well be true. I think her actions as Queen and as Senator tell us exactly what Amidala would have thought of the Empire.” She ignored the twitch of the Agent’s brow at her tone, and pointed to a student. “Yes, Ilya.”

The class continued, moving on to discuss the boring, political, parts of the Clone Wars which Vader, for one, had no desire to relive.

None of it was new to him anyway, so he allowed himself to zone out the class, gingerly picking through the whirlwind of his thoughts.

Her. Somehow of all the days, of all the classes, they were discussing her.

He briefly mused on whether it was the Force, or his own cursed bad luck. Or, more cynically, if this was engineered by his Master, as part of his punishment.

They remembered her, quoted her speeches and still respected her as a leader, as Queen and as Senator. And yet they knew nothing about her.

They didn’t know that her laughter was musical when she was happy, and a graceless snigger when he made a particularly lewd joke. They didn’t know how the air in a room seemed to change when she walked into it, like all the atoms had ceased moving. Or how it changed again, when she spoke, always uncompromising and direct, like static electricity crackled between her sentences. They didn’t know all the good she could have done. Would have done.

He had robbed the galaxy of her blinding, beautiful presence. She was the only good thing left and he killed her and it was all his fault.

A blaring alarm shook him out of his reverie as students started to pack up their bags and awkwardly file out the door past him, shooting him apprehensive glances as they went.

The girl from before, who had asked… who had asked about that, was loitering behind to approach her teacher.

“Um,” she started, “so what should I do my paper on? So many of the books in the library have been taken out by the new censorship laws, it’s so hard to find good sources.”

The lecturer flashed her student a smile. “It just so happens that the Senator Amidala’s father used to work at this university, he’s an old friend and he dropped off some of the Senator’s old memoirs.”

She went to her bag and pulled out a datapad. “It’s all been copied to the holonet, and,” she rolled her eyes in Vader’s direction, once again demonstrating a remarkable lack of fear for her life, “edited to remove anything that could be interpreted as anti-Imperial. There’s lots of good anecdotes from her time as Senator, and a fair few political essays.”

They started to talk further about the student’s paper but Vader wasn’t listening, his legs moving before he was fully conscious of it, coming to a stop in front of the lecturer and snatching the datapad from her hand. She gave him an unimpressed glare and he was suddenly overcome with a need to explain himself.

“The ISB will need to review this,” he said stiffly, “for evidence.” He abruptly turned on his heel and walked out the room, nearly running over Agent Elliot in the corridor.

“Other than her having an attitude problem, there’s not much to go on here, she’s not distributing illegal material as far as we can see,” said the Agent. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the datapad in Vader’s hand.

“Nothing that concerns you,” replied Vader, and stalked away in a flurry of black fabric and disdain.

It wasn’t until he was back in his chambers aboard the Executor that he dared take out the datapad again, too often surrounded by nosy Imperial officials and gossipy stormtroopers.

He flicked it to a random page and at the first line he read, let out a snort of amusement, the sound odd and distorted through his vocoder.

“In a democracy, citizens have a duty to stand up against tyranny. In order to benefit from the rights and freedoms that democracy brings, citizens have an obligation to be vigilant against the rise of authoritarianism.”

This, thought Vader, was definitely not Imperial approved material. Distantly, he wondered if he should report it, this incendiary material was on the holonet, anyone could read it.

People would know what she thought. More would remember her as a traitor.

He preferred to imagine that he could have convinced her, that she would have come to see that the Empire was necessary. But. He quietly knew the truth. She was stalwart in her beliefs and a hell of a lot more stubborn than he was.

She would have been proud to be labelled a traitor by this Empire. She would hate to be remembered as a martyr for it.

She always did have the last word, Vader thought dryly, resolving to conveniently forget about the memoirs being on the holonet, and settled onto a chair to read every word she had written.

#padmay #padmay2021 #Darth Vader #padmé amidala #vaderdala #just some fresh nonsense from my brain prison #I definitely think some of my uni lecturers would have been totally unphased #by a robot breaking their desk in half with psychic powers #Anakin skywalker #anidala #sort of

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herstarburststories · 4 years

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Make Me Yours

Day 4 of Kinktober: Body Ownership

Day 4 of Suptober: Branded

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader

Summary: Michael wants you to be his.

A/N: I swear I'm not that pornography on daily basis I'm even more, but branding is very kinky here. I also strongly support you listening to False God while reading. @itsangelpie @deanmonandnegansbitch, this is the Michael one I was talking about xD

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, p in v, bit of power play, marking, brief fingering, grace

CATCH UP KINKTOBER & SUPTOBER

Michael enjoyed leaving a trace behind like any other powerful celestial.

Once, the loyal son convinced himself that it was because he wanted, not only humans, but his siblings, father, and any other being to know that he could be a savior like he was built to be. No matter what, he was a righteous warrior who would do anything his beloved father wanted him to. He was a perfect soldier, earning nothing but pride and all the head pats possible.

At least, that was before. It was back when Michael thought that God truly loved him and that he had a bigger purpose than gaining adoration from his fragile humans to overthrow Lucifer — his little brother, the archangel that was thrown away like a rough draft. Now, Michael couldn't care less about living up to his goody two shoes reputation. He didn't care about his brothers and sisters either, much less the humans. The archangel wouldn't say that he hated them like Lucifer foolishly did. His brother was wrapped in a bubble of jealousy that was almost embarrassing. No, breakable things didn't deserve attention. Michael just didn't care about them or their little world. All of his heaven-made goals had melted into one thing to look forward to — getting Chuck back to kill him.

So what if he had to burn a couple of dimensions and their human inhabitants? That was just an unfortunate side effect of Chuck’s little creations being the only thing that could catch his attention.

Burn a book? Get the author’s fury.

Michael was more than satisfied with the idea of leaving a trace of calamitous fire behind. It was such a beautiful legacy that would put fear into the atmosphere of the universe, and Michael would be God. He would be better one — the evolved version of what he’d always been as an archangel.

The torn holes of vulnerability inside of him had only grown wider, gaping into an open wound when his father left him as though Michael were as useless as a broken toy. That wicked, selfish side said it was because he wanted everyone to know how terrible he can be — fear him so no one will ever be close enough to hurt him again.

Terror had worked better than adoration for millenniums.

The archangel is good with that. Unlike his father, Michael's ego is as big as the amount of blood in his hands, not the people on their knees or the number of démodé cathedrals to worship him in the name of a bible that he never wrote. He doesn't need humanity’s adoration.

You bit your bottom lip to contain a smile, glancing at him. Michael could read from your mind and erratic heartbeat that you were both excited and curious about what was going to happen. Yet, he didn't need to. He knew your body — that perfect body — very well by himself with no help of his powers.

Correction: he needs one human's worship.

As mentioned beforehand, powerful beings like to leave a trace behind for multiple reasons: marking their territory like a big dog, making a point to gain respect through terror, or boosting their self-confidence.

“Get on all fours, little one.”

For the first time, Michael wanted to make someone a living reminder of him. He wanted to mark a human for being his: you.

You were obedient, quickly moving to the position that he had asked. You can hear Michael humming in satisfaction, moving in such a quiet way that you almost feel surprised when he placed his hand on your back.

Michael watched your body with care, his fingers dancing with tenderness on your skin. He used to believe that a vessel was everything a human body was worth. Sex was a foreign concept, nothing but an earthling’s attempt not to feel alone — if they weren't fighting, they were fucking. It got boring after the first few centuries.

And then, you happened.

“So marvelous, little one.” His words were laced with gruffness, startling a whimper out of you. “All of this…” He held your waist and pulled you back swiftly. You gasped, feeling his hardness against your ass. Michael didn't slide in, but he kept rubbing himself on you. “All of you…” One of his hands slid down your body, making way for his fingers to catch your sweet spot. You were so warm and wet: there was nothing on Heaven, Earth, or Hell as splendid your needy cunt. “Who do you belong to, Y/N?”

“To you, Michael. I belong to you. Please.” You should be ashamed of begging so early, but how could you judge yourself? Michael's hard cock behind you, making your ass dirty with precum along with two fingers inside your pussy and his possessive words stewing inside your head — you were still just a human, after all. “I need you.”

It was blissful, to have someone he was enchanted by to worship him as the Sabaeans did to the stars.

“Patience is a virtue, little one.” The archangel wore a proud smirk, adding another finger into your wet mess. You groaned in response, pressing your hips to his pelvis in an obvious attempt for more.

Michael's cock welcomed the growing arousal, dropping more precum than before and twitching. It was difficult not to give himself any relief, but he had to teach you a lesson before taking you again. Religion came with strict rules.

He pulled away from you, grabbing your neck from behind only to push your head on the bed. Your cheek to the mattress made it was painfully easy for reality to sink in: the archangel’s fingers on your bare skin, his fingers that were inside you. There was something uniquely blasphemous about sinning like this.

“You take what I give you, and you're grateful for that. Understood?” He howled, tightening his hold on you. “I picked you.”

“Yes, master.” The two words fought to leave your mouth before ultimately escaping. You know you should be afraid, but your soul refuses to welcome any feeling other than excitement. Michael didn't even use his grace yet. He wouldn't hurt you: at least, not enough for you to suffer. Everything he did to your body was a blessing.

“Good.” He exhaled, letting go of your neck. The archangel had been way too patient, and you waited long enough. You dared turn your head to look at him, and Michael was divine. His gorgeous body was crouched with his knees on the bed while he patiently observed you. His length was large and rock hard against your leg. You just wanted to give him release. “Like what you see?”

You gulped, nodding furiously. The archangel chortled before he slid his cock inside you without any other warning.

You let out a shamefully loud scream. What else could you do? His cock was fucking its way inside you, cleansing your body with the prayer of being everything you could ever need or want: to feel holy, to feel full. Michael grunted, grabbing your hips to pull you closer, and you moved back and forth in sync with him. Soon, the bed was the one clamoring with noise. Both of you became hollow when you were like this — hungry, craving for something to fill up your empty pieces.

Michael was the right hand of God, the protector — whatever treasures he chose to deify would be eternal because he could make it happen. And for Heaven, he adored you.

His cock found your G-spot, and his grace flooded into your veins as if it was meant to be there. Your walls were tighter and tighter around him, and you couldn't wait to feel his load inside you, marking you from inside. There was a wash of glowing pleasure in your body. You had never felt so light before. This felt like the precipice of your glorified religion, and God, you could make a church out of this.

“That's it, my love.” Michael moaned, his eyes bright blue as he fucked himself into you. You bit the pillow to keep another scream down. He squeezed your waist. There was something burning in your bones with a painful pleasure as his hand glowed. He was branding you as his, writing his symbol all over your soul, bones, and heart. And you were enjoying every single ache of it. “Cum for me. I want to hear you coming for me.”

He may be a false god, but he certainly brought you to heaven.

Your lips parted into a moan as your juice came all over his pulsating cock, and Michael came inside you in a rush. Everything hurt as if he had rearranged your bones, but it was as comfortable as if they were all snapped back together in the right places. You fell on the bed out of exhaustion, wondering if you'd live to see another day. All of you seemed to be on fire, much more than the other times. Your pussy was pulsing, and you could smell him all over your skin. He had made your body his. You were his.

Michael pulled away from you, a lopsided grin on his lips as he glanced at his possession. The archangel laid down, pulling your tired body to him. You clung to Michael while trying to breathe properly. What had just happened?

“Wh — What was that?”

“I marked you, little one.” Michael gave you a devilish grin while his eyes shone a dazzling blue. He was the apocalypse of your soul, and you couldn't wait for the sweet destruction. “Now, everyone will know that you are mine. Your pussy, all your body, and your soul. You belong to me, Y/N.” He had everything now. The world and you. He was ethereal. “I'm your god now.”

You made an altar out of him, and you'd always be a loyalist to this love, no matter the sacrifices you'd have to do for this.

Leave a comment and reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my day 1,2&3 of kinktober & day 3 of suptober, and my masterlist ♡

Dean's sweethearts: @akshi8278 @hardcoresupernatural

Hunters: @demonhunterbarbie @bi-danvers0 @emilyshurley @desimarie12

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soft--dragon · 3 years

Text

Dreamon

Alrighty boys, here it is! Angsty time >:)

Word Count: 2,767

Warnings: just cursing, a little violence, and emotional manipulation

George had never been claustrophobic, something he was grateful for, but standing in a box that had three walls of obsidian, and the other wall being made of lava, it felt somewhat hard to breathe. He was almost backed up to one side of the room, his eyes locked to the other sole occupant. Dream's mask covered his whole face, his hair longer than George had ever seen it, was tied back in a messy bun. His clothing hadn't changed, it was just dirty and the iconic, beloved hoodie had seen better days.

Something was really wrong.

No matter what, Dream had always taken care of that hoodie. Regardless of the circumstances, that one piece of clothing had always stayed in perfect condition. George already had a suspicion, for everything that had happened. And he was praying it was both right and wrong.

"Dreamon," he said shortly. "How long have you been in control?"

The man chuckled, but it wasn't Dream. "What are you talking about George?" He asked softly, his voice warm and radiating the same friendly energy Dream always had.

George clenched his fist, his teeth gritting as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop it” he hissed, “I know you’re not him so you can give up the façade Dreamon, I know my best friend, he isn’t you.”

Dream watched him for a long moment before his posture slumped slightly, his shoulders rolling back. “Well then, I’m impressed Georgie, when did you figure this out?” It’s voice was dark and radiated gravitas, filling the small cell though it was barely raising its voice.

Ice pooled into George’s stomach, his heart dropping in but he forced himself to not show anything. “It took awhile” he replied coolly, “but it makes sense. Dream would never do any of those things you made him do. Exiling a child, blowing up L’manberg? No, Dream wouldn’t have ever done that, that level of manipulation isn’t possible for him.”

Dream’s head tilted down, watching George with a side eye before he smiled slightly. "Are you afraid of him George?" he asked, soft and sweet.

The way it made Dream say his name made the older man take a step back. "What are you talking about? I’m not afraid of Dream-”

"Yes you are."

It had moved Dream in front of him. "You're terrified." It reached out Dream's hand to gently push some hair from George's eyes. The contact made George flinch, smacking the hand away as he took a quick step back.

"I'm not," he insisted, voice on the verge of shaking despite his efforts to control it. "I'm not afraid of him."

It made Dream cock his head to the side, akin to the curiosity of a puppy. "Then...me?"

George was itching for a weapon, anything to put distance between himself and that monster. "Yes" he admitted darkly, "but I'm not scared for me, I'm scared for Dream, you're torturing him."

"Torturing?" The demon laughed, and used Dream's laugh to do so. It sounded so, so wrong. "He chose me George."

Anger pulsed through George's veins, his rage bubbling deep within him. "You're possessing him against his will!" He snarled. "You've been possessing him for months! I know my best friend! He's not the twisted psychopath you've turned him into!"

"Really?" It purred. "Dream is many, many things George, he was always a psychopath, I just helped him embrace it."

George's hands curled into tight fists, gritting his teeth. "He's my best friend" he repeated, "he isn't like this."

"Think back George" it said coyly, "to every manhunt, every brilliant scheme, every stick of dynamite he set off."

George shook his head, his eyes locked the floor. "He isn't a psychopath...he isn't-"

A hand rested in his hair, gently carding through the locks. "He is" it murmured, "he's insane George."

George grasped Dream's wrist tightly, but couldn't find it in him to push the hand away. "Stop..."

It grasped his chin gently, tilting his head up to meet it's gaze. "I would never lie to you, George."

Oh god. Dream had said that to him years ago. A promise to his loyalty-

"Then prove it to me" George bit out, doing everything in his power to not flinch at the contact.

It looked at George for a long moment. "You want to see how twisted he's actually become?"

George swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them, glaring at the demon with eyes of fire. "Yes," he stated firmly. "Take off the mask, show me."

Dream sighed but stepped back and reached behind his head. With a sharp click, the mask slipped off his face and fell with a crack against the floor. Dream's eyes were glowing green, illuminated in the dim lighting of the prison. They bore into George's brown eyes, making him want to run. They were wild, nothing like the eyes he knew Dream had. But then Dream blinked twice and his eyes dulled to their regular color. He gave a short cry then stumbled backwards, gasping and coughing harshly.

"Dream?" George outstretched his hand cautiously, he didn't want to take any chances. The demon might be tricking him-

Dream's gaze snapped up to George and recognition dawned in the younger's eyes. "G-George" he gasped and tried to step forwards but his knees gave out underneath him and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Dream shit-" George bolted forwards, sliding onto his knees, not even caring that he had ripped the fabric as he tried to help the boy up.

