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qvrcll · 5 months

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nsfw, fem reader + borderline phone sex

teasing coriolanus snow through a line whilst he’s out parading himself as a peacekeeper with new responsibilities and goals? absolutely.

the ordeal is messy at first. you’re not sure if this is a good idea in the first place (considering the whole good man act he’s piecing together to get back to the capitol, so fragile already) but what is there to lose? you miss him terribly and on the off-chance, you get to catch him off guard, much to his dismay.

so, it starts.

“snow, there’s a caller out for you,” a stone faced peacekeeper yells, voice like gravel. really, not a mouth for conversation, so snow goes as much as to nod before reaching the relevant station. his hands are clammy, oddly, and he wishes the call were from back home. tigris, grand’maam… you.

you, who has kept his faith in this place with just images in his mind. memories.

but to hope is to lose and to lose is beneath him - so, snow keeps his wits about him. he finds a seat and sticks to it like glue, spreading his back and finding space for his feet as the machine ahead whirrs gently. there’s no one here at this point of time - calls are short and rare, which reminds him to not bide his time too much, to not panic and, admittedly, he’s never felt his heart in his throat until now.

“hello?” his voice is crisp, weak in its echo.

there’s cracking on the other end, before a face blends within the static, a smile already tinged in the viewer’s feedback. teeth he recognises by sight alone, smile he recognises by warmth alone.

it’s you.

“coryo? god, is this thing working?” you gasp, and he would laugh if the urge to have you wasn’t overwhelming his senses. his nose was already twitching, reddening with an onslaught of emotions as he could hear your words transmitting clearly over the machine’s whirr, “oh my god! coryo!”

the two of you break into smiles and he can sense you on the cusp of tears - not that strange, knowing he’s been away from you for far longer than he ever has. the remedy is always sweet: he coos at you, reassures you.

“have you been crying? what, you missed me?” he asks, clutching the receiver tighter and then loosening his grip a little. there’s a smile in his voice, but you can already see it.

you shift, curling the telephone cord around your finger and nodding, “of course i’ve missed you, coryo. have been missing you so much,” your voice is dripping with the spell of his absence, to which snow sadly smiles at. of course you’d been missing him.

but then, something slips up. time, his breath or the strap of the slip you’re wearing - pretty pink, a rememberable flush of salmon that hugs your body firmly, from what he can see. he almost misses it, almost chooses to focus on the wall nearby instead, out of courtesy. because it was surely a mistake, a little slip up (ironically). but when you fail to pull it up, instead staring at him like he was the loon here, he clears his throat.

“w… well, how have you been?”

“good.” (did you just scoot closer or did he imagine that?)

“how’d tigris… (cough) been?”

“she’s great.” (okay, your thigh definitely hitched up on purpose.)

two questions and he’s already losing his mind. he knows there are no others in the room, but he feels wholly lost, a string of yarn being pushed against nimble fingers - and when he finally looks at you, a warning painted in those azure eyes, he can finally see what you’re getting at. your face is prettily composed, like he remembers, but there’s heat in your shoulders. an ache that he wants to get beneath, curl against his fingers.

he steels himself, gripping the receiver harder and feeling his jaw tighten under the effort of staying calm, “what are you doing?”

you act dumb, of course. there’s that smile - same as before. sickly sweet and barely squashed off of your face as you stare at him, “doing what, coryo?”

“you don’t think i’m dumb, do you? i can see what you’re trying and it’s-“ he casts a wary look behind his shoulder, and spots no one, not a soul, “it’s unfair.”

“unfair?”

“precisely.”

“is this unfair too?”

before he can even squint at that, ask you what exactly you mean, you do your worst: drop the slip and reveal what’s beneath. the skin of your chest is as he remembers, your fingers skirting against your nipples. it all makes his leg jump, his heart clinch uncomfortably under all those bones and all that blood. he’s already hissing, moving closer.

“what the hell are you doing?” he asks, though there’s no malice in his voice. no reprimand. just a small fear and a large amount of desire that spills into a small whimper when you lean back and have the decency to lower your fingers past your belly and beneath.

“i missed you coryo,” you practically eat the words, moaning softly into the receiver as you work yourself open until it’s quite enough. but it never is - you know this and so does snow. one of his many faults, his dexterity that is - pretty, nimble fingers that reach parts of you that need teasing, pushing. fingers that go farther and don’t come back until you’ve had your fill. but you’re making do with what you have and that’s partly why he grits his teeth.

he knows he can do it better.

“talk to me,” he licks a stripe against his lips, eyes zoning in on you. he can’t see below for certain, but with the soft sounds that leave you, he’s plenty satisfied. besides, the thought of those stone faced peace-keepers stepping in and taking an eyeful of you gets him angrier than he would like to be, “how does it feel? good? better than mine?”

“no, no, never-“ you gasp, craning your head backwards and angling your body so you’re resting your weight on your free elbow, “never, coryo - ah - you’re better. need your fingers.”

he feels a strain in his pants. a pain is forming in his dick and the blood is rushing soon down, and he knows this is unruly. unadjustable. he could lose his position. but maybe that’s the thrill in it, isn’t it? closing an eye to his duties is rather easy, and as he palms his dick through the svelte material, the groan that leaves him is inarticulate and roughly pushed out of his throat.

“poor thing needs me all the time, don’t you?” he gasps, palm catching on that sensitive area down below, “have you been doing this - fuck - since i’ve been away?”

he spreads his legs, palming harder and somehow, messier. though the static betrays him, the feedback in the device in front of him does him wonders: your face, contorted just the way he loves it, your fingers inventing some thick, loud sound the more you work your way into your cunt, the weight of your release hung above the two of you like a threat.

“just my fingers - ah - been using ‘em” you cry out, voice high suddenly, “miss you so much. i can’t do this. i need you here - ngh - coryo!”

the noise that leaves you is heavy and it hits him so hard his dick throbs in his pants, so he presses harder onto the muscle and moans painfully slow.

“shit - miss you so much, sweetheart,” he picks up his ordinary pace, “when i’m back home, i’ll give it to you good.”

“promise?”

“fuck - i promise.”

the seconds of orgasm are embarrassing. he clutches the screen and stares open-mouthed at you. wishes he could kiss every bend and curve, every dot and line, but as soon as he feels himself about to spill into his pants, the line cuts. there’s a darkness washing over the screen and he can no longer hear your voice through the wasted receiver.

it clicks - those stupid call times. he’d probably used all his minutes.

he clenches his fist and loosens it up, tossing the receiver back into its apt position. and as much as he is exasperated as he is disconcerted, he composes himself.

several minutes later, a peace-keeper enters. stone faced and dull, just as he remembers them.

“time’s up, snow. get back to your room.”

snow nods, pinching one look at the dark screen of the feed before walking out. as he steers clear of the room, a thought occurs: he better get back home quick so he can fill you up the way you both like best.

(requests for snow / tbosas are open!)

#coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas x reader

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sparrowrye · 2 months

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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, part 17

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes. Though it looks like we have a couple secrets of our own.

Previous part

Part 17: meeting the overlords

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"I'm sure you can all imagine why I called you here," Lucifer began. "Humans are starting to put together that Full mages are not from their world. As I've stated in previous meetings, we should be revealing ourselves, not waiting to be discovered."

I scanned the face of every Overlord at the table. They were all in their Demon form, some more terrifying than others. There were eighteen Overlords in total but each one had a second hand, putting the overall count at 36 individuals. 37 if you counted the King of Hell.

"A decade ago we had decided to wait some time before revealing ourselves," one of the Overlords said. She had long white horns and huge, white clawed hands. Her eyes were blood shot red. "Why the change of heart?"

My shoulders stiffened when I realized who sat two seats down from her. The man was wearing his pink hat and jacket. It was the owner of the fighting ring who drugged me. I couldn't tell where he was looking with his glasses covering most of his face.

"We were, but then someone went crazy on the surface." The man who spoke wore a navy blue suit and had a flatscreen TV for a face. His voice sounded familiar. "Tricking them with the whole illusion magic doesn't work when you massacre them with the 'illusion'."

"I do believe you were the one who broadcasted the whole thing, old friend," Alastor didn't hesitate. "What was it you said? You're all in for a real treat, tonight?"

"It was your choice to come out the way you did. I was just doing what I do best."

"I fail to see the problem when your broadcast barely had sight of me. We all know how unreliable it can be."

"How about all the people who escaped to tell the--"

"Regardless of how or why it happened, it did," Lucifer interrupted, "and we need to decide what the next steps will be. I'd like to hear from the surface Overlords about announcing ourselves to the surface."

"Now?!" someone yelled from the other end of the table.

"Yes, now," he answered firmly. "Thanks to Alastor's incident--" radio static caught in the Radio Demon's throat "--we'll need to reveal ourselves soon. We need to set our historic record straight and keep it that way."

A moment of silence fell over everyone's head. They looked between each other with various expressions, no one quite sure what to say next. I looked at the Demons standing behind them but most of them had blank stares, revealing nothing about their own thoughts.

"Why do we need to do anything if they're going to figure it out anyways?" someone finally asked.

A woman with large pigtails sitting beside the ring owner laughed. "Do you want to stay an Overlord on the surface? Humans are notorious for killing anything that poses a threat to them."

"We have to show that Demons are more than just humans with more-than-average magic," the TV added. "If we don't, they'll hunt us down for sport. There's more of them than there are of us by a large margin."

"Why are we worrying about being hunted? Humans with Slight magic are no match for Demons." The Overlord was a huge humanoid wolf with neon colors all over.

"Humans together under a common cause are a match for Demons," the woman in white said. "It's important to set a precedent before they realize they can outman us."

"How does thy propose to accomplish such a feat?" This Demon had two sets of bright green eyes and his cloak wrapped tightly around his body.

Demons started looking between Alastor and the TV.

"A television broadcast wouldn't be a bad idea," the TV man smiled.

"Aren't we expecting to reach the entire surface? You barely cover a continent as is," Alastor challenged.

"I advance more with every passing day. It would take less than a month to have a reach all over the surface. Something that can be accomplished if your highness provides proper resources." He nodded his head to Lucifer.

"Yet I've been broadcasting to the entire surface for centuries," Alastor said. "Since the Great Collapse, radio has been the only reliable source of communication."

"Who would believe the word of a Demon who's been tormenting them for hundreds of years?" he snapped back. "People can see a Demon for themselves instead of taking your word."

"Television can be fabricated."

"A radio host can lie."

"They're both important," Lucifer interjected, "and having both can solidify what we're trying to do. Vox, I can provide the resources you need to expand. Alastor, you'll wait for my word before you broadcast." The Radio Demon's eyes narrowed in response.

"What exactly are we broadcasting?" Vox asked, seemingly bored now. He scratched at his bright blue claws. "Humans know Demons as Full mages. Are we merely changing our name?"

"Humans," Lucifer explained, "use the term Full mages to mean anyone who can control more than just the basic elements. But Full mage Humans and Demons are two different species."

"What is the difference?" the neon wolf asked. I was surprised to notice a collection of nods from the rest of the Overlords. How much of their own history did they not know?

"The main difference is that we have control over Existence magic. So dark, chrono, and cosmo magic. Humans have no control over such magic. Demons can control various advance magic, even bending and expanding it, such as technology magic." He gestured to Vox, who casted a smirk in Alastor's direction. "Humans can control very few advance magic. The most I've seen a Human control is four. Demons have access to all, though many of you know it's best to pick a few to master."

"You don't expect to share this information with Humans, do you?" the woman in white questioned. "Giving up such crucial information could lead to our ultimate downfall."

"You're right," Lucifer agreed, "That would give them too much information about us. But we need them to be aware of the difference between Human Full mages and Demons. Aside from appearances of course." He looked down the eighteen frightening faces.

"I say we tell them we can control everything," Pigtails suggested. Well, more like declared. "They'll never know. If we scare them into thinking we can master any and all elements of life, they couldn't imagine fighting against something so powerful. And appearances would just confirm it."

"What happens if they develop the technology to rival our power?" the woman in white asked.

"I don't think you'd be around to see that day," Pigtails shot at her, "And besides, we'll just keep them from getting to that point. They're all about advertising their new inventions. Riding of it and its inventor is easy."

"Thou would be foolish to not prepare for thy future." The man dressed in black with neon eyes spoke before the woman could.

Lucifer nodded. "It's something to be concerned about, but it's something to discuss only after we've revealed ourselves."

"Sooo." Vox ran his long claw across the table so it made a screeching noise. I clenched my jaw and dampened the noise. "We're telling the Humans that we can control any and every element. What happens if they get angry?"

"Surface Overlords have been up there for quite some time." Lucifer crossed his arms. "How would you handle an uprising?"

"Same way as down here," the ring owner beside Vox answered, "Fear, manipulation, and manpower."

"I would advise surface Overlords to maintain and increase this manpower." Lucifer stood from his chair. "I will contact all of you when we are ready to reveal ourselves. As for you two," he looked to Alastor and Vox, "we will speak privately about what exactly you will be broadcasting. This meeting is over."

Everyone filed out of the room within minutes. Rosie casted a smile and a small wave in my direction as she left. As she did, another woman walked in. She wore an all red suite and had long, gorgeous blonde hair. She was followed by a shorter woman who had a lot of silver hair and large red X over her eye.

The pair quickly made their way over to me, the blonde energetically introducing herself as Charlie Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer. I was speaking to Princess of Hell.

"Are you really Alastor's soulmate?" She got really close to my face. Alastor casted a glance over his shoulder at me.

"Uh, yeah."

"I can't believe it! I never thought he would have one."

"Doesn't everyone get a soulmate?"

"Demons never had soulmates until they could go to the surface. Once the portal opened they started to get them, so a lot of the old Overlords don't have one." She spoke so fast it was taking an extra effort to comprehend it all.

"Oh, I didn't know that."

"It's pretty cool if you think about it. But you have to tell me what it's like being his soulmate. Ever since I met him he's always bragged about not being chained down to a soulmate."

"Oh uh..." How do you answer a question like that? I noticed Alastor had cocked his head a little to hear better. How was he paying attention to both his conversation and this one at the same time? "He's uh...how long have you known him?"

"Well I've personally known him for only about a century, now."

"Oh. Uh...and how long have you known of him?"

"He's been a nuisance for everyone for centuries," the other girl mused.

"Interesting." I played off my sudden realization.

"So what's he like?" Charlie pressed. "He's always going on about everything just being entertainment and not getting attached to anyone."

"Oh, well, he hasn't really changed then. I didn't think I had one either, quite honestly."

"Were you really a ring fighter?" the other girl abruptly asked.

"Vaggie—"

"What?"

"I was," I answered. "Why do you ask?"

"It was just really cool to watch you fight. I saw the whole thing online. You were amazing!"

"Oh." My face grew warm. "Uh, I really didn't do well."

"Sure you did. Were you taught how to fight or did you learn it from the rings?"

"I learnt it."

"How many rings did you take down?" Charlie asked.

"I think seven? But I didn't really take them down. They started back up a week later." I folded my arms together, drawing in on myself.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Charlie put a hand on my shoulder. I looked between it and her, surprised at how friendly she was being toward me. "I know a thing or two about failure."

"Charlie..."

"It's okay Vaggie."

"What do you mean?" I gently pushed.

"I tried saving my people awhile back and it didn't really work out. I tried to redeem sinners and Demons so they could go to Heaven but...it kinda fell through."

"How come?" I turned to face her completely.

"Well, it was going alright but then the portal to the surface opened. And what was the point of being redeemed when they could relive life on the surface?"

"Oh, that's really bad timing." I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that there was a Heaven and Hell in the first place, and that the Princess of Hell was telling me she was centuries old. She seemed more like my age.

"Yeah. But I figured I would wait and try again in a different way. Reimagine it!" Her eyes widened and she looked like a little kid with a gloriously bad idea.

"I think you totally should," I agreed. "What's the harm in trying again?"

"Exxxactly!" Her smile widened even more. "And you shouldn't give up taking down those fighting rings. Who knows what kind of Demon children are stuck in them? You're the only one giving any of them hope."

My mind started to wander. "Yeah...I guess so."

"We've got to keep in touch." Charlie pulled out her phone.

"Oh, I don't have one," I said nervously.

"Pfft, of course not," Vaggie sent a glare into Alastor's back, "Someone's still in the dark age."

"Yeah, well, Husker is the only one who's got a phone. And it's a pretty old one too."

"We'll connect through him then. I already have his number in my contacts."

"You already know him?"

