#I didn’t get my beloved blade tipping up chin moment

[st-hedge]

I just want to post this on its own cuz. I did say I’d struggle with the final boss didn’t I. Hands were sweaty

[ssweetleaf]

bleed.

gator tillman x afab!reader

summary: gator uses his knife to show you who you belong to.

includes: SMUT 18+, dub-con, knife play, blood play, ownership kink???

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Gator’s mouth was hot on your neck, straddling your waist with those thick thighs of his, a steady palm weighing heavy on your chest as he kept you down and still.

His hunting knife glistened with every short flick of his wrist, the shiny metal winking at you, mocking you, and your chest heaved in anticipation of what was to come.

“You scared, hon?” He cooed, pouting down at your shaky form, all condescending and dripping with venom.

You gave him a short nod, blinking back a wave of tears that threatened to ebb over your lash line.

He clicked his tongue, grazing the skin of your cheek with his knuckles before pinching it between a thumb and forefinger.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you too bad, baby,” he cooed, pressing a short, spongy kiss to your forehead. “Jus’ gotta put you in your place, that’s all— show you who you belong to.”

Gator pushed the fabric of your shirt up, exposing the plush flesh of your tummy, the tip of his blade ran along the length of your skin, not yet harsh enough to break the skin, but enough to have you shivering and waiting for his next move.

He smoothed his free hand along your thigh, pushing them apart and groaning lowly at the sight of your panty-clad cunt, a wet spot evident, saturating the fabric and he grabbed at the elastic, tugging them upwards, watching with a lip between his teeth at the way your pussy lips enveloped the material.

Your poor clit throbbed, desperate for Gator’s attention and your thighs quivered from trying and failing to shut your legs, his knife so dangerously close to your pussy.

“Now,” he sighed, tapping at his chin in mock thought, fingers dancing idly up and down the skin of your thighs, creating goosebumps in their wake. “The question is, where do I cut you, pretty girl?”

You sucked in a sharp breath and it hitched in your throat, it was useless to try and hold in your tears anymore, the fat, salty droplets streamed down your cheeks, ruining the pretty makeup you spent so much time on just for him. But he thought you looked prettier like that, with your mascara streaming in long, black lines and your lipstick smeared along your cheek.

So pretty, he thought. Actin’ as if butter wouldn’t melt.

Gator caught sight of your hip, pulling your panties down to get to the soft skin beneath, trailing his thumb along the stretch marks and blemishes that resided there.

“Think I found the spot,” he hummed lazily, eyes hooded and he quickly reached in his pocket for his stupid vape, inhaling the artificial sweetness and exhaling into your direction, sugary sweet watermelon filled your senses, and you coughed a little when it made its way to your lungs.

He pocketed his beloved vape, shifting around on his knees, his free hand flat against your hip bone, stretching the skin a little and to keep you nice and steady. He didn’t want anything ruining his little masterpiece.

“You gonna be nice ‘n’ still f’me while I mark ya, honey?” He cooed, “don’t want ya wrigglin’ around, it’ll ruin my work.”

You let out a little sob, but nodded nonetheless, the action earning you a little kiss to your tummy, his chapped lips calming you for just a moment, before getting back into his character.

“Y’ready, baby?” Gator didn’t wait for a reply, instead he went straight in with his blade— the sharp edge sliced into your skin, droplets of blood rose to the surface, beginning to spill over the cut he had made.

You cried out at the sharp sting, head fuzzy and eyes completely glazed over from your salty tears, you managed to stay still, knowing that if you struggled it’d hurt much more.

“Shit, honey, look so good when y’bleedin’” he groaned, keeping a fixed gaze on your cuts, a steady hand guiding his knife slowly, drawing out the process for his pleasure. “Could just eat you right up.”

You gasped at his filthy words, your pussy clenching around nothing, arousal leaking through your underwear, completely saturating them and leaving them a sopping mess.

His eyes quickly flitted to yours before resuming his gaze at your hip.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya, dirty girl.” He grinned, finishing his last few etchings into your skin, the sharp blade stung as it sliced, but you almost missed its touch when he placed the knife on the nightstand.

Gator watched with big eyes, irises swarming darkly and he leaned down to nudge his nose against your hip, your blood smearing across his skin before he flattened his tongue, lapping up your sweet blood in long licks— he swallowed thickly, grinning up at your with lazy, hooded eyes, blood between his teeth and the cracks in his lips. So obscene.

“Well?” He cocked an eyebrow, “aren’t ya gonna take a look?”

You leaned on your elbows, craning your neck to get a good look at your new brand, eyes widening when you saw what he had etched upon your poor flesh.

There, still ebbing with blood were a scratchy pair of initials:

G.T.

[deathonholiday]

Sparring + Seggcy Scythe

MILD NSFW

Stygius met Thanatos' scythe with a reverberating clang in the fields of Elysium. Zagreus gazed into his lover’s eyes over the sparks that flew between their weapons. He smiled, admiring the sharp line of Thanatos’ features, the clenching in his jaw, and the way his amber eyes glowed in annoyance. He tightened his grip on Stygius and used the momentum of his charge to press his advantage, but Thanatos was a god with aeons of experience behind him. The corners of Thanatos’ mouth curved upward as he returned Zagreus’ smile. He pushed back, exerting his own strength, the muscles in his arms and chest tightening. Neither was willing to give an inch. 

“Care to answer why you suddenly wanted to spar with me?” Thanatos asked, his voice lazy and bored. Zagreus would’ve almost believed his air nonchalance if not for the way his biceps strained with effort to keep him back. 

Zagreus shook his head and chuckled. He leaned his entire weight into his sword, hoping to use his upper strength to overwhelm Thanatos, but the slender god easily bore his weight without budging. Zagreus snorted, returning Thanatos’ smirk with a cocky grin of his own. “I heard about a very interesting tradition in Sparta.” He turned his wrist and angled his sword down. Thanatos’ scythe slid down the edge of Stygius towards the ground. In the brief moment they disengaged, Zagreus lunged forward. 

“Oh? And what tradition is this?” Unruffled, Thanatos turned to his side. As Zagreus rushed past him, the handle of his scythe tangled between the prince’s legs. 

Zagreus fell to the ground with a thud. He turned, Stygius in his hand and ready to guard, but the gleaming edges of the scythe curved right below his chin. “Yield for me, Zagreus.” Thanatos looked down at the fallen prince, his eyes cold and uncompromising. “I’ve won.” 

Zagreus gasped as Thanatos tilted his head up using the scythe. He felt the cool metal press against his neck… and smiled. “And if I don’t? What will you do if I refuse to yield, Than?”

The God of Death pursed his lips, more in confusion than displeasure. From out of nowhere, Zagreus decided to challenge him to a sparring contest, and now, he refused to admit defeat. He didn’t understand Zagreus’ wants, nor why he was acting this way. Unlike his usual playful self, Zag behaved brattier than normal. It wasn’t like him at all. 

“Zagreus, stop being stubborn. You lost.”  

“I’m not being stubborn. You’ll win if you make me yield.” A glint entered Zagreus’ eyes. He cocked up a quizzical brow, and gradually his mischievous smile turned outright impertinent. “So, Thanatos, my beloved, the solution’s simple.” He ran his index finger across the blade tucked under his chin. “Make me submit.” 

Thanatos narrowed his eyes. Everything fell into place and suddenly it all made sense- Zagreus was flirting with him. “You’re wasting my time.” Scowling, he removed his scythe from the prince’s neck. As tempting as the offer was to lay with Zagreus and spend a few stolen moments with him, he still had work to finish. Already, his performance was under review. Lord Hades had begun to suspect the real reason behind his absences. He couldn’t risk a needless distraction right now. 

As Thanatos gathered the power of darkness to shift away, Zagreus grabbed onto the scythe, right where the handle began and the blade ended. “Coward.” 

Thanatos’ power dispersed in an instant. Deathly silence followed Zagreus’ declaration. It was as if all sound and life had been swallowed whole. “What,” Thanatos’ voice grew soft as the glow in his eyes intensified, “did you call me?” 

A lopsided grin graced Zagreus’ lips. He leaned back on his hands, his legs casually splayed out before him. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you. You’re always so quick to run, Than,” he said, conveniently ignoring Thanatos’ knuckles turning white around his scythe. “What are you afraid of? Losing? I thought after all our competitions and handing out centaur hearts like candy, you’d be used to losing.” 

“Zagreus,” Thanatos growled, cold anger seeping into his words, “Watch your tongue.” 

“Or what?” Zagreus lifted his head up in challenge. “What will you do? You won’t hurt me. You find me too charming.”

“Your charm is running thin.” 

“But you still love me anyway.” Zagreus’ laughter echoed throughout the chamber when Thanatos couldn’t refute his claim. “So what will you do, my sweet psychopomp? How are you going to reign me in? How are you going to punish me? I’m all eager ears.” 

“Zagreus, you’re a glutton for pain. Too bad for you, I’m Gentle Death.” Thanatos looked down at his insolent lover. The desire to wipe the smug, sultry smirk off his face simmered until it boiled over. “However, I might have an idea or two to shut that smart mouth of yours.” 

“Than, how sweet of-” Zagreus’ shuttered to a stop when he felt cold metal press against his chest. Thanatos whipped his scythe in front of Zagreus, hooking the tip of his blade into Zag’s chiton. 

Thanatos dragged his blade down. The obscene sound of Zagreus’ chiton slowly sliced open filled their ears. Neither said a word, only listened as the cold, hard scythe tore through soft fabric. 

With nothing to hold onto, the chiton fell away, baring Zagreus’ torso to the wind and air. Thanatos lightly tapped at the belt still on the younger god’s waist, the last barrier keeping his chiton on his body. “Last chance. Yield for me.”

Zagreus threw his head back in laughter. “And miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to be debauched by Death himself? Never.” In answer to Than’s threat, Zagreus laid back and stuck out his chest, spreading his legs out open and making it easier for Than’s scythe to tear through his clothes. For him, Death’s anger wasn’t something to be feared; it was to be desired and coaxed. He enjoyed getting under Thanatos’ skin, teasing him until the gentle god became rough with him. 

Thanatos raised an expressive brow, but said nothing. He dug the scythe into the belt and sliced it clean in half. Zagreus’ regalia pooled around him as it fell away, leaving him only in his tights. 

Zagreus’ tights left nothing to the imagination, outlining the lines and curve, the heaviness of his cock. His hardened length strained against the fabric; jerking under Thanatos’ cool gaze as if he felt the familiar touch of his hands. 

“You’re aroused?” Thanatos asked, sarcasm dripping from his every word. 

In answer, Zagreus flashed him a grin and spread his legs wider. Thanatos clicked his tongue, unsurprised his prince would enjoy such a shameless display. Was it a punishment at all if Zagreus found pleasure in it? He’d have to up the ante then. “Don’t move,” he warned, hooking the tip of his scythe into the hem of Zag’s tights, “Not even a hair unless you want to lose something precious.” 

Zagreus’ laugh cut short. It turned into a whimper, then a moan as the blunted edge of Than’s scythe brushed against his cock. He trembled with effort to stay still, but still shivered when he felt cold metal glide down his length, heard the slow rip of his tights torn open. 

Thanatos replaced the hard touch of the scythe with the bottom of his foot. He gently but firmly pressed down, his toes becoming slick with Zagreus’ pre-cum. “Tell me,” he curled his toes around Zag’s weeping cock, “Why are you extra irritating today?” He increased the pressure of his foot. “You’re acting more like a brat than normal.” 

Zagreus hugged Thanatos’ leg to his chest, but instead of using his remaining strength to push the god away, he held him closer. He rolled his hips, rutting against Thanatos’ foot, agonizing over the lack of friction he needed to come. He buried his face into the muscular thigh and groaned in pleasure. 

Thanatos sank his hand into Zagreus’ hair and yanked his head back. “Zag.”

“I... I heard about a tradition in Sparta about challenging your chosen one,” he said through the haze of desire. “If you win, you can ask for their hand in marriage.” Zagreus clung to Thanatos’ leg, pulling him down harder, increasing the pressure. He turned his head and nuzzled his face into Than’s crotch. He smiled, lips curving as he felt Than’s cock twitch against his cheek. Zagreus glanced up, meeting the burning golden eyes staring down at him. He pressed a kiss against Than’s arousal through his tights. “You won...So marry me?”

Based off Feuxx’s drawing. 

[book-of-lewd]

Touching a Nerve [RWBY]

This was originally an ask from “banzaimeow” but I lost the ask, so... yep, unfortunate. They asked:

“Weiss, can you describe what it felt like to lose your virginity to your older sister? Or how it feels every other time you have sex with her?”

Weiss gave an indignant huff and crossed her arms. 'What did it feel like?' It was such an absurd question that at first she refused to even dignify the words with a response at all. But she quickly demurred when she felt the firm, authoritative weight of a hand pressing between her shoulder-blades, and her eyes drifted over to the imperious, highly disciplined figure of her elder sister sitting cross-legged on the bench next to her. Pulses of heat ran through her slender body from where Winter touched her, striking notes all the way from her furiously blushing cheeks to the burning delta between her legs, and she squeezed her thighs together so tight that the sensation actually left her short of breath.

"It... it hurt like hell!" she said harshly. "How else should it have felt, having your untouched womanhood violated by -- by something the size of a grown man's arm?" Even her most acidic tone couldn't mask the raw arousal filling her haughty voice; if anything, the vulgarity only made her wetter and wetter. It was a good thing her outfit doubled as all-purpose formal wear, because the steady flow of girlish cream flooding through the frills of her petticoat would have otherwise left a shameful stain by now. Or a puddle, dripping searing lust onto the floor beneath the two Schnees.

Squashed alongside her beloved sister on the narrow bench, Winter wrapped an arm around Weiss's alabaster shoulders and pulled her in even closer. Weiss couldn't help but squeak as she was nestled in Winter's softness. What genetics and fate had overlooked in her they'd given to Winter in spades, from her broad, bouncing tits that strained and fought against the metal buttons of her military uniform, to the plush, bountiful hips and the peach-firm ass spilling out as they cushioned her in her seat. Not to mention the slumbering behemoth she knew to be lurking out of sight somewhere under those crossed legs ... If she was a betting girl, she'd guess that Winter had that bitch-breaking length strapped flaccid all the way down the side of one endless, creamy thigh. Just the memory of it had Weiss pouring drool from both ends, and she hurriedly swallowed to keep it from escaping her mouth.

"--and I fully admit," Winter was saying, entirely unaware of Weiss's reactions as her breast cushioned the younger girl's shoulder, "that in the throes of our ... for lack of a better word, 'passion'--"

"Violation, you mean," interjected Weiss meekly.

A small vein ticked in Winter's temple. Weiss wasn't fooling anyone with her attempts to seem outraged -- for all her haughtiness and bravado, nobody knew her better than her big sister, and Winter could practically taste the lustful submission hanging around the heiress, the smell surrouding her like a cloud of estrus. It was so potent and needy that, try as the trained soldier might fight it, her hulking girlcock was already beginning to stir to life within her trousers, slowly forcing her legs apart as it gorged with blood. But she continued nevertheless, a slight hiss in her voice as she clenched her teeth to stave off the growing lust that was now churning in her crotch.

"In our passion, I may have been somewhat aggressive, at least in comparison to my normal behaviour in such circumstances. It was something that I reviewed extensively afterwards, and by all accounts I wasn't entirely unreasonable in my methods," she added, casting a narrowed eye down at Weiss. "In fact, all the reviews I received were exemplary."

Weiss subconsciously bit her lip, unable to hide the obvious tell as memory after vivid memory streamed past her mind's eye. Her vacant pussy throbbed so hard that for a moment it felt as though Winter's stare had physically punched into her, desperately craving for her studly sister to fill that needy hole, to stretch it beyond recognition like she'd done the night her virginity had been ripped away from her. All the pain in the world hadn't been able to deny her the pleasure of being shaped and moulded from an aristocratic princess into a walking, talking, begging, screaming fucktoy for that supreme Schnee schlong. Far from welcoming her sister into the carnal delights of adulthood, Winter had forced that monstrous meatpole onto her, and into her, like she was nothing more than a juvenile gutter whore, ravaging her pure maidenhood over and over again until her breathless screams had been belted into submission by orgasm after shrieking orgasm.

"Y-You ... it's not like you gave me m-m-much choice, you know ..." It was getting harder and harder for Weiss to articulate anything by this point. Words rapidly failed her -- she could barely even think or breathe, for that matter. All that was occupying her mind at that moment was the overwhelming, sinful, primal urge to surrender to her sister's indomitable libido, to beg for Winter to whip out that huge, heaving pussy-pleaser and wreck her body until she became that white-eyed, mouth-gaping, cum-drenched gutter whore again.

"Is that so?" asked Winter coyly, her legs now starting to splay apart from her curvaceous hips as her own instincts responded in kind.

Weiss nodded vacantly. One hand dove deep down into her petticoat between her legs, her palm furiously grinding against her tingling mound, the sensation so woefully inadequate compared to what it had experienced. The other hand tentatively reached out towards Winter, fingers trembling as they danced up and down a pant-clad thigh. "You were just so BIG ... and BRUTAL ... and PERFECT~" As the last word emerged from her mouth, so too did her tongue, lolling open in front of her like the most simple-minded bitch imaginable. Her half-lidded pale eyes filled with dull fog as she stared into the face of her sister. Her lover. Her conqueror.

Winter gave a long, drawn-out sigh and raised a hand to cup at Weiss's cheek, and the younger Schnee moaned as she leant into it. "You didn't answer the question completely, Weiss. Honestly, what am I going to do with you?" A knowing, sadistic sneer tickled at the corner of her mouth, and as Weiss mewled into her touch she silently unbuckled her belt and tossed it onto the ground nearby. "How does it feel--" Her high-heeled boots went sailing from her feet, clattering against each other. "when you have sex with me now?"

Utterly entranced, Weiss watched in slow-motion as Winter rose to her feet and turned, veritably towering over her, her expression like a trickster goddess contemplating a punishment. But the heiress no longer had eyes for her sister's beautiful face; right there in front of her, staring Weiss in her slutty little face, bulging its way from crotch to knee, was the pulsing length of her big sister's big, perfect girldick, obscenely stretching out the woman's trouser leg as it strained and bucked in time with Winter's heartbeat. With exhilaration and expectation forcing her down onto her knees, she grabbed a fistful of fabric in each hand and tugged down with all her might, freeing that glorious pillar inch by agonising inch until, as she dragged those pants down around calf height, the full mast of Winter's massive ramrod lurched up and out into the open.

"Oh fuuuuuck~!" wailed the princess, a fresh gout of girlcum spurting from her whorish pussy as her eyes danced along more than fourteen inches of wrist-thick, pulsating meat that jutted out like a steel girder from her sister's hairless crotch. Every broad, twisting vein on its rugged surface throbbed as though possessing its own life force, each one a promise of such mind-blowing ecstasy that Weiss could feel the individual folds of her snatch rippling with the muscle memory of how thoroughly they'd been assaulted. Her fat, bloated balls swung low and heavy in their smooth sack, each one easily the size of Weiss's closed fist and churning with enough thick, milky cum to paint her petite body from head to toe in an inch-deep coat. And the head! The nectarine-sized crown had already begun leaking its heady precum the moment it had been released to the air, staining the air with the undeniable musk of the Schnee's superior bloodline. Like the trained, obedient bitch she was, Weiss immediately parked her face beneath that supreme prick, its shadow extending all the way up her face as the steady flow of syrupy ambrosia drizzled directly down along the centre of her tongue and into her mouth.

In between guzzling down mouthfuls of precum, Weiss could only get a few words out before going back for more. "Sex with you ... isn't even sex ... you just fuck me ... like an animal ... until I pass out ..." She paused, only to stuff her cheeks until they were bulging from fluid, tipping her head back and gargling the potent concoction in full view of Winter's watchful gaze, and her sister responded with a fresh, violent spurt of pearly pre-nut that liberally doused her face from crown to chin. "And it's so ... fucking ... incredible~!"

For the first time since they'd sat together, Winter gave her baby sister a genuine smile, and her hands grabbed the girl behind the ears and roughly pulled her to her feet. Her tongue drove deep into Weiss's mouth and swirled from corner to corner, wrestling against her sister's own as every forceful moment sent splashes of precum and mixed drool spilling out around the corners of their lips mashed together. Weiss's eyes fluttered as the strength in her legs almost gave out, and her mind swam, all of Winter's addictive tastes wreaking havoc on her at once. She was putty in those hands gripping at her ass and the back of her neck, against that tongue rampaging towards her tonsils, in the face of that perfect pussy-pleaser poking against her taut stomach despite the base being so far away from her. By the time Winter pulled back, heavy strings of spit trailing from their lips, Weiss's legs were positively drenched in her own juices as they massed into a puddle on the floor.