Dream held his hands tightly in a shaking grip, his eyes were filled with terror. "George- George I'm sorry- I couldn't stop him- h-he made me- I'm sorry-" he whispered in a rush, trembles breaking out across his whole body. "He forced me to do those things- I can't get him out of my head- George I need help- please help me-"

George's eyes filled with tears. Dream sounded so goddamn afraid.

"Dream" he murmured, bringing the taller man into his arms, pressing his cheek to the fluffy hair.

Dream curled into his chest, sobbing roughly. His hands gripped the back of his shirt like if he were to let go even marginally, George would disappear. "George please get him out of my head- I want him to leave- I c-can't-"

George rocked him gently, rubbing circles on his back. "I've got you" he whispered, "I've got you Dream."

Dream hiccupped, gripping George's shirt tighter. "I'm sorry..." He whimpered, his voice cracking.

"You don't have to apologize" George whispered, glaring at the mask that lay on the floor a few meters away. "It's not your fault-"

"Yes it is!" Dream cried, "I let him possess me George! I didn't know what he would do but I should've said no! He- h-he-" Dream keened, gripping George's shirt. "He used me..."

George wanted to destroy that mask, obliterate it until there was nothing left. But it was indestructible, everyone knew that. He mentally cursed Dreamon with every foul word he knew, Dream shouldn’t have to suffer for that monster’s entertainment.

Dream’s quiet, broken voice whispered out; "...How...how many people did he hurt?"

George’s throat went dry at the question. "A few" he murmured.

Dream’s hands tightened on the back of his shirt, tugging slightly as he hissed; "Don't lie to me George, please don't, not about this."

George clenched his eyes shut, heart breaking even more at Dream’s wrecked, desperate voice. "...Tommy's practically traumatized" George mumbled. "No one trusts you, not anymore...he hurt all of them Dream."

"Tommy's traumatized...?" Dream whispered, horrified. "Shit what did he do to him?"

George shook his head. "I barely know half of it, the kid's fucked up bad, Sam and Puffy are taking care of him though."

"Thank god" Dream mumbled, "they're good people, they'll look after him."

George hesitated, running a hand over dream’s back again . "Can...can I ask you something?"

"You know you can ask me anything." There was the Dream he knew, genuinely kind-hearted and not the twisted pretense Dreamon had.

George tried to figure out the best way to say it. “Do you...see what he does? Can you see out of your eyes when he's possessing you?"

Dream visibly winced, curling further into George’s chest.

George quickly rushed to reassure the boy. "You don't have to answer, I know you don't like talking about it-"

"I see fragments" Dream cut across George's apologetic rambling, his voice low and tired. "It's like I'm seeing flashes of the outside world while I'm stuck in a box."

"That...sounds horrible."

"I got used to it after the first few weeks" Dream hugged George a little bit tighter subconsciously. "The most recurring visions were explosions, TNT going off in varying quantities, I remember Tommy being there for the majority of them."

George nodded, squeezing Dream gently.

"He let me see more sometimes, it was like he was taunting me, knowing I couldn't do anything to escape. I saw you, and Sapnap, and Bad. But he only let me see you guys when you were angry or upset. He knows how much I care about you all, it was a way of him letting me know he was in control. He let me know I couldn't help you guys...that I was trapped."

George's heart broke. Gods, how long had it been since that thing had actually let Dream be free of it's grip.

"I'm so sorry Dream" he whispered, "I should've done something."

"Please don't blame yourself," Dream begged him quietly. “Dreamon is my problem.”

"And you're my friend" George argued, pushing Dream back a little to look him in the eyes. "Whenever I had a problem, you always helped me, whether I asked for it or not."

George's vision swam as tears budded in the edges of his eyes. He took in a shaky breath, gripping Dream's shoulders. "I’m going to find a way to free you, I swear, I’ll get Sapnap, and Karl, and Quackity, we’ll get him out- Dream I promise you."

Dream stared at George, eyes widening. "George I-" He suddenly choked, hands shooting up to grip at his hair.

George startled at the sudden outburst. "Dream are you okay-?"

"Fuck- no not again-" Dream whimpered, pushing George away, "-a few more minutes, please, I can't go back- I can’t-"

George swung round to look at the mask. The eyes were glowing green. "Dream you have to fight him" George looked back at his friend, trying to take the boy's hands from his hair.

"I c-can't- George" Dream looked up at him with eyes full of tears and fear. "I'm sorry..."

He suddenly twisted away from George and slammed his fists into the floor, letting out a choked cry. Panic gripped George as he scrambled up, clenching his fists into his hair.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" George turned to the lava wall quickly, rushing as close to it as he dared. "SAM!" He screamed. "SAM! DREAM NEEDS HELP! SAM-!"

A hand locked around his throat, cutting off his desperate yells and making him choke. He was lifted a few centimeters off the floor, his legs kicking out at the air dangerously close to singeing himself on the lava.

A low chuckle made George’s heart drop. "Aww Georgie."

Oh gods no.

"You really do care about that psychopath don't you?"

"Not- a- psychopath-" George bit out through short breaths, "he's my friend-"

He was lowered a bit and he felt Dream's chin rest on his shoulder.

"He's mine now George" it growled, his hand squeezing George’s throat tighter causing gasp for air to grow more desperate. "He's my puppet, and there's nothing you can do to save him."

It threw George across the cell. The man struck the wall with such force his breath was completely knocked out of him. He slid down to the floor, head pounding and pain scorching across his back. His breaths were wheezy and his throat burned every time he tried to inhale, tears stung his eyes painfully. What made it even worse was that he couldn't even move.

Dream went over to his mask, picking it up and sliding it over his face. George briefly caught the illuminated green eyes watching him coyly.

It made Dream wave at George then he stepped towards the lava wall. "SAM!" He called. "GEORGE WANTS TO LEAVE NOW!"

"N-No Dream-" George rasped, his voice barely able to be heard. His throat was on fucking fire.

The lava walls were lowering rapidly, having already started after George's previous yells. Dream strolled over to George, grabbing his arm roughly and dragging him towards the lava.

"You- c-can't keep- him under f-forever" George tried to sound strong but with a shaking voice that was barely a whisper and laced with pain and fear, it only made Dream chuckle.

"Oh? Who's gonna stop me George? You? Sapnap? Bad?"

Talking was scorching his throat, overwhelming but he tried to push out his threat. "W-We all will- I'll get everyone on the server- to fight you-"

Dreamon laughed. "Now that is funny, if I remember correctly, you said that no one trusts Dream anymore, and even if you did somehow manage to convince everyone to fight me, you'd only kill Dream. He's on his last life George, and I live within an indestructible mask."

He dropped George by the lowering wall of lava. "Now you run along home, and don't worry, I'll take very good care of Dream."

George wanted to punch that mask right between the eyes. But he was still struggling to move, let alone breathe, his throat felt like sandpaper.

"You're a monster" he wheezed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Dream chuckled again, shifting away. "Of course I am George, I thought that was obvious." He raised his voice a bit, waving to the man on the other side of the lava lake. “Samuel! I think George needs some help getting back over!”

George turned his gaze to Sam who was holding his trident readily, eyes locked to Dream. “Stay on the wall Dream!” he ordered sharply.

Dream raised his hands, “I know, I know.”

The platform approached the cell, Sam on top of it and looking more than ready to fight should he need to. He stepped off, holding a hand out to George who could barely raise his own to take it. Concern filled Sam’s eyes as he gently hauled George up, the worry amplifying at George’s small whimper when Sam pulled the boy to his side. The pair stepped onto the platform, being carried to the other side of the lava lake. Dream waved lazily as the lava sank again, hiding the man from view.

“George what happened?” Sam turned the younger to face him, taking in the boy’s red throat and developing bruises.

George’s eyes filled with tears as he vehemently shook his head. “D-Dream-” his voice broke and he whimpered at the pain shooting through his throat.

Sam bit his lip behind the gas mask. “Shhh, don’t talk, I’ll find a potion to help with your throat-”

George wrapped his arms around Sam, pushing his face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry” he whimpered. “I- I just need a minute-”

Sam’s tough exterior cracked right down the middle. Screw being the warden, George needed him right now. He held the boy close, cradling his head and running a hand up and down the boy’s back, feeling slight bumps from developing bruises.

“You can tell me later, rest your throat for now George” he murmured, “take as much time as you need.”

George’s lower lip trembled and he held Sam tight, sobs wracking his shoulders and making his throat sear with pain. They stood in front of the lava for far longer than a minute, George crying into Sam’s chest and the warden holding him tenderly.

Dreamon smiled to himself within the cell, hearing Dream yell and cry out at him for attacking George.

“You see what happens when you ask for help Dream?” He asked quietly, “people you care about get hurt, do them a favour and stay quiet, maybe then you won’t be such an inconvenience to them all.”

Dream’s fiery spirit dimmed, shrinking back at the Dreamon’s words. You're wrong he whispered, voice borderline desperate.

“You know I’m not” Dreamon purred, “They all get so annoyed with your issues Dream, this is one of them, how much do you think they’re willing to put up with?”

Dream’s spirit faded again. George said….

“He lied,” Dreamon murmured, soft and reassuring. “I’m the only one who cares about you Dream.”

The spirit flickered and recessed, soft whimpers echoing in the headspace. Dreamon smirked. “Don’t worry Dream, I won’t leave you.”

#mcyt #dsmp #my fanfic #fanfic #awesamdude #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dreamon #angsty time boys >:)#i am in spain without the s

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pillow-anime-talk · 4 years

Text

pretty & bitchy.

request ; @wrinkledoldbat: hi! Its very nice to see you again! i really liked the headcanons from when i first requested so i was wondering if i could request something else this time. jason & haizaki (knb) & aone (haikyuu) with a bad bit*h s/o who is really clingy to be exact. you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to and, as always, have a nice week ❤

# tags: headcanons; current relationship; romance; light!comedy; some fluff; swearing; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. jason silver & shougo hizaki {knb} + takanobu aone {hq!!}

author’s note: thank you so much for this request! have a nice week too!!

— JASON

↘ Imagine a guy who is impetuous, too powerful and mean to people around him.

↘ Now imagine the same, but in a slightly smaller and lower version.

↘ And *BOOM*. We have you and your boyfriend – literally the most dangerous couple in whole America. Not only your big man spread terror on the court, but also you insults the opposing team as a fan. We stan.

↘ If something bad is happening to you, Jason comes to the rescue by sending people to the hospital. If someone’s hitting on your basketball boyfriend, you almost scratch the eyes of jealous, little whores. I think every basketball court knows you two, not only because Jason is in Nash’s basket squad, but simply because when trouble happens, one of you or both of you is there.

↘ Imagine, for example, a moment where two of you decide to go for a walk, because you’ve finally taken Silver somewhere further than the kitchen or bathroom in your apartment. You and him pass one of the basketball courts and suddenly hear some boyish voices who invited your beloved to play with them. You sigh loudly, but after all decide to go on the court with your man. You know perfectly well that the game will be over quickly anyway, so you’ll still have some time to date before it gets dark.

↘ As you thought, it happens. Jason scores points very fast, thereby he and his one-time ‘team’ winning. You already want to go over to him and drag him to the store for something sweet, but you see that he’s surrounded by some nasty bitches who praise his game and appearance. Your body boils and your shiny eyes tighten into a narrow line. Jason can feel your bloodlust and anger on the back of his sweaty neck. He tries to leave, but you are faster. You approach him with a smiling expression on your face and ask the three girls if you can help them.

↘ “Huh? We’re not talking to you, ugly. Better get out of here. Can’t you see that I’m talking to this handsome guy?”

↘ A few simple sentences were enough to make you laugh out loud and then smile again at the blonde, who soon found herself on a dirty court with your own hand entwined in her hair. “Repeat what you said, slut. He isn’t your close friend or something, but my boyfriend, and you have no rights to speak towards him. You understand, u-g-l-y?”

↘ Needless to say, shortly after that, your boyfriend’s huge, warm hand was on your head, and his calm, though slightly tired voice reached your ears, informing you that if you still paid attention to trashes you would miss the closing time of the store.

↘ So as quickly as possible you let go of her blonde hair and stood on your feet, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the store.

↘ As always, Jason was impressed by your sudden behavior change and the lovely smile you show him when you talked about what flavors of dessert you would buy.

— SHOUGO

↘ You two met in the last year of Junior High School, when you moved to Japan and decided to finish your education at the nearest school – Teikou Junior High.

↘ You gained fame immediately because of your behavior and lack of respect towards other people; no matter if they were your classmates, senpais, younger grades or even teachers. You just always thought that respect must be earned and the only people you spoke to politely were your relatives like parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles and aunts.

↘ Of course, Haizaki took an instant interest in you. After all, who wouldn’t be interested in someone who practically stole his position in school and at the same time still being in the ‘top five’ of the highest exam scores every time? Like, what the fuck.

↘ That’s why one time he came to you during lunch break and sat down next to you, introducing himself. He also asked for your name, but you just raised an eyebrow and smiled ironically.

↘ “I don’t think you need it for happiness.”

↘ Oh, wow. He was so impressed.

↘ But he also didn’t give up and approached you more and more often until you gave him your name and agreed to go for a walk with him (which he kept calling it a date ‘cause he was an idiot, wbk).

↘ He was the first to fall in love, of course, and he was the first who tell you about his feelings you. You accepted them after a few long days. At the same time, Shougo noticed your warm smile and little blush on both cheeks for the first time.

↘ As the days passed, he also noticed that you are only kind and honest with him; you smiled, sometimes joked, sat on his lap, and even grabbed his hand while you both walked at the school corridors. Haizaki thought you would stay with ‘this’ personality, but he was wrong. So wrong.

↘ One time, a younger student ran into you and poured cold orange juice over your whole, white uniform. Your boyfriend was again impressed with how quickly your behavior from polite and cheerful towards him turned to full of contempt and anger at your kouhai, who apologized profusely when you pushed him against the wall next to the three of you.

↘ Although Haizaki himself had fought with other students more than once, he personally didn’t want you to end up at the headmaster’s carpet and get a reprimand. So he took off his white school uniform jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

↘ “C’mon babe, I’ll help you to wipe this shit off.” He said in an amused voice that meant much more than helping to wash your shirt.

— TAKANOBU

↘ Your boyfriend is really, really, really glad to have someone like you.

↘ I mean, look. You’re so warm to him, you always understand him without words, you praise him all the time, you are very understanding, you always support him during training and matches... In addition, you make delicious cookies and cocktails that Aone simply ADORES.

↘ But there must have come a day when your boyfriend noticed how you are towards people who don’t respect you or your loved ones.

↘ Of course you have never hidden your temperament and personality from Takanobu, you just haven’t had the opportunity to show it yet. That’s all.

↘ But that day has come.

↘ And it was before match between Date Tech High and another volleyball team. You apologized to your boyfriend and go to the public toilet. Meanwhile, he stayed with the squad talking about the upcoming game. Or rather, he listened to others who spoke.

↘ After you took care of your needs and washed your hands, you left the bathroom. In the same moment, you accidentally overheard an opposing team’s conversation, which unfortunately insulted Date Kougyou Koukou.

↘ “... Hey, I’m sorry, I overheard you talking about the second team. Are they really that bad at volleyball? I’m just curious.” You smiled as you walked over to two tall boys. Both of them immediately smirked to you, confirming your words. “Why?”

↘ “Hmm. They have very good defense, but their team play and serves are weak. Plus they’re scary and a bit ugly. Their captain is nothing out of the ordinary and the middle blocker seems to stand out from the rest group. I mean, does he says anything? I don’t think so. No ladies will want him if he doesn’t say a word. Don’t you think? Anyway, cutie. If you don’t know what team you wanna support today, then come to our grandstand. After the game, we could...”

↘ You didn’t let the boy finish his sentence because your knee landed on his crotch and your hand landed in his dark-brown curls. You pushed him against the wall, still smiling as warmly as you did a moment ago. “Are you done with your fucking craps, prick?”

↘ “H-Hey! It’s hurts!”

↘ “You are fucking shit, you know? All of you don’t know this team at all. You’ve never played a game against them, but you act like you’re the smartest in the world. Oh, it’s so funny. Do you think only their block is good? Boy, believe me, their serves will break your arms, so you’d better prepare for it. Also, stop lying about their captain because he’s great and leads the team well unlike you because I can see you have no idea about respect for other players, stupid ass.” You tightened your hand on the dark hair once again, pulling the boy down so that he knelt on his knees in front of you. “And if I hear any pathetic shit about my boyfriend again, I’ll tear your fucking hair out, understand?” The boy nodded, so you let him go and turned around, adjusting your shirt. “Great. So, good luck, guys.”