The two of them laughed. "He and Alastor were a part of my hotel before it went under."

I nodded slowly. Alastor was in a heated discussion with Vox and Lucifer. They were all sending shots back and forth at each other, only Alastor remained in his seat while the other two were on their feet and pointing fingers.

"Maybe give it a break and meet another time?" Charlie quickly walked over. She put a hand on her father's shoulder.

"Charlie is right, per usual." Alastor half bowed his head to her.

"Of course she is," Lucifer crossed his arms. I didn't realize how short he was until Charlie stood next to him. She was my height and yet he was shorter than her shoulders.

"Come dear," Alastor said to me as he stood, "let us go home. This has been quite a productive meeting." It sounded more sarcastic than anything. Vox tried to say something but he was glitching all over. I was shocked I didn't see any smoke coming from his television head.

Charlie and Vaggie both waved as we left. I was close on Alastor's heels until we left the palace. I took the opportunity to look around at Hell. Everything was red but it looked like a normal city. The only give away was its inhuman inhabitants.

Alastor wrapped a hand around my shoulders as we teleported back to the house. I was shocked at the temperature difference. The night had been warm when we left but now the wind was like an icy chill that went right through my bones. Alastor walked ahead but I didn't follow.

"Alastor," I called. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "I um...I'd like...I'd like you to teach me magic, again."

"Why's that?"

I wasn't expecting him to ask why. He's been pushing my training so much, why wouldn't he want me to accept it? I struggled for a response and he let the air hang silent for several moments.

"Because that's how I want the next hundred years to go," I finally said. It was true, to an extent, but I had other reasons for wanting it. Reasons I didn't want him to know.

His eyes narrowed, as if trying to detect the lie. He smiled wide so his yellow teeth showed. "A wise choice, my dear."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Lots of dialogue and information but much needed! Looks like things are going to start turning around for us. Feel free to ask questions or leave any comments. I love interacting with you all!

#alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin vox #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie

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0kayblue · 3 months

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Choices

A drunken kiss, unspoken feelings, and a nasty argument leaves Leon in a cracked state. Painfully stuck in the crossroads of realization that nothing is going to get better until he starts talking and actively takes the steps to come to terms with his past and his disjointed emotions.

Word count: Almost 5k (not throughly proof read)

Angst. Language. Gun mentioned. Drinking mentioned. Happy ending. Partners to friends to lovers? The timeline is a little funky so let me explain: the events of Raccoon City take place in 2004 and that places this story towards the start of 2011.

A/N: Long time no see, huh? Things got heavy and they got heavy fast. Between vacation, moving, and the holidays; I’ve kinda fallen off the face of the planet. But it is what it is and I’m back for a minute or two.

As far as requests are concerned I’m working on them, but I get distracted with other ideas. My google doc is full of rough outlines and unfinished works in progress. I don’t have any idea when things will come out, they just will. I apologize, but damn, life is stressful.

Anyway, I hope you all are having a lovely day, week, month, and year. Please enjoy!!

“Hey. . .” Leon starts, his voice low and like gravel with uncertainty. A sense of deprecating self-consciousness following in the silence, before he lets out a frustrated huff. “You didn’t pick up, not that I’m surprised. . .but still, it hurts.” He admits as his grip on his phone grows tighter before it loosens and a conflicted sigh leaves him.

“I’m. . .sorry.” He struggles with the apology as he shuts his eyes and another exasperated sigh leaves him, “Truly, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did and I shouldn’t have pointed the finger at you. It’s not your fault and it never has been. I need you to know that, I need you to know that I know how I’ve been acting lately is stupid and. . .” He stops as he opens his eyes and looks around the dim space of his empty living room, the loneliness of this moment threatening to swallow him whole. The numbing silence of the room mixed with the silence on the other end of the phone became too much to handle causing him to swallow the confession on the tip of his tongue.

He licks the dryness from his lips as his other hand goes to massage his forehead in a stiff and irritated manner. He sucks his teeth as his hand falls while he lets out a disheartened sigh as the words fall from his lips, “I can’t do this without you here.” He admits with frustrated sorrow, “I need to see you. I need you to look at me. I need you to. . .I just need you.”

The static of the other empty line cuts through silence like a rusted combat knife through brittle sheet metal. Leon’s lips part for another sigh to escape him, but it never does. The air stays lodged in his throat before he painfully swallows.

“Look,” The word came out dry and somewhat short, before he clears his throat. “I’ve got some things I have to deal with, but if you could come over just for a moment—or at least call me back– it doesn’t have to be tonight; but sometime.” He can’t stop it from sounding like a desperate ramble; a plea for your silence to be broken.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, but it probably won’t be until the early hours of the morning so if you could just at least call me back tonight. Let me know you’re okay. You don’t have to give me any other information and I won’t ask, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He explains softly, biting his tongue to keep himself from making the accusations that scream at him.

He opens his mouth to say more, to at least say ‘bye’; but he can’t, so he pulls the phone away from his ear and he ends the call. A frustrated grunt leaving him as he peers down at your contact photo, his gaze softening as he studies the smile on your face. The photo one that he cherishes with every heart string he has; a moment he was able to capture without you knowing. The rarity of being able to capture a genuine smile on your face. He recalls the day fondly and for a moment a smile curls at his lips until he eyes glance at the time in the top left corner of the thin device. He locks his phone as he stands from the loveseat you often perched yourself in whenever you were over, the seat cushion practically molded to only sit your frame comfortably.

Putting the phone in his pocket he makes his way through the kitchen and to the door that leads to the garage; grabbing his car keys from the key hooks by the door and opening the garage door.

The dark of night not holding its usual tranquility as the earthy smell of the heavy rain floods his nostrils. It’s eerily fitting given his current circumstances and it makes his skin crawl slightly as he gets into the driver seat and starts the car. Putting the car in reverse he backs out of the garage, his ears starting to ring slightly as the quietness of the night floods the car. A slight scoff leaves him as he goes to shut the garage door and he heads north towards his destination.

—------------------------------------------------------------

Leon drives for hours in silence trying to put his head together. Trying to string together what exactly he wants to say while also remaining focused on the road ahead. All his thoughts scattered and disorganized; any sense of pulling it together immediately wiped out whenever his phone buzzed. A thin line of hope is always shattered when he glances at it and it’s just another notification about god knows what. It didn’t matter and he didn’t care because it was never your name on the screen.

It felt as if you were playing this silent treatment thing as if your life depended on it and it was killing him. Suffocating him. Each ping brings him above the tidal wave for just a moment before being dragged back under by the force of the freezing crisp waves. He could almost taste the bitter salt water with each defeated sigh of disappointment.

His glare on the road sharpens as he sees the abandoned gas station, slows, and makes the sharp right turn into the parking lot. The sound of stray gravel gritting against the tread of the tires as the car reaches its destination, Leon on the other hand still has another hour until he reaches his.

A single unmarked cruiser awaiting him parked perfectly in between two faded and barely visible white lines. He parks his own car a couple spots away from the cruiser before he shuts it off and steps out of the car, grabbing his phone and keys sliding them into his back pocket as he takes calculated steps to the cruiser. The rain only becomes more intense as he tries not to be affected by the cold laced into every drop that hits him, soaking his clothes slightly.

“Should’ve brought an umbrella.” He mutters to himself as he opens the driver’s side door of the cruiser and gets in. He shakes slightly in an effort to get any excess water off before running a hand through his damp hair, the water slicking it back for just a moment before his bangs fall back into place.

He leans over the center console and gets into the glove compartment on the passenger’s side. A single car key and a beretta 92fs pistol sit exactly where they were supposed to be. He opts for the cool metal of the hand gun as he picks it up and inspects the weapon briefly, leaving the safety on before he sets it in the passenger seat. He then takes the car key and starts the car, whereas his car was quiet the cruiser engine debates on whether or not to come to life and he almost took it as a sign to give up despite not being a superstitious man; but he digresses as the old cruiser decides that Leon is worth the ride.

Just as he goes to put the car in reverse his phone pings and he immediately takes his hand from the gear shift and fishes for it with a grunt from his back pocket. A moment of relief leaves him as this time the contact that greets him is yours. Quick to unlock the phone he is greeted with a text of only one word:

‘Maybe.’

“Maybe?” He grumbles, “What the hell does that even mean?” He asks no one but himself and yet is met with the low rumble of the cruiser’s transmission. Before really thinking he goes and types a reply, staring at the message with a puzzled expression.

‘Maybe what exactly?’

Surprisingly he barely moved before he got a reply.

‘Just maybe.’

He takes in a deep breath before letting it out in a shaky manner. Stubborn, you were always so stubborn. Of course he was too, but he was the one actively trying not to be this time. He was the one trying to get you to open up and not the other way around. Trying to get you to communicate with him, trying to get you to be vulnerable with him, trying to repair the rift between the two of you.

‘Can I get more than maybe?’

‘Please.’

He knows it’s his fault. He understands that regardless of how you left he still hurt you and you still had every right to be upset with him. Neither of you made anything official, never committed to anything, and he was a fool to think that a drunk kiss meant that his feelings were reciprocated and defined you both as an unit. He should have known that your avoidance of him the next day meant that something was off, but he convinced himself that you understood everything. That you knew everything he’s wanted to say for months. So, when he was informed of you being around someone who clearly was no good for you; he snapped.

‘I’ll be by.’

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A crumb that would subside the ache he felt. He lets out a sigh of relief as a small and soft smile finds his face. It was confirmation to him that he hasn’t lost you completely. He hadn’t lost you.

‘When?’

‘Tonight. Please.’

He stares at the screen waiting for a reply he doubts he will get; so he isn’t surprised as agonizing seconds turn into minutes. Glancing at the time he knows he needs to move, and he will. Just a minute more.

A minute passes, then two, and still no reply. He runs a hand through his hair before it finds the steering wheel, gripping it with force. Trying to let out some of the agitation he felt in the least harmful way possible. He tosses the phone into the passenger seat before taking his leave.

—------------------------------------------------------------

Leon pulls up to the agreed upon meeting spot, the headlights of the cruiser reflecting off of the multiple ‘WARNING’ and ‘DANGER’ signs. All signs informing the public to stay clear of the abandoned wreckage that was the nightmare that started his adult life.

He clenched his teeth as he parks the cruiser and before killing the engine he scrutinizes the rusted, faded, and graffitied sign that read:

‘Welcome to Raccoon City

Home of Umbrella’

He can’t help the cold unforgiving glare that hardens his features as he stares intensely at that damn sign. A sign that he once was looking forward to seeing, a sign that was supposed to harken in a new beginning for him. A chapter of his life that he never got to write the way he intended too.

He forces himself to look away as he kills the engine. All that anger and contempt in every movement he makes; the emotions barely subtle as he grabs the pistol and makes his leave from the cruiser. Uncleaned debris crunching under the harsh step of his sturdy weight. The former storm subsided to a gentle drizzle. As if the weather was deciding to be gentle towards him, to be kind as he faced the location of so much of his trauma. Dulled screams and flashbacks of all the things he saw that night flashing throughout every corner of his brain. He grits his teeth as he slams the door of the cruiser shut, the heavy bang ceasing the noise. The memories.

He keeps his focus trained ahead as he strides closer to the steel chain fencing with sturdy steps, the dim yellow light from aged street lights illuminating his path with a dull hum. Unclenching his jaw he puts the pistol into the tight waistband of his jeans as he starts to climb the rusted fence that murmurs whines underneath the weight of his body.

Getting to the top he throws one leg over before deciding to make the jump to the other side. A grunt leaves him as the soles of his shoes make contact with the pitch black pavement, a sharp yet brief pain shooting up his legs. Standing up straight he pulls the pistol from his waistband, shuts the safety off, and proceeds forward. Acutely aware of his surroundings as his stomach starts to turn and bile threatens to creep up his throat.

Luckily he doesn’t have to travel far as the person he is set to meet waits in the shadows, the click of her heels against the damp pavement making Leon fully aware of her presence as he points the gun at her out of fear. It isn’t until she steps closer that he lowers his weapon.

“Leon.” Ada says as she looks at him intently. Giving him a once over before she speaks again, “Someone is jumpy, I see.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the location.” Leon says as he stands up straight, his shoulders remaining tense. Ada nods in a sense of understanding.

“You went through it to track me down and I’ll admit I’m impressed; but I have to ask: why?” Ada’s voice is smooth and low, clearly guarded.

“There’s something I have to talk to you about. Something I need to address.” He admits.

Ada studies him, the tension he carries nearly slapping her across the face; and she knows all the blame can’t just be put on the location. The rubble on the street is a physical representation of the crumbs of trust that was shared between the two of them.

“So, then why go through the trouble?” She inquires, her brow raising slightly, “I’m certain whatever it is you are here to-.”

“No, I need you to hear what I have to say.” He says cutting her off. Clearly uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and direct with her; this whole situation reeking of a rotten smell that they could practically taste.

“Different.” She simply states, very different from their previous meeting six months prior in the rural misty mountainous region of Spain. A change that was lost on her is now clearly present. It’s rough, jagged; and not something she is used to when it comes to him.

The two stare at each other in silence, trying to piece each other together. A clear lack of communication ringing out into the night, something that wasn’t uncommon between the two.

“Do you-.” Leon starts but suddenly stops the question in its tracks. He knew the answer and it was pointless to even ask; so he opts for the next question, “Why didn’t you try and reach out?”

The question takes Ada aback and it shows physically as her eyes widen just slightly before returning to that uncaring gaze. She ponders on how to approach this. On what to say. Coming up short she decides not to say anything regarding the subject; so she changes it.

“Is this about them?” She asks and immediately Leon plants his feet. Knowing that her them meant you; and the feeling didn’t settle well in his bones. His teeth gritted together as his jaw locked. Yet, the fact of the matter remained: she was partly right.

“It is, isn’t it.” Ada states as she crosses her arms, a sense of pride finding her as she figured him out so quickly.

“And if it is?” Leon asks, hoping in vain to throw her off the scent by playing this with a harsh coyness.

“You’re still hung up over a kiss?” Ada asks, the question slipping from her lips without thinking. A rarity from her, so much so that it takes her aback as the harshness of her words hits Leon with a pang of disappointment.

“That’s not what I’m hung up on.” Leon answers, bitterness clinging to each word, “I’m hung up on the fact that after everything I—everything we—went through you didn’t even try to tell me you survived that fall. That you survived and you didn’t bother to at least leave me something to show you were still alive; and don’t even try and say you couldn’t find me. You could have. Easily.” His voice grew stronger with every word he spoke, his conflicting emotions present in each syllable.

Ada is stunned by his candor, the hurt that she caused him present leaving her baffled and grasping for straws. He was being raw here, he was showing her his cards that he held so tightly to his chest.

“That night was the ending to so much. That night—to me— was an unimaginable horror I was not prepared to face; and you…you were right there. You knew so much more than I did and you remained cryptic.” Leon states with a defeated and heavy breath, “It’s easy to direct my anger there; but I know that’s not where it belongs. That isn’t where my heart places it, even though it probably should be because you played it like a fiddle; but that’s not it. Not the way you used me. Manipulated me. What it is in all honesty is the fact that I couldn’t save you. That you slipped from my grip, but yet you still cling to me.”

Silence falls between the two again, but this time it’s different. It’s not a burden even though it remains heavy.

“So you tracked me down to tell me this?”

“I tracked you down so you can let me go.”

The statement left Leon in one breath as he looked at her with a softness to his eyes. A vulnerability in his gaze that swallowed Ada whole. The lack of light behind his eyes shadowing her in a darkness she never expected to feel from him. Her own emotions are becoming hard to keep in check, as her insides start to simmer with an almost forgotten feeling.

The silence clings to their clothes as the night time air becomes lodged in Leon’s throat. Nearly choking him as he examined Ada intently, trying to guess her next move. Trying to put himself in her shoes long enough to figure out what she might be thinking; but all of this was so foreign. So he retreated back into his own head and just decided it was best to let her move from here. He decided it was best to just stop; and that decision flooded his body with relief. His jaw relaxing, his shoulder falling slightly, his knees no longer locked; the utter relief he felt just voicing how he felt was something he least expected.

“Okay.” Ada said, breaking the silence. This newfound development changed something in her that she couldn’t pinpoint. Something half of her refused to pinpoint. This growth she sees from him changes her perception of him.