"Fuck me, please ...!" Weiss begged. Her fingers ached with the need to wrap themselves around Winter's cock, to squeeze the shaft and grind its girth against her dainty palms, but her arms hung limply at her sides, devoid of even the barest hint of strength. It was for the best -- her only purpose from now until the time Winter was satisfied was to be a willing receptacle for every bruising, ball-slapping, womb-wrecking thrust, and the thought of being so harshly dominated by her elder sister had her visibly quivering within Winter's expert grip. "Break me, Winter! Destroy my pussy with your huge cock! Claim me, make me scream your name until the whole world knows I'm your baby sister cock-sleeve!"

Without saying so much as a word, Winter released Weiss from her grasp and swung back around, planting her bodacious rear end down onto the bench and spreading her legs wide. Her hands traipsed up from her inner thighs to meet around the absurdly thick root of her girlmeat, fingers splayed and holding the massive pole upright as it bobbed and throbbed and leaked its copious nectar down the more than footlong journey along the side of the shaft. Weiss's eyes were drawn to the imposing length as if hypnotised, the giant tip reflected in her pupils as she discarded her dress and stepped closer, her slender legs and bare pussy so pale and smooth compared to the bulging veins of that turgid breedstick. For a brief second she tore her gaze away from it long enough to stare at her sister's face, and the expression staring back at her made her weak at the knees, another volley of girl-cream dousing the inside of her thighs.

"Come and get it," Winter commanded.

If Weiss had a will of her own right now, she doubted she would have been able to resist the absolute authority in Winter's voice. As it was, she surrendered fully to the words ringing in her ears as loud as her own pounding heartbeat. With her heels mounting the wooden seat she rose up into a half-bended squat, a hand spreading apart the naked folds of her pussy as they hovered mere inches above Winter's towering cock. For a moment she didn't move, frozen like one of her Semblance statues as her breath hitched and caught in her throat. The lust coursing through her every nerve and fibre was impossible to resist, wanting nothing more than to spear herself on her sister's titanic prick and feel it plunging through her tunnel until it bashed balls-deep ... but no matter how many times Winter broke her upon it, no matter how many orgasms she had with that thing thrashing against her folds, she always felt a pulse of inexorable fear when it came time to doing the deed. Winter was so well-hung it put the stallions in their mansion to shame, and the thought of a cock that massive brutalising her insides was as terrifying as it was thrilling. Just how much was it going to wreck her this time?

There was only one way to find out, and no sooner did the thought occur than she dropped her snowy hips in one fell movement. Her defenceless pussy instantly skewered itself on every last cunt-busting inch of cockmeat, Winter's bulging veins running riot as they crashed upward into Weiss, the full force of Weiss's drop causing the head to bash square against her cervix. The flimsy barrier never stood a chance, having been pulverised into submission by that tip countless times before, and it welcomed Winter's brutish meat into the back of her womb, trembling as the pre-soaked flesh battered its way home. The agony and euphoria of that single moment set off a chain reaction inside Weiss's mind like a blast of dynamite as the orgasm of a lifetime ripped through her body without mercy -- her pussy creamed itself from end to end, squeezing and wringing around Winter's shaft as runnels of femcum streamed down into the soldier's lap, her eyes shrinking to pinpricks as her brain short-circuited itself, and her back arching to such a degree that she was at risk of spontaneous fracture. The unmitigated pleasure turned her existence white as her limbs tangled into a molten mess of helpless tremors, the melody of her piercing squeals filling the air as she spasmed and squirted atop her sister's godly girldick until she lost consciousness and fell in a sweaty mess onto Winter's front, still oozing her pussy's juices down onto those heaving balls.

Below the collapsed heiress, Winter merely took her sister by the shoulders and spun the pair of them around, lying Weiss on her back atop the bench and then bending her legs upwards, those ballerina feet pointed to the sky. Her cock throbbed powerfully, still wedged firmly inside Weiss's snug baby chamber -- even passed out, the girl's womb refused to release its vise-like grip on her glans, even as it continued to pour its honeyed pre-cum inside. It was definitely one of Weiss's best qualities ... and once she regained her senses, then Winter could finally start being aggressive~

[jaskierswolf]

Okay, here is my prompt: Lambert and Dandelion, that’s it 😂 a scene where they meet, somehow have to interact, maybe work together for something? Can be sexy or not, as you like!! I just love your Lambert and your Dandelion and want to see them together 💜💜💜

So this sort of grew out of control. Under 1k they say. *angry writer noises* I have no self control when it comes to Book!Dandelion.

Have some chaotic Lambert and Dandelion on a mission to rescue Geralt! Also on my AO3 _________________

Dandelion stuck his tongue out as he wrapped his hair around the hot metal rod in his hands. He was very careful to keep hold of the specially enchanted wooden handle so he wouldn’t burn his hands but even still it was a difficult process, one that his beloved witcher just wouldn’t understand. He frowned as he watched his hair intently making sure that it didn’t start to smoke. He really hated it when it started to smoke, it made him start to panic. His hair was his pride and joy.

Fuck it, he really needed to ask Yennefer for some kind of enchantment or potion to help in curl his hair without all this nonsense.

He sighed dramatically as he pulled the tong from his hair and the golden lock bounced free in a perfect curl. He beamed and mentally patted himself on the back. He had not spent hours practicing his technique to have subpar curls. He was Master Dandelion, renowned troubadour. He simply could not look anything less than his best. He tilted his head as he placed the tongs back over the fire. One curl down, many to go. It was a hard life being beautiful.

He grabbed his notebook and quill whilst he waited for the tongs to heat back up. Geralt was out on a hunt with Lambert so he would have twice the witcher to compose about when they finally returned. He needed to started working on his rhymes for bruxa.

They couldn’t have made it easier for him could they…

He sighed again, narrowly avoiding wiping black ink over his cheek, an unfortunate occupational risk, but one he would take over monsters any day of the month. He hummed to himself by the light of the candle as he switched between hair curling and composing until the door was thrown open by a very frantic witcher.

“Dandelion!” Lambert yelled as he barrelled into the room.

Dandelion jumped and almost scorched his ear with the tongs. “Bloody hell, Lambert!” He snapped at the witcher. “Didn’t Vesemir ever teach you to knock?”

Lambert ignored him, as always. The bloody witchers never paid him any attention unless they were demanding that he perform for them like some blasted dancing monkey. “It’s Geralt.”

Dandelion’s dropped the tongs and they clattered to the floor. He was lost for words momentarily as he tried to understand what Lambert was implying. “Geralt?”

“Yes, poet.” Lambert snapped. “Now come on! Before the fuckers kill him!”

Dandelion’s eyes went wide. “Kill him!?” He cried. “What the blazes do you mean, kill him?! I thought you were hunting a bruxa not a higher vampire!”

Lambert rolled his eyes and snarled. “Move, Dandelion!”

Dandelion was shoved roughly out of the door. He barely had time to grab his lilac hat and he was forced to leave his precious lute in his room. He whined miserably as Lambert slammed the door and yanked him down the stairs and out the tavern. He wouldn’t have minded but how was he supposed help Geralt if Lambert couldn’t? He was only a poet!

“Would you please explain to me what’s going on?” He demanded as he was dragged towards the alderman’s house. He tore his wrist from Lambert’s grasp and glared fiercely down at the witcher. “I am not a child, you prick!” He snapped, using Geralt’s favourite nickname for the grumpy witcher. “I can walk on my own.”

“The fucker double-crossed us. His guards managed to get the drop on Geralt but they weren’t ready for two of us.” Lambert muttered as he stalked ahead.

Dandelion gripped onto his hat and trotted to keep up with Lambert’s marching. “They won’t really kill him, will they?” He asked.

Lambert scoffed. “You know better than that, Dandelion. Fucking humans. Monsters, the lot of them. I don’t know why we bother to protect them.”

Dandelion raised an eyebrow at the sullen witcher. “We aren’t all bad.” He muttered. “So what’s the plan, my dear?”

“They want money.”

“That’s hardly a plan.” Dandelion scoffed. “Even my plans are better than that.”

Lambert growled and threw his hands in the air. “You, Viscount Julian, have money. They need money. Plan.”

Dandelion’s heart sank as he realised Lambert’s mistake. “Ah.”

He gripped onto Lambert’s arm and pulled him to a stop. Like Geralt, Lambert was more than capable of ignoring Dandelion’s attempts to move him but, like Geralt, the other witchers of Kaer Morhen had become used to Dandelion’s weaker strength. Lambert crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared up at him. The height difference between them never failed to make Dandelion laugh, well usually, in that moment he was more focussed on finding his partner. They had stopped just outside of the alderman’s home and Lambert was clearly losing his patience as his foot began to tap on the dirt road.

“Ah. What do you mean ‘ah’? And none of your rhymes, poet. I don’t have time for riddles.”

Dandelion sighed and pulled nervously at one of his freshly made curls. “I don’t exactly have access to the funds we need.”

“What?”

“Well I’ve not been back to Lettenhove for years!” He pouted and put his hands on his hips. “I’m afraid I’ve rather been cut off.”

Lambert yelled wordlessly and ran a hand through his hair. “Do they know?” He asked, pointing at the door.

“Well, no.” Dandelion admitted as he chewed on his bottom lip, a terrible habit but one that brought him great comfort.

“Can you act the part?”

Dandelion nodded. “Of course I can.” He snapped with indignation. “One doesn’t escape one’s birth.” He muttered and then added more quietly. “No matter how much one might try.”

“Then get in there and fucking sort it out.” Lambert growled as he opened the door with far more strength than necessary and Dandelion was thrown inside.

He stumbled and grabbed hold of his hat as he was pushed through the doorway. He turned to glare at Lambert but the door was slammed in his face. He sighed and spun round to face the occupants of the room with his most dazzling smile. “Gentlemen!” He gave a low bow as he surreptitiously looked around for any sign of his silver haired witcher. He barely concealed a frown when he released that Geralt was nowhere to be seen. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“You’re that poet.” One of the burly brutish man pointed out.

“Ah, yes. You’ve heard of me?” Dandelion preened a little before remembering why he was there. “But I’ve not come here as the troubadour you know and love.”

“You’re shit.” A second thug said.

Dandelion gaped and put his hands on his hips. “I beg your pardon!”

“I think he’s pretty good.” The first one argued.

“Thank you!”

The second one shook his head. “Nah. He’s shit.”

“You sir!” He pointed at the man. “Are rude!”

“Hey!” Dandelion was suddenly thrown against the wall much to his surprise. The brute moved deceptively quickly and Dandelion hadn’t had the time to duck out of the way. “You don’t get to say that.”

“My mistake, a misunderstanding. I’m sure.” He stammered as he hat fell from his head. “Lambert!” He called. “Get your prickly arse in here. I know you can hear me!”

The door flung open once more to reveal Lambert, in all his grumpy glory. Dandelion had never been so pleased to see him. Lambert had his sword in one hand, he spun it with a flick of his wrist as he rolled his eyes. “You had one job, poet.”

“Just do something!” Dandelion whined.

“Right!” Lambert strolled into the centre of the room, pointing his sword at each of the men, one by one. They looked at the very least confused by the turn of events. Dandelion saw one of them reach for his own blade but Lambert was quicker. He’d bounded across the room in a blur and flicked the tip of his sword against the man’s throat, lifting his chin with the blade. “Let the poet go.”

Dandelion could have swooned. He’d never taken Lambert for the heroic sort before. If Geralt didn’t survive this then perhaps he would attempt to woo a different witcher instead. Dandelion was dropped to the floor and he cursed as he knees cracked against the hard stone.

“Where’s Geralt?” Lambert growled. “I really don’t want to kill you. It’s messy and unnecessary. So you give us Geralt, and the coin you owe us and we’ll get out of here.”

“You couldn’t have just done this in the first place.” Dandelion scoffed as he scrambled to his feet and brushed off his clothes. There was a tear in one of the knees and he groaned. He loved this outfit. It was still fairly new and he’d taken great care not to wear it when following Geralt on any of his hunts.

“Viscount Julian de Lettenhove here was going to pay your ransom, but now you’ll be lucky to escape with your lives.” Lambert snarled at the alderman. “Geralt. Now!”

The alderman stammered and gave the order to release Geralt. Dandelion held his breath until he saw his witcher stride into the room. He was carrying his swords in one hand, both sheathed and in their leather holder, and his hair was loose and matted. Dandelion  beamed and ran at Geralt. Geralt smirked but caught him in his arms and lifted him from the floor.

“Geralt!” He buried his face in Geralt’s neck. “Lambert said they were going to kill you.”

Geralt chuckled and lowered him to the floor, brushing his curls from off his face. “I’m fine, Dandelion. Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head. “Only my pride.”

“Oi! Lovebirds. Can you not do that now?” Lambert groaned. “Let’s get out of here. I’m fucking starving!”

Dandelion laughed and kissed Geralt’s cheek before linking their fingers together. “Come on then, my dear. Time to go.”

“Time to go.” Geralt agreed as he brushed his lips against Dandelion’s temple. On the way to the door Geralt leant down to swipe Dandelion’s hat from the floor. Geralt placed it carefully on top of Dandelion’s head with a fond smile. “That’s better.”

Dandelion laughed and leant into Geralt’s side. “Thank you, my darling.” _____________

Tag list: @abluescarfonwaston @artistsfuneral @slythnerd @moonysourenza @victorieschild @hailhailsatan

[vegalocity]

Tell no tales (Red Groom AU)

I debated for awhile about whether to make the Miracle Max segment its own part or not, and then figured 'eh may as well for tonal consistency' this is the act 2 darkest hour one may call it because...

...well you've seen the princess bride you know how this story goes once Westley's in the dungeon

TW: Suicide mention, Death

Red Son's knuckles were turning purple.

He didn't know how many times the bands had tightened around his wrists, restraining his magic further and slowly cutting off the bloodflow, but he could barely move them, and the slightest twitch brought pain.

“Ahhh beloved.” He glanced up and glared with as much venom as he could muster at the prince on the other side of the cage. “The time has come for you to make me the happiest man in this mountain!” The prince reached forward Seemingly to try and stroke Red Son's face, and perhaps if Red Son hadn't already been down in this cell, powerless and slowly growing more and more pained, he would have tried to play along in attempt to remove his restraints, but as it was, he was full of nothing but contempt and rage for the prince, his only thoguth was to lash out. So as the Prince's hand neared his face Red Son snapped his teeth, the threat to bite as clear as possible. The Prince pulled his hand back and huffed.

“Still so stubborn. Well Beloved, It saddens me to realize that your selfish stubbornness has forced my hand so, but all the same my hand has been forced. We must be quick before my father passes, his curse is getting worse and the healers have yet to heal him.”

“You cursed him yourself didn't you? Kin slaying garbage.” He hissed back, and the Prince at least had the good sense to not keep up the act. He rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, Macaque was right about you. Far too hotheaded to be of any use.”

“Why haven't you killed me already then?”

“You're going to need to be my husband before you're more useful dead.”

“You think I'd be consenting to a wedding at this point?”

“You don't need to. You know the old time customs as well as I do. And since you're not here by choice then wouldn't that mean-?”

“You think my parents wouldn't notice the change in circumstance? They're not stupid, you worm.”

“Oh of course not, but that doesn't mean anything when marrying you off means they don't have to deal with you anymore.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, It makes sense doesn't it? Weren't you their only child? Why did they marry you off to another demon king-to-be instead of keeping you to inherit your father's position? Especially when they didn't even have much to gain from allyship with us?” The Prince laughed, a bitter, cruel sounding thing. “Your parents wanted rid of you once it became obvious what a weakhearted fool you always were, Red Son. They basically told my mother 'we will pay YOU to take him' when they arranged our betrothal, And once you're gone no doubt they'll only care as much as the blow to their image it will be that you died so quickly. 'Our poor useless boy didn't even have the time to pretend to TRY to be a good husband he could have at least saved us the trouble and taken his own life before we'd wasted so many resources on sending him over there.'”

Red Son snarled at the arrogance dripping from the prince's words. He knew his parents had grown rather short with him near the end, but that was in part due to his own stubbornness, not simple callousness.

“Not everyone is as heartless as you, scum.” Sure his family wasn't the warmest, but that didn't change that when he was at his lowest both his mother and father had been at his back. Though it was vindicating to know his continued dismissals of his suitors before the option was taken from him was the right course of action, it's not like he didn't know that his parents wanted what they believed was best for him.

They honestly thought that he needed to move on, they didn't know Xiaotian was still out there, they thought he was clinging to the memory of a dead man, and for a long time there he thought he was too.

Besides... If he had his days right he still has about a week before the ceremony and-

“It doesn't matter. My love will be coming for me.”

The Prince's face twisted in a scowl. “Your 'Love' couldn't stop a wedding in a few short hours time! I was merely visiting you as a courtesy 'beloved'. Maybe no one told you, but we will be wed tonight-” the Prince turned on his heel and snapped his fingers and a small gaggle of servants rushed in carrying bathing tools and finery. Before Red Son could make a break for it the cuffs straining his hands shuddered and forced his hands together. Though he could barely feel the motion until it was complete.

“He'll know that this wasn't my choice. And I'm not so easy to kill.” Red Son hissed with as much venom as he could muster into his voice. “My Xiaotian will return for me, and it'll be YOUR head I have on a spike while waiting for him, mark my words.”

The Prince turned on his heel and marched away. “Your Xiaotian will be dead on the 'morrow and so will you husband.”

Red Son would like to see him try.

–

“Ah, my prince, what a pleasant surprise. Shouldn't you be preparing for the wedding-?”

“Plans changed Macaque. I know you've had fun with him but I want this man dead. Now.”

“Bro, Bro we gotta get out of here!”

“Master Six Eared Macaque, My brother and I will be taking our lunch now 'Kay Thanks Byyyyeeeee”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. I cannot afford to have my 'Husband' still counting on this helpless slab of meat to be able to stop things or he'll put up a fight I cannot afford to chance loosing! End him!”

“My prince the machine is very delicate-!”

The Prince cranked the machines settings as high as they would go.

A scream echoed through the air so loud that the heavenly court above took note for only a moment, a wave of pity from all whom heard the torment and agony was offered to the poor soul who uttered such a ravaged note.

Red Son looked up from where he'd been struggling against the servant trying to force him into his marital robes, a primal fear as he instinctively recognized the voice springing his fire forth and scalding himself as his restraints blasted his magic back onto him once more.

It couldn't be. As that was the cry of a dying man.

And he knew better than to doubt Xiaotian ever again.

If he could convince his heart to stop pounding that would be nice.

–

The Pit of Despair was spoken of only in rumor among the guards, so Sandy had heard of it briefly in his workings on the hastily assembled brute squad. Therefore after caring for Xiaojiao until she'd once again reached sobriety, he told her all he knew.

“-The only problem is, if the Monkey King really is this love of Prince Red Son's, the Pit of Despair is hidden from all eyes.” Sandy mused as he and his friend wandered through the forest. “It's said only the prince, and his adviser: Your enemy, know of its whereabouts.”

“Well there has to be SOMETHING we can work with!”

Then, much like Red Son surrounded by enemies in the mountain, they heard the scream.

“That way.” Xiaojiao uttered after a pause. “Follow the scream.”

“You can be sure it was the Monkey King?”

“Sandy my friend, that wasn't any scream of pain.” Xjaojiao stopped only for a moment to place a hand on his shoulder. “That was a cry of true agony. I felt it in my heart ten years ago watching my father bleed out, and I remember it's timbre. His true love is being forced to marry a cruel prince who intends on murdering him after the fact. If anyone knows true agony on this day, it's the Monkey King.”

“Do we really need him to find the Six Eared Macaque, you think?”

“Think about it Sandy, he outplayed me; blade versus staff, he subdued you despite your attempts to stall, and he must have outsmarted the Spider Queen, if there's anyone who can get us into that mountain it's the Monkey King.”

But their conversation was cut off as a pair of urgent whispering voices made themselves known.

“Ohhhh man, I heard that, that's gonna haunt me forever. Boss just totally killed that guy.”

“We all heard it Jin. I'm pretty sure the heavenly court heard it. Come on, brother you're going to be fine.”

“Don't just say stuff like that Yin it just invites disaster!”

“Jin, bro, I need you to be real with me, like one hundred percent real.” only then the two voices curved from behind a tree, a wheelbarrow carried between them. “Do you not have the stomach for this anymore? If you don't, we can leave. We can find work elsewhere, I don't think Mother would begrudge us for taking a little break-”

“I'm FINE Yin. Don't be so dramatic I'm not a sissy-!” The golden demon trailed off with a yelp as Xiaojiao grabbed him by his front.