↘ Aone and the rest of the team will probably remember this moment for the rest of their lives.

↘ It was even hot.

↘ But however, at the same time, they decided that someone will always go to the bathroom or anywhere else with you so. They just don’t want you to get into trouble. Aone really cares about you and doesn’t want you to get hurt. He’s baby. Overprotective baby.

#— 🍓#knb #knb headcanons #knb x reader #kuroko no basket headcanons #kuroko no basket #kuroko no basket x reader #jason silver #jason silver x reader #haizaki shougo #haizaki shougo x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #aone takanobu #aone takanobu headcanons #aone takanobu x reader

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whatzaoverwatch · 4 years

Text

Be My Valentine (Ko-fi request)

Hi love! Your writing is a m a z I n g and I just *had* to do this. I mean??? Support you AND get writing??? Heck yes??? So yeah, Reaper x Reader (Name: Valentine) angst-to-fluff where neither of them knew that the other survived the Fall but meet again? Maybe??? Please?

I am??? In tears??? That people still want to support me. You guys are the goat and I love each and everyone of you! I am so SO sorry this took eons to make I feel like garbage for sending it as late as it is. Hopefully it is to your liking. I would promote my Ko-fi to open for more but I don’t want to make you wait several months for the result.

“Intruders have been spotted in sector A. Take your assigned positions!”

Your earpiece shouted commands left and right every five minutes. It was a hassle to make it to your assigned mark without the sounds of gunfire in your path. The troops armed themselves for the sudden ambush that invaded the night. No one saw it coming, the base had been compromised from the inside and out. You could already hear disconnecting communicators over the gunfire. Everyone was falling one by one. All falling to the hands of Talon.

You knew nothing good would come out of that distress signal that Overwatch sent out. A message from one of the strike teams remaining scientists. What he wasn’t aware of was the danger he put former agents would be in if their locations got into the wrong hands. Days prior you had received word that some of your former comrades had been killed. All slaughtered one by one by their exposed locations. It was devastating, to say the least. So, it was no surprise that they would be coming after you next.

The legacy of your old team was being torn apart by the hands of the enemy. What would the other commanders think to see their most beloved agents die by these conditions. You knew Reyes would be disappointed to find out you were being cornered like a rat in a maze. But he wasn’t around anymore to lecture you now, was he?

Starting off as just a rookie agent, you managed to have a place in the Blackwatch Commanders heart overtime. No matter the arguments or the bickering, he could depend on you to get the job done. You were one the few remaining agents from his team. Having no clue as to where McCree or Shimada ended up after the suspension, you were relocated away from the Swiss base before hell really broke loose.

No farewell was provided from Reyes that morning. Just a silent flight to a whole new operation. When you discovered that Overwatch was destroyed, you felt empty for weeks. All that you once were, was gone. Five years of silence since Overwatch fell; five years you grieved from the loss of the only home you knew. But those tears have long been shed. Right now, you had to fight against an old enemy from the ties that bit you in the back.

“Valentine?! Snap out of it! We’ve got company!”

Your thoughts down memory lane were diminished by the shouts and explosions. Hearing the cracks of a shotgun go off in the distance. They sounded so familiar, but you couldn’t focus on that now. Grabbing your weapon, you aligned yourself against the barrier that kept you and a few comrades safe. You had no idea what was coming, but you damn well knew you were going to fight till the bitter end. Peeking out for a shot, you found that nothing was coming towards your formation. The shots all fell silent around you. It became quiet, almost too quiet.

The barricade was holding you and a few other soldiers in. Some were injured with blood staining their uniforms. You could only hear your steady breath from the cold night air. Awaiting the target that had trapped your comrades. Focusing, easing your beating heart that rang in your ears. You noticed a faded smoke start to form against the floor, cloaking the metallic ground with a sense of dread. Was your mind playing tricks on your adrenaline state? Your train of thought was gripped by the sound of a gravely voice.

“Death comes for all.”

Snapping your gaze over to find your allies were at gunpoint. A man dressed in a hooded black cloak loomed over your remaining friends. His hollow eyes from his white mask showing no mercy to the fear and terror in their expression. Motionless as the large shotgun pointed right at their faces. Why weren’t they moving? You questioned, seeing their bodies shake as if they were renouncing every prayer they ever knew. If they don’t act quickly, they will fall just like everyone else.

“NO!” Your shout hesitated the first shot. Opening yourself to push the figures line of fire just away from his targets position. The group trembled as you struggled against the hooded mans strength. Ignoring the masks fixation upon your face to cry out to your allies, “RUN!”

The troops took off, not having to be ordered twice by your sudden courage. Escaping while they could as you kept the man from taking his shots. You could hear a sinister growl rumble from the figure. His prey was now gone, and you were next on the list.

“You will regret that.” The man hissed through his mask.

He swung his arm to toss you onto the floor. A grunt escaped you upon impact. You struggled to prop yourself up before he could direct his aim at his new target. It was no wonder your comrades trembled before him, he reeked of death from his aura. From the mask, to the guns, to that raspy voice that reminded you all too much of your fallen commander. As if he mocked you from the grave, if only he could see you now. No, this isn’t where you fall, you thought, it’s time to stand and fight!

Getting up from your feet, you aimed your weapon directly at the figure. He didn’t seem to flinch at your stance, he didn’t even raise his own weapon. Was he testing you? Calling your bluff? Pulling the trigger, the fire landed to his shoulder. That is, it would’ve if his shoulder didn’t form into smoke. A chuckle suddenly escaped the figure as he stepped forward.

“Is that all you got?” He questioned, brushing his clawed hand against his collarbone as if dust coated his armour. Stepping forward, you aligned the shot again.

“Back off!” You barked between every fire.

One. Two. Three. Four. You lost count on how many times you pulled that trigger. But no matter where you aimed, smoke would just let it go through his form. Soon you could only hear the clicking of your empty gun. Eyes wide as the masked man was just a foot away from you. Not phased and possibly bored of your sudden barrage.

“Is it sinking in yet, Val?” You felt your heart sink the moment he spewed out that familiar nickname.

The infliction, the tone of it, it was the one thing that stuck to you from your former commander. The wave of powerless drive you felt every time he pinned you during combat. That glare he gave when he was disappointed in your performance. When he would tease you during missions and when to cheer you up. It was all coming back to you. The question was: why the hell was this man saying your nickname? Only he called you that, much to your dismay. But he was dead…or was he?

“Who the hell are you?” You demanded, a waver of fear etching your tone.

Your question was only met with his forearm pinning you against the wall. Weapons dropped as you struggled against his strength. Gasping for air from the knock back as you are met with the darkness in the figure’s eyes. You could hear his breath against the mask as he kept you still. Struggling to escape, you felt his body shake from a deep laugh.

“Just a ghost from your past. Here I thought all this time that you were dead. Now look at you,” He hissed, pressing you up further against the wall to keep you from squirming, “Hiding away like a shadow in a storm. I knew it was bullshit when Jack told me you went MIA.”

“…Gabe?” You managed to croak out, feeling his body stiffen at the name. Pulling back away from you, you watched him avoid your eyes of disbelief.

There was no denying it, this was your old commander. The one you had mourned five years ago for. Hiding away in a form of death and despair. Your body felt heavy, shaking as you caught your breath. You didn’t know when you started to cry, but the sting of the tears upon your cheeks was aching your heart.

“Val…I’m not your commander anymore. I’m-“He was clearly having a hard time responding, but any of his words were cut short by your hands pushing him away. Hitting him again and again out of fury.

“YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH HOW DARE YOU!” You screamed, cursing him out with all the energy you had, “HOW DARE YOU COME BACK ALL THIS TIME. I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, I thought…DAMMIT!”

The anger built from so long suddenly coming to fruition. He didn’t move nor kept you from lashing out at him, knowing he was just as guilty on his part. The strikes becoming weaker overtime until you could feel your weight. Vision completely blurred from the tears that puffed your face. Choked sobs met with silence, the stoic facade you built in shambles from the face of your past. After a moment, you felt him pull you gently away, feeling a cold claw brush away the tears that rolled down your cheek. The same comfort he would once give all those years ago.

“You have every right to be angry with me Val, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’m not who I used to be,” He confessed, a tone of sadness in his voice that almost sounded foreign to hear again, “When I heard Talon was targeting you next, I almost couldn’t believe it. I needed to see you for myself before they would find you.”

“Talon?” You finished wiping away the tears, collecting yourself as he spoke. Turning to face him at what he could be implying, “Gabe, what have you been doing?”

Before he could answer, the sound of static could be heard from your earpiece. The sound of footsteps and commands echoed in the distance. Turning to the sounds, you felt the smoke around Gabriel's form beginning to stir. By the sound of the voices, he didn’t come alone.

“You need to go, now,” He informed you, giving you no time to ask him anything else, “The cleanup crew hardly ever picks up after me, but I’m sure as hell not letting them see you.”

“Reyes wait!” Trying to stop him from pushing you away again. You couldn’t help but straighten up when he faced you once again.

“Come on Valentine, I taught you how to escape situations like this. Don’t tell me you forget all of that in the past five years,” The faintness of his old self could be heard behind that mask. Beginning the vanish before you in a cloud of smoke, “I’ll find you and I won’t take another five years to do it.”

Watching as he faded away from you once more, you were left with a heap of questions waiting to be answered. But now wasn’t the time to reminisce or figure that out. Right now, you needed to show him that you were the same Valentine as before. Picking up your weapon, you began to run. In hopes that everyone else was safe, your escape was priority. Running through the night as the hooded Reaper watched you leave from the shadows.

#Overwatch #overwatch scenarios #overwatch x reader #Reaper #gabriel reyes #gabriel reyes x reader #reaper x reader #overwatch imagines

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

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dings a rinky triangle right next to your head Hi guys, it's fic time! I actually put this up last night but I'm telling you right now. It's had a few hours to cool, like a pie out of the oven, but made of words. This chapter will actually contain mentions of ssssself harm, so viewer beware, i guess.

His world stays dark, even though he knows he’s opened his eyes. He tries to understand that, brain feeling foggy. He must be somewhere dark. He’s laying on his back. He can hear muffled voices, maybe, over him? He’s under something. He lays there, listening, but he’s too tired to even try to understand, and the voices are too muffled to be anything recognizable. Maybe, if he really strains, he can hear a familiar voice, or someone who sounds like his baby sister, but the only word he manages to understand is “invisible.”

He falls back into a restless sleep.

The next time he’s able to shake exhaustion from his mind, he tries to sit up. It’s easier than he thought it might be. This time, more aware of himself, his body feeling less destroyed, he actually tries to understand where he is. It feels like he’s laying in dirt, or under dirt, in a mountain of it, the usual soft scent of freshly turned earth overpowering. It still hurts to move, but he forces himself to, clawing upwards, through the dirt, until he reaches a wooden plank, which he goes through, like he’s not even there.

It’s a box, containing something foul smelling. A coffin… he’s inside a coffin. Juno buried him below a pine box, in someone else’s grave. The inside of it stinks, like decay and chemicals, and he doesn’t stop to take in whoever this used to be, just pushes up, and out, until he emerges from the ground like a zombie, like Night of the Living Dead. The ground around him is grown over with grass, and he grabs at it, using it as much as he can, as he crawls from someone’s grave, until finally, he pulls himself free from the earth, and lays there, taking breaths he doesn’t need, to clear the smell of the body from his nose. His suit and trench coat are filthy, but that barely registers, at this point. There are more important things to worry about, like getting home- He sits up, catches sight of the gravestone.

Emily Deetz Devoted Wife, Beloved Mother “Whom Most We Love Reach First the Golden Gate, Leaving Us Desolate”

He stares at the etching on the stone, and feels something in his mind snap, like a rubber band stretched too tight. He’s seeing the world through a fisheye lens, his vision distorted, blurry, as he tries to understand exactly what just happened. Juno made him crawl out of his own mother’s grave. The body he still reeks of was Emily’s. He sits there, a long time, not feeling much of anything, only able to stare, replaying that memory, over and over, and the only thing that makes him move is the sudden realization of what grass over a grave could mean. Emily’s been buried long enough for it to grow. How long has it been since he’s been home? He does his best to push this fun new trauma down, as far as it will go. He’s got to get back to his family. What’s left of it, he thinks, humorlessly.

He stands, off balance, and wipes some of the dust and dirt from his face, and finds that, annoyingly, his glamour has slipped, and it refuses to reapply. Maybe he’s too drained, though he’s not sure how he’s going to get back home, clearly looking as deranged as he must. He’s too exhausted to teleport, and he wanders around the cemetery, avoiding the few people there as much as he can, as the sun dips low, and vanishes. At least by that point he can force his teeth and ears to resemble normal human’s. The moss and eyes, well, he’s too worn down to care. So he’ll look like an extra grubby hobo, he thinks. That’ll have to be his new look, for now.

He reaches a gate, and leans on it, and then falls through it, and blinks, confused. He’s never been intangible by accident, before. Usually it takes concentration to make his solid form incorporeal. He stands, straightens out his suit collar, adjusts his sleeves, fiddles with his tie, as he thinks. There’s got to be someone around here who can call his family for him, or at the very least, a cab. The cemetery is growing darker, and his attention is drawn to the far off flicker of candles. He feels a pull, and he approaches, taking in what he sees.

It’s a group of five teenagers with an Ouija board. Predictable. He snorts, and expects that sound to alert the kids to his presence, but they don’t even turn to see what the noise could be. He steps closer, until he’s fully illuminated by the glowing ring of candles around them, and he tries to be friendly. “Hey, just a normal livin’ adult human man, in a cemetery, at night, approachin’ a group of children. You kids wanna be helpful an’ call me a cab?” BJ tries, but he’s ignored. The kids don’t even look in his direction. He remembers being a snot nosed teen, but this is a bit much. His blood boils, and he leans down, claps his hands in one of the teen’s faces, and she responds to that, but not in the way he wants. “I think I just felt a cold spot!” she tells her friends. “In front of my face, just now!” “Calm down with that,” a red haired girl shoots her a look. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already having a spiritual experience. Yeah, right.” “No you guys, really!”

“Lookit me,” he interrupts them. The children continue to squabble. His gut clenches. “Look at me!” he demands, storming to the center of the circle, and kicking at their stupid board game. His boot goes through it. They don’t react. Why would they, he realizes, sinking to sit on top of the board.

He’s invisible.

He tries to recall everything Juno had said, as he’d struggled to keep conscious, while impaled. Loneliness. Invisibility, being at the command of the living. Being… forgotten. No, no, NO- His impending freak out is stymied when he feels hands go through him, and he shoots up, hovering over the board game, as the teens below him react. “Oh my god, total cold spot! Should we like, make a note of that?” “Come on, come on, let’s start, while there’s still someone or something here!”

The five teens lean forward, each placing fingers on the planchette. “Is there anyone here?” one of them asks.

Betelgeuse stares, and feels a tug, again, clearly coming from the board. He knows some demons use these things to play with their food, before they eat, so he gives it a go, and floats over the game, head down, feet in the air, like he’s diving underwater. Maybe these kids can actually help him. He pushes the planchette with one finger, to land on “Yes.”

“Did you do that?” one boy asks, and the group devolves into the kids blaming each other, and he rakes his hands down his face, and tries to move the planchette, again, but they’re too busy squabbling, they’re not touching it anymore. Fuck, this is frustrating. He’s never wanted a group of teenagers to drop dead as badly as he does right now. Finally, they put their hands back on the pointer, and ask another question. “Are you friendly?”

This time, he pushes the planchette to spell, instead. “S-U-R-E.” “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence,” the redhead from before mutters. “What do you want?” He nudges the pointer along, painstakingly slow. “H-O-M-E.” “You want to go home?” “YES.”

“For fuck sake, yes,” he groans, and then perks as one asks, “How can we help you?” Well… he’s not actually sure. He squints, trying and failing to recall everything Juno had said. How is he supposed to work with this curse thing, when he doesn’t know the rules? He digs his hands in his pockets, frustrated, and then blinks, because there’s what feels like a business card there, one that he doesn’t remember. He pulls the paper from his pocket, studies it.

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE

He remembers the way Juno had chanted his name, before he’d lost consciousness. That must be it, then. His name is his burden.

“M-Y-N-A-M-E-T-H-R-E-E-T-I-M-E-S”

“Oh, wait, wait, guys, I’ve heard of this,” one of the girls gasps. “Demonic entities, they have you do things in threes, to mock the trinity, you know, father, son, and holy ghost. It’s a demon thing! We might be talking to a non-human spirit!” “That means we can’t trust it, right?” A boy asks, and they all look uneasy. He steers the planchette around the board, desperate. “W-A-N-N-A-H-O-M-E-P-L-Z.” The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Do demons use chat speak?” she asks, glancing around the group.