“Okay.” Leon repeats with a small nod as the subtle rain drops that have been hitting him start to increase. They stand in a tense awkward silence as the wind starts to pick up and begin to howl a broken howl that wavered like a gasped sob. Leon turns to leave before the rain starts to heavily pour again, but the question that falls from Ada causes him to stop.

“Are you doing this all for them?” She asks, crossing her arms. While Leon looks at her with confliction, still not pleased with her need to keep you in the conversation.

“Not completely.” He answers; and that is the truth. He needed this for himself, he knew that; but it would be a lie if you didn’t inspire him to take the leap. That you didn’t assure him that he didn’t have to constantly be fighting this inner turmoil, that he could form some type of peace with it; and most importantly that he didn’t have to do it alone. He deserved to care for himself, something he never considered until he felt the gentle warmth of your care.

“I’d prefer if you would leave them out of it.” Leon says, a protective pitch in his tone that packed a subtle bite. It didn’t catch her off guard, it was him she was dealing with; and she knew that regardless of the strengths she had briefly seen from you in Spain that Leon would still be protective of you.

So, Ada just nods, turns, and takes her leave,“Goodbye, Leon.” Ada says as Leon watches her walk back towards what he assumed was her entry point was located.

As her form disappears into the black of night Leon lets out a deep breath with a slight shake of his head; his limbs heavy from the strain of the stress he carried in them.

“Goodbye, Ada.”

———————————————————--------------------------

It was nearly four in the morning when Leon pulled into his garage. Your vehicle was nowhere in his line of sight as he pulled up to his house. Not that he was surprised, your answer was just a maybe, and he didn’t want you to push yourself out of the realms of something you weren’t comfortable doing just yet. At least he let you know that you weren’t ignoring him completely and that was enough for the time being.

He shuts off the car as an exhausted sigh leaves him while his hand runs down his face. His head starts to gently pound as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The emotional rollercoaster he has been on starts to churn his stomach, reminding him why he didn’t bother with this stuff for so long in the first place. It hurt. Everywhere.

He closes the garage as he gets out of the car and makes his way inside. Placing his keys back on the hook, kicking off his shoes, and starting to remove his jacket he stops as he hears the muffled sound of a sitcom laugh track coming from the living room. His chest swells with hope as he quickly disregards his jacket and shoes and with large gentle strides he makes his way into the living room. His heart nearly stops when he sees you asleep on the couch.

Stopping in his tracks he watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, you were completely and utterly lost in what he hoped was a peaceful slumber. Your arms tucked close to your chest. Your hair fanned out over the couch cushion and the arm of the couch. He fought back how he wanted to run his hand through your hair. How tempting it looked, how he knew nothing brought you more comfort than the feeling of gentle fingers working their way through your hair. He wanted to do that for you, he wanted to comfort you. He wants to give you whatever your heart desires.

His breath hitches in his throat as he carefully sits on the edge of one of the couch cushions. His heart swells with so much love that it is overwhelming and for the first time within all of this his eyes start to glass over. Tears threatening to spill as a shaky hand slowly makes contact with the warmth of your scalp. His fingers intertwined with your hair as his thumb gingerly brushes the top of your head and a small breath of relief leaves him as he watches your body relax. He stifled a sob with a scoff as a smile found his face while he fixed his gaze on you. The person he holds the most dear. The person he would do whatever it took to just have by his side.

A craving to show you the utmost love and affection, a craving to care for you so much deeper than what the two of you already had. He hoped with everything that you wanted more. That the ghost of your past hadn’t swallowed you up. That you would choose him.

He finally sniffs, the sound of distress pulling you from sleep as your eyes open and find his piercing blue ones glassy with tears. You move to sit up as even in your groggy state your arms wrap around him to comfort him.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” You coo as your torso presses against him while one hand rubs his back and the other makes its way into his hair as you rest your chin in the crook of his neck. “It’s okay.” You soothe while Leon takes in a strangled breath his arms wrapping tightly around you as he pulls you into his lap.

“You came.” He utters, his voice breaking slightly.

“You called.” You answer softly.

Leon’s grip on you tightens as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, fresh hot thick tears starting to roll down his face. You gently mumble sweet reassurances as you rub his back, allowing him to cry, allowing him to let go of all the shit he has been holding onto. The fight. The end. The struggle. He’s letting go of all of it as he keeps a firm hold on you, clinging to you as if his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything and I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for- for being with them. I- I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have told you how I felt. I should have-.” He chokes out his apology, the saltiness of his tears finding the pallet of his tongue.

“Shh, Leon, it’s okay.” You coo rubbing his back, “Don’t force yourself to speak when you aren’t ready. Take your time.” He fists the soft fabric of your shirt as he wonders what he ever did to know the comfort of your patience.

As Leon begins to calm down his grip on you loosens, his breathing returning to normal as his chest no longer hitches with quiet sobs. You feel him start to relax and in turn your body loses its own stiffness. You continue to hold him to you, trailing the tips of your nails gingerly up and down a patch of his back. You had no idea where Leon had been, but whatever he did has obviously left him worse for wear.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask in a quiet whisper, concern ever present in your soft voice; and Leon can’t help himself.

“I love you.” He responds as he places a strong hand in between your shoulder blades keeping you pressed against him as he screws his eyes shut trying to commit this moment to memory. The feeling of your body pressed flush against his, the addictive pleasant scent of your perfume, the soft gentle flesh of your neck pressed against the scratch of his stubble.

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have talked to you directly. I should have seen everything.” He says as he regretfully pries himself away from you to look at you fully, his hands moving to cup your cheeks and hold your face gently in the palms of his hands. He watches the gears in your head start to turn through sparkling big doe eyes and his heart starts to melt. The realization that he wasn’t the only one that needed improvements becoming ever present as he brushes the side of his thumb over your cheek.

“I love you and I am unbelievably sorry. Please, please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads as he studies your face, noting the way your bottom lip quivered ever so slightly.

You both sit there in silence as he admires the sad beauty that are your features in this moment. He allows you to just sit there and feel, and think, and breathe. With all the patience in the world he waits for you.

“I love you too.” You finally say quietly, the words falling from your lips in a hesitancy before you speak up again; but with more strength and convection, “I love you too.”

A soft wide smile finds Leon’s face as he brings your lips to his in a soft, but desperate and passionate kiss. The taste of your lips are so much sweeter without the bitter taste of alcohol on them. Your arms snaking their way around his neck as you kiss him back the way you wanted to the first time he kissed you. His hands move to your waist to pull you closer to him as his tongue ghosts over your bottom lip.

You part your lips allowing him access to explore the warmth of your mouth while crooking your head to the side as his tongue makes its way into your mouth. His tongue runs briefly over your teeth before it coils with your own and he sucks slightly causing a deep moan to reverberate from your chest and up your throat.

The sound causes a smirk to curl at the corner of his lips as he parts from you regardless of how badly he wants to continue. He couldn’t help it, he had to see you; and the sight was worth it. The blissful peace on your face as you opened your eyes to look at him was worth it. A smile plastered on his face as he noted the tiredness in your eyes, the slight bags underneath them, and his hand finds your cheek as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Let's save the rest for tomorrow, okay? Let’s get you to bed.” He says as he moves to pick you up bridal style. He stands from the couch as your grip around him tightens as he makes his way to his bedroom.

“Leon.” You scold him slightly, but with no real seriousness to it.

“Tomorrow.” He assures with a little nod, a playful smirk on his face.

“Tomorrow.” You repeat with a little roll to your eyes.

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afanofmanyhats · 2 months

Note

You've mentioned your dislike about the Bionicle timeline before. What's your take on it and what doesn't work about it for you? I'm curious to hear your interpretation.

The main issue is the fact that it's a ridiculously, laughably long time for people to stay alive. It takes me out of my immersion to remember that this whole storyline takes place over a period of time ten times greater than the existence of Jericho, but characters like Ackar and Kiina on Bara Magna and the majority of characters in the Matoran Universe have lived that whole time. I'm not opposed to immortal/long-lived characters as an idea, but the story needs to do something with that time scale.

For instance, in Tolkien's works, the ages of the Elven characters has weight in their characterization and relationships to the others. The Silmarillion highlights their horror and sadness as they realize their new human friends will age and die in what feels like no time at all to the Elves. In the Lord of the Rings, the lifespans of Elrond and Galadriel add extra gravity to their advice and foresight; they've lived longer than any of the main characters and know the threat of Sauron better than anyone. Their longevity makes them unique, provides diversity and contrast.

Meanwhile, everyone in BIONICLE ages the same way, so there isn't really a highlightable difference in how aging affects you. It's entirely subjective. Helryx and Artakha are all the same age as Takua, possibly even younger, but they're the ones noted for being ancient. I know Takua had several layers of amnesia, but his personality largely stayed consistent, so the fact that he was apparently an irascible scamp since creation makes him feel static. You're telling me he only underwent major personality changes in the last few years?

The ridiculously long timeline also makes the story feel static because it's frankly pretty sparse. Bara Magna has been a desert wasteland with a half-dozen tribes since the Shattering; the only major political shift occurred when the Skrall migrated to Roxtus less than two years before the '09 arc. The MU's timeline is more detailed, but the information we do have still suggests its development is relatively stagnant. The League of Six Kingdoms and the Matoran Civil War/Great Disruption happen back to back, but then the timeline's fairly empty for 75,000 years. All we have to go off of for the main markers is the Brotherhood consolidating power and Dume is active as a Toa. We don't get more detailed politics until the time of the Toa Mangai, and then things start happening with greater and greater intensity that feels natural.

All this to say: when you're making an expansive timeline, it helps to make it feel dense, especially the closer you get to the events of the story. Human history is intricately complicated, with even Dark Ages still providing us ample discussion through archaeology and the lack of written evidence. BIONICLE's timeline has great worldbuilding from a political and social development lens, but it's too stretched out. I'd say that cutting the timeline down to 10,000 years would solve a lot of the issues I discussed. Also reducing the ages of many of the characters, especially the ones on Bara Magna. It's hard to sell Gresh as young when he'd be old enough to remember when humans first started leaving Africa, you know?

#a new hat for my collection #bionicle #bonkle #answers #I hope this is coherent #Baby Av-Matoran's been having trouble sleeping #but tl:dr #it too long for story to make internal sense #and makes the world feel stagnant and flat #I'll probably revisit this with more comprehensive thoughts

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polish-art-tournament · 6 months

Text

tournament II submissions

heyyyy hi hello guys. the first tournament being behind us i have calmed down a little i'm not mad i'm just disappointed and having turned out to be such an amazing fun...

without further ado, i present to you two submission forms: one for the artworks for the second tournament, the other for your ideas for minigames

you have until November 19th, 23:59 (11:59 pm) Polish time to submit the artworks. the minigame form will remain open for the whole duration of the tournament.

in the meantime, i have three minigames queued for you, so stay vigilant!

some rules for submissions under the cut:

✯ the artist must be either polish by nationality/citizenship or have dedicated their artistic career to poland-related subjects

✯ preferred forms of art pieces: - paintings - drawings - sculptures - installations - collages, etc etc (visual static forms)

✯ we shall see about applied arts and industrial design, idk if i will accept all submissions from this category or if i'll have to narrow it down somehow

✯ traditional folk art (e.g. wycinanki łowickie, wydmuszki) will be accepted as a group of artworks, not individual pieces - please write "folk art from [region of Poland]" in response to the question about the author

✯ photography, poetry, music and films will not be accepted in this tournament, sorry!

✯ also no architecture. unless you manage to convince me i guess, shoot your shot if you have something spectacular

✯ please don't submit the same thing twice!

✯ propaganda can be in english or in polish

✯ paintings included in the first minigame qualified automatically, so don't submit those

✯ stańczyk is banned, and other matejko paintings are on thin ice

✯ i hope to get like, 64 contestants ideally? if there will be much more / y'all submit too many art pieces by the same author, i will have to organise some sort of preliminations

#t2 submissions #polish art #poland #polska #polblr

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stardustbarbarians · 5 months

Text

Even Sinners Drink the Wine

A Too Pretty For War prologue

Part One

A Samuel Kiszka / Daniel Wagner fic

Summary: Years before he became the king of Athens, Prince Samuel risked his life in order to save his best friend's.

Tags: Prince!Sam, Court Member!Daniel, war, life or death situations, Savior Sammy, Sam-centric

Trigger Warnings: graphically depicted violence, blood, nightmares, discussion of death and dying (if I miss any please let me know!)

Words: 6.9 k

A/N: An entire year later (to the day), I finally got around to posting that Sanny chapter of this series I promised. I didn't intend to have multiple parts of this fic, but considering the word count came to 17,000+ words, I did not want to subject you all to that. If you've seen the BBC show Merlin at all, this fic might be familiar to you as I was inspired by the episode "The Poisoned Chalice". Also, I tagged this as Danny/Sammy, but we all know what happened in TPFW, so take that how you will. Now, I would be remiss to not dedicate this fic to @t00turnttrauma as I'm convinced she's the biggest fan of this whole universe. I would also love to shout out @ofthecaravel for being a tremendous help and a good sport as I sent her snippets of this as I was writing. And lastly, thank you @safety-sam for giving me the idea for this whole universe a year ago. I feel this is most likely unnecessary, but the title is taken from Greta Van Fleet's Stardust Chords. As always, enjoy <3.

+++

The war had been raging for six years. Six years of bloodshed and violence for a boy that never would have wanted such a thing in all his days.

Josh had passed six years ago and Sam was reminded of that simple fact every time the sun poked over his beloved sea.

However, this particular morning was one of the few where the young prince awoke with sorrow absent from his heart. For the first time in three years, Samuel was finally seeing his older brother.

Jacob was returning home from the battlefield.

As soon as the sun’s rays began to weakly stream into the prince’s room, he sprang up out of his bed and called his servant into the room in order to be dressed. Samuel was buzzing with excitement as he was wrapped in his silk chiton, hardly able to stay static.

“Your highness, you must remain still if you do not wish for me to draw your blood,” Pythius warned, ceasing all action for dressing the prince. He held the chiton in place with one hand and a broach in the other hand.

Sam knew he’d been acting difficult this morning, but he just couldn’t help it. Today was a very special day for him. It was not every day that he saw Jake. How could he contain himself?

“Apologies, Phythius.” Sam then made a conscious effort to stay as still as the statutes lining the halls of his palace. Though, he could not cease his hands from fidgeting with the ends of his garment.

After what felt like an eternity, Pythius finally finished dressing the young prince.

“All done, your grace-”

Before he had even finished his sentence, Samuel was bolting out the door and yelling his thanks behind him as he did so. Pythius grunted as he made to chase after him, stopping in the doorway. “Prince Samuel!! Your sandals!!”

It was no use and the manservant knew this. Samuel was forever “forgetting” his footwear, and to attempt to force him into them was a Herculean feat. Leaning against the doorframe, he tossed the sandals onto the floor of Samuel’s chambers as he watched the youngest royal tramp down the hallway that led to the ward’s chambers.

Samuel scrambled down the halls, the sandstone cold against his bare feet. He could not wipe the beaming grin off his face as the wind ran its fingers through his hair. He skid around the final corner and reached his destination. He barely gave the courtesy of a knock before barging inside the door.

“Jacob is coming home today!” Samuel’s tone was so chipper, he sounded like one of the birds his mother kept as a pet.

The ward glanced at his best friend through the mirror he sat before as his dark curls were being manipulated into place by his manservant. He seemed to have caught Sam’s contagious grin, the corners of his petal pink lips curving upwards at the sight of his best friend.

“Good morning, my darling Samuel,” Daniel greeted, not at all fazed by the royal’s enthusiasm. He’d been dealing with Sam’s overly excited nature for going on a week now. He was used to it at this point.

“Jacob is coming home today,” the prince repeated, seeming to ignore Daniel’s greeting. He was grinning so wide, he was sure all of his teeth were on display. His hands were balled into fists in front of him, shaking them up and down as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

With a final word with his servant, Daniel got up from his seat once his hair was deemed finished. It had been pulled back into a bun that was wrapped in a gold string, two perfect curls framing his brilliant face. There was also a gold headband wrapping around the circumference of his head, matching the gold piping accents of his off-white chiton.

“Yes, so you have said,” Daniel responded. It was said without a hint of exhaustion; if anything, it seemed to make his smile brighten. He outstretched a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Samuel’s ear, something glittering in his eyes that Sam completely missed in his enthusiasm.

“When do you believe he will arrive?” He searched the ward’s face vehemently, hopeful for an answer that he agreed with.