“You know where they are? The man that screamed do you two know his location?” She unsheathed her sword just a bit, just enough to make the threat present. But just as the silver demon moved to try and throw her off of his brother Sandy stepped in and placed a large, iron gripped hand on either of their shoulders, pulling the gold one free from Xiaojiao's grip but keeping him just as immobile as his brother was now.

“Settle down, we're just tryin' to find our friend.”

“Haven't the foggiest idea what you guys are talking about.” The Silver demon tried.

“Indeed!” The Gold demon concurred. “Never seen any secret tunnels coming out of trees around here!”

Sandy raised his brow and Xiaojiao shared his look as the Gold demon seemed to realize he'd said too much.

“Well! It was nice talking to you both good luck in finding your friend!” he chirped, struggling to get himself free from Sandy's grip.

“And don't try to bother us further because we know nothing-” The Silver demon continued. Xiaojiao unsheathed her sword and held the very tip to the gold one's chin, tilting his head to meet her eye.

“In a funny turn of events something tells me you two know what we're looking for. Talk.”

“...Anyone ever tell you you have beautiful eyes, madame?”

The silver one groaned, and didn't even look particularly startled as Xiaojiao reeled back and knocked his brother out with the pommel of her sword.

Sandy scrambled to catch the gold demon as he slumped over, and though he had to let go of the Silver demon to do so Xiaojiao kept him from moving by turning her sword to him instead.

“You got any better ideas to cover your ass than flirting with the woman with a sword to you?”

“Uhhh Nope. Honestly I hate working here anyway. The secret passage is about a five minutes walk from here in thaaaat direction.” He pointed behind them. “Straight too, no turns, the tree is the one with all the knots. The Prince wanted Boss' workshop to be far enough from the mountain's base so he'd have distance for his 'experiments' to get loud without alerting anyone.”

“You're a fountain of wisdom. Take your brother and find some better work.”

The Silver demon did just that, and once they'd both vanished in the treeline she and Sandy exchanged a glance and nodded.

Five minutes was generous an estimate of course, and implied quite a lot about the lackadaisical pace the brothers usually kept as Xiaojiao and Sandy found the grove described to them within three. However, the Silver demon had neglected to mention a very important detail: There were many trees with many knots in the grove and it would be impossible to determine which of them was 'The' tree without searching every knot on every tree. Which could easily take hours that they did not have.

Just as Sandy was pondering over the quickest way to solve this conundrum he'd turned to see his friend in a very peculiar position, dropped onto a knee with the Jade sword held upright toward the sky.

“Xiaojiao?”

“I need a moment Sandy.” She stated calmly, her eyes shut and she took a deep breath.

“My family had a river of our own. When I was a girl I couldn't get to sleep without the gentle rush of the stream in my ears. I haven't slept a full night since the day I was expelled from my home. Every night as I settle down my ears strain for the familiar rush. My mother once said that I had an ear for the river's flow, and every night that was proven to be a curse as well as a gift.” Xiaojiao stood, her sword now held in both hands again, eyes still shut.

“There's water flowing near here.” she stated, voice barely over a whisper. “I can hear it.”

Sandy was quite literally a fish demon and even HE didn't have a sense for water like that. Nonetheless He found himself impressed with his friend all over again as she began to tilt her sword this way and that, as though it were helping her detect the source of the noise.

“I can hear it-” Xioajao whispered again before the tip of her sword embedded itself in a particular tree. She didn't open her eyes, merely placed a hand on the trunk and leaned in until her ear was pressed to the tree.

There was silence and then Xiaojiao smiled.

“It's this one. Sandy my friend, help me find the knot.” she quickly sheathed her sword and began to try as many knobs on the tree that were in her reach as possible.

It was only luck that the first knot Sandy tried gave way beneath his hand and with a small 'click' a hollow panel on the side of the tree swung open, revealing a staircase descending below.

Xiaojiao shot him a bright grin and Sandy grinned back bashfully, but before they could trade witty banter his friend's eagerness to finally reach her goal implored her to descend down the stairs. It was a bit of a Squeeze for Sandy but he was able to make his way down a few paces behind her.

And... Well the Pit of Despair was about what he'd expected. A dank dungeon like place, ornate lamps lighting the room trying to pretend there was a level of class present in the torture chamber, a huge water wheel was perched in the corner, heartily chugging away but no Six Eared Macaque for Xiaojiao to face.

There was however a figure strapped to a table beside the water wheel. Xiaojiao was quickly ensuring the three of them were alone but Sandy rushed to the strapped figure's side and-...

He was human. He was wearing the same clothes he remembered the Monkey King wearing, and his hair was the same shade of dark brown as he'd remembered the Monkey King sporting, but there were no simian features and no tail.

And he wasn't breathing.

--

“What?! Xiaotian dies!?”

“Well The prince had the machine turned up all the way, remember?”

“Well then who KILLS the prince? Is it Red Son? Xiaojiao?”

“Nobody. The Prince lives.”

“SO HE WINS?! That's not right who would write a story like that!?”

“You know- we should probably stop here, you're getting too heated, and you're sick, I don't want my own kid glaring at me because I made my grandbaby feel worse.”

“No! No! I'll be good I promise! I won't interrupt anymore I need to know how it ends!”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure! Grandpa Pleeeaaasseeeee?”

“Alright, if you're sure.”

“I am!”

“Well then....'Xiaojiao came to find Sandy quickly and examined the body on the table herself, a quick pass over with her eyes, and finding the same tells He did quickly enough.-

--

“He wasn't really the Monkey King...” she breathed. “A body double or something- How'd he learn to shapeshift like that?”

“He was mortal. Poor guy.” Sandy sighed and placed a large hand over the still chest.

Sandy held a moment of silence to try and give the dead man a moment's respect, but Xiaojiao had other plans, Her only shot at finally finding the Six Eared Macaque and having her revenge and he was dead on a slab. She shouted and kicked at the water wheel until one of the spokes cracked beneath her rage.

Then something occurred to Sandy.

“We have to get outta here.”

“Why?! Where are we going?!” Xiaojiao shouted, still lost in her anger. “It's not like we've got anything we're doing that's FEASABLE ANYMORE!” She kicked another wheel spike.

“Don't give up just yet, my friend.” Sandy huffed as he looked the body over once more looking for any lingering damages, and finding none he hefted it over his shoulder. “There's this guy back in the village, While I was on he brute squad, and you know, they thought I was actually gonna fight, they said not to worry about 'going too hard' because this guy can heal just about anything.”

“He's already dead Sandy-”

“Better than nothing.”

After a moment's pause, Xiaojiao shrugged and followed behind him.

“-Oh, you still got much money left after your bender?”

“Not much, why?”

“Sandy how much does this guy charge?”

“SANDY??”

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH132

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 132: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXII)

To be or not to be?

This is really a simple choice.

But at that moment, this choice was extremely difficult.

Qi Leren slowly closed his eyes. He couldn't reveal his emotions. At this moment, his heart was beating so fast that an emotion that could be called ecstasy surged in his mind.

He had a great opportunity.

Originally he didn't even have one in ten thousand possibilities, but now, he did.

He needed acting ability, 200% acting ability, just like when he played Red.

Qi Leren took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes.

Those brown eyes revealed the human struggle. He moved his lips, as if he wanted to question Su He about why he did this, but in the end the bitter accusations all turned into a trembling in his eyes. His eyes, his expression, and his shaking fingertips were filled with the desire to live.

For a moment, Su He almost thought he was going to give in, but he shivered suddenly, took a step back, and looked at the closed stone door. He seemed ashamed of his weak will, so he wanted to look in the direction he had come, wanted to escape and ask for help, but he knew that he couldn’t escape his fate. Finally, he only turned around in despair, shame, and helplessness, and looked at Su He again.

They stared at each other for a long time. The Devil's scarlet eyes were only interested in observing the human, while the observed humans had too many emotions, from resistance to struggle, from hesitation to compromise, and finally it turned into deep despair and he began to cry.

Those beautiful brown eyes closed, and when they opened again there was only an empty desire to live.

The Devil smiled and looked at him with encouragement, but he stopped looking at the Devil. He was still suffering for his weakness, so he didn't dare to look at him.

Trembling, he took the first step towards his journey.

Descent begins with this small step.

After this step, there was numbness, compromise, and submission.

He had come to the Devil King, quietly looking at the goblet filled with the Devil’s blood in his hand. If he drank this cup of the Devil's blood he could gain great power, but at the same time would degenerate into a demon.

The human being lured by the Devil King took the goblet with both hands. The blood in the goblet was like wine. He stared at the red liquid his Adam's apple rolled.

The Devil smiled.

The goblet tilted, the glass pressed on his lips, and the bright red liquid was about to catch his lips, but another transparent liquid rolled down from his eyes first. The humble man’s brown eyes gazed at the Devil, wept silently, and silently swallowed the temptation from hell.

The moment the blood flowed into his mouth, the transformation had already started. His brown eyes became scarlet and the devil sigil climbed over his cheek from his earlobe, leaving a thorn-like mark. Black wings sprouted from his back and pierced his clothes. They were as beautiful as a black swan’s, like an angel who had fallen from heaven.

The new demon held the empty goblet in his hand and his blood-red lips parted slightly, looking at his master.

"You look like an naive and innocent lover, beautiful but so enjoyable to see destroyed." The Devil King leaned down, kissed the forehead of his beloved demon in reward, and whispered softly, "From today on, your name is 'Depravity'."

The devil's blood slipped from the new "fallen’s" lips, and the viscous scarlet liquid flowed down his chin and fell to the earth.

At the moment when the blood fell to the ground, a violent explosion engulfed the two people who stood opposite each other, and they vanished in an instant.

　　&&&

In the scenes where reality and illusion were interweaved, countless illusions passed by the two people pitted in combat -  demons crawling in the lava of hell growled, blazing angels falling from heaven prayed, and the holy light and the demonic energy intertwined together, overturning large areas of trees and even distorting this space, making the two people fighting seem to be in another time and space.

The land under the Witch of Jealousy's feet had turned into a burning hell where countless demons hatched from evil and were shot through by the unreal blazing angels one by one. The witch looked at Ning Zhou with red eyes hidden behind he black veiled hat, with a smile on her mouth: "Are you in a hurry? Are you worried? Is it for Qi Leren? I remember him. He gave me my sister's things in the underground palace. He is really a kind and good man. I should thank him..."

"He has a pair of beautiful eyes, brown, but my Lord thinks red eyes are more suitable for him." The Witch of Jealousy’s scarlet eyes flashed, maliciousness pouring out from her painted red lips, "As long as they drink the blood given by my Lord, ordinary human beings can easily become demons just like me and get unimaginable power. You see, you’ve been studying hard in the Holy See for so many years, but I’m tied with you. No one can refuse the temptation of strength, no one.

"He’s going to betray you, poor knight, he’s going to betray you!" The witch laughed madly, shrill laughter with hysteria.

Ning Zhou, who was intercepted by another demon, waved off the giant demon and landed lightly on a rock in the hellish lava. He said coldly to the witch, "You’re jealous."

The witch's laughter came to an abrupt end and the smile that died on her mouth slowly turned into anger: "What do you know?"

At this moment, the Witch of Jealousy perfectly interpreted the appearance of jealousy. She stepped forward on the lava and said sharply in a distorted voice: "You don't know anything! I was so careful, so I walked on the edge of the cliff with every step and climbed out of hell little by little, just to see him again. I tried my best to reach what I am today, but it happened that some people are so lucky that they could easily ascend to heaven. He likes him, praises him, seduces him... Why, why is my Lord so fond of him?!”

The witch's anger triggered the illusion of hell and the lava turned into flames and shot at Ning Zhou. The two knives in Ning Zhou's hands crossed and he stood in front of her, but he rushed past regardless - the magma was split by holy light and his sharp knives passed through the furious lava and appeared in front of Isabel.

The angry witch smiled grimly and raised her sword to stab him.

The angels and demons in the false image collided together and a magnificent disillusionment broke out from them.

Suddenly the boiling magma died down, the shaking earth died down, and even the surging night wind died down.

Among the hills where the Vatican was located, there were only sacred songs and music coming as if from nowhere under the bright starry sky, compassionate and holy.

Blood flowed down the tip of the thin sword, trickling into the fertile soil, and the two people who were so close that there was almost no distance between them stood motionless, then suddenly separated.

The thin sword had pierced Ning Zhou's abdomen, but the short knives had penetrated the witch's chest.

More and more blood flowed down.

Isabel's black veiled hat had fallen to the ground, revealing her dim scarlet eyes. Covering her chest, blood streaming through her fingertips from her beating heart.

She seemed shocked, but the surprise gradually turned into self-mockery and loneliness. A gust of wind blew and she slowly fell down, looking at the night sky with her eyes empty.

"It's too late..." the Witch of Jealousy murmured. "Even if you go there, it's too late. He doesn't belong to you... You’ve lost him..."

Ning Zhou stepped forward and came to her. Blood flowed out from his abdominal wound, but he didn't feel it.

Blood was trickling from Isabel’s mouth. She looked him in the eye and asked dreamily, "Do you know the taste of jealousy?"

The bloody knife hung over her head, and the blood trickled down the blade and fell on her forehead.

The witch looked into his eyes and showed an understanding smile: "Ah, that’s the taste."

The knife fell and pierced the witch's head, and her demon crystal was broken in the holy light.

The demons condensed from rocks disintegrated, and the illusion of the dying demons screamed silently and dissipated in the night sky. The space dominated by the witch was gradually restored to be in line with reality. The ghostly angels stayed in the void for a while, bowed to the broken church on the top of the hill, and then disappeared into the night of the new moon.

Ning Zhou coughed softly, but the movement of the lungs disturbed his abdominal wound, making the blood flow faster. He leaned partially against a half-fallen tree, took a deep breath, and bandaged himself with a straight face.

After only doing the simplest medical treatment, and even having no time to clean up the demon energy that had infected his body through the wound, Ning Zhou hastily put on his clothes and ran towards the church on the top of the hill.

White gauze was quickly dyed red, but Ning Zhou’s training had accustomed him to being injured and he numbly adapted to this degree of pain. He had to go quickly, quickly…

There was an earth-shattering noise and the church on the top of the hill began crumbling.

Ningzhou's footsteps stopped, and his heartbeat seemed to stop with the explosion.

As his chest stuttered, blood gas rolled up from the depths of the throat and Ning Zhou spat out one mouthful of stagnated blood. The pain that he should have been used to was overpowered by the feeling of his heart breaking. He wiped the blood from his mouth, dyeing the silver cross embroidery on his gloves red with blood.

God, if I am guilty, please let all the harsh punishments come on me, even if I have to pay for it in hell for all eternity.

Please, bless him and let him be safe.

-----

The author has something to say:

Although the author thinks that the plot is quite clear, there are still many girls who don't understand it. Simply put: Su He is the Devil of Fraud, male (three years ago, he appeared in the appearance of a woman during the Witchcraft Sacrifice). His status has changed from before, but he was originally a player. There are witches and demons like Isabel under his hand, and there will be other devils/witches acting under others outside. The master of the Witch of Nightmares (the little girl who was like Maria) is not the Devil of Fraud, but the old Devil.

The Nightmare World is equivalent to another real alien world. It is not surprising for either NPCs or human beings to become Devil Kings. For example, it is also possible for someone to aspire to the Holy See and become the Pope after decades of hard work (provided that they are not dead).

At the same level as Su He, there are also the Devil King of Power and the Devil King of Slaughter. The relationship between these three people is not peaceful, and we will talk about it later; It was not them who were killed by Maria, Ning Zhou's mother. It was the old Devil who led the demons to invade the underworld for the first time more than 20 years ago. After he died, it was peaceful for more than 10 years. Three years ago, the text began, and three new Devil Kings led the demons to invade the human world for the second time.

Is it clear =v=

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Editor’s Notes: To take this opportunity to clear some things up a bit more, so far “Devil”, “Devil King”, and occasionally “Lord” have been used interchangably, though some devils who are of lower rank will appear in part 2. So among the Devil Kings we have the Devil of Fraud aka Su He, the Devil of Slaughter who was worshipped by the secret society in the previous arc, and the Devil of Power who has yet to appear in any notable capacity. All three of them are currently at the same level but are vying for supremacy, which was why Su He wanted the old Devil’s demon crystal. I would like to also clarify that despite being called Kings, not all of them are men.

Details about the old Devil will become much more clear in part 2, but for now all you need to know is that he was the former supreme ruler of the demons who was killed by Maria. :)

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[writer-k-pop]

The Captain (c.s.c) - Waning Crescent Hotel

Please read this (W.C.Hotel) if you this is the first post of this series that you see. Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of death Genre: Angst, Hotel Del Luna AU, Choose your own adventure, SVT x Fem! Reader Staff: Yong (Spirit General Manager) / Jiwoo (Human General Manager) / Soon Bok (Room Manager) / Mun Hee (Front Desk Receptionist) / Shin (Grim Reaper assigned to Waning Crescent) Word Count: Ending A - 4.9k / Ending B - 4.8k

W.C.Hotel | Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

"What do you mean you didn't know it was him?" I rise up from the table and stalk towards Mun Hee who stands in the garden entrance, his terror evident.

"He, his hair was different. A-and he had like uh stuff all over his face and, and." Mun Hee stutters out. "I didn't realize it was him!" He tries to reason with me.

"And it took you 10 days to realize it?" I question him as I pass him on my way out of the garden and away from my champagne.

"I didn't see him for ten days." Mun Hee defends himself, "I'm pretty sure he was locked in his room that entire time."

"You're dead if he only has a couple days left." I threaten him.

Mun Hee is taken aback, "Okay, A: I'm already dead. B: He has 12 days left."

My feet stop on a dime. "How many?" I ask, turning towards him, not believing what I had heard.

"12 left." Mun Hee says, "I remembered him cause when I read his palm, it said he had 22. Did you know that's the most I've ever seen?"

Twenty-two. A whole twenty two lives. I knew his soul would live to be wise but I hadn't guessed it would be 22 lives wise.

"So when I tell you I looked for him everyday cause I was curious and amazed, I really mean it." Mun Hee says with a nod of childlike sincerity, "And since no one can hide from me, I just kind of assumed he had locked himself in his room." He nods with a serious pout, "So I didn't know it was your Seungcheol until he FINALLY stepped out to go to the library. And then it hit me."

Soon Bok walks up to us, a bit surprised to see us here in the hallway.

"I thought you were in the garden?" She asks, looking between the two of us.

"I was." I reply, "But then Mun Hee tells me that Seungcheol has been checked in for the past 10 days and I have been clueless about it."

Soon Bok's eyes widen and she looks at Mun Hee, "You never told her? I told you to tell her!" She slaps his shoulder.

Mun Hee flinches when her hand makes contact with him, "I got distracted by other guests." He gives an excuse.

"Where did you end up placing him?" I ask, moving away from the whole Mun Hee not telling me topic.

Soon Bok doesn't even have to check her folder, "Room 88 with the nice view of the water."

I smile at her thoughtfulness, "Perfect."

I don't have the desire to return to the garden or the champagne so we continue to walk towards the hotel while Soon Bok updates me on a few hotel happenings. By the time she's finished, we've reached the bottom of the main staircase in the lobby and Soon Bok takes her leave soon after.

As we climb the stairs, Mun Hee opens his mouth to ask a question but I cut him off, already knowing what he's going to ask.

"No, you can not go bother him about his lives." I say and Mun Hee's body droops.

"But it's twenty two lives." He whines, "Twenty two!"

"And that's a lot of lives to remember." I explain to him, trying my best not to let my annoyance creep out.

"(y/n)." Mun Hee drags out my name in a plead.

Closing my eyes, I take a steadying breath, "Fine," Mun Hee smiles brightly and his body straightens, "BUT! Only if he allows you to ask questions. You must ask him if it's okay first, you got it?" I point a finger at him.

Mun Hee quickly nods. His smile is so wide that his eyes begin to shut.

I can't help but laugh at his excitement. "Go back to your post now." I tell him and wave him away. Mun Hee quickly retreats back down the stairs and happily skips to the front desk.

I make my way up the rest of the stairs and once I reach the top, I lean against the railing of the balcony. I watch as Mun Hee smiles and waves to all the guests in the lobby. For a moment, a loving smile appears on my face but it's quickly wiped away as Mun Hee nearly runs into one of the very large and very breakable flower vases.

"Clutz." I mutter to myself and turn away.

~The 22nd Day~

My wrists burn against the ropes that tightly bind them together behind my back. My knees press heavily against the wooden floor boards, trying to keep my balance as the waves rock our boat to and fro. The sharp tip of a blade rests between my shoulder blades.

Glancing to my right, Seungcheol sits in a similar position but his forehead is bleeding from where he was hit. The red blood drips down the side of his face and stains the shirt that I had bought him before we set sail.