“O-H-M-Y-G-O-D-U-K-I-D-S-A-R-E-K-I-L-L-I-N-M-E.”

“I’m not afraid. Tell us your name, spirit!” a boy calls, and he gives the planchette a push, intent on spelling it. The pointer doesn’t move. “Come the fuck on!” he growls, but it doesn’t matter how much strength he puts into the action, he can’t move the dinky plastic piece to spell out his name.

“Spirit? You there?”

“F-U-C-K,” he spells out, in a rage, because this is pointless, he’s too exhausted and sore to think of how to make this work, and he just wants to go home, and see what’s left of his family. He growls again, and then snuffs all the candles in the circle, all at once, causing the kids to scream, and scramble, and that, at least, forces a rictus grin from him. He’s always enjoyed the sounds of terror. He leaves the children tripping over themselves in the dark, and decides he’s going to have to make his way home the old fashioned way- floating. At least he doesn’t have to walk, he supposes, tucking his legs under himself, and he floats invisibly out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk, trying to focus on how good it will be to see Lydia and Charles, and not on how they won’t see him, and especially not on how every part of him, physically, emotionally, mentally, is hurting. read the rest over here~ If you're totally lost, I find starting at the beginning of something often makes the middle of something make better sense. So you can start at the very beginning right HERE

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fic #beetlelands fic #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice the musical #my writing #lydia deetz #charles deetz #emily deetz #shorter chapter now to facilitate longer chapter in the future. it is what it is beloveds

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allycryz · 4 years

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WOL Challenge #4: Outrage

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant-focused so not entering/tagging, spoilers for HW and start of ShB

Pairings: Mild Estinien x Haurchefant, Background Haurchefant x Nerys and Haurchefant x Urianger

Rating: G

Summary: Snapshots in Haurchefant’s journey from Knight to Emissary

Mild warnings for other knights taunting him over his parentage

"Next time, I shall fetch our drinks." Haurchefant says, watching Aymeric's slow progress across the floor. Each time he is about to break free and return to their table, someone else hails him. And he cannot help but exchange pleasantries. Darling, infuriating man.

"You are as bad as he," Estinien mutters. "Worse even, because you might abandon us for a pretty smile."

"I would never abandon my friends so!" Haurchefant wears mock indignation to cover his actual indignation. He would never be so rude.

He would at least deliver the drinks before being led away by the pretty smile.

"Politicians both of you," Estinien says. "I do not understand how you know all these people."

"Me? Perish the thought." Haurchefant waves a hand. "I am simply interested in everyone. That is different."

"Hm." Estinien continues to glower. Irritated that of the two friends he has allowed himself to make, one has abandoned them. Haurchefant has tried to remedy that but Estinien is resistant to more connections. Stubborn, darling man.

"Really," he continues. "Give me a blade and shield over politicking. Besides, they are subject to all sorts of scrutiny and I have had enough of that, thank you."

"Fair. You would not like being so circumspect."

"One of these days..." Haurchefant grins. "You are going to learn how not to insult people so often."

"What? How was that an insult?"

"I’m not offended so never you mind. Is the scrutiny why you haven't seduced Aymeric yet?"

At that, the tips of Estinien's ears turn red. "Never you mind that. It is as likely as you becoming a politician."

"On that you are utterly wrong." Haurchefant shakes his head. "He will end up in your bed by year's end but I will always be a knight."

The day he becomes a true knight is the day he swears himself to Ishgard, before Blessed Halone, before the other knights and nobility and his family. To serve his country and The Fury for the rest of his life. To uphold the laws of Ishgard. To protect the weak and defenseless. To serve the Fury’s chosen including the Archbishop and the servants of her church.

For all that they are men now, for all that they all took the same vows, for all that they squired and trained and rose up together; the knights of noble birth treat him as they always have.

“Edmont Oathbreaker,” says one of the Dzemael lordlings. He speaks to three other knights but pitches his voice to be heard across the barracks. “Swore to forsake all others when he took his lady. That lasted until they hired a maid prettier than the Countess.”

Haurchefant continues polishing his armor, keeping the same bland smile upon his face. If he reacts, they will narrow in like wolves scenting blood. And not since he was a boy has he responded to these taunts with fists.

It was this one’s cousin. He thinks, glancing at the lordling with his placid expression. Haurchefant had bloodied Grinnaux’s nose and his father had made him swear never to react so again. But one small victory–Grinnaux treated him with a begrudging respect thereafter.

“Someone should cut his tongue out,” Estinien growls. “And my new dagger needs testing.”

“Peace,” says Haurchefant. “Believe me, I have heard far, far worse.”

“That does not make it right.” And he rises with clear intent in his gaze. Haurchefant clasps his wrist, shaking his head.

“My friend, I am glad to have your loyalty. Will you do me the favor of standing down?”

Estinien looks at him a long moment before sitting down. “Bah! Only nobies care which side of the bed you were born on.”

Darling, fierce man. “I am, despite everything, a noble as well.”

“I don’t hold it against you.” Estinien says in the deadpan way he favors for jokes. And before Haurchefant can laugh, he adds. “You’re twice the knight he is.”

Haurchefant swallows the sudden burst of emotion that forms in his throat. His friend is not given to flattery or platitudes. “That...means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Estinien grunts and returns to his own armor. This time, Haurchefant’s smile is true and genuine. He will do his best to be worthy of such praise.

Artoirel flicks him an acknowledging glance before returning to his papers, writing something in his perfect hand. Of the three sons, he is the only one who takes after their father in neat penmanship.

Standing at attention is still a trial. Who knew the body was so interconnected–that the acts of walking and standing could hurt while your shoulder healed? He has been through far worse pain and manages but...would that he could stand without discomfort.

“Emmanellain acquit himself well at the Melee.” Artoirel says at last, looking up. “Please, have a seat.”

Haurchefant nods and tries not to show his relief as he sits. “He did. I’m quite proud of him.”

“So am I.” A rare, soft expression crosses Artoirel’s face. Haurchefant often misses the cheerful, mischievous older brother who collected beetles and smuggled him toys. It is nice to see him again. “And...I had a notion. But I would like your approval first.”

“My approval? Would you like him to serve under my command then?” If he even can command any time in the next few months. Ser Zephirin’s lance was no common weapon, thus the healing takes an uncommon amount of time.

“Ah.” Artoirel sits up straighter. “That is the thing. It hasn’t escaped my notice that you would like to join up with Mistre-with Nerys. And it occurs to me...Emmanellain needs purpose, needs structure.”

He connects the lines and it is at once terrifying, exciting, infuriating, and thrilling. What can he even say to such a proposal? Words fail him.

“Of course, we would have a long talk with Corentiaux about it. I’ve no doubt he would be the true leader until Emmanellain caught up to speed. And there is the matter of your vows.”

“My vows?” Haurchefant repeats. “...you’re right. I swore myself to Ishgard and The Fury. No, as much as I desire to fight at her side, I cannot break my word to join the Scions. Especially not now.”

Haurchefant is all too aware of the fraught threads connecting everyone and everything. He has to navigate them as Commander, as a noble, as one of the famous bastards of Ishgard. And now–as he watches his country rebuild itself–the networks of Ishgardian alliances and feuds resemble powder kegs more than anything.

Looking up, he continues. “I cannot ask to be released from my vows. Not when Aymeric has just been elected Speaker. We know I support him but we also know some might twist it around. ‘Look, even Greystone thinks the new Ishgard will fail. No wonder he is leaving.’”

“I know. That’s why I have an idea.”

“...Go on.”

Out comes an official document, marked with Artoirel’s own signet ring. Haurchefant reads it over once. Frowns and reads it again. This is...wholly unexpected.

“Is this a promotion or a demotion?”

“Call it a promotion.”

A promotion. From Lord Commander to House Fortemps Emissary to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Charged with protecting the interests of the Wards of House Fortemps; overseeing all negotiations between the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and House Fortemps; strengthening inter-Alliance relationships between Ishgard and the rest of Eorzea.

“Oh Fury,” he says. “You’re turning me into a politician.”

When Estinien comes back, he will never let Haurchefant live this down.

The Ostall Imperative feels like home.

The soldiers take to him and he to them. Captain Lyna is a charming, lovely woman and an excellent training partner. It is far more rewarding than stewing at the Crystarium. Hoping the Exarch brings Nerys soon but also hoping he does not. Would that he had a fraction of her power. Haurchefant might deal with these Lightwardens in her stead.

The Exarch summons him to The Ocular and he dares not hope for...anything, truly. Better to go in with no expectations with this one. He thinks Y’shtola had the right idea, departing as she did.

He is being unkind. He does not like being unkind.

But he also does not like the idea of these souls in peril–Y’shtola, Thancred, his beloved Urianger–and that he may not see Nerys again. Or that he will, only to send her against horrific creatures of light and terror. And what of her soul?

When he sees that it’s Alphinaud, he is beyond unkind. He is furious.

Everything else was bad enough but this is a boy, his family’s ward. One who has wisdom beyond his years and responsibilities equal to those twice his age but still. Alphinaud is just a lad. What if something happens to his soul?

His body may still be in Garlemald!

Haurchefant hugs him fiercely, startling him. Alphinaud makes a faintly strangled noise before returning the embrace. More tightly than he ever has before. Little wonder: when last they saw each other, their ship went down and Haurchefant’s soul left his body.

“You’re...you’re here? But you were…” Alphinaud shakes his head. “Maxima was supposed to bring you home.”

“He did.” He does have the Exarch to thank, for confirming his body made it back to the Rising Stones. “I am in Mor Dhona. And my soul is...here.”

“Of course. My apologies, I am still wrapping my brain about what has happened.”

“If I may interrupt,” the Exarch says. “There are a few things else you should know before we send you to a room and a meal.”

“Before that…” Haurchefant looks up. “Kindly use your powers of sight and tell us how his body fares.”

“It’s alright, friend.” It’s Alphinaud who speaks. Puts a comforting hand on his arm. “The Exarch assures me that my traveling companions are returning my body.”

“Your companions,” he repeats. “Gaius van Baelsar, you mean.”

“You know?”

“The Exarch has kept me informed since my arrival here.” It is one of the constants since his arrival a year prior–asking for updates about his friends and loves still on The Source.

“Yes, I mean Gaius. It’s alright.” Alphinaud walks over to the Exarch. “Pray, continue ser. What else should I know?”

The boy receives the same explanation they all had: what is to come, what they are planning for, where the other Scions are. Haurchefant remains quiet except to add clarifying details here and there. It is far too much for anyone to process but as usual, Alphinaud does admirably. When he is dismissed, the Exarch asks Haurchefant to stay behind.

“How may I be of service?” Haurchefant asks, not quite modulating his tone. Urianger has asked him to trust the Exarch and for him, Haurchefant would do anything. He truly would. But he pictures Alphinaud, collapsed in Garlemald among strangers, and wants to fight through time and space to reach the Source and rescue him. Laws of nature and the universe be damned.

“As I said,” the Exarch says, voice gentle. “Gaius will bring him home.”

“Keep me apprised, if you please. I do not trust the Black Wolf, no matter that he is Ascian Hunter now.” Bending his vows to topple the archbishop had not made Haurchefant love Ishgard any less. Gaius’ alliance is to the Garlean Empire until proven otherwise.

“I have need of you, Lord Haurchefant.” The Exarch inclines his head, one hand over his breast. “You have done great things with my guard. But what I need is to know what type of world we send the Warrior into. We need alliances to ease her way.”

“...Ah.” Haurchefant nods. “You do not need the Knight. You need the Emissary.”

“I need both. You are an honest man because you are a knight. And that is also why you are an excellent emissary–you see people as they are, you discern their motives in order to know if you need to protect your loved ones.”

“You flatter me, ser.”

“I tell the truth,” says the Exarch. “Please, I know this situation is fraught and you want to get home. The more we prepare, the quicker I send you all home safe and sound. She deserves-”

“She deserves everything,” says Haurchefant. “And I would do anything to help her and protect her. If that means playing this role, then yes I will do this for you.”

Beneath the hood, he sees a hint of a smile. “We are in agreement, Lord Haurchefant.”

“If I may...I would like to see to Alphinaud. Shall we discuss this another time?”

“Of course. Tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Haurchefant agrees. Enough time to see to the boy. And then make his farewells to Lyna and the rest of the guard. Being with them is the most himself he has felt in a long while.

He hopes he can return soon.

#ally writes #haurchefant greystone #ffxiv #haurchefant lives #nerys eluned

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whaticannotshowyou · 4 years

Note

I have recently watched Reign (All bow to Mary Queen of Scots!) and the ending made me think, what if when Lambert dies, he wakes up in afterlife in a fluffy bed next to Aiden? And Aiden is all gentle like "I've been waiting for you" and it's all sweet? Even more so if his death was particularly sad/horrifying.

oooh alternative for Lambert dying: he dies drowning after a siren makes him think it's Aiden and lures him in the water, but Geralt saw it and manages to drag him out and performs CPR. Lambert has been death for a few minutes but Geralt kick starts his heart again, which means that he sees Aiden, Aiden kisses him and says "I can wait some more" as Geralt brings him back to life and he wakes up cold and wet on the ground and G doesn't understand why he burst into tears as soon as he wakes up.

God, I love my husband having a sweet ending but I can’t help but torture him... he is just so tired of it all, getting worse and worse the longer he has been without Aiden. Suddenly he hears him again, calling him over. It’s not the first time, but each time he follows, thinking it’s just his imagination once again but too hopeful to ignore the possibility of seeing him just once more. He drowns quickly, barely suffering as he can finally take Aiden’s face between his palms and kiss him as water fills his lungs.

The rest of Kaer Morhen are very much scared for his sake, this time Geralt’s time to seek him out before winter makes the road up the mountain unable to traverse. He hears the call of the siren and splashing of water, can smell Lambert’s gloomy and dark scent lingering around the place, so he runs to catch up. He heaves up the witcher on the shore without issue, grimacing at the way his face is bleeding, scratched and bitten by the siren. But he is not breathing.

In the meantime, Lambert wakes up without pain, his body feeling more rested than it has in decades, centuries perhaps. He opens his eyes and the blinding light makes him wince, but he is not alone. Turning to his side, he can barely make out Aiden’s face as tears fill his eyes. With a gentle smile and a hand to his cheek, Aiden kisses him on his lips so very mildly. “Oh, your face, love...” Lambert can feel the blood running down his skin, but can’t feel the pin, the sting his beloved’s hand should inflict upon touching his wounds. He doesn’t care, instead he leans back up for another kiss.

Thumbs dry away his tears, Aiden begging him to stop crying. “We don’t have time for that, Lambert. Only happiness.” Lambert doesn’t ponder upon what he says, just relishing in the feel of his touch, smiling and taking in the sight of his face once more. The cat shows no pain when he leans down to kiss him one last time, pulling back to hold his hand. “I can wait some more,” he whispers and then he is so far away. There is no motion, but he is out of reach, yet his hand is till touching Lambert’s. Terror fills his entire being as the witcher grasps desperately to stay with his loved one, screaming his name and trying so very hard to just move, to sprint across the endless expanse between the two. But he can’t. Instead he is suddenly hacking up his lungs, cold enveloping him and freezing him to his bones.

Geralt lets out a sigh as Lambert’s heart kickstarts, watching his brother struggle for his breath as he coughs up murky water from the lake. Geralt helps as good as he can, only sitting back when Lambert is drawing in ragged lungfuls of air, eyes desperately searching for... something. With a smile, Geralt starts up his speech, telling him he is too good of a witcher to fall for a siren’s song, that he needs to get himself together so they can leave for kaer morhen as soon as possible. Except he cuts himself off when his brother bursts into tears, trembling and curling in on himself as tears roll down his face.

#answer #sft

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

Just Breathe

A little Ever After (1998) crossover because I am a SLUT for the Renaissance Aesthetic and also for Drew Barrymore and Dougray Scott’s performances.

This one’s for you, @221bsunsettowers and @thecomfortofoldstorries

tw: mentions of past abuse, forced servitude

---

“Friends and honored guests, it gives us great pleasure, on this festive occasion, to not only honor Signore Vesemir...who seems to have disappeared; but also to tell you of a long-awaited decision,” the King began his announcement.