With a sigh bordering on wistful, Daniel dropped his hand and turned back towards where he was just seated. That was when Samuel noticed the long cape that flowed from the straps of Daniel’s chiton, the fabric leaving his upper back exposed. When he turned back to face the royal, Sam noticed he had slipped on golden bracelets forged to resemble vines wrapping gracefully around his wrists.

It was… a different look for Daniel. Usually, he opted for a simple silk fabric and that was the end of it. It was a flattering look for the ward, even if it more closely resembled a woman’s dress. It was upon that realization that a warm flush flooded his cheeks with near violent speed. However, his moment of being flummoxed was quickly overtaken with his elation when Daniel answered his question.

“Most likely by the evening, if not by mid-day,” he responded, that soft smile returning to his brilliant features.

Sam all but cheered, jumping up as the thrill of seeing his long missed brother mounted into something that was hardly contained. The ward watched on in amusement as a child-like enthusiasm overtook the prince.

“I was dearly hoping you would speak something like that,” Sam finally commented after being able to partially put a lid on his emotions.

His smile turning into a full smile, Daniel turned away from his friend and made for the door.

“Alright, your highness. Let us get some food in you before you faint or forget,” Daniel urged, opening up the doorway of his chambers into the corridor now lit with the strong rays of dawn.

Sam, knowing that his best friend was right, walked through the door. The two sauntered down towards the dining area, Sam making conversation that was mostly one-sided. He kept buzzing about all the things he had wanted to do with his older brother upon his return, his passion never-ending. Daniel listened to the prince’s chatter, his patience never-ending. He was always this gentle when Sam got into one of his moods; he had seen one too many times where Samuel’s excitement was unjustly turned down or interrupted due to the listener not caring about his soliloquy. Daniel never was one of those shades, and Samuel was forever grateful for that.

“Apologies for interrupting. But Samuel, you must not allow yourself to get your hopes too high. Jacob… Well, he might not be as you remember him to be,” Daniel carefully explained, turning his body to fully face the royal. He even placed a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, his eyes searching for Sam’s own.

“Whatever do you mean, Daniel?”

A look flashed across his face momentarily that almost seemed to pain the ward. As though he pitied the youngest royal. But, just like a flash of lightning, it was gone from his features within the blink of an eye. But Sam caught it.

“Just…”

Whatever Daniel had wanted to say died on his tongue like an animal who had had its heart pierced by an arrow.

“He has been away for a long time. He may not be the same Jacob from your memories,” Daniel finally elaborated. Samuel knew that was not what his friend had originally wanted to say. But, he did not have the time to pry out of him whatever the ward had meant before the two were spotted by Samuel’s older sister.

“Ah, I thought I would find you two lurking about,” Veronica playfully called, making her way over to the pair. Her silk gown billowed out behind her as she approached, similar to how Daniel’s garments had as he strolled down the hallway with Samuel.

Once again, it had given the young prince a moment of pause, causing his cheeks to flame like the burning sunrise over his beloved sea.

“They are waiting for you out on the patio. Your chiton is lovely, Daniel.” The princess spoke the last line over her shoulder, guiding the pair towards the patio in question.

Samuel dutifully followed. Though, as his sister and his best friend made conversation, Samuel tuned them out. Unintentionally, of course. But, his mind was soaring into the clouds as he attempted to parse out what it was about Daniel that day made him so flustered.

+++

Breakfast came and went with minimal incident. Of course, there was the instance of the king snapping at his youngest for talking incessantly about his brother’s return, but that was hardly a rare occurrence. His mother had placed a comforting hand atop her son’s after he had retreated inwardly at his father’s anger, calming the turmoil roiling beneath his breast. He placed a loving kiss onto the back of her hand before taking his leave.

Samuel spent the rest of his morning honing his archery skills. He attempted horseback archery, something he had only previously done once before. Despite his nerves, he was able to do a good job at hitting the targets.

“Althea, you have yet to disappoint me,” Samuel cooed to his horse, patting her dapple gray neck lovingly after he dismounted. She stomped her large hooves appreciatively into the dirt beneath her, her long black tail flicking at the affection.

The prince clicked his tongue as he held her reins in his hand, his signal for her to follow him. She did so loyally, matching his pace as the two made their way over to where Daniel was lounged under a tree.

“Are you diligently at work, or simply presenting to seem that way?” Samuel jested as he approached, flashing a brilliantly charming smile towards his best friend.

“I know you are unfamiliar with the concept of work, so I shall not fault you for not knowing what that looks like,” Daniel shot right back, only briefly glancing away from the scroll he was pouring over to look at Samuel.

With a good natured laugh emitting from both parties, Samuel turned to Althea to remove her saddle, grunting as he lifted the heavy wood and leather off the animal. She shook after having the weight removed, throwing her head up and down as if stretching. After setting the saddle under the tree on the opposite side of Daniel’s position, he turned back towards his horse.

“Go and frolic as you wish, girl. You earned it,” he told her before untying her reins from the branch of the tree. With little hesitation, she wandered off into the field that stretched out before them.

With a fond smile adorning his face, the prince pivoted on his heel and made for the spot the ward lounged.

“What subject matter are you cramming into that thick skull of yours?” Sam teased as he laid down perpendicular to Daniel, resting his head onto the man’s lap. If he squinted and strained his eyes just right, he could just barely make out the writing on the parchment.

“Diplomacy,” he quickly answered before pulling the scroll out of the way to gaze at Samuel directly in the eye, “not that you have any inclination as to what that word suggests.”

There was a devious glint in his eye after he spoke that matched the smirk on his lips.

“Aye! You cur! Retract that statement at once!” Sam’s demand was accentuated by his finger pointing in the ward’s face.

Daniel simply chuckled warmly before pushing his best friend’s hand out of his face and sliding the parchment back into his line of sight. “Your demand achieves nothing, save prove my point.”

The prince crossed his arms over his chest in a petulant act. He had hoped to provoke Daniel into a bit of a tiff for his amusement, but it seemed that he would not rise to the bait. Instead, he preoccupied his time by watching the sunlight dance across the yellowed scroll above his eyes as the wind rustled the leaves with its gentle and warm breath.

Without even realizing, the man had dozed off. It seems the comfort of being swaddled in his best friend’s scent and warmth as well as having his skin warmed by the afternoon sun were the perfect amalgamation of factors to send him off peacefully towards his dreams.

However, peaceful they did not stay.

Samuel found himself shoved into a dark cave, black cloaking his vision so successfully he could not see his hand directly in front of him. With a whimper of fear that he attempted to suppress poorly, he stumbled forward in a direction he could only hope led towards the mouth of it. He dared not make any noise in fear of what beasts call that musty and decrepit cavern home.

Turning what he hoped was a corner, Samuel felt relief flood his veins as he spotted a far away stream of light that led towards the exit. Only then did he hear a scream that made every drop of his blood turn to ice.

“DANIEL!!”

With no hesitation, the prince turned away from the cave exit and back down to the bowels of the cavern where the scream originated. He stumbled hastily downwards as the tormented screams of his best friend became more pained.

When Samuel finally reached him, he was greeted with the most awful sight of Daniel bound to a boulder with iron chains clamped around his hands. His arms were forcibly stretched out above his head, the strained muscles on his chest on full display due to his lack of clothing. And perched atop his ribs was an eagle, its talons digging so deep into his flesh that they seemed to coil around the bones of his ribs. Its head was bowed, its beak violently tearing into the skin right beneath Daniel’s right pectoral. A sickening amount of blood spilled out from Daniel, some of it even dried on his sweat-slicked sinews.

His face was screwed up in unbearable pain, his teeth gritted against the agony of having his liver scavenged from beneath his still beating heart. Each movement of the eagle made the man cry out in pure arduous torment. Tears even flowed down the sides of his face.

Samuel’s knees buckled beneath him. He crashed into the cold stone of the ground, horror freezing him in place. There was nothing he could attempt in order to save Daniel. He had been sentenced to this torture under divine order. There was simply no escaping your fate once the Gods had condemned you.

Knowing that he had limited options, Samuel went with the only one he knew to be possible. He crawled along the floor of the cave, reaching out for his best friend. When he reached Daniel, the royal simply smoothed the curls on the crown of his head. The tortured man’s sobs became stronger as he experienced his first comfort in Gods knew how long, leaning his head into the touch of Sam’s caress that traveled down to his cheek.

Samuel felt a tear of his own trickle down his cheek as he pressed his forehead into Daniel’s. “I am so sorry.”

“Sammy!”

The prince jolted awake at the calling of his name. Blearily, he rubbed at his eyes before searching around to check that he was not still trapped in that awful nightmare. Instead of the oppressive darkness of that cursed cave, he was greeted by the warm embrace of the late afternoon sun. With a sigh of relief, all of his fear seeped out of his bones in his exhale. He glanced upwards, Daniel gazing down at him with a look of carefully masked concern on his face.

“What is it?” The prince’s voice sounded as though he had swallowed sand. He lifted one of his hands to his forehead, rubbing at his temples that were beginning to throb.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Daniel inquired, his brow knitting as he closely examined his companion.

Yes

“No. You needn’t worry,” Sam quickly reassured, waving his hand in a dismissal of his best friend’s concern.

Samuel watched as the ward regarded him. He was aware Daniel knew he was lying, it was now simply a matter of whether or not he would call Sam out on this.

After shaking his head, the ward came to his decision.

“Pythius just came by to offer up the news. Jacob has returned to the palace.”

Samuel, still reeling from his nightmare, forced himself to react with the same enthusiasm he had emanated for the past week in regards to his brother. Cosmetically, he knew he had managed to muster the appropriate response; his lips parting into a blinding smile as he shot up from his position, forcing his skin to buzz with excitement. But, just beneath was a darkness that was sapping away his true elation and replacing it with an encompassing sense of dread.

He had dreamt of Daniel as Prometheus, the Gods ultimate scapegoat. And as he bounded off towards the sandstone structure he had called home for the past eighteen years, he could not rid himself of the sinking feeling deep within his stomach that his nightmare mirrored that of his prophetic dreams.

+++

There was a haunted look beneath Jacob’s otherwise warm disposition. Samuel noticed it right away, though he dared not point it out. For the time being, until the moment presented itself, the youngest prince played along with the facade the warrior had worn.

“Jacob, it is so good to see you,” Samuel greeted, pulling his older brother into an embrace. The moment he had his brother in his arms again, Samuel felt that affection and enthusiasm surge up in his chest and beat away that dread that had sewn itself into him.

“Samuel,” Jacob breathed, his arms tightening around Sam before releasing him and holding the youngest at arm’s length. He took in his little brother’s appearance, his eyes scanning him from head to toe.

“You’ve grown.” There was a melancholy intertwined with the words.

Sam felt his lips curl up at the corners. “So have you.”

It was true. Since the last time he had seen his older brother, Jake had grown. Not in height - Samuel still towered over him - but in build. No longer were his limbs thin, but piled with muscles that come with being a soldier fighting for three years straight. He was still in his armor, the bronze chestplate reflecting the light of the late afternoon sun. He even rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

With a smile that finally reached his eyes, Jacob removed the hand he had rested on Samuel’s shoulder only to tangle it in his hair and ruffle it. They both laughed, Sam slapping Jake’s arm away.

“Cease, you two. I do not want this to turn into a real squabble,” their mother interjected.

The brothers both spared her a glance before looking back at one another. With a nod of his head towards the hall, Jacob led the way towards his chambers. Samuel scrambled to match pace with his brother before falling into step with him.

“So, do not misinterpret my intentions behind this question, but why have you returned? When I inquired about this with others, no one would answer me.”

Jacob paused in his steps, the metal of his armor clattering together at the halting of his momentum. He regarded his little brother with a look that Samuel could not place.

“They would not answer you?” he repeated.

Samuel shook his head, some of his hair getting caught in the corner of his lips. He reached up a hand to wipe it away and tuck the loose strand behind his ear.

There was another beat where it appeared that Jacob was making a decision. With something flashing quickly behind his eyes, the crowned prince clapped a hand upon his brother’s shoulder before offering a charming smile.

“I missed you. That is all.” With one more pat to Sam’s shoulder, his brother turned away and made for his chambers.

Samuel stayed in his position, watching on as Jacob trekked down the sandstone floor. He felt conflicting emotions coil up into his chest as he observed Jacob; pain at knowing he was being lied to and pride at realizing that these halls were meant for him. He was the next true ruler of this kingdom and it was evident.

Sam would never be as fit for ruling as Jacob. But, that was not something Samuel would ever need to fret about.

+++

As the sun slipped below the horizon, the whole of the castle had gathered in the great hall for a celebratory feast. Each lady was dressed in her finest, the gentlemen wearing the decorative armor. Daniel had abandoned his long silk gown in favor of his finest armor. His curls had been left to fall down to his shoulders, his gold headband replaced by a silver crown piece wrapped around his forehead with a pearl dangling down from the center.

Samuel and Jacob both wore their respective crowns of their own. However, as one would imagine, the one worn by the crowned prince was much more elaborate than Samuel’s simple golden vines. While they were similar in shape, Jacob’s silver vines were encrusted with sparkling jewels that twinkled like the stars of the night sky. They were seated on either side of their parents, the crowned prince on the side of their father and Samuel next to his mother; Veronica was next to Jacob. On Samuel’s right was none other than his best friend.

The two of them had passed the time of the night with endless conversation, never seeming to run out of topics to discuss. More often than not, one of them would become too enraptured in their own corner of the world and forget about the presence of the others in the hall, boisterously erupting in laughter or the like, earning more than a few pointed looks from the queen.

As the night reached its natural mid-point, the king called for everyone’s attention by tapping his fork along the side of his goblet. When the clamor of the room died down at the noise and all eyes shifted their focus towards the front of the room, the king stood from his throne at the very center of the high table.

“Gentleman and Ladies of the court, if I may have your attention,” the king asked, his arms raised in an almost placating manner. As much as Samuel hated to admit it, he could not deny that his father knew how to command a room.

When the din ceased and all eyes were properly fixed onto the most powerful man in the room, he continued with his speaking.

“I thank you all for joining us, first and foremost. Most notably my son, Jacob, who has traveled from the front lines of war where he fends off those beastly savages, the Spartans. Truly, a hero amongst us men.” The king placed a firm hand on Jacob’s shoulder, a look of pride swelling onto his features in the manifestation of a smile.

Samuel, having to divert his gaze from the display, felt the claws of jealousy sink into his heart while the ropes of sadness coiled inside of his gut like a snake. His father had never gazed upon him in such a manner and most likely never would.

“But, this night is not about him. As you are all aware, with the recent passing of our dear Lord Lógios, the crown is in need of a new court advisor. And when it came time for me to name such a man to fill his position, I could think of no one better than that of my ward, Daniel-”

“This is why Jacob has returned?” Samuel hissed quietly at his mother in order to refrain from putting attention onto himself.

The queen leaned over towards her son just enough so that he might be able to hear her response. “We kept this from you in fear of you slipping up and ruining tonight’s grand reveal. Apologies, my dear, but it had to be done.”

Without allowing for any further probing, Sam’s mother returned her attention towards her husband.

“-you could join me in raising your goblets,” the king held his own in hand before lifting it higher towards the ceiling, everyone in the court following suit, “to Daniel, for that he may guide my son on the right path in the way I trust that he will.”

“To Daniel!” the room chorused together as they mimicked their king’s gesture. Just as Sam was about to take a drink of his wine, he heard a loud thud to his right. Snapping his head in the direction of the sound, he was greeted by the awful visual of his best friend laying on the floor, his spilled goblet next to him as the remaining wine seeped out across the sandstone.

“DANIEL!!” Samuel cried, all but tossing his own goblet away in his haste to rush to the man’s side. He was not responding to Sam’s voice nor his touch, causing a spike of fear to lance its way through the prince’s heart.

Suddenly, there was someone at his side, but Samuel could not tell who it was. All he had the focus for was the fact that he was not certain if the ward was breathing. Someone was speaking to him, a man, but he could not say what was being spoken. There was only one thought repeating in a mantra within his head: He’s not breathing. And that was the most terrifying thought anyone could possibly conjure up. Even in his worst night terrors, Morpheus dared not present Sam with this possibility, for even he understood that was taking it a step too far.

“Samuel!”

Jake had taken him by the shoulders and shook him. Finally, Sam was snapped out of his downward spiral and back to the present matter. Stealing one last glance in his best friend’s direction, he spared his undivided attention towards his older brother.