"This ship is ours now." Our captor says, cockily as he stands a few feet in front of us.

"Take it." Seungcheol says, narrowing his eyes. "It's yours, just leave us alone."

'He's bargaining.' I think to myself, 'Why would he bargain his beloved boat?'

"Bargaining, I see." Our captor smiles, "I thought you'd put up more of fight for the boat you've had for almost your entire life."

"You've done your research." Seungcheol says, pretending to be impressed.

"Every good pirate needs to do his research, no?" Our capture banters back.

"I don't need to put up a fight." Seungcheol says through gritted teeth. "I don't need the boat."

Our captor tips his head up and taps his chin, "Now, what would a reputable boat captain need more than his boat? Any ideas, boys?" He looks to his men, who all laugh mischievously.

"A girl." One shouts from behind us.

"A girl!" Our captor claps his hands and my heart stops. "That's exactly right."

In a panic, I look over at Seungcheol who has the same panic written on his face. Seungcheol begins to fight against his restraints.

"Take the boat! Take anything but her." Seungcheol cries.

Our captor is unimpressed by Seungcheol's efforts and simply nods to the men behind me.

With ease, they grab my arms and lift me to my feet. Now, I begin to fight against their hold, though I go nowhere. Seungcheol fights harder but he's held back by the shoulders.

With a pounding heart, I continue to struggle but I'm carried towards the side of the boat.

"Please," Seungcheol begs with tears falling, "I can give you whatever you want. I, I have money. You can have my boat. Anything but her."

I feel my own cheeks become wet with tears but in the back of my mind, I know exactly why this is happening. And I hate myself for it.

"I want nothing." Our captor simply shrugs, Seungcheol's cries not affecting him at all, "Except for your pain." He finishes and pointedly looks at me. When his steely eyes meet mine, he smiles crookedly and the coldest shiver runs down my spine.

I divert my eyes to Seungcheol who is screaming and fighting against the men who hold him back. I try to catch my breath but before I have a chance to say anything, the two men lift me over the railing and drop me into the rushing water.

The cold water tightly wraps its fist around me and I fight to swim upwards but the current overpowers my efforts and drags me further below the surface. The necklace around my neck floats upwards and I'm reminded of who is above the water's surface. Not wanting to leave Seungcheol alone, I continue to fight against the current. Just when I think I've pulled myself out of the current's grasp, a strong force quite literally punches me in the stomach, sending me backwards into blackness.

My eyes snap open and I sit up in a panic. The only sounds are my heavy breathing and the echo of my pounding heart in my ears. Feeling the soft fabric that surrounds me, I realize I'm just in my bed and run a hand through my hair. My cheeks are wet with tears and I quickly wipe them away. Looking around, I squint as my blinds do a terrible job of keeping the sunlight out. The clock on my bedside table reads 1:24pm.

I groan and throw myself back onto the mattress. Subconsciously, I rub my wrist as the burning still lingers while I try to settle my racing heart. With sleep abandoning me in the middle of my nighttime, I give up the efforts and clamber out of bed. I walk out of my bedroom while slipping a light robe on.

My office is alight with the bright sunlight and I can see the dust particles floating around in the air as I descend the stairs from my connected bedroom. Immediately, a bottle of champagne on my desks greets me with its green melancholy. I quickly pick it up and raise it to my lips but frown when not even a drop falls from the bottle's mouth.

Slamming the bottle down, the collision echos into the still air.

'Don't drink so much out here.' Seungcheol's voice rings in my mind. 'We don't know if the next port will have any alcohol.' He says, followed by his chuckle.

I cover my ears and shake my head to get rid of the memory.

'Next year, I'll buy you the most expensive and best champagne that you will never be able to drink another kind.' Another memory surfaces and this time the shadow of his arms wraps around my waist.

With a scream of frustration, I grab the champagne bottle and chuck it. It hits an empty space on the wall and shatters into hundreds of pieces. As the pieces fall and tinkle against the floors, the fragments of Seungcheol's voice fade as well.

With a heavy heart, I let my feet wander wherever they please, too tired to fight my body's desire. The hallways are quiet and the sunlight warms up my skin, ridding it of the cold water memory.

When my feet stop, I'm standing at the base of the main staircase in the lobby. The place I landed and woke up at after I passed out in the water. I wrap my arms around myself as the feeling of cold water returns.

My senses return to the memory and I'm submerged in the past.

The coughing that raked through my chest. Yong and Jiwoo rushing towards me with Mun Hee and Soon Bok not far behind with multiple towels in their hands.

All of them wrapping me in the towels and drying me off. My struggle against them to get back to the living world. To get back to Seungcheol. My employees holding me in place. Yong bringing out a notecard.

The words of the note card burying my heart under 100 tons of concrete.

"Do it again, and we will not be so kind."

I had disobeyed the Gods' conditions and I had paid for it. As I move my heel over the spot, another memory surfaces.

'Heels are no good on a boat, (y/n).' Seungcheol had said, kneeling in front of me and placing my heel back on my foot, 'We need to buy you a pair of flatter shoes.'

'As long as I still look good and they don't look like trash.' I had said.

'I'll find the best ones for you.' Seungcheol promised with a wide smile.

Anger begins to bubble inside of me. I had it so good with Seungcheol. I was happy with him. So why did I disobey the Gods' order and ruin everything?

Why did I toss the note card that said 'Time to leave.' into the trash?

Why did I think I could run away from the Gods?

Why wasn't I thinking?

"Stupid." I exclaim, kicking the bottom stair. It causes a low throbbing in my foot but I ignore it, too frustrated to linger on it.

The doors to the front check in room creak open and a pair of dress shoes clicks against the tiles.

"Oh, (y/n)." Jiwoo's pace quickens slightly to reach me faster, "What are you doing awake?"

I cross my arms, erasing all traces of my painful memories from my face, "I could ask the same of you. You should still be in your home, getting sleep for tonight."

Jiwoo shrugs, unbothered by the fact that I answered his question with another question. "Well, I've been coming in early to make sure everything is in order for the next person who will take over for me once I leave." He gives me a small nudge with his shoulder, "Not just any spirit can slide right into the human manager's position."

I look down at my feet and smile. Out of his family line, Jiwoo's one of my favorites. Always thinking ahead and planning. Always willing to stand up to me when I'm moody. Plus he's always willing to drive around the living world and take me to eat yummy foods. He's a foodie.

"What will you do once I leave?" I wonder.

"Me?" Jiwoo scratches his neck, "You know, I haven't thought about it much. I've been pretty busy with the hotel."

"What do you want to do?" I reword my question, genuinely curious.

Jiwoo shrugs, "Travel maybe. I've heard so many stories from guests here about the beauties of the world and the history so it might be fun to experience them first hand."

I nod, "That sounds like a solid plan." I gather up my skirt and turn towards the elevators. "Call me when he's ready." I tell him before walking away without another word.

I spend the next many hours laying on the couch. Then sitting at my desk. Then cleaning the broken glass. Then sort of listening to Yong when she brings me the daily debrief. Then sitting on the stairs. Then staring out the window. Then dusting off my picture frames. Then back to the window.

The moon sits high in the sky and I have an unobstructed view of it as the cloudless sky passes by.

A small, timid knock barely makes it to my ears.

"Come in." I call out to whoever's on the other side.

The door opens and Soon Bok shuffles into my office. I smile at her, finding her change in demeanor amusing. Out in the hotel, she's strict and not to be messed with. But in here, she's nervous and unsure. "It's been quite a while since you've visited me up here, Soon Bok."

Soon Bok nervously nods, "I think the last time I was in here was the first time too."

"What do you need?" I ask, hoping to end her nerve wracking visit.

"Jiwoo asked me to tell you that he's taking Seungcheol to the garden." She points her thumb behind her.

I nod, "Alright I'll be there in a second. You can go."

She bows and takes her leave quickly.

I walk over to my desk and press a hidden lever that opens a hidden compartment. From the compartment I pull out a jewelry box that I haven't touched in ages. Opening it, I'm greeted with shine of the emerald necklace Seungcheol bought me. The one I was wearing when I was thrown overboard.

The one I had to beg the Gods to let me keep.

I close the lid and with the box in hand, I walk out of my office. The hotel buzzes with the midnight hustle and bustle but I ignore all of it and press on towards my destination.

When I enter the final hallway, I speed up a bit, the tears already filling my eyes. I enter the garden and my feet skid to a stop.

He's not here.

But then he walks out from behind the tree, a hand running along its truck, his eyes inspecting the branches that spread out.

My heart lodges in my throat as he turns towards me. His eyes are still soft and full of emotion. His cheeks are still high and full. His lips are still set in the perfect shape. The only thing that causes me some pain are the shadows of scars that scatter his face and neck. The places where he'd been seriously injured in past lives.

I eye his forehead and there sits the shadow of the scar I caused.

"(y/n)." Seungcheol whispers my name but I hear it like he whispered it into my ear.

I set the jewelry box on the bench and cover my mouth with my hand, choking back a sob. In two seconds flat, he has me wrapped up in a tight embrace and my tears fall.

"You're here." He says, stroking my hair, "I'm here. I'm here."

Seungcheol holds me as I sob, hundreds of years of guilt finally ripping out of my body. Even as my sobs subside, he still holds tightly onto me.

"So this is where we finally get to meet again." Seungcheol mutters as I sniffle. "When my soul is at its end in the living world."

I sniffle and focus on steadying my breath.

"I lived a lot of lives, did you know that?" He continues to talk.

I nod, still sniffling but not as frequently.

"A whole twenty two." I can hear the smile on his lips, "I'd say that's pretty good for a measly ship captain."

I smile, his attempt to make me laugh a success.

"You weren't measly." I counter.

Seungcheol pulls away, "I couldn't even buy you a home."

I shake my head, "I didn't need a home."

He smiles and dries my cheeks. "I know but still."

I release myself from him and sit on the bench, staring at the tree. Seungcheol follows suit without taking his eyes off of me.

"What happened that da-?" He wonders, scooting closer and his hand runs into the jewelry box. "What's this?"

"Open it." I instruct him and he does so.

Seungcheol's eyes widen as the necklace comes into view, "I thought the sea took this."

I shake my head, "Those pirates weren't from this world." I answer his original question of what happened that day on the sea, "I'm sure someone's explained my punishment to you?" I check with him.

"Yong did this morning over breakfast." Seungcheol nods. "It seemed fitting until I realized they controlled essentially when it ended."

"We're talking about thirteen souls. In my world, killing a single soul is like murdering at least 10 people in the living world." I smile that he sort of took my side. "Anyway, a week before it all happened, the Gods had delivered a note saying it was time to leave you." I continue on with the story, "But I had decided that I was going to stay with you because you made me that happy. So I threw the note away and thought I could run away so the Gods wouldn't catch us." I tuck my hands underneath my legs and lower my gaze to the floor. "I was reckless thinking that they wouldn't find us. But they did. And they forced me to leave. When they dropped me in the sea, I tried to return to the surface, I swear I tried, but they used the currents to pull me back to the hotel."

Seungcheol leans against the back of the bench in awe.

"Because I had disobeyed their conditions for my punishment, I was forced out and caused you all the more pain." I say in a roundabout apology. "I never did it again."

"How do you still have the necklace?" Seungcheol asks, glancing down at the open jewelry box in his lap.

"I begged." I tell him, "I pleaded with the Gods to let me keep it even though I'd disobeyed them."

Seungcheol lifts the necklace out of the box and my eyes follow it. "Thank goodness they did because I spent way too long searching for this for it to be tossed to the side because a girl was in love." Without asking me to move, he places the necklace back on my neck and clasps it closed. "There. Back where it belongs."

My hand instinctively goes to my neck to feel the metals and gems again.

"After you were," Seungcheol clears his throat, unable to say the exact words, "I was immediately knocked unconscious. And when I woke up, I was laying on deck, my hands free of their binds. My men scattered around deck. The boat was docked in a port and had no evidence that any pirates had boarded. Now that you're saying they weren't from my world, it makes sense how they disappeared so quickly."

He runs a hand through his hair, still fluffy and full. "We grieved after that. I grieved. Of course thinking you'd died. And you know, did the whole sha-bang and everything."

I smile as love for this man swells in my chest. I had never once 'died' in front of a love so Seungcheol's the only one who held a funeral for me.

"What did you do after?" I asked, wanting to keep the conversations going, mainly so I could listen to him talk. Like how we used to spend days in the sun, him telling me stories of his previous travels while his small crew manned the ship.  

"I continued shipping goods from port to port with the crew." Seungcheol recalls, "Nothing exciting."

I rolled my eyes, his consistent I'm-not-really-that-interesting jab still present. "You never once met someone interesting?"

Seungcheol scrunches his nose in thought, "I mean, once met a young man named Samuel. Real spunky kid. He had run away from home and was looking for a job."

Hoshi's Samuel? I wonder. Did he keep the same name in a different life?

"We gave him one and he was the hardest working kid. Always helping out around the boat, always wanting to learn about every aspect of running a boat." Seungcheol smiles at the memory, "He was also really athletic and flexible. Sometimes made me wonder if he was a dancer."

My ears perk up immediately, "Maybe in one of his lives?" I suggest.

"That would make sense." Seungcheol agreed, "Samuel was with us for about five years or so before some girl swept him off his feet. Literally." He whispers into my ear with a giggle. "But he won't tell you it that way."

I laugh. "What about Yeon Woo?" I ask remembering some of his crews' names.

"Yeon Woo?" Seungcheol says with some surprise that I remember his name. "Yeon Woo stayed with me for a while. He finally married the girl he had been with for ages. The one with glasses.” He adds for my benefit, “It sounds so silly now, but on the morning of his wedding, he went down to the water, poured two cups of alcohol, set one at the water's edge, and just sat there."

"For me?" I ask, eyes large, touched at Yeon Woo's affection.

Seungcheol nods, "For you." He confirms.

Yeon Woo had been Seungcheol's right hand man and quickly became one of my closest friends. I'm sure he took my 'leave' as hard as Seungcheol.

"He was always such a softie." I lean on his shoulder and loop my arms around his.

"Who else?" Seungcheol wondered, "Oh, Ren!" He lists off the next member of his crew and proceeded to tell me stories he thought were memorable.

We went through all the members of his 5 man crew. Then we diverged into his life and what he went off to do.

He never married though he had a long list of attempts. He says it was cause all the potentials had wanted to move inland but he wanted to stay on the water. We chat about the different places he thought were remotely interesting and about the time he tried to eat a live octopus but chickened out when it stuck to the inside of his cheek. He had to pull it out with both hands.

I laugh when I hear the story. The image of Seungcheol struggling with a tiny octopus tentacle from his mouth being just too funny.

Seungcheol keeps me laughing, constantly telling me how much he loves the sound of my laughter. Even as the sun dips low in the western sky, we can't seem to stop giggling.

As our laughter dies down, Seungcheol stares into the sun and sighs.

"So, now it's my turn, huh." He mutters thoughtfully.

I look at him confused for a second before the setting sun closes the lid on my bliss. "We could-"

"We are not disobeying the Gods again." Seungcheol cuts me off before I could even finish, "You did it once and look how that turned out. I'm not letting you do it again."

I pout and he nuzzles his nose into my hair.

"We're going to do it right this time." He mumbles.

"This way is sucky." I pout and Seungcheol chuckles.

"Come on." He whispers and places a kiss on my head before helping me up to my feet along with himself.

"Are you not sad that you're leaving me?" I wonder as I search his eyes for even a hint of sadness.

Seungcheol smiles softly, "I am but then I see those." He nods towards the chrysanthemums sitting at the base of the tree, "And they remind me that you have others to wait for. And they love you as much as I do." He grabs my hand tightly, "So in reality, I'm quite happy that you were loved so much."

I smile as his words slowly seep in. 13 loves is a lot. Not every soul spends all their lives loving a person so one could say I am pretty fortunate in that aspect. Though the way I encountered this love fortune was not fortunate.

Seungcheol turns and I let him lead me out of the garden. On our way we run into Mun Hee who just happened to be sweeping around the doorway for transfers.

"Just one more question." Mun Hee quickly says before I can even open my clenched jaw.

Seungcheol chuckles, loving my employee. "Alright, one more."

Mun Hee smiles brightly, "What was (y/n) like?" He asks, glancing at me.

I relax my shoulders and roll my eyes. Of course he would want to know what I was like. Was I the same? Was I somehow vastly different?

"Weren't you around?" Seungcheol questions.

Mun Hee readjusts his posture, "She's different when she's not inside the hotel. In here, she's... her." He says as if he's obscenely offended that I would change personalities.

I scrunch my face at him in annoyance as Seungcheol answers.

"She was... herself." He finishes, looking over at me and squeezing my hand.

I smile and we walk around Mun Hee, continuing towards the awaiting car.

"I like him." Seungcheol comments with a glance back, "You should keep him for a while."

"I have to keep him. He's assigned to work here." I inform him and I step from the firm concrete to the soft dirt path.

"You'll be okay here?" Seungcheol asks as we step closer to the car.

I nod, tears already lining my eyes. "I think so."

"You won't mourn for me for too long?" He asks and meets my gaze. His eyes sad but tearless, wanting to be strong for me who still has time left.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice to be stable.

"And you'll tell the next fella that I say thank you?" He continues.

"For what?" I stutter out.

"For loving you just as much as I did." Seungcheol says and a tear slips down my cheek. But before it ever reaches my chin, he wipes it away with his thumb.

I nod and wordlessly, Seungcheol lowers his lips down to meet mine. The warmth of the kiss wipes away all traces of the cold memories and my senses are filled with just him. When he pulls away, I have to fight the urge to pull him back. Partly because Shin is watching but also because Seungcheol's holding my arms to my sides, as if he is already guessing I would try.

He presses a final kiss to my forehead and I close my eyes, trying to memorize every detail of the moment. How his lips are pressed firmly to my skin. How his hands tighten ever so slightly around my arms. How he's close enough that I can hear the echo of his heart beat, beating strong and proud.

I keep my eyes close as he pulls away and releases my arms. I only open them when he steps away and towards the car.

Shin gives Seungcheol a curt nod, holding the door open for him. Seungcheol returns the nod and slides into the car without another glance back. But I'm grateful for it, because if he did turn around, I wouldn't have stayed still.

With a hand gripping my necklace, I watch with fresh tears as the car drives forward and disappears into the fog.

I don't bother to wipe away the tears the same way I don't bother to acknowledge the fact that I'm one love closer to ending my punishment. Or the fact that back in my garden, one chrysanthemum sinks to the ground as its life leaves and follows Seungcheol.

I know I'll mourn his leaving for days. But it's something I need to do alone. So I turn back towards the hotel and walk inside to allow myself to grieve. Then wait for the others to arrive.

Return to the Navigation Page (Waning Crescent Hotel) to choose the next guest.

"So this time, I'm leaving with you?" Seungcheol asks the air while staring into the overly bright sunset.

I nod, "This time we do it together. And not against our will."

Seungcheol chuckles, "Sometimes I think that we laugh too much."

I stand up, hands on my hips, "I can erase all laughter if you want?" I raise an eyebrow as he also rises to his feet, shaking his head.

"Nope, laughing is good." Seungcheol says and grabs my hand. "Are you ready to say goodbye to your staff?"

My heart suddenly feels heavier as I remember that I'm leaving for good. "No. But I have to." I say and hold my head up.

"We'll do it together." He reminds me as we walk out of the garden.

We walk hand in hand to the lobby where Yong, Mun Hee, Soon Bok, and Jiwoo stand solemnly.

"So this is it?" Mun Hee asks with tears in his eyes. "This is the day you leave us?"

I wrap him up in a hug, only a tiny bit annoyed that he's being so sappy. "Maybe I'll get punished again and be back here by the end of the year." I try to joke but Mun Hee abruptly pushes back from me.

"Don't you dare say that. You better not return here." He says angrily through his tears.

I chuckle, "I won't come back. I promise."

Turning to Soon Bok, I thank her for her service and her amazing work. Something I never did and should've done more.

Next onto Jiwoo. I also thank him for his and his entire family's service then I unclip the bracelet that has held him to this place.

"When you leave today, you won't be able to find this place again." I inform him, "I hope that you'll be able to go and live your life happily."

Jiwoo nods, "Thank you for letting me work with you. I won't ever forget you."

I smile sadly, "You will. But thank you."

Finally I reach Yong who is sniffling and trying so very hard not cry.

"You'd think after all these years of waiting that I'd be prepared for this day." She says through sniffles.

"Thank you, Yong." I rests my hands on her shoulders, "For everything. Thank you."

With lips pursed together, she leans forward and wraps me in an unexpected hug. But I soon wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tightly.

We pull apart after a couple seconds and I wipe the few tears that have escaped from her eyes.

"Keep this hotel running beautifully." I tell her before Seungcheol grabs my hand again.