At the back of the party, gossamer wings spread wide behind his shoulders and sparkling blue eyes surrounded by rhinestones, Jaskier stood in terrified silence. This was the big moment. The one where he would bare his soul and his true status in life to Geralt. Hopefully his sweet, caring, introspective Prince would be able to accept him. To love him still, despite his position in life.

“Breathe,” he told himself quietly, “Just breathe.”

“It is my great privilege to announce the engagement of my son, Prince Geralt, to-”

But Geralt cut his Father off, stepping forward and away from the dais where the royal family had been standing. He rushed down the short staircase and across the red velvet carpet to where his darling Julian awaited, his hand outstretched and his breathing shallow. “My Father said you were getting married.”

“He was misinformed.”

“Then you are not engaged?” the Prince gasped, beaming. The servant in noble’s clothing shook his head and laughed wetly.

“No, I’m not.”

“I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”

Geralt had assumed that the watery-eyed smile Julian gave him in reply was one of happiness, or else he would have stopped right then and asked the younger man what was wrong. He would have saved them both the heartache of the following hour. The following week. The following month, even.

But the eager Prince was too absorbed in his own excitement; he didn’t stop to ask. He only saw his ethereal love, his Julian, wrapped in the white silk-and-velvet doublet. He saw the lace at the Viscount’s neck and wrists, so teasingly sweet, and the delicate pearl buttons that ran along his wrists and throat. He saw the matching white velvet breeches fastened below Jaskier’s knees, holding up a pair of fine silk stockings. On his beloved’s feet were a pair of embroidered blue-and-white dancing slippers in an old style; the style of Julian’s parents, probably.

“I’ve even invited the troubadours,” Geralt smiled, gesturing at the colorful troupe of guests off to one side.

“That’s lovely, Geralt, but I need to speak with you for a moment before anything else transpires.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is yes!”

“Wait-”

Geralt took the man he hoped to marry by one trembling hand and led him back up to the dais without letting him finish his sentence. Surely the Viscount was shaking with excitement. Surely the willowy brunette knew that Geralt intended to wed him and make him Consort. Didn’t he?

Yet when the handsome Prince looked down into the Viscount’s eyes he saw only raw terror and guilt building there. Like a terrible blue wave about to knock him off his feet. The horror hit full-bore when, a moment later, the Baroness Marx grabbed hold of Julian’s left wing and ripped it from his doublet, throwing the torn gossamer appendage to the ground and stomping on it with her expensive leather dancing shoes. Jaskier cringed; Vesemir would be heartbroken.

“Madame, contain yourself!” the Prince demanded. The Baroness wilted under his glare but only barely.

“He is an imposter, Your Highness. His name is Jaskier Pankratz and he has been a servant in my household for ten years!”

Everyone froze. Jaskier’s heart stopped beating entirely, he was sure.

“Julian,” Geralt swallowed thickly, his golden gaze turning to his one true love. “Tell them the truth. Tell them…”

“He is a devious, grasping little pretender and it is my duty to reveal his lies to you, Your Majesties,” the Baroness continued her speech, curtseying deeply, still standing atop Jaskier’s crushed wing. “I am sorry that he forced me to reveal it so publicly, but I couldn’t let you make so grievous a mistake, Your Highness.”

“Julian?” Geralt whispered. His voice was hoarse and low. Disappointed and tinged with anger. “Please?”

“It’s true,” Jaskier sniffed. A pair of twin tears made their way slowly down over his grimacing cheeks, dropping to the carpet below. “Julian de Lettenhove was my Father. I am what she says.”

“The apple,” Geralt realized. “That was you?”

“I can explain!”

The King interrupted with a growled, “Well someone had better.”

“First you’re engaged…” Geralt breathed carefully, still trying to control his boiling fury. “And now you’re a servant?”

“Geralt, please!”

A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd and the Prince’s posture tightened visibly. His body language changed entirely in the span of a second; he pulled away from Jaskier and straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin to glare down the length of his nose. The younger man flinched back as if struck, the wing still attached to his doublet shuddered and shimmered in the air.

“Do not address me so informal, monsieur. I am the Prince of Kaedwen and you...you are just like them.”

Jaskier heard the impossibly loud crack of his heart shattering to pieces in his chest. He gasped sharply, feeling an ice-like stabbing sensation echo through his ribcage, and backed away from the dais slowly. His feet tangled with each other when he tried to turn around and he dropped to his hands and knees with a cry. Geralt jerked instinctively as if he was going to help him up but caught himself just in time, going still as stone.

His eyes were still narrowed and his nostrils flared with righteous fury. He couldn’t believe that Julian...that Jaskier would lie to him. The man who rescued him from troubadour bandits and spoken to him openly about philosophy and went swimming in his underclothes in the wilds of Kaedwen and debated life and love with a famous artist as easily as breathing…

The Prince watched as the thin brunette struggled back to his feet and took off at a sprint for the exit. His sobs echoed across the open-air dance floor and filled the torchlit space with the sound of pure anguish. The troubadours were looking on with open disgust written across their features. Just as Geralt was about to break down and go after Jul-Jaskier, the Baroness’s hand closed around his upper arm like the cold iron of a manacle.

“Such a sad day, Your Highness,” she sighed.

Geralt could only nod and wrench his arm away, turning and running in the opposite direction as quickly as his legs would take him. He needed a moment alone.

---

“He is your match, Geralt,” the artist argued. He gestured in the direction of the Baroness’s estate and glowered at the Prince, who sat crouched in the castle shadows, hiding from his Father’s wrath. “Do you have any idea what that boy went through to get here tonight?”

“He lied to me.”

“He came here to tell you the truth,” Vesemir snapped. Geralt looked up; he’d never heard the old man sound so angry before. His thick grey eyebrows were drawn together and his tone was thunderous and low as he spoke again, “He went through Hell to come here. He was beaten. He was whipped. He was locked in a root cellar by that horrible Marx woman and you fed him to the fucking wolves.”

“You walk on water and you make flying machines, yet you know nothing about real life,” the Prince replied. He suddenly remembered last week, when he’d tried to hug Jaskier and the boy had cried out. It wasn’t surprise; it was pain. Jaskier had been...he’d been in so much pain and Geralt had been waxing poetic about politics and love and...Jaskier had suffered to be with Geralt. And what the Prince done in return?

“I know that a life without love,” Vesemir sighed, placing Jaskier’s lost shoe in the Prince’s line of sight. “Is no life at all.”

The old man wandered away, whistling a familiar song as he went. It was the song Jaskier had composed for him in the woods that day, as they’d ridden back to the Marx estate with the rescued painting. Geralt shook his head to clear it; this wasn’t the time for reminiscing.

He had to pledge his heart to the Princess of Redania. He had to do what all Princes had to do: give up their dreams in the name of their country.

---

Geralt burst from the side of the church and ended up running directly into Jaskier’s step-sister, Margaret. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Margaret raised an eyebrow.

“Jaskier, where is he?” Geralt begged. Margaret shook her head sadly and filled the Prince in on everything that had happened over the past few days. At last the royal pulled away, his face twisted in guilt and pain, “Sold?”

“The Baroness didn’t want him around distracting you in case you came to propose to Valdo, Your Highness.”

“Speak of this to no one,” Geralt begged. “And you shall be greatly rewarded. Jaskier spoke kindly of you, Lady Margaret.”

“As well he spoke of you,” she replied. The affirmation of Jaskier’s seemingly endless trust in him only served to pierce Geralt’s heart further; he had betrayed the only man he’d ever loved. He really had fed him to the wolves. And the wolves had sold him to a fucking weasel.

---

Geralt rode up to Count DeStael’s manor and was shocked to find Jaskier already making his way through the garbage-scattered courtyard. He looked completely different than when Geralt had seen him last; or ever. The noble’s clothes were gone. The pearl-knit snood was absent. The velvet doublets and high leather boots were absent. The air of easy confidence that usually swirled around him was also gone. Making his way slowly across the dirty yard in only a tattered blue chemise and dirty brown trousers, a pair of cheap leather slippers laced around his feet and dirt smeared across his face, Jaskier looked incredibly small and fragile.

He somehow managed to shrink even further in on himself when he glanced up at last and set eyes on the Prince. “Hello,” Geralt greeted, swinging down off his horse to approach.

“Hello.”

There was a pregnant pause before Jaskier spoke again.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to rescue you,” the Prince admitted.

“Rescue me?” Jaskier scoffed, stepping past Geralt, “A commoner?”

“Actually I came to beg your forgiveness,” Geralt blurted. His heart leapt hopefully in his chest when the brunette man paused walking away. Slowly, Jaskier turned back to face him. “I offered you the world and at the first test of honor, I betrayed your trust. Please, Jaskier…”

“Say it again,” Jaskier demanded. Geralt could see that tears had sprung to his eyes. The blue of his irises somehow seemed darker, now.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” the younger man shook his head emphatically. He smiled sadly and sighed, “The part where you said my name.”

Geralt huffed a laugh and stepped carefully forward. Jaskier had every right in the world to reject him right now. He could spit on the Prince’s face and run screaming into the woods and Geralt would want to follow with all his heart, but he wouldn’t. He would let Jaskier go if that was what the other man wanted. But the brunette didn’t move, so Geralt took another careful step. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes closed and his chest lifted with the force of his gasped breath. He had never felt so alive before this moment. Hearing Geralt say his name, his real name, even if it was just this once, was heaven.

Even...even if it was just this once.

Jaskier slowly opened his eyes again and let them settle on the Prince’s face.

Geralt pulled his missing dancing slipper from the back pouch at his belt and held it out as if in offering, “I was actually wondering if you could help me find the owner of this rather remarkable shoe.”

“Where did you find that?” Jaskier asked, his hands fluttering out to touch the rhinestone-studded material of his Father’s antique dancing slipper. He thought it had been lost to him forever in his moment of foolishness, a constant reminder of all the loss he’d ever faced. And here it was, safe and sound with Geralt.

The Prince stepped forward until their chests were nearly touching and began to speak in a low, careful tone. Jaskier heard the love in every syllable, “He is my match in every way. Please tell me I have not lost him.”

“It belongs to a peasant, Your Highness,” the servant bit his lip and turned away, stepping over to the low stone wall and leaning heavily against it. He couldn’t support his own weight; he was going to swoon. “Who only pretended to be a nobleman to save another servant’s life.”

“I know,” Geralt smiled softly. He knelt before the commoner and Jaskier gasped, his hands flying to cover his mouth. He shook his head, disbelieving. “And the name’s Geralt, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier leapt forward and slammed their lips together, kissing his beloved Geralt for all his foolish royal ass was worth. He threw his arms around the Prince’s strong neck and melted when Geralt’s arms encircled his waist in return. Neither man was sure which one of them was holding the other closest and neither wanted to let go. Eventually the Prince stepped away and knelt again. He had to do this right.

“I kneel before you today not as a Prince, but as a man in love.” He slid the cheap, poorly-made leather boot from Jaskier’s foot and replaced it with the bejeweled silk dancing slipper. “But I would feel like a King if you, Jaskier Pankratz, would be my Consort.”

Jaskier burst into happy tears. Real happy tears this time. Tears that ran in rivers down his pink, smiling cheeks and into the dirt below. Tears that Geralt wiped away with the pads of his thumbs, as reassuring and careful as any Prince had ever been when handling great treasure.

Jaskier was overwhelmed with the love in his heart. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in Geralt’s broad, strong chest and never come out again. He would build a castle between his lover’s arms and find no need to leave. He would, if Geralt would let him, claim the Prince as his home forever.

Never unwanted.

Never a nuisance.

Never a pebble in anyone’s shoe.

He nodded and flung his arms around his Prince once again. Jaskier allowed himself to be swept off his feet and swung through the air. Geralt was kissing him the entire time, wherever the Prince’s lips could reach. His nose, his closed eyelids, his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, even down his neck and in his hair. Jaskier laughed and laughed, the happy sound ringing through the dark courtyard of the Count DeStael’s grim-faced manor house.

“We, my love, are going to live happily ever after,” Geralt asserted.

And they did.

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bugheadfamily · 5 years

Photo

🎶 They're creepy and they're kooky

Mysterious and spooky

They're all together ooky

The Bughead family

Their fic is for the season

When people come to read 'em

They really are a scream

The Bughead family 🎶

Happy Halloween, Buggies! We gladly feast on these mysterious and spooky fics. Below you’ll find a mix of supernatural, horror, dark, and seasonal type fics with Halloween specific ones (marked with a 🎃). Curl up in your favorite costume, pull out the treats, and get your Halloween fic fix here below the cut!

🎃 10.31.17 by @jugandbettsdetectiveagency | T

On that night, when the veil is at its thinnest, he finds his way home.

🎃 A Kiss That Thrills by @lilibetts | E

On Halloween, college students Betty and Jughead go through a Haunted House and finally act on their respective crushes.

And the Ash Shall Rise by @likemereckless | M

Riverdale is actually Purgatory (why else would so many crazy things happen in one town!) Jughead Jones, Shadowman of purgatory level one has been tasked with finding an Awakened soul, one who the Premier Shadowman says jeopardizes the future of their world. When Jughead discovers Betty Cooper’s soul down by the River Styx he finds all is not as it seems and a final battle between Heaven and Hell is on the verge of breakout. *It’s Purgatory so ALL characters are dead. *You will find out how they died. *Get ready for a ride!

🎃 Be More Chill by @literatiruinedme | M

Betty and Jughead run into each other in the bathroom at the annual Blossom Halloween party.

body talks by @justcourbeau | NR

Instead of late morning light being his wake up call, Jughead was woken by the horrendous chirp of an alarm clock going off, and, really, that should have been the first sign that something was wrong.

Cooper’s Monsters by @cooperandjonesinc | M

In the darkened halls of an abandoned mental hospital Dr. Hal Cooper has been making monsters.Betty, oblivious to her father’s machinations, comes across a horrifying creature. Together can they stop the doctor and free the others?

Curl of Ash by @darknessaroundus | T

Jughead attempts to save a strangers life in Queens one night. Nothing is what it appears to be.

Darkside by @exmachina187, @itsmarscosta | E

Jughead has had centuries to reflect on his life, but none of it had meaning until she came along.

Dear Angel series by @tory-b | M/E

🎃 Dirty Devil by @thesecretfandom | E

Betty and Jughead are celebrating Halloween, but their costumes seem to be interfering with their fun.

Dust & Desire by @darknessaroundus | T

They have a rhythm to their days, the result of having very little company but each other for years now. When Betty wakes from the nap, they eat mac and cheese before they go hunting. A Vampire Slayer AU.

erase & rewind by @sopaloma | M

When a powerful storm hits Riverdale, five students are hit by lightning as they leave school. The result of that storm will change their lives forever, in ways they never could have imagined. A Misfits AU.

Ever Since We Met by @lilibetts | M

It's almost All Hallow's Eve and witch!Betty has a broomstick breakdown. She lands near werewolf!Jughead's bar and he helps her out...by giving her another broom to ride.

🎃 go home people (the party’s not over) by @grilledcheesusyouredelic | T

“It was your dad’s idea,” Betty chirped. “He told my mom that if people were going to stare at us she may as well make it worth her while.” Jughead bit back a sigh. “And she said ‘like what, throw a party’? And he said ‘sure, Alice, the perfect holiday is coming up’.”

🎃 Howling by @lovedinapastlife | T

Jughead’s working a shift at the Blossom haunted house when he spots a familiar blonde ponytail and decides to try and give her a scare. He ends up smashed in the face, real blood added to his costume. Horrified, Betty tries to make it up to him. She’s nervous to finish the house by herself, so Jughead offers to let her work on a few scenes and scares with him until Archie comes back from his break. There’s nothing quite like method acting with a childhood crush and best friend when hearts are pounding and limbs are entangled in a ravenous display. Something’s building inside of them, a low, penetrating howl.

🎃 I Don’t Have a Lot of Friends by @typing123 | M

Joker Jughead and Harley Betty meet at a Halloween Party. It’s definitely a treat.

Interview with the Coopers by @typing123 | E

What a perfect little family they make

🎃 It’s A Great Pumpkin, Jughead Jones by @alisoncollis | NR

Jughead and Betty go to a pumpkin patch.

i will hang on the hook of your splendour by @jughead-jones/@stark | G

“We have to go up to Woodland House tomorrow,” Betty said, hopping out of the back of the van the night before, dressed in something that she called summer sleepwear and Jughead deemed to be sweet torture. “There has to be a clue there about these abductions.”Mystery Inc AU

Jug the Ripper by @lovedinapastlife @theheavycrown | NR

Murder kink isn’t on the menu—not really. But he’ll do anything for his beloved.