“Sammy, I need you to stay with me. Daniel is in danger, but being stuck in a panic is not the way of assisting him. Do you hear me?” When Sam tried to look back towards Daniel, he placed both hands on the young prince’s cheeks and forced Sam to look him in the eye.

With a shaking breath, Sam nodded his head. Right, he was simply wasting time by allowing his anxiety to sink its claws into him.

“Good. Now, we need to take him to the physician immediately,” Jacob ordered, letting his hands fall from Sammy’s face.

The prince was so thankful for his brother grounding him in that moment. He would not realize it until after, but Sam realized he had witnessed General Jacob in action in that moment.

Bracing himself, Samuel slid his arms underneath Daniel’s prone form, carrying him as if he were his new bride. There was a moment where the muscles in his legs protested at the extra weight being added to his ascent to his upright position, but he ignored them as he ran away from the uproarious commotion that had erupted in the hall at the newly appointed advisor’s fainting. Jake was in tow, the goblet Daniel had drank from in his hands. Another person in their wake following them down the corridors of the palace was Giatrós, the court physician.

“Lay him down on the bed,” Giatrós ordered as they burst through the doors of his chambers. Samuel obeyed without qualm, gently resting his best friend down onto the soft bedding of the healing ward.

Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be pulled away from Daniel by Jacob to allow for Giatrós to have the space to work. However, he did not let himself be pulled far, insisting on keeping his hand in Daniel’s on the opposite side of where the physician worked.

“He’s burning up,” the healer muttered under his breath after placing a hand onto the ward’s forehead, “Prince Jacob, would you please fetch me that pail of water and the cloth next to it?”

The hand on Sam’s shoulder left, Jake following the request of the physician. Samuel watched on as he busily worked up his patient, his face pinching together in a frown that Samuel did not care for as he checked Daniel’s pulse.

Sam, who at this point had begun to chew on his lip and nails interchangeably, took in the visage of his best friend. He had gotten so pale so quickly, all of the color draining from his sinews. A sheen of sweat had accumulated across his visible flesh, his body wracking in small convulsions as he fought off the chill brought on by his fever. Daniel had rapidly flexed and unflexed his fingers around Sam’s hand, each little grip squeezing his heart as if that was what Daniel was holding in its stead.

“It will be alright, Daniel, I promise,” Samuel had whispered into the man’s ear, using his free hand to smooth the curls on the crown of his head. He had taken to gently removing Daniel’s diadem when he saw his brother return with the cloth and bucket. All too suddenly, Samuel was struck with the similarities of this to his nightmare he’d experienced just that afternoon.

“Sam, please,” Jake gently asked, the hand not holding the now wet cloth pulling on his shoulder once more.

With one last caress of his hand, Sam pulled away once more to allow Jacob to do as he was tasked.

“Giatrós, please, tell me you can heal him,” Sam desperately asked, all of the emotions saturating his tone causing his words to crack under the weight of them.

The physician glanced up from his work to look the young prince in the eye. When he hesitated, Samuel realized that the man was becoming blurrier with each passing second.

“Without knowing exactly what he has fallen ill from, I am afraid there is not much I can do other than treat his symptoms,” Giatrós answered honestly.

Hot tears cascaded down Sam’s cheeks at the gravity of his situation. Daniel - his best friend and the person he was closest with and whom he had wished to spend the rest of his days with - was about to be torn away from him. He felt as if he was about to fall over, all of the blood in his veins turning to ice. His vision was charring around the edges, that darkness encroaching onto him with every heartbeat.

Sam began swaying on his feet, his extremities turning fuzzy. Just when it seemed that he was about to lose consciousness, Jake swooped in and caught his baby brother within his arms.

“Keep your head, Samuel,” Jacob softly ordered, gently propping Sam back up onto his feet.

Giatrós was still fluttering around his chambers wildly, grabbing vials and small bottles off of shelves only to place them back in their positions. He eventually returned with a mortar and pestle made from a dark stone in his hands, grinding herbs as he approached with his brow knit in concentration. There was a pungent smell wafting out of the mortar as he approached.

Sam watched him scoop the herbal mixture into a small muslin cloth and then dip it in water before taking the now soaking cloth and squeezing it into an empty vial. He repeated the process about three times until the vial was about a quarter full.

“Pinch his nose closed for me,” the physician requested, looking Sam dead in the eyes. With a weak nod, Sam did as he was told. Giatrós pried open the ward’s mouth before pouring the contents of the vial into it, clamping a hand over his lips so that he had to ingest the mixture.

“There, that should assist in keeping the fever at bay for now.” Giatrós removed his hand, Sam following his lead and doing the same. Daniel gulped for air now that the pathways were unblocked, but he still would not open his eyes. It was frightening, it was maddening, and Samuel had to sit by and watch. As the healer said, there was nothing they could do without knowledge of what caused Daniel to have this reaction.

Samuel took the small strides necessary to place himself onto Daniel’s bedside, sitting down next to the man’s waist as the bed dipped with his added weight. He never released Daniel’s hand, their fingers managing to become entwined without Sam conscious of it happening. He went back to smoothing his best friend’s raven curls with his hand, the silken strands damp with his sweat and clinging to Sam’s fingers.

“Please, fight this. I beg of you,” Samuel whispered desperately before resting his forehead against Daniel’s.

One thing that did fan the embers of hope burning inside his chest was that Daniel’s body no longer seemed to convulse with chills. Giatrós’s tincture had worked; the ward’s skin no longer blazed beneath Sam’s touch.

“Now that he has become more stable, I shall take a closer look at the goblet he drank from,” the physician informed, picking up the ornate silver drinking vessel and staring into it with a critical eye, “perhaps it will provide the answers we seek.”

“What of the guests at the banquet tonight? Perhaps they witnessed or heard something,” Sam suggested, swiveling his head back and forth between the two men stationed on either side of him.

“I shall look into that,” Jacob offered, his arms folding over his chest as he spoke. “I severely doubt you will abandon Daniel’s bedside anytime in the near future.”

Sam felt his face grow warm in embarrassment, his hand tightening within his best friend’s grip. He could not refute Jacob’s claim, as it were.

“I-”

“Yell for me if his condition worsens. I shall be in my study,” Giatrós informed before sweeping out of the sick area and through a door that Sam had never been behind.

“Do not neglect yourself and tend to your own needs as necessary,” Jacob firmly ordered before placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder and looking him intently in the eye.

Before Sam could respond to such a statement, the crowned prince headed out the door. For the first time that night, Samuel was left alone with Daniel. He felt suddenly as if a massive boulder had just plummeted onto his shoulders, his entire body sagging with the weight of it.

“You will make it through this,” Samuel’s voice wavered, wrapping his other hand around Daniel’s that he was already holding, Samuel bringing it up to his lips, “I promise.”

+++

Countless restless hours had passed, many of them spent watching Danny like a hawk. When it had reached the earliest hours of morning, the jaws of sleep had finally snapped themselves fully into Sam, pulling him down into their clutches. However, that rest would not last long.

A knock on the door to the infirmary roused Sam from his sleep. He lifted his head up from his crossed arms on Daniel’s cot, shaking his hands against the pins and needles buzzing within them.

“Come in,” he blearily commanded, thinking it to be Jake. Though, after he had finished rubbing his eyes with his hand, he was surprised to see a serving girl standing before him.

She was clearly very nervous, her hands wringing together as she made herself very small in stature. She also refused to meet his gaze, nervously glancing around the floor as if she expected a nest of vipers to writhe their way out of it spontaneously.

“What brings you here?” Sam cringed at how supercilious he sounded, intending to come across as soothing. He had never been good at connecting with people, that was more of the twin’s ability.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Prince Samuel, I did not mean to cause any strife,” the woman rushed out, still keeping her eyes pointed downwards, “but I have some information regarding… well, regarding Lord Daniel.” She cast her eyes over towards his prone form quickly before forcing them back downwards.

“You do?? By all means, do tell me.” He had managed to make his tone smoother, keeping his volume down in order to keep from disturbing Daniel.

That seemed to be the wrong response, however. As soon as the sentence left Sam’s lips, the servant’s body began to tremble wholly. Samuel instantly felt his body turn as rigid as a wood plank at the display. And when he realized that the shallow breaths she was intaking were her sobs, his entire body turned frigid.

“My lord, please do not spill my blood for this. I know it does not justify my role, but I was under threat of death as well as my family,” she sobbed, her voice just above a whisper. Her entire body shook with the force of her tears, finally locking her glassy eyes onto Sam’s. They were so filled with fear… Sam had no choice but to believe that this was how soldiers looked right before being run though by a blade.

“Please, try to breathe,” the prince uselessly muttered, kneeling down in front of her to try and seem less imposing, his hands resting gently on her arms, “how about you start by telling me your name?”

The serving girl swallowed hard, closing her eyes and breathing as she was instructed. “Alcmene.”

“Alcmene, good. Now, start at the beginning.”

Taking a deep breath, Alcmene launched into her narrative.

“It was I who laced the poison into Lord Daniel’s wine. But not I the one who conjured up the plan. I was forced to by Lord Aetós,” she explained, her voice dripping with hysteria as she went. Samuel could feel her tremble beneath his hands.

Lord Aetós. He should have known he would be the one to devise such a sinister plan. The man had been after the position of court advisor for nearing decades now. Only problem with this being the man had no wisdom to speak of. The thought that he would end Daniel’s life in order to try and take his position caused an unfettered rage to burn fiercely inside Sam’s blood.

“Please, spare me,” Alcmene desperately pleaded.

Right as the young royal opened his mouth to assure her no such fate would befall her, she spoke again.

“If you do deem it necessary to execute me, I have just one request. I have a boy of only three, I simply beg of you to ensure his safety.” Her voice trembled with every word.

“What of his father?” Sam hesitated to ask, afraid he already knew the answer.

“He perished in the war,” the woman struggled to say, her voice cracking beneath the weight of her emotions.

Her words plunged deep beneath his skin like a dagger to the chest. She had been forsaken so egregiously by the court and those she served and here she was, standing before the prince fully anticipating he call for her head for committing an act she had no say in doing; and her only thought was that of her boy’s safety. She was the bravest person Sam had ever encountered.

Dropping his hands from her arms, Samuel removed the golden bracelets he had wrapped around his wrists and handed them over to her. The look of complete shock on her features did nothing to help ease the guilt thrumming behind his ribs.

“Your highness…”

“You have done a great service for us today. You may have just saved Daniel’s life, and for that I am forever in your debt. And as a tiny act of gratitude, please take these. Once this is over, I shall arrange that you be paid handsomely in gold for the rest of your days and never have to worry about you or your son’s safety.”

She stared down at his offering, her mouth hanging open as she digested his words. “I… I cannot accept…”

The prince used his free hand to gently grab Alcmene’s, opening her palm and closing her fingers around the jewelry.

“You are the bravest person I have ever come across. Daniel means more to me than… more to me than words can describe and you just risked your life in order to save his. You deserve this. Now, go and be with… what is your son’s name?”

“Ganymede,” Alcmene answered, a smile finally breaking through her fear.

“Right. Go and be with Ganymede. My one contingency of this offering is that you must use this money to purchase him a pet of his choosing,” he playfully instructed her, a smile of his own breaking out across his lips as the woman emitted a watery laugh.

“I shall find him a guard dog; name him Samuel and tell Ganymede about the wonderful prince who will watch over him for the rest of his life,” she laughed, a meaningful look in her eye as she locked gazes with the royal, “thank you, your highness.”

“No. Thank you,” he emphasized before sending her off to be with her son. With Alcmene gone, he finally was able to focus fully on the blinding rage boiling just beneath his skin. It was a titan in and of itself, his fury. One that even the Goddess Lyssa would pale at.

Taking Daniel’s pale hand in his, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of it, forcing himself not to notice how chilled his skin was. Gently resting Daniel’s hand back onto the bed, Samuel swiftly made for the exit.

“Aetós. You shall pay for this with your blood.”

+++

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#greta van fleet #greta van fic #danny wagner #sam kiszka #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #daniel robert wagner #samuel francis kiszka #josh gvf #danny gvf #sammy gvf #jake gvf #too pretty for war #sanny gvf #sam x daniel

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five-bi-five-mind · 2 years

Note

Hiya! Can you please write something about readers social battery running out and JJ noticing??

Safe Place

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: JJ x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff and Comfort

Words: 1.7k+

Summary: JJ seems to always know what you need when you push yourself a little too hard.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, brief mention of nudity and description of a shared bath (but no smut in this one, sorry folks!)

A/N: Thanks for this request anon and sorry for your wait! Hope this short fluff fic satisfies! Sometimes I can write a cute, happy JJ :)

(gif not mine; credit to the creator)

It had been a rough week. The case you were on was the hardest you’ve had so far. Yes, you were fairly new, only being part of the BAU for less than a year now. There was still so much to learn, about your coworkers, about the job, about how to unpack and heal from the horrible things you’ve seen.

What you wanted when you landed and returned to the office was to go straight home and have a quiet evening with your girlfriend. Throughout all of the hardships of this job, all of the impossible tragedies you had to witness and navigate through, your bright light was meeting JJ and starting a relationship almost immediately after joining the team. She was already used to seeing these things, she already knew how to compartmentalize way better than you do. So far, the only way you were able to recover from these things was to hide in the safe space that was her arms. Unfortunately for you, that was going to have to wait tonight.

There was a pattern you started to notice with the team. Anytime a case was particularly challenging, once it was over they would go out together to their usual bar and melt away the case’s tension with drinks, laughs, and time spent together. It seemed to work for almost everyone there. It would seem, to you, as if a night together out on the town would wash away the pain they had endured the night before. And you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy seeing the team outside of work, you absolutely do. You loved seeing everyone relax and put on a completely different demeanor. Every smile and laugh you shared, you knew healed their hearts and probably even yours too a little bit. However, it wasn’t what you needed. It just prolonged your ability to process what you had seen.

Tonight was particularly worse for you. It felt like the worse the case was, the longer they stayed out and spent time together. You were the opposite. The harder the case was, the less you wanted to be social. You especially didn’t want to drink tonight. The images of everything from the past week just weren’t getting out of your head. You’ve barely eaten through the whole thing and the idea of putting any amount of alcohol in your body had your stomach twisting and turning uncomfortably.

You were currently sitting at a table with both Reid and Garcia, both of which were talking away about random things that you only have paid attention to. They were a couple drinks in, but you were barely even sipping on the one JJ got for you when you first got there and that was a few hours ago. Your brain honestly was starting to feel a little bit like radio static as they continued on about whatever they were talking about. Of course, you would still nod and smile here and there, but you knew the smile you were throwing their way didn’t ever reach your eyes. Luckily, it didn’t seem like they noticed tonight. If they did, they didn’t seem too bothered by it at least.

JJ was somewhere else in the bar, chatting away with the rest of the team. Each time you peered around the room to find her, you’d see her pretty engaged in a conversation. She looked like she was enjoying herself, and while you desperately wanted to grab her hand and pull her out of the bar and all the way home, you also didn’t want to ruin her good time. So, you pushed on, pretending like you were having just as good of a time as the rest of the team. You only hoped no one would notice your lack of enthusiasm.

Of course, this tactic backfired when Garcia insisted on everyone at the table taking a shot. Reid gave an exaggerated frown and you tried your best to keep your features neutral, but Reid’s face only spurred Garcia on more.

“Come on, guys!” Garcia pleaded with both of you. You could tell Reid was about to break, looking towards you for advice.

“I don’t know…” you trailed off. You didn’t really have an excuse for this. If you disagreed, they might finally notice your exhaustion. If you agreed, you’d be drinking more than you wanted to. It was taking everything in you not to gag at even just the thought of a shot burning it’s way down your throat.

“(Y/N), you’ve barely started to have fun! You need to unwind more!” Garcia was basically jumping in place. The amount of energy she was radiating was making you internally wince.

“I guess we can,” you finally relented. “Only one.”

“Yes!” Garcia did a little victory fist pump before hopping off her chair. “I’ll go get them!”

“Actually,” a voice came from behind you. You felt a hand press to the small of your back gently and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Your body immediately started to relax at the feeling of her touch. JJ couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. “I’m going to have to steal (Y/N) from you for the rest of the night. We’re both tired and I think it’s time we go home and get some rest.’”

Garcia pouted, but knew there was no arguing with JJ.

“Raincheck, okay?” JJ offered with an apologetic smile, before offering you her hand. You took it and began to stand. She led you all the way out of the bar, never letting go of you until you reached the car.