With final waves of goodbye, Seungcheol and I walk out to the foggy forest that will take us to our resting place.

At the edge of the forest, Shin stands next to an idling car, a somber look on his face.

"(y/n)." He says when we reach him, "It has been an honor working with you. I wish you both a peaceful rest." Shin bows his head and I pat his arm.

"The honor was mine." I tell him with a smile. Now the tears start to line my eyes as the realization fully sets in.

I'm free. I served my years of punishment and now I'm free to let my soul rest.

I turn back towards the hotel and look up to the top where the rooftop patio is outlined with bright string lights. Then to the mid floors where random room lights are turned on, some guests staying in while others opting to experience the hotel's many services. Then to grand base where guests would be milling around, waiting their turns to leave this world.

"(y/n)?" Seungcheol softly asks pulling my attention to where he sits just inside the car, "Are you ready?"

I take one last quick look at the hotel before turning away from it. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

I lower myself into the car and Shin securely closes the door after I am completely inside. As the car begins to drive forward, Seungcheol securely grabs my hand and I let his warmth guide me towards our final destination.

In the garden, the final chrysanthemum withers and dies so that no more stand at the base of the bare tree.

[of-muppets-and-men]

Penumbra

Sweet Jesus... I am still alive and finally back with another chapter. Apologies once again for failing to post it here and for taking so long. 

Link here if you’d prefer AO3.

June 17th.

It had been a day like any other for Ichigo.

He was just a boy then, living his best life alongside his father, newborn sisters and his beloved mother. There was no worry, no cause for distress; just bliss. How could anything be wrong with his mother by his side? Unfortunately for the Kurosaki family, fate was not so kind as to leave them be.

One moment and life was never the same.

Even now, as a grown man, as a father, Masaki’s absence still ate away at his soul. So once again, Ichigo in front of his mother’s headstone, lamenting alone in the rain. He paid no mind to the rain beat against his umbrella or the moist fabric of his pants against his legs. Ever since he and Orihime wed, he’d make the walk to the graveyard on his own. It felt troublesome to ask his son to pay respects to a grandmother he’d never known and Orihime somehow made coming here a worse affair than it already was… So he asked her to stop.

Not that it mattered to him; he liked it better this way. A more personal touch rather than the exuberant parade his father kept on with. It was just him and her. And so he lit the incense, joining his hands in prayer.

“Hey Mom… Been another mundane year but I hope you’re doing okay. Kazui’s getting big, I wish you could’ve met him…”

The young man shut his eyes, sighing deep and heavy in the gentle yet steady wisps of rain. Eyes still closed, Ichigo’s right and slipped down the face of the grave. He traced his fingers across the damp pillar of stone, feeling every dip in the engraving when something drew his attention away. A slight chill went down his spine as he sensed the faint spiritual pressure.

Ichigo knew the signature well: A Hollow.

His days as a substitute Shinigami may have been over but that didn’t stop Hollows from roaming around Karakura. Or keep his natural-born abilities from sensing them mucking around. Ichigo felt every muscle in his body tense up, screaming at him to don Zangetsu once more. With a clenched fist, He decided it was time to return home. After all, it was no longer his place to interfere; a path long behind him now.

“Sorry, Mom. I’ll swing back around when I have the chance.” Ichigo said mournfully. He started the fair walk back to the clinic, body still in turmoil.

C’mon, it’ll only take a minute.

Coward, you’ve faced down GODS. What’s one little hollow?

His mind beckoned him to act. To make good on the vow he’d made to her all those years ago. But he resisted, persistent as his subconscious was. Although their pleas did beg the question. Who was assigned to defend Karakura from Hollows now? It certainly wasn’t he knew, otherwise they’d never leave him alone. Ichigo pretended not to care before his mind travelled elsewhere. Or more specifically, to one person in particular.

Rukia.

How was she? Was she a captain by now? Did she marry that idiot, Renji? So many questions he wanted an answer to.

It had been so long since they’d last spoken. 9 years? No, probably closer to 10 now… Not since that night after the war ended. A night that was easily one of the best of his entire life. But… it was as equally bittersweet. So many things he’d wished he’d said to her then. How different things would be if he hadn’t been paralyzed by indecision. If he’d damned all the laws of the Soul Society to let her hear those three little words.

Ichigo let his arm drop to his side, letting the rain soak the rest of him, “I am a coward…”

And so he walked home, leaving his umbrella behind. The cold drops of water streamed down his sullen face and seeped everywhere else. Ichigo had long thought the rain had disappeared, but like all the relief in his life, it was only for a few fleeting moments.

Elsewhere

Suì-Fēng kept her stance firm, eyes and ears sharp; waiting for even the slightest notion of her enemy. Sand and dirt crunched beneath her sandals as she felt a bead of sweat across her brow. The commander of the punishment force focused on every shifting shadow like a mantis hunting for prey.

“Where are you?” She whispered with an almost jovial hum.

As she uttered the last syllable, she heard the faintest shift in the stones. From above? Good strategy, the lieutenant’s mind mused.

*woosh*

The Shinigami barely had time to think as her foe lunged forward with blinding speed, thrusting their blade with determined vigor. Side-stepping the tip, Suì-Fēng flipped the assailant onto the floor then scrambled for a chokehold. Arms taut around her foe’s neck, Suì-Fēng couldn’t help but gloat.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna beat me, Katsumi.”

A confident chuckle passed Suì-Fēng’s lips as her Captain’s adopted daughter scowled in defeat. But as Suì-Fēng loosened her grip, Katsumi’s silhouette faded into nothing, only leaving behind a single golden ribbon.

“What?!”

“HADO 63: RAIKŌHŌ!!!”

Gray eyes shifted to the adjacent hill, just inside her blind spot. A roaring bolt of lightning surged toward the captain, caught entirely off guard. It was only Yoruichi’s reflexes that managed to get her out of the spell’s way; Suì-Fēng had the singed uniform and hair to match her luck. A Flash step later and the captain and lieutenant were clear of the blast. Its fearsome might shook the ground beneath her, sending dirt and sand asunder into the air.

“Good grief, that much damage with no incantation?” Suì-Fēng scowled, her pride undoubtedly tarnished and by a child no less.

A scoff laced with envy. In the lieutenant’s youth, such mastery and skill were demanded of her; to bring honour not only to her house but to the name Shihouin as well. And to ultimately be out done, prodigy or no, was an unforgivable grievance; at least in her mind. Suì-Fēng moped on the floor of the training hall while she watched her beloved Yoruichi call for Katsumi.

“Katsumi! That’s enough for today!” she called out, her voice faintly echoing, “Bring it in!”

In a moment’s notice, the jovial little girl appeared before her elder shinigami. Arms taut behind her back, Katsumi bobbed up and down out of sheer excitement, eagerly awaiting her mother’s praise.

“How did I do?”

“You performed magnificently, sweetheart. A solid plan with beautiful execution. Not to mention your use of Utsusemi and a high level kido spell such as Raikoho. Even some Captains have trouble utilizing those techniques.”

“Well, I did learn from the best.” Katsumi proudly announced.

Yoruichi ruffled a loving hand through her hair, “I think it’s more than that but thank you darling. Suì-Fēng? Anything you wish to add?”

Her Lieutenant sat silently for a moment, bowing her head a touch.

“Nothing, My Lady. Katsumi performed… exemplary.” The lieutenant gritted, swallowing a bit of her pride, “But don’t let this get to your head, kid…”

“That a challenge?” The girl smirked.

Suì-Fēng’s mood switched instantly back into the same annoyed grouch she always. Her eyebrows became so furrowed, Katsumi thought they might pop off her face. The younger soul kept her grin, trying desperately not to giggle; teasing Suì-Fēng being a trait Yoruichi more or less approved of.

“THAT DOES IT! My lady, would you mind if we went another round?” the petite woman hissed.

“Suì-Fēng… We have an Officer’s meeting to attend.” Yoruichi breathed, clearly exhausted by her lieutenant’s temper.

Before Suì-Fēng could retort, Katsumi beat her to the punch, “C’mon, Mom. One quick spar?”

A deep, audible sigh left the Captain’s mouth, “Ughh… Fine. Just one. Take your positions.”

The lieutenant and apprentice stood and faced one another; Suì-Fēng more than ready to showcase the full power of an officer. Yoruichi would act as their referee, hand raised in waiting.

“Begin.” as she chopped her hand.

The two clashed into a heated fistfight, each feinting and striking with lethal efficiency. Suì-Fēng poured her all into every blow in an attempt to finish this battle quickly. But try as she might, Katsumi kept up, parrying every jab and checking every kick she threw. Growing more frustrated by the second, Suì-Fēng’s blows grew more wild. How can this child possibly keep up with me? Her mind vehemently screamed. Meanwhile, Yoruichi witnessed her lieutenant’s anguish in full. If only she could tell Suì-Fēng who this girl was...

Katsumi on the other hand kept her composure, waiting, watching for an opportunity. And it would most surely come. In her fury, Suì-Fēng’s guard had become sloppy, letting Katsumi slip a spinning kick up and through it. Pegging her chin. It was enough to stun the lieutenant, allowing the young girl to sweep her off her feet.

“Enough! The winner is Katsumi.” Yoruichi announced.

In a show of sportsmanship, Katsumi offered a hand to her downed opponent, only for Suì-Fēng to knock it aside. Breaths heavy, the lieutenant shakily rose to her feet. She assumed her fighting stance again, urging Katsumi to continue.

“Again…” was all she could say. How had she progressed so much in a year?

Before Katsumi could speak or act, Yoruichi stepped in front of her, shielding her daughter from view. And her lieutenant’s stubbornness quickly turned to acquiesce. Suì-Fēng’s captain stared down upon her, eyes cold and daunting as if a member of Central 46 itself.

“Suì-Fēng. Enough. You have nothing to prove to me so let’s end this before you embarrass yourself further.” Her beloved captain reprimanded, arms crossed.

Avoiding her gaze and keeping her head low, Suì-Fēng relented, “Yes, My Lady…”

Knowing full well she couldn’t fully explain the depths of Katsumi’s heritage nor exploit Rukia’s secrets, Yoruichi sought to dismiss herself and Katsumi. Though it did sting, having to watch a dear friend go through such a pressing mental ordeal. So in an act of sympathy, the captain walked over to her defeated subordinate, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I need to take my daughter home and prepare for this afternoon’s meeting. Can I trust you to do the same?”

“Yes, Lady Yoruichi.” Suì-Fēng spoke, dutiful and precise.

Keeping her voice hushed so Katsumi wouldn’t hear, Yoruichi whispered into her lieutenant’s ear, “Don’t feel ashamed, My daughter is… Unique. One day I hope you’ll know what I mean.”

Now, more puzzled than depressed, Suì-Fēng looked up at her Captain. Her grey eyes begged for some level of clarity, but found none as amber looked back. It was a look she’d grown to know and hate. Equal parts wise and misleading. Suì-Fēng picked herself in a huff, while Yoruichi ushered for Katsumi to follow. The poor girl had patiently waited for her elders to conclude their business and was more than ready to return home. Katsumi practically pranced behind her mother, a gleeful hum on her lips.

Though her cheery demeanor didn’t last. Suì-Fēng wouldn’t meet her gaze as she passed by, out of shame or remaining slivers of pride, Katsumi could not tell. It was confusing; she wanted to feel proud of her victory but the way Suì-Fēng looked soured any attempt. The girl stopped briefly, fingers fiddling nervously as she said the only thing she could think to say.

“Sorry.”

Suì-Fēng looked back up as Katsumi ran after her mother then vanishing out of the cave altogether. Now alone with her thoughts, the lieutenant bitterly scoffed.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, kid…” fully aware no one could hear her.

***

It took practically no time at all for Yoruichi and Katsumi to reach the Shihouin Manor. The past year of these training lessons had been a strange blessing in disguise for the Commander of the Punishment Force. Helping Katsumi grow was inadvertently helping her keep up to par too. Yoruichi felt strong, perhaps even stronger than she had been against the Wandenreich. No sense of falling out of grace as she had over a century beforehand.

But aside from her own personal growth, she couldn’t help thinking about Katsumi’s. The jovial little girl holding onto her shoulders, that she watched grow since her birth, might very well become one of the strongest Shinigami in the history of the Soul Society. As Katsumi resumed humming, Yoruichi deliberated on how she stacked up to the foremost powerhouses of the Seireitei.

Zaraki and her father were monsters in their own right, but immense as their power was, it lacked any sort of refinement. Refinement Yoruichi had diligently instilled in her student. Katsumi’s reiatsu reserves likely match that of Captain Unohana herself. And while her Tōgetsu may not be a match to Ryujin Jakka or Kyoka Suigetsu, Katsumi’s creativity may yet change that still. But the scariest part was how fast she was progressing. A 10 year old girl had already outclassed the entire Shino academy, mastering Shunpo techniques, Hakuda and Zanjutsu that even took time for Yoruichi to learn. And it was only a matter of time until she learned Shunko… and Bankai.

But that train of thought would have to wait until, at least until after the meeting.

Landing in the courtyard, Yoruichi kneeled down to let Katsumi off before going inside. Apparently, her daughter had energy to spare, bolting off into the foyer with no trouble at all. Where she would bump into another member of her house.

“UNCLE YUSHIRO!” Yoruichi heard Katsumi scream, followed by a loud crash.

The Lady of the Manor rushed inside to investigate the ruckus, only to find Katsumi prancing around a half conscious Yushiro.

“Sister! You’Re BacK!” her little brother managed to say, “HoW diD tHe traINInG gO?”

“Wonderfully, Little brother.” Yoruichi chuckled, “Our little Katsumi will be a Shinigami in no time.”

“tHAT’s gREAT!!”

“Say, Yushiro? Do you mind keeping her company while I attend this Captain’s meeting? I’d rather not have Shinji make comments about me being tardy.”

Unable to speak anymore thanks to the knee to the head courtesy of his niece, but was able to give a thumbs up. Much to his dismay and Katsumi’s delight. So while their retainers iced Yushiro’s head and cleaned up yet another broken vase, Yoruichi went to her room to switch into her more formal Captain’s attire. The baggy sleeves of her Shihakusho and Haori always bothered her, hence why she wore them so little. And already dreading the likely boring proceedings ahead of her, she made her way to the front door.

Yoruichi stood by the foyer, hands tucked in her sleeves as she called out, “Katsumi! I’m leaving now!”

“Coming!”

The voice started off faint but then materialized along Katsumi, who Flash Stepped into view. Without a second to spare, Katsumi leaped into her mother’s open arms, embracing her as tightly as her arms would allow.

“I’ll be home soon, Okay? Don’t burn the house.” Yoruichi joked lovingly.

“No promises.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

One tender kiss to the cheek later and Yoruichi was off, while Katsumi disappeared back into the Manor.

*** Yoruichi soared above the Seireitei, feeling the wind and crisp air flow through uniform. The Shinigami very nearly forgot how beautiful the afternoons were here, particularly from such a vantage point. But alas, she drew her gaze towards the first division barracks; her destination.

The flash goddess nimbly landed upon one of the railings, much to the shock of one Renji Abarai; the shock of her arrival almost made him spill his tea. With a second to catch his breath, he watched as Yoruichi coyly leaned against the very same railing.

“Hey, Renji. Rukia around?”

“Do you always have to appear out of nowhere? And yes, she’s already inside.” Renji griped.

“Lovely. C’mon, before she starts complaining.”

The lieutenant of squad 6 lazily followed his old friend inside, but not before rolling his eyes at her disregard for protocol. Even though she’d been reinstated as Captain of Squad 2 and had been for a decade now, Yoruichi still felt alien walking through the old halls of the first division. As did Renji; it was rare for lieutenants to accompany their captains to such meetings, let alone now, given meetings barely happened at all. The pair walked in silence, until Renji piped up with a pressing question of his.

“Do you know what this meeting is for?” Renji suddenly asked.

“Well, One thing is the exoneration of Kisuke and his reinstatement if that succeeds but I’m not aware of anything else.” Yoruichi explained.

“Is that right? Think they’ll give him back his position as Captain?”

“I don’t know… It’s possible but I don’t see Kurotsuchi taking that lying down.”

A shiver ran down both their spines; Mayuri was more than capable of making cockroaches uncomfortable. He was a genius, no doubt about it, but… the lines he’s willing to cross for his own ends. The otherwise emotionally inept Renji saw Yoruichi’s shoulders tense with the mention of Kisuke. A sharp exhale through his nose prompted the Lady to prod for an answer.

“What are you snorting about?”

“It’s nothing. Just never seen you flustered about anything before. But to think it would about Kisuke of all people.” Renji leered, very much enjoying being on the opposite end of teasing.

Although a quick jab to his ribs changed his tune just as quickly.

“His banishment was unjust. I’m thankful that others are beginning to see that now…” Yoruichi explained, failing to conceal a smile on the edge of her lips.

The pair made their way through the winding corridors to the Main Hall, avoiding the gawking of unranked Squad members. Renji, still rubbing his side, was glad to see Yoruichi in such high spirits, given the cruel and often unforgiving nature of the Soul Society.

They reached the entryway to hear the resonant chatter of the other Officers. Most were accounted for; Squads One through Eleven were present, though Rukia was noticeably missing from the roster. Odd, Yoruichi thought to herself but whatever. Yoruichi took her place amongst the rows, beside Byakuya and Toshiro. It was then Head-Captain Kyoraku appeared before the rest of his cohorts, lax as he always was.

“Thank you all for gathering here in such a timely fashion,” Shunsui began, “I’m sure most of the Captains here are aware of the reason for this meeting: the exoneration of one Kisuke Urahara. But before that matter, It’s my honor to introduce the new Captain of Squad 13:  Rukia Kuchiki.”

The room filled with officers erupted in shock and surprise as Rukia entered the room, though not yet in an official Haori. Yoruichi and Renji stared at one another in disbelief; somehow she neglected to tell them either of them her ploy.

“Now today is not her official promotion, but as witnessed by myself, Captain Kuchiki and Captain Kotetsu, Rukia has completed the Captain’s Proficiency Test. So a big round of applause to our dear Rukia.”

Isane did not meet Yoruichi’s piercing stare, nor did Rukia. Rukia only mouthed a single word to her confidant and husband.

Surprise.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

We Fall Together

For Ruthari Week 2020

AU: Pre-Canon

Pairings: Runaan x Ethari

Rating: General

Archive warnings: None 

Prompt #1: Dancing/Moonlight

Runaan’s hand pressed warmly against Ethari’s as the dance began. They wore their best tunics for the Moonlight Fling, long and dark, with silver strands glinting in the soft moonlight that filtered down through the trees. Other couples slowly took their first dance steps around them. Runaan’s eyes settled on Ethari’s—calm, steady, warm as a sunset’s cheery glow—and he smiled. Ethari smiled back and bent one finger to caress the edge of Runaan’s hand.

Ethari’s grip was iron around Runaan’s wrist as the assassin dangled over three hundred feet of empty air. His foot lost its hold, and he slipped another inch toward the edge of the precipice. A sprinkling of sand dusted its way down into Runaan’s hair. “I’m not letting go, Runaan.”

Runaan’s free hand drew a dagger from his belt. His turquoise gaze, so often as sharp as his blades, rose softly to meet Ethari’s. “Don’t worry. I’ll let go first.”

Runaan and Ethari stepped close and turned their heads just enough to let their ear tips brush against one another’s while their fingers intertwined alongside their thighs. Their free hands joined over their heads, and after stepping away and then together again, they rested their other hands in the small of each other’s backs and spun together. Their eyes locked as they danced nose to nose. Ethari gently adjusted his fingers, sliding one inside Runaan’s long sleeve to soothe the bruise his hand had left around Runaan’s wrist, as if to say I’m sorry I hurt you.

Runaan’s response was to squeeze Ethari’s hand tightly.

Ethari let out a grating denial as Runaan lifted his dagger and placed it against his own wrist.

“I’ll pull you over too, Ethari. Only one of us should die here.” His fingers flexed, and he began to press the dagger against his arm, ready to sacrifice it—and himself—for Ethari’s life.

Ethari shook Runaan by his arm, disrupting Runaan’s slice before it could begin. “Runaan, I swear on the Moon itself, if you die here, I will throw myself after you.”

Runaan jerked his gaze upward, eyes soft and wide. “Ethari… I…”

But shaking Runaan also shook Ethari. The sturdy elf slid helplessly toward the edge of the cliff again, and this time, he couldn’t stop. Together, they fell.

They danced as they’d fallen—without touching, eyes on each other, spinning slowly as if time meant nothing and all the world were a dream. Every time Runaan turned again to face Ethari, his eyes sought him with a heady mix of trust and desperation. The needing in him was so strong, yet he found it endlessly breathtaking that the having matched it in both strength and bounty.