🎃 Let the Right One In by @yavannie | T

When Jellybean talks Jughead into going to a Halloween-themed birthday party in Greendale, she does such a good job on his make-up that not even his best friend can tell it’s him.

🎃 love is kinda crazy (with a spooky little girl like you) by @whaticameherefor | G

Jughead always thought that falling in love would feel like a punch to the gut. It didn’t, of course. It was more like a punch to the face. Right in the nose, to be exact.

🎃 Movie Night on Elm Street by @bettsc | NR

Jughead Jones finds himself at the Cooper household on Halloween night, and it’s not just the scary movies that are giving him goosebumps.

🎃 No Guts No Glory by @thesecretfandom | E

Jughead may have taken their pumpkin carving competition a bit too far, and now it’s Betty’s job to get the both of them cleaned up.

🎃 Nobody Knows You Now by @bettsc | M

They moved like this for what seemed like hours; neither one relenting to the other; both losing themselves in the intertwining of two souls.

🎃 october 2017 by @elizabethbettscooper | G

“Jug, you’re home!” she glanced up, grinning at him. He nudged off his shoes and started towards her.

“So it seems.” he said, smirking and dropped onto the floor beside her. “What’s up, Betts?”

“Do you have plans tomorrow? I want to go to the pumpkin patch.”

“The… pumpkin patch.” Jughead raised an eyebrow and put his arm across the sofa seat, leaning in to look at Betty’s planner.

Outbreak by @moon--mama | T

The breakdown only took 36 hours.

🎃 Over the Wall by @typing123 | T

The Over the Garden Wall AU nobody asked for.

🎃 Pumpkin Spice (and all things nice) by @itsindiansummer13 | G

Jughead, Betty, and Halloween through the years.

Seek Forbidden Things by @maeve-of-winter | T

Kevin Keller has gone missing from Riverdale, and it’s up to Betty and the rest of the gang to bring him back.

🎃 Self control by @bettyscooperr | NR

Jughead just really hates Halloween

Spirits, Are You There? by @jugandbettsdetectiveagency | T

An abandoned asylum, plus a ouija board, plus Cheryl Blossom? The perfect potion.

Strange and Unusual by @lovedinapastlife | M

AU loosely based on the film Beetlejuice - where a ravenous ghoul and a shrewd teen make a strange and unusual alliance that goes far deeper than convenience.

strange days by @sopaloma | T

His sister is missing, his dad is talking to Christmas lights and Betty Cooper needs his help. November 1983 is a strange time for Jughead Jones. A Stranger Things AU.

Taboo. by anonymous | NR

Death becomes her.

The Beast Within series by @cooperjones2020 | M/E

He likes to watch her sleep.

🎃 the business of being dead (and the curse of virginity) by @thetaoofbetty | M

🎃 The Cooper House by @satelliteinasupernova | T

“Let’s go to a haunted house, Jughead,” Jellybean had said. “It’ll be fun,” she said.

Except, now he was turned around somewhere in a dark hallway; alone. With no source of light nearby, he could barely make out his surroundings. Tentatively, he reached out to use the wall to guide him, taking one step at a time. The surface of the wall was uneven and with each step he felt another notch as his hand moved across one panel of wood to the next. The floor creaked softly under his feet. Here in the dark, it was unnervingly quiet. The only other sound he could hear was of the wind passing through the trees outside the house.

“Hey, JB?” he called out. “Where the hell did you go?”

🎃 The First Halloween Since by @typing123 | G

Single Mom Betty doesn’t think she can face Halloween this year. She just wants a quiet night in with her daughter. Jughead’s not so sure.

THE HOUSE IS NOT HAUNTED by @satelliteinasupernova | T

“For the hundredth time, the house is not haunted,” said Gladys Jones as she lifted another box from the U-haul to carry into the house. “Now, go help your brother carry your things to your bedroom.”

JB huffed, and marched over to Jughead, reaching for her box of vinyl records, “How else did we get this place so cheap? You know it’s because that girl disappeared here.”

Silently, Jughead agreed with her, but he was getting tired of the argument. He knew JB wasn’t bringing this up to stop them from moving into the new house, she just wanted their mom to admit that was the reason they could even afford it. Gladys Jones wasn’t one to own up to her own methods, much less admit weakness.

The Hunger by @mistressofmalplaquet | M

Betty is being slowly starved at the Farm, while Jughead is hungry for blood. Hunger and seductive Blood Lust leads the pair into a swirl of terror, torture, and an inescapable dark fate.

🎃 The Jack-O-Gram by @noorakardemmomesaetre | T

The Jack-O-Gram has become the perfect way for Riverdale High students to express their feelings for someone special before the Halloween Banshee Bash at the end of the week.

Betty can't help but hope she receives one from the only boy who's ever captured her heart, Jughead Jones.

the key to (harm)ony by @lovedinapastlife | E

Everything else falls away, even her mother, sister, and Geraldine, when he steps towards her, untethered and confident with the grace of a circulating fountain. Up close, his eyes are blue - brilliant and deep like Sweetwater River, just on the verge of a knowing wink. His long spider-leg lashes flutter as he exhales in a hum of satisfaction, and the longer she looks at him the more it feels like she’s in the tub, water rising up over her chin until she can’t breathe.