The drive home was silent, but it wasn’t a bad silence. It was actually a relief to have a little bit of comfortable silence for once that night. Rather than needing to call for a car and pick yours up in the morning, JJ actually let you drive. Trusting that you didn’t even have a third of your drink. She kept her hand comfortably on your thigh as you drove and the warmth of her touch felt like it was soothing your entire being.

When you reached your place, the comfortable silence remained. It was as if JJ read your mind and knew you needed a break from the loud chatter of the bar. She still stayed close by to you, though. Another comfort you were glad to finally have as you started to take your shoes off and unwind for the night.

Silently, JJ took your hand again before you could make your way to the couch. Instead, she pulled you back to your bedroom and sat you down on the bed. Brushing her fingertips across your jaw as she stared down at you with gentle, concerned eyes.

“You don’t have to push yourself, you know,” JJ finally broke the silence. She knelt slowly in front of you, her hands placed on either of your knees.

“But I do,” you sighed as you looked down at her hands. The slow trail of her hands from your knees to your thighs and back starting to release some of your anxieties. “I’m still the newest member on the team. I… I’m trying to be a team player, to be a part of the bond you all have.”

JJ gave you a sympathetic smile before shaking her head.

“You already are, my love,” she said gently before standing up. She cupped your chin with one of her hands, tilting your head to meet her eyes. “This case was hard and everyone has a different way of dealing with the toll it had. A lot of the team deal with it by going out and having fun, but they can be a lot of energy. They understand that that doesn’t work for everyone and they wouldn’t think less of you for taking the time you need for yourself. Don’t force yourself just to fit in with what you think the team wants, baby. I promise, it’s okay.”

You nodded meekly in response. Maybe it was the soft way she was speaking to you or the feeling of the past week’s tension finally starting to dissipate from your body, but it felt like a dam finally broke. You felt silent tears slip down your cheeks and JJ moved her hand to wipe your tears away. Your body slumped forward so that you could press your face into JJ’s stomach, the overwhelming urge to hide from the rest of the world had finally taken over.

JJ held you there for a moment, stroking your hair and whispering kind words of affirmation. You let yourself silently cry against JJ until the tears finally stopped. When you pulled back to look up at her, she looked back at you with nothing but love in her eyes, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. You melted into the kiss, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of her lips on yours and her fingers running gently through your hair.

After a moment she broke the kiss and stepped back.

“Why don’t we take a bath and relax for the rest of the night?” She gave you a smile before walking towards the bathroom. Before you could even answer you heard the water running and couldn’t help the smile spread across your face. It always amazed you just how attuned JJ was to what you needed and with each moment of gentleness and care she showed you, you loved her that much more.

Her head popped out of the bathroom and you saw that she had already started to undress.

“Well?” JJ smirked. “Are you coming?”

You chuckled before standing and heading her way. Once you reached the bathroom she pulled you in by your shirt, sitting you down on the lip of the tub and undressing you slowly. She treated you like the most delicate thing in the world and if it were anyone else it would annoy you, but with her you just felt safe, cherished, and protected. When she helped you into the tub and then slipped in behind you, you automatically leaned against her and closed your eyes. Her hands gently trailed over your entire body and you could feel the tension you’ve been carrying all week start to wash away. Finally, you were exactly where you wanted to be all night. Finally, you could close your eyes and relax in your safe place, in the arms of the woman you love.

taglist: @louderfortheback

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#jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau #fanfic #wlw #criminal minds #jj x reader #jj x you #five-bi-five-mind

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wolveria · 1 year

Text

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 17

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “If you both cooperate in the days to come,” he added, “then perhaps your privileges will expand.”

“I want guarantees.”

“You’re not in a position to demand them.”

AO3

You were not returned to your cell. Not your usual one, at least.

This cell was barren concrete walls and ceiling, definitely a testing chamber rather than a containment cell. Various sensors and receptors lined the room, targeted at you as soon as you awoke.

Your wake-up call was one of confusion and pain, loud bursts of static rousing you from sleep with your heart leaping in your throat. Various other noises and lights assaulted your senses, but that was better than when the room was quiet and dark. Those were the moments that something undetectable assaulted your body, making you feel dizzy and nauseous.

A typical D-Class would have no idea what was going on, but unfortunately, you did. This was an assessment chamber, a place where new SCPs or D-Class exposed to an SCP were tested with various stimuli, sound frequencies, electromagnetic radiation, and whatever else they can think of to measure.

You were exposed to odd bursts of light, vibrations that tightened your skin and rattled your teeth, flashes of hot and cold, and even an electric shock, though you had no idea where it came from as the floor was solid concrete. Knowing them, they electrified the whole thing.

By the end, you had found a corner to crawl to, shivering and pulling in your limbs. No one had bothered to give you clothing, and you couldn’t stop shaking. Tears burned the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you break, and that included the universe at large. Maybe this was cosmic punishment for all the work you’d done for the Foundation, but if that was the case, then fuck the universe for punishing you and no one else in this cursed place.

Finally, there was light. Fluorescent strips shone from above, covered in a thick barrier of plexiglass to avoid damage from the tests. A door opened and a D-Class entered your cell.

“Stay… away from me.”

Your voice hoarse and cracked, but you were pleased to hear it angry rather than afraid. In fact, the D-Class seemed more afraid of you, his features drawn and his shoulders hunched as he approached.

You waited for what he would do, he was as much a test subject as you were, proven when he grabbed your wrist and forced your hand onto his arm. You couldn’t reflect on the odd gesture, because as soon as you made physical contact, you sensed… it. Something wrong inside him, evident now that you were close. Sweat-slicked forehead, broken blood vessels in the whites of his eyes, his dark-toned skin flushed with an unnatural pale hue.

He was sick, and not sick like the D-Class in the previous test with 049. This man was actively being invaded by a violent, unseen enemy, though as you gripped the man’s arm, it had gone quiet. Inert, as 049 might have said.

Was it an SCP? It must be, to change so drastically under your touch. You concentrated, closing your eyes, and reaching out in a way that was less than scientific.

You knew what it was. How could the Site Director have done this? The amount of danger he was putting on the whole facility just for this one test, one that would have cosigned you to death as soon as the man stepped in the room if it wasn’t for your own unnatural ability.

You opened your eyes, your fingers squeezing in what you hoped he would see as comfort.

“I’m sorry they’ve done this to you.”

The man’s eyes went glassy, and his throat worked. He’d already known what fate awaited him, then. And the cruelest part of this was you might have been able to help him, perhaps even cure him with 049’s help.

But the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, and three guards in hazmat suits entered the room and pulled the man away, forcing you to let go. Even though you couldn’t feel it, you knew SCP-008 would return to its active state as soon as you let go, resume its ravishing of this man’s body until he would become something not unlike 049’s reanimated dead.

You hadn’t even learned his name.

A pair of hazmat-suited guards came for you right after, taking you through a series of decontamination chambers that left your skin stinging and your underclothes drenched. At the last decontamination chamber, a guard in a hazmat stripped off the tattered remains of your underwear and shirt, and you went through the harsh stinging liquid with nothing to shield your naked skin.

You were shivering and retching, that last chamber dousing you with something especially strong, the automatic dryer doing nothing to warm the chill from your bones. You were led away from the high-tech purifying chambers and down a series of halls into a white room filled with computer banks and medical instruments.

Your mind was as numb as your body, past the point of wishing it to be over. You craved sleep as an escape more than you wanted it to heal your body. Even as you were surrounded by guard and technicians and doctors, none of them met your eye. None acknowledged you as a person. You were truly alone.

At least this last room provided you with a stack of clothing. White underwear, a long hospital gown and white leggings, as well as hospital slippers, it was a lot better than walking around naked. Even if all the eyes on your body were clinical and only saw you as an object, it was still a relief to wear clothing again. It was humanizing, and certainly a lot warmer.

Your newfound relief was robbed of you. Strapped to a hospital gurney with no inch to move, they inserted IVs into the crook of both arms, and you were pumped with an assortment of chemicals even you couldn’t identify. Your system was flushed of the chemicals, only to have more pumped into your system. This was repeated over and over, until your heartbeat was sluggish and uneven. Ironic for you to survive this long only to die by accidental chemical overdose.

The drugs stopped, but the procedures didn’t. One doctor removed patches of your skin with a scalpel, no numbing agent given for the pain. The only thing they gave you was a rubber mouthpiece forced between your teeth. At least your tongue would be spared as you bit down and screamed.

Everything went fuzzy after that, though you recalled blood being taken with more needles, and your wounded arm was given ointment, gauze, and wraps.

You were pulled to your feet before you realized you’d been unstrapped, and the two guards leading you got to have the privilege of half-dragging you, legs refusing to cooperate. You were led down familiar corridors, the steel catwalks and concrete tunnels of Heavy Containment, and you tried to pay attention as a door was opened before you with a keycard.

It wasn’t a containment chamber. It was an observation room.

The door slid open, and you were manhandled inside by your guards.

“Ah, all right, that’s fine. Let her go.”

You forced your head upward, disbelieving your ears—but there stood Dr. Puli, his expression apologetic as the guards left you alone in the dim room filled with computer banks and one long observation glass—

No, it wasn’t just the two of you. Someone was behind Dr. Puli, leaning against a console with his arms folded, posture haughty with disinterest even as his eyes were too sharp on you.

A growl ripped from your throat as you stalked toward your target, but Dr. Puli blocked you, putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back. With the sorry state you were in you couldn’t push past him, but your rage did force the doctor to use most of his strength.

“You!”

“Yes, me,” the Site Director said, examining his fingernails. “Now sit down and stop acting like an animal.”

You bared your teeth. They’d treated you like an animal, and you’d show him what one looked like.

“It’s all right,” Dr. Puli said, his voice soft, an attempt at comfort. “Please, have a seat. We wish to speak to you, that’s all.”

You glared at the man you’d once trusted. He was just as bad as Leahy by the fact he was letting these dehumanizing and cruel tests continue, and you would be damned if you let a kind tone let all be forgiven.

But then your eyes drifted to the monitors, a dark figure the focus of the screens. The room displayed was 049’s inner containment chamber, and the SCP itself was chained to the wall, agitated and continually yanking on its restraints.

Your fury burned away, leaving cold fear in its wake.

“What happened?”

Dr. Puli gave another apologetic wince and pulled up a chair for you. You took the seat if only so he would answer your question, but you couldn’t deny the cushion of the seat was a relief against your sore joints.

The doctor handed you a ceramic mug, and your mouth immediately salivated as the aroma of fresh hot coffee hit you.

Damn the man for tempting you with coffee and knowing it would work. It wasn’t just the warm promise of caffeine that drew you in, it was the temptation of normality, of returning to a time when you had routine, control, and a lack of terror and pain.

You weren’t the only one without control over their own lives. You took the coffee mug, but your eyes didn’t waver from the SCP. It wasn’t clear how long 049 had been struggling against its chains, but it didn’t let up for a moment, every fiber of its being dedicated to fighting its way to freedom.

No. It wasn’t its freedom it wanted, was it?

“It was fine until you left,” Leahy answered your previous question with a scoff. “Though it kept muttering about the Pestilence closing in and that it needed its assistant. We sedated it and restrained it to the wall, but before it could be properly secured, it attacked one of the guards. A man you supposedly cured.”

At his accusatory tone followed by the soft slap of a paper dropping beside you, you turned your gaze away from 049 to a file sitting next to you on the console. You opened it and recognized the employee file inside, though he hadn’t been wearing a guard uniform at the time you last saw him. He’d been one of those “cured” during the test.

“His name was Louis Salazar. A good man, survived by a wife and two daughters who no longer have a father because of that dangerous, criminally insane monster.”

Dr. Puli shifted uncomfortably beside you, but your focus was on the Site Director.

“Why?”

Leahy frowned.

“Why, what?”

“Why did 049 attack him?” you pressed. If this Louis Salazar had been cured, then that meant there was no “Pestilence” inside him, and the plague doctor would have no cause to be aggressive.

“Did you not hear the criminally insane bit?” Leahy squinted at you. “That thing is unpredictable, out of control. It’s my suggestion to the O5 Council that it be put into permanent storage.”

You bolted upright.

“What? You can’t do that! It’s not 049’s fault!”

Even as you protested, something tugged at the back of your mind. Why was the Site Director meeting you and Dr. Puli in some dim observation room? Why was this not being done in his office, or hell, why was he talking to you at all? Threatening to place 049 into permanent storage—which meant putting the SCP into a lead-lined box and burying it miles underground in a layer of concrete—didn’t make any sense. He could just do it and never mention it to you.

Maybe it was the insight granted to you previously by SCP-714, or maybe you just knew Leahy too well at this point to know he wouldn’t be bothering unless you had something he wanted.

The Site Director glared, but not as angrily as he should be.

“You put the grand delusion of cures into its head,” he said with a little more bite. He might want something, but he still didn’t like you. The feeling was mutual. “You’re just as much to blame for the lives it takes.”

“I was trapped in a room with 049 against my will, and you blame me for not dying?”

The Site Director’s face went beet red, and oh, wasn’t that satisfying.

“I survived something that never should have happened,” you seethed, your returning anger carrying the momentum forward. “And instead of opening an investigation, you threw me into a cell and turned me into a chew toy for SCPs—”

Leahy was gripping the edge of his chair at this point. Maybe if you pissed him off enough, he would stop playing games with you, but Dr. Puli stepped forward before he could lash out. Your old boss had been standing some distance away, shifting uncomfortably at the verbal sparring match between you and the Site Director.

“That’s not why we asked you here.”

He spared a nervous glance at the Site Director, but Leahy simply leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

They had both asked you here? Why? What were they up to?

“You have proven to be a valuable asset in terms of learning more about the nature of these SCPs, especially SCP-049,” Dr. Puli said. “I recommended that you be kept with 049 until its agitation passes.”

You blinked. He couldn’t be serious.

Dr. Puli gave you a sympathetic smile, one that you wanted to trust. But you knew better.

“You have been under a considerable strain yourself. This is not another test,” the doctor insisted at your disbelieving frown. “Rather, it is a time for you to rest in a place where you’ll be more… comfortable.”

You didn’t believe it for a minute. It was a trick, a ploy—

“This is ridiculous,” Leahy muttered like a petulant child. “Who in their right mind would be comfortable around that beast?”

Dr. Puli ignored the Site Director, maintaining eye contact with you. He was… serious. Leahy’s annoyance to the proposal lent it more authenticity than anything else.

You looked back at the monitors where 049’s struggles hadn’t changed. After everything you’d been though, maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that the idea of being back in the SCP’s cell was… calming. Familiar. The SCP had protected you when you’d been distressed, had defied the guards several times when they’d come to drag you away. And even though you had no delusions that it was simply protecting what it viewed as a tool in defeating the Pestilence, in a strange way, 049 was the only one actively trying to keep you sane and alive.

“It’s a waste of time and resources to keep her locked away with that creature,” Leahy said in a tone that indicated he and Dr. Puli had had this argument several times before. “A creature that is delusional at best, and manipulative to an unprecedented degree at worst—"

“For how long?”

Both men stared at you.

“How long do you want me to stay with him? It?”

You corrected your slip too late. Dr. Puli and the Site Director exchanged a glance, then Leahy simply shrugged.

“I am willing to put the other testing on pause if you can keep SCP-049 docile and cooperative. A list of personnel who are terminally ill, due to natural causes or anomalous ones, has been compiled, and the first batch are being transported to this site to be… healed.”

Leahy said the word with a sneer. 049 might be his golden goose laying the golden egg, but he didn't like the SCP no more than he liked you. You thought it fitting.

“If you both cooperate in the days to come,” he added, “then perhaps your privileges will expand.”

“I want guarantees.”

“You’re not in a position to demand them.”

You glared at him, fear and anger mixing into a murderous concoction. All you’d wanted was for the torture in the form of tests to stop, but the best you could hope for was a temporary reprieve.

But the Site Director was right. You had no leverage, and you were lucky to be given this much.

Your gaze drifted one last time to the monitors, to 049 and its fruitless struggles. It wouldn’t stop fighting until its strength ran out, or it injured itself too much to continue.

“I’ll do it,” you said. The word carried the weight and finality of a deal with the devil.

“So glad you agree.”

With the use of a walkie-talkie close at hand, Leahy called the guards inside.

“Take her in.”

That was it? No more bargaining or cajoling or mocking?

Why did you get the feeling you’d played right into the Site Director’s hands?