Finally, the dance let them touch again. Ethari’s hands caressed Runaan’s back and smoothed their way along his ponytail. Runaan took Ethari’s face in his hands and drew him into an alternate series of steps, smiling softly. Ethari’s dark brows lifted in pleased surprise, and he let Runaan lead the way.

Their freefall was short-lived, with each trying to save the other. Runaan pushed off of Ethari in midair, driving him toward the cliff where he’d be sure to find a grip—and he did. But his action caromed him off into space, and Ethari shouted after him, reaching, straining, desperate to hold onto Runaan one last time.

One hand caught the very tip of Runaan’s ponytail just as the other snagged another outcrop of rock. Runaan pendulumed below him with a cry as his hair took his full body weight.

“Runaan! I’ve got you. Don’t you dare cut your hair to save me, do you hear me?”

“Ethari.” Runaan stopped his swinging by steadying his hand against Ethari’s boot. “You can’t save me. There’s nowhere to go but down.”

“Never tell a craftsman what he can’t do. That’s how the world gets changed.” Ethari grimaced and flexed sharply with a growl of effort, pulling Runaan upward. Runaan rose with another soft sound of surprise, and Ethari switched his grip from Runaan’s hair to the front of his tunic. He held the wiry, wide-eyed assassin against his chest, his tunic bunched in Ethari’s fist, and panted with effort. “When you land, don’t come back for me.” He pressed a hard, quick kiss against Runaan’s lips, flexed every muscle he had, and tossed Runaan onto the top of the outcrop he was hanging from.

Ethari spun after Runaan and caught him when Runaan twirled back into his arms. Runaan’s long white hair spilled across Ethari’s arm as he caught it around Runaan’s back, and Ethari smiled at its soft weight. Every strand in its glory, unsacrificed and intact. Their dance steps had shifted from those everyone else was doing, but they still held to the same rhythm. Others began noticing that Runaan had shifted the dance. Secret smiles ringed the gathering, and Ethari started to feel self-conscious.

Runaan drew Ethari’s attention back to him with a finger under his chin. His eyes silently asked if Ethari was ready for the finishing move in this particular dance sequence.

Ethari’s smile was as wide as the moonlit sky.

“Ethari!” Runaan scrambled to the edge of the outcrop on hands and knees, heedless of his minor aches and pains—and Ethari’s warning—afraid he’d see his beloved tumbling into the distance far below.

Instead, Ethari muscled his way into a two handed pull-up, wearing a fierce grin and a sheen of sweat. “A little help?” he said through a helpless chuckle. “I’m heavier than I look.”

Runaan put everything he had into pulling Ethari to safety, and they fell together atop the outcrop, locked tightly in each other’s arms, gasping.

“I understand now,” Ethari said after he caught his breath. “That moment when you can choose between life and death.”

Runaan’s arms tightened. “You thought of letting go?”

Ethari’s smile shimmered in his words. “How could I? Everything I ever wanted is right here. I’d have moved the earth and the Moon to hold you again.”

Runaan gazed up into Ethari’s eyes and smiled softly. “I think you did.”

The other dancing couples drew back to give Runaan and Ethari just a bit more room for their finale. They didn’t have to know why Runaan had decided to trust Ethari with his life. All they knew was that Runaan was expressing their new milestone through dance, in public, for everyone to see, and they’d honor it for the tribute it was.

The assassin and the craftsman danced in one final circle, fingertips brushing, and then Ethari took Runaan’s hand and set him into a twirl. His ponytail whirled after him, wide and white, catching the moonlight. Ethari withdrew his hand just as Runaan closed his eyes and arched his back, and Ethari caught him gently by the back of his neck, stepping into a deep, slow lunge beside him, easing Runaan down into a graceful, arching dip until his entire ponytail puddled on the grass beneath him.

With his eyes still shut, Runaan caressed Ethari’s cheek with his near hand. When his eyes opened, he found his beloved’s eyes without effort. A broad smile bursting with love brightened his face, and he pressed his thumb against Ethari’s lips for a quick kiss.

Ethari went entirely breathless at the sight of this beautiful assassin who had given his life into his hands—literally and artistically. He straightened and slowly lifted Runaan back to his feet, pulling him into his arms for a tight hug. The other elves cheered, whistled, and clapped, and for once, Runaan indulged them, kissing Ethari enthusiastically. The cheering doubled, and Ethari spun Runaan around in his arms.

As he set Runaan down, Ethari murmured softly in his ear, just for him, under the cheers of their friends. “If we fall, my heart, we fall together.”

Runaan kissed him again and spoke against his lips. “Together.”

[legolaslovely]

Call Me Jim

A/N: Some Jim Hawkins Deano loveliness for you! Here we go, just me rewriting scenes againnnnn hahaaaaa This is truly disgusting fluff and really just a snippet I came up with, maybe someday I’ll write more but I’m posting this anyway because it makes me warm and fuzzyyyyyyy Hope you guys enjoy and get a chance to see this movie. I literally watch it for Deano only lol

Pairing: Jim x Reader

Word Count: 2,283

Warnings: SPOILERS For Return to Treasure Island!- kind of. not really, but gonna say it just to be safe, Violence, character injury, blood, fluff, angst, ends in yummy tooth decaying fluff

Summary: Jim saves (Y/N)’s life in America and is forced to bring her aboard The Eagle as he and his crew run from pirates. They are herded straight into the jaws of Treasure Island and Jim isn’t sure he can escape with his life a second time.

(Y/N) toed through the soft, sandy dirt in search of Captain Hawkins. After days of battling and hunting on Treasure Island, it was striking how quiet the land was in this moment. The only sound that reached her ears was the waves crashing on the beach far below the cliff. She crept from tree to tree, hiding from all on the island except the blond sea captain.

(Y/N) had been separated from Captain Hawkins and his crew before the sun rose. The group was awakened by rushing and plundering pirates and the captain sent her into a cave to assure her safety but had yet to return for her. (Y/N) decided to take matters into her own hands and search for Captain Hawkins herself, rather than risk being found by the nasty pirates or worse, being left behind and stranded on the island. Would the captain really forget her? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to wait and find out.

She carried on, sneaking through the tall grass, but always keeping the shore in her line of sight. Then rustling of footsteps other than her own whispered in her ear. She froze. “Captain Hawkins?” Nothing.

Then she was answered by an ear ringing shot followed by a cry she’d recognize anywhere. “Jim.” Thoughts of her own safety flew out of her mind and she raced through the salty meadow toward the sound. She stumbled over her own feet when she saw him writhing on the ground in pain. He’d been shot.

“Jim!” She cried, dashing to his side.

“(Y/N), I thought I left you in the cave. Get out of here,” he said, his blue eyes flashing to her before they closed tight in his pain.

“We all should have remained in that cave. Then none of this would’ve happened.” Her stomach flipped when she saw the wound in his leg. How would they escape now? Even if they managed it, would Captain Hawkins even survive the trek to America? She pulled his shoulders into her lap and cradled his head, wincing at his grunts of pain. “Who’s done this?”

“The same man who stole my ship,” he ground out. “Why did you leave the cave?”

(Y/N) pulled the scarf from her shoulders and tied it tightly around his thigh above the wound- a trick she’d learned from her father. Then her bloody fingers raked through his messy blond curls, pulling them away from his sweat soaked forehead. “I thought you’d forgotten about me. I thought something happened to you.” She shook her head. Words were falling from her mouth quicker than her brain could filter them. She sounded like a fool.

“Forget about you? Of course not. Do you really think I’d leave you here?” He twisted to look at her and sucked in a sharp breath at the pain the movement brought.

“Stop it. Don’t move. Can you stand? Where is your crew?” She adjusted the buttons on his tunic as she rambled, desperate for an answer to their problem. Then she heard him laughing at her. “What is it?”

“First you tell me not to move, then you tell me to stand,” he said. A painful grin pulled at his lips.

She glared at him. “Where is your crew?” Hot blood had run into her skirts and left abstract blotches of red. When the captain didn’t answer her, she looked to him in panic, watching his eyes flutter and roll closed. “Jim. Look at me.” His cheek burned her cold fingers. “Jim. Please.”

His head lolled in her lap. “Tom and the rest of the crew are fighting for our ship. They’re- they’re on the shore.”

“You came here alone?” she asked.

“Yes, he did.”

(Y/N) looked up and felt tears of relief pulling at her throat. She’d never been so happy to see a familiar, kind and trusted face. “Mr. Savage!”

“You,” Captain Hawkins growled.

(Y/N) hushed him. “No, Jim. I know him. He’s a friend of my father’s. He’ll help us.” She looked back to Mr. Savage standing above her with a toothy smile across his face. “Please, Mr. Savage, please help him. He’s been shot-”

“I know,” Mr. Savage said, unmoving.

She waited for him to rush into action, but he seemed frozen. “He-he needs help. He’s losing blood, if you’ll help me take him to the shore-”

“Captain Hawkins is exactly where I want him,” Mr. Savage said.

(Y/N) looked to the pain filled captain in her arms. She distantly heard fire and canons booming from the shore below. The crew of The Eagle were fighting against the pirates… weren’t they? She stared at Mr. Savage’s spotless boots. “You know Captain Hawkins?”

“Oh, yes. For a long time now. Since I stole the first ship of his fleet.”

“The Hawk,” Captain Hawkins spat.

(Y/N) shifted, tightening her grip on the captain’s shoulders. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Mr. Savage said. “Care to explain, Captain?”

Hawkins stirred in his disgust as if his adrenaline renewed him. He spoke to (Y/N) without taking his eyes off the man in front of him. “Mr. Savage has stolen my entire fleet, one ship at a time, in the name of the King. He’s ruined my name as a merchant.”

“But the pirates-” (Y/N) began.

“There are no pirates, my dear,” Mr. Savage said. “Just me and my men. I’ve single handedly ended your career, Captain Hawkins. And now, I’m going to end your life.” He pulled a dagger from his belt. The long, sharpened blade glistened in the hot sunlight as he twirled it in his fingers.

(Y/N) drew the captain’s tunic in her fists, feeling panic rise and throb in her chest. “Why?”

“Because I can,” Mr. Savage chuckled. “And no one runs from The SeaWolf and escapes.” He lunged toward the pair on the ground, entertained by the captain’s pleading for (Y/N) to run and leave him behind.

“No,” (Y/N) said, lowly. She reached across the chest in her lap and tugged Captain Hawkins’ pistol from his belt. She aimed it at Mr. Savage, leaving him frozen before her.

“(Y/N), my dear, you won’t kill me,” he said.

“Drop your weapon on the ground,” she said. Both men were impressed by her steady voice and hand.

Mr. Savage chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement and doubt. “You don’t even know how to use that.”

She seamlessly cocked the pistol with her thumb. “You’re forgetting I am my father’s daughter. Put your weapon down or I will shoot. And I will not miss, Mr. Savage.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, leaving slits of colored irises below heavy brows. His grip tightened on the dagger, but he moved no further. (Y/N) was so focused on this threat that she forgot about the man in her lap until he spoke.

“(Y/N), don’t. He’s not worth staining your hands with blood.”

“I won’t allow him to hurt you,” she said, looking down the barrel of the pistol and straight into the traitor’s face.

“And I won’t let you kill a man in my honor. Put the gun-p-put the gun down.” He voice was fading and his shoulders relaxed and slumped against her legs. (Y/N) refused to look at him or let her tears gather in her eyes. She would not let Mr. Savage get away with this.

“Listen to your lover, (Y/N),” Mr. Savage sang.

“Be quiet,” she said.

“Well, that’s what he is, isn’t he? Your beloved Jim? That’s why you’re doing this, because you love him, right? Oh, and now he’s dying. Look at him, (Y/N).”

“Stop it!” The pistol started to shake in her fingers. Mr. Savage took this chance, hoping her vision and her thoughts were clouded with enough emotion, and he charged them. A cry escaped (Y/N) as a shot rang out, sending Mr. Savage backwards and thumping on the ground. Blood oozed from his chest that no longer held any breath. She stared at the pistol’s trigger that she hadn’t pulled.

“It’s okay, (Y/N). You’re safe now. Give me the gun.”

(Y/N) turned to barely see Tom through her watery eyes. She allowed him to take the pistol, but kept her hand held in the air until he himself pushed it down to her lap. Then she looked to poor, tortured, powerless Jim under her fingertips. “Help him,” she said to Tom.

“We will. Come with us. That’s it.”

They kept Captain Hawkins below deck in the captain’s quarters as they sailed to America. Tom said he would have wanted to get off Treasure Island the instant it was possible and return to his true home in the Carolinas. (Y/N) remained by the captain’s side every moment she could, leaving Patch to scare off the rats under the deck. She nibbled on bread and hummed to herself, but really, she spent the hours alone with the captain, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, even breaths. Every so often, she’d smooth his messy hair or run her finger over the deep dimple in his chin, thinking about what Mr. Savage had said before he was killed by Tom.

Heavy footsteps sent her hands to herself. Tom appeared, ducking his head under the low doorway. “Any change, Miss (Y/N)?”

“None.” Her gaze returned to the resting captain. “Do you think he’ll be all right? He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“If I know Captain Hawkins, he’ll pull through. He won’t let anyone else take command of his ship for too long.”

(Y/N) chuckled, smiling for the first time in what felt like years. The past few days of running from pirates- Mr. Savage’s pirates- had felt like a dream. She wanted to wake up with the snap of her fingers and see that Captain Hawkins was perfectly fine and return home. But it wasn’t that simple.

Tom tipped his hat to her and promised to check in again soon. “The young captain will be all right, (Y/N),” he said before he left her.

“Yes, you’ll be all right, my love,” she said, sitting beside him once more. Her fingers brushed over his cheekbone and she sighed. “Right Patch?” she said to the staring pup at her feet. “He’ll return to his arrogant self, giving us commands and we’ll wish him asleep again, hm?” She stroked the dog’s head as her other hand fell to envelope the captain’s. She barely felt her fingers being squeezed.

“That’s not a very kind thing to say to a man on his death bed,” Captain Hawkins said.

“Jim! Captain Hawkins. Are you-you’re all right? You’re awake! I’ll fetch Tom,” she stood, but he pulled her hand back down to him.

“Sit, (Y/N). And please, call me Jim. Or ‘love,’ if you’re so inclined.” A smirk shone on his face while (Y/N)’s burned red.

“No, I-no. That was- you weren’t meant to… This is not you’re death bed. Tom and Jenkins agree you’ll be perfectly fine after a few days of rest. What are you doing? Lie down.” Her hands flew to his chest as he worked to sit up in the cot. He winced and grunted, leaning on his strong arms until his back could slope against the wall. “You need to rest. Lie back down, Captain Hawkins.”

“Jim.”

She sighed and adjusted the blanket over him. “Jim.”

He took her hands in his. “Now, (Y/N), I am still in a bit of pain-”

“I’ll fetch something for you, then,” she said, moving to leave for Jenkins and his satchel of medicines.

“No. What I mean is, since I’m in this condition for a while, you’ll have to meet me halfway,” he said, allowing his thumb to move over the back of her knuckles. Her skin was soft in his well worked hand.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

His hand lifted to her jaw. “I’m trying to kiss you, (Y/N). Come here.”

She floated from her chair to sit on the side of the cot, giving him leave to kiss her lips. His were softer than she thought they’d be, as was his touch as his hands cupped her face. He drew away from her, only to rest his forehead against hers, breathing the same air for a long moment. Then he sat back against the wall, wincing at the pain in his leg. He held her hand tight, smiling at her before his face fell.

“(Y/N),” he began, “My career has been ruined. Most of my fleet has been stolen and demolished. I live in a growing country, far from anyone I know. And I may be looked at as a rebel of the king from this day forward, but I would be honored if you would join me in America a-and marry me. You would live with me, and Patch, of course, and I will do everything I can to make you happy.” He paused as the sea gulls squawked and the men above deck did the same. The waves roared against the wooden walls but the ship held steady, as did Jim with his proposal. “I can’t promise you wealth, but I can promise you love, trust and care. You are more important to me than any fortune or ship. I love you (Y/N).” He stared at her, showing his fear for the first time since she’d met him. “What-what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to kiss you, Jim. Come here.” They barely managed their kiss, their grins were too wide. “Yes, I’ll marry you, my love.”

Patch barked and leapt on the cot as Jim held (Y/N) tight and knitted their lips together in more sweet kisses. Again, he’d survived Treasure Island, and this time he’d escaped with the richest treasure of all.

Taglist! Message to join. Thanks for reading, friends! @emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​  @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fizzyxcustard​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @teagarages​ @dashesofink​ @winchesterandpie​ @zulfiya-the-warrior-princess​ 

[apharine]

The First Annual Staff Party of the Castle That Never Was

Chapter 2: The Superior of the In-Between

Pairing:  Reader/Organization XIII

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Rating:  M

Read on AO3

Summary:  [Reader-insert Seven Minutes in Heaven with Organization XIII] When you woke up, you were expecting a quiet day off from missions, shared with no-one but yourself. But your day off went terribly, almost predictably, wrong, and by that evening, you'd been roped into contributing towards a potluck dinner and playing some mashup of Seven Minutes in Heaven and Spin the Bottle with your Organization XIII colleagues. Kingdom Hearts help you.

Notes:  First up we have Xemnas!  This fanfic will be updating on Tumblr every Saturday night!  There are entire first chapters for all of the Organization members already up on AO3, so please feel free to jump over there and read as well.  If you’re interested in following me on Tumblr, I always follow back and am opening requests soon!

                                        _____________________

     The bottle was pointing to Xemnas.

     Xemnas.  The boss.  The Superior of the In-Between.

     You were sure you were going to have a heart attack, right then and there, and that Dusks would be sent in after the party ended to sweep up your remains.  As Xemnas' golden eyes met yours, you were also certain that you had a total deer-in-the-headlights expression written all across your face.  The Superior's eyes narrowed slightly, and a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

     He knew he scared you.

     Xemnas rose slowly from his seat, the steady swishing of his cloak as he walked towards where you sat the only sound in the room.  Nobody dared to make any cat-calls or wolf-whistles or teasing remarks to the Superior.  The silence surpassed even the quiet still of the cemetery in Halloweentown.

     “Well?”  Xemnas' deep voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you whipped your eyes off the solemn expressions surrounding you and back to the Superior.  He was watching you expectantly, one gloved hand extended.

     You swallowed hard and nodded, placing your smaller hand in the Superior's as quickly as you could.  You didn't want to keep him waiting.  His strong fingers closed around your palm rather gently, but still firmly enough that he could help pull you to your feet.  The gesture, you noted, was remarkably easy for the well-muscled man.

     Xemnas escorted you to the closet, walking slowly, deliberately, as if showing off his trophy to a silent Organization.  You weren't too sure how you felt about that.

     The Superior opened the closet door himself, holding it open for you.  Letting go of his hand, you stepped inside the relatively small space with a curt nod of thanks, and immediately flattened yourself against the nearest wall, hoping you could sink backwards into it and just disappear from this terrifying situation.

      Xemnas shut the door, and for a moment, you could see nothing.  You winced, almost expecting a large hand to descend on your skin painfully, or to feel the familiar sting of an Ethereal Blade.  While you had only incurred punishment from the Superior once, it had been more than enough to make you realize just why the rest of the Organization had found your former lack of fear for Xemnas to be so foolishly naïve.  Nothing happened, though, and you glanced around the closet, wondering where the Superior of the In-Between actually was.

      “Sir?”  You squeaked, uncertain of what else to do.

      “I'm here,” Xemnas murmured from the opposite side of the closet.  As your eyes began to adjust, you caught a glimpse of his silver hair in what little light crept through the crack under the heavy closet door.

      He really was quite an exotic creature, with his dark skin contrasting beautifully against that hair of his.  Now that you thought about it, he was also one of the most well-built members of the entire Organization; his upper body was most impressive to look at, with beefy pectorals and biceps straining the fabric of his cloak.

      If it weren't for the fact that he was your boss, and he terrified you, you could have seen Xemnas as being...well, hot.

      A long moment passed in awkward silence, though it felt more like an eternity.  Your eyes adjusted fully to the darkness, and you could make out Xemnas' expressionless face, his golden orbs focused on your eyes, occasionally dipping down to roam over your body.  Every time they did, you shivered.

      “Are you well today, sir?”  You asked cordially, unwilling to allow the oppressive silence to continue any longer.  You felt you might suffocate in it if you did.

      “I am,” Xemnas responded briefly.  You kicked yourself mentally for not coming up with a better conversation starter.  Small talk and yes/no questions bored Xemnas.  What did he like to talk about, then?

      “I trust Kingdom Hearts is coming along well, Superior?”  You asked deferentially.  Maybe, if you were lucky, he could fill up the entire seven minutes just talking about his beloved Kingdom Hearts.