“Hello, Betty,” he says with a soft, secret smile, and her heart rattles.

~~~

Betty resents her drunken mother's attempt to replace the recently deceased Charles with a stranger, his enigmatic half-brother Jughead. It's almost like he's waiting for the right moment to please her, to slink into her latest mystery and submerge her in something foreign: Freedom.

🎃 The Mouse by @typing123 | G

A hungry Jughead is lured into the woods on Halloween by a hungry vampire.

🎃 The One That I Want by @dreamersshouldknowbetter | T

Betty and Jughead meet at a Halloween party where they accidentally form two halves of a couples costume

the strange death of Elizabeth Cooper by @wolfofansbach | T

Betty Cooper, after a long struggle with illness, has passed away. Except–she hasn’t, because against all rhyme and reason, she awakens on the coroner’s slab, hale and healthy. The illness is gone, and she couldn’t be in better condition, to the weeping relief of her friends and family, not least of all her longtime boyfriend, Jughead Jones. No real explanation is forthcoming, but what does it really matter, when Betty is alive? And he can discount the occasional oddity in her behavior. She’s been through a lot, after all. Except, as the days go by and the strange happenings pile on, Jughead begins to suspect that whatever it is that crawled out of the grave that day isn’t really Betty Cooper.

🎃 the unexpected perks of being a pumpkin by @thetaoofbetty | M

Jughead Jones has a damn good Halloween.

🎃 Things that Go Bump in the Night by @createandconstruct | T

Are sometimes things that also squeal…

Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me by @ms-maj | T

The gang does Rocky Horror.

Time Honoured Tradition by @jugandbettsdetectiveagency | T

When Cheryl dares Betty to spend some time in the abandoned house across the street she gets a little more than she bargained for.

What Happened on Elm Street by @tory-b | M

When Jughead Jones moves to Riverdale with his family, he uncovers a few mysteries this simple small town has been trying to cover up–specifically the murder that occurred in his house during the late 1950s that was never properly solved. Unable to keep his curiosity away, he teams up with neighbor and fellow mystery lover Betty Cooper to uncover the truth.

🎃 what we pretend to be by @sylwrites | G

It’s his little sister’s first Halloween, but his parents don’t have money for a costume or the time to take her trick-or-treating. The answer to both of these problems comes in the form of his best friend’s neighbour.

🎃 What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie? by @gellsbellshead | T

Betty Cooper doesn’t do scary movies. However maybe she could be persuaded by some cuddling from her boyfriend Jughead. This is a continuation of the fic “Movie Night”

🎃 when things go bump and grind at night by @rainystripe | M

Betty dresses up and Jughead is her slave.

Wild Creatures by @lilibetts | E

Neither Betty Cooper or Jughead Jones were particularly hopeful about their soulmarks; the inky black First Words seemed custom built for their hole-hearted selves. But with a mysterious game ensnaring students on campus, and killing some, it was a question of whether they would learn to work together before them being at cross-purposes destroyed everything.

🎃 Wish Fulfillment by @lilibetts | T

On Halloween, the core four meet up to go Trick-or-Treating, only to find themselves turning into their costumes. Revelations are had for Jughead and Betty.

🎃 won’t you tell me what you’re thinking of? by @flwrpotts | G

Betty enlists Jughead, Reggie, and Archie to help her set up for the annual Riverdale middle school Halloween dance.

Still haven’t satisfied your itch for Halloween fics? Check out our fanfic tag on @riverdale-events! Our Halloween event, Tricks and Treats of Riverdale, is going on and you can find fics posted exclusively to Tumblr there!

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theatresweetheart · 5 years

Text

Nightingale

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t

Summary: Roman is captured by a group of bandits and is used for their entertainment because of his voice. Logan hears the soft tune, the breaking voice and the shouting and he lets his curiosity of the situation get the better of him.

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentioned non-explicit death, fear, mentions of abuse, kidnapping, swearing. (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Pairings: Platonic Logince, Background/mentioned Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 9,604 words.

A/n: I have had this story in the works for a very long time and I’m really proud of how it came out. It has been posted over on my A03 account (link here if you’re interested) and I’ve decided to post it here too!

Enjoy!

~—~—~—~—~—~

“Sing!”

Everything in him wanted to say “no.”

Everything in him wanted to demand he be released for what would be the hundredth time. To demand that this charade would only last for so long. That someone would come for him, to take him back home after making sure that these petty thieves got what they deserved.

He could feel the attention of the rest of the camp watching him intently. The sharp, hot, eager gazes that knew they would eventually get what they wanted from him.

It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It made the blood in his veins feel like ice, yet burn through him at the same time. To know that they could get what they wanted from him so easily.

At one point, he would have said “no.”

At one point, he would have demanded his freedom.

At one point, he would have defied everything they were telling him to do.

“Sing, little Nightingale, sing!”

The nickname, at any other time, would have been anything but derogatory. If it were coming from someone that he admired—a face that very vividly came to mind; a face that he yearned to see at least one more time—the nickname would have been soft and caring. Sweet. Something to be treasured and cherished.

But having it come from the mouth of a drunken man that decided he was worth kidnapping for his voice, to be used for their entertainment, it sounded as if the name was a slur.

A name that made him wince.

While everything in him was telling him to bark something back, to tell them to stuff their wants and their demands where the sun didn’t shine, Roman held his tongue.

He knew better.

He had tried to backtalk and it hadn’t ended in his favour. The reminder made him feel sick.

— — —

“This is absolutely barbaric,” he had spat at the men standing in front of him, standing over two hunched over forms. The others held them in place and kept them from fighting. One was in tears and the other sat in resigned silence. “You wouldn’t make me choose.”

“Don’t be so cocky, boy,” the man just behind him hissed into his ear, causing Roman to tense up, tilting his head away to try and put some space between them no matter how futile the attempt. “You don’t understand what we’re capable of doing.”

“Capable of being a pack of half-witted delinquents. If that’s what you’re going for, you’re doing splendidly.”

“Watch your tongue!”

The feeling of a sharp weapon suddenly digging into his lower back gave him pause. Even with the threat there, he sent a heated glare towards the one man right in front of him.

“Foolish of you to assume I listen to orders from a witless mongrel,” he barked, staying silent only proved to hurt more.

Though, when a sharp yelp of pain was derived from the young man knelt closest to him, ice was shoved into his chest. Almost immediately he had shut his mouth. A terror that was cold and biting stopped him from spitting another insult.

“Decide,” the thief spat at him, “one of them lives, the other dies. It’s a simple choice.”

Deciding over who got to live and who had to die was not a simple choice by any means.

While his bonds cut further into his wrists, he could feel the tip of the blade digging slightly into his back; a looming threat that if he didn’t say anything, there would be a world of hurt coming.

There was howling laughter from the others, as if this was some cruel sport that they were making him play for their entertainment.

Roman hated it.

He hated everything about this.

“Come on now, Songbird, decide.”

He had already made his choice. Deep down in him, he knew he had already made his choice.

The tired chocolate brown eyes of a close friend looked to him from his knelt position, even as blood trickled from his nose. A silent look was hidden behind those emotions; exhaustion, resilience, yet there was also something that said he was ready to give up his own life for the life of an innocent.

‘It’s okay,’ Virgil had mouthed to him before nodding slightly to the sobbing stranger beside him, ‘it’s okay if you don’t choose me.’

Nothing about this was okay.

It was almost too sickeningly easy.

Roman didn’t know the stranger, while he had spent far too many nights with Virgil to be able to let it go. To be able to let them do something far too gruesome to him just for the sport of it.

He had gotten the other into this mess and he was going to do his damned best to get him out of it, too.

“Have you made your decision?” The man closest to him spat, causing Roman recoil from the proximity.

He could only muster a single nod.

“Good,” the man crooned, removing the tip of his weapon from his back, before moving stand just over Virgil, the same weapon held under his throat threateningly. His friend didn’t move, but an almost unnoticeable wince showed just how terrified he was. “This one?”

When Roman met Virgil’s eyes again he saw the flash of terror, the panic that was rising in his chest. Then there was a look of resignation, as if he had accepted it.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Roman shook his head, unable to speak.

He couldn’t bear the look of surprise on Virgil’s features, even the realization that flickered.

The blade was removed from his throat and was instead moved to the other’s. Their sobs got louder in response to feeling the cold metal. “This one?”

There was a single nod offered and instantly he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune it out.

The sound of something soft being sliced through would haunt him. The silence that followed the resounding thud was the only thing he could hear ringing in his ears. His entire body was tense with fear, anger, every emotion that he couldn’t express with his hands bound. There was so much he wanted to do to them. So much that he wished would happen to them.

After a second, he reopened his eyes and he met that of his companion’s. They were wide, terrified. There was blood staining Virgil’s clothes, but it wasn’t his own and Roman felt a heave rise in his throat.

“Let him go,” he spoke up, a weak plead, “please. You have no use for him.”

“I’m sure we could find another use for him,” one said, getting a bit too close to Virgil for Roman’s comfort, using the tip of a knife to tilt the other’s chin up.

It took only a moment before the latter spat in his face. “Don’t touch me.”

The thief flinched back instantly, leaving a small nick on the underside of Virgil’s chin, but he said nothing about it.

“If anything, he needs to learn his place.”

That was a shock. A stab of instant worry was the only thing Roman could feel at that moment.

“Let him go and I won’t say another word!”

The words were out before Roman even knew he had said them. The startled gazes of their captors turned to face him, their leader looked down his nose at him. Seemingly considering the offer.

Virgil’s eyes were wide, surprised at the fact that Roman would give up his freewill just to get him to safety.

“Really?” The leader stated.

Roman’s pleads got more desperate. “I’ll do whatever you want, just- please, let him go.”

“A deal like that is hard to refuse,” he said instead. The man turned on his heel and grabbed the knife from the other’s hands, using the same weapon to threaten Virgil’s life again. “If we let this one go, you’ll do anything we say?”

“Roman don’t—” Virgil was cut off when the knife dug deeper into him and he winced.

“Anything,” Roman agreed. “I’m begging you. Let him go and let him live.”

After a moment of silence, the knife was removed from his partner’s throat and his bonds were sliced. Two men from either side of Virgil grasped him by the shoulders and dragged him to his feet.

While the helpless look never left Roman’s face, the anxious one that fluttered over his own would forever be ingrained into his memory.

While Virgil’s angry shouts and swears faded from the night, swallowed up by the forest that surrounded them, the painful pounding of Roman’s heart never ceased.

“Now,” the leader grinned sharp as a dagger, sheathing the knife in it’s rightful spot before turning on his heel and looking their capture up and down. “Stay true to your deal boy, or there will be hell to pay.”

— — —

The tune started slow, a low resounding noise in his chest. A hum that reverberated through him, a song that he had had memorized ever since he was a little boy.

It was a song that he had taught to his beloved, even though his beloved felt as if he wasn’t worthy.

The song itself gave him comfort almost.

A sound that he could lose himself in, find a place to hide away and stay there for all of a few minutes. For however long he decided he would draw the music out. Sometimes it was slow, sometimes it was fast.

Sometimes his emotions would get to him and his voice would break.

He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t proud of any of his work.

Roman used to be able to take pride in his music, in himself. Ever since his capture, everything had changed. Without a choice in how he was able to share his talent, a gift as he had once been told, there was no heart in it anymore.

He had once been able to attract a crowd of willing listeners, grins of children that would push him onward, before bringing them into the song as well, allowing for them to experience and try and play around. To have fun when doing something so meaningful. To discover and laugh.

The sounds of the thieves relaxing to the song was all he could focus on, even as he shut his eyes. He ignored the chafing of his wrists. He ignored the cuts that lined his arms and sides, the stinging that never ceased. He ignored the aching pain in his chest. The longing he felt.

Instead, he focused on an evocative picture of sparkling brown eyes, a smile that would astound him every time it was flashed his way, brown bangs that would hang in front of such lively eyes.

As his voice grew in strength, he could hear his partner’s voice joining him in his head, bringing him back to a simpler time.

The sounds of hands drumming along in a timed rhythm with the song and suddenly he was no longer stuck behind bars with a travelling group of outlaws but was back home in the town square during one of the Midsummer festivals, a hand in his own as they danced. Bangles of gold and silver, hues of royal reds, purples and blues flashed through his memory. Laughter and warmth. Noises of the bangles jingling together and the excited chatter of the children in the village.

The faint sound of feet pounding against the ground in an exhilarated dance, hands clapping in time with the beat, bringing the colourful town to life. The sounds of instruments being strummed and pounded.

The rising moon in the back of his mind as he held onto his partner, moving in sync as they held onto each other. Twisting and twirling in practiced motions, memorized patterns.

The melodic laughter from his sweetheart was one of the few things that kept Roman going. On the vague hope that he would see him at least one more time.

As he spun the imaginary form into his arms, it was as if he could almost feel the actual warmth of someone in real time. The colours of his clothing twirled as the form did. The feeling of their hands intertwined, with one resting on his shoulder to keep his darling upright.

The scent of rose and lavender filled his senses, the smell of which his partner nearly always smelt of. Working with herbs gave him an earthy scent, something that could calm Roman within minutes. Holding his significant other in his arms only made it easier.

It was almost as if he could feel the cool touch of grass beneath his toes.

It was easy for Roman to lose himself in the song when he focused on surroundings that were no longer his every day reality. To sing and sit behind bars would not derive the feeling he needed to present.

He had tried performing halfheartedly. He had tried to keep his voice low and unheard. It had only resulted in pain and suffering. The young man had instead resorted to trying to picture that he was anywhere else than where he actually was.

As the song faded, so did the vivid image of the countryside and the festival’s coloured lights. The feeling of Virgil’s hand in his own seemed non-existent and the warmth disappeared as soon as his passion did.

When he had finally finished, he reopened his eyes, welcomed back with the unnerving sight of the others watching him intently.

He dropped his gaze to his hand, letting the thumb of his opposite run over the palm, as if trying to bring back the feeling of warmth and safety he had felt.

“Another,” someone demanded of him, someone far too close to the outside of his bars for comfort and he winced away from them. His wrists burning from the rope digging into them.

This was just torture. They were torturing him without really touching him.

He knew that if he didn’t do what they said, he would be putting his partner in danger again and that was the last thing he was ready to do. He’d stay in the firing line if that meant Virgil got out of this. If he got the chance to live his life like it was supposed to be lived.

“Come now, little Songbird. With a voice like that, there must always be an encore!”

Like there’s a choice, he sneered inwardly.

Just as Roman was about to snark something back at him, the flash of wide, terrified eyes and the sound of a body slumping to the ground resounded in his head and he shut his mouth.

It was a promise that he couldn’t risk breaking.

Instead, he began to tap against the bottom of the cage. The wood gave the sound he wanted, but not the atmosphere he dreamed of. Tapping in a rhythm that would be easy even for these imbeciles to follow.

It took a minute, but they were soon following his lead and the pounding was being repeated into the night air, creating a beautifully, haunting, echoing sound against the woods.

Another tune started again, but it wasn’t nearly as low in his chest as the first had been. The words, though he knew them by heart, started almost a count too late for his taste. A part of him took pleasure being able to sing in another language, as Gaelic was far from something this band of misfits knew.

Perhaps it was better that way, when they didn’t understand the lyrics.

While Gaelic was not his mother tongue, after countless nights practicing and learning from the others, he was able to repeat the song back to them without a hitch.

It was a tradition for at least one of the songs at their Midsummer’s festivals to be in the foreign tongue as it was said to honour the original settlers of the town itself.

Roman allowed himself to close his eyes again, drifting off to a place where he could find comfort. Though, the more he allowed himself to drift into the memories, the more unsteady the song became.

— — —

There it was again, that soft hymn of something on the wind.

It was something that Logan had come to recognize. Something that he had almost started to expect to hear every night at this point.

A voice, quiet as it was, carried on the peace of the night. While a sound that never ceased would usually cause discomfort or frustration, this sound was softer. It allowed him to relax in his study late into the night when his work kept him up.

It hadn’t always been there, he knew. From the very time he had settled in this area, there had only been the sounds of the birds or the babbling brook a couple of paces away from his doorstep.

The new addition of such a small sound only proved that there must have been some sort of travelling band in the area. They had been there for a few nights by this time, even as he sat by the window, a wicker candle sat on the windowsill with a flame that flickered back and forth and a book that sat open in his lap.

There was always the sounds of voices following after the song had ended and while it did make him feel uneasy, the songs themselves were melodic, whomever was singing them had a talent for the art of performance.

As intoxicating as the music would be, Logan had also begun to notice fluctuations in the notes. The voice cracking or breaking, turning into nothing but a noiseless whisper against the woodlands. Shouts would follow the fail and then there would be a tune again, but far less confident.

Some nights the songs would clear as the night sky, some nights the voice would break between notes. Almost as if the songs sometimes became a desperate latch on to a reality that was no longer theirs. Of course, searching too far into something like this could prove fruitless as it may never be understood why the voice would crack.

A part of him knew that impeding in someone else’s business could only end in more trouble, but the sound of those shaky notes said something that perhaps real words may not be able to express accurately.

While a part of him believed that something horrible could be happening, another part of him said that perhaps he was just imagining the bad scenario. There were cheers and claps that would follow the performance, begging for another song to follow. The night would stay quiet for a little while, before another song would begin.

Though, he did notice that no one would thank them for the praise, which did say something about the situation.

Logan briefly wondered how long the traveling band planned to stay in the area. While it was a bit inconvenient having a group of humans constantly chattering, he supposed if that was all they did, there was no harm in having them around.

It did make the woods feel a tad less lonely.

While Logan did enjoy his solitude—the tranquility of the forest gave him peace of mind—there was always a somewhat lonesome aspect to living away from his own civilization. He was more likely to happen along human camps than he was to find someone like him wandering this close to the border. This wasn’t to say that he didn’t have the occasional visitor.

While he did find it a touch odd that there were humans this close to the border itself, it wasn’t truly any of his business. Even if the strained notes caused a slight discomfort in his chest that he didn’t necessarily appreciate.

Pushing his glasses back up so they sat more comfortably on his nose, he turned his attention back down to his book.

What did catch him off guard was the sudden breaking of the voice and the silence that followed. However, the quiet didn’t last and was instead filled with noise from that camp. Though, the voices didn’t sound all that pleasant.

While Logan couldn’t make out any distinctive words, it was rather obvious that said voices were unhappy that the song had ended early.

While it was a bit disappointing, he could admit, Logan felt as if there was no true reason to be upset over such a thing.

As much as he didn’t want to involve himself in some unnecessary confrontation, there was something telling him that leaving this situation unattended could end in someone getting hurt. The idea didn’t sit well with him in the least, so, with a resigned sigh, he placed a bookmark into the centre of it before shutting his book and setting it to the side.

Grabbing his coat from just beside the door, he stepped out into the cool autumn night. Winter was on the rise slowly, just as the moon was reaching its highest peak.

The crisp air was refreshing.

Logan tucked his jacket a bit closer to himself, shielding out the cold air. It was about time he got out anyways. He’d kept himself cooped up in his house nearly all day reading, getting work done. It was good to get out for a little bit, even if it was to soothe his curiosity.

Turning his attention towards the source of the noise, he carefully followed along a path that he had made for himself a couple of weeks back.

While creeping up on the camp wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, keeping as low a profile as possible may be the better option if they had weapons. Not that it would do much damage, but a right shot in just the right place could prove painful.

“… finish the tune, Songbird, come now,” a voice demanded, sharp as a knife. Harsh and cold. “Don’t leave us in silence.”

“… I-I can’t—” A softer voice replied, it was shakier, more timid than the other, as if it was worried about something. Possibly his safety. “I-it’s- I …”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I, boy?” The first voice replied, a rhetorical question, then there was the sound of metal on metal and it rang against the forest, a yelp of surprise followed after it. “I ordered you to finish the song. For talkin’ back, I s’pose it wouldn’t hurt to have you start it over.”

Logan furrowed his brows, lowering himself into more of a crouch when the camp finally came into view and he was peering just over the edge of the trees. While his presence was largely unknown, as he had taken measured care to manage his footsteps, it allowed him the perfect place to sit back and observe the situation in front of him before intervening. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to at all and he had the situation entirely wrong.

Though, when he took in the scene in front of him, Logan was disturbed to find that there was a young man sitting bound in what seemed to be a cage. It was odd, as he seemed to be just as human as the others that surrounded him.

Searching over, he found that each of the members currently surrounding him had red arm bands on the right biceps; an easy mark to show others that they were apart of a certain band.

The young male sitting trapped didn’t, which told Logan that he was a captive. As if the cage didn’t do that for him.

“It wasn’t a request, Songbird,” the first voice said again and Logan was quick to identify him as the leader of this operation. “It was a demand. You wouldn’t appose us, would you? You haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you spoke up without permission?”

The young man shifted uncomfortably, turning his head away. “… no.”

“Ah,” the leader crooned, leaning a bit further forwards, looking as if he were about to reach through the spaces between the bars. When his hand was inches away from the boy, he shifted away, pressing his back against the bars furthest from the man. Unhappy, but not lashing out, he said, “then sing.”

A moment of tense hesitance, Logan was just about to break his cover when the sound of a rhythmic tapping caught his attention instead. His gaze was drawn right back down to the kid in the cage—maybe not a kid, per say, but a young man—dressed in a dirty white tunic and torn brown pants. A royal red silk belt was tied around his waist halfheartedly. He began to tap out a rhythm against the bottom of his confinement.

It took all of a few seconds before the rest of the camp began to join in on it and he was followed.

A moment later a soft tune arose from the enclosure and Logan was welcomed with that same melodic voice from earlier. Seemed that the nightingale was not a nightingale at all, it was a human boy that seemed to be used for his talents against his will.

The Gaelic that soon followed was something Logan recognized vaguely. There were a few words he picked up on such as “lost love” and “forgotten times,” it was obvious it was heartfelt lament that no one in the camp seemed to understand.

They obviously mistook the upbeat tune for something other than what it was.

While Logan was not fluent in the language, he knew enough to tell that this song was not for the thieves that kept him captive, but for the captive himself, possibly as a comfort.

Then, there was the shaky tone again. The notes were being missed and the voice was straining. He was trying to do his best without giving away how emotional he really was.

The leader seemed to take badly to this revelation and he used the hilt of his weapon to knock against the bars of the cage again, making the song halt immediately in response. “When I said restart the song, I didn’t mean for you to restart with your bellyaching.”