It was too late to change your mind, and what was the alternative, anyway? To not help 049 and continue being tortured? There was no choice, not really.

Two guards entered the observation room and pulled you to your feet, forcing you to leave your mug behind on the console. You hadn’t even been given a chance to finish it.

You were dragged to the containment doors even though they were only a few feet away, and a duffel bag was heaved into your arms before you could ask questions. The outer containment doors opened and you were escorted inside, left beside the autopsy table as you clutched onto the bag like a lifeline.

The inner containment doors parted more slowly than the outer ones, these doors heavier, taking more power to move. 049 was where you last saw it, chained to the wall with shackles around its wrists, ankles, and neck, but it was completely still as the doors parted.

You avoided its gaze for now, instead catching sight of what you’d missed from the camera in the corner. 049’s inner containment chamber had had some… renovations.

The left section, which had been empty before, now contained a toilet and shower head installed into the wall, both with zero privacy. There was also a bathroom sink, small and porcelain compared to the metal industrial sink in the middle containment room.

That wasn’t the only change to 049’s “living” area: instead of the single-sized bed that had been there previously, there was a larger full-sized bed in its place.

Before you could wonder at the new changes, and the implication of how long they expected you to stay, the locks holding 049 in place disengaged.

The SCP was on you before you could blink.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 #scp fanfiction #scp foundation #wolveria writes

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Note

Ocs with a serial killer reader??? Like the reader just looks like an innocent person who can stand up for themselves but in private their an extreme sadist that liked torturing people just to get a rise out of them?

By the way love you work❤

Liu: considering the whole cannibal thing, Liu is one of the best people to come out to. She can even eat bones. She's a little on the fence at first due to her denial of her urges, but eventually warms up to an easy meal. Do not eat their chili

Elliott: the second best to come out to. The deed is fun to do himself, but if he had a killer darling that's a match made in heaven. Probably how you too met tbh. He'll make films from your kills and even offers to design a costume for you. Good at clean up as well

Daina: third best- probably higher than the other two. Given she's final girl- and has a few screws loose- she escapes your Ramages and comes back with open arms. Lures folks to you and uses the nursing skills she learned as camp counselor to patch you up.

Host: Basically- "Hey check out my pet- think it bites" Finds your violent bursts adorable. Humans are pawns beside you so he doesn't mind letting you stab a contestant or two- preferably after the show but he's not judgin'

Alasdair: "please put the knife down" Aside from one other party, he's the only one who will actively try to stop you. The last thing he wants is for you to be separated for the rest of entirety because you couldn’t stop acting folks

Pin: Completely neutral. While they aren't an outright killer, they do have their moments so they can complain. Probably uses the corpses as reference/material for their bodies

Baron: He's (usually) a good boy for a demon, but after trying to get you to light up he eventually gives up and just follows by your side like the puppy he his.

Selene: She acts oblivious. You're not like that all the time. Her loving spouse every other day of the week. She turns a blind eye and kisses you with welcome - ignoring the twisted faces behind you and screams that died so long ago

C.C: Slay Queen/King. Humans have never been much to C.C excluding you so he doesn't care. Probably would be right beside you, but doing lesser crimes like robbery because he doesn't want to get blood on his new shoes. Finds it hot seeing you covered in blood - but doesn't announce it

Travis: I've answered this for him before, but basically it tears him apart inside, but he turns a blind eye unless you try to leave him

Casper: Feels a bit bad but if you convince them the victim was a bad person they'll let it slide. They know the truth but act dumb to stay on your good side

Static: doesn't really like to kill and doesn't like the idea of you doing it either. They're extremely aggressive, but don't normally harm people unless they do after you. Grumbles about it and steals your kills just so the blood isn't on your hands

Jeremiah: All sinners deserve a second chance- even ones that still commit crimes. Keeps a leash on you and tries to lessen your body count by picking souls who truly can't be saved

Cherry: As his master, Cherry can't complain. He's a little down about the clean up, but wants nothing more than to please

Maddox: Pretty sad about it. Sure they're a grim reaper, but life should be celebrated while it lasts. If your count is far too high, they'll drag you away to their realm so you couldn’t do anymore harm

Verona: knows its bad, but finds intrigue in studying the corpses. She tells you off, but is pretty quiet when the deed is already done

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #male yandere #female yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n

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duckapus · 5 months

Text

Dead, Inside and Out

"Grah! Stupid, useless-!"

Kamek walks up to the doctor, "I take it there's a problem?"

Eggman huffs and shows him his tablet, "It's this blasted Zone. All the spectral energy is interfering with the Seed Detector. I have no idea where the next seed is."

"Of course. I suppose we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way. Bomberto! Bring us down near the center!"

As the ship descends, everyone gets ready to begin the search.

"Okay guys, from what Kamek's told us this Zone's conversion trigger is depression. Now, I know things have been pretty rough so far and none of us are feeling too great, but I'm sure that as long as we all support each other and stay focused on the plan, we'll make it though without...any...losses," 4 sees that most of the group looking at something behind him and gets a deadpan expression, "Toad's already a ghost, isn't he?"

"Yep."

Bob shrugs, "Well, at least it wasn't anyone important."

"BOB!"

"What? We were all thinking it."

4 sighs, "Anyway, since the scanner isn't working, we're going to have to find the seed ourselves. If the other Zones are any indication, it should be with whoever triggered the Wonder Flower, and it's pretty obvious who it was here."

Cubot scratches his head, "It is?"

"Well, let's see," Root makes a show of contemplating, "who do we know who's dead, depressed, and literally sucks the color out of anything she touches?"

"Ohhh...I don't get it."

Ignoring him, Meggy chimes in "Okay, but how are we going to find her? Either she's drifting around and we'll have to scour the whole Zone or she's holed up in her house, and the only guy who can actually find that place is currently a Muppet."

"Well, Floyd's house usually shows up pretty close to mine and Luigi's, so we could start there."

"Sounds good to me. Alright guys, let's move out!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes a few minutes to get from the landing site to the Mario Bros' house, and when they do they make a rather unusual discovery.

"How does it still have its color?"

Indeed, Somehow this one building was exempt from the Wonder Effect. The group approaches cautiously, not sure what to make of this. Mario slowly, carefully opens the front door, revealing that the inside looks pretty much the same as when they left, a startling reminder that this whole ordeal only started a few days ago. There's a bit of light and sound coming from the living room, and Mario leads the way as they sneak over to peek around the corner...

And find an oddly familiar young woman with an ornate dress and sharp, curling horns slumped unceremoniously in Luigi's favorite chair, staring blankly at the TV, which currently displays only static.

(ignore the sword, that's not important 'till later)

"Floyd? Is that you?"

A disinterested hum is the only indication she even heard him.

Bob looks her over, "Well, somebody had a growth spurt. Isn't she supposed to be twelve?"

"I, ah, I think it made her the age she would've been if she was still alive."

"...Oh. Yikes."

Mario moves up in front of her, "Hey, Floyd, you hearing me kiddo?"

Her eyes, though still unfocused, shift over to him.

"Great. I'll let you get back to...whatever this is soon, but we really need your help right now." he pulls out a picture of a Wonder Seed, "have you seen something around here that looks like this?"

To most people it would just look like she's still staring, but anyone who really knows her can tell she's trying to remember, "...maybe? 's hard t' think."

"If it helps, they come in different colors, so it might not look just like this one."

"..." after a little while, she somehow slumps even more than she already had been, " 'm sorry. can't...remember."

He sighs and slumps a little himself, "that's alright. We can figure something else out."

As he turns to rejoin the rest of the group, he lingers at a hanging picture of him and Luigi, running his hand along the frame with a sad smile. Floyd...actually visibly reacts to this, sitting up and leaning forward a bit, her eyes just a little brighter.

"Luigi...he was with you guys, right? On that trip?"

"...Yeah."

"What happened?"

"...Kermit. I couldn't...he didn't jump in time."

"..." Her eyes turn sharp, returning to their usual resting glare, and she stands up and starts floating about an inch or so off the floor, "Follow me."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

She leads them on a winding path through the forest, which looks particularly spooky when painted in shades of grey. Marcy, as usual, looks around suspiciously as they go.

"Give it a rest, sis. I'm pretty sure nothing around here cares enough to attack us."

"There's nothing wrong with staying vigilant. If nothing else it keeps me in practice. You could stand to be more cautious yourself, you know. I've heard about what you're like when you gamble."

"Hey, I'm getting better."

As the two of them are bickering, the group arrives at Floyd's house, which looks pretty much the same as it always does. She phases through the gate and opens it for everyone else, then brings them to the front door.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I left the Seed in my bedroom. You guys wait in the parlor while I grab it."

She's gone for a few moments, then comes back with a red Wonder Seed in hand and tosses it to 4, "here ya go."

"Thanks." he turns to the group, "Alright, that's three down and four to go! And with only one loss so fa-"

"Two."

"What?"

She points at Bob, "You lost two."

"Oh, goddamnit!"

"Huh, I didn't even notice." he checks himself out in a nearby mirror, "Hey, sweet! I look like some kinda Grim Reaper!"

"Yes, and it only cost you your legs and your freedom."

"Shut up Mar."

"Um," Tari raises her hand like this is school, "How are you still acting like yourself?"

"Eh, I've been living with bouts of depression for centuries. This artificial numbness isn't even the worst I've felt this decade."

(...Not sure how to end this so yeah, they head back to the ship and have to leave Bob behind, but he'll be fine and will probably be able to help Floyd with her brain fog issue. Next up is the mushroom forest Zone.)

(also older Floyd comes from this picrew, because she's one of those characters I've never been able to draw properly myself despite being my own goddamn oc)

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stargazeraldroth · 7 months

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obsessed w/ the idea of, like, ink and error and the apple bros and whoever else as gods, but what we/others see isn’t really what they look like/are, and what we/others hear isn’t what they sound like. it’s just how they’re processed. like!!!

ink is all swirling colors that blend endlessly and seamlessly, sharp contrasts that grab your attention and soft pastels that pull at your eyes, lights casting shadows that tells stories and shimmering patterns with no end and no beginning, overwhelming and underwhelming all at once in way that leaves you muddled and twitchy and desperate to search for more of something, though you don’t know what, as if he is acknowledgement and presence itself given form, always changing and growing and learning and guiding. when he talks it sounds like brushstrokes and the scratch of a pen on paper, like the drag of a highlighter over a page and the dripping of paint on a new canvas, and his laughter is like the crinkling of pages and flipping through an old notebook you thought you lost that had all of your best ideas, as a child. his touch is like to wet ink smeared on your face, on the tips of your fingers, earned after a day of frustrated and elated work that you may or may not have finished, and a work softened paper held firmly in one hand with the comforting grip of a well worn pencil in the other. to see him is to see inspiration itself, aesthetics and dancing shapes and new and old ideas that tear through your eyes and you mind, and looking away is a terrible feeling- you want to write it down, want to draw it, want to make it, though you don’t know what it is, but to stop looking feels like you’ll be robbed of what you’ve been given, and like you’ll never find it again.

error is sharp edges and jagged lines and holes in reality itself that you less see and more feel, like barely perceptible pixels just slightly off in a piece of art, strangely soothing in their imperfections and a reminder that something doesn’t always need to be perfect, need to be there at all, absence and emptiness in the worst and best ways. his voice is formless static that’s too loud and too soft, barely heard and all you hear all at once, and his laughter sounds like keyboard clicks and the drone of a single button press. to touch him is to touch nothing- water that doesn’t cling or leave you damp, fur that doesn’t leave the phantom sensation of something soft, a blank slate that leaves you desperate for something to fill it and for it to never be filled. if you look closely enough, your ideas and thoughts start to leak out of you, bit by bit- and it hurts, like you’re losing something, but it feels nice, too, because you needed to if you wanted to keep going, and maybe, once your mind has cleared, you can think and plan and do all the things you wanted to, with nothing holding you back.

dream is all warm lights and gentles glows and the gleam of the rising sun on dew covered plants, like a steady fire that makes you want to curl up and sleep, safe and warm and whole, an addicting hope and the sensation of happiness. to hear him is to hear crackling fires and wedding bells and the soothing background noise of your childhood home, and his laughter is like bird wings heralding the spring and the rustle of growing flowers reminding you that everything continues, someday. his touch is like a perfectly warmed blanket, soft and giving and comfortable, something you never want to leave, no matter how much you should because you feel safe. to look upon him is to be flooded with a soulcrushing bliss, soothed and warmed and desperate to stay, no matter how deeply you now that you can’t- to look away is to crush something fragile inside of yourself, knowing that you must make it reappear on your own.

nightmare is the dark corners of unknown spaces and the shifting shadows cast by too-bright lights, a painful glare that leaves your eyes aching and has you stumbling to find a grip, any grip, something to cling to when nothing seems okay and it hurts and you know you’ll have to look again anyways, an overwhelming and sickening despair and a begrudgingly needed kind of grief that drains you completely. he sounds like the pouring rain and crashing thunder that leaves you strangely soothed despite knowing that too much is a bad thing, like an overwhelming white noise that leaves you gripping you head and won’t go away, and when he laughs, it’s like river rapids leading to sharp rocks and roaring infernos that consume everything equally, a reminder that things are cruel, yes, but not just to you. to touch him is to sink into deep waters you can’t see through, cold and wet and thick and viscous, something you can’t drag yourself out of even as you thrash and scream, and aftermath leaves you feeling raw and rough in a way that lets you heal, eventually, even if you hate it. looking at him is like looking into pitch black, terrifying in the most primal of ways and leaving you feeling alone and small, desperate to lash out and hurt if it means avoiding the chance you’ll be hurt, first- but if you don’t, if you take the plunge, then maybe you’ll be able to heal, finally, as much as the start of it hurts, and as much as it leaves you scared.

i got carried about but uh. incompressible, terribly beautiful gods, embodied as concepts and thoughts and feelings you love and hate and feel nothing towards. yeah.

@lix88888 hey Lix, is this your Eldritch AU? /j (But seriously guys, if you haven't already, go check out her Eldritchtale AU. It's amazing!)

In all seriousness, I have a fondness for cosmic, eldritch horror like this, so this idea scratches a certain itch in the tired late night brain. I actually have a bit of my own Eldritch AU, although it isn't really... eldritch??? I don't know how to explain it. Basically, characters are existential horrors in mortal disguises, and it's set in a dystopian future where said horrors are slowly taking over the world. And Dream's an amnesiac and freeloader.

Also why did this make me picture Dream as some kind of like. Biblically accurate angel?

And grrrrrrr Anon you excluded the best boy Reaper /j

#anonymous asks #ink sans #error sans #dream sans #nightmare sans

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moonlight-tmd · 6 months

Note

okay, I was just scrolling through my feed and came across angst for the bees in transformers who lost their voices. (TFP, KV, CV, etc)

now let's apply that to TFA and see how bee becomes a shell of himself due to it. I've read fics about it (two) and I wanna know your take on it

Boy they really like to give him that angst do they...

Well, i did read those fics and unfortunatelly, i am a weak weak bitch and cannot take his beautiful voice away(for too long).

I think he would get injured- it's probably Starscream cuz i like the idea of him being a sadist, his voicebox gets ripped and crushed, leaving him mute.

Bee would be so devastated- he tries to talk, scream, anything. There is nothing but painful static.

The others- sure, sometimes they wished Bee would just shut up and stay quiet but they never meant it. And now they are forced to watch as Bee essentially becomes depressed. He can't eat solid foods so he's bound to drinking oil and liquid energon. He almost stopped interacting with others because it's so difficult to let them know what he wants to say; charades are too confusing and writing signs is too slow. All is left of his cheerful attitude is a tiny smile he offers sometimes when he and the others (are trying to)have fun.

Sentinel is the worst, he is oddly untouched at the scout's misery. He straight up says it's good that he shut up when he's not around. Optimus has ended whatever was left of his friendship with Sentinel long ago, but it seems like Sentinel never acknowledged Optimus saying anything- like he's above what the failure of a Prime is saying to him.

They are stuck like this- Bee hanging on by a thread that is threatening to snap at any moment and the others desperately trying to hold onto Bee and help him out of this Pit.

Bee is crafty so one time a radio breaks and he tried to fix it. Static spills over garbled words whenever he's trying to tune it, it remind his of something... He fixed it at last, the static briefly present whenever the channel is switched and songs or radio news play, tuning in and cutting sentences, almost making a new one- That gives Bee an idea.