      “We continue to make progress on our sacred moon, yes,” he agreed, taking a step towards you and peering down into your eyes with an unreadable expression.  “More hearts are, of course, required.  ...Tell me, are you afraid of me?”

      You froze.  How in Oblivion's name were you supposed to answer that?!

      “S-Sir?”  You gaped.  When it became clear that the Superior was prepared to wait for your answer, you fumbled around for the proper words.  “I...I believe a healthy amount of fear is useful for maintaining respect and order in the Organization, wouldn't you agree?”

      The Superior smirked, taking another step towards you.  He tucked one large, curled index finger under your chin gently, tipping your face upwards.

      “I would agree,” Xemnas murmured, his low voice a deep rumble.  By now, he was close enough that you could almost hear it through his broad chest.  “But you seem to have been avoiding me ever since that incident...”  He paused thoughtfully.  “I don't enjoy punishing you, you should know.  But it had to be done, to encourage you to avoid repeating your mistakes.”  You were certain that if he could feel emotions, he would, indeed, enjoy dealing out punishment, but you kept your mouth shut.  “All the same, you've always been loyal and eager to please me.  I've come to rely on your contributions to the Organization, and for that, I thank you.”

      You felt a swell of pride at his words, but were quickly distracted as the hand that wasn't currently cupping your chin slid around to caress the back of your neck, the warm heat comforting in the chill of the closet, but the grip rough.  The Superior leaned in towards you slowly, until the tip of his dark nose brushed against yours.  You temporarily forgot how to breathe, the air getting stuck somewhere between your lungs and mouth.

      Suddenly, the Superior's lips were on yours in a surprisingly tender kiss.  He moved his mouth lustily, the large hand on the back of your neck grabbing you a bit more roughly than before.  You remained immobile, uncertain as to what to do.  This man was beyond your fathoming. Whenever you thought you had him figured out, he always did something completely baffling.  A strand of silver bangs brushed your face, and you shivered, the reality of the current situation fully hitting you.

     Xemnas is kissing me.

     Suddenly, the Superior pulled away, leaving your lips feeling cold and tingling.

      “My apologies,” the man intoned, sounding, for a moment, almost disappointed.  That was absurd.  Xemnas never sounded disappointed, or happy, or emotional at all.  You were imagining things.  “I won't force myself on you if you really see me as such a monster.”  He turned to leave, his long fingers lingering, trailing across the soft skin of your neck, before their touch disappeared completely.

      “Wait!  Superior, you're no monster,” you blurted, gazing up at him through your lashes.  Something strange – a memory of a feeling – was bubbling up where your heart had once been; you almost…pitied the man.  Being at the top of the Organization could surely be a lonely affair; maybe you really didn't have to be quite so afraid of him?  Xemnas turned back towards you, obviously interested in what you had to say.  You swallowed hard and continued, your voice gaining strength the more you spoke.  “At least, I don't think so.  You're always sacrificing so much for us, constantly working to complete Kingdom Hearts for our benefit.  Please, allow me to thank you, for all you do for the Organization…and me.”  Brazenly, you rested a hand on his chest, pulling him back towards you as you stood up on tip-toe and stretched your head back.  For an instant, the thick layers of muscle under your hand flexed, and your stomach twisted.  Had you been too presumptuous?  Was he going to push you off, or worse, strike you?

      Xemnas' kiss was no longer tender this time.  He crashed against you like a wave, pressing you against the wall, moving his lips against yours relentlessly.  You reeled from the sensations, trying – and failing – to fight back a quiet moan, moving your hands over his well-muscled chest sensuously.  The man was a damn good kisser, his tongue exploring your mouth thoroughly even though you couldn't remember how it had gotten there in the first place.

      As suddenly as it had started, the kiss ended, with the Superior smirking down at you, his eyebrows raised.  He pulled away, still wearing that impossibly confusing smirk, his fingers lingering on your skin once again.  This time, he didn't return for another kiss, instead heading for the closet door.  As he turned the doorknob, his golden eyes slyly drifted back to you, peering at you through his silver hair with a look that clearly said you'll be back for more.

      Then he rearranged his face into that calm, very Superior expression, and stepped out of the closet and into the party once more.

[tenshiscientia]

Submit to Me

Just a fair warning people, this shit gets pretty dark under the cut!! I was exploring a new avenue of writing by doing this cause I wanted to broaden my views.. I don’t know if it worked, but in my mind this kinda came up a little twisted and dark. Read at your own risk.

Dante

*tap tap tap*

Mikazuki watched the rain patter down against the window that she was sitting next to in Devil May Cry. She liked the rain. She hated the rain. It brought out her darker side...her more sadistic side. The part of her that wanted to hurt the people around her.

No matter who they were. All friends and family alike.

*tap tap tap*

That tapping was starting to wear thin at her patience, meager as it was. Her inner demon growing more and more restless by the moment. She tore her gaze away from the window as her eyes took on a silvery hue. Her demon had awoken within her and was shaking off the chains that she used to keep it held in check. It wasn't entirely free...it would never be, unless Vergil deigned it necessary to release the locks binding the chains with a key only he had.

And if that ever happened...may whatever God that watched over this Earth have mercy on the humans souls. But right now, Mikazuki's demon was growling in her mind. Her gaze focused itself on Dante and she smiled wickedly. Her gaze turned inward on itself as she imagined a scene before herself...

__________________________

A throne of silver shined in a moonlit room, shimmering iridescently bright in the ethereal light. Mikazuki was clothed in fine silks and expensive jewels of dark blue and brilliant gold fit for a queen. And before her kneeled Dante, the Legendary Demon Hunter. The youngest Son of Sparda. Tied and trused so he couldn't move, kneeling in supplication.

A smile crossed Mikazuki's lips as she stood and walked down from her throne and over to Dante.

"Oh sweet Dante. You thought yourself a challenge for me. Yet look at you now! All tied and bowed before me. You look so beautiful like this..." she smiled at him.

"Go fuck yourself, Mikazuki! I'll never submit to you!" Dante hissed, baring his teeth and growling low in his throat.

A warning to her for sure, but Mikazuki ignored it and stalked closer, running her hand down the side of his face.

"Aw, now don't be like that Dante..."

She's cut off as Dante snapped his teeth at her hand.

"Mmh, going to be feisty with me, hmm. Well that's fine." Mikazuki hums, then snaps her hand lightning quick into the hair at the back of his head, gripping it hard and yanking his head back so hard and fast that Dante actually hisses in pain.

"I love it when prey resists..." she mutters, ghosting her lips across his throat, "It makes the end game all the more satisfying when I finally get what I want."

Releasing his hair, she pulled away and smiled again. Dante's gaze had become heated, but as soon as he saw that smile, he saw red...literally. His sin devil trigger flew through his body and tried to emerge, but all he received in return was a sharp knife of pain through his body and no transformation.

"Aw, you didn't think that I would let you transform just like that, did you? Naughty thing you are Dante..." Mikazuki cooed to Dante running a hand across his shoulders.

Suddenly Cosmos appeared in her hands and she walked back in front of him. Dante's eyes widened at the sight of the blade in her hands. His pale blue eyes traveled up to hers and noticed that they had a silvery glow to the pale lavender that was normally there.

"Mikazuki...please, don't..." he began softly.

"'Don't' what, Dante?" she asked softly.

Her fingers slid down the edge of the sharp blade gently. Then quicker than Dante could follow, the blade flickered forward then returned to being held against the tips of Mikazuki's fingers. Dante held his breath, waiting for his blood to spill out of his throat and onto the floor...but it never happened. The only thing he felt was a cold chill on his skin. He opened his eyes and found that his beloved leather coat had been shredded along with his shirt. They were both now in tattered pieces littering the floor around him.

"There, much better..." Mikazuki muttered to herself.

She appraised the work she had done. Managing to cut away his coat and shirt without leaving a single mark on him. She smiled to herself, she had gotten very good over the long years of her life. Walking forward, Mikazuki reached for Dante and he flinched back. Cosmos was quickly flicked forward to press at his throat.

"Don't move, pet. Lest I actually bleed you. I'd rather keep that pretty skin of yours intact until I do what I originally wanted to, but I will bleed you until you nearly die before hand if you don't behave." she hissed.

Dante froze, barely daring to breathe. Mikazuki was anything but a liar. He didn't want to push her. Pain was a fine, wonderful thing as a demon. But all of them had found that wounds from Cosmos hurt much more than normal ones did. The tip of Cosmos dipped and slid under Dante's chin, tipping it up.

"Are you going to behave for me, pet?" Mikazuki asked.

Dante jerked his head away and spat, "I'm not your pet, Mika."

A deep growl passed Mikazuki's lips and Cosmo's dark blade flashed down then returned to Mikazuki's fingers with bright red blood on it. Dante looked down at his chest. A fine red slash marred it over his left pectoral muscle. He looked up at Mikazuki as she made a satisfied hum. She had slid her fingers through his blood on Cosmos and was admiring it as it stained her fingers.

Then as she caught Dante's gaze, she held it as she slowly slid her blood covered fingers into her mouth. Mikazuki's lips closed around them and she gave a gentle suck, slowly cleaning them of the blood on them, and letting a delighted sigh leave her lips when she pulled her fingers free. She lapped at them a few more times to make sure she had all of the blood off them, then advanced toward Dante. Dante watched her wide-eyed as she kneeled down before him and laid Cosmos next to them. Mikazuki reached up and slid one hand up the back of his neck into the soft hair that resided there and gently tangled her fingers in it.

Her other hand slid itself into place on Dante's cheek and held him firmly. Mikazuki pulled him down into a firm, heated kiss, forcing his mouth open. Dante tried to dominate the kiss, forcing his tongue to tangle with hers, but Mikazuki yanked on his hair forcing a sharp inhale through his nose as she took control and ravaged his mouth. Dante could taste his blood on her. Then Mikazuki pulled away and dipped down to trace her tongue and lips across the line of blood.

The cut had already healed, but it was the blood she was after. Dante tasted so pure to her, so sweet. Mikazuki made a vow to herself. As she broke this man, this sweet protector of the humans, she would savor every drop of blood that she spilled from his soft flesh. Dante had slipped into a trance as Mikazuki gently lapped the blood from his chest, but a harsh bite to the skin drew him back.

"Now, now Dante. Don't go leaving me. I still need you. Don't you want to play?" she asked, his blood staining her lips.

That was it. Something in Dante's head snapped. He tried to lunge forward, but it was not to attack Mikazuki. He wanted the blood on her lips. To share the taste of himself with her.

Mikazuki's hand on his chest stopped him mid-lunge.

"Oh, eager now are we?" she asked, smiling up at him from where she kneeled.

A whine escaped Dante.

"Please..." he whispered softly.

Mikazuki lifted herself back to his lips.

"'Please' what, Dante. I don't speak needy whore. Tell me what you need. What you want. Spell it out for me...word for word." she whispered against his lips before pressing a chaste kiss then pulling away, Dante trying to follow but Mikazuki holding him back with a gentle hand around his throat.

"Dante...talk." she ordered, forcefully.

Another whine escaped Dante and his eyes fluttered closed.

'That's right Dante. Surrender. Give in to that darkness inside you. Give in just like I was forced to so many years ago. Give in and see just how delicious that darkness can be...' Mikazuki thought to herself.

"I want you, Mikazuki. I want you." Dante finally managed to say.

An insane smile stretched itself across Mikazuki's face.

"Are you sure what you want is me? Who I truly am Dante? You of all people know not to judge a person by what they look like on the outside. Do you really want the Mikazuki that lies beneath the surface of this skin? Or do you just want what you see before you?" she asked softly.

Mikazuki stood and backed away, spreading her arms.

"I can give you the woman you see before you. Sweet, gentle, kind Mikazuki. The one that you know and love, Dante. The one that you've worked beside for years now. Do you want her, Dante?

Or do you want what's beneath the surface of that face I always put up? The real Mikazuki. The choice is yours Dante. I give it to you now." she smiled at him, tilting her head down, as if she were bowing to him.

Dante didn't hesitate. He knew what he wanted, what he craved. He had craved it since the day he first met Mikazuki and felt it inside her.

"I want the real you Mikazuki. I've never wanted anything less. Please, let me have you, all of you..." he begged.

The insane smile on Mikazuki's face calmed then went blank.

"As you ask, so you shall receive, Dante Son of Sparda." Mikazuki replied, her voice echoing slightly.

A pair of black feathered wings slowly unfolded from her back, sending a curtain of them fluttering down around them both. Eyes the color of molten silver focused themselves onto Dante's, and hands with skin so pale like alabaster reached for his face.

"Dante...you asked for what was beneath the surface of the other me. What you see now is that." Mikazuki's voice was naught but a whisper as she leaned down.

Her hands slid over the hard planes of his chest, up to the strong column of his neck and rested there. She then pushed her thumbs up under his chin to tilt his head back and lowered her mouth to his throat.

"So soft...so vulnerable...so easy to kill and destroy..." her lips whispered over his skin, before she bit down harshly drawing the blood into her mouth as it flowed.

A surprised, gargled sound left Dante, but Mikazuki held him fast as she lapped languidly at the already healing flesh. Dante's blood was warm, sweet, and had a tang she had never tasted before.

"Oh sweet Dante. I have half a mind to leave you as you are. Just so I can do this over," another bite to his throat, only much smaller, "and over," another bite, "and over again. As many times as I want. Until finally I tire of the taste of your blood and destroy you. But no. You're too useful for that."

Mikazuki cleaned up the blood that had flowed down Dante's chest, lapping slowly and languidly across the pale expanse of it. When she was done, she picked up Cosmos, stood and stepped back. Dante, who had been rendered silent and immobile this whole time, was finally able to draw a breath and heave it back out. After a few of those he finally looked up at Mikazuki, eyes a little misty, but focused enough to see her.

"Wh-what are you?" he finally breathed out.

"I'm a demon, just like you Dante. Though I didn't start out as one. I was born an angel. A being a pure light and happiness. Then...my light was corrupted.

My purity tainted and twisted. My wings of white became wings of black. Instead of laughter to sustain me, I find that demon blood does a fine job. But demon energy works so much better. Mundus was the one who corrupted me.

So when I saw that you defeated Mundus, I knew that I would have a good source of energy if I was able to ensnare you. If I have to drain you of all your sweet tasting blood...well it's a shame that my fun has to end so soon. But if you submit to me, bend to my will and become mine...the drain on your energy will take hundreds of years. A long time for sure, and you have my word I will treat you right. Give me your strength and power, and I will grant you protection as well as a bliss you will find nowhere else Dante.

Love and comfort you have never felt and never will any where else. I will give you everything. Pain and pleasure combined. I swear to you that." she whispered in his ear, giving a slow lick up the shell of it

A shudder ran it's way through Dante's body. Protection...he's never been protected. He's always had to watch his back, always had to make sure he was on guard to make sure he was never attacked. Comfort...He could never be comforted. Cause he could never trust anyone.

Too many people wanted the bastard spawn of the traitor Sparda dead. And no one could ever love a demon like him. A half-breed...stuck between both sides of his heritage, never belonging to either side...neither being able to accept him. Pain and pleasure combined...everything thing that his demon wants...but he can never admit to. Dante's eyes fluttered closed as a shuddering breath was drawn into his body.

'I can't submit to her. That's not how I am...that's not me. I can't...I can't submit...I won't...I...oh father forgive me...' thought Dante.

"Yes, Mikazuki. I..." he began.

"Yes, you' what, Dante?" Mikazuki breathed against his ear, voice sweet and soft.

She knew she had won, knew that Dante was hers. She knew he was going to submit. But she wanted to hear it from his own mouth. Hear his honey sweet voice say it.

"Yes, Mikazuki, I submit. I am yours...do with me as you will..." Dante finally finished.

Mikazuki laughed darkly in his ear.

"That's my sweet Dante. All mine now, all mine." she whispered to him.

Her dark wings curled around him and wrapped him in dark feathers as she stood up and drew Cosmos to her hand.

"Although I have promised you pleasure...pain will come first..." she hissed, raising Cosmos high.

She brought it down and a long diagonal line of blood appeared across the whole of Dante's chest. He hissed in a breath through his teeth and threw his head back in pain and pleasure. Then Mikazuki drew another line of blood down his chest in an X to complement the one she made before. Her eyes lit up a brighter silver as she watched the blood slide down Dante's chest. Such a lovely crimson staining the pale of his skin.

His body presenting it so readily for her. Already submitting to her so easily. Mikazuki's mouth began to water at the sight of that blood and she couldn't help but lick her lips as she watched it. Walking slowly to Dante she kneeled down and sealed her lips to his chest, tasting the blood offered by his body and moaning as it coated her tongue.

"Gods Dante, you are so sweet. So beautiful, and all mine." she whispered as she dragged her fingers through the blood on his chest then smeared some across Dante's lips.

"All yours, Mika." he agreed, before taking her fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean of his blood.

"Oh such a good boy, Dante. I didn't even have to..." Mikazuki began.

"Please Mika...please..." Dante whined down to her, his eyes glowing red,  begging her silently.

"Dante, you give so freely." Mikazuki smiled to him, "But I am a generous master."

Mikazuki rose from her knees and slid her hand into the hair at the back of his head. Forcing Dante's head back, she pulled him into an open mouthed kiss, her other hand stroking through the rest of his hair, streaking blood through it. Pulling away with Dante trying to follow, Mikazuki finally freed his arms from his binding and his arms came up to pull Mikazuki against him.

"My you are quite eager now. Arms at your sides, pet." Mikazuki smiled.

Dante whined at the instructions but lowered his arms.

" Now keep then there and don't move them. Understand?"

Dante nodded his eyes widening as Mikazuki picked up Cosmos. She then walked around behind Dante, and she trailed Cosmos along his skin, not cutting it but leaving a trail of white where the tip of her sword pressed. Cosmos threatening to break skin.

"Lovely. So lovely Dante. I want more, will you give it to me?" she asked, pressing against his back and wrapping her arms around him, not caring at all about the blood staining the expensive silks on her body.

Dante frantically nodded his head, lost to the pain that his demon was enjoying.

"Yes...anything...a-anything for you...just don't stop...please..." he whined, tilting his head back to press against her.

"Oh sweet Dante. I promised you pleasure, why would I deny you?" she smiled down at him, tipping his head back and leaning down to press her lips to his.

It was a deep, claiming kiss, stealing Dante's breath away as Mikazuki held him against her and continued to plunder his mouth. But soon he began to run out of oxygen and started to struggle against Mikazuki. She merely held him tighter and continued to kiss him. Then without warning, Cosmos came up to Dante's throat and slashed deep.

His blood poured out of the wound onto the ground in front of him as Mikazuki continued to hold his mouth in a kiss, swallowing down his choked cries as well as the blood that flowed into his mouth. When the blood finally slowed Mikazuki pulled away and let Dante fall forward. She licked her lips free of blood as she walked around in front of him and watched as the light left his eyes. She held out her hand and Dante's body shimmered, then glowed, then formed itself into a glowing orb. The orb flew into Mikazuki's hand and she closed her eyes.

"A living Chakram of fire. That's what I want you to be Dante. Become my Chakram..." she whispered.

The glowing orb in her hand pulsed then grew around her into a large chakram, one as large as her body. She admired the intricate designs on the circle of red and silver metal. The delicate silver curves that most likely represented Dante's gorgeous silver hair. And the fiery red metal surrounding the rest representing the fire of his soul as well as the fiery color he always wore. Mikazuki raised the chakram from around her body and swung it around a few times before throwing it forward.

It spun in a quick circle around the room then returned to her hand. She brought it back around her and caressed the side of it lovingly.

"My sweet Dante. My lovely Fiery Chakram. This is how you will stay...until I wish to have you. In whatever way that pleases me. Be it through your blood or your body.

You are mine now Dante. Body, soul, spirit, and mind. You submitted to me and now I own you. Forever..."

A clatter across the room of Devil May Cry snapped Mikazuki out of her thoughts and she shook her head. Seemed like Nero had thrown a book at Dante and it had taken him by surprise for once. He was currently flipped over backwards on the floor grumbling as he righted his chair and stood.

"Hey Mikazuki, you see what your kid just did to me?" Dante asked.

Mikazuki nodded.

"Oh yes, perfectly well, Dante. Maybe your ass should pay attention. If you don't then someone might come along one day and defeat you. Then who knows what might happen to you..." her voice trailed off as she looked back out the Devil May Cry window, focusing on the sound of the rain again.

Dante looked at her, confused by her words.

"Vergil, what the hell is your mate talking about?" he shot over his shoulder to his brother.

"That, Dante, was a warning. Don't let her find you weak. She force you down, break you, and make you submit. And then," Vergil looked up from the book he was reading on the couch, "You will belong to her for the rest of your life. Mind, body, soul, and spirit. And you will never escape. Not that you would want to though."