“I-I know, but I—” The boy was cut off and he flinched back as the cage was knocked on again.

“Stop with your words, and start with the music again, boy.”

When the others began to chime in on how they felt the lad wasn’t trying, he could see the fear building on the kid’s features. It wasn’t hard to miss such terror.

Everything in Roman wanted him to snark back.

He was fighting against every one of his instincts by staying silent, but breaking his promise would only lead to more harm than good. Though, when being faced by a group of belittling thieves, there wasn’t much he could do to stop the fear that flickered or to stop the panic that was growing in his chest.

“I do believe the lad has every right to feel emotional,” Logan spoke up, finally revealing himself and causing the camp to silence almost instantly. “I would say that being stuck behind bars and then forced to sing for your pleasure, which is clearly against his will, would be a tad upsetting.”

As soon as a voice as deep as the night itself rumbled around them, Roman’s attention had shifted instantly from the leader to the newcomer.

He was startled to find a form that towered over the trees that surrounded the group, which only meant trouble for himself. There was nothing any of the men in the camp could do and he certainly couldn’t fight back if the giant deemed that he was worth taking.

From what he could see through the darkness, there were sharp, cold, analytical brown eyes watching each and everyone of them in the camp. The glasses that he wore just magnetized it. He could feel his heartbeat and he could hear the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The first man took a step forwards, but his sword was drawn and raised. Almost as if a weapon like that would do any damage at all. “A-and what say you about this?”

While Logan was impressed by the fact that he was being stood up to, instead of having panic reign throughout the camp, it was very obvious that this human didn’t want to lose his “prize” because they had rightfully kidnapped the boy in the first place. Who was Logan to take that trophy away from them?

He watched quietly as they seemed to surround the confinement of their hostage, whom of which looked mortified in his own way. Each of them had their weapons drawn, looking as if they were ready to put up a futile fight.

It was almost comical, in a pathetic way.

There really wasn’t much they could do to keep him at bay. Though, the way that the determination seemed to settle within the group said that he may need to go into more drastic measures.

So be it.

“Ah, I see what’s going on here,” Logan mused, planting a hand in the centre of the camp, partially for intimidation purposes and partially because he needed to balance himself. The others seemed to push away from the limb, and the unsteadiness of the group grew. “You think I’ve come for your little Nightingale.”

Hearing the term from a completely new source made Roman’s stomach sink. Whomever this person was, only thought of him the same way the other’s did.

“What else would you be here for!” The man shouted up, his hand tightening on the weapon he wielded. “We’ve done nothing to you!”

“That is true, but it would be impossible not to hear the sounds of someone’s voice carry,” he scanned over the group, looking unimpressed, almost bored. “You have found yourself a prize worth being proud of.” He ignored the way the quiet noise of protest from the hostage dug into his chest deeper than he thought it would. “It would be shameful of me if I were to take such a lovely voice away from you.”

The man stiffened at that, shoulders growing tense. “We shall fight you for the boy!”

“And you shall lose,” Logan shrugged his shoulders idly, “I fail to understand how you’ve not noticed the power I hold over each and every one of you. You may outnumber me, but you do not intimidate me. I advise you, do not be so foolish as to risk the safety of your men over something so trivial.”

While stooping to childish measures, such as knocking stuff over to cause a distraction, was not what he wanted to do, Logan wasn’t necessarily above it at this point. If he needed to get the kid out of there, then he would do what was needed.

This entire situation was just unnerving.

How humans could capture and keep one of their own as if they were nothing more than a treasure to either be hidden away or put out on display. He didn’t understand it and he might never understand the workings of their minds. Not that it was exactly the top priority, but it was endlessly fascinating, he would admit.

Now it was just getting tedious.

Humans were not a threat to him. He had slightly hoped that they would have gotten the hint and given up, but alas, the stubbornness of such people seemed to rage stronger than their short tempers.

“Well, you can make this easy on yourselves or you can be morons and make it difficult. Which option would you prefer?”

“We don’t take demands from the likes of you!” Another shouted and Logan’s cold gaze was drawn to the one that had said it.

“The likes of me?” He repeated, a brow quirked in question.

The same man seemed to be less confident when Logan was looking directly at him, holding his stare without once wavering.

“Do you wish to repeat that?”

When he was answered with nothing more than silence, Logan was satisfied that he had done nearly all he needed to. A lot of the intimidating just came from the fact that he was able to keep a cold exterior. It did make it easier that he really didn’t care much for this particular band of humans, save for the one that was currently there against his will.

Speaking of which, he leaned forwards a bit more, slightly unintentionally—but getting the exact reactions he wanted—blocking out the moonlight and casting the group in shadow. The kid in the cage seemed to shrink away from him as best as he could, eyes wide and terrified and, well, Logan couldn’t fault him for that.

“If you give up your little Songbird willingly,” the name sounded weird and unfamiliar, especially so since he wasn’t talking about a bird at all, “I may take pity on your pathetic attempt.”

“I will never give up! I said we shall fight you for it!” The first man declared again, stabbing the weapon in Logan’s direction and said male rolled his eyes.

“How many times must I repeat myself before you brutes understand?” He quipped.

Roman had almost seen it coming from a mile away and he ducked a bit lower down. While he was grateful to be getting away from the very people that had caused him so much suffering, he felt as if being taken away with the giant wasn’t exactly a better option.

Not if he felt as though Roman was a prize.

Logan leaned a bit further forwards, reaching over each and every one of the thieves and lifted the cage from the ground with ease.

Even though Roman had tried to prepare himself, he wasn’t able to stop the yelp of surprise that escaped him. His stomach dropped as the cage was lifted so effortlessly off of the ground. Every other time his cage had had to be moved, there had been four or more men on it at all times to make sure it didn’t tip or break open if dropped.

Logan drew the confinement back over towards himself and settled it down right in front of his crouched position. “If you attempt to best me, you should understand the fight will all be for naught.”

“I have never—”

“Never what? Been bested by someone bigger than you? Seems that way,” he mused, “with an attitude like yours, I would understand if you’ve never been told the word ‘no.’ I would also recommend that you pack your things and leave this area by morning.”

“And why should we comply?”

“Perhaps it would make you feel safer to know that your camp is practically on my doorstep.”

The hush of uneasiness that fell over the group said more than words ever could. Of course that knowledge wouldn’t make them feel better, he knew that very well.

Even though the leader still seemed to be seething in his anger, there was nothing he could truly do to stop what was happening. They all knew that weapons would only get them so far and if those were to be taken, there would be no chance at all.

In a huff, the leader raised his hand and snapped his fingers, though his stony gaze never left Logan’s. He would admit, the bravery was mildly impressive, more barely amusing.

“As pleasant as this has been, the night does grow late.” Logan tipped his head in a nod, showing some sort of acknowledgement, it was only respectful, before picking up the cage with a gentleness that belayed the rough words. “If I return tomorrow, there better be no sign that you were even here. Best of luck.”

With that, he pushed himself back into a stand and brought the cage a bit closer to himself, almost as if he were trying to steady the boy inside of it. His weight was hardly noticeable, but as he fell back into a comfortable walking pace, he could feel the slight swaying from inside a bit more prominently.

While it was getting late, he had more important things to deal with now and getting sleep was on that list, just not yet.

The trek back to his home almost seemed longer now that he had an unwilling passenger.

He entered his house moments later and shut the door, he slid his jacket off of his shoulders as an afterthought after transferring the confinement to one hand.

He was privy to the little noises coming from the human inside of the metal trap and it wasn’t that the terrified little sounds surprised Logan at all. Truly, any human with common sense would be frightened of something that could do whatever they pleased.

While that was not the case here, Logan hadn’t exactly explained himself or his actions to the captive.

The cage was settled down onto the counter of his kitchen not long after. The form inside of it cowered away from him, tucked into himself against the furthest bars possible.

“While telling you there is no reason to be afraid is illogical at this point, I would like to assure you that I don’t have the same plans for you as those thieves did,” Logan broke the tense silence.

Roman flinched back at the rough voice, before finding the words somewhat confusing. So, he wasn’t just some stolen prize? “I-I beg your pardon?”

While the giant seemed to be busy rummaging for something, it was obvious he had been heard. “As soon as I get that lock off of your confinement, you will be free to go. I certainly do not plan to keep you here against your will.”

When he came up with nothing, Logan shut one drawer before moving to the next one. After a second of rustling around, he was able to find the smallest knife he could. While it would terrify the captive anyhow, it was the least he could do.

He reached over and pulled the cage a bit closer to himself, the lock was impossibly small. It wouldn’t hinder him much, but it would make it a tad more difficult.

Getting the tip of the knife under the bridge of the lock took some maneuvering, especially to get it into the right position. It had slipped a couple times and the human and flinched with a gasp. Though, after he successfully managed to do it, it took one simple slight motion of the wrist and the lock was no more.

The door to the cage swung open after he pulled away and settled the knife a few paces away from the cage.

“I would recommend using the knife to cut yourself free,” Logan instructed, turning his back for a moment to shut the drawer he had left open.

There was no sound of movement for a minute, which was understandable, yet the constant fear was a bit frustrating. He had explained to the human he was safe, but yet he still showed the same terror—if not more—to him than he did with his human captors.

Roman hesitated, watching as the giant turned his back to him, seemingly distracted with another task.

But he did feel an onrush of emotions flood forwards at seeing the cage door open. The lock laying in pieces to the right of it. Seeing the knife come so close to him had been admittedly terrifying, but the promise had held up.

So, he eventually pushed himself into a shaky stand, using the bars behind him to pull himself up and keep him steady enough.

Freedom was right there and yet, in a way, he was still trapped.

Ignoring those thoughts, Roman moved to the edge of the cage before ducking through the low overhang and dropping the foot down onto the counter. The sight of the large kitchen was almost enough to stagger him completely. The fact that everything in here was not scaled to his size was incredible.

Incredibly horrifying, his mind supplied to him helpfully, if the giant changes his mind, you’re screwed.

He shook his head, as if shaking the awful truth away for the moment. While the knife itself was more than twice his size in length, Roman moved towards it, the only thing that would actually cut the ropes for good. He had tried biting them, countless times had he tried tearing through the ropes with his teeth only to be given a sore mouth and loss of hope.

Grabbing the flat of the blade as best as he could, he tried to pull it upright enough to actually get at the sharp edge. When that failed and it slipped from his hands, he jolted back.

The small curse split the air and Logan resisted the urge to turn to see what had happened. Had he cut himself? Injured himself further than what he already was? A brief glance over his shoulder proved that the human was struggling to keep the knife in a position that he could use to actually cut his bonds free.

As helpless as ever, he noted.

Turning back to face the kid, he reached over to grab the hilt of the knife, watching briefly as the human scooted a bit further away from him, even as he tilted it upright and held it loosely.

“This should make your task a bit easier,” Logan assured him when the confused brown eyes tilted up towards his own. “I only assumed that a little assistance would be necessary.”

“… thank you,” came the soft reply.

When the blade was tilted up for him like this, Roman could certainly get at the sharper edge easier. Though, the nervousness stuck in his stomach. The fact that anything could happen at this point was terrifying. So, he tried to shove the fear back and masked it with an air of, what he thought was, confidence.

He pulled himself forwards on his knees before placing the rope on the sharp of the blade and beginning to saw through it, aiming to carefully cut between his wrists and to try his best to keep from nicking himself in the meantime.

Though, his eyes did flutter up for a brief second and when he focused on the fingers thicker than he was, holding the knife up like it was nothing, an icy stab of fear fell into his gut. He was reminded at just how helpless he was.

So, he instead focused on doubling his efforts and getting the ropes cut quicker. The heaviness of the giant’s eyes on his back never lessened.

As soon as his wrists were free, another onslaught of emotions hit him from nowhere and Roman pushed himself away from the knife, his hands rubbing at the redness that circled his wrists. It had been so long since he had had full range of his wrists and the water that blurred his vision was almost a surprise to himself.

A shaky breath was taken in, even as he trembled with his reality. If the giant really meant what he said—how he would get to go home—then there was nothing to be afraid of. He could return to his life back in the village. He could embrace his darling again.

He actually stood a chance now.

This release must have been emotional and because of this, Logan didn’t really know what to do. So, he instead took the knife away and tucked it back into its proper place. Which then, if the little human was reacting like this, how long had he been an unwilling hostage?

“Judging by your stature, I would assume that they didn’t feed you very well, did they?”

At the suddenness of the voice, Roman’s gaze was drawn upwards, even as he rubbed the water from his eyes. “Ah, no, not really,” he admitted.

In all honesty, there were days that he went without eating. It wasn’t healthy, but it had been his only choice.

Logan made a low humming noise, letting his eyes flicker over the smaller form. “Perhaps you would want something to eat and drink before you head out on your way?”

While the question sounded more like a statement, almost as if he would be turned down if he said “no,” Roman could admit that having something to eat before finding his way home would be ideal. “If it isn’t any trouble,” he adjusted his torn shirt, uncomfortable under the inquisitive gaze.

“I offered,” he stated with a shrug, adjusting his glasses before turning to focus on the next task.

Roman’s attention instead flickered back down to his wrist, the blood that had dried around the open cuts where the ropes at dug into him.

What he didn’t understand, out of this entire situation, was why he had been helped in the first place. It didn’t really make any sense to him. It would have been easy enough to have left him there, to pretend that he hadn’t seen a thing and moved on as if nothing had happened. Or to even just ignore the travelling band altogether. Or even, taken him and kept him in the cage, kept him bound and stuck at the mercy of another stranger. It wasn’t as if he really expected to be let go.

“I don’t understand,” his voice came out soft at first, conflicted and confused as his thumb ran over the tender skin on the inside of his wrist. He then turned his attention back to the other male. “I don’t understand why you helped me. Wouldn’t it have, I don’t know, been easier for you to have ignored it?”

Logan’s shoulders straightened after a moment, setting the cup he had filled with water off to the side, before looking briefly over his shoulder. Roman was peering at him, confused yet searching for the answer.

Why did humans have to be so frustratingly touchy?

“While, yes, it would have been far more logical to not have intervened in your situation, unfortunately emotions are not solely a human feature.” While digging around for something that Roman would actually be able to drink out of, he spoke up again. “Morals are also something that are not only a human feature and my curiosity had put me into a precarious position. Seemed I was blissfully ignorant to the true nature of humanity.”

It took a bit of work, but he was able to find something that would work a bit better for a drinking tool, before flickering over his pantry. Bread would most likely be the easiest option on someone’s digestive system if they hadn’t eaten in days. Something heavy may make them throw up.

Logan dipped the small container into the water carefully, before nudging it over towards the human without spilling any of the liquid. “I did not expect to be harboring a human tonight, so do excuse my lack of resources,” he then leaned against the opposing counter for a moment, eyes staying locked on the smaller form. “So, yes, I suppose it would have been easier if I had ignored the position you had found yourself in, but it would not have been fair. Certainly less so since I was able to do something about it.”

Roman seemed hesitant to reach for the water at first, but his thirst was greater a need than his pride was at the moment. After taking a greedy drink of the cool refreshment, he sat back a bit more comfortably. “So, you’re really not going to … keep me?”

“Of course not,” Logan waved the worry away, “what good would that serve me?”

The human only shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, it didn’t really serve the others any good … it was more for their entertainment, I guess.”

“Well, you have no need to fret about me doing the same thing,” he responded, pushing off of the counter and moving towards his pantry. “Unlike what others may tell you, I do have morals and they are, unfortunately, very loud.” Logan paused in the doorway of the pantry, looking over his shoulders. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

Logan would feel rather bad if he gave the boy something he couldn’t have and ended up doing more harm than good.

After Roman set the drink back down, he shook his head in answer.

He was honestly slightly surprised that he had been asked about that in the first place.

With a satisfied nod, Logan disappeared into the pantry to search through what would be suitable for the human. While he knew humans could eat everything they could, it was still difficult to find something that would be able to crumble into good portions without making too much of a mess.

While Logan seemed to be preoccupied, Roman let his eyes wander the rest of the kitchen. The house was astoundingly big and he was slightly shaken by the fact that when the caravan had picked their place of settlement for the couple weeks they planned to be there, that they hadn’t seen the mountainous cottage that had been nearly a mile or two away from the spot.

While it did make him uneasy, he was in no place to really voice that opinion. Not when he was being shown such hospitality instead of being stuck into another cage and used for his voice.

That experience was certainly going to be something that was going to follow him into his dreams for nights to come. At least this time, he wouldn’t have to face his night-terrors alone anymore. As soon as he got home, everything would be back to the way it was.

At least, that was the hope.

It was the only hope that Roman could hold onto.

From what he could see of the home, it was nice. Orderly, everything had a place and everything stayed in that place. There were a few pictures on the walls, as well as some paintings. Pictures of ravines and mountains. He leaned a bit further to the side to peer into another room through the doorway, what seemed to be a living room and a study.

His attention shifted once more when Logan reappeared through the pantry’s doorway with the biggest loaf of bread Roman had ever seen in his life. Admittedly, he didn’t spend much time around giants, but he had met the odd few that would pass near the town he lived in.

The two races usually stayed away from each other, or as separated as possible. He had heard of cities that had integrated both into one society, but he failed to really understand how well that worked. While it would be an adventure every day to live in such a place, Roman was happy to live in a countryside human village with Virgil. It was peaceful, quiet and the town was almost always alive with music in the evenings.

It was a bit unsettling, seeing a bigger knife making an appearance. Even focusing on how large Logan’s hands were compared to himself, or how easily he used the utensil.

So, he instead turned his attention away from that, sticking his thumb into his mouth before focusing on scrubbing the blood off of his wrists. He didn’t know when it had happened or how long it had been there, but he now had the chance to clean himself up to the best of his ability.

It stung, but that meant nothing to him. Not from everything else he had suffered through.

It took nearly a minute before there was a piece of bread being slid over to him.

“I do apologize, I’m sure it has become quite apparent that I don’t usually cater for people of your stature,” Logan said, leaning back against the counter once more.

Roman shook his head. “No, no, this is all— thank you.”

“It is the least I can do to assist you,” though there was something that was bothering him. However, he held off until Roman had at least had taken a few bites to settle his hunger. A moment of quiet passed before he found himself speaking again. “Though, I am curious. How long has that travelling band had you?”

It seemed he had asked the wrong question, as the human seemed to flinch slightly at that.

Roman dropped his eyes, just focusing on the bread that had been cut for him, even if it still had been a bit more cumbersome that what he was used to. “Four months, give or take.”

That nearly made Logan choke. Four months and no one had thought to step in to help before now? The thought was upsetting. The only one who had managed to actually make a difference was himself and that was because he wasn’t necessarily human.

Watching the downtrodden look sneak across the human’s features—he really needed to ask his name—it was obvious that this was not the topic to be chatting so lightly about, so he decided to change the subject. “The song you had begun in Gaelic, that was a lament about a lover, was it not?”

A more surprised look flickered over his face and the surprised brown eyes turned up to meet his own. “Yeah, it was. You’re the first person to figure that out. Do you speak Gaelic?”

“Rather brokenly, if you must know,” Logan admitted, “but I was able to pick up on a few words. I am left to assume then, that you have a significant other waiting for you?”

Roman nodded his head, a gentle grin crossed his features, as if he was lost in a memory. “Yeah,” he agreed again, “at least. I’m hoping so. I haven’t seen him in months. I can only hope he’s doing alright.”

Him, Logan filed that information away.

Roman knew that Virgil was fully capable of taking care of himself, but he didn’t want Virgil to worry himself sick over his absence—even if it was bound to happen anyways. Though, he ached to hold him again.

Hoping that all was well, was fair. Logan’s eyes flickered outside after a moment. It was possibly much later into the night than what would be healthy. He had stayed up far later than what was considered healthy, but sometimes it just needed to be that way if he were to finish some work.

Then again, it may not be perfectly safe letting the little human leave at this time of night.

Not if those thieves were scouring the forest in search of him, or if they were smart, packing and leaving. Not to mention the amount of nocturnal animals that would wander the forest looking for easy prey. The boy was weaponless, hell, he had been stripped of his shoes as it seemed, if he needed to defend himself, he’d need to be crafty with weapons.

“I’m sure you have got nothing to fret about,” Logan said instead. Emotions were far from something he understood, but a fondness that ran that deep meant something to the human.

They fell into silence again and Roman finished off the piece of bread he had been given, which had been more than filling and finished off the water he had been offered as well. Which meant that leaving was his next priority.

“I, um, I want to thank you for all of this, really,” Roman pushed himself into a stand, letting his eyes wander the counter top before turning his attention to Logan. “Without you, well, I’d still be a hostage. But I think that it’d be best if get on my way home.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed.” Logan was quick to realize almost instantly after he saw the fear flicker on the human’s features that he had phrased that horribly wrong. “I meant the night, I didn’t—,” he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, “that came out wrong. I was just speculating that if you stayed the night you would have a better chance of getting home in the daylight than you would in the pitch dark of the forest. Not to mention, you must be absolutely exhausted.”

After the explanation, Roman’s tense shoulders released and he relaxed slightly.

God, hadn’t that been quite the scare?

As bad as he wanted to get home, he knew that trying to while so emotionally and physically spent would only hurt more in the end. “I suppose one more night away from home wouldn’t hurt too much,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “if you’ll have me.”

Logan quirked a brow as if to say, once again, ‘I offered.’ The smirk on his face said more than words needed to. So, he pushed off of the counter again, only to pause for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night. “I am afraid I never got your name.”

It almost hadn’t occurred to Roman that they hadn’t swapped names, but there hadn’t really been the grounds for it. “Oh. It’s Roman.”

“While the circumstances could certainly have been better, it is a pleasure, Roman,” Logan acknowledged, as if it was more of an afterthought than a topic to dwell on. “Logan.”

While the moment was admittedly soft, it was almost getting stifling.

He then left the room altogether, leaving the human standing on the counter.

After a moment, Roman took a seat on the counter again, focusing down on his wrists, but with a smaller grin. A warmth bloomed in his chest as he let his eyes flutter closed, almost as if he could feel the heat of Virgil’s hands in his own.

After all of these months away, Roman was going home.

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