He spend a a whole week trying to get his own radio to obey him. The others are so surprised when Bee answers one of their questions with cut up song lyrics and words from the radio, but they are very happy- Bee has started to look up, slowly but surely. The amount of relief they felt when Bee used the laughting sound effects to mimic his own laugh. He's still sad that it's not his own voice, but that is the closest he can do.

I imagine it was Longarm that took mercy on the scout- they were good friends, Longarm had grown fond of Bee as a friend. It hurt him to see Bee so sad- just like in boot camp when Wasp tormented him. So- Longarm, being the Data Master, steals Bee's medical info and other stuff and contacts Swindle about it. He has everything- parameters, size, settings, type, even various voice samples from when he and Bee talked to find the perfect voicebox to replace his missing one. Bee might have infected Longarm with his stubbornness cuz he's determined to make Bee talkative again.

Longarm comes to Ratchet and gives him the necessary parts and materials to fix Bee, he avoid any questions like 'where did you get this?' and leaves. Ratchet assumes it because he's a Prime with connections.

Bee has to force-refresh his processor to comprehend what Ratchet just said to him. He goes under a surgery and it's succesful.

He could not stop crying, his voice was back. Primus he wanted to say so many things but this was so ovewhelming he couldn't stop ugly sobbing.

The whole day he said everything that was on his mind- i mean everything. No filter to separate his thoughts from what he wanted to actually say, he spilled so much answering questions and how he felt the others didn't know if they were trembling from happiness or the sheer worry about the minibot.

After that, whenever Bee is annoying, the moment they want to say 'shut up' or something like that, they get flashbacks to when Bee was mute. They never told him to shut up ever again- instead they try to manouver their situation to make Bee go do his own thing and leave them to do that important thing they were doing.

To say the least, that situation was traumatizing to all of them.

And of course, Bee couldn't help but tackle-hug Longarm and repeat 'thank you' over and over again the next time he visited.

#tfa bumblebee #maccadam #tfa #ask box #angst

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ginger-lala · 7 months

Text

Kinktober - Hate Sex

Sebastian Sallow x OC (Olive Raywood)

Summary: Olive has summoned Sebastian to the Undercroft to dispel some rumours she'd heard he was spreading.

CW: 18+ (minors dni), straight up smut, hate sex, touch of dom sebastian if you squint really hard.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: First time ever writing a smutty one shot so please be kind, I have no idea what I'm doing, whoops.

I'll keep attempting to write for Kinktober but likely not every day. But I'll try my best!

Also, you can read Olive and Sebastian's full story here!

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Olive paced the cold, stone floor of the Undercroft, her shoes clicking with each swift landing. Her pacing was getting more impatient, her speed quickening as her arms folded across her chest, fingers digging into her own arms, her nails leaving moon-shaped indents in the skin.

He hadn’t come yet.

Maybe he was ignoring her.

Maybe he didn’t get it.

But whatever reason there was, she was growing more and more pissed off by the minute.

Just as she was about to draw her wand and blast every damn box, desk, chair, cupboard and bit of flammable material in Ominis’ sacred room, the rickety gate shifted open, the screeching putting a stop to her pacing.

“Fucking finally,” she mumbled.

She stayed put, her arms still folded and her knuckles turning white from the death grip she had on herself.

“What was so fucking urgent you had to pull me away from studies for?” Sebastian barked at her, his footsteps almost as angry as hers moments earlier.

She scoffed.

As if he didn’t know.

Olive shot him a withering look, her eyes narrowing. "Maybe if you weren't so absorbed in your precious studies, you’d realise that things you say about me make their way back eventually.”

“You seriously think I have time for gossiping about you, Olive?” He bit back, his eyes boring into hers.

Olive glared at him, the tension between them crackling like static in the air.

“So, what did I apparently say that was so offensive?” Sebastian asked, mimicking Olive’s actions and folding his arms in a similar fashion.

Olive’s stare intensified and she inhaled deeply, “Did you not tell a whole bunch of people I was sleeping with Andrew Larson? Grace Pinch-Smedley seemed pretty adamant she heard it from you.”

Sebastian laughed. He fucking laughed.

“Are you fucking serious, Olive? I know we don’t talk anymore, but you seriously think that I would firstly, spread rumours about you and two, that I’d make them about him? I may hate your guts, but I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t give yourself to the likes of him.”

Olive’s eyes widened at his words, “So this is hate now? We hate each other?”

“I thought that was pretty fucking clear.”

Olive's eyes bore into Sebastian's, anger and hurt burning in her gaze.

"And what brought you to that conclusion?”

Sebastian's jaw tensed, and he avoided her eyes. "People change, Olive. You changed."

"And you didn't?" she shot back, her frustration boiling over.

Sebastian scoffed. "You're right, I probably did but frankly, I don't care. I've got my own problems to deal with."

Olive was unable to contain her frustration any longer. She took a step closer to Sebastian, her eyes ablaze. "You don't care? We used to be friends, Sebastian. We shared everything. What happened to us?"

Sebastian met her eyes with a cold, indifferent stare. "Life happened, Olive. People grow apart. It's natural."

"Is it natural to spread lies about someone you used to care about?" Olive shot back, her voice trembling with anger.

“I don't know what you heard, but I didn't say anything about you and Larson! You wouldn’t drop your standards that low.”

Olive's eyes narrowed. "And you know what my standards are?”

Sebastian’s frustration began to boil over, his fists clenched at his sides. "Damn it, Olive! Can't you see how messed up this is? I didn't say those things about you and Larson. You can’t be with him!”

Olive's eyes widened, the anger in her gaze quickly turning to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Sebastian took a step closer. "I see you pacing here, all worked up, and it drives me crazy. I hate that we're not friends anymore, and I hate that we’ve ended up like this. All this pent up anger, it makes me hate you. But I don’t want to."

Olive's expression shifted once more from confusion to surprise. "Sebastian, what are you saying?"

Words escaped Sebastian. He couldn’t find a way to say what he wanted to say. Instead, he closed the gap between himself and Olive, grabbing her by the cheeks and yanking her head towards him. He pressed his mouth against hers violently, fuelled by the ‘hate’ he apparently held for her.

As their lips collided in a fiery combination of anger and desire, Olive's initial shock turned to lust. For a moment, time seemed to stand still in the cold, dimly lit Undercroft as their frustrations fuelled their kiss.

Sebastian's grip on Olive's face began to loosen, and he pulled away abruptly, his eyes searching hers for a reaction. The room was now engulfed in an awkward silence.

“Larson would never be good enough for you. No one will.” Sebastian said with a low tone.

Olive opened her mouth to speak, chastise him, yell at him, but the only thing that came out was a pathetic squeak.

Sebastian's gaze softened, his fingers tracing the outline of Olive's jaw. But the tension between them still lingered in the air.

Sebastian's thumb brushed against Olive's lower lip as he spoke, his voice a whisper that reverberated against the walls of the Undercroft. "I hate how much I care about you, Olive. I hate that I can't just forget."

Olive finally found her voice, though she struggled to get the words out through her ragged breaths. "Sebastian, you can't just kiss away all the things we said. We can't go back to being friends just because of this."

Sebastian let his eyes explore hers, his hands moving to grip her waist. "I’m not asking you to be my friend.”

Olive’s breath hitched at his words, Sebastian's grip tightened around Olive's waist, a hint of possessiveness emanating from his touch. "I don't want friendship, Olive," he murmured, his lips moving to trail down the curve of her neck, leaving a fiery path of marks. "I want something raw, something real."

Olive's attempt at a protest was cut short as Sebastian's hands began to explore her body, his hands moving up and down her waist, his fingers leaving a trail of heat and any remnants of anger and confusion from earlier switched to the surging desire that was about to consume them both.

Sebastian's lips found hers again, claiming her in a searing kiss that left no room for words. His hands traced the contours of her body, mapping every inch of her with a desperate and primal need.

Olive found herself responding to Sebastian's fervour despite her initial resistance. She traced her fingers up his chest, finding the tie tucked neatly around his throat and yanking it down, forcing it free to hang loosely around his neck. She began to fiddle with the buttons of his white shirt, impatiently undoing them one by one. The heat between them escalated as fabric gave way to bare skin, and the cold air of the Undercroft against Sebastian’s exposed and sweaty chest had him inhaling sharply.

Sebastian's hands roamed Olive's curves in response with an urgency that bordered on desperation, and he groaned against her lips as the last button yielded. The shirt slid off his shoulders, pooling on the floor, and he took it upon himself to work on her own tie, blouse and undergarments, making quick work of them in his haste to get her as bare as he was.

Olive's nails grazed Sebastian's back, leaving faint, red trails in their wake as the cold air tickled her nipples, causing them to perk up.

Sebastian's hands traced the contours of Olive's now exposed skin, his eyes tracing to take in the new sights, his ex-best friend stood before him, bare chested and desperately fucking horny.

The growing tent in Sebastian’s pants tightened as he fought the urge to come undone right there and then at the mere thought and sight of her.

He groaned loudly, reaching down slightly to scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder before marching her over to the dusty old couch, tossing her down with a thump and quickly following her down, placing his mouth on her neck.

As Sebastian placed wet, sloppy kisses on her neck, he stopped every few inches to nip a little on the skin, causing Olive to inhale sharply.

She liked this.

Sebastian challenged himself to push her further, see how far Olive would let him go. He traced his mouth down her body, his tongue lapping up every inch of salty sweat beading down the dip in her throat until his mouth reached the perfect mounds he’d only laid eyes upon only moments ago. His mouth dared to find her nipple, teasing them with his tongue, sending shivers down her spine. Olive arched her back, offering herself willingly which made Sebastian grin.

He moved a hand to the neglected breast, kneading and moulding like her flesh was clay, pliable and responsive to his touch. Olive's breath hitched, a symphony of pleasure echoing in the room. Sebastian grew braver. He was almost treating this like a challenge, to see how far he could take Olive.

So Sebastian ventured lower. His fingers traced the outline of the waistband of her skirt, teasingly dipping beneath, and he feeling the heat radiating from her core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, tracing a finger between her folds.

Olive's response was a low, guttural moan, a sweet sound of need that spurred Sebastian on further. He dipped one finger inside her, feeling her clench around his finger as if she were hungry for more. Sebastian's confidence surged, his touch becoming more demanding. He added another finger, the slick sound of her desperation filling the air as he began to pump them in and out of her. Olive's hips bucked against his hand, her wetness coating Sebastian's hand.

He continued to fuck her with his skilful fingers, his mouth moving back to her breast, adding a scrape of his teeth as he went.

“Oh, fuck, don’t stop!” Olive pleaded, one of her hands clawing at his mop of brown hair, the other grasping the back of the lounge with white knuckles.

Sebastian revelled in the explicit sounds overflowing from her mouth, his fingers relentless in their rhythm, delving deeper into Olive's desire. Her moans grew louder as he angled his hand, seeking that perfect spot within her, determined to draw out every ounce of pleasure.

He withdrew his fingers for a moment, teasingly denying Olive what she desperately craved. Her eyes met his, frustrated and longing for release, pupils dilated. With a sly grin, he licked his fingers, savouring her intoxicating taste.

“Sebastian, please.” She whined, her body writhing with need.

“Soon, love.” He said with a grin, leaning in and capturing Olive's lips in a hungry kiss, letting her taste her own arousal on his tongue. He relented, his fingers returning, this time slick with his saliva, and plunged back into her, the explicit sounds filling the room. Olive's moans transformed into desperate cries, her body writhing beneath his touch.

“You’re so close love, I can feel it.” Sebastian whispered, his voice a low growl. He could feel the tension building in Olive, her body on the edge of ecstasy as her walls clenched around his fingers. Sebastian intensified his movements, each calculated thrust of his digits pushing her closer to the edge. With a final, delicious motion, Sebastian felt Olive shatter around him. Her cries of pleasure filled the room, unrestrained and explicit as she cried out his name.

Sebastian, encouraged by Olive's cries, shifted his weight and sat right above her, unbuttoning his pants with haste and tossing them somewhere to the side along with their upper uniforms. He pulled at her skirt that was now pooled around her waist and felt the tearing of seams as he tugged at it haphazardly. Olive tried to chastise him with a gentle smack, but he simply smiled and continued to tear it away from her body.

Her underwear came next, torn and discarded as he finally leaned over the top of her.

Sebastian had yearned for this moment, craved it. Imagined it every time he indulged himself in the wee hours of the morning when his mind was racing and he couldn’t sleep. And here she was. The girl he despised, laying here completely exposed beneath him, desperate for him, pleading for him.

Sebastian could hardly believe his luck.

Years of waiting were about to be over.

He took himself in his hand, gliding the tip up and down the slick warmth between Olive's parted thighs Sebastian's breath quickened as he positioned himself at the entrance, savouring the last few moments before he finally claimed her.

As he finally entered her, a gasp escaped Olive's lips, merging with Sebastian's own moans of pleasure. Olive’s body gave way to him easily and accepted him fully, to the hilt.

Sebastian's breath hitched as he finally moved within her, the slick warmth enveloping him.

“Ffffuck… why did we wait this long… you feel so fucking good.” Sebastian groaned as his hips began to grind against hers.

His hands found their way to Olive's hips, guiding her movements with his own.

As Sebastian began to quicken the pace now they were comfortable, Olive's nails dug into his back, leaving red and angry marks as she surrendered herself to the pleasure.

They kept their eyes locked on one another until Olive couldn’t take it anymore. She thrust her head back, back arching to meet his deep thrusts.

But it wasn’t enough.

Sebastian needed to give her more.

He grabbed one of her thighs, pulling it upwards and resting her ankle on his shoulder.

The change in position had Sebastian reaching depths he didn’t think was possible.

He knew he was doing well when Olive’s cries became louder, littered with more profanities, as if that were possible.

“Fuck! Sebastian! God yes, fuck!” She screamed, her clenched fingers surely drawing blood down his back now.

The coil within Olive threatened to snap again as she felt the tension building in her stomach. Sebastian was hitting every spot she didn’t know she had.

“I’m so fucking close! Keep going!” She pleaded.

Sebastian grinned, a primal satisfaction in his eyes as he continued his relentless rhythm, sensing Olive was so close to coming undone again.

He leaned over Olive, his breath hot against her ear. "Come for me again. Show me what my cock does to you.”

Olive was done. His raspy voice in her ear hurdled her over the edge, the leg strewn over his shoulder beginning to tremble.

Watching Olive lose all her inhibitions beneath him from something he did had Sebastian reaching the point of no return. He dropped the leg, his pace faltering as he spilled himself inside her, coating her walls with warmth as he cried out her name, the sounds of their combined pleasure echoing off the walls of the Undercroft.

When they had both regained enough senses, Sebastian pulled himself out of her, extending a hand to help Olive sit up.

The two remained silent, Sebastian walking over to the discarded pile on the floor to return the clothes to their rightful owners.

Just as he managed to loop the belt back through his pants as Olive used a quick whip of reparo on her skirt, the door to the Undercroft being opened startled them both.

“Sebastian? What are you doing? You were supposed to come and study with me hours ago!” Ominis’ agitated voice rang out through the room.

“Sorry. I lost track of time.” Sebastian winced as he tried to silently shrug his shirt back on.

Ominis stopped walking and seemed to look around, though they both knew that wasn’t possible.

“Who is here with you?”

Olive exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance with Sebastian before he stepped forward, as if he were shielding the disheveled state of the room from Ominis.

“Olive and I were having a little disagreement. But we sorted it out, right?” Sebastian smirked in Olive’s direction.

“Y-yep.” Olive said, wincing as she tried to sound confident, failing miserably.

“Well, despite the fact you’ve just defiled my Undercroft, I’m glad you finally worked out how you feel about each other.”

Sebastian and Olive exchanged surprised glances, their faces turning various shades of red.

"Defiled?" Sebastian mumbled under his breath, trying to suppress a laugh.

Ominis shot him a stern look, then turned to Olive. "And you, Olive. I thought you were above such clandestine affairs."

Olive stammered, "It's not what it sounds like. We were just—"

Ominis interrupted, "Having a disagreement, yes, I heard. Well, I hope it was worth it. Now, out with both of you. I need to cleanse the Undercroft of this... amorous energy."

Sebastian, now fully dressed, took Olive's hand, and they made a hasty exit, leaving behind a bemused and slightly exasperated Ominis. As the door closed behind them, they found themselves in the quiet corridor, still processing what the fuck they’d just done and how strange their version of hating each other was.

#sebastian sallow #kinktober #hogwarts legacy #straight up smut

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