Mikazuki smiled over at them.

"Now, now Vergil love. Don't give them ideas. Don't want them thinking I'm that heartless."

'When in all actuality I am. All four of you will eventually belong to me. The entire Sparda line will be mine...All in time and soon enough...'

[hyungwonmyheart]

Of the Sun - Four

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Seonghwa / Female Reader Genre: Fantasy!AU (D&D inspired) Words: 2,287 Tags: dungeons & dragons, fantasy!au, high-elf!Seonghwa, human!reader, swordplay, not-so-subtle flirting, fight scene, magic, a lot of violence, foul language, blood mention, gruesome death Summary: You’ve been traveling with Seonghwa for a few weeks and training with his guidance in your spare time. Just when you start questioning your skills, an opportunity to show them arises...in the form of a group of bandits. You must battle to save yourself and your beloved. A/N: I know this isn’t the kind of thing I usually post on this blog...and I hope it doesn’t scare you away! I have a lot more planned for this story, and this scene was kind of necessary in the plot. If you read this and think of anymore tags/triggers I should use, just let me know and I’ll add it!

A fury burned in your eyes as the shortsword fumbled from your hands, the collision with another sword sending you backwards. You collapsed to the ground before the point of the other blade pressed under your chin to lift your head towards the attacker.

“You’re dead,” Seonghwa growled.

Huffing in frustration, you carefully shoved the weapon from your neck and jumped to your feet. “Again!” You snapped, snatching your sword from the ground a few feet away. Sweat was dripping down your face, your muscles ached from hours of training, but your stubbornness kept you standing.

Seonghwa’s expression remained unmoved. “You need to take a break. You must be hungry by now,” he declared, lowering his sword. “We’ve been at this all morning.”

You defiantly shook your head. “I’m fine,” you said, readying yourself for another bout of swordplay. “Attack me again.”

“No,” he asserted. He placed his sword within its sheath and went over to the creek next to where you had made camp. Kneeling, he dipped his slender hand into the clear water and brought some to his lips. “Come cool off,” he told you without even a glance.

Reluctantly putting your sword away as well, you did as you were told. Crouching beside him, you splashed water on your face and placed your now cold, wet hand on the back of your neck. You sighed at the pleasant sensation.

Seonghwa watched you quietly, taking in your persistence, despite being weary. “This isn’t something you learn overnight. It could take--”

“--months, even years to be a skilled fighter,” you finished the sentence he often told you after training.

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes on you. “This won’t always be a game. It will be life or death.”

You rested your butt on the rocky shoreline and watched the water trickle along. “I’m getting better, though, aren’t I?” You stared off distantly. It was hard to keep from wondering if this was all for naught.

Noticing the hopefulness in your voice, yet the doubt on your face, he put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You are. As I watch you train, I can see your strengths and weaknesses. One thing I must say is that your fierce determination will be either your greatest asset or greatest downfall…” He slowly stood, brushing some dirt from his pants leg. “You must have a more strategic approach to your battling instead of running in head-first.”

“You keep saying that, and I’m just not understanding,” you sighed.

Seonghwa held out a hand toward you. “Let me try to explain…” When you took his offer and stood, he paced from one side of you to the other, almost resembling a predator stalking its prey. “Survey your enemy. If they don’t know you’re there, use that to your advantage. If they do, quick thinking will usually be your only choice.” In the blink of an eye, he had drawn a dagger and was rushing at you.

You were taken off guard, but you reached for your sword. Unfortunately, your foot stumbled on the rocks and sent you careening into the creek. You screamed as the water seeped through your clothing, chilling you to the bone. “SEONGHWA,” you shouted in pure anger.

The elf stood on the waterbank, stifling a laugh. A pitiful excuse of an “I’m sorry…” was all he could muster.

Reaching a hand up, you wordlessly asked for his help.

Seonghwa figured the least he could do was assist you, so he clapped his hand against yours and attempted to pull you up. What he didn’t expect was for you to pull him down. He was drenched in seconds.

You cackled at the look of betrayal on his face. “Oh, c’mon, don’t act like you’re surprised!” You joked, splashing water at him.

His upper lip curled as he spat, “You’re going to pay for this, you know.” He splashed you back, tenfold.

Your laughter floated through the trees before you tackled Seonghwa and pressed a kiss to his lips.

He was clearly taken aback by the sudden display of affection, but soon fell victim to your enthusiasm. After letting it linger for a few seconds, you had pulled away and he was still peeved, but certainly less-so than just moments ago. “Have you cooled off now?” He asked, brushing some of the wet strands of hair from your face.

You scrunched your nose as he did, soon smiling brightly with a nod.

“Then let’s get out of these wet clothes and eat lunch.” Seonghwa sat up and you both rose to your feet.

“What’s for lunch?” You asked, making a move to climb out of the creek.

“You.”

The word left his mouth, and yours nearly dropped. Three weeks traveling together and this elf was still taken with you, yet you wouldn’t have guessed him for being the crude type the first day you met. You took pride in knowing you brought out this monster in him.

Stepping onto the firm ground beside you, Seonghwa brought you into his arms and buried his face in your neck. “Only you can wet my appetite.”

“Hwa, how indecent,” you teased with a giggle. You couldn’t deny, the proposition did sound alluring...however... “We’re not too far off from the main road, though.”

As he peppered your neck with tender kisses, you let out the most heavenly moan near his ear. He sighed heavily. “No one will see. We have our tent, after all,” he attempted to persuade you.

You glanced over to your camp, which simply consisted of a tent and a small fire pit next to some fallen logs. It was the middle of the day, there were bound to be travelers passing by, and you were pretty sure your lover had lost his mind. The way his teeth began nipping at your sensitive skin distracted you from your better judgment.

You went to give in when Seonghwa’s movement halted, and his fingers dug into where they sat on your waist.

“O-Ow,” you whined, but he quickly shushed you.

“Stay still,” he hissed. With eyes deadset into the shadows of the trees, his body stiffened defensively.

“My, my, my, what have we here?”

“A couple of lovebirds, lost in the woods?”

Every nerve in your body was on high alert as these unfamiliar voices crept from behind you with dangerous intent. Pulling away from Seonghwa, you stood beside him, surveying those who had spoken.

Four men of various races were approaching, stopping no more than ten feet away from you. You briefly studied each of them. They were clearly bandits. Two seemed to be muscular humans, one was a stealthy half-elf (being with Seonghwa for this long helped you to discern the differences between them), and the leader who stood before them was a beefy half-orc.

Glancing over to your companion, you could tell Seonghwa was cursing himself for letting his guard down.

“Not quite,” Seonghwa growled at them. “We’re not lost, so I would appreciate it if you kindly left us alone and went about your way.”

“We overheard you were about to have lunch,” the half-orc said. “We’re starved, ain’t we, boys?”

Those words sent a chill through your body and anger surged in your stomach.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened with disgust. “Lay a finger on her and you’ll die. Slowly. Painfully.”

Grabbing onto the greataxe on his back, the half-orc readied his weapon. He grinned, baring his teeth. “Is that a promise?” He barked.

His minions followed suit, withdrawing their weapons.

“It is,” Seonghwa replied with malice dripping from his words.

The next few moments were a blur. You had reached for the sword at your hip, and before you even finished unsheathing it, Seonghwa had already cast a spell towards the half-orc.

Narrowly dodging it, the repercussions attacked the two humans instead. Acid splashed upon their faces, causing their skin to bubble and rot. Their screams and the smell of burning skin filled the area. They fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

The half-elf leapt through the air and attempted to slash at Seonghwa’s neck with a scimitar.

Raising his hands, Seonghwa pointed them at the remaining two bandits. He murmured a phrase under his breath, and the half-elf froze in mid-air and fell to the ground, paralyzed. The half-orc stopped in his tracks for a split second before breaking free of the incantation.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” the burly leader stated, turning his eyes on you.

Your hands shook as you held your sword in a defensive stance. There was no way you were letting this piece of garbage get what he desired. “You’re going to regret this,” you said through gritted teeth.

With a howl of laughter, he crossed the distance between you in only a few steps. “Hardly,” he answered, rearing back with his greataxe.

You jumped back as he swung, the tip of the blade scratching the abdomen of your armor. You brought your sword up and slashed at his arm, breaking the skin. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was enough to make him grunt in annoyance.

“Pesky, little wench. You’re going to get what you deserve for that.” The half-orc used the haft to swipe at your face. He didn’t want to kill you; no, he wanted you alive. The force knocked you backward, a shocked hand holding your already-bruising jaw.

Seonghwa turned to see the bandit leader advancing on you. Glancing back at the half-elf, he allowed the concentration of his spell to end to rush over to the half-orc. Before your companion could even reach the leader, he felt a prick on the back of his neck. Reflexively turning to shoot a fireball at the half-elf, Seonghwa watched the flames engulf him as his own limbs went numb. He fell to his knees and called out your name before slumping to his side on the ground.

Glancing at Seonghwa powerlessly watching you, your blood ran cold. He couldn’t help you. This was life or death. You looked up at the half-orc who towered over you and remembered your lesson. Quick thinking. Your eyes dashed around your surroundings. They didn’t linger long on the creek, which was maybe fifteen feet from where you were standing. Overpowering him wasn’t an option, but swift footwork might be.

“Where will you go, girl? You have nowhere to run. Your bastard elf will watch as I--”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, taking a large step backward.

The half-orc’s ugly, toothy grin widened. “Big words from such a powerless, little girl. You’ll need to do more than scratch me this time.”

“Little, maybe. Powerless, no,” you declared, readying your weapon again.

He rushed at you once more, swinging his greataxe with full force.

You kept stepping backwards until you felt the hard gravel near the waterbank. Before you could slip, you put all your weight into jumping out of the way.

The half-orc was so focused on you that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was charging. When he swung, the axe sliced at your side, this time piercing your armor just before he lost his balance on the slippery rocks. Tumbling into the creek, he landed hard on his back.

You fought through the searing pain in your side to jump into the air. The half-orc couldn’t make a move to stand in time. You were eerily calm as you lost all self-control. Gripping the hilt of your sword, you raised the blade before driving it straight into the bandit’s throat.

He coughed and sputtered until you pressed the blade in even further, severing his spine. He finally lay motionless as the water dribbled around his body. The creek ran red with fresh blood.

It took a long moment for you to regain your senses. You clumsily climbed off of the half-orc, nearly stumbling out of the water. Your bloodstained sword fell into the dirt while you knelt beside Seonghwa. You helped him into your lap, pulling the poison dart out of his neck. You soon cradled his head as he tried to speak.

“Don’t...cry,” he choked.

You hadn’t even realized tears were streaming down your cheeks, dripping upon his. Buckling over, you held him close and sobbed. “I killed him…”

“You did...what needed to be...done.”

When rationality returned to you, suddenly your concern for his well-being overtook every other emotion. “Are you going to be okay?!” You blurted.

“I think so…” He assured you. “Paralysis dart…Will wear off.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you sniffed loudly as you tried to stop crying. “I was so scared…”

Seonghwa stared up at you haplessly. “I know. I failed you.” His words were drenched in guilt.

“NO! You didn’t!” You exclaimed loudly. “I would have been dead, or worse, if it weren’t for you and your training! You’re always saving me!”

“You saved yourself...this time…I’m proud.” The corners of his lips turned up in the slightest smile.

You gazed down at him and wiped your tears. He always knew what you needed to hear. “...Thanks.”

It took three hours for the paralysis to wear off, and Seonghwa was back to full health in no time. He cured your wounds with a simple enough spell, though he said the bruising on your face would take a bit longer to heal. You packed up camp and found yourself in the next town by sundown.

Come to find out, there was a bounty on the bandits’ heads. Seonghwa collected the bodies that evening with some officials from the town while you kept to yourself in a rented tavern room.

It was going to take some serious time to feel normal again. You weren’t sure if you ever would.

[therewithasmile]

you have a hold

Duke Fraldarius gets a visit from a certain green-haired individual: Lady Byleth, archbishop, his wife.

ao3

"You have a visitor."

The simple statement was enough to rouse Felix from his stupor, one that he hadn’t known he was even in. But that was becoming a frequent occurrence: when the meetings dragged on, even the surrounding Lords and their words became nothing but added background noise. So when the courier looked at him in earnest, Felix knew the meaning of his pointed look. He barely managed to get his hastened apologies and pardons out, but those present shared a look as soon as his back was turned. Truthfully, he knew they would – such a presence, unannounced, only meant one thing.

And she hadn’t bothered to send a raven – anything – before arriving at his (their, if she ever decided she wanted it so) doorstep. 

Three long strides was all it took for Felix to cross the threshold the entrance hall and into his own personal training room. There she stood -- Byleth, archbishop, his wife -- just a few feet from him, arms crossed across her chest, in regalia that never quite suited her. While it hugged her curves and fit well against her body, it didn't do the same things to him as when he saw her in her battle garb, platemail and all, with her body tense, sword in hand.  

Her eyebrow perked. "Do I need an excuse to drop in, my love?" 

He must look frazzled. Felix certainly felt frazzled. There was more he liked to do when he knew she was coming. Something like preparing a meal, drawing a hot bath, making sure the sparring ground prim and proper despite what would happen moments later. "No, but I like to have a heads up," he chose to say instead, and though the intent was teasing he was certain just a little frustration intoned his words. And though what he felt wasn’t quite bashfulness, he did busy himself by sliding a steel sword from its holder, tossing a second still sheathed towards the green-haired archbishop. 

As always, Byleth betrayed nothing as she caught the weapon one-handed, a small quirk on the corner of her lip the only exception. "Like you ever gave me a heads up before," she scoffed playfully. "I still remember you chasing after me, hair barely out of your face, asking me to spar..." 

If she was trying to embarrass him, Felix had long since come to terms with his previous antics. To think back and realize what truly motivated him then had initially been quite a shock; now, he didn't try to control the smirk that tugged at his façade. 

"I'm sure seventeen year-old me would be disappointed to know I only get to see you the way I wanted when I get the rare chance to take the archbishop to bed." 

To her credit, Byleth's facade remained outwardly as cool as ever as she sank down, sword drawn. "Spent a long time beside Margrave Gauntier, have we?"  

"Childhood friends," Felix said as he mirrored her stance. "He was bound to rub off me sooner or later." 

She laughed, a bell of a sound that he so rarely heard from his wife, and she twirled her sword so familiarly. If Felix were being honest, this was what suited her -- this was so much more natural. Her eyes sharpened like a hawk's and her lips relaxed to a calm neutral. He'd seen her when she worked and he couldn't help but to note the lack of shine in his love's eyes, the way her mouth was tense even when talking, smiling. Now, she was relaxed - now, she was Byleth.  

And she still was, doubly so as she expertly blocked his blow, teeth grazing her lips in concentration at his sudden advance. It was the same dance that they had always had danced, a tango of blades accompanied by a symphony of metallic clashes as steel met steel. And, like every step to their routine, she always seemed to have the upper hand. It was almost unfair, in a way, that the revered archbishop could still be this skilled with the sword after this long on the job.  

Sheen of sweat had formed on her brow, and the ragged breath that serrated through her lungs was like fire to his ears. Still, it wasn't too long before his sword went flying from his grip, and then his back hit the stone wall - like ice against his heated torso - and the tip of her blade caressed along the planes of his jaw before her lips planted firmly onto his cheek.  

"Beat you again, Fraldarius," was her feathered breath, heavy and worn, and it did things to his head that he suspected had nothing to do with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.  

"Okay, Fraldarius," he said breathlessly, and this time he did manage to get a reaction from her, even if it was just the faintest blush to tint her cheeks pink.  

"Archbishop Byleth to you," she responded, almost dutifully. Felix couldn’t help but roll his eyes skywards as her own sword clattered noisily to the floor.  “You almost had me there too,” she said, almost conversationally, and Felix only scoffed. 

“Isn’t it sacrilegious to lie, Lady Byleth?” 

Something between a choke and a laugh came from his beloved. She pushed verdant hair from her face, and it was really unfair how such a simple motion was enough to make his heart thud erratically. Sure, distance made the heart grow fonder – but at this rate, it made him feel like he was – many – years younger, when he was admittedly much brasher and irrevocably infatuated with his then-professor. So with her hair pushed back and eyes a liquid fire, skin positively glowing from just sparring alone, the way her regalia -- so not accustomed to any physical activity, let alone to the extent they did – clung to her body, right under the weight of her breasts… 

To say that he swallowed through a lump in his throat would have been an understatement. 

The look she then gave him was sly, too all knowing – a combination of her seeing through him, like she always had, and just familiarity made it all the more easier for her to read his mind like a book. 

She smirked, and said all too breathlessly, “can I at least shower first?”  

. 

“Since when?”

Of all the things Felix had learned about her overtime, this was probably the most surprising. Her body was pressed up against his, the rise and fall of stolen breaths soft in the curve of her back. She was cold - she always was, one of the first thing he'd learned about her - and so he tightened his grip, tucked in the point of his elbow softly into her chest as a sigh feathered from her lips, and he pressed his own into the crown of her head.  

She flipped over, a bit suddenly, her green eyes so clear - like water, one of many parts of her he found irresistibly interesting about her - and hedging those oceanic depths, a small facet of genuine intrigue.  

Felix felt the heat rise to his ears; with a twist, he craned his head into the upper part of his forearm, if anything to stop himself before his words came before his train of thought did. "Gradually, I guess," he said, carefully, and he knew Byleth so well now that he could feel the tidal surge of her stare to know she, as usual, saw right through him.  

Her touch was lithe, cool, and meticulous - just the tip of her finger pad as she traced the line from his cheek, down to his jawline. And yet it was unfair how just a simple gesture, affectionate in a way she could afford, left trails of fire and ice that spread like spiderwebs across his skin.  

"And the truth, this time?"  

Her voice was coy, but he too knew that he hadn’t been the most forthcoming with his half-answer. And when her finger lingered on the jut of his chin, before lifting to press against the swell of his lower lip, he relented.  

"I don't know, maybe the whole time?" His answer wrenched out of his attempt of control, and perhaps to any other ears could have easily ruined the tender moment between them. But the bite that would have perhaps deterred only elicited a small giggle instead, and the sound only made the already-present sparks of nervous elation catch to a slow burning fire. 

If there was more that she was curious about, Byleth didn’t voice it, and Felix was not about to ask the same embarrassing question – he had no idea how she could so shamelessly say such. But he’d known her methodology, known it when she had snatched the ring-case out of his hand as he fought so hard to get the stupid words out of his mouth and then she’d dropped to one knee. “Just have to not think about it so hard, Fraldarius,” she had teased after he begrudgingly (because it should’ve been her who had to say it, Saints be damned) said yes.

She was always unfair when she saw through him that easily.

As she did again, when her eyes caught his, and they were nothing but inviting as he pushed himself up, hovering over her body. “Sappy,” he said simply, and then he lowered himself and let his lips feather along the angle of her jaw.

“Determined,” she responded, his particular area of interest vibrating as she spoke. “You were too, back then.”

 He couldn’t help the soft laugh that overtook him before he reclaimed her lips; she sighed into the gesture, just lightly, before the tips of her teeth tugged at his lower lip.

Felix pulled away before she could deepen the kiss any further. “I still am,” he said, very seriously, and his beloved underneath him bestowed him with a signature smirk.

“Are you asking me to spar, Fraldarius?”

“Haven’t you bested me already once today?” he responded, coolly, into the soft spot in her neck as she shifted, a breath wafting against his ear. And then, just as suddenly, those lithe fingers curled around his chin and pulled him up – and Felix found himself staring into endless green depths, depths he adored endlessly even if the journey through the abyss was spiralling.

“Please,” she whispered, and it was barely a question.

Yet he couldn’t resist her – he never could.

It was hard to put it into words: the realization had been shocking, but also in a way, comforting. It offered an explanation to everything, every calculation that had missed and every desire that had been fronting as something else. But to narrow it down to a single moment was more or less impossible; made even more so when the subject to the question offered so many other ways to occupy his mind – and mouth – just inches away from him.

The words fluttered at his lips, half formed as they were, and it simply became easier to ignore the raging inferno that seemed to burn at his tongue and redirect it to her collarbone – her shoulders – the swell of her breasts, unbidden from that frivolous regalia that did nothing to really accentuate how perfect his wife was.

“Easy Felix,” she said somewhere above him, words like little kisses of light underneath the heavy blanket of his arousal. “I’m here for a week, this time.”

“And you still couldn’t have sent a raven,” he murmured against her navel. The small peal of laughter makes her ribs tense, stretching the skin just slightly underneath his touch.

Her response was so simple, so transparent. “I like surprising you.”

She always did, and she continued to, for what he silently hoped to be something close to forever.

[theatresweetheart]

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!

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“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.